by M C Beaton
Susan was a vision in white lace and white muslin. Her golden hair shone with health and her big blue eyes were calm and serene—too serene, Harriet thought, for a young lady about to receive a proposal of marriage.
“Am I to see him now?” she asked.
Harriet nodded.
“And what do I say?”
“You say yes,” said Harriet tetchily.
“Just yes?”
“You can say you are honored to receive his proposal of marriage.”
“And that will make you happy?”
“Oh, Susan, it will. But will it make you happy?”
“I suppose it will. I’ve got to marry someone.”
And with those disheartening words, Susan left the room.
She entered the drawing room. Charles promptly held out the large box of chocolates.
Susan’s eyes lit up. “How splendid!” She opened the lid and stared greedily down at the contents. She sat on the sofa and balanced the box on her lap, her fingers hovering over the contents.
Charles got down on one knee in front of her.
“Miss Colville?”
“Mmm?” Susan had popped a large chocolate into her mouth and her eyes closed into slits of pleasure.
“Will you do me the very great honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”
“Yes, have a chocolate.”
He sat down beside her on the sofa and looked at her ruefully. “Did you really hear what I said?”
“Oh, yes, you offered me marriage and I accepted.” Her fingers hovered over the box. He gave an angry little click of annoyance, took the box away from her, and laid it on the sofa on the side away from her. Susan pouted.
“Kiss me, Susan.”
“If I kiss you, Charles, may I have another chocolate?”
“Yes,” said Charles impatiently, trying to banish a bleak picture of having to entice his wife into the marriage bed by leaving a trail of chocolates leading up to it.
He took her gently in his arms and kissed her soft mouth. Susan sat very still in his embrace, feeling all sorts of new and sweet sensations surging through her. She mumbled something incoherent against his mouth and suddenly wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back, sending them both swimming away into a world of sweetness. At last he raised his mouth from hers and said huskily, “Would you like a chocolate?”
Susan gave him her blinding smile. “More kisses, please,” she said.
Harriet, entering the drawing room, stopped short in amazement at the sight of the abandoned couple. She coughed loudly and they broke apart, Charles leaping to his feet, his face flaming. “I—I am so s-sorry,” he stammered.
“Think nothing of it,” said Harriet, looking at her flushed and happy niece. “Are you engaged to be married?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then, as I have things to do, perhaps you might like to take Susan for a drive, and when you return, I will give you her parents’ address.”
“I can do that,” said Susan with a gurgle of laughter. “In fact, I will go with Charles.”
“That will not be suitable,” said Harriet, “unless I go with you, and I do not wish to make the journey at the moment.” She then felt guilty, for there was really nothing to keep her in London. But for some reason she would not admit to herself, she did not want to go.
When a thoroughly besotted Charles Courtney was driving his love toward the park, he suddenly remembered the earl’s request.
“My darling,” he began.
“Cannot you kiss me again?” demanded Susan impatiently.
“Not in the middle of a busy London street, but we will have plenty of opportunities. I have something to talk to you about concerning your aunt.”
“Aunt Harriet?”
“Dangerfield has an interest in her.”
“Then he has no hope. She slapped his face.”
“Because he called her a withered spinster. Now he wishes our help in ingratiating himself back into her good graces.”
“I should think the damage is irreparable, but we will try. Oh, why, there he is!”
Lord Dangerfield drew his carriage alongside. “I am to marry Charles,” said Susan sunnily.
“My felicitations,” said the earl.
“And I am out here and Aunt Harriet is at home alone.”
“I doubt whether she will receive me.”
“Then you may say you are calling on me and she will see you then in order to give you a jaw-me-dead about leaving me alone and to tell you I am betrothed to Charles.”
Lord Dangerfield drove off. He could not imagine why he should want so desperately to renew his friendship with such as Harriet Tremayne. But he did know he felt he had behaved disgracefully. He would go. She would see him. And she would accept his humble apology or he would ram it down her throat!
Chapter Six
When Harriet heard that Lord Dangerfield had called, she was about to tell her butler to send him away, but assuming he had really called to see Susan and eager—in Susan’s best interests, or so she told herself—to tell the wicked man that Susan was now beyond his reach, she asked the butler to show him up.
When the earl entered, she felt the same little sharp shock she always experienced when she saw him. He was indeed a handsome man with his red hair, powerful build, and clear gray eyes fringed with those thick, sooty lashes. They surveyed each other in silence like two strange cats.
Then Harriet found her voice. “Please sit down, my lord.”
He sat down opposite her. She said, “The reason I have granted you an audience…”
“An audience, Miss Tremayne? Are we become royalty?”
