Gambling for the Governess: A Victorian Romance (The Seven Curses of London Book 9)

by Lana Williams

  Malcolm grumbled, stepping into the cab. Just as well. This way, he could make certain the governess didn’t attempt to try something. He didn’t know if he could trust Peterson.

  Before he closed the door, he called up to the driver. “Take us to the racecourse at Newmarket.”

  “Ain’t nobody there today,” the man advised.

  “Exactly.”

  “But it will be dark soon.” The driver clearly didn’t want to take them there.

  “So?”

  “The place is said to be haunted.” The man scowled. “A jockey killed himself there, you know.”

  “What?” The horrified look on Peterson’s face had Malcolm shaking his head.

  “He lost his wife,” the hackney driver said. “People say you can see him riding a phantom steed over the course.”

  “You saying you believe in ghosts?” Malcolm challenged him before Peterson grew any more skittish.

  “Don’t you?”

  “There are enough living things to worry about without adding the dead into the mix.” Yet he could see Peterson’s thoughts were racing.

  “You won’t need to worry over the living if you take them there.” The driver shifted in his seat.

  “Good.” Malcolm smiled as he closed the door. “No one to hear their screams.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the quickly indrawn breath of the governess. A rush of power filled him. He’d never lifted a hand to a woman who didn’t deserve it. But this one certainly did. He wouldn’t mind making sure she knew her proper place.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “There is even fair promise that the worst feature of the bad business, that which takes refuge behind the specious cloak of the ‘commission-agent,’ may be put down.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Christopher removed his gloves as he entered his house, nodding at the footman who held the door. He’d had a productive meeting with Rutland at his residence. Unfortunately, Rutland informed him the man they’d taken prisoner, Johnson, had yet to talk. But his identity was known to the police and further inquiries were underway.

  Connolly was the only one Christopher wanted. If Johnson wouldn’t cooperate and advise them of Connolly’s plans, they’d find a way to uncover them without his help.

  Rutland had one of his men search Connolly’s lodging house. He’d been there as recently as the previous night but hadn’t left any clues as to his plans. A man watched for Connolly’s return. If he showed up, he’d be taken into custody.

  Another of Rutland’s men would be at the pub where a lottery drawing was scheduled to be held. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t occur until the following night. But if Connolly made an appearance, they’d catch him there. No race was being held at Newmarket until the following week, so they hadn’t bothered to send anyone to the track. Now that they had more evidence against Connolly, Rutland had been able to put more resources behind catching him.

  His father had told him to go on the offense, and Christopher liked to think he had. They’d created a web to catch the blackmailer. Now they need only chase him into it. It was a matter of time.

  But the clock was ticking.

  Millstone had already received another letter demanding double the previous fee to be paid tomorrow afternoon. This time, the instructions were to leave the money in a bag by the candlemaker’s store near where they’d met Connolly before. Though it was unlikely that Connolly would be the one to pick up the bag, Christopher intended to be there to watch and catch him if he did.

  Should he send two footmen to Millstone’s residence in case Connolly appeared there? Though he didn’t want to alarm the marquess or the marchioness, he could have someone watch their house with the lord and lady unaware of their presence. At least until Connolly was caught.

  “My lord?” Dauber hurried into the entrance hall with Mrs. Wimbly at his side.

  “Yes?” The look on Dauber’s face was enough to have Christopher glance upstairs, wondering what his father had done now.

  “Miss Tippin and the children took a picnic to Regent’s Park and have yet to return.”

  “Surely they should’ve come home by now,” Christopher said more to himself than either of his servants.

  “Exactly our thoughts, my lord,” Mrs. Wimbly said.

  “Charles accompanied them,” Dauber continued, “but neither he nor James have returned with the carriage. Shall I send someone in search of them?”

  Unease settled into the pit of Christopher’s stomach. “I’ll take a hackney to the park and look for them.” He glanced at the footman who’d opened the door. “Join me, Markus. Is anyone else free who could assist us?”

