The butler regretfully told his account and Mornay’s heart sank as he listened. But he felt a fresh surge of determination and flew into action. No wonder they had failed to find Wingate. While they’d been scouring his neighborhood in their search for him, he’d been plotting and planning in theirs! It was the perfect irony.
He turned to Holliwell, who had heard the explanation and whose mouth was hardened in as firm a line as Mornay’s. He stifled an oath and instead vowed, “We’ll find them. I promise you!”
“Good,” Mornay said. He turned back to the butler. “Open the armoury.” They walked to the little inner room with no windows. “Take these men to the kitchens and tell Cook to be quick about feeding them. In fact, she can give them something to take as we drive.”
“Yes, sir. Will you be eating, sir?”
“I think not.” He had no appetite for anything except possibly murdering Wingate. He wouldn’t do that, of course, unless the man attacked him. But he would see him hung for this! Transportation no longer seemed severe enough for his crimes. Abducting helpless women! It would not, must not, be borne.
Meanwhile word came from Mrs. Bentley about the ordeal she and her staff had suffered.. Mr. Mornay’s indignation took another leap. Wingate was determined to make himself odious to every member of the ton, it seemed. All the better. It would help the peers see their way to hanging him despite his title.
In fifteen minutes Mr. Mornay was back in his coach with Holliwell, Mr. Fotch, and the prince’s guards. They went first to Hanover Square, where an assortment of local law officials were gathered. Mrs. Bentley wanted to speak to him, but after gaining two stocky, strong-looking men, he sent them out and was on their heels. One of the new men was a night watchman, and one a policeman. Antoine sat atop the board with the coachman to direct him, as he best knew the neighbourhood and his brother’s likely whereabouts.
Mr. Mornay occupied himself by loading three separate pistols and placing them about his person. One went in a waistcoat pocket, one in his boot, and the third in a coat pocket. Afterward he still felt a nagging concern that he was not prepared. Then it hit him—he should pray!
“Gentlemen,” he said, looking around at the assorted men in his carriage. “Before we arrive and separate or anything can get out of hand, please join me in a word of prayer for the safety of the ladies, the capture of Lord Wingate, and no harm to our persons.”
The faces around him showed no surprise at all but nodded in grateful agreement. “Mr. Mornay, sir, if you like,” offered the watchman, “I’ve a proper Bible, ‘ere, sir.”
He accepted the little leather-bound book gratefully, and with no small surprise. There truly were more devout people in the world than he had ever realized when he wasn’t one of ‘em.
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat and bowed his head. “Almighty Father.....”
Back at his house, Mrs. Hamilton was in her room filling a travelling trunk with her effects. Her days were numbered in the establishment. The master knew, or would soon, that she was the source of unrest upon which the staff had reacted, that she had leaked the rumour that their situations were in peril, though she had no proof that it was so. Moreover, he was annoyed at her reporting on the missing items—why hadn’t he been annoyed at Miss Forsythe as she’d hoped would happen? She had gone to such lengths to make sure it appeared as if that lady was to blame for the thefts! He was notoriously picksome about most things! Why didn’t he seem to care?
She wasn’t going to leave just yet. She’d wait for her next wages, and then take all the things she had squirreled away in a secret place in Molly’s room. There were more items from the house than what had been reported missing. Mrs. Hamilton had been stocking up her “savings” since she joined the staff nearly a year ago. If she didn’t look out for her future, who would? She had no assurance of a pension—it was not guaranteed in her contract. It only made sense for her to pad her effects. Plenty of servants did the same, she knew. Her own mother, unfortunately, had not. And she had ended up at Draper’s.
Her plan was to soon collect everything she’d lifted from the house and make a run for it, if need be. With that thought in mind, she went down the to the scullery maid’s room. As the least important member of the staff, Molly had the smallest chamber, hardly a chamber at all. It was at the very end of the hall and had an outside wall, which made it difficult to keep warm. But Mrs. Hamilton had found a loose brick near the rafters during a routine inspection of the servants’ quarters, and when she pulled it out, there was quite a large recess behind it. Perfect for stashing her articles!
It held thus far the silver candlestick and portrait of the king, a lady’s pistol she’d got from the armoury, a small pile of guineas, a silver spoon, two elegant ivory snuff boxers, a necklace which had been Mrs. Mornay’s (the most daring of her thefts), a teacup and saucer, watch fob, and an assortment of other small but valuable items. The prospect of having a future mistress had only hastened her otherwise slow acquisition of goods—which were to be sold for her future upkeep.
When she reached the room, she found that Molly was there already, on her knees, beside the bed. My word, but the child prayed!
“What are you doing here so early?” she asked.
Molly looked up, startled. “Me work’s all done!”
“Go down to the kitchen and fetch me some tea leaves.”
“Tea leaves! Mr. Frederick keeps the tea, mum. Under lock and key.”
“I know that, you stupid girl! Now go and tell him I’ve run out, and must borrow a little. I’ll buy some back for the house when I’ve had my wages.”
“Yes, mum,” she said, and scampered to her feet and curtseyed quickly. Then she hurried from the room to do as she was bade.
