Page 44 of Unforeseen Affairs (The Sedleys #6)

“You! I knew it was you, you vile little bitch!”

Mr. Trenwith dug his fingers into Charlotte’s arm with punishing force.

She stared at him, paralyzed, like a hare caught in a groundskeeper’s snare.

“I would’ve marked that bastard’s hideous hair from a mile away. Naval hero, pah ! Just a lucky, dunderheaded sailor without a lick of sense about him. And to think, to find both of you here, skulking about the ticket office,” Mr. Trenwith spat. “Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”

Charlotte realized he was gesturing with a knife, stabbing at the air to punctuate his words.

A loud gasp rang out from the audience. But it was Mr. Bass who had drawn the reaction; Charlotte and Mr. Trenwith were hidden from their view.

Where had her mind been? Hardly anything ever escaped her notice; she was practically impossible to sneak up on.

She looked back to the spot where she had seen the shade of her mother, but it had disappeared.

The woman who had once been her safety, her comfort, her home—she was again gone from this world, with nothing left behind. No trace of her too-short life.

Charlotte felt a sudden, immense sorrow. She wavered, nearly sinking to the floorboards. But her swaying only stoked the flames of Mr. Trenwith’s fury. He heaved her violently back up and shook her in anger.

“What? You would mock me? Mock my profession? My dedication, the promise I made?”

Charlotte blinked, neither willing nor able to respond. She had to break free of him. She glanced back toward the stage.

By now Mr. Bass had stretched out nearly a foot. He looked a sickening approximation of a man—a child’s scribblings come to life, his legs and torso unsettlingly long.

Charlotte was whipped back around before she could see any more.

“You rich, spoiled sods are all the same,” Mr. Trenwith snarled, digging his fingers deeper into her arm.

Charlotte couldn’t help but wince, but she quickly schooled her face against the pain.

He pointed the tip of his knife toward her chin. She refused to look away, keeping her expression as empty as she could even as she was gripped by fear.

“Does it mean nothing to you and your sort? Shredding a man’s reputation to tatters? Depriving him of his livelihood? Of his…” He swallowed thickly, eyes crazed as he stammered. “From his…”

Mr. Trenwith lowered his knife, leveling it at her breast. Just where the pretty lace ruffles spilled down from her throat.

“Remove him from his partner…” he finally said. His eyes were glassy. “His dear friend, his…”

As Mr. Trenwith’s focus wavered, Charlotte quickly looked back at the stage.

Mr. Bass was still elongated, but her window of opportunity was closing fast. Once he finished this trick, he would perform the finale and float above the stage, which was not part of his spirit circle routine.

Charlotte stared at him, watching him move about even as she remained in Mr. Trenwith’s iron grip.

From this vantage point she could see that as Mr. Bass’s upper body moved, his legs appeared stiff and ungainly, as if they were having trouble keeping up.

That was it. There was a contraption of some kind attached to the lower part of his body, concealed underneath a suit of clothes that was ingeniously tailored to change shape and adapt to his shifting form. She looked around frantically; she would need something sharp…

“Too haughty to speak, girl? Think yourself above me?” Mr. Trenwith growled, and he shook her again, rattling her teeth unpleasantly.

“No,” Charlotte said in a low voice, narrowing her eyes as she regarded the murderous, disgruntled man.

“Think yourself a medium, do you?” Mr. Trenwith snarled. Spittle flew into Charlotte’s face as his rage broke free from his control. His face contorted, his eyes glowed madly. “You think yourself better than him ?”

Suddenly she felt it again—her flesh prickled, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. This time, though, she knew it was not a warning.

It was her mother. She was there with her, bolstering her.

Loving her.

The blade pushed further into the ruffles. Charlotte felt the point of it against her sternum.

“Better than Thaddeus Taggart Bass? The greatest living medium in England?”

At the edge of her vision, Charlotte spotted movement. A blur of beautiful red hair.

