Married at Midnight: An Authentic Regency Romance

by Arabella Sheraton

  The fair-haired gentleman pressed her hand and replied, “My dear Miss Skittering, Lady Derwent has told me of your friendship and kindness towards my—towards Roxanne.”

  Miss Skittering then introduced Mr. Clarkson who produced the pink bow torn from Roxanne’s sleeve.

  “I fear,” he said, “that whoever has made off with the lady intends her grave harm. See how he has torn her clothing in his violent attack.”

  Lady Derwent, her face ashen and looking strangely older, intervened. “I must implore you, Mr. Clarkson, to escort Miss Skittering home while we—” she glanced at the two men “—decide how best to rescue Roxanne.”

  Mr. Clarkson infuriated Miss Skittering by insisting on taking her home right away.

  “Mr. Clarkson, I must ask you to desist,” she snapped, trying to pull her arm from his firm grasp as he steered her towards the door. “Please do not impede my efforts to help my friend.”

  He continued to hold her arm in a meaningful way while murmuring in her ear, “I fear we intrude in what must be a family matter.”

  Miss Skittering glanced at Lady Derwent and grumbled, “Very well then.”

  Lady Derwent laid a hand on Mr. Clarkson’s sleeve. “I can see your anxiety over the fate of my niece, but I beg of you, sir, not to concern yourself further with this matter. Everything is in hand.”

  Mr. Clarkson ushered Miss Skittering out the front door, where he found two chairmen idly smoking their pipes at the corner of the street. He hailed them and packed Miss Skittering safely into the sedan chair with a promise to inform her the very next morning of any developments. With a last perturbed glance at Lady Derwent’s front door, he then strode off in the opposite direction.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lady Derwent stared at her unwelcome guest.

  “Pray explain yourself, Mr. Doyle.” She raised a reproving hand as he opened his mouth. “But before you do so, please be advised that Roxanne has told me everything about you and I have informed his lordship accordingly. I must exhort you to leave out any reference to a relationship between my family and yourself. You are not, have never been, and never will be a cousin to my late brother and me.”

  Edgar, who had opened his mouth, snapped it shut and glared at her. Then he dropped his gaze to the nails on one hand and picked at an offending cuticle. When he raised his eyes again, his stare was equally cold. “Don’t come the high and mighty with me, your ladyship,” he sneered. “I am well acquainted with the gentleman here, your niece’s fiancé.”

  A flicker of surprise showed in Lady Derwent’s expression as she glanced at Julian.

  Edgar smiled. “Yes, we’re on more than friendly terms,” he said, with an expansive wave in Julian’s direction. “I’ve been a guest in his lordship’s house, too.”

  Julian clenched his jaw. “Only because you wheedled your way in by pretending to be Mr. Hardwicke’s friend.”

  Edgar sighed and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Such a jabber-jawed gentleman. A bit like the tabby who’s just been here. Never stopped talking. Makes my head ache.”

  “How did you know Roxanne would come to Bath?” asked Lady Derwent.

  “It wasn’t difficult,” said Edgar, with a smirk. “When the old man—I mean when Mr. Chesney—was dying, he rambled on about arguing with a sister who lived in Bath. I made a few enquiries in and around Brentham about you and got a few details. People remember. They also talk. An old woman in the next village remembered you being married to Lord Derwent. I knew your niece would most likely come here, so I waited until I spotted her.”

  “Say what you want and have done with this fiasco,” Julian snapped.

  Edgar gestured with his empty glass and Julian filled it for him from a brandy decanter. “I want what I deserve,” said Edgar, after a large gulp. He sat down, stretched out his legs and settled himself more comfortably in a large armchair.

  “The lady broke with me to go off with you. When I tried to retrieve a few baubles from your place, I was rudely interrupted and knocked over the head by that demented maid of your aunt. Then, when I wanted to make good my disappointment by removing some valuables from your sister’s house, the lady refused to assist me. Of course, once she disappeared there was no use in my outstaying my welcome at the Duke of Silverton’s house.” He scowled. “I have been frustrated in my ambitions to better my circumstances.”

  Julian clenched his fists. “Better your circumstances? That’s rich coming from scum like you. You are nothing but a fraudster and a thief.”

