Page 75 of A Little Bit Dangerous
“The magistrate might force his way in.”
Cursing Daventry to Hades, Lord Oldman yanked the door open and stepped into the corridor.
Christian expected to see the man in relaxed attire, maybe a banyan or even a nightshirt. He did not expect to find Lord Oldman wearing a blue silk robe and a pharaoh’s ceremonial headdress.
ChapterSixteen
Lord Oldman froze when Christian stepped out of the shadows. His arrogant mouth fell open as he stood bare-chested in a dark blue cloak, gripping a staff, the gold head styled like a hissing cobra.
Silent seconds passed before blind panic took hold and the degenerate darted towards the iron door. Panting, he fumbled with the key, desperate to secure the room—but it was too late.
A pitiful cry for help echoed from the depths of the chamber. It was faint, perhaps muffled by a gag, but a distress call nonetheless.
Christian pounced like a wolf in the darkness, knocking off the pharaoh’s headdress as he grabbed the lord round the throat. With the moves of a skilled pugilist, he soon had the peer pinned to the floor.
“Get off me, you imbecile!” Lord Oldman squirmed and fought to break free but lacked Christian’s brute strength. “You’ll pay for this. Mark my words.”
The ornate key slipped from the devil’s fingers.
Isabella picked it up, hurried past them and entered the candlelit chamber. She came to a crashing halt, finding nothing in the room but cabinets full of Egyptian artefacts.
Despite the men arguing in the corridor and Lord Oldman telling the butler he’d make sure no one in London employed him again, the sound of someone’s whimpers breezed over her like whispers in the wind.
Was it a spirit from the underworld?
It certainly seemed to be coming from below ground.
Had the lord been summoning the dead?
Was the room plagued by an Egyptian curse?
“Do you hear that?” she said, sensing someone behind her.
Mr Gibbs squeezed past to examine the glass cabinets and tiled floor. He stamped on the floor with the heel of his boot. “Is anyone down there?”
The butler appeared in the doorway. “It’s the f-footman. While serving dinner, he dropped a platter and ruined his lordship’s best trousers.” He pointed to the case containing the gold chalice. “You need to move that one to access the secret chamber.”
Mr Gibbs moved the cabinet with ease to reveal a trapdoor. He raised the hatch to find a small flight of stone steps leading down into a makeshift tomb.
“His lordship keeps his treasure chests down there.”
Isabella’s heartbeat pounded in her throat.
Mr Gibbs did not advise against following him into the chamber. He did not assume she was plagued by the weaknesses of her sex. “It might not be pretty, miss,” he said by way of a warning.
Memories flooded her mind. The punishments given to girls who misbehaved at Bramling Seminary. Hours spent in a cold, dark room until she finally agreed to a private audience with Mr Griffin.
They descended the steps.
The lit wall sconce cast a modicum of light over three large chests. A scrawny fellow was bound by the hands to a rope fed through a pulley on the ceiling.
“He doesn’t hurt them, miss,” the butler muttered, his shame evident. “He just shouts and curses and calls on Anubis.”
“I beg to differ.” She saw the abject terror in the young man’s eyes. Words often hurt more than a punch until one built up an immunity. The loss of one’s liberty was akin to a chokehold.
Mr Gibbs drew a blade and sawed through the rope, catching the footman by the waist as he sagged to the floor. “I took the trouble of sending word to Hart Street before we left the tavern. One of Mr Daventry’s agents will be here shortly.”
Punishing one’s servant was not a crime. “We’ll need a confession from Lord Oldman. We need him to admit he sold the artefacts knowing they were cheap imitations.”