She bit her lip and then went on. “The reason I wanted to see you was to inform you of Susan’s engagement to Mr. Charles Courtney.”
“I know all about that. I have already offered the happy couple my felicitations.”
She surveyed him in surprise. “Then why are you come? After the insults we traded at the Debenhams, I did not expect to see you again.”
“I am sorry I said what I did. Pray accept my apologies.”
“The insult was great.”
“So was your calling me a vain lecher.”
“Well, I suppose I must accept your apology, and I offer you mine.”
“Thank you.” He rose to his feet. “I would be your friend, Miss Tremayne. London can be a wicked city. Should you ever need my help, please call on me.”
He bowed and left.
She sat down, feeling bewildered and breathless. She then became aware her butler was announcing Sir Thomas Jeynes. She nodded vaguely as a signal that he was to be admitted.
“I saw Dangerfield leaving,” said Sir Thomas. “I am surprised you saw him.”
“He came to apologize,” said Harriet.
“Ah-ha! He is trying to get back in your good graces so as to be near Miss Colville.”
“I do not think so. He already knew that Susan had become engaged to young Courtney.”
Sir Thomas went very still, like a lizard on a rock when a shadow falls on it. “This is news to me,” he said at last.
Harriet walked to the window and looked down into the street. “I am relieved. Susan is safe. It is all highly suitable.”
A man was selling watercress, another mackerel. Their salesmen’s cries filtered up through the hot, still air.
“And yet,” said Sir Thomas behind her, “I would still be careful of Dangerfield.”
She swung around. “Why?”
“Miss Colville is not yet married. I do not believe he will give up that easily.”
Despite her own unrealized jealousy, common sense came to Harriet’s aid. She said impatiently, “Lord Dangerfield has shown no signs of undying passion for Susan.”
“That is not his way. He waits, coiled, like a serpent ready to strike.”
“Fiddle.”
“We will see. I would be honored if you would accept my escort to the opera tomorrow night.”
“Susan and I
are going to the Durveys’ turtle dinner tonight and I think tomorrow after the Michaelsons’ breakfast that we will both enjoy a quiet evening at home.”
“But I will see you at the Michaelsons.”
“Of course, Sir Thomas.”
He bent and kissed her hand. “You are indeed a handsome and intriguing lady, Miss Tremayne.”
Harriet smiled at him, his compliment pleasing her inordinately, for although she had said she forgave the earl, his insult still rankled.
The following day was still unusually hot. Lord Dangerfield was not present at the Michaelsons’ and Harriet found she had to watch Susan and Charles closely, as the couple had a habit of slipping off together. It was when she finally tracked them for the last time to an arbor in the garden and found them kissing each other, Susan with all the greed that she usually gave to chocolate, that she decided it was time to take Susan home.
She wondered bleakly after she had given the couple a severe reprimand whether she was in fact the withered spinster the earl had accused her of being. She found such “slobbering,” as she described it to herself, infinitely distasteful. Everyone knew that passions existed only in the lower class of women. She wondered how Susan had come by such a common streak.
When they returned home to Berkeley Square, Harriet said she would take a bath and suggested that Susan do the same. But Susan had never become used to her aunt’s odd desire for baths and went down to the drawing room to write a love letter to Charles.
One of the footmen, John, was bedazzled by Susan, and so when a note had been delivered to him in the street and a guinea handed to him with the request that he deliver it privately to Miss Susan, he had agreed, thinking it a love letter.
Finding her alone in the drawing room, he handed it to her, whispering, “I shouldn’t be doing this, miss. Don’t tell anyone. I was to give this to you in private.”
Intrigued, Susan broke the plain seal and opened the note.
Her eyes widened as she read, “Your betrothed, Mr. Charles Courtney, has a mistress in keeping. If you wish proof of this, tell no one, but come immediately to Plum Lane, off Ludgate Hill, at the sign of the Cock and Bull. A Well-Wisher.”
Jealousy was new to Susan, but that was exactly what she felt—raging, blind jealousy. Harriet had returned her pin money to her, so she had more than enough to take a hack. She changed into one of her plainest gowns and bonnets. Then she hung over the banisters, waiting until the hall below was empty of servants, for she knew they had strict instructions that she must never leave the house alone.
She moved slowly and quietly down the stairs, took a quick look around, and let herself out. Berkeley Square was quiet, society resting before the pleasures of the evening. She saw a hack entering the square, hailed it, and asked to be driven to Plum Lane.
