The Lost Scribe of Justitia

The Escape

         Fitz was able to move quite freely through the crowded ballroom without too much obstruction.  She was, however, solicited by no less than two intoxicated female guests and a gentleman and his wife, apparently asking for a ménage a trois.  Fitz graciously declined them all and kept moving, losing and then finding her target. 
         The disguised Earl ended up at the foot of the grand staircase, hiding in plain sight of all the guests who simply ignored the staff.  He started climbing the stairs, in no particular hurry.  Fitz waited before following, but wasn't too far behind, for he headed where Fitz suspected, the nursery.
           Once the Earl was inside the nursery, Fitz quickly went to the door hoping it had not been locked from the inside.  It was not, but just as Fitz lay her hand on the doorknob, she glanced down at the far off ballroom, for the music had abruptly stopped and so had the dancing. 
            She heard loud talking in an angry tone but could not make out the words. Whomever was saying them must be someone very important, for everyone was listening closely. 
           The three of them, had discussed matters such as this the evening before.
           "If you spot the Earl, keep to him," Petrich warned, "Do not let anything else distract you.  If Grand Showings are anything, they are distracting."
            "Quite right," Dietfried agreed, "Let Petrich and me handle THAT part of the bill."
             Fitz drew in her breath, hoping their 'part of the bill' did not prove overwhelming as she opened the door just as Bridget Galloway's lifeless body crumpled to the floor at the feet of the Earl. Around her neck was the Earl's discarded waiter's tie.   
             Fitz quickly slipped out her pistol from her vest pocket and pointed it to the back of his head with a steady hand and cocked the hammer.
            "You're being placed under arrest, Julian Le Bonnivich, Earl of Lutzinheim." Fitz officially informed him in a quiet calm tone.
            Unstartled, the Earl turned his head, showing his facial profile. "Under whose authority?" he asked, without too much interest. "And since when did they issue toy pistols to celestial scribe assistants?"
           "I wear more than one hat, Your Grace. First and foremost, I am Police Inspector Fitzhugh of Dresgorn."
          The Earl turned and faced her.  "Impressive. A girl, " His eyes traveled down her thin body. ". . .Of sorts, being made inspector. How interesting."
          "You have quite a list of charges, Your Grace. The most obvious being the callous murder of Miss Bridget Galloway."
            The Earl nudged the dead girl's head with his boot. "Was that her name? Bridget?
Pity, that. She was quite a pretty thing, wasn't she? But she stubbornly stood in the way of where I needed to go."
             "Which leads to the next charge. Attempted kidnapping."
             "But he is MY son."  the Earl growled.
             "As everyone downstairs most likely knows by now, but he is also the Lady Lydia's son."
              The Earl was growing irritable now. "So, do you have any understanding at all of what this means? Do you even know that he could be legally executed for what he is??"
              "The Lady Lydia is aware, Your Grace, and has made her own plans on the matter. You need not concern yourself."
"Do not dare presume what I should or should NOT concern myself with, Miss Police Inspector."  The Earl took a step toward the crib where the baby lay reacting to their voices by peering at them and sucking on his hands. 
             Fitz raised the pistol to the Earl's face. "Do not take another step, Your Grace. Or else."
             "Or else what?" he chided her, reaching into his own pocket and drawing out a slim metal cylinder. It was another gas bomb as was planted on the train car.
"Fond of those old gas bombs, aren't you? Another attempt at murder while attempting suicide as on the train car?"
"What a brilliant little detective you are, Miss Fitzhugh."  As their stand-off continued, The Earl began to back away from the crib and Fitz took a step nearer to it.  She realized she was no longer between the Earl and the door, which went against her police training, but it became much more important to be nearer to the baby's crib. Sure, the Earl could now take flight but considering the circumstances, taking him into custody would simply have to wait.
           "Nothing can slip by you. They must be very proud of you down in the little backwater town of Dresgorn." He was now at the door, his hand feeling for the knob behind him with his right hand, the metal cylinder of deadly gas in his left.  "And forever more you'll be constantly at my heels, won't you? If I am on the highest mountain, there you will be. On the bottom of the deep blue sea, there you will be, still with your little cocked and loaded pistol in my face, just like now. Who wants a life like that?"  Fitz heard an audible click of the door's deadbolt sliding into place. "I know I don't."
          And then both hands were on the gas bomb and the seal to detonate it was manually broken.  The gas quickly filled the room in a thick white fog.
           Fitz only had time to take the deepest of breathes, snatch up the now crying baby and get to the double window.  She unlatched it as quickly as possible. Her lungs already began to hurt and in her eyes she felt a sharp stinging, but at least the windows were flung wide open.  She managed to climb out onto the window's ledge that was, as she had observed while touring the gardens, wide enough to be able to close the windows again and sit.
          Fitz had bundled the baby, face and all until she could safely enough uncover it to some fresh air.  Gas seeped out around the windows, but Fitz had strategically positioned herself and the baby upwind  from where it flowed. 
           Both she and the baby were coughing. The baby cried between coughs, which was good. At least it was getting lungfuls of fresh air. Maybe, just maybe she had gotten him out in time. If his lungs pained him as much as her lungs did, Fitz couldn't help but be extremely concerned. He needed the care of hospital, and fast.
           Fitz could only guess what had happened downstairs in the ballroom. She thought she heard screaming just as the Earl detonated the bomb.  Petrich and Dietfried could very well be dead by now, just like Bridget, still laying lifeless in the poison gas-filled nursery, along with the Earl of Lutzinheim. And then there was the Lady Lydia waiting incognito for her son and her nursemaid at the train station. . . What time was it anyway?
          Her mind became muddled and she felt her lungs burn for breath. The baby continued to cry, but with less coughing. Perhaps he would be alright after all. . .  As for herself, Fitz thought of her short 32 years of life. She had been loved by some very dear people and she had loved them in return. In the end, that was all that mattered. Just don't drop this baby, she thought weakly. Just do not. . .let. .go. . .