“Help!” I shouted. My cry came out as more of a croaking gasp. Where on earth were all of the other hundreds of people I’d seen earlier in the Gardens? The fireworks continued to explode above, the green and blue lights flickering over the sharp-faced pickpocket. “Help!” My lungs heaved weakly inside my corset. Blasted thing.
We struggled, doing an awkward dance along the path, wrestling our way up a small footbridge. My assailant twisted suddenly, brandishing something long and silver.
“Let go, ye blasted bitch!” The knife flashed, then surged down toward me.
I choked out a scream as pain blazed along my arm. But somehow I continued to hold on, spinning us about and ducking at the same time. Then all at once, we were falling, tumbling over the side of the low bridge.
The water was a cold, hard shock and necessitated that I release the culprit. The river enveloped me, dark and heavy.
I was out of breath, restricted by the lacings around my torso, hampered by layers of skirt and petticoats. My gown became heavy and sodden, and I floundered in the depths, trying to reach the surface. Then my face broke into the fresh night air. I gasped, trying to gulp in more air before I sank again.
My arms moved frantically, my legs slogging amid tangled skirts. I knew how to swim, but I was weighted down . . . sinking into the cold darkness.
Suddenly, something grabbed me. I kicked out, struggling, grasping . . . but was too weak and tangled to have much effect. My lungs burned from holding my breath. When fresh air once again spilled over my face, I coughed and dragged oxygen into my restricted lungs. Strong hands pulled me out of the water. My vision was blurred, and I gasped, desperate to breathe, but my torso was banded too tightly.
I sagged weakly to the ground, the energy drained from my limbs. Blackness closed over me. Everything was tight, growing tighter, stiffer, closer. . . .
I felt a yank, a violent jolting at the front of my bodice. Jolt, jolt, jolt. My body jerked with each movement.
“Bloody . . . damned . . . corsets . . . ,” growled my rescuer.
And then . . . ahh! Everything loosened. I dragged in my first deep breath in what seemed like hours—clean and cool and sweet.
The face of my savior was partly illuminated by a gaslight, making him appear golden and shadowy all at once. Water dripped from his curling coppery hair as he glared down at me, panting for breath of his own.
“What . . . the devil . . . did you think . . . you were . . . doing . . . Miss Holmes?” Grayling demanded.
“I. . . .” I was still gasping for air. He was looking down at me as if he wanted to throw me back into the river. And yet his expression made me feel warm and fluttery. Or maybe it was just the new breaths of oxygen.
“Chasing after a bloody . . . thief,” he continued. “Blasted foolish . . . thing to do.”
“He was getting . . . away. I had to . . . stop him.”
“He had a knife!”
I could feel the blood seeping from my arm. “I didn’t know that. Someone had to—”
“You almost drowned. Bat-headed female.”
Grayling glared down at me, his breathing slower and deeper now. His mouth was tight and I could see his jaw shifting. Water plopped onto my cheeks and chest from his hair and clothing, yet it didn’t seem to matter. He was close to me, propped on the grass, leaning over. Warmth seeped through layers of wet clothing into my hip and arm. His white shirt clung to his torso and I could see the outline of his shoulders and arms. They were surprisingly muscular for such a tall, lanky person.
He was looking at me strangely, and when my gaze was caught by his, I suddenly couldn’t breathe again. I thought for a minute he was going to . . . move closer. My mouth went dry and I almost stopped breathing again. Then I looked away, my heart pounding sharply in my chest.
“I’ve been expecting a report from you,” I managed to say, frantically collecting my thoughts. My throat felt as if it needed to be cleared. “About the Yingling case.”
“A report?” His voice was strangled and he sat upright. “From me? For you? Miss Holmes, you are the most—”
His exclamation was aborted when a ball of fur blasted into the area, barking and yapping wildly. Long ears flopped on my face and claws scraped my arm as Angus leapt and bounded around us. His puppy weight settled on my belly, his tail slapping furiously against my jaw.
“Angus,” Grayling said, in a much nicer tone than he employed with me but nevertheless filled with irritation. “Get off. Get off.”
He dragged the excited canine away and I took the opportunity to sit up. As I did so, gravity pulled my corset away. I reacted with an embarrassing squeak and clapped a hand back to my chest, pulling the two halves of the ruined garment into proper position. Fortunately, Grayling seemed too occupied with Angus to notice. Thank fortune I was wearing a dark undergarment beneath my sheer bodice, or—gad.
I stopped the rest of that thought. I couldn’t even consider what might have happened otherwise, what Grayling might have seen beneath my suddenly loosened corset and the transparent fabric of my shirt. It was bad enough that he’d practically undressed me.
“You ruined my new corset.” I staggered to my feet, still holding the sagging undergarment in place. Droplets of water flung everywhere. Angus leapt up at me, eager for attention, and I patted him on the head. It wasn’t his fault his master was an expert at annoying me.
“My apologies,” Grayling said stiffly, also rising as excited voices approached. “Next time, I’ll let you gasp for air like a beached fish and hope you don’t drown in the meanwhile.”
Before I could make some sort of smart retort, he flung something dark and heavy—and dry—over my shoulders. I took his coat while holding my corset in place and managed to pull it over my sodden clothing, wincing only slightly at the pain in my arm.
“Mina! What happened?”
Huddling under Grayling’s coat I turned to see Dylan rushing down the path. He was accompanied by the rest of our party . . . and a small crowd of others. But Evaline was missing, drat it.
“I was chasing a thief. We struggled, and I fell into the river.”
“And got a bit of a slice in the process.” Grayling was still dripping and Angus was still bounding around—although now he had a variety of newcomers upon which to employ his paws.
“Chasing a thief? Do you mean you were running after him?” a male voice said in shock.
“You should have called for help,” agreed another. “There were plenty of people around.”