The Golden Songbird

by Sheila Walsh

  Toby sat up suddenly. ‘D’ye think we’ve been barking up the wrong tree ‒ that Lucia is at Bruton Street after all?’

  Hugo drew out his snuff-box. ‘I don’t know. Every instinct tells me not ‒ and yet …’

  Charles came in and they explained the situation.

  ‘Can we afford to ignore the possibility?’ he queried.

  ‘You are right of course,’ said Hugo briskly. ‘We go to Bruton Street. If Lucia isn’t there, we’ll choke the truth out of Benedict. I’ll leave word for Colbert.’

  On the front step they were almost sent flying by Colbert who had ridden like a man possessed from a small, seedy hostelry in Cheapside.

  ‘I’ve found her, m’lord!’ he gasped. ‘Leastways I know where she is!’

  Hugo dragged him into the hall, his eyes ablaze. ‘You are sure, man?’

  ‘Sure certain, m’lord! I knows this place where Benedict’s pig of a coachman takes ’is tipple, so I goes there and in he comes. Well he don’t remember me, see.’ The ugly face split into a toothy grin. ‘So I plies ’im with a few drinks and lets slip a few pertinent questions and in no time he’s spillin’ the lot!’

  Colbert was enjoying himself.

  ‘Get on with it, man!’ roared Toby.

  ‘Yes sir. Well, it was a great joke, d’ye see. Seemingly old Benedict give our Missy a wopping overdose of laudanum or some-such ‒ and she was spark out, so ’e couldn’t have ’is way with her …’

  Colbert caught the expression on the Marquis’s face ‒ and blenched. ‘Sorry, me lord. No offence intended.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Hugo, evenly.

  ‘Yes sir. Well, I kidded him along and got ’im to cough where it was they’d taken the Missy … the Corsair ‒ in Great Russell Street ‒ and “E” ain’t there, cos Percy saw him leave.’

  Hugo let his breath go in a deep sigh. ‘Thank you, Colbert.’

  ‘That’s all right, me lord. Are we going to get her out of there then, me lord?’

  ‘Yes, Colbert ‒ we are. We’ll take my aunt’s town coach. Have the horses put to. Oh, and Colbert …?’

  ‘Yes, me lord?’ The little man waited, his wide shoulders and long arms making him look for all the world like an inquisitive monkey.

  ‘There is no chance of this character rumbling you and warning his employer?’

  ‘Funny as you should arsk, sir! Same thought crossed my mind, only as things turned out ‒ he had a nasty accident on his way ’ome … dead drunk ’e was ‒ fell into a rain butt, head first! I tried to get ’im out of course, me lord, but he was a big man!’

  ‘Most unfortunate!’

  ‘Yes, me lord.’ Colbert met the gleam in Hugo’s eye with a look of pious innocence and hurried away.

  ‘That’s quite a man you have!’ breathed Charles in awe.

  ‘Oh, Colbert’s an original ‒ I wouldn’t change him for all your smart-liveried johnnies!’

  Hugo looked at the other two and the light of hope, carefully suppressed, was in his eyes. Colbert brought the coach smartly up to the gates. ‘Well, my friends, shall we go?’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lucia fought against the pull of returning consciousness, as though sensing some awful, nameless horror. Her eyes flickered open at last to half-darkness and unfamiliar walls; a single candle on the mantelshelf sent dark shapes leaping in a mirror at the foot of the bed.

  In her nostrils there was an overpowering smell of cheap perfume and waves of nausea threatened to engulf her. Trembling, drenched in perspiration, she called Chloe, but her voice was a pathetic croak in the silence.

  Then she remembered! Panic suffocated her and she sat up. A thousand jagged needles exploded in her head! Nausea welled up again into her dry, aching throat and she sank back.

  She lay quite still, trying to pull herself together. Once again, she set her teeth and raised herself; waited for the giddiness to subside and swung her feet to the floor. She stood up, swaying; where her legs should have been, there was a woolly sensation and she found herself crumbling into an ignominious heap.

  Sobbing with frustration, sick and dizzy, she dragged herself to the door. It was locked!

  In despair she turned to the window. The panes were small and incredibly dirty. Somewhere below a dog was howling. A door opened, spilling a shaft of light on to a huddle of crumbling buildings; a bowl of slops was thrown and the dog’s howl turned to an indignant yelping. There was a shout of laughter and the door closed, leaving Lucia with an overwhelming feeling of loneliness.

