Half an hour later, the viscount and Lord Kadenworthy turned their horses back towards Town, not entirely disgusted with the results of their efforts.
Rossiter and Morris had gone first to the Inn of the Blue Heron, in Kensington Village, arriving shortly before one o’clock. The host was obliging but knew nothing of Mr. Kendall-Parker save that he had booked two rooms on Thursday evening and paid through Sunday. He had instead left late this morning, with word to none, taking his luggage and his manservant with him, so that he apparently did not intend to return. Morris interviewed the grooms, ostlers, and stable boys regarding anyone who had come to see Mr. Kendall-Parker, while Rossiter questioned the indoor servants. A housemaid thought to have seen Kendall-Parker talking with a gentleman in the back garden; a groom vaguely remembered a young swell asking for the guest; but neither could recall what the visitor looked like, and their descriptions of Mr. Kendall-Parker would fit a thousand small, middle-aged gentlemen.
Disappointed, Gideon arranged to meet Morris at Don Saltero’s Coffee House in Cheyne Walk at six o’clock, and they separated. Morris journeyed first to Snow Hill in the desperate and vain hope that Tummet or Newby might have returned. He next went to the livery stable which had supplied Newby’s carriage, only to learn that the postilion had already returned, and been hired again, but was expected back momentarily from taking a dowager to Hampstead Village. The “momentarily” became five and forty minutes, through which Morris fretted and fumed. However, when the postilion drove in, he was able to relate that his “early morning gent” had paid him off at The Bedford, in The Piazza, and Morris was off again.
Gideon had embarked on a tour of Newby’s haunts: his club, his friends, the various taverns, coffee houses and ordinaries he frequented. Where he was not given the cut direct, Gideon was answered with varying degrees of hauteur or contempt, all responses being negative. His hopes soared when one bored young dandy said he had seen “Ol’ Newby” at the famous Fleet Street ordinary, The Cock, but then he yawned and recollected that had been the day before yesterday. Frustrated, and constantly fighting panic because of the inexorable passage of time, Gideon went prayerfully to meet Morris, as had been arranged, and was given the unhappy news that neither his twin nor his valet had been heard from, and that Morris’ journey to The Bedford having been fruitless, he had enquired also at the Blue Boar, the Black Bull, the Old Bell, and several other less famous hostelries without success. Longing to continue the search at once, Gideon knew he must exercise common sense; it had been a long and nerve-racking day, and if he was to keep alert he dare not overtax himself. He forced himself to swallow some of the food they ordered, and had to struggle against strangling his friend, who ate heartily.
Shortly after seven o’clock, they separated again, this time to pursue their enquiries at the various coaching stations. Gideon found it difficult to believe that a man who placed a high value on his personal comfort and privacy would willingly endure the delays and discomforts of a stagecoach. Still, it was possible that Newby would resort to such a mode of transportation if he thought it would grant him concealment. But again, he drew a blank. As far as the harassed ticket agents could remember, no gentleman of Newby’s description had purchased a ticket today.
It was dark by the time he completed his section of the most likely stations. They had agreed to return to Snow Hill at this point, and he had been up since dawn and was very tired, but he could not give up. He rode along the Dover Road for ten miles, stopping at each toll gate to make enquiries. One gate keeper told him in amusement that he’d seen “a round dozen Newbys” today; another growled irritably that he’d no time to stick his blasted nose into every blasted coach what blasted well passed through his blasted gate. Whether friendly or irate, the result was always the same—Newby had either not been seen or was not remembered. The night had now become so dark that to ride on was to court disaster, and the rising wind made progress an exhausting battle. Hunched over in the saddle, Gideon turned his weary mount back towards London. Most hotels and inns remained open throughout the night; he would keep trying.
* * *
By ten minutes to three o’clock a full gale was roaring around the house on Snow Hill, rattling the shutters, howling in the chimneys, sending curtains billowing on their rails. Gideon came into the house slowly, and re-lit some candles in the withdrawing room. He was achingly tired, but there were things to be done before he sought his bed. Perhaps he could allow himself to rest, just for a minute. He sprawled in a deep chair, stretched out his long legs, and with a sigh of relief put back his head. At once he saw two great green eyes, full of love and tenderness; a vivid, full-lipped mouth; the perfect curve of a petal-soft cheek; the dainty nose that was always ready to tilt proudly upward when he exasperated her; all the bewitchingly feminine curves and roundnesses of her warm young body. Where a’God’s name did they hide her? Was she safe and well and out of the wind? Was she huddled in some damp and miserable shack, alone, terrified, starving perhaps; or—worse, in the hands of lusting brutes who might maul and abuse and—He cut off that nightmare line of thought desperately, and started to read the notes Dr. Lockhart and the others had left for him.
