The Makings of a Lady

by Catherine Tinley

  Because you’re a man. The answer came unbidden into Jem’s mind. He reflected. Yes, Manning did not much bother with men. His attention was all for females.

  Which was strange, Jem mused, as Lizzie had mentioned that Manning had served in the army, even fighting at Waterloo. Most ex-soldiers had a certain affinity for male company, yet Manning mostly ignored men, focusing instead on any females present. He knew he should ask Manning about his time in the army, that it would be polite to do so, but he did not really wish to know more of George Manning. Nor to give him more opportunities to brag and crow.

  ‘I wonder if all is well with Olivia?’ said Amy, a frown creasing her forehead.

  ‘I was just wondering the same thing. I shall go to her,’ said Lizzie, rising and walking though the far door, towards the back of the building. George took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. Jem drummed his fingers on the table.

  After a moment, Lizzie appeared, hurrying towards them through the busy room. Looking at her face, Jem felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He rose, knowing something was terribly, terribly wrong.

  Chapter Nine

  Everything was black. It was rather like awakening from deep sleep, except everything was different. Everything was wrong. Her body ached, all over, and she was freezing cold. She could distantly hear the jingle and clop of a horse and the creaking of a carriage or cart. She was moving, travelling somewhere! It was altogether confusing.

  Instantly, she became aware that she had a terrible headache, which made her moan with pain as soon as she became aware of it. Her voice sounded strange, muffled. There was something around her mouth! In the same instant, the smells assailed her. Blood—her own blood, she knew instinctively—and something else. Hemp sacking! It was all over her! She was trapped!

  Panicking, she began moving violently, trying to kick free with her legs, twisting her head to try to escape the gag that was tied tightly around her mouth. She couldn’t breathe! In her panic, her breathing became dangerously rapid and her frantic movements served only to further entangle her in the folds of the sacking. When she turned her head, pain exploded into her brain. The blackness closed in once more.

  * * *

  ‘She isn’t there!’ Lizzie’s face was white. ‘I do not know where she is!’

  ‘What?’ Amy’s voice indicated her dismay. ‘But she has not got her redingote or her reticule. She would not go outside without them, especially on a day like this.’

  ‘Perhaps she had personal business to attend to,’ said George.

  ‘She would have told us—not just disappeared without saying!’ Lizzie’s voice was high-pitched as anxiety set in.

  ‘And she wouldn’t have disappeared in a way which was guaranteed to draw attention to her,’ added Jem quietly. He felt a cold sickness in the pit of his stomach. ‘Lizzie, show me where she went.’

  Lizzie nodded, then led him through the tea room and down a dark corridor. Amy and George followed.

  ‘They have no comfort room inside, just an outside privy,’ Lizzie said, opening the back door. It was now raining heavily. The backyard was neat and well swept. A stable was built against the back wall and beside it stood the small hut that must be the privy. Jem crossed the yard and opened the door. Nothing out of the ordinary. Quickly, they searched the area all around. The ladies had entered the stable, George following. They were calling Olivia’s name. Jem stepped inside. A lone horse munched contentedly. No loft. No sign of Olivia.

  A growing realisation was dawning—though he hoped he was wrong. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and went back outside. Walking around the side of the house towards the street, he emerged in the exact spot where the cart had stood. Where the unknown man had placed that very large sack into the back.

  For a second, he almost felt faint. A coldness came over him, leaving a tight knot in his belly. It brought him back to the battlefields of France and was a feeling he hoped never to experience again. She had been taken. He knew it, knew it as well as he knew his own name.

  His mind raced. As if back in the army, he quickly made sense of the hundreds of thoughts crowding into his mind. Running back towards the stable and uncaring of the rain, he began barking instructions. ‘Lizzie! Take Amy inside and write a note to be taken to Chadcombe. Ask Adam or Harry to come.’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘You think she has been kidnapped.’ She was pale, but calm.

  ‘I do. And I am going to try to recover her.’

  ‘Recover her? But how?’ George had finally found his voice. ‘You can have no idea where she is!’