  She sank back on her heels, and leaned her head against the window-ledge. Dear God! If she didn’t feel so ill!

  She tensed suddenly, clutching at the gaping front of her dress. The key was turning in the lock!

  A woman stood in the doorway, holding high a glowing lamp ‒ an extraordinary vision dressed in some exotic costume, her hair burnished in the soft lamplight.

  ‘Oh, so you’ve come round at last!’ It was like some hideous nightmare. The woman placed the lamp on a small table and shut the door. ‘Feeling a bit groggy are you, dearie?’

  Lucia’s throat ached abominably. ‘Chloe?’

  ‘The maid-servant? She’s safe enough.’

  ‘Where am I?’

  Sarah Faulkner’s laugh trilled out. ‘Well now dear, if I was to tell you, I doubt you’d understand.’

  It was a few seconds before the innuendo penetrated Lucia’s weary brain; her eyes slowly widened with horror. She hauled herself to her feet and stood clinging to the curtain, willing her legs not to buckle.

  ‘Oh! So you’re not as green as I thought!’ Sarah stepped forward. ‘I think you’d best lie down again.’

  Lucia thrust her away.

  ‘Please! You must help me! I have to get away. Hugo will never find me here … no-one will ever find me here!’

  Sarah chuckled dryly. ‘I rather think that was the idea! Come along now, be sensible, Gideon would have my life if you weren’t here when he returned!’

  Lucia shuddered at the mention of Sir Gideon, and Sarah half-led, half-carried the protesting girl back to the bed, finding herself unexpectedly moved by the almost bird-like fragility of the slight figure.

  She turned away, closing her mind to the thought of what Gideon could do to such a delicate, gentle creature.

  ‘I’ll get you some strong coffee,’ she said abruptly.

  ‘You won’t help me?’

  It was a hopeless statement of fact. Sarah cursed. In all her years in the business she’d never felt this awful sense of betrayal! It was a hard, cruel world; it wasn’t her fault that this silly child had got involved. If only she wouldn’t lie there so still, her jaw clamped tight and those big eyes like dark, tragic pools, reproaching her!

  Sarah sat down abruptly. Under the heavy oriental make-up, her face was haggard.

  ‘Sorry, dear ‒ I’d like to help you, but I daren’t! I wasn’t exaggerating ‒ Gideon really would kill me! I’ve never seen him as obsessed as he is by you.’ She took Lucia’s ice-cold hand and there was sudden urgency in her words. ‘Will you take a bit of advice from an old “pro” dearie? Don’t make him angry!’ She hesitated. ‘He’ll … likely give you a bit of a rough time, but for God’s sake don’t provoke him!’

  Sarah stood up, unable any longer to look into the stiff, white face. ‘I’ll get that coffee,’ she muttered.

  As she neared the first floor, sounds of restiveness assailed her ears. In the large salon her invited guests, many of them important and influential people, were growing restless. If she didn’t get the Festival started soon, there would be trouble. She suddenly felt sick to the stomach ‒ lecherous, whoring beasts the lot of them ‒ and the women who came were something worse! Oh, damn Gideon for bringing that girl! And damn the girl for making Sarah Faulkner feel as she hadn’t felt in a very long time!

  In the foyer more angry voices were being raised. A pox on trouble; why did it all have to come at once! She found Sam Preevy, her burly doorman, and Connell Quinn
her cousin, engaged in a heated altercation with three gentlemen, one of whom she vaguely recognised.

  Connell, came hurrying across. ‘Trouble, Sal!’ he warned. ‘The tall, saturnine one is Mandersely. He’s in hot pursuit of that chit Gideon saddled us with. I knew no good would come of it!’

  Mandersely! But of course! Sarah knew enough of him to feel a sudden unease; she put on her brightest smile and crossed the hall to confront him.

  ‘Lord Mandersely. I am Sarah Faulkner; how may I help you?’

  He turned, his glass slowly taking in the full garishness of her costume. His lip curled very slightly and Sarah stiffened, her hands clenched at her sides.

  ‘You have a young lady and her maid held here under duress,’ he said at last. ‘I am come to relieve you of them.’

