by Anne Herries
‘If you can tell me what I need to do then I shall do it,’ Adam said. ‘I have racked my brain, but I can find no solution—my wife would never consent to live in Ireland.’
‘Yet she might be content to remain in India in her own palace—the palace I was given as a reward for saving the Prince’s life...’
Adam stared at him in disbelief. ‘You would do that for me? I could not ask it of you, Paul. I do not deserve such generosity...’
‘No? You saved my life.’ Paul smiled oddly. ‘I have no need of pink palaces, my friend. My future is here in England—but if it can be of use to you...and it seems I owe a debt to Annamarie, though it was not of my making. Yet if my rejection of her made her come to you as she did then I share the responsibility...’
‘She will never love me as she loved you but I have a title and if we live in a palace I think she will accept her fate.’
‘All my lands there will be under your care and you will be my agent. I shall trust you, Adam, and in caring for my business affairs in India you will find both respect and wealth for yourself.’
‘I can never thank you enough.’ Adam squared his shoulders. ‘As for the money you let me think was mine to invest in the land in Ireland—the stables are yours, Paul. As soon as you find another partner to take my place I shall return to India.’
‘First there is something you may do for me,’ Paul said and smiled. ‘You may come with me and tell Lady March the truth of your marriage to Annamarie...’
‘Yes, of course. When would you have me visit her?’
‘Come with me now,’ Paul invited. ‘She should be at home now—and do not look so chastened, Adam. I’ve always suspected that you loved Annamarie. I am sure she will be happy when she has your child and you beside her. As for any coolness between us, it is forgotten now that you have told me the truth.’ Paul smiled wryly. ‘I do understand the power of love, my friend, and I think at times it makes a man lose all reason.’
‘Indeed, you are right.’ Adam looked rueful. ‘Yes, I shall tell Lady March, and I must also see Miss Bellingham and beg her pardon if I led her on...’
‘There is no if about it,’ Paul said severely. ‘Yet it hardly matters now, for she is to marry Captain Smythe and I truly hope she will be happy...though, as you said, she is flighty and it would not surprise me if she leads him a merry dance, but that will not be my concern...’
Chapter Fourteen
‘Did Jane say nothing to you of her reasons for going out?’ Will asked of Sarah as she came back to the parlour and told him that Jane was not in her room. ‘It is unlike her to go off on her own like this without telling anyone.’
‘She told John that she would be back for tea and it is now half past four,’ Sarah replied. ‘I have not seen her since she said she had a headache...’
‘I know that my sister likes to walk when she has a headache, but it is so rare that she does—and she ought to have been home by now...’
‘My lord—Viscount Hargreaves and Lord Frant are here.’
Will frowned at his butler, and then inclined his head. ‘Pray show them in, if you please. Perhaps they may have some news of Jane...’
‘Salisbury,’ Paul said and held out his hand, ‘I was hoping to see Lady March—she has returned from her walk?’
‘No, she has not and I grow anxious,’ Will replied. ‘It is so unlike her to go off alone and not tell anyone where she is going...’
‘I fear you have good cause to worry,’ Paul said and handed him a piece of crumpled paper. ‘I was about to leave my house when this was delivered—by an urchin who immediately ran off, I’m told.’
Will scanned the paper and then stared at him in bewilderment. ‘Why was this sent to you, sir? If my sister has been kidnapped, the demand for her ransom should surely have been addressed to me?’
‘We had not yet got round to announcing our intentions to the world,’ Paul replied. ‘I see I must be plain with you—I asked Jane to be my wife and she accepted me, but I begged her to keep it secret for a while.’
Will was puzzled. ‘I do not see why you need to keep it a secret—unless you meant until you had told the family?’
‘No, sir. It was more serious than that...though I had not told Jane. Would that I had warned her to be careful of him, but I did not imagine that he would do such a vile and desperate thing as to kidnap her.’
‘Your enemy?’