Mrs. Hamilton watched her go, and then went and found the loose brick. She pulled it quietly from its place, reached her hand in and felt around until she had what she wanted. She pulled out the silver candlestick. She’d pawn this now, before she found herself on the street! She looked it over briefly, admiring it, though the silver had grown slightly tarnished. No matter, the tarnish was proof of the quality. She tucked it into her apron and replaced the brick with her free hand.
Satisfied, she went back to her chamber. Molly soon appeared with the tea and then left.
The coach was bulleting onwards towards the East End, but Mr. Mornay had flipped through the little leather Bible the watchman had loaned him, determined to find an encouraging word for the men. In the Psalms, he began scanning the verses.
He felt exceedingly on edge. His passion to find Ariana was powerful. But there was another side to that coin, a side he didn’t want to think about. How terrible his heartache would be if something were to happen to her! The thought of her danger was almost intolerable. Why had he brought the soldiers with him today when he might have left them with Ariana? Why hadn’t he realized that something could occur even at his own house? Why? Why?
It all came down to that reprobate Wingate! What should he do with the man?
He looked down and saw that he had opened to Psalm 149. He read silently:
For the LORD taketh pleasure in His people…
Let the high praises of God be in their mouth
and a two-edged sword in their hand;
To execute vengeance upon the heathen,
and punishment upon the peoples;
to bind their kings with chains,
and their nobles with fetters of iron,
to execute upon them the judgment written:
this honour have all his saints. .
Praise ye the Lord.
He stopped and went over lines that had jumped off the page at him. “To bind their kings with chains, their nobles with fetters of iron!” Gratitude washed over him. God Himself had a “judgment written” against Lord Wingate! He felt vastly assured that their mission would indeed succeed. With excitement which would have been completely out of character for him only weeks earlier he read the excerpt to his companions. The n
odding of their heads and the spark of hope that jumped into their eyes filled the carriage with an entirely different spirit than the gloom it had contained before.
His own terrible fear went down a few notches. Just from reading a book.
The Bible truly is the most amazing thing!
Back in her room, Molly got into bed but then recalled she hadn’t finished her nightly prayers. She climbed back out and fell to her knees. But there was a scratchy dust on the floor. It hadn’t been there before. Brick dust. She looked around wonderingly, saw the bricks below the rafters, and began touching a few. Bless her, one was loose! She pulled on it tentatively, and suddenly it came out easily. She took her small candle and peeked in the hollow that was revealed. She could see vague outlines in the shadows, but not what they were. She shrank from the idea of putting her hand in without knowing what awaited.
Her first instinct was to run to Mrs. Hamilton’s room to get the lady, which she started to do. As she got near the door, however, something slowed her steps.
It didn’t seem right that there was brick dust on her floor after Mrs. Hamilton had sent her from the room. With a sudden look of realization, she stopped in her tracks and backed quietly away from the housekeeper’s door. Was Mr. Frederick in his chamber? A light from beneath his doorway showed that he was. Looking back towards the housekeeper’s room, she knocked lightly on the butler’s door. To his, “come in,” she entered and found him sitting before the fire with a newspaper on his lap.
“Look,” he said, referring to an item in the news. “The master’s wedding announcement! It’s here in the paper directly following those lies about an elopement! The right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing!”
“Oh, Lor!” she said, duly impressed, coming around to gape at the spot, though Molly couldn’t read to save her life.
Mr. Frederick seemed very kind of a sudden. “Can you read?” he asked, gently.
“No, sir.”
He looked at her appraisingly. “Well, no matter. What did you want, Molly?”
“Sir!” The little waif said, her eyes large and anxious. “Can you come to me room? I ‘av to show you somthin’.”
He looked at her very thoughtfully. “What sort of something?”
“Please, sir! I think Mrs. ’amilton ’as been in me room, sir!”
He shook his head. “Molly, I see nothing wrong in that. If Mrs. Hamilton has been to your room she must have had a reason.”
“Aye, sir! A secret ‘un.” Her eyes pleaded with him, and she took the further bold step of pulling his hand and moving towards the door. Mr. Frederick’s heart softened and he allowed her to persuade him.
Minutes later, she had told him what had happened, which of course he remembered as he was the one to unlock the tea cabinet. Annoying that was, too. Mrs. Hamilton couldn’t possibly purchase the fine quality of tea the Paragon used. It was bought from the highest channels of imports and used by the Regent too. But he could hardly leave her with none, so he’d unlocked the cabinet and spared a little.
Molly showed him the brick. He held up his candle and stuck it toward the hollow, and his eyes widened. He pulled forth the necklace, then the pistol, exchanging looks with Molly, whose wide eyes were opened fully in dismay. Other items followed, all valuable. The pile of guineas in a cloth tied with a small string raised his eyebrows exceedingly. When he was certain there was nothing else, he wrapped everything that would fit into a handkerchief, and put other things into his pockets. He leaned down in front of the little maid.
“Thank you, Molly. The master shall hear of this, and of your part in it.” He stood up, then, with a little worried frown on his face. “The thing is, how do we catch Mrs. Hamilton? She may simply deny all knowledge of this. In fact,” he looked down at Molly, “she will blame you.”
