by Anne Herries
‘Where is the inn you think is Blake’s hideout?’ Andrew demanded. ‘I wish to be there myself when this raid takes place.’
‘That is the main reason I came here,’ George replied in a manner as clipped and remote as Andrew’s. ‘We shall go together and take my carriage. If Jane is found, we must have some way of bringing her back discreetly.’
‘Mrs Buxton promised to be discreet,’ Lady Mary told them. ‘I dare say there may be some scandal—it can hardly be forgotten—but I shall not allow it to interfere with my plans. Jane must not be treated as if she has done something disgraceful. It is my intention to take her to Bath as soon as she feels well enough to leave London.’
The two men looked at each other, but neither said what was on their minds. Fortunately, Lady Mary had no idea of how dangerous Blake truly was—and the fear that they would not recover Jane alive was reflected in their eyes as they left the house.
* * *
It must have been early in the morning when she fled the inn. The streets had been almost empty, apart from a milkmaid with a yoke across her shoulders and some ragged children huddled in doorways. Jane had seen no one as she began her flight through the dirty narrow back streets that bordered the docks. She passed warehouses, silent and derelict, and cottages that looked as if their tiny windows had never been washed, the paint peeled away from rotting wood. Here and there, a sleepy woman emerged from her front door to throw slops into the gutters; the stench was almost sufficient to make Jane vomit her breakfast.
At first she had expected to hear shouts as Blake’s men pursued her, but after a few minutes she felt calmer and began to walk swiftly rather than run. In this part of the great sprawling city, the lanes that backed onto the river resembled a warren, with courtyards filled with hovels sometimes built in such a way that it was impossible to pass and she had to turn back and look for another route.
As time passed more and more people were out on the streets. Most of them were dressed in clothes that Jane would describe as rags, their faces grey with dirt, their hair greasy and straggling about faces that were unnaturally pale. She became conscious that the people stared at her and saw resentment in their eyes. One man looked at her sullenly from the doorway of his hovel. As she met his suspicious gaze, he spat on the ground, narrowly missing her shoe.
Jane shivered. She was wearing a fine silk evening gown, her thin leather slippers already stained with the filth of the streets. At her throat was a string of pearls—its cost enough to feed these families for months.
Jane ran from the accusing stares, her heart racing madly. She had lost all sense of direction and had no idea where she was going. She might be heading back to the river and the inn for all she knew. Had she dared, she would have stopped to ask, but the menacing look in the eyes of the man who had spat at her had made her afraid to risk enquiring the way.
Pausing to catch her breath, she heard the noise of wheels on cobbles and her instinct told her to walk in the direction of the sound. Coming suddenly out of the maze of lanes, she found herself in a much broader thoroughfare and sighed with relief. Here, the people were normal workmen and maids hurrying about their business.
She looked farther ahead and saw a hackney cab drawn up at the side of the road. She ran towards it, calling out as the man turned his head to look at her.
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Can you take me to Russell Street, sir? I shall pay you when we get there.’
He eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then inclined his head. ‘You look as if you can afford the fare. What are you doing, staying out all night, miss?’
‘That is a long story,’ Jane said, her cheeks warm. ‘I need to get home as quickly as possible. Lady Mary’s butler will pay you twice your fare, sir, if you take me at once…’
‘You’d best get in then, miss. It ain’t right that a young lady like you should be wandering the streets in a place like this—and I’d be failing in me duty if I didn’t look out for you. My Betty would tell me off good and proper if I left you here at the mercy of folks round here.’
‘Thank you. I am so grateful.’ Jane climbed into his carriage and instructed the driver where to go before she sat back with her eyes closed as it began to move off. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. At the inn she had managed to control her fear, but her flight through the rookery of dirty streets had exhausted her courage. All she wanted now was to be at home with her godmother.
It was all very well being an independent woman, but there were times when it would be nice to lean one’s head against a strong shoulder and be comforted.
* * *
‘My men made a thorough search of the place,’ Price told them. ‘They found this stole, which may belong to Miss Lanchester—but neither she nor Blake were there.’
