The Golden Songbird

by Sheila Walsh

  After remarking tartly that it was gratifying to find one person concerned enough to bear her company, the old lady dozed beside the drawing room fire, until Saunders came in bearing a letter for Lucia.

  Almost at once Lucia sprang to her feet with a cry. Her ladyship, rudely shaken from her slumber, demanded irritably to know what in heaven’s name ailed the child!

  ‘It’s from Aunt Addie,’ Lucia said in a shaky voice. ‘Grandpapa is very ill. I must go at once!’

  Lady Springhope at once cast her own misery aside. Saunders was dispatched to have the horses put to immediately, and to tell Newbury to take one of the young grooms for extra protection.

  ‘I don’t like the idea of your going off alone, child!’ she bemoaned as Lucia came hurrying down the stairs pulling on her gloves, followed by Chloe with a hastily filled portmanteau. ‘If only I felt a little stronger! Could you not wait for Hugo or Charles? If anything should happen … a man might be needed …’

  This morbid reflection only served to speed Lucia on her way, though, having sampled Hugo’s mode of travel, the coach seemed to move with interminable slowness.

  As though to thwart her still further, the swaying coach came to an abrupt halt, throwing them both from their seats. There was some indistinct shouting and two shots rang out in quick succession.

  Lucia started up, shouting for Newbury. All was silence and her eyes met Chloe’s terrified ones. Then the door on her side was wrenched open and a huge great-coated figure blotted out the light.

  ‘If Newbury is your coachman, I fear he will not be answering.’

  ‘You!’

  ‘Yes Lucia, it is me!’ She was pushed sprawling back against the seat as Sir Gideon swung himself into the coach; the thin-faced man from Knightsbridge appeared at the other door. Chloe screamed and went on screaming.

  ‘Shut yer face,’ growled the thin man.

  Lucia reached for her reticule where the pistol lay. Sir Gideon’s long arm shot out and dragged her back. In a flash she twisted free and this time her fingers touched the strings before he was upon her again. With brutal deliberation he seized the front of her gown and rent it in two to the waist, and as her fingers instinctively flew to hold the dress together, he gathered up the reticule and flung it across the carriage.

  ‘This time there will be no gun ‒ and no gallant Lord Mandersely to rescue you. Just you and me ‒ and some unfinished business!’

  Under her horrified gaze he brought a flask from his pocket and removed the stopper. He thrust a hand under her chin. ‘Come now ‒ drink!’

  She tried to drag his hand away and he laughed.

  She fought and kicked and struggled until he forced a knee across her body, pinning her against the seat.

  ‘Fer Christ’s sake, get a move on in there!’ came a hoarse whisper from the road.

  The thin man, tired of trying to subdue a hysterical Chloe, brought his fist crashing down across her jaw and she slumped, unconscious, across the seat.

  Lucia’s scream was locked in her throat; the hand beneath her chin pushed remorselessly upwards. ‘Nathan gets a bit rough sometimes,’ breathed the full-lipped mouth, so sickeningly close to her own. ‘Now are you going to drink ‒ or must I let him repeat the dose on you?’

  She was forced to swallow a great quantity of the foul-tasting brandy.

  ‘You don’t understand!’ she gasped. ‘My grandfather …’

  ‘Is probably this minute sitting down to his dinner.’ She stared, uncomprehending. ‘Just a small deception …’ he leered.

  Strange noises were roaring in her ears … his face began to grow larger and undulate slowly … and then the gloating eyes detached themselves and swam towards her. Inside her head she was screaming, but no sound came out above the roaring noises … they grew and grew until the carriage swelled up into an enormous echoing cavern …

  Sir Gideon lifted her senseless body with ease. ‘Get a move on!’ he snapped at Nathan, who was making heavy weather of Chloe’s buxom form.

  ‘She ain’t no lightweight, Guv!’

  ‘Well, call Percy ‒ only for God’s sake move, man!’ Sir Gideon crossed to a closed carriage pulled across the road. He laid Lucia on the seat, closely followed by the two men who dumped Chloe unceremoniously on the floor of the carriage and shut the door.

  In the stinking alleyway behind Covent Garden, the sound of a carriage clattering to a halt near the back entrance of one of the better known houses of pleasure to discharge its cargo, excited little curiosity. Brothels, after all, were as commonplace a necessity as any other ‒ the gentry had the same appetites as lower men. It was as simple as that.

