He walked down the street; the chimes of the nine o’clock church bells had faded away, and he looked forward to an early night. He whistled as he walked, then stopped abruptly.
He’d happened to glance down the passageway to the mews as he approached the area of the hotel. His father’s and his own rooms were in what had once been the housekeeper’s and butler’s rooms of the house that had been renovated to a hotel.
Something was moving in the dark, and the boy pressed against the dirty stucco of the building on the other side of the alley. He squinted his eyes. It appeared to be a woman and a man coming out of the cellar with a large package over the man’s shoulder that appeared to be a rolled up rug.
The door had been locked. Had robbers broken in and stored their loot in the cellar? No one ever went down there, so no one would ever know if that had been the case. He pulled back quickly and slid into the doorway of the building he leaned against. The robbers were coming his way.
They didn’t see him in their haste to get a hackney. Who were they? He thought he might’ve seen the lady somewhere before, but the man was a stranger to him.
They hailed a cab and were gone before he was sure he’d even seen them. He’d been to the pub as it were, and the blue ruin he’d drunk coursed through his blood and brain.
He walked down the passage to the cellar door. The lock was undamaged. “Well, will you look at that?” He went in and down the dark steps into the main cavern-like room. There was a coal bin, and three doors off the main area. One of the doors was open. Smothers walked inside the room.
It was nearly pitch black in the room. He couldn’t see anything and waited for his eyes to adjust.
*******
Atwater, Olivia, and Jorge waited impatiently while the man loaded the rug into the waiting hackney. Even though they were on horseback, there was not enough room for them to pass the carriage.
After what seemed an interminable time, they veered into the alley. Atwater went with Olivia into the cellar while Jorge stayed with the horses.
They made their way down the steps in the darkness, taking care not to fall. Olivia knew the way in the dark and reached back to take the Duke’s hand. “Pardon me, Your Grace.”
“Just get me to Phoebe.”
“The room is right here.” She pressed open the door. A hand grabbed her arm in a steel-like grip and pulled her into the room. She gasped, about to scream when the other hand smashed against her face in a backhand that left red knuckle marks.
“Stupid, stupid girl.” Charlotte Evans stood next to Olivia twisting her arm behind her back so hard, Olivia was sure it would break. A small lantern sat on the windowsill in front of the boarded up window and threw some small light on the room. “How dare you drug me. Who do you think you are? Did you think I would wake up and not know I’d drunk laudanum?”
“Did you really think I wouldn’t come down here? You believed that story about the rats. La! So stupid. I told you that story to dupe you, fool. Now, it shall be your dead body that lays here for the rats to have their way with.”
“Not so fast, Charlotte.” Atwater stepped into the room.
Olivia watched Charlotte’s face go white.
“Unhand Olivia this instant. Where is my wife?”
Charlotte, never one to admit defeat, smiled. “Your Grace,” she purred and curtsied to the knee. “I’ve been trying to get the truth out of this wretched girl, Your Grace.” She took Olivia’s arm once more and held it behind her. “Olivia is a wicked girl, Your Grace. She has kidnapped the Duchess.”
“It’s over Charlotte. Where is she? Where is Phoebe?”
“Surely, I don’t know what you speak of, Your Grace.” Charlotte smiled again, her fingernails piercing into Olivia’s skin.
“Surely you do. Your game is over.”
“My game? Are you so sure, Your Grace? I do not play games.”
There was a slight waver in Charlotte’s eyes and a widening of Olivia’s. In the dim light from the lantern, Atwater detected a pale shadow of something rising up. Something Robert was sure was meant to strike the back of his head.
He spun around and punched the man in the stomach sending him sprawling into the main room of the cellar. He turned back and went to Charlotte. He grabbed her by the arms and was just about to bind her hands when Bruce came back at him. Olivia wrenched free of Charlotte and jumped on Bruce’s back.
The man stumbled, turning in circles in an attempt to cast Olivia from him. He fought to regain his balance. He threw Olivia off just as Robert’s fist slammed into his snuff-filled jaw.
Charlotte fled from the room, and Bruce made another try at beating the Duke. He lunged forward, punching out towards Atwater and coming up short. His afternoon at the pub was catching up to him. He and Atwater got into a close scuffle, Olivia trying to decipher how she could help the Duke.
They fell to the floor, rolling this way and that until Bruce was on top of Atwater, choking him with one hand and reaching down into his boot with the other.
