“Thank you, dearest.” Sally walked toward the front door and opened it. The constables were waiting just outside. “One of you must take a note to the detectives. The other will remain here on the grounds.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Constable Russ said.
“Wait here. I will write the message.”
Sally disappeared, and Amelie stared at the parlor doors, feeling numb. Charlotte and Eva sat with her.
“I am so sorry, girls.” Amelie shook her head. “If I had not been such a ninny about Radcliffe, none of this would have happened.”
“All of it would have happened, but perhaps in a different manner,” Charlotte told her. “Amelie, you cannot take the blame—it is not yours. Radcliffe was set on a course the moment he returned from France to find a new wife. He joined book groups and attended musicales, and sooner or later, he would have made the connection between the three of us and Sally. With or without the detectives’ involvement, we still would have been involved.” She shrugged. “We were all enamored of him, at first. He pursued you.”
“Because I am the most easily fooled.” She waved a hand at their protests. “It doesn’t matter, and I mustn’t feel sorry for myself when he is wreaking so much havoc with other people.” She thought of Alexander, of Sammy, and felt ill. “We may assume Radcliffe will keep Sammy safe because he knows I will not comply with anything if the boy is harmed in any way.”
Eva looked at Amelie, stricken. “You truly believe he has the boy?”
Amelie nodded, wincing. “Who else would lure him to a carriage and then whisk him away? I do not believe his associates from his former life either had resources to abduct him, or frankly, reason. Radcliffe has been inside this house; he may have overheard Sammy talking with the Wells girls or Mrs. Burnette. It would not have taken long for Radcliffe to realize the boy has become someone of importance, especially if he knows I made an effort to rescue Sammy from the East End.”
Sally returned to the door, letter in hand, and spoke quickly to the constables. “Take this to Euston Station immediately; the trains into the city run every ten minutes.”
She shut the door forcefully and leaned against it, just as Eva had done. She heaved a sigh and eyed the three cousins from the front hall. “Try not to fret,” she told them, and then disappeared toward the kitchen.
Charlotte rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “She tells us that in an effort to convince herself of the same.”
The clock struck the hour, and to Amelie it sounded like a death knell. On the one hand, if the constabulary hadn’t found Radcliffe to bring him in for questioning, then the man was still moving around, pulling levers in an effort to make them all jump. If they had found him, however, and he had made arrangements for Sammy to be taken somewhere, the odds were slim that he would give up the location. Either way, the picture did not look good for the young boy.
For Amelie, the guilt would not ease. If only she hadn’t taken Sammy from the life he’d known in Whitechapel. If only she hadn’t tried so hard to make everything perfect for people. She wound up doing more harm than good. If only . . . if only . . .
The knock at the door was jarring, and Amelie jumped from her chair. She opened the front door wide to reveal a man in pristine footman’s garb. “Miss Amelie Hampton, please?”
“I am Miss Hampton.”
The man held out an envelope, one with a script that was now unpleasantly familiar. “I am instructed to wait,” he said.
Amelie’s heart thumped uncomfortably. She tore into the letter and scanned the lines.
Dearest Amelie,
We no longer have time to attend the play, as your detective has sent out an order for my arrest. I am certain you understand that will never do, and I am vexed to an extreme at the level to which the man has disrupted my plan.
Accompany my driver to the carriage, willingly, and the boy will remain unharmed. In fact, I will allow you to personally see the boy back into the carriage for his safe return to Hampton House.
No delays. No constables. And absolutely no detectives. Come immediately or I shall presume you are not committed to our union, thus necessitating the sacrifice of the boy. I should hate for poor decisions on your part to result in additional tragedies, this time of those you would most certainly not forget.
Ever and eternally yours,
Harold
Amelie’s hand shook, and she steadied it by clamping her other hand beneath it. Her cousins crowded close and read the letter. Eva gasped, and Charlotte paced away and then shouted, “No! Why is he able to do this?”
The door was still open, and the cold snaked in. Amelie motioned to the carriage driver to wait, and then closed it.
Sally came running from the kitchen, along with Mrs. Burnette and the Wells girls. Amelie silently showed her the letter and tried to objectively view her options, even while she continued to tremble.
She heard the driver conversing with the constable in the front garden. All of her senses swirled, and she felt as if she were caught in the center of a maelstrom, where she was still while the world around her careened.
“I’ll do it,” she said firmly after Sally finished reading the letter.
“You will not,” Sally said. She looked at the others. “She will not. You will not, Amelie.”
Amelie shook her head. “I am not playing the martyr. If we are smart about this, we can make it work.”
Charlotte’s mouth dropped open, and Amelie held up her hand. “Either Detective Baker or Detective Winston will arrive here shortly, along with a handful of constabulary. I will stall the driver by telling him I must change my clothing. While I do that, Charlotte, you go in the back to the mews and borrow the neighbor’s mare, the new one you rode last week in the park.”
Charlotte nodded, wary.
