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“Bomb!” a man near them screamed. “The floor is lined with bombs!”
The music stopped, and chaos erupted inside the great hall. Earsplitting shrieks rent the air, while the crowd stampeded and surged toward the entrance and exit doors. As Pandora stood there, stunned, Dragon leapt up and pulled her into the lee of his body, shielding her from being trampled.
“Where is Lord St. Vincent?” she asked. “Can you see him?”
It was impossible to hear Dragon’s reply above the roar.
As the fear-maddened crowd pushed, jostled, and elbowed its way toward the doors, Pandora huddled against him. In a minute she felt Gabriel’s arms close around her, and she turned toward him blindly. Without a word, he picked her up and carried her to the side of the room, while Dragon blocked the people who pushed against them.
The three of them reached the shelter of an inset arch, and Gabriel lowered Pandora’s feet to the ground. She clutched the lapels of his coat and looked up at him desperately.
“Gabriel, we have to leave here now.”
“It’s all right.”
“It’s not all right,” she insisted. “There are bombs beneath the floor, lined up like sardines in a tin. A tin that’s going to explode into a million pieces.”
Reaching into his pocket, Gabriel pulled out a peculiar object . . . some kind of clockwork movement affixed to a small metal cartridge. “I found this beneath a loose plank behind the dais.”
“What is that?”
“An alarm mechanism with a strike bar attached to a detonator cap. It was set to explode the charge.”
“But it won’t now?” Pandora asked worriedly.
“Not since I tore it off a row of cylinder bombs, by God.” Gabriel glanced at Dragon. “The crowd is thinning near the north wall exit. Let’s go. Make certain no one slams against her.”
“I’m more worried about the bombs than being jostled,” Pandora said, tugging at him impatiently. He kept an arm around her. With Dragon on her other side, they went through a doorway to a yard at the back of the hall that opened to Basinghall Street. Pandora felt weak with relief when they finally reached the cool open air. They stopped in the partial shelter of a bankruptcy court building.
Pandemonium reigned outside as a sea of humanity accumulated on the Guildhall grounds. People dashed every which way in panic. Mounted Coldstreams rode back and forth, while law enforcement vans, carriages, and horses arrived in a clamor. Whistle-shrills cut through the air as arriving police signaled to each other. Standing with her head against Gabriel’s chest, Pandora felt the reverberations of his voice as he asked, “Did you lose Prescott?”
She turned to see Ethan Ransom standing there, looking the way she felt, tired but jangling, as if an electric current were making every muscle jump. Silently Dragon handed him the clockwork mechanism. Ransom turned the object over in his hands, examining it as he replied.
“I followed him along Gresham Street and cornered him at the General Railway Goods Depot. But before I was even in arm’s reach, he—” Breaking off, Ransom shook his head helplessly, his face blank. “Strychnine pills,” he said. “Took them right in front of me. I’m sorry, my lord, but you won’t have your five minutes with him after all.” He slid the clockwork mechanism into his pocket. “God knows how far this has gone, or who else in the Home Office and Detective Force might be involved. Prescott didn’t act alone.”
“What are you going to do?” Gabriel asked.
Ransom smiled without amusement. “I’m not sure yet. But whatever it is, I’ll need to do it carefully.”
“If there’s any way I can help—” Gabriel began.
“No,” Ransom interrupted, “it’s better if we part company for good. Now that Prescott’s dead, Lady St. Vincent is safe. The less you have to do with me, the better. Don’t talk to anyone about the events of tonight. Don’t mention my visit to your house.”
“We’ll never see you again?” Pandora asked, crestfallen.
A gleam of genuine warmth entered his eyes as he glanced at her. “Not if I can help it, my lady.”
Ransom shook hands with Dragon, but hesitated as he turned to Gabriel. Usually men exchanged a handshake only if they were of similar rank.
Gabriel reached out and clasped his hand firmly. “Good luck, Ransom.”
The detective responded with a short nod and began to leave.
“There’s one thing I want to ask,” Gabriel said.
Turning back to him, Ransom lifted his brows slightly.
Gabriel’s stare was steady and speculative. “What connection do you have to the Ravenels?”
Astonished, Pandora looked from her husband to Ethan Ransom, who hesitated a bit longer than one might have expected before replying. “None at all. Why do you ask?”
“When I first met you,” Gabriel said, “I thought your eyes were black. But they’re dark blue, rimmed with black. I’ve only seen four people in my life with eyes that color, all of them Ravenels.” He paused. “And now you.”
Ransom responded with a dry laugh. “My father was a prison guard. My mother’s profession is one I can’t mention in polite company. I’m no Ravenel, my lord.”
“What do you think will happen to Mr. Ransom?” Pandora asked during the carriage ride home. Dragon had elected to sit up top with the driver, leaving her in privacy with Gabriel. She cuddled in the crook of her husband’s shoulder, while his warm hand stroked over her idly.