  Jem looked him in the eye. ‘That will not stop me from searching for her.’

  ‘Of course, of course!’ George remained standing in the stable doorway. ‘But—are you certain she has not gone somewhere of her own will?’

  ‘Of course nothing is certain! But I know Olivia—we all do—’ he indicated Lizzie and Amy, who were already dashing across the yard to the house ‘—and we know she would not leave her friends without an explanation!’

  ‘No need to take that tone with me, old chap! My acquaintance with Lady Olivia may be of recent standing, but I am just as eager as you are to see her safe!’

  Jem bit back the retort on his lips, managing to say, through gritted teeth ‘Then do something about it! Go and ask the staff if they have seen anything!’ Without waiting for a reply, he spun on his heel and left him, returning to the street.

  Reaching the front of the house, he looked left and right. Not twenty minutes ago, in this very spot, she had been taken. The cart had been facing towards the Castle, and the road to Upper Hale and Fleet. It was as good a place as any to start.

  Quickly, he went back into the coffee house. Although Lizzie and Amy had managed to be discreet, and there was no general to-do, the staff were now clearly aware of the situation. A red-faced, middle-aged man immediately came forward, anxiety creasing his brow.

  ‘Sir! I am Geoffrey Bayliss, the owner of this establishment. I have only just heard about this terrible, terrible situation. Has the young lady been located?’

  ‘No. I must search for her—immediately. Can you tell me where might I hire a horse?’

  ‘You are welcome to the use of my saddle horse, which is out the back.’ The man was wringing his hands together. ‘That such a thing could happen in my establishment! I can assure you, sir, nothing like this has ever dared to occur here before!’

  Jem’s mind was elsewhere. ‘Yes, yes. The ladies are writing a note which must be delivered to Lady Olivia’s brother, the Earl of Shalford.’

  The man’s eyes grew round. ‘An earl? Oh, Lord, an earl! Why must it be an earl?’ Mr Bayliss seemed to take Adam’s status as a personal affront.

  ‘He must be apprised of the situation as soon as may be arranged.’

  ‘Indeed he must! Why, I shall ride to him myself...’ He faltered. ‘But—you are taking the horse...’

  With some difficulty, Jem managed to answer him in a calm tone. ‘Then find someone else to deliver the note.’

  ‘Yes—Abe from the Goat’s Head can do it! He is bacon-brained, but a good fellow for all that.’

  ‘The Earl—and possibly his brother—will no doubt arrive here later. Can you arrange for suitable rooms for them and me?’

  ‘I shall and will! The Goat’s Head is not normally the place for earls, but it is clean and Mrs Huddlesford is a fine cook. Her mutton stew is renowned in these parts.’

  Mrs Huddlesford’s mutton stew was of no interest to Jem. While Mr Bayliss gave instructions to his manservant to saddle the horse, Jem rushed to where Lizzie and Amy sat, Lizzie writing intently. George Manning was hovering nearby, looking worried. Jem ignored him.

  ‘I am borrowing a horse and going to look for her.’

  ‘Oh, Jem!’ Lizzie looked up, her eyes heavy with unshed tears. ‘Please find her!’

  ‘I will do m
y damnedest! Tell Adam to put up at the Goat’s Head. I shall meet him there after sundown.’ She nodded. ‘Best for you to return to Chadcombe—nothing you can do here.’

  ‘No! We cannot go home without Olivia!’ Amy sounded as though she might cry. ‘We can search the street, ask everyone if they have seen her. Oh, this is dreadful!’

  ‘Ladies, please!’ Manning had finally decided to intervene. ‘We must remain calm. No doubt Olivia will walk through the door at any time! And until she does, I will be at hand to comfort and protect you!’

  Jem eyed Manning scornfully. Even now, the man was trying to turn Olivia’s disappearance to his own advantage. Rather than help with the search, his priority was to make headway with Lizzie and Amy. Jem’s contempt for him increased further.

  Catching his gaze, Manning looked uncomfortable for a second, then raised his chin defiantly.

  Jem had no time for this. I must go! Patience had finally left him.

