by Mary Nichols
‘He did tell me that he had a wife and family when he came to ask for employment,’ Henry told him when they were once more alone.
‘Did he say where?’
‘No, but he might have told Charlotte. She keeps details of all our employees.’
‘Then let us see what he told her.’
Henry fetched the register which had Grosswaite’s direction clearly written in Charlotte’s neat handwriting. ‘Southwark,’ Alex murmured. ‘I think I shall have to pay the family a visit.’
‘I’ve done that,’ Henry said, resentful that the Captain had assumed he had been doing nothing to find his daughter. ‘No one there has heard of anyone by that name. I have ridden all over town trying to find her and sent men out, too, but as they have no idea where to look it has been a vain exercise. I remembered you and Viscount Leinster talking about the Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club and so I went to see his lordship. He asked all the questions you have asked and received the same answers and, as he had to leave town on business, he recommended I should speak to Lord Drymore and his lordship vouchsafed to send for you. I pray you can find her for me. My daughter is the light of my life. I’ll pay anything, anything to get her back safe and sound.’
‘But there has been no ransom letter?’
‘No. If they want money, why have they not asked for it?’
‘I think, sir, they are waiting until you are in despair and at your lowest ebb before making demands. It is to make you more amenable.’ He paused. ‘She could not have gone off willingly, could she? A lover, perhaps.’
‘Certainly not!’ Henry was outraged. ‘She could have no possible reason for such a course of action.’
‘She might have thought you would not approve of her choice.’
‘There was never any question of that. Charlotte has never shown the least interest in any young man, suitable or otherwise. Only the other day she said she did not think she would marry.’
‘So you have discussed it?’
‘Naturally we discussed it. She is two-and-twenty years old and it is time she thought about it. I am a wealthy man, she could have the pick of any eligible bachelor she chose.’
Alex smiled wryly. ‘But supposing the bachelor disliked the idea of being bought?’
‘Then he would be a fool.’
Alex let that go without comment. ‘Then if we can discount an elopement, we are left with two possibilities: either Miss Gilpin has met with an accident and is lying in some hospital somewhere or she has been abducted.’ He did not mention a third possibility that she might have been murdered. It did not bear thinking about and Alex would not think about it, not until every other avenue had been explored.
‘I have been to all the hospitals. I even went round the wards myself in case she was unconscious and could not tell them who she was. It was not a pleasant experience and I wonder anyone ever recovers from the treatment, never mind whatever it was that took them there in the first place. No, I am of the mind that she has been kidnapped. Lord Drymore told me you had experience in that kind of case and would be the best man for the task.’
‘I will certainly do my best. I suggest you insert an advertisement in the newspapers, offering a reward for anyone coming forwards with information. It is long odds, but it might flush out the kidnapper’s associates. Have you questioned Miss Gilpin’s maid? I assume she does have a maid or a companion?’
‘Yes, of course she does, but Barbara never accompanied her to the works because I always took her and there would have been nothing for her to do here all day.’
‘How trustworthy is she?’
‘She has been with the family ever since Charlotte was a baby. They are very fond of each other. She is as distraught as I am.’
‘Nevertheless, I should like to question her. Do you give me permission for that?’
‘Yes, yes, question whom you like. I’ll give you a note for her so that she knows she is to answer all your questions truthfully.’ He went to his desk and drew a piece of paper towards him. Alex watched him write, then fold the letter and put the direction on the outside. ‘I will be obliged if you will keep me informed of how you are progressing at every stage.’
Alex took the letter. ‘I will leave you now and get to work, but if you receive a ransom note, have it brought round to my house immediately. Do not try to deal with it yourself. You might put your daughter in danger of her life if you do.’
‘What can I do? Surely I can do something? I am in such a turmoil...’
‘I understand. Try to go on as usual, but keep your eyes and ears open and let me know if you hear anything, anything at all, however insignificant it might seem.’
‘I will do that.’
* * *
Alex had taken his leave and gone to Piccadilly, where he had questioned Barbara and the other servants, learning nothing new, but he was given a miniature of Charlotte, which was a good likeness. He had then headed home to Mount Street, where Davy had unpacked his belongings and instructed the cook to prepare food. He bade Davy join him for the meal in order to acquaint him with developments while they ate. ‘If Miss Gilpin was lifted off the streets, then someone must have seen it happen,’ he said. ‘Long Acre is a busy thoroughfare, people are passing up and down all the time, not only during the day but at night, too.’
‘That’s just it,’ Davy said. ‘They are passing by and may not do so again for a month of Sundays. A kidnapper would know that. And she may not have been on foot. Supposing she hired a cab or a chair. Plenty of those about.’
‘I had the same thought myself. I want you to check all the chairmen in the area. Ask if someone fitting Miss Gilpin’s description hired one of their chairs.’
‘What, all of them?’ Davy queried.
‘All of them. Don’t miss any out. I’ll go to the cab people. We will meet here again at...’ He glanced at the clock on the mantel. ‘...six o’clock.’
