“Oh Sophia, I am so sorry! This is all my fault. If my family did not carry such scandal, if I had never suggested this business, none of this would be possible, Bella would not be in danger.”
‘My dear Sera, that is an absolute faradiddle. The boy is obviously mad, and would likely have done something terrible regardless. I have never liked him – his family and ours have been on the outs ever since Raphael’s father made our business so successful. The elder Mr Arbuthnot is not a bad man, but his son, it seems, is another matter entirely.”
“You are far more forgiving than I deserve!”
“We must send for Jenkins. But first, we need to send some response to this missive, which will buy us time. What can we say?”
Sera though a moment, before answering.
“Perhaps… if we say that things can be arranged, but that getting the papers together will take time, and, that we want proof that he actually has Isabella, and that she is alright.”
“That could work, he may still lie to us, and it terrifies me to think how very ‘not alright’ Bella could be at this point, but we must do something. I will write a reply.”
Sophia went to the small escritoire which stood in the corner of the room, and wrote rapidly, before sealing the resulting letter.
“Do you have some coin, Sera? Urchins who run errands can often have their loyalty bought…”
Sera dug in her reticule and produced a shilling and a sixpence, and held them out to Sophia. Who took them, before leading the way into the foyer. The boy who stood waiting was grubby, and scrawny, probably not above ten years old, and watched everything around him with wide eyed wonder and the caution of those who were often chased away.
“Here is the reply. I expect that, when you deliver it, you will be given another errand to bring another message back here. To make sure that you do so, and as quickly as possible, I will offer some encouragement. But first, tell me what the man who sent you looks like.”
The boy considered a moment, and apparently decided that he owed Porter no real loyalty.
He described the man, a bit hesitantly, and whilst it seemed that Porter had made some attempt at disguise, it was poor, and the description confirmed their fears.
“Very well. Here is the message. And here is something for you, for being helpful. Return with his reply as fast as you can, and there will be more for you.”
The boy took the coins, eyes wide. Sera was certain that he had just been given more money than he had ever held at one time before. She could almost see him calculating how profitable this could be for him, if they kept sending messages back and forth, and both ends were paying him. The coins disappeared into a hidden pocket in his grubby clothes, and he tipped his cap to Sophia in mimicry of a gentleman’s behaviour.
“Yes, milady. I’ll be off about it then. Be back afore ye know it.”
He turned, and ran off down the street. The footman closed the door and looked at them, expecting orders. He was not disappointed.
“Potts, please fetch Mr Jenkins. Immediately, no matter what he is doing, this is more important.”
Potts simply bowed and went.
Sera and Sophia returned to the parlour and sat, sipping now-cold tea, and both pretending that everything was alright, when patently, it was not. Thankfully, little more than ten minutes passed before Jenkins burst in through the door, his face the picture of alarm.
Sophia simply handed him the ransom note and waited whilst he read it.
He dropped it back to the side table, as if it were a poisonous snake, and shuddered.
“It was delivered by a ragged boy, who asked for a reply, we sent one, asking that he prove that he has Isabella, and that she is alright, implying that we would cooperate. We expect him back soon. Do you have any idea of what we can do?”
“Yes, Mrs Morton, I do. I will go immediately and summon those of Mr Morton’s friends who will help – how, I do not know, but I trust that they will find a way.”
He left, as fast as he had come, and they were, again, left to wait. A new pot of tea had just been provided, and Sera was wondering if brandy might have been a better choice, when another knock came at the door. Moments later, a bedraggled Liza rushed into the parlour.
“Oh Mrs Morton, I’m so sorry, tell me she’s here, that she’s alright.”
Sophia shook her head, sadly. Liza burst into tears. Sera poured another cup of tea and settled the girl in a chair, encouraging her to drink and calm down. The sobs subsided after a little.
“Liza dear, do tell us what happened.”
