Page 73 of Solving Sophronia

“Everleigh, how much longer must we stay here?” Prissy’s voice was a whine. “It is so damp, and ash is on my skirts. I don’t like it here at all.”

“Just a bit longer.” Lord Everleigh didn’t look at her when he spoke. He glanced through the door, looking both ways, and went back to pacing.

Sophie focused on the exits, one at either end of the room, weighing their chances of escape. She believed she could make it alone, but she’d not leave her grandmother and sister behind with this madman. And that was something he obviously counted on. He was hardly bothering to watch them.

She considered calling out for help but would not while her sister and grandmother were within range of the man’s gun. And besides, she thought that was exactly why Lord Everleigh had chosen this place. If she were to scream, her cries would likely go unheard. She leaned back against a dirty table, not caring about her dress, and considered another plan.

If the three rushed to the exit all at once, there was a likelihood that at least one would make it outside safely. She was certain one of them would be shot. And once the others were out, what would they do? They were directly in the center of the most dangerous area of the city. It wasn’t worth the risk.

“But I want to go home.” Prissy continued to whine. She crossed her arms and pouted. “Charlotte is hosting a card party this evening, and I must attend. And why are we in this horrible place anyway? You said we would stop for only a moment, and we’ve been here for—”

“Enough,” Lord Everleigh snapped.

Prissy closed her mouth, her eyes wide in surprise at the typically composed man’s show of temper.

“Do we wait for Hans Hofman?” Sophie asked, taking the attention away from her sister. She’d heard the carriage leave and suspected Everleigh must have a plan. Her fear had left her numb, and the calmness of her voice felt at odds with the shaking in her legs. She held tightly to the lip of the table on either side of her hips to keep her hands from trembling.

Lord Everleigh turned toward her, giving a sneer. “You’re too clever for your own good, my lady.”

“And what then?” Sophie decided to keep the man talking. Perhaps he would reveal something or let down his guard. “You plan to kill us? Leave our bodies around Spitalfields so nobody suspects a nobleman to be the culprit?”

Lord Everleigh took a few steps toward her, his mouth widening into a taunting smile. “Perhaps.” He shrugged, fingering the pistol beneath his coat. “Or perhaps the discovery of three fine ladies, murdered in the streets of this blasted rookery, will be just the push parliament needs to grant permission for a railroad through this vile pit of filth.”

“Everleigh!” Prissy gasped.

Mimi sniffed. “Really, sir. That is quite enough.”

“Come, Sophie,” Prissy said. “Let us wait in the carriage.”

“Sit down, Lady Priscilla,” Lord Everleigh said.

She looked around. “But it is filthy. I will not—”

He pointed the pistol. “You will sit down.”

Prissy obediently slid back onto a table. She glanced at the others with an uneasy expression. “Everleigh, what are you playing at? I don’t like it.”

He stroked a finger along the gun’s barrel. “Oh, my dear, it will only get worse from here.”

Prissy’s brows pulled together, and she held her lips tightly as if she were going to break into tears. She looked at Mimi and Sophie, wanting an explanation. “I don’t...” She blinked, not knowing what to say.

“Do you want to tell her, my lady, or shall I?” Lord Everleigh said to Sophie.

“Prissy, Lord Everleigh is a murderer.” Sophie spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of glorifying his actions or give her sister fuel for the hysterics that were surely near to spilling out.

Mimi drew in a breath.

Lord Everleigh gave an extravagant bow.

“But...” Prissy looked at Sophie as if waiting for her to confirm this was all a joke. Seeing that her sister was serious, she looked at Mimi. “No. I can’t believe it.”

“You will,” Lord Everleigh said. He gave a sneer, stalking toward her. “Very soon.”

Prissy cowered back.

“Stop it,” Sophie said.

He turned the pistol toward Sophie, moving in her direction. “Shall I? Shall I stop? Have I gone too far, my lady?”

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