With Good Grace

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘I could only get him to have one drink,’ Parker said. ‘Once he realised it was a ruse he got annoyed and said he had to get back. If he could have walked any faster he’d have caught you in there.’

  ‘An honest man, eh? Well, there’s a turn up, especially since Grantley has done nothing to earn his loyalty. He probably pays him a pittance and expects him to be grateful. How did you explain Grantley’s non-appearance?’

  ‘I played dumb.’

  Jake chuckled. ‘That shouldn’t have been too hard for you.’

  Parker sent Jake a scathing look. ‘Told him I worked with a maid in a big house who asked me to deliver a message from Sir Hubert to the man guarding his warehouse. I described Molly and Norris nodded.’

  ‘Not so dumb then.’ Jake clapped Parker’s shoulder. ‘Did he know her?’

  ‘He must do. He said that would be Molly, but when I asked him where he’d seen her, he downed his drink and said he had to be getting back to his duties.’

  ‘So, we now know for sure that Molly’s up to her grubby little neck in this and we also know that Grantley’s still in England.’ Jake rubbed his chin between his gloved fingers. ‘The question is, where is he now?’

  ‘I honestly don’t think Norris knows. Sir Hubert is cunning as a fox. Well, he has to be, I suppose, given his circumstances. He must know that half the world’s looking for him; most of whom he owes money to.’

  ‘We shall just have to hope that Olivia has heard something. It goes against the grain to do business with blackmailers but a child’s life is at stake. So, we will just have to give Lady Marchant’s letter to Grantley, get Tom safely restored to his mother, and then ensure that Sir Hubert pays for his misdeeds.’

  Parker nodded. ‘I had a feeling you might take that attitude,’ he said.

  ҉

  Olivia stared at Molly; or at least a young woman who looked facially identical to the prim miss who took care of Olivia’s clothing and needs, maintaining an air of Christian martyrdom, silently disapproving of everything Olivia did. But this Molly was transformed into a confidant female in her own right; one who fixed Olivia with a look of searing contempt, her features rendered ugly by a combination of envy and spite. How had Olivia not noticed that the girl was a hollow sham who resented having a sought-after position as a lady’s maid and hankered for something more, not caring how she went about getting it? She had been with Olivia for two whole years and it was only recently that she had started to have doubts about Molly’s integrity, which gave Olivia a whole host of reasons to doubt her own judgement.

  ‘Come along then, madam. We ain’t got all day.’

  ‘I am not going anywhere with you until you assure me that Tom is all right.’

  ‘He’s fine.’ She paused, her expression vindictive. ‘For now.’

  Olivia shuddered at her steely tone; convinced now that Molly would harm Tom out of spite if Olivia tried to get the better of her. She could easily do so, of course. Molly did not know everything about Olivia and was unaware of her skill at hand to hand combat. All she knew was that her mistress was proficient with a rapier; one of her many sources of disapproval. However, overpowering Molly was out of the question; at least until Tom was safely restored to her.

  ‘I cannot leave the house,’ she said. ‘One of Lord Torbay’s servants will prevent me if I attempt it.’

  ‘You are the mistress here. Exert your authority.’

  ‘I am a guest.’

  Molly sent Olivia a scathing look. ‘Is that what they’re calling it this week?’

  Olivia was now well aware that Molly was in no position to cast aspersions upon Olivia’s character but refrained from saying so. ‘It is obvious that you timed your return to coincide with Lord Torbay’s absence,’ she said instead, ‘but you have overlooked the possibility that someone from his household will follow us if I insist upon going out. I feel sure he has left strict instructions to that effect.’

  ‘Because he adores you.’ Molly rolled her eyes. ‘Every male on the planet is entranced by the beauty and fragility of Mrs Olivia Grantley, falsely accused of murder and rescued at the eleventh hour by a dashing earl.’ Molly sniffed disdainfully. ‘If you looked like a battle axe everyone would have assumed you were guilty and left you to your fate.’ Molly subjected Olivia’s person to an insolent perusal. ‘Ask me, your hands ain’t completely clean and your conscience ain’t clear neither. You might not have done the deed but what’s to say that desperation didn’t put Mr Grantley in danger’s path in order to keep you in the manner he thought you deserved.’

