Slade leaned back and crossed his arms.
“And yet you’ve done nothing to show it,” he muttered. “You have the reverse Midas touch — everything you touch turns to ruin! You are the most feckless, self-sabotaging assistant a man ever had the misfortune to work with. We have only a few hours to get rid of this baggage here” — again he motioned to Beatrice — “and I have absolutely no confidence in your ability to accomplish the task.”
At the bottom of the stairs Nathaniel froze in alarm, his breathing quick and shallow. They were arguing about how to dispense with the woman he loved — and by the end of the night her body could be floating in the river!
As it happened, this was precisely the method that Bragg had in mind.
“I — I’ve been thinking over how best to accomplish this.” The tenor of the discussion suddenly changed, and from the tone in his voice it was clear that Bragg was hoping to redeem himself in Slade’s eyes. “I think that we ought to stow the baggage in one of the large chests, fill it with rocks and then dump it all in the Thames in the darkest hour of the night.”
Slade considered the proposition.
“Quick and efficient,” he said finally, nodding his head and fingering his moustache. He removed a pipe from his vest pocket and lighted it. “I like it. In the meantime, we ought to let our employees know that they can’t ruin valuable merchandise and get away with it. I’ll be back as soon as I have made a suitable impression. I believe the tool I require is still in the bottom drawer of my desk. You remain here and guard the baggage.”
Nathaniel heard the sound of Slade’s boots moving toward the top of the stairs. Not wanting to be discovered, he slipped down the stairs and concealed himself behind the door at the bottom. A few seconds later Slade strode past, still muttering under his breath. Nathaniel watched from the shadows as the man stepped onto the landing. Nathaniel could smell the tobacco from Slade’s pipe, burning as it passed within two feet of him. He almost coughed when the acrid smoke assailed his nostrils.
He watched as Slade passed through office door, and moments later emerged with a large horsewhip in his hands, heading away from where Nathaniel stood. Slade turned and went down the stairs towards the basement, a very determined look on his face.
Now was Nathaniel’s chance! As quiet as a whisper, he stole up the stairs and into the dimly lit room looking out over the Thames. There sat Beatrice, her eyes wide with panic. Yet when he slipped through the door and they locked eyes for a moment, her fear melted into relief and a quiet glow shone on her face. Nathaniel motioned her not to make a sound. The shouting, the cracking of a whip and the screams coming from below helped to mask the sound of Nathaniel’s footsteps as he crept across the floor.
As yet he had been so quiet that Bragg had not noticed Nathaniel approaching him from behind. Now, sensing someone close behind him, Bragg turned around. Yet even as he did so, Nathaniel’s fist came flying through the air and a roundhouse right caught Bragg on the side of his jaw, dazing him and driving him backward and onto the floor.
“Salborne!” he yelled in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Releasing the innocent woman that you have imprisoned!” Nathaniel shouted back.
Rubbing his throbbing jaw, Bragg stood and both men adopted a classic boxing stance. After some sparring Bragg threw a punch at Nathaniel’s head, but Nathaniel bobbed just in time and the blow glanced off his cheek. Nathaniel struck out with a jab of his left fist, which landed between Bragg’s eyes, temporarily stunning him. Nathaniel immediately followed with a right uppercut under the chin, and Bragg crumpled to the floor!
Beatrice stared in surprise at the unconscious figure now lying in front of her. Motioning for her to remain silent, Nathaniel removed the gag from her mouth and untied her. He took her hand in his and together they made their way down the stairs and across the landing.
The shouting and cruel cracking of the whip continued, and it seemed as if they were going to reach the office door undetected. Nathaniel was breathing a sigh of relief when they heard a loud cry from below.
“BOTH OF YOU, STOP!” shouted Slade. “If you think you’re going anywhere, you’re very much mistaken!” Waving a crooked fist in the air, he began running across the basement and toward the stairway to the landing at a breakneck pace.