Verity Palfrey sat with a complacent smile on her face while her maid dressed her hair for the opera. She was determined to go even though she knew she would be snubbed. She had achieved much that day. When Sir Thomas had come straight to her from Harriet, exclaiming over Susan’s engagement, instead of being happy that the girl was no longer any threat, her fury against her mounted. That Susan should ruin her and then go on to become engaged to a young, rich, and eligible man was too much. She appeared to accept the news with languid boredom, but the minute Sir Thomas had left, she went quickly to work. She already had a spy among the servants in Harriet’s household, a young maid who arrived after Sir Thomas’s visit with the report that Harriet was lying down after bathing. Verity asked the girl if she could pass a note to Susan, but the girl had become terrified and suggested that someone should give the note to John. He took a walk around the square every afternoon.
After she had gone, Verity made her plans. She owned an empty property in Plum Lane. During the years she had squirreled away enough money to buy cheap property when it came on the market.
She summoned her two footmen and told them hurriedly what they must do. She knew both her footmen had prison records and for that reason were prepared to work for her for practically no money at all. Although her late husband had left her a wealthy widow and she had no need, for example, to accept money or property from Lord Dangerfield, she was greedy and always wanted more.
She gave them their instructions and a description of Susan. They were to hire a closed carriage. When the girl appeared at Plum Lane, they were to seize her and hold her inside until dark. Then they were to take her to the center of the Rookeries, that notorious network of slums off Holborn, throw her out of the carriage, and leave her to her fate.
One footman protested. “She’ll never come out of there alive or she’ll be sold into prostitution.”
“Exactly,” said Verity. “Now, go about your business.”
Harriet was awakened by her agitated maid, Lucy, three hours after she had fallen asleep. “I cannot find Miss Susan anywhere,” gasped the maid.
“My dear Lucy, she is probably hiding in some cupboard, sleeping off the effects of that great box of chocolates Mr. Courtney brought her.”
“That’s the strange thing, ma’am. The box is still in the drawing room, and she has eaten only two of them.”
Somehow this little fact began to alarm Harriet. She got out of bed, put on a wrapper, called the servants, and everyone began to search the house.
Susan was nowhere to be found.
John, the footman, felt he would die of sheer guilt. He longed to tell his mistress about that mysterious note but was frightened to do so in case he lost his job. And then, as he searched with the others, he saw the crumpled note lying on the floor behind the writing desk in the drawing room and handed it to Harriet.
Harriet read it with a sinking heart. “How is it that Miss Susan was given this note of hand without anyone informing me?”
But the servants looked at each other in bewilderment, except John, who stared at the floor.
“I must find her,” said Harriet. Her thoughts flew to Lord Dangerfield. Not for a moment did she think he had any part in this. All she knew at that moment was that he was tall and strong and had offered his help.
“I will get dressed,” she said. “John, you must go to the opera house. You will find Lord Dangerfield there. I hope you find him there. Tell him I need his help.”
Glad to do something, John ran off.
Verity Palfrey saw across the opera house the way a footman bent over the earl and how he started to his feet and left his box immediately. Had Harriet summoned him? Verity muttered to her maid, “What is the time?”
The maid took a watch like a turnip out of her reticule. “Nine-thirty, ma’am.” Verity gave a catlike smile and settled back in her chair.
Susan alighted from the hack and paid the driver. She was standing staring up at the house, when a man came up behind her. Something hard was shoved in her back. “Do not scream or cry out or I will shoot you,” a voice grated in her ear. “Go into the house.”
Numb with shock and fear, Susan walked up the worn, shallow steps. The door was opened by another man and she was thrust inside.
“What is happening?” she cried. “Why are you doing this?”
She was pushed into a small, bare room and the door was locked behind her. She heard one man saying to the other, “Now, all we have to do is wait until dark.” He raised his voice. “If you scream or cry out, we will kill you.”
There was one hard chair in the room. Susan sat down on it and clutched her trembling knees. From outside filtered the roar of the city traffic as carriages plowed up and down Ludgate Hill at the end of Plum Lane. She went to the window and tried it, but it was nailed shut. She thought briefly of hurling the chair against the glass, but the glass might not break, and even if it did, there might not be time to make her escape before they came bursting into the room.
She longed for Charles. But how would he know where she was? And who could have done this to her? And what had they planned for her?
Some almost animal instinct told her she must not cry. She must
remain calm and watch and wait for a chance of escape. She said her prayers, thought of Charles, thought of her resolute aunt, and forced herself to be calm.
Shadows lengthened along the room, and then it was dark. The door opened and she saw her captors. One had a gun trained on her and another a candle in a flat stick. They were both tall and had the cold, impassive faces of upper servants. They did not look like thugs or villains.
