by Anne O'Brien
‘She is choking. She simply needs to—’
As he took hold of Juliet’s hand to pull her to her feet, Frances lifted her arm and struck her cousin a firm blow on his head.
He crumpled soundlessly to the floor.
Juliet sat up and applauded. ‘I never thought that I should be so grateful for cake crumbs!’
‘Don’t rejoice yet!’ Frances warned her, eyeing the inert figure before her with some trepidation. ‘We still have to escape from this house!’
Chapter Thirteen
After an uncomfortable, but rapid, journey from Newmarket, Aldeborough and Matthew arrived in Cavendish Square in the late afternoon. Aldeborough had deliberately cut short his stay, waiting only to see one of his promising young horses win a valuable race. He found, to his discomfort, that his thoughts returned again and again to Frances: the exploits of his horses came a far distant second. He remembered her distress when he left her, her pride when she had witnessed him in what appeared to be an intimate discussion with his mistress, her stubborn but intrinsically loving spirit. He longed to feel her body shiver under the touch of his hands. He longed to press his lips to her silken skin, to that exact place at the base of her throat where her pulse quickened when he excited her. He longed to possess her and feel her body, soft and responsive to his every move, under his. And beneath it all ran the faint undercurrent of unease that he should not have left her alone. If she had suffered any harm … He would never forgive himself, and rightly so. Knowing the dangers, he had been selfish enough to deliberately leave her for his own pleasure. As Matthew observed, he was anything but a sociable companion on the journey home—he wished he had stayed in Newmarket for the rest of the racing.
‘Good afternoon, my lord. We did not expect you back quite so soon.’ For once, Watkins appeared more than a little ruffled. ‘I think your presence is required in the withdrawing room. At once, my lord.’
Aldeborough, abandoning his enticing daydreams and self-flagellation and shrugging off Matthew’s uncomfortable comments on his character, entered to find Aunt May, Miss Vowchurch and the Dowager Lady Aldeborough in various stages of complaint and unease.
‘Aldeborough! At last!’ Aunt May accosted him immediately. ‘There isn’t the faintest chance that Frances returned with you, is there? And Juliet?’
‘Why, no. We have just this moment arrived back from Newmarket.’
‘They should have been back by now. I am most concerned.’ Even the Dowager showed less than her usual icy composure.
‘I agreed to meet them this afternoon,’ added Miss Vowchurch gently, ‘but they did not keep our engagement.’
Aldeborough stiffened. ‘Tell me what you know,’ he demanded of Lady Cotherstone. ‘Why was she allowed to go out unaccompanied?’
‘She received a letter this morning delivered by a man in livery. But Watkins can tell us no more.’ Aunt May handed Aldeborough the empty cover on which was inscribed Frances’s name and title in firm black strokes. It told them nothing.
‘Frances and Juliet went out together just before two o’clock,’ she continued. ‘They did not take a carriage and they did not say where they were going. It seems that there was an element of secrecy in their departure.’
‘And it is now—almost six o’clock.’ Aldeborough consulted his fob watch with fingers that were not quite steady.
‘Did she have any invitations for this afternoon?’ he asked, holding his emotions on a firm rein. ‘A balloon ascension or something as nonsensical, which could have gone on later than expected?’
‘She did not say so.’ Aunt May shook her head. ‘I thought they had gone for a turn round the gardens here in the square. Nothing other than that.’
‘Who would write her a personal letter? Viscount Torrington? Wigmore? Does she know anyone else?’
‘Perhaps you should consider that she has gone to see her cousin, Mr Hanwell.’ Miss Vowchurch dropped her observation into the strained conversation with deliberate calm. ‘They have always seemed very close. And I know they had some communication at Almack’s. Perhaps they arranged to meet.’
‘Are you suggesting an assignation?’ Lady Cotherstone asked.
‘Of course not! That would be most improper of me! You know Lady Aldeborough far better than I do. I am sure it is something quite innocent. I do not think Frances would consider an elopement, do you?’
‘Well, she would not take Juliet with her if she was. A ridiculous suggestion!’ Aunt May’s acerbic comment put paid to that direction of speculation.