‘Yes. You may have heard some scurrilous rumours?’ Will shook his head. ‘No? There is talk of my deserting an Indian wife, who has since had my child. It is a lie, as Adam can confirm, for she is his wife and the child his—but before this there were three attempts on my life. I did not wish to worry Jane so I did not tell her everything, but it was my reason for keeping our understanding a secret—to protect her.’
‘Someone knew of it,’ Will said, his gaze narrowed. ‘Someone must have passed the news on to whoever has used it against you.’
‘I have told no one,’ Paul asserted. ‘If it was learned of, it must have come from Jane or someone here.’
‘If my sister said she would keep a secret she would not speak of it, even to me,’ Will said and frowned. He glanced at Sarah. ‘You did not know?’
‘Jane said nothing, but I suspected it,’ Sarah said. ‘I would never have spoken of it...’ She hesitated, then, ‘I think Melia might have heard something... She might not have been so circumspect. I believe she could be...spiteful and she was a little jealous of Jane.’
‘Yes,’ Will admitted. ‘I had not realised it until recently, but she was spiteful about Jane and you, Sarah, on occasion. Yet would she have deliberately set out to harm Jane?’
‘I doubt she meant to harm her,’ Paul said. ‘She is thoughtless and probably did not think telling someone could cause harm...’
‘But who did she tell—and why should that cause harm to my sister?’
‘If she told the man who hates me he would feel it cause to strike against her in order to harm me—this note is proof of that, if proof were needed.’
‘You know who this man is?’
‘I believe so,’ Paul said. ‘Years ago I spoke out against him because I believed he was a cheat at the card tables. He was sent away from the regiment on active service and I did not see him for many years—until he returned from India some weeks ago. Yet I would not have believed he could hate me so much—unless he has other cause...’
‘Hershaw!’ Adam spoke. ‘He was not of our regiment, but he came to the region some months before you left...he asked me about you and I told him you had grown rich and powerful because of what you did the night you rescued the Prince from the flames.’
‘While you and the others held the tribesmen at bay,’ Paul said. ‘I have not forgotten your part in the affair, Adam.’
‘I but did my job,’ Adam admitted. ‘You broke down the door of that burning hut; you dashed in and brought out the Prince at some cost to yourself. You deserved the praise and the rewards.’
‘But what does this have to do with Jane?’ Will demanded. ‘Why has she been kidnapped?’
‘Because my enemy knows that it is my vulnerable spot. If anything happens to Jane... I do not think, I could bear it.’
‘It would kill Mama,’ Will said. ‘In God’s name, why didn’t you tell us, Frant? I could have had her watched wherever she went...’
‘That was my duty and I believed she was being watched over,’ Paul said. ‘I came straight here in the hope of finding it a hoax and Jane safe with her family, but I shall seek out those I had paid to watch for her and demand an explanation for this...’
‘We must find her,’ Will said. ‘Jane is my sister. I care for her—as does Sarah and my family. We must get her back unharmed.’ He frowned, then, ‘You will pay the ransom?’
‘I would pay three times ov
er what he demands,’ Paul said, ‘but I fear he would take the money and laugh in my face—perhaps send her back more dead than alive. No, I must find her and bring her home...’
‘How do you expect to do that?’ Adam asked, looking grim. ‘I shall help you, Paul. Whatever you ask, I am happy to do...but where do we start?’
‘I must consult the men I employed to watch her back and mine. One of them should have followed her. It surprises me that he did not report this abduction himself before the rogues could do so themselves...’
‘Tell me what I can do to help,’ Will said. ‘If you need more agents, more men to help you find her, you know I shall do all I can to aid you.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Paul said. ‘For the moment there is nothing you can do but keep your cousin safe. You will hear from me again as soon as I have news. Come, Adam, we have work to do...’
* * *
Jane came to her senses slowly. Her head hurt and she was conscious of feeling sick, a dull aching sensation all over her body. As the light in the room strengthened, she could feel soreness at the back of her head and her wrists hurt. She touched one wrist and winced because she could feel where the ropes had chafed against the softness of her skin.