  Which, Olivia thought, was a telling statement and went to show just how little Molly actually knew about the real situation at the time of Marcus’s murder. What she did know—half-truths and outright lies—had obviously been fed to her by Hubert, and the silly girl had accepted it all as gospel.

  ‘If you say so,’ Olivia replied.

  ‘Don’t treat me like a simpleton!’ Olivia’s refusal to show fear or anger, or to enter into discussion of any sort with Molly, preferring to maintain a dignified distance between them, infuriated the girl. ‘Of course your husband wanted to live up to your expectations, just as your lover is trying to protect you now. Don’t imagine we didn’t anticipate that he would.’ Molly tossed her head and smirked at Olivia. ‘But we won’t allow that to keep you from Master Tom, will we now? We shall just have to sneak down the servants’ stairs and out the back door. Don’t worry, I am familiar with the route. Now go and put those damned breeches on. Oh,’ she added casually, ‘and collect Lady Marchant’s letters, too.’

  Olivia could not, she realised, but it was probably not a good idea to tell Molly they were locked in Jake’s safe.

  ‘They are downstairs, in Lord Torbay’s library. I will go and fetch them.’

  Molly laughed. ‘I already told you not to treat me like a fool. You’d love the opportunity to warn them downstairs that I’ve pulled the wool over the eyes of the lot of you and, in truth, I’d like to see their prim faces when you do.’ Molly puffed out her chest. ‘But, that’s not possible so we’ll go down together and get those letters.’

  That would have to do, Olivia decided. Reed was bound to be hovering; if not he then someone else. Olivia would give them a sign, somehow. It would seem odd that she and Molly had ventured downstairs again so quickly, and that would put Reed on high alert.

  Infuriatingly, the ground floor was deserted. Presumably Molly’s return was remarkable enough to require discussion in the servants’ hall. Molly grinned at Olivia, but there was spite rather than humour in the gesture.

  ‘Seems I’m quite a sensation, don’t it. I’d love to be a fly on the wall in that kitchen right now.’ Molly’s grin faded as quickly as it had arrived. ‘Quick now, get those letters and don’t try anything stupid. Just remember what’s at stake here.’

  As though Olivia could forget. A slow, burning anger replaced her anxiety for Tom as she sent Molly a censorious look of disappointment and unmitigated dislike. Jake would insist upon tracking Hubert down but when this was over Molly would be Olivia’s exclusive property; on that point she was fiercely determined. She rummaged around in the drawers of Jake’s desk, feeling like a trespasser, and came up with a thin file of correspondence that related to crop rotation on his country estate. She tucked it under her arm, hoping Molly would not ask to see it. The girl could read and, as she kept pointing out, was not stupid.

  ‘I’ll take them,’ she said, stretching out a hand.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Olivia replied, emphasising her upper class accent. ‘I will hand them to Hubert only when he returns my son to me.’

  Something in the set to Olivia’s features, together with the sound of approaching footsteps, prevented Molly from arguing, or at least asking to see proof that they were the letters in question. Perhaps she was not quite so clever after all. Molly had not, Olivia realised, shown any surprise at the mention of Hubert’s name, clarifying beyond further doubt that it was he who had Tom and ha
d indeed planted a besotted Molly in her household as his spy.

  ‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Back up the stairs before we are seen.’

  Olivia tried to make as much noise as she could but the two housemaids whose footsteps had disturbed them were deep in conversation. The bustled through the vestibule, heads together, and their laughter masked all sound.

  Resigned, Olivia returned to her room and changed out of her gown, careful to keep the file of supposed letters out of Molly’s reach. Her treacherous maid watched her with an amused glint in her eye, but made no effort to help her. She picked up one or two of Olivia’s possessions and pocketed something. Olivia did not see what; nor did she much care. She slid into her fencing clothing; breeches a loose shirt and jerkin, and pulled a cloak on over it all. The files of letters she slid securely inside the jerkin. Molly didn’t notice her slip a hatpin into the folds of her cloak; the only weapon at her disposal but one, she had good reason to know, that could be very effective when strategically deployed.

