The Spaldergate housekeeper took charge of Ianira, Jenna, and the others, settling them down on sturdy cots in one corner, but nothing Skeeter said would induce Noah Armstrong to stay in the vault, as well.
“No!” The detective glared at Skeeter, expression haggard. “Dammit, what kind of coward do you think I am, to hide down here when he’s holding Miss Smith hostage! God knows what he’ll do to her! I’ve only stayed in hiding this long because of them,” he jerked his head toward Jenna Caddrick. Ianira and Marcus sat on one of the temporary cots, holding their frightened little girls close.
“What you’ve done for my friends . . .” Skeeter said quietly. “Nothing I do will ever repay that. Except, maybe, catching this bastard. But if Kaederman kills you while we’re chasing him, you won’t be able to testify and all of this will have been for nothing.”
In the brief silence, while Noah Armstrong ground molars together, the vault’s telephone shrilled. One of the housemaids on duty with the Ripper Watch Team answered. Her eyes lit up as she gasped, “Margo’s back? But we thought she was a hostage!”
Skeeter ran for the stairs, Armstrong pounding right on his heels. They found Margo in the parlour, where Hetty Gilbert was fussing over her, wrapping a quilt around her shoulders and putting an icepack to her bruised face, while Mr. Gilbert brought a generous brandy and forced it between her teeth. She was shuddering, from cold or shock or both. “Malcolm’s really all right?” she was asking anxiously as Skeeter and Armstrong burst into the room.