“Oh, Lor! Not me, sir! I would never, sir!”
“No, I don’t believe you would,” he said. “Don’t you worry, Molly. We’ll get to the bottom of this!” He paused. “To think that Mrs. Hamilton cast suspicion upon our future mistress for these items! God forgive me for ever listening to that woman!”
Mornay’s carriage came to a stop and Lord Antoine jumped down from atop the board. He went to its owner. “Sir,” he said with a knowing look, “the easiest and best way to get information around here is to pay for it.”
“Of course,” Mornay murmured. He dug into a pocket and pulled out some guineas and crowns and started handing them round. “Use what you must, gentlemen, and run to the street and fire a shot in the air if you find the ladies or the man we seek! Time is of the essence, for every minute the women are in his power puts them at risk and, needless to say, must be horrifying for them.”
“Sir?” Again it was Holliwell. “If I find my brother first, may I reason with him to give up the ladies? If he puts up no fight, I will not turn him in.”
“You gave me your word, earlier, Antoine, that you would help me put an end to this business. If your brother is not taken into custody, I will have no assurance that this will end tonight. I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”
“May I at least give him the assurance that he will be sent to America a free man if he cooperates with us and returns the ladies unharmed? If he’s transported, it will be a life of labor. The man is nobility, a marquess, after all, sir.”
Mornay remembered the words, “to bind their nobles with fetters of iron,” and felt in his heart Antoine's hopes were in vain. Wingate would put up a fight to the end and suffer the consequences at the hands of English justice. It made no difference therefore what he said to young man, who would feel better if he thought his scheme might work. It was after all, his brother whose life was at stake.
“Make it India, sir, and I will allow that.” He looked at the law officers, one of whom was frowning severely.
“If I come upon him first, depend upon it, I’ll haul him off to Newgate, and recommend him for the hulks, sir! ’E’s of the nobility, but his crime is despicable!”
Mornay nodded. “Agreed.” In a bracing tone, he gave the rally: “Let us find the women, sirs!” The men scattered, having agreed to take different houses, different shadowy corners of the area, and started scouring them for sight or sign of Wingate or his prisoners.
Ariana and Miss Herley had been separated shortly after their captors had forced them into a crowded room in a run-down building. Their entrance was accessed from a narrow, garbage-strewn alley. The “door” wasn’t a real doorway, but seemed to have been fashioned from a hole in the wall. Neither lady wanted to enter it, but both were feeling the cold metal of a gun barrel stuck in their sides and had no choice.
Inside, the place was busy with the demimonde at play. They heard raucous laughter coming from behind closed doors along dimly lit corridors. Ariana tried not to worry how they could ever be found in such a place but kept her spirits up by praying, Let angels lead the way to us!
To the girls’ horror, Miss Herley was marched off with the other ruffian. She looked back at Ariana sorrowfully, tears streaming down her face. Wingate took Ariana up a flight of stairs and then another, and then yet one more, to the top storey of the house.
“I must say, you are very calm. I have seen ladies go into hysterics for less. How is it you do not fear me?”
She felt a stab of fear at his words but kept it, as best she could, from her tone. As they entered a room so dark she could see nothing, she replied, “I gather you are desperate, and after money. That does not make me fear you.” She paused, heard him shut and lock the door, and then while he lit a small candle, she said, “It makes me pity you, sir.”
He was startled, but then angry. He turned on her, still holding the candle, and she could see an awful glint in his eyes. He put the light down and came over to her, a nasty look on his face. He took her by both arms—at that moment Ariana was indeed afraid.
“How dare you! I am not desperate! I am fulfilling a wish I have long had—that of revenging myself on Mr. Mornay.” He stared at
her until she looked away. “Be you careful, Miss Forsythe, or I shall exact another form of revenge that would be treachery, indeed. He’d have to kill me for it, I dare say.”
She gasped and resumed silent prayers. He released her arms, which were beginning to hurt where he’d held them, and she quickly moved away from him.
A sharp knock on the door made his head turn swiftly. “Be silent or I’ll make you sorry for it!” He went to her and drew her up against the wall, out of sight from the doorway. He pulled his pistol from his waistcoat, and cocked it quietly.
“Who is it?” he asked, warily.
“Your friend, sir, Harold Chesley.”
Ariana’s heart gave a leap. If Mr. Chesley saw her, surely he would help her!
“What the devil do you want?” His tone changed to irritability.
“To share a pint with you, m’lord! I believe I have reason to congratulate you!”
Wingate seemed to think about this a moment. Ariana, meanwhile, was desperately trying to decide if she should hazard a scream. It might be her only chance! But what if Wingate got angry enough to carry out his prior threat?
Suddenly he whispered in her ear. “If you make a sound, Miss Forsythe, I will take you and make you mine, do you understand me?” When she made no reply, he shook her. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
He moved to the door. “What are you talking about?” His tone was guarded.
“Oh, come, sir! We share a certain....shall I say, disregard? For the same man. You have taken steps to express your poor opinion of him. I can only applaud that.”
The House in Grosvenor Square Page 30