“We’ll have to hurry,” said Nathaniel, breaking their long silence. “If we run, perhaps we can make it to the street before he catches us.”
They heard a crash below them, and when Nathaniel looked he could see that Slade had reached the stairs.
“I can’t run in this dress!” Beatrice exclaimed. “I’ll go tripping over the skirt and fall flat on my face.”
Knowing they had no time to waste, Nathaniel grabbed her around the waist and swept her into his arms. With fear giving him the strength of ten men he carried her through the front door and out into the foggy darkness.
Once outside, he did not cease running. Just as they reached his carriage they heard another crash behind them. Turning around, they saw Slade standing in the doorway, shaking his fist and shouting curses, eerily silhouetted by a bright glow emanating from the depths of the warehouse. Nathaniel lifted Beatrice into the carriage and then sat close beside her. Looking back once more, he could see Slade turn and run back into the office. Nathaniel goaded the horses forward and with a clatter of hooves they left Chapman Street.
Only when they were some blocks away did they dare speak.
Nathaniel brought the carriage to a halt.
“Are you alright?” Nathaniel asked, as he placed his hand on her arm.
He felt like a tremendous weight had been lifted off him, and he drew in great gulps of air like a man who had nearly drowned.
“Exhausted,” said Beatrice. “And much better now that we’re safe. My, what an eventful day we have had! From your early morning visit, to our disagreement, to Mr. Slade’s visit, to being bound and gagged by Mr. Bragg, to...” — she laid her hand over her heart and began speaking in a soft voice — “to a dramatic rescue by a very brave and handsome gentleman. I must thank you, Lord Salborne.”
“Nathaniel. Please call me Nathaniel.”
“If you insist. But you must simply call me Beatrice.”
“I must confess something to you, Beatrice. This morning I visited your house not to discuss business deals… I came over to confess my love for you.”
“My goodness,” she responded, not knowing quite what to say. Then looking at his face more closely she said, “Oh — what has happened to your cheek?”
“That must be where Bragg’s punch landed,” he said, touching the spot. It was warm and sore and already beginning to swell. “In the moment, I was so focused on what I was doing that I didn’t notice.”
“Here, let me take care of that for you.” Reaching into her reticule, Beatrice retrieved a bottle containing an herbal preparation. He looked at her questioningly.
“It’s a tincture of arnica flowers,” she said, placing a bit of it on her fingers. “It will limit the bruising.”
“It was strange,” she said quietly, as she continued to tenderly stroke his cheek. “The entire time that I was in Slade’s office, I thought that I was going to die. Yet that didn’t scare me nearly as much as the thought of never seeing you again.”
Nathaniel lovingly laid his hand over hers, halting her ministrations. She pressed her hand against his cheek, guiding his head until she was looking directly into his eyes.
“Nathaniel, I don’t want us ever to be separated again.”
“We needn’t be. I love you beyond what my words can possibly express.” His heart pounding, he paused for a long moment. “Marry me?” he asked with bated breath.
Her eyes were like summer lightning.
“Oh, yes,” she said, a shudder passing through her. “I have been in love with you since that first carriage ride in the park.”
Nathaniel then cupped her face tenderly in his hands, and leaning over he kissed her long and passi
onately on the lips. Although they were alone in the open carriage, there was one witness to the scene.
Across the street, half-obscured by the fog, stood the solitary figure of a provocatively dressed young woman. She was leaning against a lamppost, smoking a diminutive pipe and watching the couple with interest.
She bore a striking resemblance to Madame Luminitska Zoltara.
Epilogue
That night the building housing J.W. Hunt, Silk Merchants burned to the ground. According to interviews with some of the labourers, the fire had started when the owner collided with a table and knocked over an oil lamp while rushing through the basement. The flaming oil had landed upon some paper used for packing, and the fire had soon raged out of control.
All of the labourers were able to escape through a rear door used for deliveries. One body, however was discovered in the rubble, in a portion of what had been the uppermost part of the structure.