“You will follow the carriage to see where I am taken. Once you know where I am, you find the nearest telegraph station and send a message to Euston Station. That would be faster than trying to navigate traffic and deliver the details in person. Eva and the guard outside will wait at Euston Station for your instructions.”
Eva swallowed and nodded.
“Sally, you remain here to coordinate with the police and await Sammy’s safe return. When Eva returns from Euston with the constable, she will relay the message to you and the rest, and . . . and in ride the cavalry. I shall be rescued, and Radcliffe arrested. As he is clearly not in police custody, this is an effective way to track him to his location.”
“This is madness. I’ll not risk your life,” Sally stated. “We shall await the detectives.”
“We do not have the luxury of time, Sally!” Amelie shook her head and moved to open the door. She poked her head out and said to the carriage driver, “Please wait one moment; I must change my clothing.”
He nodded but glanced at the constable, who watched in confusion. “You see, constable? The young lady accompanies me willingly.” To Amelie, he said, “Five minutes, no more.”
She closed the door, braced to do battle with her aunt, when Charlotte said, “She is right, Sally. We do not have another choice. This is the best option we have to save the boy and hunt down Radcliffe.”
Amelie dashed for the stairs with her cousins close behind. While she ran into her room and grabbed a heavy cloak and gloves, she did not allow herself to think beyond the most basic of notions.
I am going out into the cold. I shall need my cloak, my gloves, a scarf, a hat.
She gathered each item, then snatched up her reticule from the small side table by her door. She threw on the clothing as she ran, noting a flash of Charlotte’s coat on the landing below her as her cousin tore down the stairs and ran for the back of the house.
Each step of the plan crystalized in her mind as she thrust her hands into her gloves and ran to the door.
“Wait!” Sally cried.
“I am sorry, Sally. We’ve no time.” She turned to Katie Wells. “Please go next door and explain why Charlotte is stealing their horse.”
Katie nodded, wide eyed, and hurried away.
Amelie grabbed her aunt in a quick, fierce hug before she opened the door and stepped onto the cold porch. She was out of breath and tried to slow her steps long enough to give Charlotte time to saddle the mare or bribe a lingering stablehand. She didn’t allow herself to consider that Charlotte might be detained; her cousin was more resourceful than any of them.
She made a show of shaking out her scarf and winding it carefully around her neck as the carriage driver tapped his foot. She slowly descended the steps with him, still holding her hat.
“You may don that inside the carriage,” the driver said, motioning to the accessory.
“Have you a name, sir?” Amelie said, her voice a thread of sound.
He hesitated. “Burton.”
She nodded. “I am Miss Hampton, as you know. I have a family and a delightful life. Should I require assistance at any point, I trust I shall be able to call upon you.”
He looked at her impassively as he opened the door and gave her his hand. She took it, squeezing his fingers tightly as she climbed inside. He frowned as she took her time settling into the plush seat cushion. He finally closed the door and secured the handle. As the conveyance dipped with his weight as he climbed into position, she gently tried the door handle. It was, of course, locked.
It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to try to escape. She would see for herself that Sammy was well and unhurt, bundle him into the carriage, and then face Radcliffe. He wouldn’t kill her; she doubted he would even harm her. He needed money from Sally, and he wouldn’t see so much as a ha’penny if something befell Amelie. She would use the knowledge to her advantage, she decided. She squeezed her eyes tight and uttered a desperate prayer.
Burton signaled the horses, and the carriage moved quickly down the street. Amelie removed her special hatpin from the box inside her reticule. She exhaled slowly, kissed the crystal flower adorning the end, and then anchored her hat securely to her hair.
Only then did she allow herself to think of Michael, and only then did tears gather in her eyes. He would be worried, he would be angry she had acted quickly and rashly, and she could only hope he would understand.
She was unable to see if Charlotte had followed, as there was no window behind her. There were many pieces to the hasty plan that could fail spectacularly, but she forced herself to let it be. She had done all she could. Her nerves were strung tight, and fear clogged her throat as she wondered what Radcliffe had planned for her. She knew enough of his history to hold her own in a match of wits, she hoped. She would keep him talking, appeal to his vanity, and stall long enough to give the others time to find her and arrest him.
She recognized the twists and turns leading them away from Bloomsbury, south and closer to the social center of London. She thought they might stop somewhere on Drury Lane or Covent Garden. Burton whistled and kept the horses pulling forward, and they continued closer to the river, to the businesses and warehouses and factories near the docks.
The pace eventually slowed, and Amelie drew in a breath. Burton drove them down one narrow alley, then another, until she was uncertain where they were. He turned into the drive of a small storage warehouse, whistled, and then stopped. She heard the gear-driven mechanism of an opening door and waited, her hands in tight fists on her lap.
The carriage dipped again, and after a moment, the door opened to reveal Burton, and just behind him, Radcliffe.
“I am not moving until I see Sammy.”
Radcliffe smirked, but snapped his fingers to the side. Another man in a uniform matching Burton’s appeared, holding Sammy by one arm. The boy snatched it roughly away and lunged at the carriage, and Burton stopped him short by yanking on his shirt collar.