‘How do you know what she was thinking, Lady Cotherstone?’ Penelope looked round at her audience. ‘I understand that she has also had a long conversation with Mrs Winters. Perhaps that has something to do with her disappearance.’
‘What?’ Aldeborough had difficulty in preserving a calm exterior.
‘They drove round Hyde Park together, so I am told.’
‘Your suggestion is most indelicate, Miss Vowchurch. Presumably you were not told that I was present with Frances on that occasion. It was an unexceptionable conversation. There is nothing to be concerned about there, Hugh.’ Lady Cotherstone frowned at Miss Vowchurch, who ignored the displeasure but gazed at Aldeborough with innocently open eyes.
‘Of course not. I am sure there is a perfectly innocent explanation and they will soon return home.’ She smiled at the Dowager. ‘I am sure that dear Frances would never do anything detrimental to the family name, would she, Lady Aldeborough?
Aunt May caught up with Aldeborough in the hall where he retrieved his greatcoat and pulled on his gloves once more.
She clasped his arm with surprising strength despite her arthritic fingers, fixing him with an unblinking stare.
‘I should never have left her here alone.’ Tension was clear in the lines of strain around his mouth, but he had himself well in control. ‘I knew of the dangers and chose to ignore them. I must find her.’
‘Of course you must. Bring her back safely, Hugh. Do not blame yourself too much.’
‘Has she left me, Aunt May? Does Charles Hanwell still hold a place in her heart after all?’ The words were wrung out of him. ‘I did not think so, but perhaps I was wrong.’
‘Of course not. What can you be thinking of! Where is your good sense? I do assure you she has not left you. You would do well not to listen to anything that scheming little hussy in there has to say. I have never heard such trouble-making. She’s like a vixen in a chicken run.’ She gave his arm a final shake. ‘Bring them both home.’
‘Where do we go first?’ Matthew asked as they descended the steps.
‘Wigmore first—Portland Place. I suppose it is just possible that she went to see the Earl and Countess. I know she spoke to them at Almack’s.’
They had no luck there. The Countess had not seen Frances since Almack’s, although they had made an arrangement to take tea together.
‘Torrington?’ They stood on the steps of the Wigmore town house.
‘It is the only other possibility I can think of. But I cannot for the life of me think why she would go there.’
St James’s Square was already steeped in deep shadow by the time they arrived. Some of the houses showed lights burning in the windows of the first floor, but Torrington’s address appeared to be in darkness and the knocker was off the door.
‘It looks as if they are all out of town. What we need is a little local information.’ With calm efficiency, his anxieties buried deep under the need for instant action, Aldeborough retraced his steps to the entrance to the Square where he accosted a scruffy urchin who was loitering in the gutter. ‘Here, lad. Has there been any activity around here recently? Is the gentleman who lives there—’ he pointed at Torrington’s house ‘—at home?’ In one hand he tossed a coin that gleamed persuasively in the remaining light.
The lad eyed Aldeborough speculatively and wiped his grimy face on his sleeve. ‘Yes, yer honour. There’s been comings and goings all day. The old geezer ain’t ‘ere. But the young ‘un
is.’ He kept his eyes on the glint of gold as if it might disappear at any moment. A second coin joined the first. ‘Saw a carriage at the door earlier today. Don’t know if there’s anyone here now, though.’ He snatched and ran as the coins were tossed in his direction with a grin of thanks. Aldeborough returned to where Matthew’s dark figure was partially hidden by the shrubbery in the Square’s central garden.
‘What are you thinking, Hugh? Kidnap? Abduction? But why?’
‘It is a long story, Matthew, and there is no time to tell it now. Just trust me. It is imperative that we get in there.’ He studied the house with care from their leafy refuge, eyes narrowed, assessing the possibilities for forcing an entry if it became necessary. ‘The blinds are drawn upstairs. I think I would like a closer look. Let’s try round the back. The kitchen or a cellar might allow us a safer opportunity.’