  Old Megan, shepherding her own little clutch of girls towards the brighter lights of civilization, paused in the shadows to cast an expert, rheumy eye over the fair one as she was being carried across the greasy cobbles. In the sudden pool of light spilling from the open doorway, the old crone glimpsed the beautiful, silvery hair shaken loose from its pins; skin like alabaster stretching into a long, elegant neck … she cackled to herself. It was going to cost some swell cove a pretty fortune to pleasure that one!

  Sir Gideon followed Sarah Faulkner up the back staircase to the second floor, where she flung open the door to a small room, furnished with shabby opulence and dominated by a huge bed. He tossed Lucia on to the faded brocade quilt and winced slightly as he put up a hand to rub his shoulder.

  The two men carrying Chloe, demanded to know what was to be done with her. Sir Gideon looked up and shrugged.

  ‘She’s of no interest to me, Sal. Make whatever use of her you wish. I’ve no doubt she’s as virtuous as her mistress!’

  Sarah looked the girl over dispassionately, noting the bruise already beginning to discolour the jaw. Chloe stirred and moaned softly.

  ‘Put her next door for now,’ she said. ‘Gideon, I wish you would restrain Nathan’s use of brute force. I’ve had one or two complaints from the customers.’

  She walked to the foot of the bed ‒ a handsome, titian-haired woman, tall and curvaceous. She had run this establishment for Sir Gideon for the past five years and had made it one of his most successful ventures. She had a reputation for giving quality, value for money and had a fine turn for novelties that kept the customers coming.

  Her hard, china-blue eyes now ran expertly over Lucia; she lifted the silken hair and let it ripple gently through her fingers. ‘So this is the little maid you’re so set on deflowering!’ Her voice was husky, with just a hint of a brogue. ‘I suppose you are still set on it? She’d make a perfect centrepiece for our Festival of Venus later tonight.’

  Sir Gideon’s voice was harsh. ‘No, Sal. This one is mine!’

  Sarah drew in a sharp breath. ‘I don’t know what the child has done, Gideon, but I hope to God you never hate me that much!’

  He wasn’t listening. With fumbling fingers he dragged at Lucia’s cloak, tearing the clasp apart, and it seemed that he would dispose of the already gaping dress in similar fashion, when he stopped suddenly and began instead to slap her into consciousness.

  Sarah stepped forward and lifted one of the girl’s eyelids.

  ‘Get out!’ he rasped. ‘I don’t need you.’

  Her shrill laugh trilled out. ‘You’re a fool, Gideon! You’ll get nothing out of her for hours! She’s drugged to the eyeballs!’

  His rage was frightening. He seized Lucia’s shoulders and shook her with terrible force. Sarah’s laughter died. She wrenched at his arm.

  ‘Stop it, you madman! God! You’ll snap her neck! Stop it, I say! I’ll not have murder done in this house!’

  Benedict threw her off violently, but after a moment he dropped the lifeless figure back on the bed, drawing in great, shuddering breaths. The red fury in his eyes died to an ice-cold venom. He stood, staring down, muttering half to himself, mouthing appalling obscenities.

  Sarah Faulkner watched him, sick with apprehension. Only twice had she seen him go completely berserk. The first time he had killed a man with h
is bare hands ‒ just snapped his neck as though he were a chicken! The second time concerned one of her girls …

  She looked at Lucia … and shuddered … better not to think about the second. God! If those stupid women who fawned on him, sighing over his ruthless charm, could see him as he really was!

  ‘Sometimes I wonder about you,’ she whispered.

  He turned on her with a snarl. ‘Don’t! I don’t pay you to wonder.’ He strode towards the door and Nathan and Percy, who had watched with huge enjoyment, beat a hasty retreat. ‘I’ll be back at ten o’clock ‒ that should be time enough to bring her to her senses. And keep this door locked. I don’t want any of your customers straying.’

  He slammed out. Sarah followed more slowly. With a last almost pitying glance at the girl on the bed, she closed the door and turned the key.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘She ought not to have gone off alone to face goodness knows what!’ Aunt Aurelia had worked herself into a fine state of agitation by the time Hetty and Charles returned, and when, halfway through her recital, Hugo walked in with Toby, she was obliged to begin again.

  ‘With the best will in the world one could not say Addie was at her best in a crisis,’ she repeated querulously. ‘… If only I had felt more myself …’

  ‘Be easy, Aunt,’ said Hugo soothingly. ‘There is a very simple solution. I will ride after Lucia.’

