A frown creased Edward’s handsome face as he rubbed his brow. “I don’t know that we can trust that. But it’s time for us to return home and sit down with Charles to see what must be done.”
“I must go and warn the plant’s managers, put on guards…”
“You don’t have to do that. Charles has enough men in my employ to guard the plant and more importantly, apprehend anyone who tries to kidnap its employees.”
She felt the tension drain from her. How good it was to share this burden with someone, but would he want to help her when Harcrumb told him she had come from one of those brothels?
Chapter 23
When they arrived at the manor, Simpkins informed them Charles was bringing in two of his runners and would meet Edward sometime after noon.
“What will these runners report?” Cassandra’s pointed question made him whence. Besides keeping watch over Harcrumb, the runners were to report the goings on at those places Cassandra had surreptitiously visited.
He wouldn’t mention that part. “They’ll tell us what Sir Harcrumb is doing."
She appeared ready to collapse, and he smiled his sympathy. “Why don’t you retire to your chambers until they arrive?” She needed some rest before the men likely brought more bad news from London. “I promise to call you to the meeting.”
Her lips barely lifted in an answering smile before she pivoted toward the stairs.
Edward watched until she disappeared around the top landing. He welcomed some time to ponder the situation alone. From what he’d learned so far, an unpleasant picture was emerging, and he needed time to analyze the circumstances.
He still couldn’t understand why Harcrumb was harassing Cassandra. Her husband had been his enemy, but that was hardly a reason for him to bother with the young widow’s efforts to snatch a few of his prostitutes. She held no sway in Parliament to threaten his operation as he husband had. Why pursue her?
Apparently Jane Vernon was extorting money from Cassandra and possibly from Harcrumb as well. The feasibility existed Jane was using one against the other in her scheme.
As soon as the clock chimed twelve, Edward went to the dining hall for luncheon, thankful he’d dine alone.
After serving the course, Simpkins laid a newspaper on the table and stood at attention.
Edward had always enjoyed perusing the newspaper while eating alone. “You remembered. Thank you, Simpkins.” He opened the paper. “That will be all,” he added, then stopped the retreating butler. “Where is everyone?”
“You already know about Viscount Galloway. Lady Ashford is with Lady Pugh, discussing final plans for Lady Sarah’s birthday party tomorrow. Lady Sarah went to play croquet with Lord Pamerton’s daughter, though I doubt they could play long. It’s begun to rain.”
“Has it? That might spoil Lady Ashford’s plans for a picnic.”
Simpkins allowed a prim smile, plainly betraying his dislike of the lady. “The rain looks to have set in for a while, your grace.”
The butler pottered off, and Edward moved the newspaper in front of his plate before attacking his steak and eggs. As his gaze flitted over the paper, an article made him lower his fork. It was a small piece, and any other time he wouldn’t have noticed it.
Girls were being kidnapped from London’s most notorious brothels. Police were baffled, but they felt a woman was behind the disappearances.
Cassandra?
He duke pushed back in his chair, no longer hungry. The tightening in his gut intensified.
His inner sense told him the runners’ report wouldn’t be good. Would he learn the truth about Cassandra today? He’d already decided nothing could change his feelings for her. But he should never have read that article.
She’d been duped by Jane Vernon, but why was she involved with the actress in the first place? Cassandra’s story was so riddled with holes, he couldn’t make sense of it. He cared for her with such intensity, it frustrated him that she wouldn’t confide in him.
And time was running out. Sarah’s birthday was tomorrow, and Aunt Chloe and Lady Hayes would be taking their leave the next day. Cassandra would return to London at the same time. Away from his protection.
Only forty-eight hours remained to convince her to marry him. If it wasn’t raining, he’d take her for a walk in the garden tonight. Make a way for me if it be Your will, Lord.
He sat staring into space. For how long he didn’t know.
Simpkins returned to announce that Charles Galloway and the runners had arrived.
Edward rose and squared his taunt shoulders. “Send word to Lady Wayte that we’ll be in my study.”