“He… he tricked me! He stopped near the bakers – you know the one with the sweet buns that everyone likes – and gave me some money, told me to go in and buy buns for them. I thought he was just playing Mr High and Mighty, but I went, for Miss Bella’s sake. And when I came out again, they were gone. The crossing sweeper boy said as they’d gone off at a great rate, the second I’d gone in the door.”
She sipped at the tea and wiped her face with a handkerchief before continuing.
“I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t really think as Miss Bella’d go off and leave me on purpose like that, but I couldn’t be certain. I waited a while, hoping they’d come back, but they didn’t. And by then I was so worried. But I had no money to get a cab here, for I’d spent what he’d given me on those buns. So I walked. It took a long while, I’m so sorry!”
She burst into tears again. Sophia patted her shoulder and sighed.
“My dear girl, you’d best go and rest. We don’t blame you, you only did what you were told. He’s sent us a ransom note – he’s kidnapped her, and we’re already working on ways to get Bella back. But none of it’s any fault of yours.”
At this news, Liza’s sobs became wails of horror, and Sophia called the housekeeper to come and take the girl down to the kitchens and settle her down. Which left Sophia and Sera with cold tea, and fear, for company, again.
A short way down the street from Morton House, there was a tiny piece of park – some grass, two large trees, a few thick bushes and a poorly tended flower bed.
Fortunately, the trees and bushes were evergreen varieties, and provided just enough cover for Geoffrey and Charlton to wait out of sight. Jenkins, finding them at Charlton’s, had informed them of what had happened, and they had rapidly devised a plan.
Once they were in place, Jenkins went quickly into Morton House, to explain the plan to Sophia.
“Mrs Morton, has the boy returned yet? I hope not, for that would make our plan difficult.”
“No, he has not. What has happened? Did you contact Raphael’s friends?”
“Yes, they are waiting, concealed, in the park.”
“Why?”
“We have a plan. I ask that you prepare another message, one which says that you will do everything that the madman has asked for, but that preparing the papers will take at least two days, and that Miss Morton must be well cared for whilst they wait.”
“I can do that. But why – what will that achieve?”
“When the boy returns, give him that message. The gentlemen will follow him, and, with luck, will be able to capture Porter Arbuthnot and rescue Isabella. But neither the boy nor Porter must suspect anything other than your cooperation. We want them to never even consider the idea that the boy may be followed.”
“That seems a good plan. I pray that it works, and that Bella has not been harmed.”
Sophia went to the escritoire and composed a message. It offended her to even write the words – as if, in truth, she would ever agree to such a thing! Yet Jenkins plan was sound, and the message was necessary. If Arbuthnot thought her a ‘poor weak woman’ without her son for support, he probably also expected her to simply panic, and do whatever he wanted. Such thinking would help them trap him, God willing. She turned back to the others.
“And now we wait.”
They sat in silence – for what could they say? The large mantle clock ticked, as time passed, ever so slowly, seeming to mock th
em.
Sera lost all true sense of the time that had passed.
Her mind was in turmoil, filled with the certainty, still, that this was all her fault. She was also filled with a longing for Raphael – a longing that would never be fulfilled, for she would stand by her word. Eventually, a knock came at the door. Sophia rose and, message in hand, went quietly to the foyer. The footman opened the door, and the grubby child stood there, clutching something.
“Milady, ‘e told me to give you this, as proof, ‘e said. ‘E wants a reply to this ‘ere message too.”
The boy held out another missive, this one on considerably poorer paper than the last, and a bundled piece of cloth. The child looked expectant, and Sera, realising that he was hoping for money, dug into her reticule again and discovered a few more coins, tangled with her handkerchief. She passed them to the boy as Sophia took the note. The boy grinned, and the coins disappeared.
Sophia read the note, then passed it to Sera. Her face was almost expressionless as she untangled the bundle of cloth, which proved to be Isabella’s shawl. Sera read the note, fearing what she’d find.
How rude of you to not trust me. But here is her shawl, as proof that I am telling you the truth. She is unharmed – for now. I do suggest your rapid cooperation if you wish her to stay that way.