“Sammy.” Amelie willed her voice to remain steady. “Are you hurt?”
“No, miss,” he mumbled. “I want you to return home. Ye can’t go with this bloke.” He glared at Radcliffe.
“Now, calm yourself, Mr. White.” Radcliffe smiled and held his hand to Amelie. “Exit the carriage and Mr. White will be taken straight to Hampton House.”
Amelie looked at him and then at the other two henchmen, her anger and fear making her want to scream. Instead, she imagined Sally and the calm business end of her derringer. Amelie exhaled. She could pretend.
“Mr. Radcliffe, you should know that if Mr. White is not delivered immediately to Hampton House, if any harm befalls him at all, you will never see a penny of my family’s money.” She looked him in the eyes, feeling her own blaze. “Do you see that I am telling you the truth?”
He finally smiled. “My dear, I believe you are.” He nodded to Burton. “Return the boy to the address where you retrieved Miss Hampton.”
Amelie pointed at Burton. “I can only assume you will be paid well for your services, and I can assure you I have access to far more resources than Mr. Radcliffe does. The same condition holds. If that boy”—she thrust her finger at Sammy—“is hurt in any way, you will not receive your money. That will be the least of your worries.”
Burton nodded, and to his credit, he did not smile or laugh at her. Perhaps he believed what she said.
Amelie stepped out, taking Radcliffe’s hand, and Sammy shouted and began struggling. She grasped his thin shoulders and bent down. “Get into the carriage. Mr. Radcliffe intends me no harm, and before you can blink, I shall be with you at Hampton House.” She paused as the boy’s eyes filmed over with unshed tears. “Sammy, I cannot be distracted with worry over you. Promise me you will return to the house and remain with Sally. Eva is beside herself with sadness at your absence, not to mention the fact that she desperately needs an assistant.” Amelie managed a gentle smile.
He finally nodded, and she released him. To her surprise, he threw his arms around her middle and squeezed. Before she could respond, he climbed into the carriage, and Burton locked the door behind him.
“That was beautifully done, my dear.” Radcliffe wrapped his fingers around Amelie’s arm and pulled her back as the carriage drove away. “You nearly had me convinced that you will be with him soon.”
“What do you want with me?”
“Straight to the point, I see. You’re a far cry from the girl who couldn’t look me in the eye when we met.” He nudged her to a carriage inside the warehouse. Two horses stamped as the second henchman checked the components, securing them to the conveyance.
“You are nothing like the man I thought you were when first we met.” She looked at him in the building’s dim light. How had she thought him so unbelievably handsome?
As they circled around the carriage, she noted a large trunk secured to the back. She swallowed. “Are we going somewhere?”
Could there be a day more joyful than one’s wedding day? Years’ worth of dreams made manifest from the flowers to the dresses.
—From “Essays on Eternal Bliss” by Miss A. Hampton,
The Marriage Gazette
Radcliffe held out his hand to help her climb in to the carriage, but when Amelie stalled, he shoved her. She landed hard on her sore arm and grunted. As she climbed fully into the seat and he entered behind her, she rubbed her arm and said, “You’ve done enough damage to me, don’t you think?”
He chuckled. “Fortunately you did not die that day. Had that happened, I should have been forced to use one of the other girls, and you are by far the easiest of the three.”
As much as she told herself the comment didn’t matter, it stung, because it reinforced what she already believed about herself. The trouble was, Radcliffe was canny, and she suspected he already knew her insecurities. He would have her defeating herself if she wasn’t careful, and she steeled herself for battle.
Radcliffe rapped the ceiling with his cane, and th
e carriage slowly moved forward. As she looked at the cane, a puzzle piece snapped into place. “That! That was what you used to strike me.”
He looked at it. “Well, yes. What else should I have used?”
She shook her head. “I had almost believed that as horrible as you are, you were not the one who attacked me that day.”
“Silly girl. You’d left me no choice. The flat should have been empty. The police had been there the night before until all hours, and I couldn’t risk showing my face.”
“What were you looking for?”
“A letter.”
“From Reverend Flannery.”
He looked at her, expression cold. “Yes. Jacob Stern was brave before he had a knife to his throat. He goaded me before a room of people and thought I would leave it alone?” He shook his head. “The fool was supposed to have remained in Bucharest. The fact that I returned to London should never have been an issue. He saw me one day and wrote to the reverend demanding money in exchange for his silence regarding an . . . incident. Stern was expecting a response any day and said that if I left him alone, he would share the bounty. Of course, it would not do for the police to find correspondence at Stern’s flat that connected me to him.”
She decided against acknowledging his reference to Vivien. “The letter did arrive, only that morning before I did. I thought you must have known of its existence, because you searched my reticule for it that night in the hospital.”
It was an assumption on her part that he neither confirmed nor denied. His expression remained impassive.
“The letter does not refer to you as ‘Radcliffe,’ only ‘Smith.’ I doubt Mr. Stern knew you had adopted that name. None of us knew you as ‘Smith.’ The letter was not worth your time.”
The Matchmaker's Lonely Heart Page 26