  ‘I am ready,’ Olivia said haughtily. ‘Take me to my son.’

  Molly led the way along the silent corridor and opened the door to the servants’ staircase, hidden in the wainscoting at the end of a second passageway. She listened for a moment and then beckoned Olivia forward, forcing her to lead the way. To Olivia’s intense disappointment they met no one on the stairs, and when they reached the bottom of them they managed to slip through the side door without being accosted.

  ‘It’s easy to get out of this house undetected,’ Molly boasted as they made their way through the grounds and out through the pedestrian gate that was kept locked from the inside with the key in place. ‘I’ve done it more than once while you were busy giving yourself to his lordship like a common trollop.’ Molly shook her head, seeming to enjoy occupying the moral high ground even though there was nothing the least bit moral about her own behaviour. ‘You should have held out. He’ll never marry you now he’s got what he wanted.’

  Olivia pretended not to hear and made no response.

  They reached the street, Molly hailed a cab and gave the jarvey an address in Whitechapel, not seeming to care that Olivia heard it, and committed it to memory. Well, why would she? Whom could Olivia tell? Besides, she would know for herself where they were going soon enough.

  Once inside the cab, Olivia spent the journey looking out of the window, thinking hard, blocking out Molly’s boastful tirades about her acting skills. That was what this entire business was about, Olivia thought. At every turn it came back to the theatre. Hubert had probably offered Molly the opportunity to actually tread the boards and the gullible creature believed he could make it happen. Her whole moral charade had probably been practise for a role.

  Whatever it was that had turned Molly into a willing accomplice to child abduction, Olivia had no wish to be reminded how foolish she had been to place her trust in the girl. It was obvious that Hubert had flattered her, turned her head, and promised her God only knew what. Almost certainly a career as an actress, she decided, returning to her earlier thought. Molly did seem to enjoy pretending to be someone else. After all, she had spent the last two years in Olivia’s service perfecting her act and Olivia had not seen through her.

  Hubert went into partnership with Granville at about the time he planned to go to Italy and lay off all his staff, which is when he would have encountered Molly for the first time. It would be the work of a moment to make her believe that he had genuine feelings for her and planned to make her his personal protégé—just as soon as she had helped him to obtain those letters. And when he had them, Molly’s usefulness would have run its course, but Olivia knew it would be a waste of time to point out that very real possibility to a girl who was flattered by the attentions of a baronet.

  But still, one question remained. Why had they waited for so long to try and get the letters?

  The cab rattled to a halt outside a narrow row of workers’ cottages in a drab Whitechapel back street. The outside of the buildings was caked in a thick layer of soot belching out from the chimneys of nearby factories. What few people there were in the street walked briskly about their business. They seemed worn down by a harsh working life and took no interest in Olivia’s cab as the two women climbed out of it. Molly looked pointedly at Olivia, expecting her to pay the fare. There seemed little point in arguing about something so inconsequential and so she produced the correct and amount and handed it to the jarvey.

  ‘This way, madam,’ Molly said, a sarcastic edge to her voice as she pointed to the cottage in question.

  Olivia saw the curtains flick as they walked towards the door; a door that opened to admit them before they reached it. Hubert’s attractive features, so similar to Marcus’s that Olivia felt the nausea of unpleasant recollections sweep through her, appeared around the side of that door.

  ‘Hello, Olivia,’ he said, sending her a charming smile as Molly prodded her back, forcing her into the room. ‘How kind of you to join us.’

  Us? Molly glanced around the small, dank room and saw the last person she had expected to be there, elegantly draped in an uncomfortable-looking chair.

  ‘Lady Marchant!’ Olivia’s mind reeled as her gaze flitted between Hubert and that lady. ‘You are in this together? Where is my son?’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jake knew the moment he set foot inside his house that something was seriously amiss. His heart quailed because he also knew it had to be somehow connected to Olivia.

