The Reluctant Reformer

by Lynsay Sands

  Maggie nodded, considering asking if the girl could be called down, then changed her mind. "Do you imagine it would be all right if I went up for a moment to speak with her?"

  The madam's gaze narrowed on her considering; then she shrugged. "If you like. Though I could call her down here to talk if you wish."

  Maggie shook her head; she didn't wish to speak to the younger girl in front of Agatha. "Nay. Thank you, but I will just go up to her room."

  Nodding, Agatha turned them back toward the stairs. "I shall walk you up."

  Much to her relief, Agatha did not stay when Maisey answered her knock, but left them alone to talk and moved up the hall.

  "Could I come inside?" Maggie asked, smiling at the girl.

  Shrugging, Maisey stepped aside to allow her entrance. "Ye can if'n ye like, miss, but I don't know what for. I thought we settled about the gowns."

  "This isn't regarding the gowns," Maggie explained as she entered the room. The other woman closed the door behind her. "I wanted to explain about the other night."

  Maisey looked at her blankly. "The other night?"

  "At the club," Maggie prompted, frowning when the girl continued to look confused. "I just wanted to explain why I left without leaving word for you."

  "Why ye left?"

  Maggie hesitated. The girl truly didn't seem to know what she was talking about! "Why I left the club after you locked me in that room," she added.

  Maisey shook her head. "I don't know what ye're talking about. I haven't seen ye since the night ye left through the window."

  "What?" Maggie gasped, feeling the air knocked out of her. It was her turn to be left feeling bewildered. "But, you sent me a letter. About the gowns and calling it even."

  "Yeah." Maisey nodded slowly, and Maggie felt some relief stretching through her. "Then you mentioned the men's club, offered to meet me..." Maggie trailed off. The girl was shaking her head.

  "I didn't say nothin' about no club."

  "Yes, you did," Maggie insisted. "And then we met at the club, and you--"

  "Ye're daft is what ye are," Maisey interrupted impatiently. "I didn't mention no club and didn't meet you at one."

  "But--"

  "I think it's time you left," Maisey decided abruptly, eyeing her as if she were mad.

  Maggie opened her mouth to argue, but seeing the determined glint in the other woman's eyes, she decided that perhaps leaving was for the best. Maisey was apparently set upon lying, and the only reason she could think of for it was that the girl feared getting in trouble. Which would happen only if she were working with the man who had attacked her. That thought made Maggie remember that the man had unlocked the door. She'd heard him unlock it. Where else could he have gotten the key but from Maisey?

  Eyes narrowing on the girl, Maggie decided she would give this information to James to pass on to Mr. Johnstone. He would get to the bottom of the matter. Deciding that the smartest move at that point was to leave, Maggie exited the room without further argument.

  There was no sign of Agatha in the hall. Maggie didn't wish to leave without at least saying good-bye, but she had a sudden panicky desire to get back to Lady Barlow's. She was beginning to feel decidedly uneasy.

  Hurrying to the stairs, she ran down them and straight for the front door, giving a start when Madame Dubarry's butler appeared to open it for her.

  Mumbling her thanks, Maggie slid outside and hurried along the walkway, her feet moving faster with each step. She was in a frenzy to reach the Barlow town house and James. In her rush, Maggie didn't notice the carriage that kept pace with her or the footsteps echoing her own until it was too late. She was crossing the first intersecting street when a carriage turned abruptly before her, the door swung open, and she was grabbed from behind and bundled inside.

  At first Maggie was too stunned to resist, but then she heard a shout and the pounding of someone running toward her. She began to struggle. The moment she did, something slammed into her head. She sank into unconsciousness.

  James found himself hurrying as he leapt out of his carriage and made his way up the walk to his aunt's front door, and grimaced at his own eagerness. He had been distracted and a tad short-tempered for the last hour as he approved the repairs being done at Maggie's town house. If he were honest with himself, James would admit that he had been short-tempered ever since the night he and Maggie had been caught in the library. The first time.

