by Erica Taylor
“How can you even think of such things while we are headed to interrogate the man who abducted my sister?” Clara asked.
Andrew shrugged. “I always think such things, especially about you and most certainly when you are cooped up in a coach with me. To think of all the things that we could do in a coach traveling around the city. Most improper.”
Clara shook her head incredulously. She glanced out the window and realized they were heading to a part of the city she had never been.
“Where are we?” she asked him.
“Halcourt has a residence he uses for these sort of things,” Andrew explained. “It is not in the most fashionable part of town.”
“He has a residence he uses for interrogations?” she asked. “Are you certain he’s not a spy?”
“I’ve known Halcourt for years, we were lads together at Eton,” Andrew explained. “He is his father’s heir, and his father spends a great amount of his time out of the country. Halcourt’s two younger brothers are Bow Street Runners and somehow the entire Aster family seem well-connected to every aspect of London: the slums, the haute ton, the docks, politics, the church. Halcourt has a connection or an ear to the floor in every part of town, and most of the country. That is how he heard about Joseph the footman to begin with. But a spy?” Andrew shrugged off the question. “If he is, he hasn’t bothered to include me in the secret, and for that I do not mind. He wields a great deal of power in his sect of life, and his brothers are respected Bow Street Runners. With Halcourt it is best to look the other way and just be satisfied with the results.”
“I suppose if he was some sort of spy or contact or aid, it would be a need to know sort of thing,” she concluded.
“And I don’t exactly need to know,” Andrew replied, nodding.
“He will not be angry with you for bringing me along?”
Andrew was silent as he thought for a moment before answering. “Halcourt is a very old-fashioned sort of gentlemen. He prefers things done in a certain way, pays respect to those it is due, and he likes the boundaries that separate men and women. But angry? No, he will not be angry. He respects me enough to trust my judgment. Plus, you are my fiancée, and he will feel that affords me some level of control over you.”
Clara’s brows pulled together as she tried to figure out why these two men were possibly friends.
“I don’t think that affords me control over you,” Andrew said quickly, holding his hands up in defense. “I’m just saying that Halcourt does.”
“It seems you two are very different,” Clara said. “I would assume you would not completely view me as your property once we are married?”
Andrew smiled at the challenge in her voice. “I have learned over the course of our acquaintance that it would be very unintelligent to view you as my property. Despite my recent behavior, I do believe you have a choice in how your life should unfold. Thus far you’ve dealt with unpleasant treatment at the hands of the people who should have loved you most. None of your life has been in your control. I apologize for adding to that burden when I insisted we wed. Truth be told, I was a little frantic with desire to protect you. I still am, but I want you to know you have a choice. If you show up to the church, it will be your decision. You do not owe me anything.”
“Thank you, Andrew,” Clara said.
A moment later the carriage rolled to a stop. The door popped open and Andrew descended before turning to help Clara. She looked up at the modest red-bricked town home, wondering if Halcourt’s neighbors knew what went on at this residence. Andrew and Clara did not dawdle in the front, Andrew taking her hand and pulling her along behind him and into the house.
Clara saw Redley first as they entered the house and then Luke, which was surprising, as she had not seen him in days. They both nodded at her, and she smiled tersely back, not exactly knowing what to expect.
“Ah, your grace,” a tall dark-haired man said as they handed their cloaks and gloves to a footman.
“Halcourt,” Andrew said, inclining his head. Clara looked finally upon the face of her fiancé’s spy friend and realized he could not be a spy. She was certain one important ability for a spy was to blend in. Viscount Halcourt certainly did not blend in. He was too severe in appearance to be considered classically handsome; his nose was too thin, and his eyes were too dark. He was not unattractive, yet if she had met him under different circumstances she might be afraid of him. She was not certain she was not afraid of him now.
Halcourt turned his intelligent eyes onto her and frowned, glancing at Andrew for an explanation. It did not occur to her until later that he knew who she was without an introduction.
“She is the only one who knows what the footman looks like,” Andrew answered his friend’s silent query. “It is important we have the correct man, not just another of Morton’s schemes.”