  ‘Oh come, my lord!’ she trilled archly. ‘You gentlemen are all the same! The times I have heard such a tale!’ She ignored Connell’s frantic signals. ‘We have many young ladies here ‒ most of them ready and willing to please in any number of ways. Of course, one or two are … reluctant at first; some gentlemen prefer it that way. So if there is a special kind of girl you require, I am sure we can accommodate you!’

  Toby swore a mighty oath, but the Marquis just looked at Sarah for a full half-minute without speaking; ample time for her to reflect nervously that she had never seen such cold eyes in any man she had ever met.

  Finally he said softly, ‘Shall we begin again, Madam? I must warn you that I am not a patient man; since I would not dream of insulting your intelligence, pray do not insult mine! You know the girl of whom I speak.’

  She avoided meeting those eyes. ‘You are mistaken, my lord ‒ I cannot help you.’

  The Marquis sighed. ‘Mrs Faulkner ‒ you disappoint me! Now understand this!’ Every word fell like chipped ice. ‘If I must, I will break every bone in your lovely body and I will tear this house apart, brick by bawdy brick, until I find her!’

  Quinn and Sam Preevy moved forward to find themselves looking down the barrel of a pistol.

  Sarah knew that further evasion was useless. She waved her henchmen away and led the way upstairs.

  On the first floor the noise increased in volume, and erupted suddenly as a door opened and an elderly exquisite tottered out, his cravat violently askew.

  He hailed Sarah petulantly. ‘I say, Sal! When does this precious entertainment begin? Your guests grow damned weary of waiting.’ He spied Hugo. ‘Stap me, Mandersely! Didn’t think this was in your line of country!’

  He sidled up. ‘Heard about this Festival, eh m’boy? Egad, you’re in for a rare treat!’ He leered wickedly. ‘Pagan fertility rights ‒ the lot! These Polynesian natives, or whatever, have some damned rum practices if Sal ain’t havin’ us on! Quite unbelievable, eh Sal!’

  Hugo’s mouth set in a rigid line. With heightened colour Sarah bundled the old Duke back into the salon, saying that she would come directly.

  On the second floor, she turned the key in the lock and said abruptly, ‘I am glad you came, my lord. She has not been harmed.’

  He strode into the room and checked momentarily at the sight of Lucia lying on the huge bed, seemingly unconscious, her face as pale as death, her dress distressingly awry. His eyes blazed as he moved forward.

  Lucia lay motionless, her eyes tight shut. She had been waiting for a very long time ‒ or so it seemed. Once or twice the door-handle had been rattled and each time she had tensed, choking on her fear.

  Now the time had come, for she knew it was not the woman who had entered. With a feeling of calm she acknowledged that life as she had known it for the last few months was at an end. She could never face her grandfather, or the dear friends she had made, after this! Of Hugo, she could not bear to think at all.

  She had resolved to endure what must be endured, without the indignity of a struggle ‒ and afterwards she would kill herself!

  And yet, the moment the hands closed on her, every instinct revolted and she was fighting like a wild-cat! Someone was shouting her name, but she was beyond listening. She was being shaken ‒ and suddenly, unbelievably, it was Hugo’s voice. ‘Lucy! for God’s sake open your eyes! Lucy! Do you hear me?’

  He really was there! She clung to him, incoherent and torn apart by wild, uncontrollable sobs. He wrapped her cloak around her and lifted her high in his arms; grim-faced and silent, Toby and Charles stood aside to let him pass. He faced Sarah Faulkner and his voice grated. ‘The maid-servant?’

  The door of the next room was flung back and Hugo called Chloe’s name; slowly a pathetic, incongruous figure in a bizarre harem costume crept forward.

  ‘Oh, my lord! Oh sir!’ she wailed trying to cover herself with her hands. No amount of powder and paint could disguise the bruised and swollen jaw.

  Hugo’s face was like granite. ‘Madam. This child has a cloak.’

  Casting him a glance of pure hatred, Sarah disappeared and returned with the cloak which Charles wrapped around Chloe, keeping a comforting arm round her shaking shoulders as they were led down the back stairs.

  And then they were out in the fresh air and Sarah Faulkner was left to pull together the shattered remains of a disastrous evening … and somehow face Sir Gideon.

  Colbert drove back to Portland Place at a bruising pace. The only sounds inside the coach were Lucia’s racking sobs which showed no sign of abating.