  Sighing, he paused and rapped on his aunt's door with his cane. There were several reasons for his moodiness. For one thing, he was a little less than pleased with Maggie's lack of enthusiasm for their upcoming nuptials. It was doing his ego little good. But he had adjusted to that, assuring himself it was caused by her fear of losing the autonomy she had enjoyed since her brother's death. She would relax and settle down with the idea once she realized that he didn't intend to smother her independent nature. He had no intention of doing that; her spirit was one of the things he admired most about her.

  James had insisted that she give up writing for the Express, of course, but that had been out of necessity. Those damned articles were putting her life at risk, and while he had every hope that they would catch the scar-faced man presently trying to kill her, it was doubtful the fellow was the only one out there who would wish G. W. Clark ill. No, her articles were proving far too dangerous, and he was quite sure that her pride would have insisted she keep it up until the wedding had he not insisted straight off that she resign. Yet only pride would have kept her at it, he was sure. She had admitted, herself, that she didn't care for everything she had to do to get information for those articles. And, he rationalized, it was not as if she had a grand passion for the position. She had only been G. W. Clark for a couple months, and had only taken the position up to make extra money after Gerald's death.

  Another reason for James's moodiness stemmed from his avoidance of Maggie in what he considered to be a terribly gallant effort to not toss up her skirt at every turn. James loved and respected his Aunt Viv dearly. She had raised him. He was now trying to behave as the gentlemen she'd raised him to be. But he could not do so with Maggie behaving as she had in their last encounter in the library. She easily brought an end to his good behavior with very little effort. So quickly he found his good intentions falling by the wayside. Even now, he couldn't wait to see her again, couldn't wait to be inside her again. To kiss her soft lips, lick her sweet skin, touch her round breasts and...

  Feeling his body respond to his imaginings, James drew in his wayward thoughts. His concentration was most definitely shot. He had spent every moment since their last scandalous encounter either reliving those passionate moments, or imagining what he wanted to do to her next time. Which had made attending to the repairs of her town house and resolving what to do with her staff rather more difficult than it should have been.

  He smiled at the thought of the Wentworth servants. He had spent more time with them than he had with Maggie, herself, of late. Most of her staff were helping out at the town house, and James had come to know them well. Enough to realize that her affection for them was returned tenfold. Every one of the servants was aware of the lengths she had gone to in her determination to keep them all on...and every one of them was as loyal as could be because of it. Which, when added to the fact that he knew Maggie would be miserable without them, had moved James to decide that--no matter what--he was going to see to it that they went wherever she did. It didn't matter if he already had a full staff. He was about to have a fuller one.

  "My lord!"

  He turned his attention from his thoughts to Meeks as the front door of his aunt's house was opened. The expression on the man's face echoed the relief that had been evident in his voice, causing an uneasiness in James.

  "Good afternoon, Meeks," he greeted, stepping into the house.

  "Good afternoon, my lord. Lady Barlow is waiting in the salon." The man took his hat, cape, and cane, waving him toward the room in question, and James felt his uneasiness increase. R
efraining from questioning the man, he walked into the salon.

  "James!" Lady Barlow turned from her anxious pacing, rushing to her nephew's side as he entered the room.

  James's eyes widened in surprise at such a welcome, but he smiled and asked, "What is it?"

  "Maggie is missing." The blunt announcement dropped into the silent room like a stone into a pond.

  James's smile froze, his face blanching. "What?"

  "She is missing. She claimed to want to rest before dinner, but I had a question about her preferences for the wedding meal, and went to see if she might be awake, and--" She shook her head unhappily. "She was not there."

  "Where was Jack?" James asked sharply. "He was supposed to be protecting her."

  "He was right there, standing guard at her door. He said that he stood outside it since she went in. She had to have left out of her window. It is the only way. I have had the servants search the entire house, but she simply isn't here."

  "Isn't here?" James echoed with disbelief.

  "No. I told Meeks to send servants to both you and Mr. Johnstone to make you aware of the matter."

  "I wasn't home. I just came from...I didn't get the message," James said dazedly.

