Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower Book 2)

by Maggi Andersen

  “Mr. Cartwright is sure to know where Lord Reade lives.”

  “And supposing he tells us? Although he may not wish to. One doesn’t hand out addresses willy-nilly. The baron may be busy or away from London. And perhaps he won’t care to find your maid.” He patted her cheek. “I’m not sure what has happened to your usually sound reasoning. But I shall indulge you. The worst that can happen to us is we won’t be permitted entry.”

  In the hall, her father shrugged into his coat. “Just don’t get your hopes up, Jo.”

  “We must find her, Papa. I am responsible. And there’s nothing else I can think to do.” Jo tied the strings of her bonnet. “Mr. Spears, should Sally return before us, please tell her to await me in my bedchamber,” she said to the butler.

  “I shall instruct Mrs. Cross,” Spears said, looking affronted.

  The door knocker banged, echoing around the hall. Startled, they gazed at each other and waited in breathless anticipation as the butler stalked over to open it.

  Sally huddled on the porch hatless, her eyes enormous pools of dark distress. Her rumpled skirts and pelisse looked damp and badly soiled, and her hair escaped down her neck.

  “Sally!” Jo leaped forward and dragged the girl inside.

  Sally shuddered. “I’m sorry, Miss Jo. I should go to the servant’s entrance, but I’ve been so frightened.”

  With a sob of relief, Jo threw her arms around her. She drew the distressed girl into the parlor.

  Her father shut the parlor door on the butler and went to the sideboard, where he removed the stopper from the sherry decanter.

  Sally sank down on the sofa and struggled to get the words out while Jo fired off questions, the maid struggled to answer.

  Her father handed Sally a glass of sherry. She took a long sip and coughed.

  Jo, losing patience, took hold of her arm, almost spilling the drink. “What happened to you, Sally? Tell us quickly! We’ve been so worried!”

  Her shoulders shook. “They kidnapped me.” Tears tracked down her face.

  “Kidnapped?” Reade had been right in warning her. Why hadn’t she listened to him? Jo rummaged in her reticule and pressed the handkerchief into Sally’s hand. “Did they hurt you? Who could have done such a dreadful thing?”

  “They didn’t hurt me, but I’ve no idea who they were,” Sally wailed. “The strings on one parcel had come undone, and as I stooped down to retie it, a man grabbed me from behind. He put his hand over my mouth and bundled me into a carriage pulled up beside us. Before I could twist around to see who he was, he dragged a black hood over my head and shoved me to the floor. I tried to scream, but he poked me in the back and snarled at me. Told me to keep quiet, or he’d throttle me. I must have fainted because I remember very little of the journey or where we went.”

  “But I was only a little way down the street, hailing the hackney,” Jo said. “Why did I not see?”

  Sally took another sip of the drink and grimaced. “It happened so fast.”

  As she struggled with feelings of guilt, Jo stared at her aghast. “How did you escape?”

  “I didn’t.” Sally gazed at her owlishly. “They took me somewhere. A noisy place. There was loud laughter. They pushed me into a room with my hands tied. I heard the door shut. My legs gave way, and I fell onto a dusty carpet and huddled there for hours. I must have fallen asleep. When I woke, I was ever so stiff. My arms hurt something awful with my hands tied behind my back. It must have been morning, although no light came through the hood. And I was devilishly hungry.”

  Sally drained the rest of the sherry and collapsed back against the sofa. “Then the door opened, and a woman came in. I smelled her strong lavender perfume. The woman must have stood looking at me for several minutes without speaking. I pleaded with her to let me go, but she went out and closed the door. I could hear them outside the room. She was arguing with the man. Fair yelling at him, she was. Ordered him to let me go straight away. He didn’t want to, and I was almost sick with fear that he might persuade her to let him keep me. But he finally agreed. I sagged with relief and could barely find my feet as he dragged me out into the air, the hood still over my head. It must have rained. I’d lost my hat, and the leaves dripped chilly water down my neck as he shoved me into a carriage.”

  Aunt Mary tutted. “You poor girl. What a dreadful experience.”