  “Desperate times, your lordship, desperate times,” said Edgar, wagging a reproving finger at Julian. “They call for desperate measures! I’m a desperate man.”

  “I have been in the grip of poverty myself,” Julian replied. “I was never so desperate as to commit a crime.”

  “Poverty? You?” Edgar snorted his contempt. “You have absolutely no idea what grinding poverty is all about. Oh, perhaps you cannot purchase a nice piece of horseflesh one year, but you still have a horse! Maybe you have had to practise a few economies, but you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, a title to your name, and the prospect of inheritance. I was born to nothing but what I could get for myself.”

  Julian was silent. Then he said, “I am sorry for your situation and you make a good argument. However that does not justify your actions.”

  “You’ll soon be rich, your lordship. Your sister is married to a very wealthy man. What are a few pieces of silver or some trinkets to you or to her,” Edgar whined. “All Roxanne had to do was lend a helping hand. But no, she ran off rather than betray you.”

  Julian’s nostrils flared. “Do not even speak her name, you contemptible worm!”

  Edgar shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He drained his glass. “The bottom line is not whether I’m a thief or a piece of scum as you have pointed out to me.” He put down the glass and stared at Julian. “The bottom line is this: I have her in my safekeeping. I think your lordship can spare a few thousand pounds to effect the release of the lady.”

  Julian jumped to his feet. “You’re a madman! I haven’t got that kind of money to hand.”

  Edgar nodded slowly. “I agree.” He flicked a speck of dust from his waistcoat with a nonchalant air. “Not yet, but you will. So you can raise the money on a promissory note, can’t you?” He waved at Lady Derwent. “The lady has a wealthy relative here.” He then gestured towards Julian. “You have your rich old aunt Beddingfield. They won’t let you down.”

  Julian made as if to strike Edgar, who cowered in his chair, covering his face.

  “I won’t borrow from my family and that’s the end of it.”

  Edgar slithered out the chair, a wary expression on his face. “You’ll have to borrow, my high and mighty lordship, or else you’ll never see your precious Roxanne again.” He leered at Julian. “Or if you ever do, you won’t want her after I’m finished with her.”

  Julian roared and leapt at Edgar, who ducked behind a bulky rubber plant, ineffectually pulling its large leathery leaves in front of his face.

  Lady Derwent grabbed Julian’s arm and was almost pulled off her feet. “Julian! Stop! I beg you! It’s only money. We cannot risk Roxanne’s life.”

  She pushed Julian to one side. He leaned on the mantelpiece, shaking with rage.

  Lady Derwent straightened up and threw back her shoulders. Her stare was arctic and Edgar dropped his gaze under her frigid expression.

  “Now, Mr. Doyle, cease this puerile behaviour and let’s do business properly. How and when do you want the money and what guarantee do I have you will release my niece and never bother us again?”

  Edgar stood up and straightened his coat with trembling hands, glaring at Julian. “Thank you, milady, you’ve got a sensible head on your shoulders.” He brushed down his lapels. “I say fifty thousand pounds for the ransom and ten thousand more for the insult just offered to me. You have two days. That’s enough time for you to raise the money. Only notes. No bank drafts.”

  L
ady Derwent nodded. “As you wish. Sixty thousand pounds. How will we effect this…er…exchange?”

  Edgar went to the door. “I’ll inform you of the when and where.” His stare was cold, his eyes dead and flat. “No tricks or I’ll cut her into tiny pieces.” He turned the door handle. “You’ll be hearing from me again. I’ll see myself out.”

  Julian fell onto the sofa. He ran his fingers through his hair and then dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders slumped. He made a sorry sight. Then he threw his head up, straightened his shoulders and said, “We must follow this Doyle. Right away.” He flung open the drawing room door. “Skelton?”

  The groom materialised as if by magic. “Sir?”

  “You know what to do.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Skelton disappeared and Julian ushered Lady Derwent back into the drawing room.

  “What now?” she asked. Her nervous fingers plucked at the fringes of her shawl.

  Julian said grimly, “Skelton will follow him and find out where he goes. This man is a ghost in the underbelly of society. He flits from place to place, keeping out of sight. Did you have any idea he was in Bath?”

