Wide-eyed, she grabbed the whistle and rushed into the parlor.
In the warmly lit parlor, Penelope flung back the curtains, unlatched the casement window, swung it wide, dragged in a huge breath, leaned out as far as she dared over the area steps, put her lips to the whistle, and blew with all her might.
The shrill sound was enough to shatter eardrums.
She looked to see what effect it had had on the men pounding on the door—with a squeak, she ducked back just in time to avoid the brick that came sailing through the window.
Outrage welled. Furious, she dragged in a breath.
“Penelope?”
Eyes narrowed, she cast a dark glance at the window, then whirled and raced out into the hall. “I’m all right.” The pounding on the door resumed. Barnaby and Mostyn pressed hard against the shuddering panels. “I’m going upstairs.”
Grabbing her skirts, she held them up and took the stairs at a run. Racing into Barnaby’s bedroom, she rushed to the window overlooking the street, flung wide the curtains, wrestled with the sash. Eventually pushing it up, she hiked herself up onto the wide sill, leaned out, glanced down at the men below, then put the whistle to her lips again.
She blew and blew.
The men looked up, swore, and shook their fists at her, but she was beyond their reach.
She grew giddy and stopped blowing, but by then she could see movement down the street. The sound of running footsteps—many heavy pounding footsteps—rolled up out of the night as constables of the watch converged from all directions.
With grim satisfaction, she watched as Barnaby’s attackers turned to face the police.
What followed puzzled her.
The attackers didn’t flee, as she felt attackers should. Instead, they flung themselves at the watch. In seconds, a melee had erupted, filling the street. More constables ran up—and, she noticed, a few more from the other side slid from the shadows to join the fight.
“How odd.” It was as if the attackers’ real target hadn’t been Barnaby at all, but the police…
Stepping away from the window, she stared unseeing across the room. “Oh, my God!”
Grabbing up her skirts, she raced for the door. She flung herself recklessly down the stairs.
The much-abused front door stood open. She ran out—and uttered a prayer of relief when she found Barnaby on the front step rather than in the heaving jumble of bodies that continued to swell, jamming the street.
As she had done, he was frowning at the melee as if he couldn’t work it out.
She grabbed his arm and hauled him around to face her. “It’s a diversion!” She had to all but scream to be heard over the grunts and shouts.
He blinked at her. “What?”
“Adiversion!” She swung out an arm, encompassing the crowd. “Look at all the police here—all the watch constables from around about. They’re here—so they can’t be on the beats they’re supposed to be patrolling.”
Understanding lit his blue eyes. “They’re doing more burglaries tonight.”
“Yes!” She literally jigged with impatience. “We have to go and look!”
“Iknowit’s drawing a long bow, Iknowit’s potentially dangerous, but we can’t just sit at home and wait and wonder.” Penelope marched along at Barnaby’s side, scanning the houses they passed.
Although she’d kept her voice low, her words rang with a determination Barnaby couldn’t—didn’t have it in him—to dispute; he was no more inclined to passive patience than she.
It had been impossible to break up the melee. He’d waded in and collared a young constable; dragging the lad free, he’d sent him hotfoot to Scotland Yard with a message for Stokes. He had no idea whether Sergeant Miller would be on duty, or anyone else he could count on to act. And he had even less idea where Stokes might be; he had a sneaking suspicion his friend might be in St. John’s Wood, in which case he was too far away to be of any material help.
So here they were, just the two of them, wandering Mayfair’s streets.
December was around the corner, as evidenced by the crisp chill in the air; like the mansions they passed, the streets were largely deserted. An occasional hackney or town carriage clopped past. It was after midnight; the few couples still in town would have returned from their evening’s engagements and be tucked up in bed, while the tonnish bachelors wouldn’t yet have left their clubs.
These were the hours during which burglars struck.