  “You are safe now,” Jo’s father said soothingly.

  An inquisitive kitchen maid brought in the tea. Jo dismissed her and poured out cups, while Aunt Mary patted Sally’s hand.

  Jo stirred in lots of sugar and placed a cup before Sally. “How did you get home?”

  “The carriage stopped not long after. He untied my hands and lifted me down onto the ground. It was cold but had stopped raining. He smelled clean, like a gentleman, and he had a starched cravat. I know starch. Used to do the laundry. Spoke proper, he did, but frosty, and fair chilled me through. Asked if I could count. I thought he was mad, but I said I had some learning from the parish school back home. Then he told me not to remove the blindfold until I’d counted to fifty. He sounded so menacing. I did what I was told. Must have counted to a hundred. I was never good at sums and feared I’d got it wrong.

  “When I finally got up enough courage to remove the hood, I didn’t know where I was. The street was strange to me. There were trees and gardens. And no traffic, and anyway, I had no money for a hackney. While I wondered what to do, a lady came out of a house across the street. Nicely dressed, she was. She asked me if she could help. When I explained what had happened, she was most sympathetic. Walked with me to the corner, although I still don’t know where I was. A hackney came along, and she paid my fare.”

  “Oh, that was so good of her.” Jo wondered why the lady hadn’t called a constable.

  “Yes, she was. Ever so kind.”

  Jo put her arm around the girl’s trembling body. “Well, you’re home now and safe.”

  “Yes. I shan’t want to go out again,” Sally said.

  “You shall have a hearty dinner, a nice hot bath, and go to bed,” Jo said with conviction.

  “A hot bath?” Sally’s eyes widened. “I should like that, Miss Jo.”

  “I’ll send for a constable,” Jo’s father said. “We must report this incident. People cannot go about abducting maids.”

  Aunt Mary agreed.

  Jo nodded but doubted anything would come of it. Poor Sally had nothing helpful to tell him. “When he lifted you down, did you sense anything else about him?”

  “The man wasn’t that strong because he struggled, even though I’m not heavy. He must have put his face near mine.” She shivered. “I smelled licorice on his breath.”

  Jo nodded, disappointed. He liked sweets, which was no help to them at all. She glanced at her father and found him frowning thoughtfully.

  “Papa?”

  He shook his head and rose from his chair. “See to your maid,” he said and left the room. “I need to speak to the butler.”

  Jo stared after him. What would he want with Spears? He could barely tolerate him.

  The next day, Jo questioned Sally again. After a good night’s sleep, the girl was in better spirits. “You said when he put you down, you’d only been traveling a short while.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you remember anything you heard during that time?”

  Sally thought for a while and then nodded. “We passed a crowd somewhere. I’m sorry. I was so frightened, and I could only think of him.”

  “Do you think you could find the street where the lady lived again?”

  “I don’t think I could,” she said glumly. “I saw a sign pointing to Soho Square, but that might not be of help.”

  “It must have cost a bit to take you to Mayfair,” Jo said thoughtfully.

  Sally nodded. “The woman asked him how much. She haggled a bit.” She shivered. “I was afraid he might put me down somewhere on the way, but he brought me right to the door as she instructed.”

&nbs
p; “How very good of her,” she said.

  “Wasn’t it? Most wouldn’t give a toss or not have the money to spare,” Sally said. “I don’t think she was poor. I wanted to repay her somehow, but she refused.”

  The constable couldn’t help them. Jo considered taking Sally in a hackney back the way they’d come, with the chance that something might jog her memory. But she decided against it because it might be too distressing for Sally, who seemed to have blotted out the frightening experience.

  Finally, free of commitments, Reade checked on those shadowing the Virdens two days later. It was early morning when he approached a colleague stationed in an overgrown garden near the Virden’s house. “They gave Johns the slip yesterday, sir.” Reade’s most reliable man, Winston Black, came up to him with a nod of welcome. “Left their carriage standing outside the front entrance and went out through the rear of the property. Not sure what form of transport they used. Asked the jarvies in the area. Nothing.”

