by L. V. Lloyd
Jonathan grabbed Silverwood by the shoulder, wrenched him around and punched him full in the face. At least that was what he intended, but quick as a flash, Silverwood brought his arm up and blocked the blow. The next minute Jonathan was flat on his back on the cobblestones, his head ringing.
D’Anvers couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Youth, so impetuous. But then Silverwood drew his foot back and kicked Jonathan painfully in the side. In a matter of seconds it was Silverwood who hit the ground, out cold. D’Anvers stood for a moment, rubbing his knuckles then reached down a hand to haul Jonathan to his feet.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he growled.
Fredericka was watching in silent dread, cowering back against the side of the cab, one hand cupping her bruised cheek.
“She can’t go back to him,” Jonathan told his lordship, fervently. “The man’s a brute! I’ll take her somewhere safe,” he added, thinking immediately of Ellen and her inn. Plans were racing through his head, coming out of his mouth already formed. “It’s best if you don’t know where,” he told D’Anvers. “Deny everything and blame me. I’ll see you back at the Clarendon.”
Without waiting for D’Anvers’ approval, Jonathan helped Fredericka into the hackney and climbed in after her. A quick shout to the driver and they were off, rattling over the cobblestones.
Rather bemusedly, D’Anvers found he was standing in the lane, shaking his head. He honestly couldn’t tell what he felt at that moment. Utter disbelief, a touch of admiration perhaps? Who would have guessed Jonathan had so much determination in him?
He sighed. Mind you, Jonathan had left him in the middle of a god-awful mess. He looked down at Silverwood who was still lying on the cobblestones, unconscious. What the devil was he going to do with him?
“Oh dear,” gasped Fredericka, wringing her hands. “What have you done? He will be so angry!”
“You don’t need to worry about him any longer,” Jonathan tried to be reassuring. “I’m taking you somewhere safe. You’re not going back there.”
“You don’t understand! He’ll kill me!”
“He’ll have to find you first!” said Jonathan.
“But where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe,” repeated Jonathan. “You can stay with my old nurse for a few days until I work something out. Don’t worry.”
Fredericka wiped her eyes and blew her nose, trying hard to regain her composure. After a while, another thought occurred to her.
“Will your master be very angry with you?” she asked anxiously.
Jonathan bit his lip. “I hope not. Not when he calms down. I’m sure he’ll agree with me, we just couldn’t leave you with that man. It would serve him right if we set the constable on him!” he added, rather obscurely.
“It wouldn’t do any good,” Fredericka sounded resigned. “As long as I’m under twenty-one he can treat me as he likes, I have no rights.”
Jonathan was silent, knowing she was right. Minors had few rights, if any, until they reached their majority.
“How old are you now, may I ask?”
“I’ll be twenty-one in September.”
That was only a couple of months away.
“That’s not so bad. All we have to do is keep you away from him until then,” declared Jonathan with a bracing cheerfulness. Inside he was feeling less confident. Then he thought of Lord D’Anvers. Sebastian would know what to do, he told himself. He tried to relax. He was certain Sebastian would help Fredericka, once the situation was explained to him properly, once he realised how adamant Jonathan was that she be saved. Well, almost certain.
Chapter Nineteen
Lord D’Anvers sighed again. Much as would have liked to walk away quickly and quietly, and leave Lord Silverwood to recover alone in the lane, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He suspected Jonathan would have had no such qualms, but the lane was dark and not in the best part of town. He didn’t want to be held responsible if thieves, or even cut-throats, set upon the unconscious man.
His next thought was to call for another cab and send him home, but then he realised he had no idea of his lordship’s address.
Eventually, D’Anvers decided the best thing to do was to get him back inside the club where at least he could lie down comfortably until he came to his senses.
Murmuring something vague about “slippery cobblestones”, Lord D’Anvers left Silverwood to the tender mercies of the doorman and returned to his rooms at the Clarendon, feeling that he had done all he could for the moment.