She had been drugged and dragged off to a waiting carriage. Her memory of what happened then was cloudy, but she seemed to recall that she had tried to fight off her captors and almost got away—until one of them had hit her on the back of the head. After that they must have tied her hands, though she had at some time since been released from her bonds.
How long was it since she’d been captured? Jane had no idea, but she thought it must be morning now. There was a faint light coming from the windows, which had thick drapes over them but were not quite drawn together. She rolled over and tried to put her feet to the floor but the feeling of sickness swept over her and she vomited, the foul-smelling bile spilling out of her to the floor. Her mouth tasted as bitter as gall and she thought they had forced her to drink a few sips of something, probably to drug her, as the cloth soaked in some foul mixture, which they’d put over her nose in the first place, had not put her right out. She’d recovered enough to kick the shins of her captor and run, but of course they’d caught her because she’d been disorientated and frightened. Jane had seen real hatred in the eyes of the man who had captured her and she did not think that he intended to let her go. She had not been taken for a ransom.
If she could get to the window and discover where she was... Had they brought her to a house in town or were they in the country somewhere? She listened hard, but could not hear anything that would help her to identify her whereabouts.
She stood up, immediately felt dizzy and fell back onto the bed. It was no use; she felt too ill to even think about making an attempt at escape, even if there was a chance of it.
Jane lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Her head was throbbing. She could not remember feeling this ill before, even when she’d had the influenza.
Hearing a key in the lock of her door, she kept her eyes shut as heavy footsteps came towards her, sensing that there were two men in the room even though she could not see them.
‘She’s still out. I reckon ’e ’it ’er too ’ard. If she dies it’ll be us that swings fer it. Mind me words, Herb, he’ll be off scot-free and us’ll be for the ’igh toby.’
‘He’s a rotten swine, the captain,’ Herb said. ‘I ’ates ’im, but I daresn’t do other than wot ’e says. If’n I’d known it was a woman I’d never ’ave gone along of it. But I dare say the devil would ’ave shot me if’n I’d refused ’im.’
‘I reckon you’m be right,’ the other man said. ‘Put the tray down there, Herb. If’n she wakes, she might want a drop of water and a bit of this ’ere cheese. As I says it meself, it’s a rare bit o’ cheese, that—tasty and fresh.’
‘Seems a waste ter leave it if she’s gonna croak...’
‘He’s payin fer it, and there’s a pot of soup downstairs. Reckon we’ll leave this in case she wakes and have our soup and bread in the kitchen with Sophie.’
‘Sophie’ll ’ave me guts fer garters if’n this one croaks. She created somethin’ awful when she see it were a lady... She says we’ll all be ’ung fer this night’s work...’
Jane heard the men leaving and locking the door behind them. She opened her eyes cautiously, but she was alone again. Sitting up carefully, she managed to pick up the small jug and pour some liquid into the thick earthenware cup provided. It tasted good, cool and fresh, like spring water. Jane seldom drank water in town that had not been boiled first because it was often contaminated—this water was good and she thought they must be in the country. As if to confirm her thoughts, she heard a cock crowing the hour. Yes, that was a country sound—but they could surely not be too far from town, unless she had been unconscious for more than one night.
Suddenly becoming aware of a need to relieve herself, Jane struggled to first sit up and then to put her feet to the floor. She was still a little unsteady but she managed to walk to the window and pull back the curtains enough to let in some light. Glancing round, she saw the room was furnished with heavy ill-fashioned pieces made by a carpenter rather than a cabinet maker, but there was a rather crude commode chair, and she sighed with relief as she made use of it.