The little French coo-coo clock on the wall cabinet in his study struck one o’clock as Edward entered. Charles introduced him to Mr. Cyrus Crane and Mr. Thomas Wylie. The duke steeled himself as the two rough looking men sat before his desk. Crane favored his bandaged right shoulder as he sank onto the chair.
“Thank you for coming out to Langsdale. I’m ready to hear your report.” Edward wouldn’t wait until Cassandra arrived. Maybe she’d be spared the details.
Wylie began, “We arrived at the address yer man gave us at quarter till nine o’clock in the morning, Tuesday. That was the earliest we could get there, ye understand?” This would be Sir Harcrumb’s address. Edward nodded.
“We asked the stable boy who was in residence,” Mr. Crane added. “Besides the master and mistress, the stable boy showed us a plain carriage and said a lidy had arrived sometime a’fore breakfast.”
“We kept watch,” Wylie said, “and at quarter past four of the clock, the carriage is brought around to the front, and the lidy comes out.” The man pulled his bushy brows together. “She looked nothing like the descriptions of the females yer man gave.”
The duke sat up in interest. “Go on with it.”
“Well, she might have been in disguise ‘cause she were dressed like a matron with a low bonnet and wearing spectacles.”
“The short o’ it is, we followed her,” Crane broke in, “to a long stone building on Madden Street. It used ter be a hostelry, I think, but I know fer a fact it’s been vacant two years.”
“Well, this lidy goes in and stays about an hour. Then a woman comes out with a boy. The woman looks ter be a dancer or actress. She had red hair and flashy clothes.”
“Jane.”
All the men turned to the door. Cassandra stepped into the room and took the only vacant chair in the room, the one in the corner. “Don’t let me interrupt, gentlemen, please go on.”
Edward nodded to Crane, but kept his gaze on Cassandra.
“In our business, yer grace, we get a sense about people, if yer know my meaning?” Crane said.
“Tell us exactly what you mean.” He didn’t pay the man to play a guessing game.
“We knew that the woman who came out was the same that went in. She’d just changed her disguise.”
“Or it might have been a different woman,” Edward countered. “How can you know this red-haired woman was not already in the vacant building?”
“Well, hear us out, yer grace, then you can judge fer yerself.”
Wylie picked up the story. “The red-haired woman didn’t take the carriage. A curricle drew around, and the boy drove it away.”
“You followed them?” the duke asked.
“We did, and to the textile plant in Cheapside.”
Crane gave a bark of laughter. “We didn’t know what went on. The boy went inside and came out after a few minutes with four wenches and a giant of a man who resembled a carnival ape. The girls piled into the curricle with the woman, though how they all got in, I don’t know, and the man got up on the driver’s seat with the boy.”
“And where did they go?” Edward asked, foreboding tightening the cords in his neck.
“To a fairly well to do hostelry, the Blue Swan. They all got out and trooped inside. We didn’t see nothing o’ em till about dark, that right, Cy?”
Cy nodded. “All o’ a sudden like, the boy
and gels comes running out, making fer the curricle. We decided right then to make our move. We wanted to ask questions, yer understand? But the boy put up a fight, and I pulled his wig off, proving he warn’t no boy.”
Wylie broke in. “Then the woman came running out, and the gel dressed like a boy hollered, “Lady Wayte, help me.”
Edward sat up. “Are you certain that is the name she used?” He glanced to Cassandra. All the color had drained from her face, and she appeared about to topple over.
Crane nodded. “That’s what she said. I didn’t see the pistol she had till it were too late.” He pulled back his coat to reveal a bandaged right shoulder. “This is what I got fer me trouble.”
“We had to cease following then, yer grace. I didn’t know how hurt Tom would be.”
“I understand. So you let them get away. Is that all of your story?”
“No, one of the gels bolted during the scuffle, and after I see that Tom’s not bad off, I run after her.”
“You caught her?”
“I did, and after I assured her I meant no harm, she was real cooperative.” He paused.
“Well, man, let’s hear the rest,” Edward snapped.