Now all he had to do was wait for Jonathan’s return. He wondered what on earth he thought he was going to do with Fredericka; it was hardly the same thing as picking up a stray puppy or kitten! He supposed he should be grateful he hadn’t brought her back to the hotel. He poured himself a large glass of cognac as he waited for Jonathan.
The more he thought about it, the more he could see that it was going to be up to him to sort out the problem. He only hoped Jonathan would be properly grateful. A smile came to his lips as his mind wandered, imagining just how Jonathan could show his gratitude.
About an hour later, a knock came at the door, startling him out of a light doze. Who the devil could it be at this time of night? Surely it was too soon for Jonathan to return, and in any case, why would he be outside knocking on the door? D’Anvers got to his feet, prepared to blast the unfortunate person on the other side. He opened the door.
Lord Silverwood stood there, with a bruise on his chin and an angry glitter in his eyes. He was not alone. Two large ruffians accompanied him, one on either side. Silverwood put his foot in the door.
“I believe you have something that belongs to me,” he said, through clenched teeth. “Where is she?”
Jonathan was feeling rather pleased with himself. He had got Fredericka settled safely at the inn with Ellen, after promising to come back and visit her the next day. Now all he had to do was persuade Sebastian that taking care of her was the right thing to do to.
He had given Ellen enough money to pay for Fredericka’s board for a week but after that he would have to find somewhere else for her to go. He wondered where he could take her, how she could support herself. What did penniless young women usually do, to keep from ending up on the streets? Marriage was the usual answer, but hardly suitable in this case! Governess, shop assistant, house maid—did she have the qualifications? Or the physical strength? He didn’t think any of those options were really feasible but he couldn’t think of anything else at present.
For a moment he toyed with the idea of persuading her to don male garb, but then it dawned on him that, as a delicate looking young man, Fredericka would face the same risks from predators as she would as a young woman.
She needed a patron, but one who would be kind to her and not violent. Maybe Sebastian could think of someone suitable.
He smiled unconsciously. That look on Sebastian’s face, when he, Jonathan, had asked Fredericka to dance... It had been worth every second.
He was looking forward to seeing him again, crossing swords over Fredericka if he had to, and this time he would stand up for himself.
He peered out of the window and recognised his surroundings, not long now.
Jonathan let himself into their hotel room, getting ready to counter Sebastian’s protests—and saw Sebastian lying bloodstained and motionless on the floor. His heart leapt into his mouth—was he dead or alive?
Blood was oozing from a nasty looking cut on his forehead, running down his face to join the blood welling from a split lip. That was good, right? That the blood was still flowing?
Jonathan dropped down immediately on the floor beside D’Anvers, feeling for a pulse, watching anxiously for a rise or fall of his chest. What the deuce had happened here in his absence? For a gut-wrenching second his searching fingers felt nothing, then they picked up the pulse which was beating steadily in his wrist.
Jonathan sat back on his heels for a moment, dizzy with relief. He hurried into his room to f
ind a clean cloth and fetch the water jug. Gently, his fingers trembling slightly with reaction, he washed the blood off D’Anvers’ face. As he worked, he could see that in addition to the cuts, there was a purple bruise forming on his right cheek and a lump on the back of his head.
D’Anvers had been attacked.
Afterwards, Jonathan didn’t know why it took him so long to make the connection but his first thought was that they had been robbed. He looked around the room but could see no obvious evidence of disturbance apart from the rug scrunched up under D’Anvers.
Then another thought burst into his head.
Evelyn. Where was Evelyn? He had been so busy tending to Sebastian that he had forgotten all about the boy. Could he possibly have slept through the whole affair? Or—
“Evelyn!” He leapt to his feet and dashed into Evelyn’s room. It was empty. Frantically he searched under the bed and even looked inside the clothes chest. But there was no trace of the lad.