  Bidding them farewell, he retreated to the yard, where the horse, now saddled, was just being led out of the stable. He accepted his hat from the manservant, mounted, then rode out into Castle Street.

  The cart would only move slowly, especially now that the rain was softening all the roads. His best hope was that it had set off in the direction of Fleet, and that he could somehow catch up with it before it reached its destination. As he passed the alleyways and side streets of Farnham, he knew that she could be in any building, on any street in the town. The thought of the task ahead was daunting. How on earth could he find one slight girl, abducted for an unknown reason by an unknown person, amid all the buildings, roads and farms of Surrey? Just for a moment, he was overwhelmed by the realisation that this was Olivia in danger. Anxiety flooded through him. Knowing better than to fight it, he allowed the feeling to course through him. It would not change anything, nor deter him from his purpose. Her life might depend on it.

  He rode through the rain out of the town, as fast as Bayliss’s horse could manage, along roads bordered on both sides with hop gardens. There were only a few farmhouses and at each one he made his way up the laneway, located the stable and dismounted to look inside. While there was nothing distinctive about the cart and he had not got a good look at the man’s face, he did remember that the miserable-looking horse had unusual markings on its face—two brown patches that looked like strange eyebrows. At the time, he had barely noticed it, but it was the one detail that came to him afterwards. It wasn’t much, but at least it gave him a start.

  On he went, through every village and hamlet, all the way to Fleet. There was no sign of the cart, the miserable horse, or Olivia. Mr Bayliss’s horse was now soaked and shivering. Unless he wanted to kill the poor creature, Jem knew he had to stop. Finding a decent hostelry in Fleet, he gratefully handed the reins to a groom and went inside. While they saw to his horse, he had time for a mug of broth, some hot coffee and a seat by the fire.

  There was no way she had been brought this far. He would have easily caught a slow cart on muddy roads. Only stubbornness had brought him all the way to Fleet. Logically she must, therefore, be still in Farnham—or on another road out of it.

  Who had taken her and why? Surely that was the key to finding her. What possible motive could lie behind the forced abduction of a lady?

  Overwhelmed, he finally allowed images of her to flood his mind. Olivia, laughing. Olivia, pensive. Olivia, confused, that little crease on her brow appearing as she considered something. Oh, he knew all her moods, all the impulses that drifted across her face like clouds scudding across a blue sky.

  Olivia! Anguish coursed through him as he imagined the ordeal she might be going through right now.

  She was gone. Taken by some evil person. Why? He forced himself to consider the question. For her beauty? For rape and violence? He shuddered. He knew what evil men were capable of. But they usually chose vulnerable women—women who were friendless, or who would not be missed. It would be the height of foolishness to target an aristocratic lady. It simply did not make sense.

  The image of the sacking over the man’s shoulder came back into his mind. Long and narrow, it had clearly concealed Olivia. The fact that he had not seen any movement meant that she was probably unconscious when the man had casually deposited her in the back of the cart. Unconscious. Or dead.

  His heart lurched with fear. No! It must not be so! Oh, God!

  He looked down. His hands were white where they gripped the mug. Lifting it to his lips, he emptied it and rose. It was time to return to Farnham. He must find Olivia!

  Chapter Ten

  The Goat’s Head was a respectable inn located on Castle Street, only a hundred yards from the coffee house. Having relinquished Mr Bayliss’s exhausted horse into the care of its owner, Jem walked slowly to the inn. He was stiff and sore from so much riding in one day and he had barely made it back to Farnham before darkness. As he pushed open the door, for one moment he dared to hope that his search had been in vain and that Olivia had been located, safe and well.

  It was not to be. As soon as he mentioned his name to the landlord, the man offered him sympathy and told him that his friends were waiting for him in the parlour.

  ‘I have reserved all three bedchambers for your party, sir—one for the two young ladies and the other two rooms for you four gentlemen. Lord Shalford’s groom will sleep in my spare servant’s room. I am Huddlesford, by the way.’

  Not three young ladies. Lizzie and Amy must have resisted all attempts to send them home. He thanked the landlord.