Olivia saw the glimmer of a knife being drawn. She had to do something. She looked around the tiny room frantically. The moth-eaten blanket lay on the floor. She picked it up and manoeuvred herself behind him. His arm was rising to drive the knife into the Duke’s neck.
Olivia caught Bruce’s head in the blanket, tightening it around his neck and pulling back as hard as she could. The knife fell to the dirt floor giving Atwater just enough time to push up and to the side, gaining positional advantage over Bruce.
Atwater’s fist crashed into the man’s jaw again and again, the Duke’s breath coming in ragged grunts.
Finally, it was over. Atwater bound Bruce’s hands and waited for the soldiers who were on their way.
*******
Charlotte ran into the alley. She was panicking. Her plan was backfiring. But she had to get her baby out of the third floor room inside the hotel. She made a sharp left, unaware that she was being observed, and ran to the front of the hotel. She flew in the door, past the desk, and up the stairs.
She was a few feet from the door. She hurried inside and closed it behind her. She rested her forehead for one moment against the door to gather her wits, and then she went to her child. The little boy looked very much like his father. He had nothing of Charlotte. He was dark with the curly hair of a cherub, dark eyes and dimples. He was a chubby, healthy baby.
Charlotte gently lifted the boy from the cradle. He gurgled and cooed. “Mama.” He was the only being that she had ever really loved. Originally, when he’d been born she’d intended to use him for her own means. To further her own goals in getting rich. She’d wanted much for herself, and she went about obtaining it by any means necessary. But her goals had changed.
She wanted money and security for her child. This little angel had softened a part of Charlotte Evans. She cared not what became of her. Every ill deed she exacted was to somehow further her little Robert’s chances in life.
“Mama’s here, my angel.” She held the tiny boy close. “I’ll never let anything hurt you, my love.” She straightened at a sound behind her, and slowly, she turned.
“So. It’s my guess you didn’t expect me, My Lady.” Phoebe stood in the middle of the room backed up by Jorge, Colonel Drake, and a young lieutenant.
Charlotte’s face tightened as if she’d just eaten a lemon. Her baby was in her arms. There was no way she was going to take any chance of harming him. She kissed the infant tenderly. “Mama loves you very much, Robert. Always remember.” She placed the boy back in the cradle and slowly turned back to the other four in the room. To attempt escape was useless.
She stood still while the Colonel and Lieutenant bound her hands. Phoebe did not look at her. She’d seen the tenderness that Charlotte bore for her child. The idea of separating them was painful to her, and her heart went out to Charlotte then.
As the soldiers were about to pass through the door with Charlotte, Phoebe said, “Wait!”
They turned to look at her, the s
oldiers questioning, “Your Grace?”
“May we be alone for a moment?”
Jorge, who’d begun playing with the infant, picked the baby up, and the three men went into the hall to wait until Phoebe called them back.
“What is this? You mean to really drag me through the mud of this, do you? You mean to have it in all the papers and the topic of gossip for the ton to revel in. Go on. Tell me what you have in store for me, Your Grace.”
“I, myself, have nothing in store for you, Charlotte. You’ve acted in a vile manner towards me and others. But I want it all to be over. So no, I will not have it in the papers or even spoken about once it’s all said and done.”
“Then what? Why ask to speak to me alone? Surely you don’t want the others hearing the malicious plans of the Duchess of Atwater.”
“I want to tell you that I will do everything in my power to see to it that your boy is well taken care of. He will have the best tutors and the finest clothes. He will eat good food and spend his summers in the country. He will be safe. And he will never know the truth of his mother’s travesties. He will have everything you’ve wished for yourself, and now that you wish for him. And he will never be told the truth about his mother. He will be told how she loved him more than she ever loved anyone. And he will be told that you died when he was one year old.”
Charlotte blinked twice. “Why would you do that for me?”
“Because, in spite of your wickedness, you are a mother who truly and clearly loves her child. Why should he suffer for your transgressions? I will not let it happen.”
“I see. So you want me beholden to you.”
“No. I simply don’t want to see an innocent child suffer for the misdeeds of others, most notably his mother.”
Charlotte squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I suppose you want gratitude from me, then. You want me to tell you how selfless you are, how giving and wonderful.”
“I do not. I only wish to give a little boy a fair chance. This has nothing to do with me … or you for that matter. But as women, I think we can agree that your child should not suffer for deeds not of his doing.”
