The Bachelor's Bride (The Thompsons of Locust Street #1) - Holly Bush Page 0,65

the marble floor above him, even though many of the kitchen and serving staff were screaming. He knew he could not afford to be distracted, but for a single moment it occurred to him that the enemy was here, in his mother’s home, looking to steal away a young boy and maybe harm others in the process. Elspeth. He felt the warrior yell that he’d heard from James and MacAvoy bubbling up in his throat. He wanted to tear down walls and stab men in the heart. He recognized that he was not quite sane in those brief moments, that there was something primitive about what he felt, that he would do physical damage to those opposing him, and he knew just as well that he must use his head before he used his fists.

“Come on, Graham, back outside. There’s a gas station in a small building that serves this house and a few others.”

Alexander unlocked the back door and went outside, Graham on his heels, running across the patios and around the fountains. He quickly opened a nearly invisible door in a fence and went through. Ahead there was a small brick building, its door hanging wide open.

“Do you smell anything?” Graham asked.

“Just my mother’s roses,” Alexander said. “I’m going to have to go inside and see if they’ve broken a pipe or just shut off our valve. Don’t come any closer.”

Alexander walked across the mowed lawn toward the building, sniffing the air as he did. There was very little breeze that evening, but Alexander crept slowly closer, listening intently for hissing pipes even as the noise from his parents’ home was a cacophony of sound in the background. The building was still and silent. He looked in the open door and heard nothing and smelled nothing unusual. Thankfully, there was enough moonlight for him to see the valves on the wall, Pendergast painted above one of them on the wood. There was a large wrench on the floor below it.

“Looks like they shut off the valve here,” Alexander shouted. “Check the basement of the house where the gas lines come in and make sure no one’s tampered with anything before I turn this back on.”

Graham hurried away, and Alexander was left with his thoughts. His stomach lurched, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Where was Elspeth and the rest of her family? Were his mother and father and sister safe? Something wasn’t right with someone in his orbit. He could feel it in his gut. But he could not move one inch until he heard Graham give the go-ahead. He would have to wait and sweat and worry and try to keep himself from punching a brick wall.

“Good to go, Pendergast,” Graham yelled.

Alexander knelt on the stone floor and picked up the wrench, fitting it to the valve.

“I don’t think they sabotaged it anywhere else,” Graham said.

“I hope you’re right,” Alexander said and looked over his shoulder.

“They’re diabolical, it seems, but not suicidal.”

Alexander stopped. “You’re saying they are in the house? That they didn’t want a gas explosion because they are in the house!”

“Turn the wrench. We’ve got to get inside.”

Alexander turned the wrench and heard gas running to the pipe marked Pendergast. He ran, following Graham to the back door, securing it behind him as one of Graham’s men stepped in front it, his gun in his hand. Graham was shouting directions to his men in the now well-lit kitchen, and Alexander hurried past him and up the stairs to the main floor. The scene was chaos. Guests were hurrying this way and that, women crying, the men grabbing wraps from harried and frightened servants. He worked his way through the crowd looking for any of the Thompson family, but especially for Elspeth. He heard his uncle’s voice shouting over the din.

“Has anyone seen Isadora?”

Alexander found him as his father put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Nathan?” his father said.

“I can’t find her anywhere! She was near the ladies’ retiring room when the lights went out.”

“We’ll find her, Uncle Nathan,” Alexander said. “Graham and his men are doing a thorough—”

“Pendergast! Pendergast!”

Alexander turned and saw James Thompson running to him, his face white, his teeth clenched.

“She’s gone!”

“Who’s gone?” Alexander said, but he knew. He knew in his gut and in his heart, and his world shrank to a very small and dangerous place. He marshaled his disoriented thoughts. Maybe she was hiding. Maybe she was angrier that he’d left her alone all