Page 97 of Unforeseen Affairs
“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 yourselfbetterthanhim?”
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. Ineverallowed 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.
