by Carol Arens
One horrid, unholy hour in which she wanted to die rather than remember what had just happened.
In her mind she relived her moments with Heath. Not for one small second had she suspected him of being the Abductor. No, she’d wondered if he was trying to capture the—
The fiend—it was what she had believed about the man—but Heath?
If there was one person in the world she had trusted as much as she did Grandfather it had been her husband.
Yes, she’d known he was keeping a secret. He had admitted he was—but this?
She could make no sense of it—or of anything. She was Alice fallen through the looking glass, not knowing up from down, large from small.
But mostly she could not tell virtue from wickedness, because when she thought of her husband, all she felt was love.
Clearly she was the worst sort of person. She ought to be cursing him, hating him, but instead she was worried about him. The way the guards had been pummeling him, he must be injured.
It made sense now, why he wanted to keep her away from Slademore House. It had nothing to do with the danger the area presented. It had to do with the danger he presented to it. He did not want her to be near the scene of his crimes. To somehow suspect what he was up to.
Nothing made a bit of sense.
Oh, but her eyes hurt. She touched the skin around them. It was going to take a week for the swelling to go down, but only if she quit weeping.
And that was not something she thought she would ever manage.
This whole thing was very wrong, and yet it hadn’t been an unknown monster behind the mask. It had been the husband she was bound to by the deepest of connections.
No matter how she tried—and over the past hour she had tried—she could not hate him. That emotion and Heath were like mismatched puzzle pieces that would not come together.
The latch on the outside of the door twisted. Creed stepped inside and sat down across from her, his expression grim.
“I suppose you mean to toss me in the river.”
“Aye, well, I can understand why you might think so.” He shook his head. “But no. I mean you no harm, Lady Fencroft.”
“Why then have you kidnapped me?”
“I want to show you where we take the children, so you’ll understand.”
“I fear that is something I would rather not know.”
He opened the door and stepped out. She might have taken that moment to try to dash past him, but the area beyond looked darkly wooded and seemed more perilous than remaining with Creed did.
“I suggest you get some sleep. We’ve still a long ride to the coast. I promise, once we get there you will know the truth about Lord Fencroft.”
* * *
The cell was not completely dark, but dim enough that Heath could not see the source of the scurrying noises in the straw bed on the far side of the space.
While he could not see the condition of the mound, the ripe smell coming from it indicated it had not been changed in some time.
The stones he huddled upon were cold, but he wouldn’t have to share them with rats—or with the many men bedding on the pile before him.
He crossed his arms around his drawn-up knees in an attempt to gather a degree of warmth in his core.
Leaning his head back against the wall, he wanted to pound it on the stones, but the pain would be too great. There was not a part of his body not bruised or battered.
His heart hurt worst of all. He’d thought he might be caught one day, but by his own wife?
She must think him the devil. He did not believe she expected him to be the one behind the mask. She’d have never lain with him, shared her body and risked bearing his child had she suspected him of this villainy.
Remembering her expression when the mask fell away from his face, he wanted to do more than bang his injured skull against the wall. The hurt, the utter shock he’d seen in her eyes made him want to quit breathing altogether.
What happened tonight was completely his fault.
Had he quit being the Abductor, this would not have happened.
Had he told Clementine the truth, this would not have happened.
But what would have happened?
For one, the last baby he took to the cottage would have died. The poor wee thing was barely breathing when Creed got her to the doctor. What kind of foul person was Slademore for not seeing to her health? The kind who counted it a waste of money to get medical help for a fragile infant, was what kind.
Another thing that might have happened was that his wife would have managed to get herself involved. No, not might. She would have. Clearly, forbidding the woman to do something was useless.
Had he told her the truth, at some point, she would be condemned along with him.
He allowed himself the luxury of cursing under his breath. The sixth Earl of Fencroft had handily brought the estate to ruin, so it hardly mattered whether or not a few shocking words passed his lips.
Having it happen the way it had, being turned in by his own wife, was for the best. Clementine was not going to suffer for his crime.
Not in a legal sense at any rate. He’d quite ruined her besides that. What if she was with child? Would he have destroyed his own child’s future for the sake of other children’s?
James Macooish was going to be unhappy. The man had given him his granddaughter in the firm belief that a title would protect her and her children. How wrong he had been.
In the end it was his wealth that would do it. It was a lucky thing he’d made the financial deal in Scotland; the family would need it now that Heath had ruined the Fencroft name.
Now he did thump his head against the wall. The intense pain shattering his brain was easier to take than the agonizing grief ripping through him. He wasn’t sure he could live through the despair of knowing the next time he saw his bride it would be at his trial.
Try as he might not to imagine the way her gaze would settle upon him in cold loathing, he could not help seeing it.
In case his misery was not past the breaking point, he worried about the small girl he had failed to rescue. Because of his failure she would grow up under the hand of Garrett Slademore. Would she even survive his neglect?