“He’s never been discredited. I wouldn’t allow it. I never allowed it. Even when you made your foolish attempt, I was there to take the blame. And I will stop you again, once and for all!”

She held defiantly still as he hissed at her, full of hatred. The arm holding the knife twitched, and she felt a prick on her chest as the knife drew blood.

Suddenly Mr. Trenwith pulled back and stood up straight, alerted to the heavy sound of feet pounding across the boards behind him.

Charlotte broke into a wicked grin.

“Not this time.”

Mr. Trenwith roared and lunged forward as the charging Colin crashed into him.

They all went down.

The knife clattered to the ground. Colin’s arms were wrapped around Mr. Trenwith’s legs as he lay on the floor next to Charlotte. Both were motionless.

Colin held his breath, and his heart hung in the balance, as if it were hesitant to beat again until he gave it license to.

And then Charlotte rolled to the side, and he exhaled all his fear and worry at once. She could move. She was not grievously injured.

Before he’d even a moment to catch his breath, she was up and scrambling after the knife. She was too eager, though, and accidentally kicked it with the toe of her boot, sending it spinning out onto the stage.

Without hesitation, Charlotte followed it on her hands and knees, and seized it before pushing herself back up to her feet.

Whispers emanated from the audience, quickly growing louder as the patrons registered what they were seeing.

Colin’s mind reeled fore and aft; he needed to go to her, to hold her and protect her.

But his task had been to clear the theater staff from the area and watch the wing.

The wing where Mr. Trenwith was now picking himself up off the floor.

He was reaching into his jacket, face seething with fury, teeth bared and eyes flashing.

The audience screamed.

In the opposite wing, on the other side of Mr. Bass, a stagehand was watching the proceedings with mouth agape. Colin briefly locked eyes with him, but he could see that the man was in a state of befuddlement and would be of no help.

No more time for dithering , he admonished himself.

With all of his strength, he charged at Trenwith and tackled him again, sending him back down to the floor.

Trenwith struggled, but Colin hadn’t spent his adult life handling unruly seamen to be bested on land by this bastard.

With a thick, satisfying thud he pinned him to the ground face-down, holding his arms behind his back.

Only then did he look up.

It didn’t feel strange at all, standing alone before the lights with a sea of wide-eyed faces staring back at her.

After all, she’d been on a stage many times before, whether she was running out to interrupt rehearsals or playing jacks upon the boards with the wardrobe keeper’s son.

The audience was immaterial; she’d heard them nearly every night of her childhood, sometimes twice in an evening when she was older.

Mr. Bass turned about, shuffling his long legs with some difficulty. He stood nearly four hands taller than he’d been before, looking not quite human, as if he’d stumbled out of one of Charlotte’s restless dreams.

She could practically feel his shock and confusion as he stared at her, slack-jawed. To her surprise, she felt a strange sense of calm. She smiled at Mr. Bass and stepped forward.

Finally , she thought. Finally, Mama, I’ll expose him to the world.

And then she paused.

Why? Why must it be like this? Her motivation had been to ease the mind of Mrs. Stone, so that her temperament might be placated long enough to teach Charlotte proper mediumship.

But had Charlotte not just seen her true heart’s desire?

Her mother had not only shown herself to her, but blessed her with her love and support.

Couldn’t she be content to leave it be now, and take Colin up on his gentlemanly offer of marriage?

To wed him and spend all their nights together? To bear his child?

His child?

Charlotte shook her head; her mind was careening off a cliff. She forced herself back into the moment.

“What ho?” Mr. Bass intoned with a forced joviality. “A maiden! A witness, to prove to you all that I have grown without any parlor tricks, without any subterfuge!”

The audience laughed awkwardly. Charlotte sensed that they could tell this was not part of the show, but their anticipation was palpable. This was far more exciting than what they had expected for the admittance fee.

She looked back to the wing.

Colin was there on his knees, with Trenwith face-down beneath him. He was holding the attacker’s arms behind his back, rendering him entirely at his mercy.