  To see his dear, proud girl so reduced, appalled Hugo; he held her close, soothing her with quiet words ‒ but in his heart there was black murder.

  ‘Wait!’ He rapped the order at Colbert and carried Lucia into the house and up the stairs.

  The door of the small drawing room flew open and Hetty cried ‘Aunt Aurelia! It’s Hugo ‒ and he’s got Lucia!’

  There was a faint cry from inside the room as Hetty ran to the head of the stairs. With questions ringing in his ears Hugo walked rapidly to Lucia’s room and laid her on the bed, gently loosening the hands still clutching at his coat.

  ‘You’re home now,’ he said in a quiet, clear voice. ‘Hetty is here to look after you.’ He turned to his sister. ‘I believe her to be no more than badly frightened, but get Dr Gordon. He’ll need to take a look at Chloe too.’

  The look on his face scared Hetty. She grabbed at his sleeve, but he brushed her aside.

  In the doorway of the drawing room Aunt Aurelia stood clinging to Charles, a handkerchief pressed to her lips. Hugo seemed to recollect himself, stopped and took her hands. ‘She’s quite safe now,’ he said gently. ‘He’ll never get another chance to hurt her.’

  Aunt Aurelia nodded, unable to speak.

  Striding across the hall, Hugo became aware of Toby keeping step beside him. There were unmistakable signs of strain in his young cousin’s face. He stopped and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Go and rest, dear boy. You have played your part magnificently, but I can see that you are quite worn out. I would not have your relapse upon my conscience. What remains to be done, only I can do.’

  ‘I shall hold up a little longer,’ said Toby with quiet determination. ‘You are not going to that house alone!’

  Hugo frowned ‒ and then, with the faintest of smiles, they turned together and walked on.

  Colbert was instructed to stop at Grosvenor Square, where Hugo vanished inside the house, to reappear in a very short space of time with a pair of duelling rapiers tucked firmly under his arm.

  Edward Jameson hurried out on to the step in his wake.

  ‘My lord?’

  Hugo swung round, impatience darkening his face.

  ‘Miss Mannering, my lord?’

  ‘She is safe.’

  ‘Thank God!’ The young secretary eyed the rapiers with foreboding. ‘Sir, if you will forgive me for saying so, I am sure that is not altogether wise.’

  Hugo said with icy hauteur, ‘I do not believe I expressed any desire to listen to your opinions.’

  ‘No, my lord.’ Edward flushed. ‘My concern is solely lest, in your present, wholly unders
tandable frame of mind, you might be constrained to act recklessly.’

  The eyebrows rose incredulously. ‘You’re full of words, aren’t you, lad?’ The boyish grin flashed out for a moment. ‘But you should know, I am never reckless!’

  ‘No, sir?’ Edward permitted himself a small answering smile, but insisted urgently, ‘Do be careful!’

  ‘My dear Edward, I have every intention of so being!’ drawled the Marquis with a return of his old urbanity. He turned and ran lightly down the steps to the waiting coach.

  Toby also eyed the rapiers with a jaundiced eye. ‘Damned if I can see why you need to take a chance like that. Shoot him like the mad dog he is, I say!’

  ‘How very crude!’ murmured his lordship.

  ‘Aye ‒ maybe, but it’s also very final!’

  ‘My way will be just as final, I promise you!’ Hugo’s voice had dropped so low that Toby could scarcely hear, yet he found himself giving an involuntary shiver.

  In Bruton Street, the two men Toby had left on watch detached themselves from the railings and straightened up respectfully. There had been no comings or goings, they reported. The house had been quiet as the grave. Hugo smiled grimly.

  The lackey who opened the door was disconcerted to find himself hustled backwards into the hall.

  ‘Your master!’ ordered Hugo. ‘Get him out here ‒ alone. And take particular care not to alarm his guest, if you know what is good for you!’

  The servant had no intention of playing the hero. Franklyn commanded very little loyalty or respect below stairs.

  Mr Franklyn came almost at once from a room at the rear of the hall, lurching slightly and grumbling at being disturbed. He peered forward and, seeing Hugo, half-turned back, alarm flickering in his bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Don’t!’ snapped Toby. His pistol was aimed unwaveringly at Franklyn’s bulging stomach. ‘You and I are going to bear one another company whilst my cousin completes a little unfinished business.’