Now that the Abductor was in jail and Slademore the free man, how many children would suffer, perhaps even die because of it?
At least Creed was free. There was some hope to be found there. With the coachman’s knowledge of the informer he might be able to find her. If he could convince her to tell what she knew, her testimony might be enough to put Slademore right here beside him.
Heath could do what he felt like—shout, curse and rail—but all it would accomplish would be to make his head hurt. Weeping for his loss would gain him nothing, either.
There was only one thing left to do. He bent his head and prayed.
The jailer’s keys rattled in the lock. He didn’t bother to look up. The fellow was no doubt here to deliver another blow or dash a bucket of cold water on him.
The Abductor was so hated that rules of decent behavior were ignored when it came to him.
The door screeched when it opened, groaned when it closed.
“It appears you will have need of these, son.”
Heath jerked his head up. Pain shot through it.
“Mr. Macooish,” he gasped, feeling dizzy, nauseous.
“Grandfather, you mean.”
He tried to stand but the old man shook his head, sat down on the filthy floor beside him and gently placed blankets over his back.
“You don’t look good, my boy.” For a man his age, his fingers were strong. They gripped Heath’s chin, turning his face, examining it. “I’ll have a doctor here at first light.”
“They’ll never allow it. I cannot believe they let you in the cell, let alone with blankets.”
“Everyone appreciates money, especially when they don’t have to go to the trouble to earn it. You can expect to be treated decently now.”
“If you knew to find me here, you’ll know why.”
“I know what they say, but I’m a good judge of character. I’d never have given you my Clemmie if I thought ill of you.”
“Did she make it home?”
He shook his head. “But I think she’s safe enough.”
“How can you be sure?”
“A pair of constables banged on the door of Fencroft House looking for Clementine and told your poor sister why. Olivia rushed to my apartment ready to swoon, which I think is unlike her.”
He cursed. It was a good thing Macooish didn’t seem to mind; he did it again with even more vehemence.
“I don’t believe it, but the police fear she’s been kidnapped by your man, Creed. That he means to do her harm because of what she knows.”
“If she’s with Creed she is safe. I wonder why he did not bring her straight home, though?”
“A good and sensible fellow like him? He’d want to shield her from police banging away on the door in the dead of the night.”
Grandfather removed a cloth from his coat pocket and unwrapped a small loaf of bread. “Can you eat?”
He shook his head but took the offered loaf.
“You don’t believe I’m the scourge of London’s helpless?”
“Tear me off half of that loaf and tell me about this Abductor. Who is he really?”
* * *
The sun was coming up. Clementine watched the light around the curtains grow steadily brighter.
Fresh sea air filled the cab. When the carriage stopped she heard the sound of waves crashing on the shore a short distance away.
“And who have ye brought me this time, Mr. Creed?” The door opened. A round, pleasant-looking face peered at her, smiling kindly. “Oh, you poor wee dearie. It appears you’ve been through an ordeal.”
“More than you can guess, Mrs. Pierce,” Creed said. It was a good thing he had a firm hand under Clementine’s arm. Her legs were nearly too weak to bear her down the carriage steps. “This is Lady Fencroft. She has just seen Lord Fencroft beaten and arrested.”
“Arrested!” The woman clutched her apron and backed up several steps as if she had been struck. “No—that can’t be true!”
Her wail of despair brought another woman scurrying from the house, a baby at her breast in an interrupted feeding.
“Something has happened to Lord Fencroft?” she gasped.
A boy dashed around the corner of the charming cottage with a great smile on his face. Seeing the women crying, he nearly tripped over his feet. “Where is m’lord?”
“Arrested.” Mrs. Pierce dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron. “In London.”
“At Slademore House?” the child gasped, his face turning pale.
“I’m afraid so, Georgie.”
“Take me back, sir.” The boy dashed past her and climbed into the carriage. “I’ll set him free.”
“Who are all of you?” Clementine asked, looking from face to face. Whoever they were, they appeared to be as devastated as she was over what had happened. “What have you to do with my husband?”
“I’m Ginny Sawyer. We all, each and every one of us, owe him everything,” the young woman sniffled.
“I don’t understand.” Perhaps she had fallen through the rabbit hole after all.
“Walk to the cliffs with me and I’ll explain it,” she said, taking a deep breath, steadying her voice.
Moments later Clementine stood on a bluff overlooking the ocean. There was not much of a beach below. Waves crashed on rocks instead of sand. A spray of cold salt water dampened her face.
Thousands of miles west of this spot, waves would be breaking on a wide swathe of warm sand, gently rolling ashore and probably tickling someone’s toes.
She was going home. Grandfather might stay and wait for Madeline, but she was going home.
No doubt she would have to remain long enough to testify at the trial, but once she survived doing it, she would book a passage to America.