He caught her eye and nodded, urging her forward.

Charlotte thought of Mrs. Gearing, so eager to hear word of her departed son. And of Mrs. Kitson, deceived into thinking she was receiving a message from one of her children who never made it into this world.

She must see this through. They had undertaken this task together, and she had to finish it for him. He’d sworn to help her, to do whatever she asked of him. Sir Colin Gearing was nothing if not loyal.

And she loved him dearly for it.

“A maiden?” Trenwith raged, straining to turn his head sideways and keep his face off the floor. “More like your slag, I’d wager.”

Colin felt himself flooded with blind, red fury.

This man had attacked Charlotte, had held a knife to her. And now he dared to insult her? Without further thought, Colin took a swing at him. The well-placed hook struck Trenwith just above his jaw, slamming his head into the floor and knocking him out cold.

Colin remained on top of Trenwith, breathing heavily. Never before had he lost his temper so. Never had he delivered a blow to a man unable to defend himself.

But he found he didn’t care anymore. He stood up, releasing his limp prisoner, and looked out at the stage.

He watched as Charlotte took another step toward Mr. Bass, bringing her heel down as loudly as she could.

“No,” she said in a voice more commanding than any he had heard from her before. “I am not your assistant.” She paused, waiting for the excited whispers of the audience to fill the silence before continuing. “Nothing of the sort.”

Colin thought he marked a sudden change in Mr. Bass’s expression, as he seemed to recognize both her and her aim all at once. He began to look frantically about, hopping clumsily from one outlandishly long leg to the other, unable to bend them.

Colin felt as frantic as Mr. Bass looked, but he stayed where he was. This was Charlotte’s task to finish—on that she had been insistent—and he knew she was more than capable.

He trusted her.

Suddenly she rushed at Mr. Bass, knife at the ready. She reached up and seized a handful of fabric about his middle—his shirt and vest, perhaps part of his coat. Mr. Bass began twisting awkwardly back and forth as he struggled against her hold, but she refused to relinquish her grip.

“Unhand me, miss!” Mr. Bass yowled as he stumbled backward.

Charlotte held fast, staggering along with him, until they were very nearly upon the curtained backdrop. Gasps and shouts rang out across the audience, but she was determined. Somehow, they both steadied themselves without falling.

Finally, once she had regained her balance, she was able to position the knife just so, that she might cut the garments without hurting the man underneath.

The audience reacted with blood-curdling screams, thinking she intended murder.

With one slashing motion Charlotte ripped the blade through the fabric, cutting as long of a gash as she could.

Then she tossed the knife aside, grabbed at the edge of the gaping hole, and began tearing away.

A huge flap opened at Mr. Bass’s front, exposing a strange cage of leather straps about his torso, along with metal braces secured around his hips and running down his legs.

After a moment the screams died down, giving way to a rumble of murmurs. Some members of the audience were standing, trying to get a closer look at Mr. Bass.

“Yes!” Colin whispered, clenching his fist victoriously. “You’ve done it!”

Charlotte had picked up the knife again and was slicing the rest of the way down Mr. Bass’s trouser legs, a woman determined even as he danced back and forth in a panic.

Mr. Bass was upon metal stilts.

An enormous gasp rose from the audience, and many began pointing at him and shouting.

Now , Colin thought, struggling to contain his excitement as he watched Charlotte drop the knife again and straighten herself to speak. Tell them all.

But before she could open her mouth and declare Mr. Bass a fraud to all in attendance, he began to wobble atop his stilts. He threw his arms out and waved them wildly in a desperate attempt to keep his balance, but it was to no avail. Mr. Bass fell backward, right into the grand drape.

Oh no .

A hideous groan cut through the din, followed by thunderous sounds of splintering and cracking.

Colin was dimly aware of shouting, of his feet moving.

He saw Charlotte look up, then step backward. He reached out. But it was no use. He was too far away.

The gigantic curtain, and the entire rigging system above it, came crashing down.