‘No! Wait!’ Matthew grabbed his arm, pulling him urgently back behind the iron railings. ‘The front door is opening. It could be Torrington now.’
They stepped back silently to merge with the shadows. There was no light cast on the doorway and as the door opened, no light shone from the hall inside. All was cast in deepest shadow.
‘What’s happening?’ Matthew whispered. ‘Is there someone in the doorway?’
‘No one that I can see. Let us just—’
Two shadowy figures detached themselves from the gloom and appeared on the top step, moving nervously, cautiously, as if conscious of surrounding danger in every sound, in every shadow. Then hand in hand, they scurried down the steps and hurried along the pavement as fast as their little kid shoes could carry them.
‘Frances!’ Aldeborough, closely followed by Matthew, leapt from their concealment and raced across the street towards them. A shriek from Juliet startled everyone as Aldeborough’s hand closed round her wrist and Frances turned, her hands curling amazingly into fists to face their attackers.
‘Hugh! Thank God!’ Frances could find no other words to express her relief, but buried her face in her husband’s shoulder as his arms clasped round her. She could feel his heart beating as rapidly as her own and simply held on to his sheltering arms.
‘Are you hurt? Where’s Torrington?’ His keen eyes swept over them, searching for signs of harm, fortunately unable to make out the bloodstains on Juliet’s gown in the darkness.
‘It is not Torrington. It is Charles.’ Juliet supplied the information as she recovered from her fright in Matthew’s brotherly embrace. ‘He … he is on the floor in the upstairs drawing room.’
‘Matthew. Take the girls home and get Aunt May to look after them. Say as little as possible about tonight’s events.’ Aldeborough issued rapid orders. ‘Don’t stop for anything. I’ll join you as quickly as I can.’
With a fleeting kiss against Frances’s temple and a quick hug for his sister, Aldeborough turned and swiftly merged with the shadows in the direction of Torrington’s house.
By the time Aldeborough arrived back at Cavendish Square, Matthew had turned the girls over to Aunt May with sufficient explanation to satisfy her momentarily, and was about to return to his brother’s aid in St James’s Square. Aldeborough shook his head to deflect any questions, merely informing Matthew that Hanwell was unable to shed any light on the events of the night, but would surely do so at some future occasion. Looking at Aldeborough’s face, Matthew had no doubts and was glad that he was not in Hanwell’s shoes. He had rarely seen his brother look so grim.
Earlier Aunt May had swept the ladies upstairs before the Dowager could emerge from her room to investigate, leaving Frances to the care of her maid until Aldeborough returned. It would be good to leave them alone together, she surmised. Meanwhile she discarded Juliet’s bloodstained apparel and encouraged the child to chatter on, marvelling at the fortitude of youth.
Thus Aldeborough discovered his wife sitting comfortably before the fire in her bedchamber, a cup of hot chocolate in her hands and her maid hovering solicitously round her. She appeared, to Aldeborough’s careful scrutiny, quite relaxed. She had come a long way from the tense, anxious girl whom he had rescued from Torrington Hall.
She turned her head as he entered, a smile illuminating her features, her eyes glowing with gold reflection from the candles. All the anger and hurt of their previous meeting appeared to have been swept away and he was content to let it be so. He walked towards her, signalling for the maid to leave, and skimmed his fingers down her cheek. She put up her hand to imprison his, pressing it against her, her eyes locked on his. He felt the beat of his heart falter and then restart, slow and sure and it struck him how much she meant to him. If she had been killed … He could not think of it.
He sat beside her, lifting her fingers to his lips, unable to take his eyes from her expressive face. She smiled at him and his mouth went dry.
‘Well, Madame Wife, what adventures have you been having when I have not been here to keep my eye on you?’ His tone was deliberately light and he linked his fingers gently with hers.
‘He kidnapped us,’ she explained simply.
‘Charles, I presume?’
‘Yes. I can not believe that he would go to such lengths. I know that he needs money and hoped that he would get it by marrying me. And I know that he feels a grudge against you for taking me away from him. But I actually thought, for a moment, he meant to kill us,’ she admitted. ‘He might simply have been trying to frighten us, of course. Perhaps I was just being silly. It would have been so easy to blackmail you, would it not, to release Juliet and myself? I am so thankful you came to rescue us—and that it is all over.’