Derrydene had evidently made good his escape, but it was very obvious that some progress had been made. Failing to obtain a higher price from the Windsor antiquarian, Newby had probably given up and sold the jewelled men to Kendall-Parker. He would not dare show his nose here, and was probably hiding somewhere until he could obtain passage to the New World. He wouldn’t be able to do that on a Sunday, and might in fact have days or weeks to wait for a ship. Tomorrow, he must be found. He might still have the miniatures, or if he had sold them, he might be able to supply some information about where Kendall-Parker could be reached. There were a thousand places where he could hide. To visit them all would take weeks, so they would have to start at first light with the most likely of those they … had not already …
He jolted back to awareness. The notes had fallen from his hand, and he’d almost slept—a luxury he must not yet indulge. He carried a branch of candles into the book room. Sitting at the reference table, he began to compile a list of possible locations. Twice, he almost dozed off, but he battled sleep until he had completed his task. Then, he took his candles and went slowly up the stairs.
A couple of hours to rest. Then he could try again. He must find Newby in time! But if he failed, he would keep the rendezvous and pray he could negotiate, that he could offer something—anything—to win Naomi’s release. If the worst came to pass and they would not listen, if they killed him, surely—surely they could not be so inhuman as to carry out the ghastly threat against his beautiful lady?
He found that he had halted and was staring blindly at the stairs. He would not fail her! And he was not alone, thank God! The others had stood by him. Even Dr. Lockhart had waited here until midnight. They had tried so hard, and between them, covered so much ground. Morris had stayed here and was already asleep, but the others had dispersed, promising to return early in the morning.
They had until Sunday midnight …
And—it was already twenty minutes past three o’clock Sunday morning!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Naomi’s hopes to work on her plan of escape were thwarted when the drug she’d been given in the carriage combined with the terrors of her day to overpower her, and she slept the afternoon away. She awoke when her dinner was carried up. The food was of surprisingly good quality, and although the hooded individual who brought it was surly and uncommunicative, he evinced no interest in her, for which she could only be grateful. It was already too dim in the room for her to forward her scheme tonight, and there was nothing to do but go to bed. Later, she heard the men quarrelling, and at some time in the wee hours there was a drunken brawl, apparently over dice. Terrified lest their thoughts should turn to her, she whispered prayers into the pitchy darkness. The shouting stopped at last, but the wind howled all night, shaking the old house so violently that at time
s she was sure it would collapse.
The blankets she’d been given were coarsely woven but warm, so that in spite of the chilly night and the perils besetting her, she dozed off again. Her slumbers were fitful, however, and she woke at first light to find the wind still howling, and the air full of dust, which made her sneeze. She got up at once, and listening intently could hear no sound of movement, so put her plan into action.
Her abductors were evidently being well paid, or else had been instructed to leave her alone, because they had made no attempt to steal the diamond pin she wore in the blouse of her habit. It was a sharp pin, and unclasping it, she tiptoed to the door, dragging one of the blankets with her. She sat huddled against the door, her ears straining, and used the pin to work at the wool strands until she had loosened several. It took much longer than she had hoped, but at last she had unravelled some long strands. She tugged until the other ends came free. The next few strands were easier. Taking care not to get them into a tangle, she began to plait them together. It was surprising then, how quickly it went. Within an hour she had quite a respectable length of makeshift rope.
She glanced at the loft. It extended only halfway across the room, and the floorboards were ragged and uneven, with several sticking out several inches past the others. If she could make a ladder, and cast it over one of the protruding planks, she might be able to climb up there. She might also break her neck if either the plank or her “ladder” would not support her weight, but there was no way of knowing what fate those crude beasts downstairs had in mind for her, and if there was a chance to escape them, the risk would be justified.
Her heart jumped into her throat when she heard a step on the stairs. She had already wound the first length of rope around her waist under her habit. She flew back to the cot, thrust her violated blanket underneath the other one, then climbed in herself. The cot creaked, but the uproar outside would probably conceal the sound. She closed her eyes and tried to look as if she were fast asleep.
She heard the bar lift, and from under her lashes saw a big sturdily built man, wearing the inevitable face mask, carry in a tray, and a panikin of hot water.
“Hey! Stir your stumps, woman!” he called roughly.
Naomi opened her eyes and blinked at him.
“Breakfast,” he said. Below the mask, his thick lips twisted into a leer. “Best enjoy it, ’fore it gets cold. If that soldier boy of yours don’t do what he’s bin told, it might be the last breakfast you ever get!”
An icy hand gripped at Naomi’s heart, but she refused to let him see how much he’d frightened her. Sitting up, she said scornfully, “Do not be so silly. You wouldn’t kill me! A helpless lady of Quality? All England would hunt you down!”
He gave her a thoughtful look, and nodded. “Belike you’re right, and I’ll own as it’d be a pity. You’re a pretty one, and you’ve give us no screechin’ and cryin’ and high-stericks. Thing is, we’ll get paid handsome fer this job. But if we don’t do what the Squire says, we’ll get a coffin, quick. The cove what has to tell him things didn’t go jest right—Cor! That cove is a dead cove! ’Sides, how’s the Watch or the Runners goin’ ter find us? After this old place burns down you won’t be able ter say nothing. Nobody knows who we is, so who’s goin’ ter blame us fer bein’ unkind, eh?”
Chilled, she said desperately, “Your employer knows. And do you think he would let you live, to blackmail him?”