The runner smiled smugly. “She told me Lady Wayte had rescued them from the flash house, but they didn’t live up to expectations and had to go back to the Blue Swan.”
Charles interrupted. “One of Harcrumb’s establishments.”
Cassandra rose, one hand on her stomach, the other pressed to her temple. “I can explain exactly what happened, your grace. Jane dressed in the same disguise I used. She posed as me and, because they trusted me, the girls were lured to Harcrumb’s establishments. All the while, Jane told me they had run away from their jobs to return to the brothels. She said some of them were like that. They were too hardened to return to normal.” Her voice quivered. “What a fool I was. I have to get back there.”
She moved to the door, but Edward was faster. He gripped her forearm to hold her back. “Give me a moment.”
With a dip of her head, she acquiesced and crossed her arms to pace the small space like a caged animal.
Edward faced the men. “I think we’ve heard enough. Charles, go back with Crane and Wylie. Apprehend Jane Vernon, identify all those other women, hunt them down, take their statements.
“They’ll accuse me.” Cassandra’s voice shook.
“Please, Cassandra. We’ll sort it all out, and the truth will be revealed.” He felt her anger, and indeed, his own ire had risen, but the situation called for calm.
“Charles, I hate to send you out in this weather, but this is important. Can you return by day after tomorrow?”
Charles stood back to allow the runners room to exit. “I’ve traveled in worse weather—and in less time.”
Edward filled the doorway, blocking Cassandra. He still wasn’t certain she wouldn’t try to flee. “I understand that these young women are lured back into the brothels, but if they don’t like it, why don’t they just leave?”
She returned to her chair and sat on the edge, appearing perfectly composed except for the white-knuckle fists clenched in her lap. “They don’t leave because they’re guarded and kept under lock and key unless someone watches them.”
In three strides Edward reached his desk. He snatched the runners’ report and slapped it against his thigh. “Why doesn’t someone report this? Slavery is against the law in England.”
“So is murder.” Rancor dripped from Cassandra’s words.
She referred to her husband’s murder—and Lucy’s. He well understood why she felt the law failed her, but there was something more that drove her to take the law into her own hands. He couldn’t shake the feeling she held something back, though he wouldn’t press her now. She was too distraught.
He admired her for trying to carry out Lord Wayte’s mission—to provide a living for those prostitutes who wished to leave the brothels. That they couldn’t escape had never entered Edward’s mind. Nor would such have occurred to society. In the wealthy, pretentious world of the ruling class women were blamed for prostitution, though many of the debased members of the nobility partook of what the prostitutes offered.
It was age-old curse, but now he understood harlots were forced into their position, either from experience or were bought and sold at a young age by both men and women. Few ever cared enough to consider the plight of the doxies.
Lord Wayte had cared enough. And Cassandra. And Jesus. Now Edward knew the truth, he cared too.
He understood why Jesus received prostitutes and offered them redemption.
In spite of all this, he couldn’t fathom how Cassandra would consort with those sordid people? The stories of her association with actresses and her riotous parties for the demi-mode must be true.
The only explanation he could grasp was it gave her entrance into the world of the people she sought to help. Even so, it repelled him to think she would dirty herself with such filth.
The gong of the grandfather clock called to mind he and Cassandra had been lost in their thoughts for some while.
He coughed into his fist to release the discomfort of voicing the subject in her presence. “It’s an untenable situation. My father and Lord Wayte worked with William Wilberforce to put an end to slave trade, yet many still languish in workhouses without personal freedom. You’re right, Cassandra, a law doesn’t prevent powerful men from getting away with enslaving people. Or murder.”
“How could I have been so stupid?” The agonized look on her face told him what she referred to.”
“You could not have known.”
“The ape of a man the runner described was one of my guards. He must have been bribed. I can trust no one.” The look on her face questioned Edward as if she doubted him as well. “That mystery woman who met Harcrumb the night of Geoffrey’s death must have been Jane.”