  "I did."

  Lady Barlow and James both turned to the door as Johnstone strode forward, his expression grim.

  "I have already put several men out to search for her," the runner announced. His gaze went to Lady Barlow and he added, "But it might help if we had some idea where to look. Did you question the servants, ask if she said anything to anyone about going somewhere?"

  "Yes. No one seems to have any idea where she might be."

  They were all speechless for a time, then James said in a bewildered voice, "She promised me that she would not go out alone again after the incident at the club."

  Johnstone offered a sympathetic grimace. "Perhaps she didn't. Is anyone else missing?"

  Lady Barlow's eyes widened at the question. "Banks!"

  "Banks?" James repeated. His aunt nodded. "Meeks mentioned that he could not find Banks, either. And it seems to me that when we were riding back to town from Ramsey, Maggie mentioned that Banks often accompanied her when she investigated her stories."

  James stiffened at the suggestion. "She does not do those anymore. She retired."

  Before Lady Barlow could answer, Meeks appeared at the door to the salon, a concerned expression on his face.

  "What is it, man?" she asked.

  "A boy, my lady. At the door. He insists that he has a message for his lordship."

  James hesitated briefly; thinking--hoping--that it might be from Maggie, he hurried out into the hall. A boy of perhaps five or six years waited nervously by the front door.

  "Who is the message from, boy?" he barked, looming over the child.

  The child's eyes widened fearfully, then darted nervously around as if in search of an escape route.

  "Well? Have you been struck dumb? Who is the message from?" he snapped.

  "I...I..." Dismay spread across his young face; then the boy wailed, "I can't remember."

  "What? Look, lad, I do not have time to--"

  "Perhaps if ye were not screaming at the lad, he could remember." Johnstone came up behind James. "Ye're scaring him."

  Urging his employer to the side, the runner dropped to his haunches before the street urchin and offered him a warm smile. "Don't worry about him, lad. He's just a bit worried about his lady. Now, if ye can recall the message ye were to bring, ye can have this." Johnstone produced a shiny coin from a pocket and waved it. The boy watched it move from side to side before his eyes as if mesmerized, then blurted, "The lady. The bloke said to tell ye that 'e followed the lady."

  "Who did?"

  "Er." The boy frowned, his face screwing up as he tried to recall the name he had been given. "I can't remember, but 'e was a tall feller. Old. Stern-like."

  "Banks?" James asked sharply.

  "Aye, 'at's his name, guv'nor," the boy said, brightening. "'E said as 'e 'ad followed the lady and sent me to get ye, and..." His face flushed slightly, and he admitted unhappily, "I can't remember the rest.... Somethin' about a man with a scar."

  James paled, but asked, "Can you lead us back to him?"

  "Sure, m' lord."

  "Good lad." He sighed, patting the boy's shoulder, then turned him toward the door. Shouting for his driver, knowing the man would be in the kitchens, where he always waited while James visited his aunt and Maggie, James prepared to go and rescue Maggie.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Only you, Maggie...

  The words echoed through her head as Margaret touched a hand to her sore head and slowly sat up. It occurred to her that she found herself awakening with headaches a lot lately; it was becoming rather de rigueur. Frowning, she tried to see through the inky blackness surrounding her and determine where she was, but the darkness was absolute. She could not see a thing.

  Lifting a hand, she felt her face, briefly hoping that her cape was covering it and blinding her as it had in James's carriage, but she was disappointed. Her hands and feet were unbound, her face uncovered. She was simply in a room devoid of light.

  Or she had been hit so hard she was blinded, she considered. The thought scared her so much that when the door opened and light suddenly spilled into the room, she was almost grateful for it. Almost. The pain it elicited in her head was rather unbearable, however, so she was a little less thankful than she might have been. She scrambled to her feet and confronted the misshapen hulk that entered her prison, cast in shadow as he was by the light at his back.