‘You need to sleep, my lord. You did not go to bed last night.’
Alex laughed. ‘Neither did you. I shall sleep when I know what has happened to Miss Gilpin.’ He had until this point been businesslike, treating the case as he would any other, questioning Gilpin and his employees, searching out the facts, not allowing emotion to come into it at all, but suddenly he let his imagination run away with him and realised she was not like any other, she was someone he knew and admired and finding her was engaging his heart as well as his head. His mother had said as much and he had dismissed it, but it was not so easily dismissed.
Chapter Four
Charlotte had decided that shouting at her captors and struggling would not serve. If she was to free herself, she would have to be more wily than that. On her promise that she would not scream, they removed the filthy gag. She took huge lungfuls of air, though the atmosphere in the room was foetid.
‘What are you going to do with me?’ she had asked the older of the two men. His name, she learned from Molly, was Hector Ballard. His features were craggy and what teeth he still retained were brown from the tobacco he chewed. His long black hair was lank and looked as though it had not seen a brush or comb for months. He wore fustian breeches and wool stockings and a coat that had once been black, but which now had a green sheen about it. His companion was younger, but no less unprepossessing, and answered to the name of Bert. She did not think for a moment that they were the brains behind her abduction.
They came and went, leaving Molly to be her gaoler. The woman brought her food and small beer which was so unappetising she had, at first, refused it. Molly had simply shrugged and taken it away again and in the end, faint from hunger, Charlotte had accepted the next meal and forced some of it down. She drank the beer because she was so thirsty and it was safer than water, but she did not like the taste.
‘All in good time, miss, all in good time.’ Hector was the one who did
the talking; Bert was the silent one, but she feared him the most.
‘My father will be worried to death.’
‘All the better.’
‘What is this place?’
‘’Tis Molly’s house.’
‘Where?’
‘Now what d’you want to know that for? Thinking of making a bolt for it, are you? You won’t get far if you try that. We’ll tie you up even more secure. ’Sides, we don’t aim to stay here very long.’
‘Then where are you taking me?’
‘You’ll just hatta wait and see, won’t you?’
* * *
Four days later they had a visitor. It was Martin Grosswaite. He breezed in, greeted Molly and the two men and sat down to eat with them. Charlotte, who had already decided the man must have played a part in her abduction and was not surprised to see him, was left on some sacking in the corner where a plate of the most unappetising mess was put on the floor beside her. She pretended to eat while straining her ears to hear what they were saying.
‘We’ll send the note off tonight,’ Martin Grosswaite said. ‘Have you got the pen and paper?’
‘Yes,’ Molly told him. ‘And you owe me for it and the food she’s had.’
‘You’ll get it when we’re all paid.’
‘When will that be?’
‘When my gaffer pays me.’
‘Who’s he?’
Martin laughed. ‘Do you think I’ll tell you that? He won’t be named and the less you know the better.’
So Grosswaite was not the man behind her abduction, he was being paid. Charlotte did not doubt that he had wormed his way into the Gilpin works for the sole purpose of kidnapping her. In the two weeks he had been working there, he could have observed her habits and knew she would stay behind to lock up and, in the absence of her father, might be persuaded to take a chair home, which he undoubtedly had waiting close by. Oh, how she wished she had listened to Captain Carstairs and been more cautious. She had never liked Grosswaite and should have obeyed her instinct not to trust him.
* * *
After the men had eaten, she was hauled to her feet and dragged to the table where a space had been made among the dirty crockery and the remains of the food for a sheet of paper, pen and ink. ‘Now,’ Grosswaite said, pushing her down into a chair, ‘you write what I tell you. I can read so there’s no writing anything else.’
He pushed the pen into her hand. ‘Dear Papa,’ he began dictating. ‘I am in good health as I write and being treated well. If you wish to see me again on this earth, then bring five hundred guineas to...’ He paused and looked at Hector.
‘The Waterman hard by the Lambeth ferry,’ Hector said.
‘Write that,’ Hector told Charlotte.
‘And will I be safely exchanged for the money?’ she asked, her brain whirling with the idea of sending her father a coded message, but what could she tell him? She had no idea where she was, though she did not think she had come far in the chair and she could smell the river.
‘If you behave yourself. If not...’ Grosswaite drew his finger across his throat. ‘Bring it at ten in the evening and be sure to come alone. You will be watched.’
She wrote as he dictated. ‘This is very impersonal,’ she said as she finished it. ‘How will he know it has come from me? Anyone could have penned it.’
‘Does he not know your writing?’
‘To be sure, but my hand is shaking so much, it is not like my writing at all. Ought I not to include something that only he can know about me?’
He stroked the stubble on his chin. She surmised he was growing a beard in order to disguise himself. ‘You have a point. Write something so that he knows the letter comes from you, but don’t you try any funny business. It won’t avail you if you do, for we do not intend to keep you here beyond tomorrow.’