Andrew took the spangled stole and frowned. ‘My sister has one similar, but I would have to ask Lady Mary if she was wearing it last night.’
George took the stole and held it to his nose. ‘It smells of her perfume. I would swear it is hers. You are certain they were not hiding her in a cellar or the attics?’
‘My men are thorough, sir. I can assure you that everywhere was checked.’ The Runner hesitated, then, ‘We found some blood on an iron candlestick in one of the bedrooms—and there was a bloodstained coat in the kitchen. The landlord has been taken to Newgate prison and will be questioned, but at the moment he refuses to answer.’
‘He will answer to me,’ Andrew said fiercely. ‘If my sister has been murdered, he will swing for it.’
‘Leave this rascal to me,’ George said. ‘We do not yet know what happened here. They may have realised they were being watched and taken Jane elsewhere.’
‘They may have rumbled us,’ Price agreed. ‘My informant has gone missing. I’m wondering if it is his blood on that coat. I think it unlikely they killed Miss Lanchester. If the motive was money, they would need her alive.’
‘I will go to the prison,’ George said. ‘Go home, Lanchester, and see if there is news of your sister. The kidnapper may have sent you another demand.’
‘Your fellows have bungled this affair,’ Andrew said unfairly. ‘I have wasted too much time already. I must somehow raise the money to pay for Jane’s return.’
‘I have told you that I can find it within a few days,’ George replied stiffly. ‘Since this all came about because of a mistake I made, I insist that you allow me to pay.’
‘We’ll keep looking, sir,’ Price said. ‘If they’ve taken the young lady elsewhere, you may depend on it that someone will have seen something.’
* * *
‘Jane, my dearest child,’ Lady Mary exclaimed as she entered her godmother’s parlour. She had taken off her filthy shoes, giving them to the footman who admitted her to dispose of, and her feet were bare. ‘Where have you been? We have all been so worried about you.’
‘I have asked your footman to pay the driver of a hackney cab, ma’am. I promised him double his fare for bringing me home. I hope that is all right?’
‘Of course, my love. You have no need to ask.’ Lady Mary had risen and moved swiftly towards her. She embraced Jane, then looked into her face. ‘You are shaking. Are you cold?’
‘I left my stole behind when I escaped.’ Jane caught back a sob. ‘It was so awful. I ran away, but the people in those lanes were so wretched and they stared at me…’ She began to cry, unable to hold back her emotion. ‘He said he would kill me if the ransom was not paid and I hit him. He was careless and left the door unlocked and I ran out and locked him in, and then the horrible man with a squint would have shot me if Stark hadn’t knocked his arm and…’
‘You are overwrought, dearest, and no wonder.’ Lady Mary put an arm about her, thoroughly bewildered by the rambling tale. ‘You have been through far more than any young woman should have to bear. If your brother had told me that you were in danger, I should have had more grooms to guard us when we went out.’
‘It wasn’t your fault.’ Jane raised her head, brushi
ng a hand over her face to wipe away the tears. The words tumbled out of her thick and fast. ‘If you had not lingered on the doorstep, they would have grabbed you, too. He had a pistol and I could not jump from the carriage because of its speed. I begged Stark to help me, but he was afraid of Blake, but then at the end he stopped that awful man shooting me. I dare not think what they may have done to him.’
‘I fear you go too fast for me,’ Lady Mary said. ‘I am going to take you upstairs. You must have a nice wash and then get into bed, my love. I shall have the doctor fetched to you and—’
‘I do not need the doctor, Godmother. I will do as you say and rest, but please do not send for the doctor. The fewer people that know of this, the better.’
‘I fear the gossips will already have heard,’ Lady Mary told her and smiled. ‘You should not be too concerned for your reputation, dearest. I am certain there is a simple way to rectify any scandal.’
‘I do not think it will be so simple,’ Jane said and shook her head. ‘I am too tired to think now. I hardly slept last night. I should like a dish of tea when I am in bed, if it is no trouble.’