Halcourt nodded, though Clara was not certain he agreed with Andrew’s borrowed reasoning. Halcourt led the way down a dark hallway, Andrew and Clara directly following with Redley and Luke behind them. Andrew nodded to his brother and cousin as they passed, but did not express any surprise in their attendance.
“They arrived just an hour ago,” Halcourt explained as they wound their way through the house. “I sent for you just after. As you can imagine he did not come quietly, nor is he cooperative. He may appear a bit roughed up.” He glanced back at Clara with uncertainty.
“She can handle it,” Andrew said, squeezing her hand in support.
Halcourt nodded and turned the last corner, knocking on the door before opening it.
Clara was surprised at the ordinariness of the room and its furnishings. It looked to be a library, with tall shelves lining each wall of the room stocked full of books and artifacts, with a balcony alcove directly above her. A few chairs were scattered around the room, dark wood and dark fabrics. It was a very masculine room. It struck her that the room had no windows and the door they had come through was the only entrance and exit. A solitary man sat in the middle of the room, ropes around his wrists and ankles and wrapped around his torso, securing him to the chair. Another man stood leaning against the bookshelf, boot crossed at the ankle. He looked nearly as unkempt as the man tied to the chair but less injured.
Halcourt closed the door, leaving Luke and Redley in the hall, and Andrew led her to stand directly in front of the incarcerated man. His left eye was purple and practically swollen shut, but upon seeing Clara, his right eye grew large with recognition. His cheek was bruised, and there was a scabbed-over cut on his jaw. He looked as though he had put up a decent fight when he encountered the man sent to escort him to London.
“My, you do look just like her,” Joseph the footman said, blinking his good eye at her. “I remember you, obviously, I just forgot how identical you two were.”
Andrew and Halcourt looked at Clara for confirmation and she nodded. “That is him.”
“Right,” Andrew said and pulled her out the door, and she managed to yank her hand from his tight grasp.
“I’m staying, Andrew,” she said in a low tone, her eyes dancing with challenge. He accepted her challenge and planted her in a chair in the hall. Luke and Redley stood nearby.
“You are not going to be in there, Clara,” he said, crossing his arms. “I agreed to bring you with me, but I never agreed to allow you to be in the room while we talk to him. You are staying put.”
She opened her mouth to object, but he cut her off.
“I’m not budging on this, Clara,” Andrew said, giving her a dark stern look, and she realized he was not going to allow her inside that room, no matter how much she begged.
Clara reluctantly nodded in acceptance. With a hard look to Luke, who was standing near her chair, Andrew stepped back into the room, Redley following before shutting the door.
Aside from Luke, she was quite alone in the hallway. Clara hoped this would go quickly; something about
this house made her skin crawl. She could hear nothing but muffled voices from the interrogation room, and she leaned forward to hear better.
Luke cleared his throat, and a thought occurred to her. She smiled at him and stood up.
“Could you direct me to a refreshing room?” she asked.
Luke’s raised his brow. “I’m sure your fiancée would be happier if you just stayed put.”
“I’ll be quick, I promise,” she said sweetly. “Honestly, it is very urgent. A chamber pot then?”
Luke looked pained, but sighed and pointed up the stairs. “First door on the right, the bedroom has a chamber pot. Be quick. Andrew will have my hide if you are not back when he returns.”
“Splendid,” she said, smiling and swept past him and up the stairs. Hoping there might be a door or a sliding panel that would lead her to what she was actually looking for, Clara walked along the hall, thankful that her evening slippers were silent against the wooden floorboards. She did not want Luke to know what she was up to. She tried the first door on the left, but it was locked, as was the second. The third knob turned and opened, and she smiled at the small empty room, an almost identical doorway on the opposite side of the room. She slipped inside silently, finding exactly what she was looking for.
Chapter Twenty-One
Andrew was not happy Clara was in the residence, even if he had managed to keep her in the hall. Halcourt, he could tell, was not happy about it either. Whatever they needed to do to get information out of this man, he did not want Clara to be even remotely aware of what Halcourt intended.