  His aunt’s brow cleared. ‘Would you, dear boy? I confess I should be easier in my mind.’

  Saunders came quietly into the room. He looked uncertainly at Lady Springhope and crossed to Hugo’s side. His voice was low and urgent.

  ‘Excuse me, my lord ‒ may I speak with you?’

  Hugo’s brows were arched quizzically as he followed the butler from the room. ‘Well, Saunders?’

  The old man’s distress became more marked. ‘Oh, my lord Hugo!’

  Hugo was suddenly cold. ‘Out with it man ‒ don’t hedge!’

  ‘The coach, m’lord ‒ it’s come back. Newbury’s in a terrible way … and young Perkins …’ his voice quivered ‘… dead, m’lord, his brains blown out!’

  ‘Miss Mannering?’ Hugo forced the question out.

  There were tears in Saunders’ eyes. ‘Gone, Sir!’

  Hugo shut his eyes and a shudder ran through him. ‘Where is Newbury? I will see him.’

  ‘The porter helped me with him, my lord. We’ve put him in the little front salon. He’s badly shaken up, poor fellow.’

  Hetty came flying from the room behind them. ‘Lordy, Hugo, whatever is wrong? You look like death!’

  Her brother stared at her for all the world as though he did not see her. ‘Hetty? Get Charles out here quickly, and if possible without causing any alarm!’

  Hetty’s eyes opened wide, sensing disaster. ‘But why?’

  ‘Just do as I ask, please!’

  Charles came willingly enough, thinking it was some tease of Hetty’s until he saw their faces.

  Hugo explained as they hurried down the stairs, with Hetty running to keep up.

  Hugo half-turned. ‘Go back, Hetty. This is not for you.’

  She was indignant. ‘Lucy is my friend! I have a right to know.’

  He didn’t argue.

  Newbury was perched incongruously on one of Lady Springhope’s little gilt chairs, his head propped in his hands. He raised a ghastly face.

  ‘Brandy, Saunders!’ snapped Hugo. ‘Quickly, man!’

  Hugo put an arm gently round the old man’s shoulders and persuaded him to drink.

  When his colour was better, Hugo said quietly, ‘Now ‒ do you feel able to tell us what happened? Just take your time.’

  ‘We didn’t ’ave no chance, me lord. There was this coach pulled half across the road. I thought it was a breakdown … they rode at us out of the trees, a big, red-haired man and another …’

  Hugo and Charles exchanged glances.

  ‘Fired in cold blood they did … thought they’d done for us. It was this as saved me, though I was knocked senseless.’ He fumblingly drew out a heavy silver watch, smashed almost beyond recognition. ‘Her ladyship gave it me last Christmas …’

  ‘It will be replaced,’ said Hugo quietly.

  ‘Oh, it’s not that, m’lord!’ The old man’s voice quavered. ‘It’s them fiends taking the young missy … and Chloe too! And I had to leave Perkins on the road, poor lad … with half ’is head blown off … I couldn’t lift him you see …’ He began to weep helplessly and Hugo motioned to Saunders to take him away.

  ‘Dispatch a man to Grosvenor Square to bring Colbert to me, Saunders,’ he added in a low voice as they left the room.

  Charles was comforting Hetty. ‘This is a damnable business, Hugo. It was Benedict of course.’

  ‘Without a doubt.’ Hugo was grim. ‘Someone is going to have some hard explaining to do.’

  Charles looked puzzled.

  ‘He has been under constant surveillance since that last affair. As far as I knew he was still in Ireland. He must have given my men the slip.’ He frowned. ‘I must go up and tell Aunt Aurelia … and Toby. I don’t know how Toby will take it.’

  They both stared at him, Hetty’s tears momentarily checked.

  ‘But why?’ she gasped. ‘Oh, he’ll be dreadfully upset, of course, we all are, but …’

  ‘You must have seen the way things are between them?’

  ‘Oh Hugo ‒ what nonsense! Why, Lucia has been eating her heart out for you these weeks past!’

  A slight flush marked Hugo’s cheek. ‘No! you are mistaken.’

  Hetty stamped her foot. ‘I am not mistaken! I tell you Lucia was heart-broken when she learned you were to offer for Sophia …’

  Hugo seized her arm, his eyes blazing. ‘When she heard what?’

