Page 77 of Inventing Vivian

Benedict shook the door. Breaking it loose seemed doubtful. And painful. “We’d have more luck using some of your chemicals.” He motioned toward the small crate with her photography equipment. “Have you anything that could eat through the lock?”

“Acetic acid can aggravate the corrosion,” she said. She pushed the lid off the small crate, looking through the bottles. “But it would take time. Years, probably.” She sighed, returned to the door, and shook it, perhaps hoping the rusted steel would break. “Well, we must think of something. We can’t simply wait all—”

Vivian’s words cut off at the sound of a key scraping in the lock.

She came closer to Benedict.

The door slid open, revealing Mr. Barnaby in the opening.

“Oh, thank goodness you returned,” Vivian said, moving toward the door.

Mr. Barnaby frowned. He shook his head glancing to the side.

The door opened farther, and Benedict grabbed Vivian, pulling her back. Lord Hargreave stood next to Mr. Barnaby, his pistol aimed at the old man. Behind them, in the light of the gas lamps, Benedict could see Devon was held at gunpoint as well and surrounded by four large men.

Vivian gasped, holding on tightly to Benedict’s arm.

Lord Hargreave motioned with his pistol. “Won’t you join us, Lord Covington? Miss?”

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