An Unlikely Alliance by Patricia Bray Page A

they would be twice as anxious to find her, for she had witnessed a murder.
    A distant church bell began to chime, and soon the churches around London began in echo. Magda counted the strokes. Ten o’clock! It was impossible. She had been running for hours. She knew she had. But the bells told a different story. How could she have gotten so lost in just an hour?
    But the bells gave her an idea. Among the chimes she’d heard the familiar sounds of St. Anne’s bells, which meant she was near Leicester Square. From there it was but a short walk to Covent Garden, where Mrs. Brightwell should still be working at the theater. She dared not return home, but hopefully her pursuers would not think to look for her there.
    Magda released the fence reluctantly and began limping in the direction of Covent Garden. Her legs ached with every step and her neck throbbed in sympathy, but she kept grimly on. If she could make it safely to the theater she could hide there till morning. Then she’d be able to figure something out. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all she had.
    Another evening wasted. Alexander swore as he realized that Mademoiselle Magda had outwitted him again. He had waited more than two hours at William Dunne’s townhouse until it became clear that the infamous Gypsy was not going to make an appearance. How had she known that the invitation was a trap? And after all the trouble he had gone to, convincing Mrs. Dunne to organize the gathering on such short notice.
    He wasn’t willing to admit defeat. There was still one more lead to pursue. The carriage slowed, and a glance confirmed that they had reached Covent Garden. The theater was still a few hundred yards away, but he reached up and knocked on the roof. “Stop here,” he ordered. The performance was still in full swing, and the street ahead was crowded with carriages and pedestrians. It would be faster to walk.
    Alexander stepped down from the carriage. “I won’t be long,” he promised.
    “Very good, sir.” John Coachmen touched his hat.
    He threaded his way through the congestion.
    “Wants an orange, luv? Mine are the ripest,” a buxom orange seller offered with a smile that made it clear he was welcome to sample more than her oranges.
    “Not tonight,” he replied curtly. The orange seller pouted, but as he passed he heard her making the same offer to the next passerby.
    Alexander had no interest to spare for pretty orange sellers. His mind was fixed on one woman, the elusive Gypsy wench. With any luck he would be able to pry her whereabouts out of the person he sought. Discreet inquiries had revealed that all engagements for Mademoiselle Magda had been made through a Mrs. Brightwell who worked at Covent Garden. Mrs. Brightwell had refused to cooperate with the runners, but he was confident he could change her mind.
    He made his way to the side door when a movement at the end of his alley drew his eye. There was someone standing there in the shadows. The figure shifted from one foot to another, taking a few steps toward the door, then retreating to the shadows for protection.
    He knew at once that it was she. Her luck had finally run out. But she hadn’t seen him yet. Feigning nonchalance, he strolled toward the back door as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His path took him quite near her hiding place. As he drew abreast of her, he took a few quick steps in her direction, then reached out and grabbed her by the arm. “It’s time we had that little talk,” he said.
    “Never,” she vowed, swiftly kicking him in the shins and wrenching free of his grasp. She fled toward the theater door and the bright gaslights that promised the illusion of safety. Ignoring the pain in his leg, he gave chase and caught her outside the door.
    She struggled like a wild animal and opened her mouth to scream, but he covered it with one hand and was promptly bitten for his trouble. What was the matter with her? From the struggles she was putting up you would think