  At first, Maggie thought her poor eyes were playing tricks, for surely no one could be shaped that way. Then the hulk paused several feet away and bent at the waist. He hefted something off of what turned out to be his shoulders, and Maggie understood. Her gaze dropped to the burden the man had just deposited, and a gasp slipped from her lips at the sight. It was a bruised and unconscious Banks.

  The hulk turned away, and Maggie stepped forward, her fists balling at her sides. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

  When he merely ignored her and turned to leave, she took another step forward, her eyes desperately searching her cell for a weapon. "What is all this about? What have I done?"

  Pausing in the lit hallway, the man turned and arched an eyebrow at her. "You know why."

  "No. I don't. I haven't a clue," Maggie said honestly. The man stared at her silently for a moment, studying her face as if determining whether she was telling the truth, she supposed. After a moment he appeared convinced, but it didn't move him to explain. Giving a small shrug, he spun back to the door.

  "She'll maybe explain when she comes," was all he said. Then he closed the door.

  "She? She who?" Maggie called, stumbling forward to fall against the door as the lock clicked into place.

  "Who?" she shrieked furiously, pounding her balled-up fists against the wood.

  It was a passing fury, gone as quickly as it had erupted, leaving her to press her face to the cool surface as tears pooled in her eyes. They spilled over to trail down her face. "Who?"

  She stayed there, wallowing in self-pity and frustration, until a muffled moan from Banks drew her attention. Sniffing, Maggie wiped her face with the back of one hand, then turned to move cautiously back through the darkness. When her foot brushed up against some part of him, she knelt and felt around to determine his position on the ground. She eased down next to the man and drew his head into her lap.

  Murmuring reassuring words and phrases, she brushed the hair away from his face and waited for him to regain consciousness. This man had been a part of her life from the time she was born. He had been her butler, her friend, and sometimes just a grouchy old curmudgeon. He used to sit with her and talk at night after Gerald died, keeping her company in those sad, lonely hours when her mind would have turned to morbid mourning over her brother. She loved him.

  She had neglected their friendship somewhat since James had come into h
er life, and had no idea how he had come to be here unless he had followed her here without her knowledge. She wouldn't put it past him. He'd sworn to keep her safe after Gerald's death, and he had now been hurt in the attempt.

  "My lady?" His voice quavered with age and weakness.

  Maggie stilled at those rusty words, her hands stiffening on his face. "Banks? Are you awake?"

  "Aye." The word was almost a groan. Obviously the man was awake, and regretting it. Which answered the question she had been about to ask. He apparently had a headache, too.

  "Where..." he asked, sounding a bit cranky.

  Maggie smiled, affection rising up in her for the old domestic. "I do not know. An old abandoned building, I think." She peered around fretfully, trying to make out something--anything--in the blackness that pressed down on them from all around.

  "An old abandoned house near the docks," Banks decided in a pained voice, and Maggie glanced down, forgetting she wouldn't be able to see him.

  "Are we? How do you know that?"

  "I..." He shifted, and his weight was removed from her lap. The groan that followed sounded near her ear, and she supposed he had sat up beside her. He gasped, "I followed you."

  "You did?"

  "Aye. I saw you sneak out of Lady Barlow's. I trailed you to Madame Dubarry's, waited, and started to follow you home when you were snatched off the street into that carriage."

  "You were the one who shouted when I was grabbed," she realized.

  "Yes. I tried to get to you, but I wasn't fast enough. I am getting old." The word was said bitterly, and Maggie reached out in the darkness until she found the butler's hand. She squeezed his cold, wrinkled fingers gently. That drew another sigh from the man, and he continued, "I couldn't get there quickly enough. I hailed a hack and followed, but we were a ways back. Once I saw which building they took you into, I wanted to go get help, but was afraid that by the time we got back it might be too late. I paid a boy to fetch Lord Ramsey, then tried poking around, thinking that if I could just figure out where they were holding you, I might be able to break you out and..." His voice broke, and he was silent for a moment. "I guess in my excitement I forgot how old I am. Instead of finding and rescuing you, I ran into that scarred fellow. Next thing I knew, I was seeing lights. I am sorry."