There was no signature, but the inelegant scrawl was the same. Sera went cold all over as she considered the threat. She would never forgive herself if Bella was harmed because of her.
She looked at Sophia, who clutched the shawl tightly, her knuckles white. Sophia took a deep breath, and turned back to the boy. She handed him the note that she had prepared.
“Take this back to him. Be quick, mind. He’ll likely send you back with another message.”
“Yes, milady, I’ll be quick.”
He turned and ran off. Sophia hoped that Raphael’s friends were ready.
~~~~~
Charlton and Geoffrey saw the boy arrive, and watched as messages, and some other object, were exchanged. They were far enough away that they could not hear what was said, but it seemed that all was according to plan, as the boy soon took off down the street again, in the direction from which he had arrived. Stepping out of the park, they followed, walking as fast as possible, without attracting attention.
The child was fast, and was getting ahead of them. As soon as they left the well-lit and more prosperous streets around Morton House, they increased their pace, making sure to stay as far back as possible, whilst still keeping the boy in sight. More than an hour later, the child reached his destination. Like most street urchins, he was able to run long distances – so much so that he rarely came back to a walk, and both Charlton and Geoffrey were feeling the strain by the time he reached the unremarkable Inn where Porter was waiting.
The child went in to the taproom, obviously knowing exactly where to find Porter. Charlton and Geoffrey waited.
Their clothes, whilst plain, were of a quality that would mark them out in this place. They slid back into the shadows to wait.
“I thought the days of forced marches, sword at my side, were over, when we came home to England. It seems I was wrong.”
Geoffrey’s tone was lightly humorous, but it was a sentiment that Charlton shared. A moment later, the boy and a man came out of the Inn and walked down the street a little. They stopped where light spilled out from a window, and the man took the note from the boy, and read it. His immediate response was a cackle of gloating laughter – a sound which sent a shiver down Charlton’s spine, so close to insanity did it seem. Then he spoke.
“Tell them I want to see the papers tomorrow, at the latest, or they’ll regret it. Tomorrow, you be waiting near their house, ready to run more messages. There’ll be more money in it for you, never fear.” He handed the boy a coin, almost absently. “Be off with you now. I expect to see you tomorrow.”
Geoffrey and Charlton looked at each other.
“I’ll follow the boy, report to Mrs Morton, then bring reinforcements back here. You follow Arbuthnot. He’s a weedy looking sort, I doubt you’ll have too much trouble taking him down. I cede you the opportunity – your turn to be the hero this time.”
Charlton gave a low laugh. He supposed it was fair – ever since Geoffrey had saved Charlton’s life, and that of four other people, earlier in the year, everyone had insisted on speaking of him as a hero – especially Charlton’s sister. Arbuthnot watched the boy go, then turned and set off in the other direction.
Charlton and Geoffrey stepped from the shadows and each followed their target.
Arbuthnot wound through the streets, moving into progressively poorer areas, with more warehouses and less homes. Charlton followed carefully, although, from the way that Arbuthnot had sounded, he suspected that the man truly was a little mad, and was likely so caught up in his thoughts that he would not notice, even if Charlton were more obvious. Still, caution was always worthwhile.
There were no lights in the warehouse that Arbuthnot stopped at, nor any sign that it had been used, or maintained, in quite some time. He produced a key, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. Charlton moved forward, careful to make no noise, and listened at the door. The sound of footsteps came unevenly, as if the surface Arbuthnot walked over was not clean, or consistent. Then, faintly, there were the sounds of another door opening and closing. Charlton silently thanked God for the fact that lack of maintenance meant squeaky door hinges.
Easing open the street door, as quietly as he could, Charlton moved into the deep darkness of the empty warehouse. Once the door was closed, he stood a minute, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There, across the width of the place, was a tiny sliver of light – it seemed that Arbuthnot had lit a candle or lamp of some sort, behind that other door. Drawing on years of covert intelligence work, Charlton moved across the space, drawn sword at his side, conscious of making no sound at all.
