The Gray Ghost Read online

  The fault was hers, and hers alone.

  “Dex isn’t right in the head. When this is over and he gets what he wants, he’ll kill us. I just—” She wiped away a few tears. “Please go. Tie a couple of sheets together. I could bear anything except the thought of you getting hurt. Please.”

  “What if something happens to you?” he whispered back. “How am I supposed to go on?”

  “Because I love you. I will always love you. And you think about that every single day.”

  “Mum . . .” Tears pooled in his eyes.

  “Please . . . Please, Trev.”

  He nodded, and she hugged him, amazed at how much he’d grown, feeling his warmth, his heartbeat against her ear, as she pressed her head against his chest. She wanted to remember this moment, everything about him, in case it was the last time. Finally, she pushed away. “Hurry.”

  63

  Frank walked in just as she turned toward the sink. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Trevor doesn’t feel well. I told him to go take a nap.”

  “Any more beer?”

  “Sorry. I put it on the list for Dex.”

  He grunted some response, then went back to the living room, this time taking a seat in Dex’s armchair to watch the show.

  Allegra, grateful the curtains and blinds were closed, returned to the kitchen, rearranging the dishes in the cupboards, trying to make enough racket that it would cover any noise that Trevor might make climbing out the window.

  Twenty minutes later, as she finished scrubbing the sink, she heard what sounded like a snore. She froze. When she heard it again, she turned off the water and stood there for several seconds. There it was again . . .

  The third time she heard it, she looked to the back door. It opened to a small patio area and a square of grass, where Trevor used to play when he was little. She’d have to jump the fence to the neighbor’s yard and get out that way. Once she found Trevor, they could go for help.

  She didn’t even know if she could actually get over the fence. Still, she had to try, and she started to edge her way toward the kitchen table. All she needed to do was get on the other side of it, open the door . . .

  If Frank opened his eyes, he’d be able to see the back door from the armchair.

  What if he was setting her up?

  Grabbing a dish towel, she dried her hands, casually walking toward the living room to take a look.

  Frank’s head was tilted back, eyes closed, mouth open.

  Seconds ticked by.

  Slowly she started to back toward the kitchen table. She could do this. Three more steps.

  Two.

  One.

  As Allegra reached for the handle, the front door burst open. She dropped her hand, looked over, saw Dex, carrying two bags of groceries. A look of suspicion clouded his face when he noticed her proximity to the back door.

  “Where is he?” Dex demanded.

  Frank woke with a start. “What the—?”

  Allegra’s heart was thumping. Dex’s eyes bored into hers, and he stalked over to the table, dumped both bags down, one of them spilling onto its side. A yellow onion rolled out, across the dark wood tabletop and to the floor.

  “Trevor!” Dex called.

  Her heart beat with every second of silence.

  He was gone.

  She wanted to cry with relief—even when Dex pulled out his gun and pointed it at her. She wondered if it would hurt. It didn’t matter.

  Trevor would be safe.

  “I’ll kill you for this.” Dex raised the barrel toward her.

  “I’m here!” Trevor stood at the top of the stairs. He glared at Dex. “You want to shoot someone? Go ahead. The neighbors will hear. They’ll call for help. Try it.”

  “Shut up and get down here,” Dex ordered. “Help your mother with the groceries.”

  Allegra’s knees started shaking. She grabbed a chair at the table, leaning against it. The tears came, not because Dex would’ve killed her but because Trevor never left. How could he do this to her? Why?

  Why wouldn’t he listen?

  Her son started down the stairs, his expression one of pure anger, and she wondered for a moment if it was directed at her. But when he passed Dex, his back to the man, he looked right at her and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  She reached out, grasped his hand, trying to smile at him. He put his arm around her. Once out of sight of both men, he whispered, “I am not leaving you. Ever.”