Then enlightenment crashed in. Silverwood. It had to be. He had come here in search of Fredericka, and when he couldn’t find her, he’d taken Evelyn in her place.
Jonathan tried hard not to panic. Poor Evelyn, he must be terrified. Surely Silverwood wouldn’t hurt him, though? Evelyn was only a child. But would Silverwood know—or care—that the boy was sickly and delicate?
Jonathan forced himself to take a couple of slow deep breaths; panicking was not the solution. He had to think.
Then he saw the envelope on the mantelpiece.
Chapter Twenty
Jonathan hesitated for only a minute before he plucked the envelope off the mantelpiece and opened it. Sebastian was still unconscious. There was no telling how long it would be before he roused, nor even if he would be well enough to do anything when he did. As far as he could see, it was up to him, Jonathan, to do everything in his power to get Evelyn back safely—the sooner the better.
“I have something that belongs to you. If you want it back, return to me what is mine. Meet me at the mausoleum, St Stephen’s Cemetery, tonight, before sunrise. Tell no-one and bring this with you. I am not a patient man. S.”
Jonathan sucked in his breath at the threat implicit in the message. He dare not wait for Sebastian. He dashed off a quick note—‘Mausoleum, St Stephen’s cemetery. J.’ and placed it in D’Anvers’ outstretched hand. He felt guilty leaving him lying on the floor but he was too heavy for Jonathan to lift by himself. Pausing only to place a cushion below his head, he strode toward the door.
His fingers were on the handle when he caught sight of the box containing Sebastian’s duelling pistols resting on the stand beside his bed. He hesitated only a second before sliding one into his coat pocket—he would be foolish to confront Silverwood unarmed. True, he hadn’t fired a pistol before, but how hard could it be?
Jonathan was fortunate enough to hail a cab only a few minutes later and soon he was on his way to St Stephen’s. He sat back against the cushions, breathing hard, trying to come up with a plan. He had no intention of returning Fredericka to Lord Silverwood, even if she was prepared to go with him. He would simply have to threaten his lordship into releasing Evelyn, after all he could hardly expect to get away with kidnapping a child in this day and age. If anything happened to Evelyn, Sebastian would hunt him down like the fox he was.
Wouldn’t he? He paused uneasily at that point, remembering the conversation he had had with Lord D’Anvers, when he had challenged his cold behaviour toward Evelyn.
“He’s not mine, you know,” D’Anvers had floored him by stating, quite calmly.
“W-what do you mean?” he had stuttered.
His lordship had raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I’m sure you must have worked out by now that my marriage was hardly likely to have been a passionate affair.” He had smiled then at Jonathan’s discomfiture. “Like many marriages between members of my class, it was one of convenience, arranged by our respective parents. Respectability and an heir for me, money and status for her. No need to frown like that, these things are quite common I can assure you! After a judicious period, and the birth of an heir, each party is considered free to pursue their own interests, always providing they are discreet about it. Society will overlook most things as long as they are not forced down its throat.” He had curled a scornful lip.
“And... Evelyn?” Jonathan had ventured, cautiously.
“Apparently Pamela wasn’t prepared to wait for her freedom.” He looked away for a moment, remembering the incredulous joy he had first felt when Pamela had told him she was in the family way. The unexpected rush of love he had felt for his unborn child; all to become bitter ashes in his mouth a moment later.
“She took great pleasure in telling me that Evelyn was not my son.”
“That’s just silly. Of course he is!” The hot words were out before Jonathan could think. “You’re his father, you brought him up—it doesn’t matter who sired him.”
D’Anvers was frowning at him, unconvinced.
“To be brutally honest,” continued Jonathan heatedly, “you should be grateful, make the most of him! After all, you’re scarcely likely to get another son, are you?”
“Are you finished?” asked D’Anvers coldly.
“Not quite. Even though I don’t think it should matter to you, I’m not sure that your wife was correct. You may not have noticed, but he has your ears. Now that he is starting to grow, the shape of his ears are quite clearly the same as yours.”