Charlotte said nothing, but in her eyes, Phoebe glimpsed a tiny spark of light.
The men in the hallway were growing impatient. Their shuffling came to the ears of both the women who were caught in a mutual gaze that spoke of many things.
Charlotte dipped her head ever so slightly. Her chin quivered, and she curtsied as best as she could with her hands bound behind her. “Your Grace.”
Chapter 20
Olivia left Atwater with Bruce in the cellar. The man had been knocked out by the Duke, and he wanted to avoid any chance that the thug would escape. She went into the hotel to retrieve the baby from the third floor room.
Smothers was at the desk. He hadn’t been able to get his early night after all. His father was passed out in the back room behind the desk, so the boy was on duty after all. He ate some bread and cheese in a vain attempt to sober up.
“Has anyone come in, Mr Smothers.”
“No, but they’ve certainly gone out.” The boy laughed at his private joke.
“What do you mean?”
“I saw some men earlier, or maybe it was one, but he took a rug from the cellar. If I’d known thieves wanted to store things down there, I would have charged a fee. A small fee. But a fee. Why should my father’s establishment …”
“Mr Smothers, this is a lovely story indeed. But I must go.” Olivia made a dash for the stairs before he began to talk again.
She was about to enter the staircase when she heard noise from above. There were people coming down.
“Oh, Colonel Drake. His Grace said you would be coming.”
“Where is His Grace.”
“In the cellar, Colonel. He’s holding a prisoner. Your Grace. Oh, thank God. How did you get away from Bruce?”
“He was drunk. He never tied my hands because I was unconscious. But I’d come to as he was carrying me up the steps. I feigned that I was still knocked out. When he leaned forward to tell the hackney driver where to go, I was able to slip out. It was dark out, so he didn’t realize the door to the vehicle opened just enough to rescue me.”
“He must have found you were gone at some point. He came back here. He got into a scuffle with His Grace in the cellar. He is lying, unconscious and bound, waiting for the Colonel and Lieutenant to take him to the jail.”
“His Grace is here?”
“He is.” Phoebe looked up at the sound of her husband’s voice and ran to him.
“Robert.” She threw her arms around his neck. “My darling.” She burst into sobs. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“I’m here now, my love. You are safe.”
The Lieutenant took Olivia by the arm and escorted her out to the same carriage Charlotte waited in. Bruce, by now awake and quite sobered up was taken to the unmarked carriage as well. The Colonel sat on the bench with the driver while Lieutenant Stone stayed inside the vehicle with the prisoners.
Tom rode back to Regent Street with Atwater’s and Jorge’s mounts. Jorge had little baby Robert with him. He hailed a hackney for himself and one for the Duke and Phoebe. They left Covent Garden with the intention of regrouping at the townhouse.
*******
Atwater kept his arm protectively around his wife in the confines of the hackney. He’d been worried sick about her. He didn’t know what he would have done if any real harm had come to her.
“My love. Thank God you’re safe.” He pulled her closer to him and kissed the top of her head.
“I knew you’d find me, love.” Phoebe snuggled her husband. “I knew you would.
*******
When they got back to the house, Mary rushed Phoebe upstairs for a bath before the doctor looked at her. The room had been cleaned of the morning’s misgivings, and a cheery fire warmed it. Steaming water once again waited in the bathtub to soothe Phoebe.
“Are you well, My Lady?”
Phoebe was reclined in the tub, eyes closed. She cracked one eye. “My Lady?”
“Oh, my goodness. This has been such a strange day, Phoebe. I forgot who or what anything was.”
“Yes. I was not treated like a lady. I slept under a moth-eaten piece of fabric that served as a blanket. I ran through the streets of London in a servant’s frock, and I fraternized with vermin. Most distasteful indeed.”
“I’m so sorry, Phoebe.”
“I’m happy to be alive. I’m glad that Charlotte Evans is in jail, and I’m glad we’ve rescued her son before anything bad happened to him.”
“Do you mean to keep the child, Phoebe?”
“It is not my plan, but if it needs be, it needs be, I suppose. I certainly will pay for his upbringing, wherever it is.”
“I have some news to share with you, Phoebe.” Mary moved the stool she occupied a bit closer to the tub. She took Phoebe’s hand.
“Mary. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing, but I believe you should be aware of something before you go back downstairs.”
“La! So mysterious. What is it?”
“Lady Judith has come home, Phoebe.”
“Lady Judith? What are you talking about?”
Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 78