  “Bloody hell.” Through the trees, Reade’s gaze settled on the house across the lane. No sign of the Virdens. A moment later, some curtains opened. A maid came out the back door and banged a broom against a wall.

  “Think they’ve cottoned on that they’re being watched?”

  “Don’t know, sir,” Black said. “Might just be cautious.”

  “If they have, it will make things difficult. What happened during the night?”

  “He attended a ball. She didn’t go out. Lord Rivenstock came home with Virden in the early hours. He didn’t stay long. I couldn’t hear what they spoke of, but it was the devil of an argument. He left, glowering, and muttering about something.”

  Reade crossed his arms and leaned against a tree. “Get some sleep. I’ll stay until Johns arrives. Let’s hope he can keep his wits about him this time.”

  “Yes, sir.” Black shuffled wearily away.

  Reade remained where he had an unrestricted view of the house. It drizzled. He cursed and turned up the collar of his greatcoat as water dripped off his hat. The Virdens might still be abed.

  A window on the ground floor opened. The breakfast room. Bent low, Reade crossed the lane and vaulted a fence. He flattened himself against the wall outside the breakfast room.

  The clink of cutlery and rattle of crockery greeted him through the open window, and the rich aroma of coffee and buttered toast floated out. Reade tried to ignore the rumble of his stomach, reminding him he had yet to eat breakfast.

  “There’s no appeasing Rivenstock,” Virden said. “Since you made me break my promise of that plump partridge for him.”

  “Pah! What were you thinking?” she snarled. “It could have ruined your chances with the girl! We shall have to act quickly to placate him. And as it is your fault, I expect you to resolve it.”

  “I intend to very shortly.” Virden’s words sounded muffled, his mouth full of sausage, probably. Reade recognized the savory aroma. “I have a ripe pigeon ready for the plucking.”

  “Better be a good one,” she snapped. “Not a turkey like the last one. Be sure they fit our requirements,” she said. “No slipups or our overseas customers will turn nasty. You can’t trust these foreigners.”

  “I’ll take it in hand,” he said and chuckled.

  “None of that. We must deliver our goods in the condition we found them, understand?”

  “Yes,” he said, sounding resentful.

  “And then turn your attention to that other matter. This tomfoolery has kept you from the plan we have for a certain young lady.”

  “I don’t know why you want me to go to all that trouble,” he grumbled.

  “Because he’ll pay up big, that’s why. I have it on good authority that his pockets are deep.”

  “Weren’t you going to entice him to the altar? You could have his money all to yourself. Legitimately, too.”

  “He’d drag me off to some backwater. I’d have to kill him to escape. He’d take years to marry me, anyway. He’s still in love with his dead wife.”

  “Better than me having to pretend a passion I don’t feel. At least at your age…”

  A cup crashed into its saucer. She snarled, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You could retire on my money, put your feet up, that’s your style, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll make my own.”

  She sighed. “But you always think small. That’s the trouble with you. Now your stepfather, Virden, he thought big, he did.”

  “Didn’t do him much good, did it? Common muck he was.”

  “You’re always going on about class! We have partners to consider. Not men I fancy crossing. They’d cut your throat soon as look at you.” A chair scraped back.

  Reade decided he’d pushed his luck long enough and returned the way he came.

  When Johns arrived full of apologies for having slipped up, Reade left him and went in search of a hackney to take him to the inn he favored. He must then visit Whitehall to discuss the ins and outs of Rivenstock’s visit and the interesting conversation he’d just overheard. It was regrettable that they’d mentioned no names except for Rivenstock. But he was still confident they would. He’d have these two and Rivenstock watched around the clock.

  It was only a matter of time before they made a wrong move. They sounded too confident, taking risks. They’d got away with it this time, but they wouldn’t again. When criminals believed they were invincible, that’s when it all fell to pieces.

  Chapter Ten

  At the next ball, Charlotte Graham came to sit with Jo. They watched the passing parade of renowned guests as Charlotte identified each by name. “That’s Sir Lumley St. George Skeffington, Baronet,” she murmured about a short, thin man with rouged cheeks dressed in elaborate dandy’s clothes. “And that’s the very fashionable Duke of Rutland with his wife, Elizabeth. They are talking to Viscount Petersham. Isn’t he handsome?”