“Bradstone, this my associate, Ian Carlisle, Lord Westcott,” Halcourt said, nodding to the unkempt man leaning against the bookcase. Andrew nodded to him, but barely spared him a glance. His attention was focused on the man tied to the chair in the middle of the room.
“Do you know why you’ve been brought here?” Halcourt asked the man.
The footman shrugged. “I’ve an idea.”
“Please state your name for the record,” Halcourt said.
The man scoffed. “What record? This isn’t exactly legal proceedings.”
“On the contrary,” Halcourt said, pacing in front of him. “This is entirely legal. This house is leased to the name of a Bow Street Runner, and there are three law enforcement agents present in this house. After we have concluded this interrogation, you will be sent off to Newgate to await trail.” Halcourt paused in front of the man. “Or perhaps not. The value of the information you give us can aid greatly in your future. Do you understand?”
The footman gulped and nodded.
“Your name, please,” Halcourt asked.
“Joseph Baker.”
“And prior to residing in Northumberland, where were you living?”
“I was a footman in the Earl of Morton’s household,” Joseph answered.
“Please describe the events of the evening of Friday, June twenty-fourth through Sunday, June twenty-sixth, the year 1808,” Halcourt inquired.
Joseph the footman looked confused and Andrew clarified, his tone sharp. “When you eloped with Lady Christina Masson.”
“Ah yes,” Joseph said. “She was quite in love with me, you know. Ran away with me to Gretna Green.”
Andrew’s jaw tightened, and his fists clenched painfully at his side.
“The accuracy of your information is also vitally important,” Halcourt said absently, trailing his hand over the spines of books along the wall. “I will know if you lie.”
Joseph looked uneasily at the pair of them. “Who are you?”
“Who I am does not signify,” Halcourt replied and continued on his circle around the chair. “However,” Halcourt pointed his finger at Andrew, “his identity is rather important. That is the man whose fiancée you abducted five years ago.”
Joseph’s good eye widened a fraction, and Andrew felt oddly satisfied. He was accustomed to the attention his name earned him and often used it for his own gain, usually in Parliament, but this was the first time he had enjoyed the fear that raced across the man’s features when he realized who he was dealing with.
“So, I suggest you start with purest truth,” Halcourt said softly and deadly, his voice dancing just above a whisper. “Because it is this man whom you so wronged who will decide your fate.”
Joseph cringed and looked down, his chest wrapped tightly to the chair with extensive ropes. Andrew began to grow impatient. He wanted to take Clara home and away from this. He knew only bits of Halcourt’s business with the Crown and knew that not even his Runner brothers would be able convict him if something were to get out of hand. He appreciated the connections Halcourt had to the underbelly of society, but it disgusted him at the same time. He remembered why he never asked Halcourt for specifics, and Halcourt seemed uninclined to enlighten him.
Andrew was, however, surprised when Halcourt pulled a hot poker from the fire and poised it above the man’s thigh ready to strike it down.
“Whose idea was it for you to run off with Lady Christina?” Halcourt asked, his voice much louder and more threatening than it had been a moment ago. Joseph shook his head. Halcourt shoved the hot poker into the man’s leg, the golden hot tip searing through the man’s trousers and into his flesh. Joseph roared in pain.
Behind him Andrew heard a soft gasp, and he turned to see blonde hair disappearing from the alcove above. He should have known she’d find around his orders and demands.
“Whose was it?” Halcourt asked again pulling the poker from the man’s leg.
Joseph shook his head again. “I cannot,” he gasped. “You may throw me in Newgate, but he’ll find me. No one can touch him! He will see to the end of me!”
Halcourt jabbed the poker into the other thigh and Andrew felt his stomach turning over at the smell of burning flesh filling the air. The footman’s screams echoed in his ears, and he wanted to close his eyes. He had seen his share of brawls and fights, but torture he was not accustomed to.