  Her heart broke a little that night. After dinner, she and Trevor remained at the table while Frank and Dex watched TV, the two men drinking, unfortunately not near enough to inebriate them beyond loose conversation. At one point, Frank lifted his beer, asking, “Whatever this thing is, it can’t be hidden in that car.”

  “Probably not,” Dex said. “Or someone would’ve found it by now, right?”

  “Exactly what I was thinking. Bigger question is, how do we find it?”

  “It’s got to be in that diary.”

  “The one you don’t have?”

  “Like I said, we don’t need it. My kid’s got one of those memories like a computer. I swear, he remembers everything. Trev,” he shouted. “Get out here.”

  Trevor looked at her, worried. “I don’t know anything about where it’s hidden,” he called out.

  As much as she’d wished that Trevor had left that afternoon, she realized that he’d grown up, taken responsibility for something he believed in. Her. She smiled, trying to will what little strength she had to him so that he could also fight this battle. “Tell them what you read. It keeps them happy.”

  He reluctantly rose and walked into the front room. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “Where’d we leave off?” Dex asked.

  Frank drained the last of his beer, then set the empty bottle on the table. “I think that Payton fellow was captured. He was trying to use that hidden dagger to get away, but someone took it from him.”

  64

  JOURNAL OF JONATHON PAYTON, 5TH VISCOUNT WELLSWICK

  1906

  All hope seemed lost as I waited to feel the dagger thrust into my back. Imagining death had never been this frightening. It was mere seconds, but so many thoughts flitted through my head. The atrocities my cousin had committed and that he was behind the robbery . . . I thought of the poor engineers, as well as the hired detective, who’d lost their lives at my cousin’s hand. I thought of Miss Atwater and prayed she would somehow escape to safety.

  All this while I braced myself for the dagger to come down toward me. But instead of pain, I felt it sawing the rope.

  * * *

  —

  “DON’T MOVE,” someone whispered in my ear, though I barely heard it over the pounding of my heart. Whoever it was draped the rope over my wrists, then disappeared into the shadows.

  Reggie returned inside, eyeing me, squinting as he examined the rope at my feet and hands. “How’d you loosen that?”

  I forced myself not to look behind me. “What? Reggie—”

  My cousin held the lantern aloft, his expression scathing. “Reginald—I’ve always hated the name Reggie.”

  “Please. You’re not like this. Think of your wife. Your son.”

  “That’s exactly who I’m thinking of.” He straightened, looked behind him, the Grey Ghost now on the bed of the lorry. “Eddie, Mac, leave the car and get rid of my cousin. Make it look like an accident. Finlay, take the reins. Time to go.”

  “Reg— Reginald! Don’t do this. Please!”

  Reggie ignored me as Eddie jumped down from the back of the lorry, drawing a knife from his waistband as he stalked in my direction. Mac joined him, while Reggie held the lantern aloft. Eddie lifted the blade, the flickering lantern flame reflecting on the cold steel.

  “Two against one?” came a voice from behind
me. “That’s hardly fair.”

  Mac and Eddie stopped in their tracks, both men looking around, trying to find the source of the voice.

  “Who’s there?” Reggie asked, holding the lantern higher as he searched the warehouse.

  “The name’s Isaac Bell.” Mr. Bell stepped out into the light, walking toward us, until he stood between me and my would-be murderers. Dressed all in white, he held my father’s brass-handled cane, the hidden blade returned to its sheath. He looked at Reggie, then turned his attention toward Mac and Eddie. “And the lot of you are under arrest for train robbery.”

  The shock on Eddie and Mac’s faces lasted a few seconds before both burst out laughing.

  Eddie pointed his dagger toward Mr. Bell. “Followed us all the way from New York, did you? By yourself? Aren’t you the funny bloke.” He took a step forward.

  Isaac Bell blocked his path with my father’s cane. “Sorry. I can’t let you do that.”

  Eddie, knife in one hand, grabbed the cane with the other, using it to pull Isaac toward him. His leer twisted the scar on his cheek as he glared at Mr. Bell. “I’ll slit your throat and shove your fancy stick in after it.”