Although the remains could not be positively identified, they were assumed by the authorities to be that of the owner. An obituary for Mr. Conolly Slade appeared in an edition of The Times later that week.
~~~~~
A group of ominous-looking men arrived in Limehouse a week later, inquiring about the business. When they learned that the building, and all of its contents had burned, and that the owner had reportedly been consumed in the fire, five reluctantly booked return passage on the next ship bound for India, while the remaining three stayed behind to investigate more fully.
~~~~~
Several days after the fire, Nathaniel, Beatrice and Wilson were enjoying afternoon tea together in the parlour at Bedford Place.
“I say — I believe I will never forget the adventures with that Madame Zoltara woman,” said Nathaniel.
“Neither will I,” said Beatrice. “For a number of reasons.”
Nathaniel smiled and reached for her hand.
“By the way, I’m quite certain I now know how she knew about that childhood incident in the cave.”
“And how is that?”
“I had no idea at the time that Slade was involved. Slade and I played together as children, and I’m certain he knew about the incident at the time.” He paused and thought for a moment. “In fact — as I remember it now, we had been together that day, and he ran off and left me with the dog!”
Wilson took a biscuit.
“And what about your giving money to that young woman?”
“Ah, I believe I have worked that out as well. In order to involve me in conversation, Bragg must have been following me all of the morning on the day that I first encountered him. He would have witnessed the event. Both Slade and Bragg must have coached Zoltara with their knowledge of these events.”
“Then it becomes clear,” said Beatrice. “Yet what about the moving furniture, and the tapping at the second séance? Madame Zoltara — or Sally Sweet, being her true identity — was truly impacted by that demonstration. She actually did lose consciousness for a time.”
Wilson finished a sip of tea. As he put down his cup he wore a sheepish grin.
“I’m afraid that was all a prank,” he said. “I was quite convinced after the first ‘séance’ that she was a charlatan, and I wanted to test her mettle by interrupting her. As it turned out, she became convinced she actually had contacted the dead — and she was overcome with fear.”
“And how did you accomplish that?” asked Nathaniel.
“Seated at the table, I was able to raise my legs in such a way that I could lift the table from the floor and manipulate it. As to the tapping — I simply tapped the metal toe tips of my boots on the underside of the table.”
Beatrice leaned toward her brother.
“But the pottery, and the painting. How in the world...”
“If you’ll remember, I left you and Nathaniel alone in the parlour, and stepped into the sitting-room for a minute or two. While there I tied a couple of nearly invisible silk strings to the pot and the frame of the painting. At the proper time, and for the maximum effect, I pulled each string—to pull the portrait from the wall, and the pot along the shelf.”
Beatrice shook her head.
“And the candle?”
“A simple trick I learned as a child. With confusion running rampant, it was easy to purse my lips and blow a strong, short stream of air concentrated at the candle, without being detected. The puff was enough to extinguish it.”
Nathaniel laughed, then said, “Wilson, I’m certain I will be hearing for years to come of the pranks you have played — but none will exceed those you accomplished during the ‘Franklin Incident’.”
Wilson smiled.
“I suppose so. But I do have one question for my sister.”
“And what might that be?” said Beatrice.
“What was in that mixture you inserted into Slade’s coffee — the stuff that made him putty in your hands?”
Beatrice smiled and shook her head at her brother. “That was a combination of flowers, herbs and spices revealed to me years ago by a wizened old woman travelling across the county in a caravan of vardos. ‘This may come in handy someday, my dear, when you must know the truth and it is not forthcoming,’ she said. She gave me the recipe, but made me swear never to reveal its contents.”
All sat for a moment, then Nathaniel said, “Well, I hope that neither of you ever decides to become a confidence trickster — you could have the entire country under your spell!”
The three laughed uproariously for several minutes.
~~~~~
Nathaniel and Beatrice were married the following spring. The old Duke passed away a few months later, the victim of something foolish he attempted while under one of his spells.