  ‘What is it, Reed?’ he asked curtly, conscious of several of his servants lurking in the vestibule instead of going about their normal duties.

  ‘It’s Mrs Grantley, my lord.’

  Jake’s lingering hope that she would come bustling into the hall, desperate for any news he brought of Tom, withered at the sight of Reed’s sombre expression. ‘What has she done?’ he asked. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Molly came back not long after you went out, my lord. She was in a dreadful state. Claims she tried to shield Master Tom from the fracas in the park and the next thing she remembers is waking up with a headache outside a tavern in Whitechapel.’

  ‘Where is she now?’ Jake barked.

  ‘That’s just it, my lord. Mrs Grantley went up with her to help her get warm and dry; insisted upon doing so in person.’ Jake rolled his eyes, perfectly sure that she had. ‘Jane became concerned when Molly didn’t appear up on the servants’ floor, so went down to Mrs Grantley’s chamber to see if she needed any help.’ Reed spread his hands. ‘But the room was empty.’

  Jake shared a look with Parker. ‘Molly fooled us all,’ he said brusquely, frowning at the girl’s audacity. ‘She must have forced Olivia to leave the house, probably by the servants’ stairs. Mind you, if she claimed to know where Tom was, she would not have had to force her.’ Jake slapped his stick against his thigh. ‘The irresponsible little fool!’

  ‘She would have been told to take Lady Marchant’s letters,’ Parker remained Jake, ‘and she doesn’t have access to them.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, my lord,’ Reed said. ‘We found a drawer open in your desk. Not sure it it’s relevant.’

  Jake strode in that direction and found an inconsequential file of correspondence with his steward missing.

  ‘She must have taken it in the hope of fooling Grantley into thinking they were Lady Marchant’s letters.’ Jake shook his head. Of all the bird-brained, reckless, irresponsible… Fear for her welfare paralysed his unusually incisive brain. If anything were to happen to her, his own life would be over. When he got his hands on her again, she would not be able to sit down for a week. He had repeatedly warned her and yet she’d blithely ignored that warning and run headfirst into he knew not what danger, probably without even pausing to think of the consequences. ‘Once she has Tom safe, there is no telling what retribution she might attempt to inflict upon his abductors; and if it ends badly, no one will believe in her innocence this time. There are still some who think she must have been involved in her husband’
s death, accounting for her supposed notoriety.’ Jake ground his jaw, well aware how fiery Olivia’s temper could be with far less provocation. ‘How long ago was she missed, Reed?’

  ‘They can’t have been gone more than ten minutes, my lord.’

  ‘Well, that’s something. We stand a chance of catching up to her before matters get completely out of hand.’ Jake swirled on his heel. ‘Right, Parker, back to that warehouse. Reed, have the curricle brought round immediately.’

  ‘You think Norris will know Sir Hubert’s address and that he will tell us if he does?’ Parker asked as Jake climbed onto the box seat, took up the ribbons himself and set his horses off at a cracking pace.

  ‘Oh, he will tell us,’ Jake replied. ‘You say he is a man of honour who doesn’t care for Grantley. Once he is made aware that his employer is responsible for abducting a child, any man with an ounce of humanity would reveal whatever he knows.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s worth knowing.’

  The roads were, for once, relatively clear of obstructions and they reached the warehouse faster than even Jake considered possible. Parker jumped down from the curricle before Jake brought it fully to a halt. Jake took a quick glance around whilst Parker knocked, just to make sure that they had not blundered into a trap of some sort. There was an outside possibility that Molly had brought Olivia here, but the only abnormal behaviour was that of two stray dogs growling over the same bone.

  Norris answered Parker’s knock remarkably quickly for a lame man.

  ‘You again,’ he said. ‘What is it that you really want?’

  ‘This is my master, Lord Torbay,’ Parker replied.

  Norris sized Jake up, appeared to like what he saw and inclined his head. ‘How can I be of service to you, my lord?’ he asked politely.