She saw a washstand in one corner, and on examination found water for cleansing herself, a lump of coarse soap and a rough cloth to dry on. It was all of the poorest quality, but the cloth was clean and she was glad of the chance to wash her face and hands. Returning to the bed, she looked at the tray and saw that the cheese and bread were fresh, though the bread was not white but thick dark bread that looked home baked with coarse-grained flour. However, the tiny piece she broke and ate with a morsel of cheese tasted good and she ate half the bread and all the small slice of cheese.
At least she wasn’t to be starved, Jane thought. The men who had checked on her sounded reasonable enough, though clearly the kind of rogues who sold their services to a man they feared. She imagined that they would not baulk at murder if she were a man, but the thought of killing a gentlewoman had given them cause for concern—and Sophie sounded as if she might have some influence with at least one of them. It was Sophie she had to thank for the soap and towel, and the bread and cheese. If she had any chance of getting out of here alive, it must be through Sophie—and she would hope that next time food was brought it would be the woman herself.
Jane sat on the bed and hunched her knees to her chest. She knew the name of her captor and she’d seen hatred in his eyes. Right from the time of their first meeting, Jane had been wary of Captain Hershaw but she could not imagine why he wanted to harm her. What had she done that had so offended him?
Yes, she had perhaps made it clear that she did not wish him to make himself free of her brother’s house, but was that cause enough for him to abduct her? It seemed so strange that he should look at her in that way—as if he wanted to inflict pain on her...or someone else.
Was it possible that the person he truly hated was Paul Frant? Jane came to the conclusion in a flash, because it fitted with the rest. Lady Catherine had been at the theatre with Hershaw and she knew they’d been noticed—was it because of that Jane had been told of Paul’s wife in India? Had they hoped her distress would lead her to do something foolish? If so, they must be pleased with themselves for she’d walked neatly into their trap.
Her brother would be frantic with worry—and Paul, would he be anxious too? Yes, of course he would. He’d sworn he loved her and she ought to have trusted him and ignored Lady Catherine’s lies, for she was now certain that they had been concocted especially for her sake, to make her act foolishly—and that was her own fault. Paul had told her that he wished to keep their attachment secret in case his enemy sought to use her against him—which was exactly what he had done, but it was Jane’s own foolish behaviour that had put her into dan
ger. Will often told her that she ought to take a maid when she walked out in town, but she’d laughed and told him she was perfectly safe. While that was probably so in the grounds of their country home, it was clearly not the case in London—but she had not realised she had enemies.
Hearing a sound outside the door, Jane sat on the edge of the bed. She’d eaten food and made use of the water for washing so there was no point in pretending to be asleep.
The door opened and a woman entered. She looked at Jane and nodded, smiling as if she were pleased to see her sitting up and relatively unharmed.
‘My man said as he thought you was awake, milady,’ she said. ‘I came up to see for myself and see to things...he said as you’d been sick earlier.’
‘He spoke of Sophie—are you she?’
‘Yes, milady, and I must tell you that I was angry with Herb and my brother for bringing you here in that state. It was a wicked thing to do—but you mustn’t think too hardly of them, for it was that wicked man as made them do it. He’s a rare cruel devil that one and they be fools for havin’ to do with such a one as he.’
‘Tell me,’ Jane said, ‘were you once in service to a lady, Sophie?’
‘Aye, my lady, I was—and a sweeter, gentler lady was never to be found. I loved her and stayed with her until she died of a fever and they turned me off; ’twas then I married Herb and came here—and there’s times I curse myself for a fool. He’s not a bad man, milady, but easily led—and my brother was never to be trusted, though as a boy none had a sweeter nature.’
‘Do you know what Captain Hershaw intends to do with me?’
‘Ah, you know him then,’ Sophie said and looked concerned. ‘It would be better had you not seen his face for he will not let you go now—for a crime such as he plans the penalty is death at the end of a rope.’
‘Do you know why he hates me?’
‘I doubt it’s you he hates, milady—but the man you care for. My man heard him in his cups one night, vowing to be even with his enemy. He thinks he can deal him a blow through you from which he will never recover.’