“You believe your man did this thing? Hurt children?” the young woman asked, holding her infant close to her heart.
“I hardly know what I think. But I’m the one who ripped the mask off his face. I’m the one who made sure the police were there to witness it. I did not expect to find Lord Fencroft—” Her throat closed up, too dry to utter another word.
“It was a brave thing for you to do, my lady. I do recall how I feared for my life when he grabbed my Clara out of my arms. Oh, he was a wicked sight to be sure.”
She did not look frightened talking about it now.
“You escaped him, you and your child?” Clearly she had.
“Something like that, my lady. Lord Fencroft lured me to the carriage with my baby in his arms. I wasn’t going to let him take her, now, was I?”
“But he didn’t harm you?”
“No, he saved my life and Clara’s.” She hugged the baby tighter. “I didn’t know the place I was going to leave her at was so awful.”
“Slademore House?” Clementine asked, but where else could she be speaking of?
The young woman shivered, hugged the baby tighter. “It’s run by the devil, I’ve come to learn. Some of the wee ones don’t survive the place and the ones that do are treated horribly. Did you know that the baron gives more care to his little dog than to the children he is supposed to be sheltering?”
Oh, she did recall that dog. How his collar had glittered with jewels. How at her ball Slademore had fed his pet quail and caviar.
“But I spent time with the children there. They were well cared for.” She had seen it with her own eyes. “They were well dressed and had lovely rooms to sleep in. There were toys and a beautiful yard for them to play in.”
And there were calluses on the children’s fingers.
“Georgie will tell you that was but a masquerade. Lord Fencroft rescued him from the place. He says they were forced to act at being happy when benefactors came to visit. He didn’t mind it so much since it gave him a few hours away from work. They got biscuits, honey and cream during those times.”
Clementine felt suddenly dizzy because she did remember those treats being served. She also remembered that the toys had looked new and unused.
An image came to mind. The red-haired child hiding in the garden, the nurse she’d never seen before escorting him to the gate.
This was all true!
Heath was an innocent man, a hero. It shamed her to have doubted him for even a second.
“Would you be willing to come back to London with me? Tell the police that you were not kidnapped?”
“Unless I’m wrong, Mrs. Pierce will be loading up the carriage with all who will fit. My guess is that Mr. Creed is changing out the team with rested horses as we speak.”
“Thank you. I’m more grateful than I can say.”
“It’s all of us who are the grateful ones. If your good husband had not forced me into the carriage, I’d have thrown myself into the Thames. It’s what I planned on doing after giving over my daughter. But—” She turned, indicated the cottage above with a wave of her hand. “This is the safest place I have ever lived. All of us love Lord Fencroft deeply.”
Chapter Sixteen
Clementine sat up on top with Creed, the cab of the carriage being packed with witnesses to Heath’s innocence.
The chill of the autumn afternoon made her shiver, and she shrank into Creed’s heavy coat. She had tried to refuse it but discovered him to be a strong-willed man. Just now she was grateful he’d insisted because the temperature was falling quickly.
“I imagine they cannot accuse my husband of a crime if no crime has been committed,” she stated hopefully.
“I’m afraid it won’t be so easy as all that. The perceived crime is a heinous one. These are witnesses, yes, but they are children and poor women.”
“There’s you, Creed.”
“And I’ll say what I can, but if they don’t believe these—” he patted the roof of the carriage “—they won’t believe me. I’m involved in all this, aye? As guilty of the crimes as Lord Fencroft is.”
“So you will be arrested if you speak for him?”
“I’ll be arrested before I speak for him, my lady. As soon as they see the coach coming.”
“I’ll vow you did not kidnap me. As Countess of Fencroft my position should be of help. But still, I think perhaps it would be best if you remain at Fencroft House until the truth is revealed.”
“Your position is a high one, my lady, but you are the wife of the prisoner. They’ll take my word before yours.” He shook his head. “We’d need half of London town, I’m afraid, to make the constables give ear to what we have to say.”
“All right, then, so we shall.”
* * *
“Lady Guthrie,” the butler stated, “is not at home.”
“Inform her that Lady Fencroft requests a moment of her time.”
Either the butler did not recognize her or he did but chose not to acknowledge her. One or both could be the case. She did look like life had stomped on her. Her appearance was a mess. By now she was certainly an object of contempt among peers and commoners.
They would be thinking she was unwise, pitiful even to have married such a man. Some would think she was in league with his crimes. Others would consider her an utter turncoat for betraying her husband.
There would even be those who would have expected nothing else from an American bride.
Judging by the scowl on the butler’s face he believed all four things to be true.
She glanced at the carriage waiting beside the curb and nodded to Creed.
He smiled, got down from his perch and then opened the door. For a man facing extreme peril he seemed awfully confident.