The Duke and Duchess of Warbleton would be blessed with five children, two boys and three girls. Nathaniel always kept a collection of Benjamin Franklin’s sayings by his bedside.
But not one of the family ever attended a séance again.
The End
Continue reading after the ‘About the Author’ section for a preview of ‘The Duke’s Ignoble Imposter’.
About the Author
Some say that Alyce Healey was likely born with a book in one hand and a pen in the other. She has always loved reading, and began to write stories when she was about six years old.
A romantic at heart, she adores the richness of the Regency era and the strong romantic appeal it offers both writer and reader, an opportunity for both to “get lost” in a world much simpler, much purer than the one we experience on a daily basis. “Love must conquer all” is Alyce’s guiding principle for all her stories. Forgiveness, redemption and the realization that all things work together for good are the natural by-products of that principle.
Yet falling in love is never a perfect process, and that is reflected in Alyce’s stories which frequently involve adventure and intrigue, entertaining plot twists and a surprise or two.
So, Dear Reader, come along and enjoy Alyce’s delightful tales of life and love, Regency style!
Connect with Alyce at http://www.alycehealey.com
Other Books by Alyce Healey
Here is Your Preview of
The Duke’s
Ignoble Imposter
Alyce Healey
Chapter One
“I can scarcely believe the day is nearly here,” said Lady Priscilla Ridlington, a girl of sixteen with fair skin, dark eyes and long raven lashes. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for so long, and with such anticipation, that I was starting to think it might never come.”
It was the first week of October in 1820, and swirling pewter-grey clouds hung over Loxchester Hall in London. In the sitting-room Madeline Ridlington, the Duchess of Loxchester, and her daughter, Priscilla, were sharing late afternoon tea and making plans for Priscilla’s debut.
“I know that feeling well.” The Duchess gazed wistfully through the window at a street half-obscured by rain. “When I was young time seemed to pass so slowly I thought I thought that I woul
d never get married or have children. Yet as the years went on they began to fly past faster and faster, like a cart rolling downhill.”
“It’s hard for me to even imagine that. I just want the day of my debut to arrive. It’s still six weeks away, and it feels like it’s been six weeks away for the past month. I’m beginning to worry that it will always be six weeks away.”
“You may think that now,” said the Duchess with a sad smile. “But in a moment, three months will have passed and you will be looking forward to the next Ball, and the next after that. Eventually the day will come when you have nothing to look forward to at all — except managing a house and a husband, and raising a family.”
The Duchess displayed a wide grin and winked at her daughter.
Priscilla giggled, then said, “I certainly hope that day takes its sweet time to arrive.”
They laughed together, then the conversation fell into silence, as they watched the rain falling steadily on the roofs of the passing hansom-cabs. The lamp at the end of the street had just been lighted, and its yellow flame shone faintly through the downpour, shrouded in grey mist. Just then, they heard the light tread of boots on the stairs and Priscilla’s brother Kenneth, Lord Birchworth, strode into the room. He looked unusually cheerful in contrast to the gloomy weather outside.
“What a perfect day to go riding!” he exclaimed as he surveyed the rainy street with approval. “I think I shall go out for a ride this evening.”
“You will be soaked to the skin in a quarter of an hour,” said the Duchess. “Do you truly enjoy the habit of going out riding in stormy weather?”
“No, but today is particularly eerie and gorgeous,” replied Kenneth, who had always had a taste for the Gothic. “I feel as though I ought to be unmasking a conspiracy of wicked monks in some secret underground crypt.”
Priscilla and the Duchess glanced discreetly at one another, and the Duchess shook her head. Kenneth could talk all he wanted about rain-beaten moors and ruined abbeys, but they were both quite certain that this was not the real reason he intended to go out that day. For the past several months, Kenneth had been falling unmistakably in love with Lady Nancy Honeyfield, the twenty-year-old daughter of the Earl of Hartmere.
Love in the Moonlight: A Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Collection: 7 Delightful Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Stories (Regency Collections Book 6) Page 41