  ‘Let go, Hugo! You’re hurting! We … I was told quite definitely …’

  ‘Then you were misinformed!’ He released Hetty abruptly and passed a hand across his eyes. ‘Oh! What a damn fool I’ve been!’

  ‘I promised her I wouldn’t say anything,’ Hetty wailed, ‘but it don’t signify now …’ Her sobs began afresh.

  Charles took her in his arms, but Hugo snapped that there was no time for histrionics. ‘Aunt Aurelia is going to need your support. Pull yourself together, for God’s sake, whilst Charles and I take a look at the coach.’

  Here, the signs of a struggle were all too evident. A green strapped sandal lay tumbled upon the floor and in one corner, wedged behind a cushion, they found Lucia’s reticule. Hugo retrieved it and took out the little pearl-mounted pistol. They looked at it ‒ and at each other.

  Charles wrinkled his nose. ‘Brandy?’

  ‘Drugged, most likely.’

  ‘Oh God!’

  A gleam of hope came into Hugo’s eyes. ‘Don’t be too distressed, my dear Charles; it could be the saving of her if we can find her quickly!’

  Colbert rode in at the gate and Hugo spent several minutes explaining what he required of him, then Colbert was away, grim-faced.

  Aunt Aurelia took the news badly. She fell back against her cushions and Hetty rushed across to pick up her vinaigrette and hold it under her nose.

  Toby dashed his hat to the ground. ‘The unspeakable swine! You’ll have him this time, Hugo?’

  Hugo, watching him, was reassured; Toby was white and shaken, but it was the reaction of a dear friend, not of a lover.

  ‘He won’t escape. But we must find Lucia first.’

  Aunt Aurelia moaned. ‘Oh, what must that poor child be suffering?’ She sat bolt upright. ‘And what of Rupert? Was it all a hoax?’

  Hugo’s eye lighted on Lucia’s discarded letter. He snatched it up and held it out to his aunt. ‘Is that Addie Mannering’s hand?’

  She shook her head, looking suddenly old and frightened.

  ‘Then I think we may assume that the Colonel is in his usual health.’

  Toby and Charles had fallen to discussing where Sir Gideon might have taken Lucia. The house at Knightsbridge an
d his rooms in Chelsea were discarded as being too obvious.

  ‘Bruton Street ‒ Franklyn’s place?’ Toby suggested.

  ‘I think not.’ Hugo glanced significantly at his aunt. ‘We had best go downstairs ‒ work the thing out properly.’ He bent to kiss the tear-ravaged cheek. ‘Try not to worry, my dear. We shall get Lucia back safe and sound.’

  Downstairs, he said in a low voice, ‘I have a great fear of where Benedict might have taken her!’

  The two men stared at him in dawning horror.

  ‘He wouldn’t!’ breathed Charles.

  ‘Well, think, man!’ said Hugo savagely. ‘Put yourself in his place! Where better to hide a girl you don’t want found? The devil of it is, where do we begin? With a good half-dozen high-class brothels to his credit, and God knows how many cesspools of vice besides, Lucia could be anywhere!’

  ‘Then we don’t have a chance.’ There was despair in Toby’s voice.

  ‘On the contrary, we have a very good chance. I’m pinning my hope on Colbert. He has a way of nosing out information. Meanwhile …’ Hugo eyed the other two grimly, ‘I want Benedict found ‒ discreetly. If Lucia has been drugged, he will be obliged to kick his heels for a while.’

  Toby choked, but Hugo continued evenly. ‘We’ll split up. If … when he is found, I want him followed and his every move reported.’

  ‘And if he is not found?’ Charles voiced the unspoken fear.

  ‘Then we think again.’ Hugo’s voice was harsh. ‘Toby ‒ are you not tired out, dear boy? I am forgetting you are still convalescent.’

  Toby swore and declared he was more likely to suffer a relapse if forced to remain inactive. And so they dispersed; in less than an hour Toby was back, chafing with impatience until Hugo appeared.

  ‘I’ve found the swine! In the Nonesuch … with … guess who? Friend Franklyn!’

  ‘Did they see you?’

  Toby stretched out in a chair. ‘Oh yes, by jove! Damn me, if you’d seen the smirk on his face! Took me all my time not to smash it down his throat! Don’t worry …’ He put up a hand as Hugo’s brows came together. ‘I didn’t move so much as a whisker! They left shortly afterwards ‒ walking towards Bruton Street. My men are on to them.’