“Morton,” Joseph gasped. “Morton told me to do it, threatened my sister’s life, beat her to a pulp. She’s all I got you see, I had to protect her. I knew . . . I knew what he would do to her if I refused. So I did it, I took the earl’s money and ran off with his sister. He threatened Christina too so she would come quietly. But I did not intend for her to die. She ran off and died in that parsonage and that was not my doing. You have to believe me! He will kill me, I swear to it. My life is over once I leave this house.”
“And the man that shot at his grace and Lady Clara?” Halcourt asked.
Joseph shook his head and Joseph raised the poker again.
“It was all Morton!” he gasped just as Halcourt moved to stab him again. “He told me to stay put, that I was not needed in London. He chastised me for playing such a failing part in the whole scheme. He said if he wanted something done right he would never again turn to a mere servant for services.”
“How did he contact you?” Andrew asked. “Where did you send your replies?”
Joseph apparently realized what he was asking and was shaking his head again. “He sent a note,” he explained. “But I never sent a reply. He just assumed his note would be orders enough. But I’m done taking orders from that prick. That is why I started shouting my mouth about, I wanted him to feel out of control, bullied around a bit. But if he knew I was here telling you all this,” he let out a low whistle, and Andrew had to agree. Jonathan Masson had not taken lightly to Andrew leaving his company of merry lords and speaking out against him. He understood the footman’s fear of the earl.
“If there is anything else, you know where we are,” Andrew said to Halcourt. Andrew did not want this man killed on his account, even if he had abducted Clara’s sister. The man should be punished, but he was another victim of Morton’s hate. The cycle had to stop somewhere. “Let him see his sister. Arrange passage for them both to the colonies. I want them out o
f this country and as far away from Clara as possible.” He took another step towards the ex-footman, his glare hard. “I do not want to see either of you again. I am sparing your life because it is not my place to expedite your death. But I will not hesitate next time.”
Joseph nodded. “Yes, your grace.”
With a final glance to Halcourt, Andrew turned and quit the room.
Clara’s mind was spinning with what she had seen. There was no denying it, Molly’s story had been true up until now. It was likely her sister was alive somewhere.
Clara’s head bumped on the pane of the carriage window, lost in her thoughts. Over the past month her entire life had shifted, moved off its axis, and with this information about Christina came another wave of uncertainty. What would Christina say when she found Clara was engaged to her former fiancé? What would Clara say to her sister who had fooled everyone into thinking she was dead? She was elated to hear that her sister was alive all this time, but what new complications would her twin’s reappearance bring into her life?
Clara looked to Andrew, her cheeks glistening wet in the dim lighting of the carriage. “If I asked you to do something, would you agree to it?”
“Most likely,” he answered.
Clara felt her chest seize in pain. She regarded him for a long moment, the hopelessness and loneliness washing over her. Fear that she’d destroyed any chance they might have at a happy life together rippled through her as she took in the concern that was plain on his handsome face. She regarded him for a long moment, before crawling across the carriage and situating herself in his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck. He did not hesitate and wrapped his arms tightly across her back, holding her to him, his lips grazing along her hair, across the physical scar her brother had left her with. The invisible ones were much worse. Clara’s chest shook as it rose and fell, each wave of sobs washing over her. Andrew tightened his grip on her, and Clara was soaked in the comfort she so desperately desired.
It might have been the two fingers of brandy she drank before she went to bed, but Clara slept rather peacefully throughout the night. She was drained physically and emotionally, but the next day she woke to birds chirping outside her window and the sun sending warm rays across her cheek. At breakfast, she told Susanna about Joseph Baker and the suspicions about her sister being alive, mostly because she needed someone else to know what was going on. Clara watched her newfound friend sipping her tea, her cheeks ashen and almost wished she could have had the same reaction. Clara did not consider herself a whimpering miss, but she should have been frightened or upset by what she saw the night before, by what she had been through the past few weeks. She wondered how Andrew was feeling, if watching his friend jab a burning poker into another man’s leg had bothered him as much as she thought it should bother her. What a pair they made.
