Page 107 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
Gray and Izzy crossed the intersection and started up Castle Hill Road in Duvall’s wake. Toby and Martin were close behind, but a few yards along, peeled left and started up Laureston Place, which would lead them to the lower end of Victoria Park Terrace. Their way would be more than twice as long; as with Izzy on his arm, Gray paced the narrow pavement bordering Castle Hill Road, distantly, he heard the younger men running.
Duvall toiled steadily up the sharply rising street. While his obliviousness seemed remarkable, in actual fact, behaving as he was and not looking around was exactly the right way to avoid notice. He appeared to be a man who knew where he was going and nothing more—entirely unsuspicious.
As they gained altitude, Gray looked out over Dover harbor, extending his survey to glance behind. In an undertone, he reported to Izzy, “Baines and Littlejohn are three yards behind us, and the others are close behind them.”
She smiled up at him as if he’d made some witty comment. “Let’s close the distance. That hairpin bend ahead looks steep. We don’t want him getting too far ahead.”
He nodded. She was right. Duvall was managing the steepness with ease; the same couldn’t be said of Baines.
They’d agreed that Toby, Martin, Baines, and Littlejohn, in whatever order, would rush into the station as soon as possible after Duvall, hopefully catching him in the act of lighting a match with his bomb at his feet and preventing him from setting it off. Presumably, the telegraph staff, having been alerted by Drake, would assist in that endeavor. Gray, Izzy, Donaldson, Hennessy, and Digby would remain outside, out of the way.
The timing would be tight, but given how long it took to withdraw a box of lucifers from a pocket, open the box, take one out, strike it, then urge a fuse to catch alight, they should have enough time to stop Duvall from actually igniting the fuse.
Even if the fuse was lit, it could be pulled out as long as they were quick.
Leaning on Gray’s arm, Izzy hurried a few steps to keep up with Gray’s longer strides.
Duvall was just rounding the sharply rising curve to the left and, for that moment, was able to look down on them, and the action caught his eye.
Izzy laughed and, on Gray’s arm, leaned close. “I’m so excited about visiting Felix at the castle. It’s been such an age since I saw him.”
Gray closed his hand over hers on his sleeve and smiled benignly at her. “I’m sure your brother will be equally happy to see you.”
The pavement looped almost back on itself, just significantly higher; on it, above them, Duvall was close enough to hear. He promptly lost interest and continued steadily onward.
Thanking the heavens Duvall hadn’t noticed Baines and Littlejohn, who had fallen back as they toiled upward in her and Gray’s wake, Izzy forged on even more quickly.
She and Gray rounded the sharp curve, and the telegraph station came into sight, about thirty yards away. The building faced Victoria Park Terrace, and due to the upward angle of Castle Hill Road and the downward curve of the terrace, they couldn’t see the building’s front door.
They hurried on, and the front of the station came into full view.
Abruptly, they halted, faced with a complication they hadn’t foreseen.
With his back to them, Duvall stood holding the telegraph station door for a well-dressed lady clasping the hand of a little girl in pigtails, who was clutching a doll.
His briefcase in his other hand, Duvall inclined his head genially as the lady thanked him and ushered her daughter inside.
“Oh no!” Izzy whispered. “He wouldn’t, would he?”
Gray softly swore. “He would—nothing could be better for their scheme.”
She was the owner ofThe Crier; she could see the front pages.
Duvall started to follow the woman and girl inside.
Gray whirled and raced back to urge Baines and Littlejohn to run.
Still frozen, staring, Izzy glimpsed a flicker of orange-red near Duvall’s chin as he stepped inside and finally recognized what scent had been teasing her senses over the last seconds. “A cheroot.”
Duvall had a lighted cheroot clamped between his lips; he must have lit it during the short time he’d been out of their sight as they rounded the curve.
Izzy jettisoned the plan and ran for the telegraph station’s door.
She glimpsed Toby and Martin racing up the steeply sloping street; they were too far away to help.
Duvall wouldn’t need any time to pull out a box of lucifers and strike one; he was going to hold the lighted cheroot directly to the end of the fuse.
Izzy opened the door, rushed along a narrow vestibule, and pulled up just inside the telegraph chamber.
