Margo’s face, already pinched with worry, drained white in a single heartbeat. “Malcolm, we have to find them!”
“Get back inside, warn Madame Feroz and Inspector Melvyn that we may need to leave in a hurry. The Spaldergate carriage isn’t due to collect us for another thirty minutes. I’ll find some sort of transport to hire, so we can follow Lachley.”
“Right.” She hurried into the Egyptian Hall, lifting her skirts to make running easier. Malcolm swore under his breath, then headed down Picadilly in search of a cab that would hold all four of them. He worked very hard to dispel the vision of what would happen if Marcus tangled with Jack the Ripper. He had a sinking feeling that neither Dominica Nosette nor Guy Pendergast would ever be seen again. He didn’t want that happening to anyone he called friend. If he’d thought he could persuade Margo to return to Spaldergate, he’d have packed her off immediately. But he knew only too well the futility of trying, so he set his jaw and vowed to do what he could to ensure that no more of his charges ended up missing or dead.
So far, in this lethal little game they played, Jack the Ripper had won every round.
Jenna stood in the shadows beside the garden wall behind Dr. John Lachley’s house in Cleveland Street, clutching the Beale’s revolver she’d brought with her from New York, and waited in a swivet for Noah to reappear. The detective had forced a window casement at the rear of the house and was searching quietly for any trace of Ianira Cassondra. Across the street, Marcus waited to give the alarm, should Lachley arrive before Noah finished the search.