  Before Dauber could answer, his father descended the steps, his brow furrowed with worry. “Where are the children and Miss Tippin? The schoolroom is empty.”

  “They’ve gone for a picnic at Regent’s Park.” Christopher didn’t express his concern, not wanting to worry his father unnecessarily. Yet a cold foreboding filled him. Something was wrong.

  The front door flew open, nearly bouncing against the hinges, to reveal Ronald with Charles directly behind him.

  “Uncle Christopher. Hurry! They’ve taken Charlotte and Miss Tippin!”

  Panic clutched him by the throat. “Who has?” He knelt to look into the boy’s eyes so like his own, his fright clearly visible.

  “The man you pointed out at the zoo and two others, my lord,” Charles replied, his expression frantic. “James was arriving with the carriage when I saw the man from the zoo approaching him. I left Miss Tippin and the children to warn James, and when I did, another man took Charlotte and Miss Tippin. Master Ronald managed to escape and told us what happened.”

  “The man had a knife.” Ronald’s chest heaved with an effort to hold back his panic, his tear-smudged cheeks and pale face told of his upset. “He said he’d hurt Charlotte if we didn’t go with him. Miss Tippin told me to run and then she hit him with the basket.”

  Christopher hugged Ronald tight as he shared a worried look with his father. “You were very brave, Ronald. You did exactly what you should’ve.”

  Ronald pulled back, tears falling down his face. “I should’ve stayed to help protect them. But Miss Tippin said—”

  “Who would we have to tell us what happened if it weren’t for you?” Christopher asked even as he stood. “You did an excellent job. Charles and I will go retrieve them now.” He glanced at the footman, hoping he had some idea of where the man had taken them.

  “A third man appeared as well,” Charles added. “Otherwise, I believe Miss Tippin might’ve gained their freedom.” He shook his head as though astounded by her actions. “We followed them all the way to the Newmarket racecourse. At a safe distance, of course. I don’t think they knew we were trailing them. We left James there to make certain they didn’t take Charlotte and Miss Tippin elsewhere.”

  “Were there races today?” his father asked.

  “No. Not another until next week,” Christopher replied. “The place would be deserted.” Allowing them to hide. Connolly knew the place well. No doubt he intended to demand payment for their release.

  “Hurry, Uncle Christopher.” Ronald tugged on his hand. “Charlotte was scared.”

  “Have no worry. I will get them back. Dauber, have the coach and fresh horses brought around.”

  Dauber rushed to the back of the house.

  Christopher turned to Markus. “Take a message to Viscount Rutland. Tell him what’s happened and ask him to meet us at Newmarket.” He hoped the lord was still home.

  “Of course, my lord.” The footman hurried out the door.

  “What of the police?” his father asked. “Shouldn’t you notify them?”

  “I’ll pin my hopes on Rutland. The police aren’t always reliable.” He’d learned that much by their handling of Johnson. “If Markus returns without finding Rutland, then have him notify the police,” he told Mrs. Wimbly.

  “That seems a bit of a gamble.” His father frowned.

&nb
sp; “Gambling seems to be my specialty of late.” He could only hope that in this instance, the risk paid off. “Charles, come with me.”

  “I’m coming with you, too.” Ronald wiped his tears with his coat sleeve.

  Christopher squeezed his shoulder. “You wait here.”

  “I’m coming as well.” His father stepped forward to take Ronald’s hand. “We’ll both come. You might need us.”

  “Father—”

  “Don’t waste your breath arguing. Ronald and I will stay out of the way, but we can help. We’ll keep watch.” His father looked down at his grandson. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ronald said, his small body straightening.

  “Besides, you might need assistance plotting a plan to help free them. And we want to help.”

  Christopher hated the idea of them being in danger but from his father’s stubborn expression, he didn’t see any point in wasting time arguing.

  “The coach will be around momentarily,” Dauber said as he returned to the entrance hall. “Safe travels, my lords.”