  “Will you, now?” Isaac said, taking a half step back.

  Eddie held tight to the cane.

  As Isaac ran his left hand down the cane’s shaft, gripping the handle with his right, I thought he’d pull out the blade. But, no. He leaned in, drove the cane forward, rammed the man with his shoulder. Eddie’s dagger flew from his hand, sliding across the wood-plank floor. As Eddie staggered back, Isaac swung the cane around, striking Mac in the chest with the heavy handle, bringing him to his knees.

  Reggie aimed his gun at the detective. Isaac pivoted, swinging the cane again, knocking the pistol from his hand.

  Reggie started to reach for it, but Isaac kicked the pistol away, swung the cane against Eddie’s spine, knocking him into Mac.

  Even then the three men sought to attack. But Isaac pressed the cane’s catch, drawing the hidden dagger from the handle. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough,” Isaac said, as he shoved the point toward Mac’s throat, stopping just as it drew blood. “You’re under arrest.” The sound of an approaching horseman caught their attention. Isaac was the only one who didn’t look, his attention on the three men. “Get the gun, Payton!”

  The moment I grabbed the pistol and pointed it at them, my cousin ran out the door.

  “I say . . . Reggie?” I recognized my friend Byron’s voice. He’d gotten my message. “Where’s Payton?”

  Reggie raced past, climbing up onto the lorry. “Go! Go!”

  Finlay shook the reins.

  The lorry lurched forward, the wheels squeaking beneath the weight of its load.

  “They’re getting away,” I called out, as Byron dismounted, clearly not understanding.

  Isaac quickly assessed the situation. “Watch these two, Payton. Shoot if you have to.” Isaac ran out, grabbed the reins of Byron’s horse, mounted, and raced off after the lorry.

  I held the gun pointed at the two, my fears of being left in charge, turning my stomach. This was not me. I was the last person meant to be a hero. Even so, I realized that if either of these two men tried to escape, I would have to shoot them or let them go. Not wanting anyone’s death on my conscience, I saw the rope. “Byron. We need to tie these two. Quick. Now!”

  “I—”

  “Now!” I ordered, before I lost all nerve.

  Byron nodded, grabbing the rope that had been used to hog-tie me, securing it around their wrists. Certain that wouldn’t be enough, I told him to wrap it around their waists, so that they were back-to-back.

  “What, in heaven’s name, did they do?” Byron asked.

  “Robbed a train.”

  Byron looked over at me, his astonishment evident. “The robbery where the engineers—” His face paled. “They were murdered!”

  “Go get a night watchman,” I said. “And tell him to bring help.”

  Byron stood, eyed the two men, who were struggling against their bonds. “Do you think it wise I should leave you?”

  In truth, the last thing I wanted was to be left alone. With no other choice, I pretended a bravado that I did not possess. “I really don’t want to kill these two, but I will if they try to escape.”

  Both men stilled, eyeing me in turn, the pistol in my trembling hand.

  Byron nodded. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  When he left, the quiet of the place terrified me. I thought of Miss Atwater. If I felt like this, what must she feel? “What have you done with Miss Atwater?” I demanded.

  Both men refused to answer.

  “Where?”

  The man called Mac gave a cynical laugh. “You’re alone. Your cousin tells us you’re a coward. Afraid of your own shadow. Let us go now and we’ll be gentle on you.”

  I felt a bit hot under the collar at his words, not just because Reggie had talked about me to these cutthroats but because they were true. I was a coward.

  I glanced at the dagger from my father’s cane, recalling how Mr. Bell had used it on Mac, immediately gaining his compliance. Of course, it had a lot to do with how he’d wielded the cane prior, but I was fairly certain I could at least put the point to someone’s throat.