  Sighing, he opened the parlour door. Five sets of eyes immediately turned to him, revealing various levels of anxiety.

  ‘Jem!’ Harry was first to react, rising from his seat to come and shake his hand. ‘You are frozen, man. Come and sit by the fire.’

  ‘Any news?’ The Earl looked grave.

  ‘None.’ Lizzie was helping Jem out of his wet coat. He flashed her a grateful look. ‘I went all the way to Fleet. Not a sign of her. I do not believe she went that way.’

  Jem unbuttoned his waistcoat and loosened his cravat. Water continued to run down his chest from his sodden cravat; he ignored it.

  ‘What made you search there?’ The Earl looked puzzled. ‘I mean, what makes you think she was taken to Fleet, rather than anywhere else?’

  Jem hesitated. He was reluctant to mention the man with the sack in front of Lizzie and Amy. It was too powerful an image, too distressing.

  Harry, always quick off the mark, intervened. ‘Stop plaguing him with questions, Adam! Five minutes won’t make a difference. Here, Jem, let me help you with your boots.’ Harry knelt before him and loosened his boots—a service Jem had performed for Harry many times when they had been quartered together in the army.

  Jem gripped his shoulder and gave him a speaking look. Harry nodded subtly, the tiniest of movements. ‘Lizzie, Amy, could you procure some towels and hot water from the landlord? This man is frozen!’ In truth, Jem was still shivering and could not yet feel the warmth of the fire beside him. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Broth and coffee, two hours ago,’ confirmed Jem.

  ‘Pfft!’ Harry was not impressed. ‘You need something more than that!’

  ‘Definitely!’ Lizzie shook out Jem’s coat and hung it over a chair. ‘I shall order food, too. Come, Amy.’

  ‘I shall accompany you ladies,’ said Manning. He was looking rather put out, but Jem’s brain was too tired to try to figure out why.

  As the door closed behind then, Harry rolled his eyes. ‘Thank goodness gorgeous George has gone, even if it is only for a few moments. I have had quite enough of his faux sympathy.’

  ‘Don’t you like Manning?’ Though wretched with distress, tiredness and near despair, Jem was extremely interested in Harry’s opinion of Olivia’s suitor.

  ‘No,’ said Harry bluntly. ‘He is all smiles and empty charm. He has been singularly useless to
day.’

  ‘Jem,’ interjected the Earl, ‘tell us what you know.’

  Briefly, Jem told them of the cart, the man, the distinctive horse and his fruitless search through the Surrey countryside. ‘Perhaps it was nothing to do with Olivia’s disappearance, but I had to try.’

  The Earl looked at him squarely. ‘Thank you, Jem. I really appreciate it. And it might well have been her. How else could someone have taken her out of the back yard of the coffee house?’

  ‘I think we need to work out why he took her.’ The Earl and Harry exchanged glances. ‘What?’ It dawned on him. ‘You know something!’

  Fishing inside his pocket, the Earl withdrew a scrap of paper and wordlessly handed it to Jem. It had been written with a bad pen, on cheap yellowish paper, but the gist of it was clear enough. If they wanted the young lady to be returned alive they must pay handsomely. They must await further instructions and remain at the Goat’s Head.

  ‘Ransom!’

  ‘Yes. He, or they—whoever this is—sent this note to me an hour ago.’ The Earl looked forbidding. ‘By God, when I get a hold of them...’ His hand formed a fist.

  ‘And me!’ said Jem grimly. ‘But, Lord Shalford—’ He scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘How did they know you would be here?’

  ‘You should call me Adam,’ said the Earl. ‘Yes, we wondered that, too. The note was addressed to “Lord Shalford, the Goat’s Head”, so either they were told we were here, or perhaps this is the only place in town where an earl was likely to stay.’

  ‘We asked Huddlesford—the landlord—who had delivered it,’ added Harry, ‘but he never saw the person. The note simply appeared, he said, in the taproom.’

  ‘Curious,’ mused Jem. ‘When I passed through the taproom just now, there were only a couple of people there. You would think the landlord might have noticed someone come in out of the rain only to deliver a letter.’