  “Bring them home to us.” Mrs. Wimbly dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief as she stood beside Dauber.

  “We will.” Christopher wished he felt as confident as he sounded.

  ~*~

  Amelia held tight to Charlotte’s hand as she examined the walls of the room in which they’d been placed. Or rather, shoved. Slivers of daylight shone through the narrow planks that made up the door, providing a dim light.

  “At least we’re no longer subject to the questionable odor of our escorts,” Amelia said.

  A smile curved Charlotte’s lips for the first time since this experience had begun, much to Amelia’s relief. The girl had been pale and far too quiet.

  “Thank you for not leaving me, Miss Tippin.” Her lower lip trembled.

  “Charlotte.” Amelia bent down to hug the girl tight. “I won’t leave you. Not ever. I intend to find a way to free us. But I might need your help.”

  “But I’m the one to blame for us being here.”

  “Do not think that for a moment. Those terrible men are to blame. Not you.”

  “If I hadn’t followed the butterfly—”

  “They would’ve found some other way to catch us. Dismiss the thought from your mind,” Amelia insisted as she released her. If anyone was to blame, it was Amelia. She never should’ve taken the children to the park. “Instead, let us determine a plan to gain our freedom now that we don’t have a knife pointing in our face. We are two smart, capable women. Surely, we can find a way to escape.”

  Charlotte straightened at Amelia’s description. Her gaze cast about the room rather than staring into space hopelessly.

  “Do you truly think the racecourse is haunted as that man said?” Charlotte asked.

  “If it is, I would hope the ghost would take our side and give us aid.” Amelia drew a deep, quiet breath to calm her own nerves. The thought of a ghost was the least of her worries.

  She’d never been so scared in her life as when Peterson had threatened Charlotte with the knife. Even now, she fought against the fear that weighted her limbs, threatening to hold her captive even more than the walls that enclosed them. Thank heaven Ronald had escaped. She closed her eyes briefly to say a silent prayer that he was home safe.

  Was Christopher on his way to rescue them?

  She swallowed against the lump in her throat that reminded her the wish was a hopeless one. Nobody knew where they were. Charles and James had been too far away to see what was happening. They would’ve stopped to get Ronald then had to have found a place to turn around before pursuing the hackney. Impossible.

  That made it all the more imperative that she and Charlotte find a way out of this room. What awaited them beyond that, she had no idea. But she would focus on one step at a time.

  She studied the room, hoping to discover a way to escape. Dusk would soon fade into night and with it, their chance to escape. Once the room was completely dark, finding a way out would be impossible. The time was now. But how?

  Though she’d heard Peterson fiddle with a latch, she tried the door only to find it locked, just as she’d expected.

  Charlotte peered between the planks. “I can see the latch.”

  Amelia shifted to take a look. “I wonder if my hat pin is long enough to reach it.”

  “I’ll search the room for anything else that might fit,” Charlotte offered.

  Within moments, Amelia realized it was no use. Her hat pin fit through the crack and reached the latch, but she couldn’t move it.

  “What of this?” Charlotte held out a long sliver of wood.

  “Excellent. Let’s try it.” Anything was better than the terrible hopeless feeling that loomed over her.

  ~*~

  Christopher looked out the coach window to study the passing scenery. “Not much farther now.”

  “Night could keep the odds in our favor.” His father stared out the window as well.

  “Remember, that man has a knife.” Ronald gave a little shudder as he whispered the words. “He said he was going to carve Charlotte’s face.”

  “You don’t think for a moment that Miss Tippin would allow such a thing, do you?” his grandfather asked. He patted the boy’s knee. “She is no ordinary governess. Besides, it’s money these sorts of criminals want. Not destruction.”

  “Miss Tippin asked to take her place, but that man said he wanted all three of us. That’s when she told me to run.”

  A mix of admiration and fear tangled within Christopher at the boy’s words. He met his father’s gaze in the dim glow of the coach lantern.

