Free Bonfire Night by Deanna Raybourn

a herd of cows to clear the line. I gave him a fearful look as I considered Guy Fawkes’ own target. “You don’t think even your father would attempt to actually blow up the sovereign and Parliament?”
    Brisbane stroked his chin thoughtfully. “He might if it suited him, but Parliament isn’t sitting and the queen is at Windsor. No, it must be something else—something small enough to be mistaken for fireworks should anyone notice.”
    “A bank vault?” I guessed.
    “Possibly,” he said slowly. “But why would he need us out of the way? I didn’t even know he was in England. Did you?” he asked, quirking a brow at the heavy emerald on my finger.
    “Of course not! And if I had I would have told you,” I said, attempting to hide my annoyance he would even ask. Brisbane’s father was fond of me, at least as fond as he could be of anyone, but his affection was an unwanted thing. I had seen too clearly the havoc he had wrought in the lives of others. I wanted nothing whatsoever to do with him. The fact that I wore the emerald Black Jack had given me was due solely to its beauty and my own avarice. It was the loveliest jewel I had ever owned, and I wore it with pride—so long as I didn’t think too long on the fact that it had been robbed from a Borgia grave.
    “Remember,” I told Brisbane firmly, “it was my cousin he married and terrorised until she fled from him.” My cousin Lucy’s brief marriage to Black Jack had been a study in catastrophe. The only good to come of it was our son.
    Brisbane returned to the question of Black Jack’s intentions. “No, he wouldn’t need us out of London to break into a bank.”
    “Something closer to home,” I began, but even as I said the words, we both knew. “Oh,” I said slowly. “
Home
.”
    He nodded. “We were no threat to him until we had the builders in. They’re preparing to take the cellars apart. Something of Black Jack’s is down there, and I daresay it has been all the time.”
    “But what? And why hide it in your house?” I demanded.
    He shrugged, his posture nonchalant, but I noticed the muscle playing in his jaw. He was deeply angry, a not uncommon state of affairs with his father. “What better place? If he had some small hoard—jewels or gold or some relic—he might gain access to the cellar and leave it for safekeeping. The walls are ancient and riddled with holes. It would be an easy matter to cache his treasure then brick it over. No one would be the wiser.”
    “True,” I agreed. “Tradesmen are always coming into one’s cellars. Coalmen and rat-catchers, plumbers to lay pipes and wine merchants to deliver orders.” I caught my breath suddenly. “I’ve just had the most terrible thought—if his illicit gains were discovered, you would be the one to bear the blame.”
    “I wondered when that would occur to you,” he said tightly.
    “It’s fiendish,” I told him. I gripped his hand in mine. “Whatever happens tonight, that man is an absolute devil from hell. He must not be allowed to take Little Jack. Promise me,” I ordered.
    He pressed a kiss to my temple. “With everything I have and all that I am. I will keep Jack safe.”
    * * *
    It was late when we made our way to the house in Half Moon Street, but the streets were full of revelers and bonfires glowed in the distance. Overhead, fireworks shimmered against the black of the night sky, the report echoing in our bones as we raced towards the house. Just as we stepped from the cab, I felt a reverberation under my feet, and hard upon Brisbane’s heels, I raced to the cellars. When Brisbane opened the door, a cloud of soot and smoke poured forth, choking us. We put handkerchiefs to our mouths and carried on, Brisbane’s pocket torch lighting the way down the stairs. The bottom was blocked with rubble, but Brisbane stepped over, giving me a hand as I scrambled after. There was an ominous creaking from the beams overhead, and Brisbane swore savagely.
    “We dare not go