The grim expression around Aldeborough’s mouth did not lighten as he decided to say nothing about Charles’s motives. If she was thinking blackmail, then so be it. It was far better than her knowing murder. Or that for him the affair was anything but over.
‘Tell me how you escaped. How did Charles come to be lying on the floor of his drawing room with blood in his hair! You obviously managed quite well without Matthew and myself—you did not seem to need any help to escape.’
Frances laughed, although her voice still trembled a little in reaction. ‘I think Juliet enjoyed it and will probably talk about nothing else for days. I should warn you that she has now decided that she would like to be an actress! She played the role of languishing invalid with tremendous vivacity—I could even have believed in her performance myself. Poor Charles had no chance.’
‘Poor Charles, indeed. How did he come by the large lump on the head?’
‘I hit him. With a bronze statue of a hunting dog.’
‘Frances! Where is the gentle, retiring wife I married?’ His lips twitched in suppressed amusement.
‘What choice did I have? We thought you were still away and no one knew where to find us. In Raven’s Castle—one of Juliet’s favourite novels, you know—Marianne rendered the villain unconscious with a candlestick. So we decided to try the same strategy.’
‘What is this?’ He took hold of her wrist, lifting her arm to investigate the inexpert bandaging on her forearm.
‘Well …’ Frances blushed. ‘We decided—that is, Juliet decided that we needed blood in the interests of dramatic realism, so that Charles would see the blood and believe that it was a genuine emergency and she was truly ill. We had to get him into the room so that I could creep up behind him. Juliet used a cake knife.’
Aldeborough felt the blood drain from his face. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he admitted, when his heart returned to its normal beat. ‘It certainly proves that a forlorn hope can pay off. I am all admiration.’ He bent his head to press his lips to her wrist above the lawn handkerchief.
‘You are quite sure he was not dead?’ He could not mistake the flash of fear in her eyes.
‘No. A severe headache and a blow to his self-esteem, but he will live to tell the tale. But why did you go there? How could you both be so foolish as to put yourselves into that position?’ His voice was gentle but he needed to know. ‘Knowing what I do abo
ut your uncle’s past treatment of you, I cannot believe that you would willingly visit his house.’
‘It was a letter. An offer from my uncle to give me some possessions of my mother. I could not resist it. He said that he had some jewellery and other keepsakes, even letters. I would dearly have loved to have them, only I don’t believe they really exist—it was merely a ruse by Charles to get us to the house. But he didn’t expect Juliet, of course. Please don’t be too angry.’ She studied her linked fingers, unwilling to raise her eyes to his, afraid of what she might see there. ‘Juliet said you might be if you found out. She said you could be very severe!’
‘Did she, now? She has cause to know. A more headstrong girl I have yet to meet—unless it is my wife, of course.’ He drew her into the circle of his arms to reassure her. ‘I can almost find it in me to feel sorry for Charles.’ But only if he could overcome the fury that bubbled under the surface of this calm conversation with his wife. ‘I don’t suppose he thought he would have to face two such resourceful females.’
Aldeborough suddenly remembered one of the more damaging comments made by Miss Vowchurch in an undoubted attempt to create a rift between them.
‘Speaking of headstrong, is it true that you talked to Letitia Winters?’ he asked conversationally.
‘Who told you?’ Frances looked up, her eyes watchful.
‘Penelope. She also suggested that perhaps you had run to Charles and left me.’
‘Did she really?’ He was delighted to see those glorious eyes flash with sudden anger. ‘She seems to have been remarkably busy in giving information, much of it false. But, yes, I did speak with Mrs Winters. She deliberately waited for me when I was returning from Rundell and Bridge with Aunt May.’ Her steady gaze was forthright, challenging Aldeborough to disapprove. He found that he did not dare.
‘I would give anything to know what you discussed.’ He could not disguise his discomfort, to Frances’s enjoyment, which she proceeded to hide.