“They are?” D’Anvers had asked, his hands going automatically to his ears to feel their shape.
Jonathan had ploughed on, “And that look—the haughty look you give me when you’re trying to intimidate me—just the same!” He honestly didn’t know whether that look was inborn or learned but he didn’t care. He simply wanted D’Anvers to change his attitude toward Evelyn, while he still had the chance—before the estrangement was irreversible.
Afterwards, he couldn’t say he noticed a dramatic improvement but he had caught D’Anvers studying Evelyn thoughtfully more than once, when he thought he was unobserved.
Well, he supposed, tonight he would discover whether Lord D’Anvers truly cared for Evelyn or not.
The hackney cab was drawing to a stop and Jonathan peered out of the window. He could see the spire of a church, dimly outlined against the star filled sky. St Stephen’s church. He paid off the driver and alighted from the cab, peering through the darkness in search of the mausoleum. Grave stones tilted in rows and statues of angels leered above him. He soon realised there was more than one mausoleum in the cemetery but he could see a faint light coming from further in. That must be his destination, there was hardly likely to be anyone else here at this hour! The moon slipped behind a cloud plunging him into darkness and Jonathan cursed, wishing he had thought to bring a lantern.
He stumbled through the graveyard, trying to be as quiet as possible. As he drew nearer to the light, he could see that someone had placed a lamp on top of a tomb. He could see the outline of a small mausoleum, its door ajar, spilling more light onto the shallow steps which led down to the entrance. He stopped for a moment to examine the surroundings—was anyone outside, on guard?
He was just about to move forward when he heard a distinctive sound coming from his left. It was hardly sporting but he knew he would never have a better opportunity. He took the pistol from his pocket and crept up behind the ruffian who was relieving himself against a gravestone. Jonathan brought the butt down on the man’s unsuspecting head, as near as he could remember to the exact spot where he had seen the lump on Lord D’Anvers.
Rather to his surprise, the man fell instantly to the ground. He hadn’t realised it would be so easy. Feeling more confident, Jonathan went toward the mausoleum and slipped inside, holding the pistol in one hand but pointing it forward this time.
Lord Silverwood was standing toward the back of the crypt, looking in Jonathan’s direction. Evelyn was at his side, still in his nightshirt. His face was pale and his hair was sticking up every wh
ich way. An empty sack at his feet showed Jonathan how he must have been carried out of the hotel. His face lit up for a moment at the sight of Jonathan but then he peered into the darkness behind him, obviously searching for his father.
“Lord D’Anvers is still indisposed, so you’ll have to deal with me,” stated Jonathan, trying to seize the initiative. He held the gun as steady as he could, aiming it at Silverwood.
Lord Silverwood ignored him. “Where is Fredericka?” he demanded.
“In a safe place!”
Fury suffused his lordship’s face, turning it an angry red. “You’ll pay for this!” he ground out. “Joe! Now!”
Confused for a moment, Jonathan looked wildly around the room. A large dirty hand grabbed his gun arm and forced it down toward the floor squeezing his forearm painfully until he dropped the gun. The man, who had been standing behind the door, clipped him over the ear with a large fist sending his head spinning. Jonathan lashed out, grabbing the man’s coat and pulling them both unexpectedly to the ground. He heard a hiss of exasperation from Silverwood as he stepped forward to pick up the pistol. For a moment Evelyn was unattended.
“Run, Evelyn,” screamed Jonathan, trying frantically to land a punch on the brutish face in front of him, while hanging on desperately to his coat. Anything to give Evelyn a chance to get away.
He glimpsed a small white shirted figure dash past, even as the man he was clinging to heaved him off and scrambled to his feet. Jonathan made a grab for his foot and received a painful kick instead.
Just before he blacked out, he heard Silverwood say. “Don’t worry about the boy, he’s more trouble than he’s worth. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have this one instead.”