That reminded him the Waytefield housekeeper, Essie, was visiting Lil at this moment, and Cassandra wished to speak with her former housekeeper. “Essie and Lil must have finished their luncheon by now. We’ll drop the problem of what happens in London for now and see what Essie has to say about Lord Wayte’s death.”
***
The two sisters sat at the end of the servants’ dining table, hunched over, deep in conversation. When Cassandra’s and Edward’s footsteps sounded on the stone floor, both housekeepers started as if caught in some secret.
Essie’s homely face lit with a beaming smile as she sprang from her chair. The sight of her brought fond memories to Cassandra’s mind. She tripped forward and clasped the study matron in a hug before the woman could rise from her curtsey.
“Dear Essie, I’ve missed you dreadfully.”
“And I you, m’lady. Things haven’t been the same since—”
“Would your grace like for us to repair to the parlor now?” Lil asked. She’d been forewarned the duke wished to question Essie.
“No, that won’t be necessary. We’ll meet right here, and if you have some of those lemon teacakes you’re famous for, I’d like some with a cup of coffee.”
Lil glanced to Cassandra. “And you, m’lady, could I get you a teacake? Would you prefer tea?”
Cassandra hadn’t eaten lunch, and the offer made her stomach rumble. “Indeed yes, I enjoy your teacakes, and I’m greedy enough for two, but coffee would be fine.”
Lil scurried to the kitchen, and Edward addressed Essie. “I’m sure Lil must have told you Lady Wayte and I wish to know what you remember about the night Lord Wayte died. And the day before.”
Essie looked from Edward to Cassandra. “I remember it well. As you recall, m’lady, everyone was excited about the ball, the only winter ball since Candlemas. The ladies were fussing over their gowns.”
Cassandra’s memory wasn’t as clear as Essie’s. The events following her husband’s death had clouded everything else. “Yet Daphne and I were the only ladies who went.”
Essie nodded. “But Lady Millicent and Mrs. Harcrumb intended to go. Then Si
r Harcrumb appeared unexpectedly, and Mrs. Harcrumb changed her mind. Lady Millicent refused to go when she couldn’t find her best cloak, said the others weren’t warm enough, and it was a bitterly cold day.”
Cassandra exchanged glances with Edward. “I do remember that. Millicent had the whole house in an uproar. I escaped to Geoffrey’s bedchamber.”
“She was incensed, that she was. Had me check the servants’ rooms, thinking someone had stolen her cloak.” Essie leaned forward. “More likely she left it somewhere like Lady Ashford did.”
Lil returned with a large silver tray bearing the cakes and coffee, along with a creamer and sugar bowl. She served Edward and Cassandra. “I fixed the coffee to your liking, your grace, one spoonful of sugar and a spot of cream. How would you like yours, Lady Wayte?”
“Two spoonsful of sugar, no cream, thank you, Lil.” Cassandra preferred tea and rarely drank coffee, though she welcomed the steaming cup with both hands.
Essie had brought back the memories of that night so vividly Cassandra felt the chill. Coming back from the ball, even with foot-warmers, her feet were like ice by the time they’d arrived back at Waytefield.
That was one of the reasons she hadn’t checked on Geoffrey, wanting to get under the covers of her own bed as quickly as possible.
“Lady Ashford lost her cloak as well?” Edward put the question to Essie.
“Oh no, but she left it at Waytefield when she took her leave the next day.” Essie fingered the braided coil of her salt and pepper hair into place. “I have it packed for her so she won’t forget it when she returns to London.”
Edward took a long sip of coffee and furrowed his brows as if pondering. “Was Lady Ashford’s cloak by chance lined with ermine?”
“Oh yes, even the hood. The deep blue wool against the white ermine makes it a most striking garment.”
Cassandra frowned. Just because the cloak fit the description of the one worn by the mysterious woman Margaret had seen didn’t mean Daphne was wearing it. “When did Sir Harcrumb arrive?”
“I don’t recall the exact time, but it was well after noon. Mrs. Harcrumb wasn’t expecting him and came to me to order another setting for dinner. You and Lady Ashford had left by dinner time.”
The Duke's Dilemma (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 2) Page 23