“What—does you take him fer a flat?” He laughed harshly. “Lor’ love yer, missus, we can’t blackmail him as we never seen! No one never sees the Squire. Never.”
“But—surely whoever he is, he knows that I have done nothing to threaten him. How would it serve him to take my life away? What does he hope to gain from all this savagery?”
“Ah—now there I’ll be blowed if I can answer proper. All I knows is that it ain’t a matter o’ money.” He shrugged in mystification. “But what would be worth all this rigamarole ’cepting money?”
Stunned, she thought, ‘Those wretched jewelled men! Gideon was right, they must be very important indeed!’ She said, “I do not know. But it goes against the laws of God that I be murdered! You do your master’s bidding, but it is your immortal soul that would be fouled by so terrible a sin. Can you live with that on your conscience?”
She wrung her hands in her intensity, and she looked fragile and appealing, her fresh young beauty like a bright flower in that stark and ugly room. Staring at her, even the hardened criminal was moved for an instant to compassion. Then he said curtly, “You’re all alike, you gentry lot. Talk innercent folks round in circles with yer eddicated tongues. It don’t pay ter be civil to yer.” And with a snort and a sense of ill usage he took himself off, slamming the bar down behind him.
Naomi gazed at the door, her eyes wide with fear. Did they really mean to set fire to this place? Was she really to die so horribly, so alone, far from her love and her friends? She closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her mouth, feeling sobs well up in her throat. She could see Gideon’s lean face, the smile in the long-lashed grey eyes, the look of tenderness that made her heart ache with longing. How terrible this must be for him. How frantic he must be, poor darling. He had the miniatures, and she knew that without question he would trade them for her life. But he judged them very important and must not be made to give them up if it could possibly be avoided. He was very likely trying to find her. The chances of him doing so seemed very remote. But he was so brave, so dauntless, if any man could find her, he would. It came to her then that they might want him to find her; that this might be a trap, with herself as bait, to capture and destroy him. The very thought sent wrath blazing through her. How dare they use her in so evil a cause? Did they suppose that because she was a woman she would sit helplessly and wait for her love to sacrifice himself for her sake?
“Much they know of women!” she said, scowling at her tray. She looked at it more closely. Eggs—cooked much too much, a thick slice of ham, a crumpet, a mug of steaming coffee. Turning to the washstand, she poured some water into the bowl and began to wash her face. Before she sat down to breakfast she would first make herself clean and tidy. And after she ate she would get to work so as to teach those villains downstairs that a lady of Quality did not give up without a fight!
* * *
His army training stood Gideon in good stead and he opened his eyes as planned at six o’clock. At once fully awake, he paused only for a brief but impassioned prayer, then tugged on the bell pull. He had left instructions last night that an early breakfast was to be prepared for eight at least, and the footman came almost at once with a ewer of hot water and word that Cook was already at work in the kitchen, but that he could not seem to waken Lieutenant Morris.
Gideon went to the guest room and excavated the untidy mound of blankets until he unearthed his friend and shook him into a dulled wakefulness. Usually only semi-conscious until after his first cup of coffee, Morris moved fast this morning, and was shaved and dressed in time to accompany Gideon down the stairs.
True to their word, the other searchers arrived soon after half past six, and with them, Gwendolyn and Katrina, neither of whom could bear to be out of touch with whatever happened. They all gathered in the dining room and did justice to the meal Cook had prepared.
Gwendolyn’s loving eyes at once noted her brother’s haggard appearance, and her sympathetic heart ached for him. She urged that he let her go to General Underhill’s house and notify Sir Mark of their latest disaster. He did not voice his fear that she also might stand in danger, and asked instead that she and Miss Falcon remain here, so as to receive and relay whatever information was gathered.
Katrina said, “Does it not seem strange to you that the earl should not have come? Surely, he must be frantic with worry.”
“I think Naomi and her father have not enjoyed a very warm relationship,” said Gwendolyn bluntly. “He is a most intimidating creature.”
Falcon gave her a stern look. “Even were that outspoken remark
true, she is his daughter. Besides, Naomi told me that his lordship has appeared more fond of late. Perchance the old boy mellows with age.”
Morris pursed his lips and observed solemnly, “Summer rains will not bring new growth to a withered tree.”
After a brief, stunned pause, Falcon exploded. “What the devil have rains and trees to do with the Earl of Collington? I vow, Rossiter, why you keep this block with us is more than I can fathom! His head’s a ballroom for maggots to caper in!”
Laughter relieved their anxieties briefly, then they were forming plans for the day. There was considerable disagreement among them, Falcon and Kadenworthy declaring that the time had come when the authorities should be called in and a full-scale search launched, and the rest of them vehemently opposed to taking such a risk. Gideon put a stop to their wrangling by saying that since he intended to make the lady his wife, he must be allowed the final decision, which was that they would continue their efforts until four o’clock, and then return here. If by that time they had not located Newby, he would ride at once for the Duck and Mermaid Inn at Gravesend, and the others could pursue whatever plan they might then formulate. There was an exchange of sombre looks, but no more arguments.
Time's Fool Page 31