‘You run along and make yourself comfortable,’ Lady Mary said. ‘I am happy that you are home and that the situation is no worse, Jane. When you feel rested, we shall go down to Bath and put all this upset behind us.’
Jane inclined her head and went up the stairs. Her godmother seemed to think they should just go on as before, but at the moment all Jane wanted to do was to go somewhere quiet and forget.
* * *
‘She hit the cove what had her brung to me house,’ Rab muttered sullenly. He rubbed at his wrist. George had him in an iron grip that had forced him to his knees and the pistol pointed at his head had a remarkable effect on loosening his tongue. ‘You had no call to do that, sir. It weren’t me as had ’er snatched. When he says do summat, it gets done or things happen.’
‘Thus far you have escaped lightly,’ George said in a deceptively pleasant tone. ‘If I discover you are lying to me, you will pray that your hanging comes soon, my friend.’
‘Don’t hurt me again.’ The innkeeper’s face turned yellow with fear. ‘I swear it is as I told yer. He must ’ave left the door open when he went in ter the room she was locked in—she took a chance and hit him and then escaped.’
‘And no one tried to stop her?’
‘There were a bit of an altercation between me and Stark,’ Rab admitted. ‘It were his fault she got away. Blake went mad and they had a fight, but the cap’n come off worst fer once, ’cos he had a sore shoulder—and bled all over his coat. Stark went orf. Said he wouldn’t work for the devil no more and when he sorted himself out, the cap’n went orf in a rare temper.’
‘Then you do not know where she is?’
‘I ain’t got no idea. It weren’t my fault she was taken, me lord. I only done what I were told.’
‘I dare say you took money for it. You are as guilty as any of them and should hang for your crime.’
‘Yer said yer would help me if I told yer the truth.’
‘You must pray that Miss Lanchester is alive when we find her,’ George said, his mouth tight with anger. ‘You may then escape with transportation. If she is harmed in any way, you will hang for your part in this business.’
‘Damn yer,’ Rab muttered. ‘Yer all the same, bloody aristocrats—arrogant bastards the lot of yer.’
‘I may well be arrogant,’ George said, ‘but I keep my word. If Miss Lanchester is found alive and unharmed, I shall do my best to see that your sentence is lighter than it would otherwise be.’
George signalled to the gaoler and was allowed to leave the cell. He breathed deeply as he went out into the fresh air. The stench of Newgate was too well remembered from his previous visit here and a part of him sympathised with the rascally innkeeper. Yet the man had no doubt played his role in this business willingly for money.
The rogue who had snatched Lady Fanshawe and Jane was the man who deserved the ultimate punishment. Blake must hang for what he had done.
George’s lips thinned as he strode through the streets. He would go straight to Lady Mary’s house. He must tell her and Jane’s brother what he had discovered.
* * *
‘Jane is here?’ Andrew looked at his sister’s godmother, then put a hand to his face in relief. He sat down in a chair opposite her. ‘Thank God for it! Where is she? I need to know exactly what happened.’
‘Jane is in bed. When I looked in on her she was sleeping. My housekeeper made her a tisane and I think it soothed her. She was very distressed. Overwrought, I should say.’
‘Yes. It was a terrible experience for her.’ Andrew’s expression was grim. ‘Did she tell you anything?’
‘Some garbled tale of having struck someone and escaped. I really could not make head or tale of it, Andrew. I am sure she will explain it all to you when she has reco—’ Lady Mary stopped speaking as the door of her parlour opened and the housekeeper entered. ‘Yes, Mrs Scott?’
‘Lord George is here, ma’am. He asked to see you or Lord Lanchester.’
‘Oh, tell him to come in,’ Lady Mary said. ‘We have excellent news.’
* * *
Jane woke, yawned and stretched. She had not slept for very long, but the rest had refreshed her, settling her nerves. The kidnap and imprisonment in the inn had not distressed her as much as her escape. The way some of those wretched people had looked at her as she became lost in a maze of dark alleys had been frightening. She had not realised that such awful places existed.