Thinking quickly, she dipped her pen in the ink again and added, ‘Give my best regards to Aunt Rivers and tell her not to worry and please send someone for the brooch I left with Mr Bridges to be repaired. It has to be fetched tomorrow for he told me he would not be at home after that. Your affectionate daughter, Charlotte. ‘
He picked it up and scanned what she had written. ‘Who’s this Aunt Rivers?’
‘She is the lady who brought me up after my mother died,’ she told him, hoping he would not know that her aunt had died two years before and her name had not been Rivers.
‘And what’s so important about this brooch?’
‘It is very valuable and I do not wish it to be left on Mr Bridge’s premises when he is from home.’ She held her breath, praying he would not ask Mr Bridge’s direction, but he seemed satisfied and folded the paper before putting it into his pocket.
* * *
‘Who is Aunt Rivers?’ Alex asked Henry Gilpin. Having received a message from Henry requesting him to call on him urgently, he had taken the carriage to the Gilpin works, pretending it needed a small repair. If he was seen coming and going, he wanted a valid reason for it.
‘I have no idea.’
‘And the brooch?’ he asked, putting Charlotte’s letter to his nose and sniffing. It smelled of fish and faintly of violets, which reminded him of their encounter in Hyde Park. Why had she not taken to heart his warning that the men might try again?
‘I know of no brooch needing repair, though that’s not to say there isn’t one, but why would she trouble herself to mention it in a ransom letter? Do you think she is trying to tell us something?’
‘Oh, undoubtedly,’ he said, full of admiration for the lady. To have such a cool head when she must be frightened out of her wits was courageous to say the least. ‘I deduce she is not far from the river, probably close to one of the bridges, but she is being moved today if this letter was written yesterday.’
‘London Bridge or Westminster?’
‘I would not think either. The ferrymen call their landing stages bridges.’
‘But there are dozens of those,’ Henry said in dismay.
‘Yes, but we will start with Lambeth, though I doubt the kidnappers would leave so obvious a clue. I must get to work. If I cannot locate her before tonight, you must have the money ready to take as instructed.’
‘I think I would as soon do that anyway. Five hundred guineas is not so very much for a beloved daughter and I would willingly pay it to have her safely back.’
‘I can understand that, Mr Gilpin, but we cannot be sure the abductors will play fair with you. Do not attempt to meet them alone. Wait until I can be on hand to watch proceedings and intervene at the appropriate time.’ He did not tell the man that it was often the case that kidnappers took the money and murdered their victim anyway, especially if they thought she might be able to identify them and bring retribution down on their heads. He had to protect her from that fate, even if Mr Gilpin lost his money in the process. ‘If I can locate her and effect a rescue before that time, so much the better. I will leave you now. When I have news for you, I will come to collect my coach. Please find some little fault with it that you must repair. You never know who is watching and noting if you have sent for help.’
With that he bowed his way out, rejoining Davy who had been left outside to keep watch. ‘Did you see anything out of the ordinary?’
‘No, my lord, but that’s just it. This street is so busy, there’s people and vehicles going up and down all the time. It will be worse when the theatres open. Anyone could be watching without us knowing.’
‘True. We will proceed on the assumption that Mr Gilpin is being watched.’
‘Not you, my lord?’
‘No, why would they bother with someone who is naught but a customer? And I will have less of your “my lord”, if you please. You always used to address me as “sir” and I wish you to continue to do so. I have done nothing to earn such an illustrious
title.’
‘Very well—sir. Where next, sir?’
‘Home to change into working clothes. We have to go into the stews and I wish to blend in with the other inhabitants.’
‘You mean you want us to dress in those horrible rags we wore to flush out that last lot of thieves, is that it?’ The clothes had been so ragged and stiff with dirt that even Davy, who was used to the lower end of shipboard life, was repelled. He had wanted to burn them when they finished with them, but Alex had said they might well come in useful again.
‘I do indeed. Let us make haste.’ He hurried up the steps and in at the front door.
* * *
When they emerged into the mews at the back of Mount Street half an hour later, they were unrecognisable. Not only were they ragged and dirty, but Alex’s hair had been stuffed up under a scruffy wig which looked as though it had come out of the bargain basket at the peruke makers where customers might take their pick for a few pence. He had also taken the trouble to blacken his fingernails and one of his teeth.
‘The things we do for love,’ Davy murmured, as they made for the Thames.
‘Love?’ Alex queried, startled. ‘What has love to do with it?’
‘Well, you ain’t getting paid for it, are you?’
‘Oh, I see. No, but if we are successful and I pray we are, I shall expect Mr Gilpin to make a generous donation to the Foundling Hospital.’
‘What are we looking for?’
‘I do not think we shall look so much as listen. If anyone boasts of a kidnapping or talks about a bleached covess they’ve seen, keep on their trail.’
Davy grinned at Alex’s use of cant which he had set out to learn with the diligence he applied to everything he did. A bleached covess was a fair-haired lady. ‘Right you are, sir.’
‘And there’s to be no “sir”, do you hear? You will give the game away with that. My name is Tom Smith and we are equals. You may address me as Tom.’