  Lady Derwent shook her head, her face anguished. “Not at all. I thought he would have given up once Roxanne had run away from London. He found out I am not a woman alone and friendless. I have position and money. I felt I could hold my own against him.”

  Julian nodded. “You, perhaps, but not Roxanne. She is both our Achilles’ heel.” He reached for Lady Derwent’s hands. “I cannot lose her again. My life has been nothing but a desert, bereft of hope since she left.”

  Lady Derwent patted his hand reassuringly. “I think there is something you should know.”

  When Skelton arrived back at Lady Derwent’s house thirty minutes later, he had a scruffy ragamuffin in tow. Cummings, with a resigned air, announced both the groom and his dirty companion and showed them into the drawing room.

  “Cor!” was the urchin’s expression of admiration as he gazed around the magnificently furnished room. “Yer got a lot of blunt, ain’t yer?”

  Lady Derwent, who had expressed not one iota of surprise at being confronted by a filthy member of the lower classes in her own elegant drawing room, said, “Yes, I am very fortunate. Come here, little man.”

  The urchin looked up at Skelton, who nodded and gave the child a light push in Lady Derwent’s direction.

  She patted the sofa. “Come sit next to me.”

  The child hung back, his small dirty face crumpled as he shook his head. “Not me. I’ll get a whippin’ for makin’ yer fine sofa all dirty.”

  Lady Derwent raised her eyebrows. “You’re a very thoughtful young man. Cummings will provide you with a towel to sit on, although I am not concerned about your dirt right now.”

  Cummings returned with an enormous towel, which he draped carefully over the sofa, right up to the edge of Lady Derwent’s dress.

  She frowned. “Now, now, Cummings, let’s not embarrass our guest.”

  Cummings flushed and pressed his lips together. “Of course not, milady.” He gave the urchin a fierce look as he sailed back to his post at the door.

  Lady Derwent patted the sofa again. “Now we will be quite safe. Sit here and tell me your name.”

  The urchin edged onto the sofa. “It’s Jem, milady. Jem Hardcastle.”

  “That’s a fine name. Is Jem short for Jeremy?”

  He nodded solemnly and shifted several inches closer to this fine lady who was treating him, as he regaled his open-mouthed siblings and parents later, “jes like a reg’lar person.”

  Cummings uttered a stifled protest and looked annoyed when his employer told him to go right away to the kitchen and ask Cook for a glass of milk, a meat pie, and some fruit for a hungry lad.

  “For I am sure,” said Lady Derwent, looking kindly upon her visitor, “that you have been a very brave boy tonight and helped Mr. Skelton immensely.”

  Jem nodded vigorously. “I ’opes so, yer la’ship, ’cause the mister gave me a silver shillin’ and said if it all turned out right I’d be getting two extra besides.”

  Julian glanced at Skelton, who jerked his head in the direction of the door.

  “I can promise you more than two extra besides,” said Lady Derwent with a tremor in her voice.

  “I wonder if we should make our move soon,” said Julian, concern creasing his brow. “Now that we know where Doyle is staying.”

  Jem bit into a meat pie and informed his hostess in a shower of crumbs, “No need ter worry ’bout that. The cove you’re lookin’ fer, well ’e’s safely settled with ’is dinner and a bottle o’ daffy.”

  Lady Derwent raised an eyebrow in Skelton’s direction. The groom hastened to enlighten her ladyship that daffy was a bottle of gin.

  “Then I am sure he will be relaxed by the time you get to him,” said Lady Derwent, “so let’s give him a little time to make inroads upon his refreshment.” She cast a meaningful glance at Julian. “Mr. Doyle is in no hurry since he believes we will be busy arranging the ransom for the next two days. Perhaps he will drink more than usual as he celebrates what he perceives to be a certain victory.”

  Julian sighed. “Yes, you’re quite right.”

  “Pray do not agitate yourself, sir. Let us hear what young Jem has to tell us.”

  Jem, having devoured half the contents of the tray, lifted his head and asked, “Kin I take some home fer me sisters, milady?” He indicated the remains of the meal.

  “My dear boy,” said Lady Derwent, “you shall take more than these scraps home.” She beckoned to Cummings. “Please ask Cook to make up a large hamper of provisions for Mr. Hardcastle’s family.”