  Keeping a wide berth, I circled the two men, picked up the cane’s dagger, then approached, pointing it and the pistol at them. Both my hands were shaking. “Where is Miss Atwater?” I demanded.

  The two men stared straight ahead.

  Overcoming my cowardice, I looked at Eddie’s scar, placed the tip of my blade against his other cheek. “Lest you want this side of your face to match the other,” I said, trying to sound as threatening as Mr. Bell, “you’ll tell me what I want to know.”

  “You’re as mad as your cousin.”

  “Where is she?” I shouted. My hand shook so much the blade pierced his skin, bringing forth a drop of blood. A mere two days ago, I might have drawn back in horror, but I pictured Miss Atwater, frightened and alone, and I pressed harder. “Where?”

  “We don’t know,” Mac said.

  I kept the blade at Eddie’s cheek, applying more pressure.

  Eddie’s eyes widened in surprise, and perhaps with a bit of fear. “He said he was taking her to the Dowager Cottage.”

  I lowered the blade, shocked. ’Twas my grandmother’s cottage, empty until Reggie had moved in with his wife and child. Before I had a chance to question him further, Byron and two night watchmen arrived. They took both men away, leaving Byron and me to wait for Mr. Bell. And just when I was about to give up hope, I heard the clip-clop of horses’ hooves and the squeak of the lorry’s wheels.

  Mr. Bell was driving the lorry, Byron’s horse in tow. Bell tossed the reins to Byron, dragged Reggie from the floorboard and deposited him at my feet. His hands tied at the back, Reggie started to rouse, apparently having been knocked unconscious.

  “Where’s the other man?” I asked.

  “The driver? I’m afraid he didn’t make it. Not too bright, that one. What about your two?”

  “Night watchmen took them.” I told him what I’d learned about Miss Atwater.

  “Good,” he said, as Reggie started to look around.

  “What now?” I asked.

  Isaac pulled Reggie up by his shoulder, dragging him so that he was seated, his back to a workbench. “We find out who hired your cousin.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I suspect your cousin was a pawn to whomever set out to ruin Rolls-Royce. He took advantage of his connection to you and the company to steal the forty-fifty.”

  His words stunned me, since it meant that I was also a pawn.

  Mr. Bell must have noticed my expression. “All is not lost, Payton. Chess happens to be one of my specialties.”

  Reggie glared. “I’ll never cooper
ate.”

  Isaac Bell spared him a look and gave him a dismissive smile. He walked me to the door, his voice low. “I intend to question him further. I’d like to know what happened to the rest of the money stolen during that train robbery.”

  “It wasn’t in the chest?” I asked. “I saw them load it onto the lorry.”

  “At least half of the money’s missing. I’d say half a million. No doubt hidden away.”

  “Then what was in the chest?” I asked.

  “Engine parts, to get the Silver Ghost up and running.”

  It didn’t occur to me until that moment how devious Reginald’s plan had been. With the Grey Ghost missing, and no parts to spare, Rolls-Royce would never get the Silver Ghost finished in time for the Olympia Motor Show. Yet one more blow to the company we’d invested everything in. If not for Mr. Bell, Reggie’s attempt to ruin Rolls-Royce would have succeeded.

  About to leave, I gave my cousin a parting glance, recognizing his smug look. “You know where that money is, don’t you?” I asked.

  His expression darkened, his smile cruel. “Since you helped me hide it, that makes you complicit.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “You’re a fool if you think otherwise.”

  Horrified at the thought, I wracked my brain, trying to determine if there was any possibility that I might have taken part in his dastardly plans. I could think of nothing and looked to Mr. Bell for guidance.

  “Perhaps,” Bell said, “you should determine if Miss Atwater is safe.”

  “And what of him?” I asked, nodding toward Reggie.

  “As I said, your cousin is only part of the equation. I intend to use him to find out who was really behind the theft of the Grey Ghost.”

  Reggie’s face twisted with triumph and hate. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I don’t plan on cooperating.”