  “I told you we hired the right person.” The smug look on his father’s face would’ve been amusing under other circumstances.

  “Yes, you did. You were certain of that from the start,” Christopher said.

  “The question is, once we free her and Charlotte, are you going to offer her marriage?” His father frowned at him, as if quite curious.

  “What?” Christopher’s body flushed with heat as he shifted on the tufted leather seat. The realization that his father was aware of his feelings for Amelia was a surprise.

  Ronald gasped, his small mouth forming a perfect O for a long moment. “That’s an excellent idea. Then we could keep her forever.”

  His father shared a smile with Ronald. “I think it would be ideal.”

  Christopher shook his head. “It’s much too soon to discuss that.” Especially when he thought he’d hidden his feelings for Amelia so well.

  “Nonsense.” His father’s expression softened. “I knew the moment I met your mother that she was the one for me. Of course, it took a bit longer to convince her.”

  Christopher couldn’t deny that the idea had already crossed his mind. Now the thought of losing her was enough to make him wonder what he was waiting for. Why had he ever thought it would be a good idea to send her and the children to the country? He wanted them in his life. He wanted all of his family in his life. His gaze shifted to his father. While his behavior was often frustrating, he was the only father he had, and he loved him. Amelia had helped him see that.

  “First, we must free Charlotte and Miss Tippin. Then we can determine how we’d like the future to unfold.” Yet he already knew. He might’ve been hesitant to name his feelings, but now he knew the truth—love.

  He loved Amelia. The realization made him feel both strong and weak at the same time. He loved her kind heart, her intelligence, her courage. She was a beautiful person inside and out. He would count himself a lucky man if she’d consider him as a husband.

  “Night will hide our arrival but make finding them more difficult.” His father tapped a finger to his chin, a sure sign he plotted their options. “Did you know ’tis said the racecourse is haunted? Lady Tippin told me that when we called upon her.”

  “You don’t truly believe such things, do you?” Christopher asked.

  “No, but perhaps we could use it to our advantage.”

&nb
sp; “We can pretend we’re ghosts,” Ronald suggested. “We’ll scare them away.”

  “Perhaps.” Christopher considered the matter further. “No one likes to hear odd noises in the dark in a deserted place.”

  His father smiled. “Look at us. Three generations of our family working together to save the day.” He gave a sniff that sounded emotional then withdrew his handkerchief to blow his nose.

  Christopher hid a smile. Perhaps his father could be counted on to be of assistance after all.

  ~*~

  Malcolm glanced around the inside of the jockey club with a smile. He’d never been in this area of the racecourse before, but he’d been able to pick the lock easy enough. The rooms served as a gentlemen’s club for high-level socializing, the kind Malcolm had never taken part in. How ironic that he was using the space to write a letter to a lord, demanding payment.

  Yet as he smoothed the sheet of paper on the table, unease returned. Taking the girl and the governess had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he wasn’t so sure. He wished he’d taken more time to think things through instead of acting impulsively. But the notion of receiving a payment from both Millstone and Beaumont was too tempting to pass up.

  As far as Malcolm was concerned, they both owed him.

  How did he work this? Tell Beaumont to come here tomorrow with the money if he wanted the girl and the governess? Was that enough time for him to get the money? Malcolm gave himself a mental shake. Such details weren’t his problem. He’d tell him to come at noon.

  This place was entirely too spooky at night, and there were too many places to hide.

  The meeting to get the payment from Millstone was already scheduled for late afternoon. Beaumont would be too distracted with getting the girl back to interfere with the Millstone meeting.

  By the end of the day, he’d be a wealthy man. After replacing the money he’d taken from McCarthy with no one the wiser, he’d tell him he quit. Perhaps he’d go away for a time. Maybe to Wales to see his sister. Yes, that was it. He’d get a new suit before he left. That would show her husband that he wasn’t the wastrel he claimed Malcolm was.