  “Yes, milady.” Cummings bowed and stalked out.

  “Now then, I am sure you’re feeling much better after a good dinner.”

  Jem nodded and wiped his mouth on the back of his tattered sleeve. “I’m ready to tell yer wot I saw.”

  Julian leaned forward. “Speak up then, Jem.”

  “I noticed that shifty cove ’bout four days or so ago,” said the boy.

  “The shifty cove. You mean Mr. Doyle?” asked Julian.

  “That’s the cove Mr. Skelton bin following?” Jem nodded. “Him wot came wiv two other men. Ugly and rough kind of ’uns. They rented two rooms from Widder Sweeney fer two weeks.”

  Julian exclaimed, “The scoundrel! He’d planned to wait it out until he could snatch her.” He punched one fist into his palm.

  “Hush,” said Lady Derwent. “Now, Jem, how did you come to bump into Mr. Skelton?”

  Jem swelled with importance. “I saw Mr. Skelton at the end of the street tonight and ’e beckoned to me. When I went over, ’e explained to me ’e was after this shifty cove but ’e was too big and tall and the cove would notice and run away. Mr. Skelton said if I was to follow the cove and report back where ’e went I would get a silver shillin’ and two besides.”

  Julian looked up at Skelton. “Do you know where Doyle is staying?”

  Skelton nodded. “I do, milord. The boy was very clear in his directions. Avon Street.”

  Lady Derwent uttered a gasp of horror. “A desperate and impoverished place! It is a slum beyond your imaginings. Everything vile and offensive finds its home there. Mr. Doyle has chosen a hideous place to hide, but the best place. No person of quality would dare venture down those dingy streets or dream of searching for anyone there.”

  Julian stood up. “Let’s not involve this child in our fight. He has been a stout lad enough, haven’t you, Jem?”

  There was no reply. Jem had fallen asleep holding Lady Derwent’s hand.

  She put her finger to her lips. “Hush. Off you go. You can take one of my footmen or both if you think it wise.”

  Julian shook his head. “Skelton and I will manage, won’t we, Skelton.”

  The groom nodded and produced a sturdy truncheon from behind his back. “I’m ready for the scoundrel, milady.”

  “Bring my niece h
ome safe,” said Lady Derwent as she draped her shawl over Jem’s sleeping form.

  Chapter Twenty

  When Roxanne woke up, the first thing she noticed was the smell. Blinking to accustom herself to the gloom of her surroundings, she reeled at the stench pervading the air. A gag of coarse cloth prevented her opening her mouth and screaming for help. Her hands were tied in front and her ankles were also bound. She half lay on a thin mattress on the floor. Dark blood stains covered one corner of the mattress, which smelled of urine and vomit. A match flared and a dark hunched shape loomed into her line of vision. The shape lit two candles, and as the flames glowed she began to see her surroundings better. The room was sparsely furnished with two chairs and a rickety table covered with the remains of a meal, a jug of what she hoped was water, and several brown bottles.

  Her captor shambled over to her. “I reckon ye’ll be wantin’ a drink?”

  Roxanne nodded. He squinted at her. He was not an attractive sight. Scars criss-crossed one side of his face and scalp, some still red and livid in the candlelight.

  Wagging a warning finger in her face, he growled, “No screamin’ then, ’cause if yer so much as squeak, I have me orders to knock yer on the head.”

  Roxanne nodded again to indicate her willingness to obey.

  He fetched the jug and placed it on the floor next to the mattress. Then he knelt down and slowly untied her gag. He raised the lip of the jug to her mouth. He grinned, showing blackened and broken teeth. Although his rank breath enveloped her like a noxious cloud, she tried hard not to flinch in case he took offence and refused her the water.

  “There’s no cups, but I reckon yer ain’t fussy. We’re not prepared for fine company this evening.” He giggled at his own joke.

  Roxanne gulped down the water. It tasted stale and was possibly not very clean, but she drank it uncaring. When she had finished he carefully retied the gag around her mouth again. Her gaze implored him, but he shook his head.

  “Sorry, Missy, but it’s not worth me life to leave it off. Mister Doyle, he’s terrible strict about such matters.”