  “He is,” Jo dutifully responded, gazing at the gentleman with the small, pointed beard.

  “Petersham is Lord of the Bedchamber to the king and is close to the Prince Regent.”

  Charlotte turned to Jo with an infectious grin. “Mr. Gerald Virden came to tea yesterday. He has excellent manners. He brought my chaperone a posy of flowers from Covent Garden. Mrs. Lincoln is very pleased. She is hopeful he will offer for me.”

  Virden. That was the name Reade had questioned Jo about in the garden. “I haven’t met Mr. Virden,” she said. “Can you point him out?”

  Charlotte scanned the ballroom. “He rarely dances. We spoke earlier tonight in one of the reception rooms. He inquired after my chaperone’s health.” Her eyes sparkled. “He’s such a thoughtful gentleman. Mrs. Lincoln is unwell. When he invited me for a drive in his curricle to Hyde Park, she worried that she couldn’t accompany us. He was at pains to reassure her it was permissible for an unengaged couple to ride alone in an open carriage.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Millet, who is very knowledgeable about such things, has said the same thing.”

  Might Reade be here tonight? Would he wish to speak to Mr. Virden? He’d been so overbearing, questioning her at the rout. She didn’t see why she should be so obliging as to tell him.

  “I can’t see him,” Charlotte confirmed after making a careful study of the guests. “He must have left. But I shall see him tomorrow. Mrs. Lincoln is most impressed with him.”

  Jo frowned. Why was Reade so interested in this man? And why did he think her father knew him? “What is Mr. Virden like?”

  “He is of moderate height. You would notice him. He is handsome, and his smile makes my heart beat faster.” Charlotte giggled and patted Jo’s arm. “I feel I can say anything to you, Jo. I am pleased we’re friends. Since Anabel Riley left London, I’ve been lonely. Some of the debs are uppish, and some are just plain silly. Will you attend the Brandworth’s Venetian breakfast?”

  “Yes, we are going.”

  “I will tell you all about my outing in the park with Mr. Virden when we meet again.”

  “Yes, please do. I am eag
er to hear all about it.”

  As the musicians returned to the dais, Charlotte rose. “A waltz is about to be called. I won’t dance, but I must return to Mrs. Lincoln. It was so sweet of her to come tonight when I am sure she would prefer her bed.”

  Charlotte hurried away as couples gathered on the dance floor. Reade appeared, outpacing another gentleman with the same intention. He offered her his hand and smiled down at her. Jo felt a sense of warm recognition. As if he was an old friend. How silly of her when he had been so maddening when they last met. Why did he wish to see her? To grill her further about Virden?

  His hand settled low on her back, and she struggled to remember what it was she wished to tell him. Just being near him made her brain turn to mush. “Mr. Virden was here tonight,” she said as he swept her into the dance.

  He cast her an ironic look. “I didn’t think you knew the fellow.”

  “I don’t.” His hard stare ruffled her. “But my friend, Charlotte, does. She saw him earlier this evening.”

  “Here, was he? And you didn’t see him?”

  “No, I wasn’t with her. You aren’t about to interrogate me again, are you? I thought we’d finished with that.”

  A smile teased his lips. “No, I will not interrogate you. And no, we are not finished.”

  “Well.” Jo huffed. “How annoying you are.”

  He laughed.

  “Is there a purpose to this dance?”

  “A purpose? You are refreshingly different, Miss Dalrymple. Ladies usually flirt with gentlemen when they dance.”

  Ladies would flirt with him, she thought, catching her bottom lip in her teeth. But she was just as hopeless. She loved being in his arms, even though what passed between them was too serious for frivolity. She suspected there was always a purpose behind Reade’s actions. And she intended to find out what it was.

  The glorious music swelled as they glided over the floor. Jo closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Reade’s dark brown eyes had softened. “You enjoy this piece?”

  “Yes, very much.” It wasn’t the music, it was being close to him. It emboldened her to flirt a little. “I know if I close my eyes, you will keep me safe.”