He wanted to catch Arbuthnot unawares, completely. He hoped that the man would prove cowardly, and the sight of the sword would be enough to cow him. But you never knew with those who were on the edge of madness.
As he approached the door, he could hear a voice inside – not the words, for the door muffled the sound too much, just the tone of it. The tone was disturbing – it had all of the feel of a bullying child gloating about what they had done to someone weaker.
He waited, listening, until he was sure that Arbuthnot was not moving around, that he was simply standing in roughly the same place, talking – or perhaps raving would have been a better word for it.
Charlton steadied himself, then flung the door open, rushing into the room. Taking in the scene before him, he took advantage of the surprise he had created and surged forward, intending to get between Arbuthnot and Isabella, who was, it seemed, tied to a chair. But Arbuthnot surprised him in turn, going from stunned and open mouthed one moment, to rapid movement the next.
Isabella made a muffled squeak of fear as Arbuthnot’s lunge brought him to her, and his arm snaked around her neck, half choking her as he halted his momentum by dragging on her. The chair teetered a little, then settled back. Arbuthnot’s eyes glittered, and, from the look on his face, he was far from sane in that moment.
“Oh no, you’ll not take her from me. I’ll have what’s my rightful due, as they’ve promised, before I let her go. Or maybe I won’t let her go. She might be useful to keep them in line. Or for my entertainment.”
Arbuthnot’s words hissed out of him, driven by a sort of repressed fury, and Charlton could see the fear in Bella’s eyes as he spoke.
But Charlton needed to keep him talking, to get him to loosen his hold on Bella somehow.
“Arbuthnot, what do you mean, your rightful due?”
As was so often the case with those tipping past the point of sanity, the man was easily triggered into ranting about the things he believed, about all the ways in which he felt others had harmed him. Perhaps, if he became fully caught up in his diatribe, he would loosen his grasp, at least
a little.
“My rightful due! Those vipers, the Mortons, have taken the Arbuthnots rightful place as the preeminent merchants in London. It’s not to be borne! That they should steal our business away from us, that they should have stolen ideas from me! From my actions, and turned them into yet another success. I will tolerate it no longer! Our position will be restored, and they will give over to me the business that was created from my ideas, and I shall use it to succeed far beyond them, to drive them into the dust! I shall be vindicated. My father will mock me no more.”
Arbuthnot was nearly spitting in his fury as he spoke. His arm eased a little on Bella’s neck, and the chair rocked again. Charlton’s eyes narrowed – Bella was not actually tied to the chair – she was tied, but simply sitting on the chair – that provided an idea. But how could he convey to her what he hoped her to do?
Looking straight at Bella, Charlton raise his sword and spoke.
“Why do you think this will succeed, Arbuthnot? What stops me from simply lunging forward and skewering you?”
Arbuthnots eyes were wide, and followed the movement of the sword, a trace of fear touching the madness.
He swayed slightly, as if considering which way he would need to dive, to avoid Charlton’s point. Charlton continued to move the sword, always slightly more to one side, drawing Arbuthnot’s eyes, making him shift uncertainly.
“I could swing at you from this side, perhaps,” the sword swung gently left, and Charlton’s eyes locked with Bella’s as he nodded that direction too, “or perhaps from this side – that might give me a better chance to pierce your neck.”
As the sword swung widely to the right, drawing Arbuthnot’s eye away, and increasing his fear and uncertainty, Charlton took one step forward, and nodded at Bella again. Bella, hoping desperately that she had understood what he wanted, flung herself hard in the other direction. The unstable chair tipped, and fell, and Bella’s own weight dragged her clear of Arbuthnot’s loosened grasp. As she pulled from him, Arbuthnot staggered a step, unbalanced by the tug, and Charlton moved, fast.
Winning the Merchant Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 8) Page 7