Although she had heard of the terrible slums in parts of London, she had never before seen them for herself. The utter despair she had witnessed had been a shock and a revelation for her. Her own brush with the underworld had made her realise what hopeless lives the people in those lanes must live and her heart had been touched. She had found her brief experience horrifying. What must it be like for women and children forced to live in such an environment?
Jane could only imagine what kind of things went on in the derelict houses and inns she had seen during her flight. If she could be held captive at the whim of one man, how many other young women were forced into lives of degradation and shame? And what of the children she had seen huddling in doorways?
In thinking of others, she had pushed her own distress to a small corner of her mind, where it must remain. Jane was too sensible a girl to let her abduction play on her mind, even though she understood she must be very careful in future.
As she approached her aunt’s parlour, she saw the door was partially open and she could hear the sound of voices from inside.
‘Jane is safe now and that is all that I care for,’ Lady Mary said. ‘This squabbling between you two must cease for her sake. As soon as she is well enough, I shall take Jane to Bath. If you wish to arrange some kind of surveillance for her safety, that is your business, Andrew, but I will not have her shuffled off abroad as if she has done something wrong.’
‘The tales are everywhere,’ Andrew said, and Jane could tell that he was angry. ‘I was asked twice this morning if it was true that you and she had eloped together.’
‘And what did you say?’ Lord George answered. ‘It would have stopped their tongues at once if you had told them we are engaged.’
‘Now that is a handsome offer, in my opinion,’ Lady Mary cried. ‘You must see that Jane’s reputation may suffer, Andrew? Surely it makes sense to accept Lord George’s offer? Jane likes him well enough—and left to herself she may never marry.’
‘My sister has no need to marry unless she wishes,’ Andrew replied. ‘I have no desire to see her wed to a rogue.’
‘Andrew!’ Lady Mary exclaimed. ‘Have a care. You should not insult a fellow gentleman.’
‘I would call you out,’ George replied, ‘if I could be bothered—but you are behaving like a spoiled schoolboy. I am extremely fond of your sister—and it would be a sensible solution. As my wife, Jane would be accepted in the best society. Any scandal
would be swept under the carpet and it is the honourable solution…’
‘Damn you, my sister does not need your charity.’
‘Why do you not let Jane decide for herself?’ Lady Mary suggested.
This was so humiliating, to hear them squabbling over her future as if she were something shameful to be brushed under the carpet.
Having heard more than enough, Jane pushed the door wide and walked in. She raised her head, her cheeks hot as she saw their guilty looks.
‘Thank you, Godmother,’ she said with remarkable dignity. ‘I am old enough to make my own decision, which is that I shall go to Bath with you.’ Her eyes turned on Andrew proudly. She was every inch the capable and calm lady of independent means. ‘I believe I have no need of your permission if I wished to marry, Andrew.’
‘Well, no, but the fellow helped kidnap Lady Fanshawe. You cannot wish to marry him, Jane?’
One glance from her speaking eyes caused him to fall silent.
‘I do not consider that I have done anything that makes it imperative for me to marry to save my reputation. Whomever or whether I wish to marry is my affair and mine alone.’ Her gaze fell on George; it did not become any warmer. ‘I am most grateful for your generous offer, sir. However, I think your gallantry misplaced. As Lady Mary will tell you, I have never had the intention of marrying. Nothing that has happened recently makes the slightest difference.’
‘Miss Lanchester—Jane—how are you?’ George asked, his gaze moving over her with concern. ‘I have been told of your escape and I was delighted to discover that you were safely home. Once again you faced a difficult situation bravely. I cannot tell you how glad I am that you were not harmed.’
‘You are good to be concerned, sir.’
George’s expression did not change a fraction, his gaze unwavering.
‘I am sorry you should have overheard a foolish exchange with your brother. I fear that both of us are guilty of speaking out of turn. I quite understand your reasons for not wishing to accept my offer—but I assure you it was made for the right reasons and not charity, as Lanchester suggests.’
