She nodded. “Just shook, is all. You’d better go an’ see about that cabbie, mister.”
“Stay here, please. I’ll see you’re taken someplace warm and I’ll certainly want a description of your attacker.”
She nodded again, leaning against the shop wall while the bobby hurried up the steps toward the Viaduct. The moment he was out of sight, she dragged herself to her feet and headed the opposite way, walking as fast as she could push herself. Margo was still badly shaken, but she had to get away before that constable returned and started asking questions she didn’t want to answer. She had to report Kaederman’s escape, too, and Malcolm was injured, on his way to Spaldergate for treatment. She groaned aloud. It was a long way from Holborn to Battersea, which left her with far too much time to worry about Malcolm on the way. He had to be all right! Just had to be . . .
I blew it, Kit, she wailed silently, I really messed up! Worse than South Africa!
Castigating herself every step of the way, Margo walked faster.
At Skeeter’s harsh insistence, they moved Jenna Caddrick and the others into the vault beneath Spaldergate House within half an hour of the attack at the Carlton Club. Spaldergate’s vault was, at the moment, quite literally the safest place in all of London. “Kaederman’s got Margo hostage, which means he’ll find out exactly where you’re hiding,” Skeeter had said ruthlessly, overriding Noah Armstrong’s objections. The detective, shaken at seeing his own face mirrored in Skeeter’s newly rearranged one, reluctantly agreed, even handing over the damning proof that would condemn Senator Caddrick. They packed up and moved yet again, returning to the gatehouse only to find another crisis underway. Malcolm had arrived twenty minutes earlier by hansom cab, shot through the chest and barely conscious. Both Dr. Nerian and Paula Booker were in surgery, working to save his life. Skeeter tightened jaw muscles over a whole spate of curses and carried his honorary nieces down the stairs leading to the vault.