“They are here,” he whispers. “Men. With guns.”
I do not ask whether they are Norrington’s men. No one else is going to lay armed siege to Thorne Manor with us inside.
“Let us check the rear door,” I whisper. “If we can slip out—”
Something flies through the window with the deafening crash of breaking glass. A rock tumbles to the floor. For a moment, I can only stare at it, outrage erupting. They dare break Lord Thorne’s front window?
Of course, that reaction lasts only a moment before I realize the breaking of his window is hardly our greatest concern. By then, voices sound outside the window, the drapes billowing with the night wind as one man warns another to clear the glass before entering.
Nicolas grabs my arm and tugs me toward the back of the house.
“No!” I whisper. “That is what they want us to do.”
As I speak, I am already running for the stairs. There is no time to explain, but Nicolas does not need an explanation. Smashing the front window with a rock is hardly a stealthy entrance. They want us to hear it. They want us to run pell-mell out the back where they may scoop us up without fear of confrontation.
Sure enough, as we reach the stairs, the man coming through the window says, “Did you see them?”
I dash up the stairs as quietly as I can. When I reach the top, Nicolas whispers, “Oui! There is a secret passage. I recall Lord Thorne joking about it. You are a genius, crécerelle. You know where it is?”
I do not answer. Yes, I have heard of a secret passage, one that in our time, William Thorne barred up after a tragedy. It would still be open here. Yet that is not where I take Nicolas. I grab his hand, and I race into the spare bedroom.
I am barely through the door when boots thud on the stairs. I whirl to Nicolas.
“Do you trust me?”
He blinks at the question. “Of course.”
I grip his hand tight. “Then come. Quickly.”
He runs beside me as I cross to the center of the room, my brain whirring to remember exactly the right spot—
I skid to a stop as I stumble over a chest where there had been nothing a moment ago. I am through. I am already—
There is no one holding my hand. I wheel, and my heart seizes as I see Nicolas standing on the very spot that holds the time stitch. He’s staring at Bronwyn’s desk.
“Do not move,” I say.
“I am not certain I dare. The room has changed, has it not?”
“Yes. Now take a large step in my direction, please. Do not return to that spot.”
I am ready to say more, but he doesn’t need it. He takes that giant step, and I am just about to speak when the door opens. We both wheel as Nicolas pulls his sword in one smooth move. A head pops around the door, one far lower than we expect.
“Edmund?” I say.
My five-year-old nephew opens the door and stands there, solemnly eying this sword-wielding stranger. Nicolas quickly lowers his weapon as Edmund steps in, wearing a long nightshirt.
“You are not a ghost?” he says to Nicolas.
“I... do not think so.” Nicolas glances at me. “Please tell me I am not a ghost. There are many strange explanations for what has just occurred, and I am hoping that is not the correct one.”
“It is not,” I say.
“You are alive, then?” Edmund walks in and closes the door. “That is good.”
“I have always thought so,” Nicolas says carefully.
My nephew looks up at me. “Did you help him escape the navy knaves?”