by Cindy Anstey
Beth dug into the toe of each boot, and while she did find paper, wrinkled and torn, they were only old newspapers. She held the last boot aloft, still upended upon her arm. “These are not a man’s style.” She turned it about. “Nor a man’s size.”
“Bother!” James sat with much less ceremony than usual, almost a sprawl. He took the list from the table and crumpled it into a ball. He batted it to Brant, who returned the volley. “Two steps forward and three back,” he said. “Why would the owner of the brown cloak have a list of a woman’s appointments? Just as we think we are gaining, we find ourselves falling behind. Each clue leads to more questions.”
The room was silent except for the occasional sigh and creaking of the chairs on which they were poised. Outside, the street noise was constant and familiar, a comfort for the time being.
* * *
AS THE EVENING PROGRESSED, the ease of those gathered in the townhouse increased. Dr. Brant had invited James to dine and enjoy the evening together. Their congenial banter had not been interrupted by any of the men lingering out of doors on their behalf. Relaxation became the order of the night.
When the party returned to the privacy of the drawing room, it was to continue the conviviality—perhaps Caroline might be persuaded to play for them on the piano. Yes, all in all a pleasant way to end a topsy-turvy day.
Beth sighed in contentment as James joined her on the settee, albeit at a respectable distance. Still, their shared glances brought a flush to Beth’s cheeks and she found it difficult to stop her mouth from grinning—a silly, besotted grin.
“Excuse me, sir.” The butler addressed Dr. Brant from the doorway. “I regret to inform you, sir, that there is a police person who wishes to speak with you. Calls himself Inspector Davis. I have shown him to the study.”
Beth stiffened, eyes wide and distressed. Did this have anything to do with her?
“Really?” Dr. Brant frowned. “In the study? A peeler?”
“Yes, sir,” Reeves said with great dignity.
“Well, there you go.” Dr. Brant lifted one shoulder. “Wonder if R. and E.H. want their boots back.”
The teasing fell flat. The room was solemn and quiet.
“Why would a policeman be at your door?” Caroline looked to Dr. Brant and then at the mantel clock. It was a quarter of ten. “And at this hour?”
“Could it be another ruse?” Beth asked, tamping down her urge to flee.
Dr. Brant hovered by the door.
James rose, tugged at his waistcoat needlessly, and joined his friend. “There is no point in speculating,” James said. “If it is another trick, we shall set the true peelers on him.”
“Right!” Dr. Brant agreed as the young men exchanged glances.
“We will be back directly. Worry not.” Though James’ words were spoken in general, Beth had no doubt that the reassurance was meant for her.
The gentlemen left the room with carefully cultivated untroubled expressions.
Wordless, Beth and Caroline stared after them. They listened to the men’s footsteps as they crossed the hall and heard the creaky study door open. Dr. Brant’s greeting was delivered in a rather blunt manner before the mighty oak swung closed, preventing any tone, phrase, word, or even vowel from seeping through its cracks.
* * *
JAMES DID NOT know what to expect, as he had heard little of the newly formed London police force. Inspector Davis was a man of indiscernible age. His face was strong but had no dominant features other than a cleft chin, and his mode of dress was insignificant. He stood calmly watching them as they entered. He did not seem surprised that while he had asked after one gentleman, he had been delivered two.
Brant introduced himself and then James. Again, no surprise registered on the expressionless countenance of the man.
“I do hope, Inspector, that your business is of enough urgency to take me away from my drawing room. It is late.”
“Yes, Doctor, it is.” The man’s voice was his only defining characteristic; it was deep and gravelly. He pulled a wad of paper from his pocket in such a manner that it reminded James of Mr. Strickland. “How many number in this household, sir?”
“Eight staff, two guests, and myself. What is the purpose of these questions, Inspector?”
“Could I have the names of all those within, please, sir?”
“No, you may not.”
James was surprised at the effrontery of the man. His tone and manner were almost arrogant. He was still in a quandary over the inspector’s claim of authority. Was he or was he not a true peeler? Did this arrogance add credence to his claim or proof of subterfuge?
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to answer some of our questions first?” James’ tone was intentionally disdainful.
“M’lord?” The inspector didn’t deign to look up.
“What district do you cover and who is your superior? What proof do you have of who you are and your position?”
The man calling himself Inspector Davis looked up slowly. He shook his head slightly, scratched at the stubble on his chin, and rubbed his eyes.
James was not sure if the inspector’s gestures were to control his agitation or give the man time to think of a feasible answer. Either way, it was soon irrelevant as a heavy knock at the door interrupted the proceedings. The hammering was repeated before those within had time to react.
“Yes, Reeves, what is it?”
The door opened not on the expressionless countenance of the butler, but the worried, almost frantic face of Ned.
“We’re surrounded, m’lord. They got Benny and Sam, and I has no idea if they got the two round back.”
“Be sure that we have.”
James and Brant whipped their heads toward the gravelly voice. “What is the meaning of this?” shouted James, trying to warn the women.
Just then, the door below slammed open and a stream of men rushed in, colliding with Reeves, sending him arse over teakettle. They were dressed in blue uniforms with brass buttons. Without hesitation, they started up the stairs.
All thoughts, questions, or even emotions were rendered impotent as James and Brant raced across the hall and burst into the drawing room. They almost collided with Beth and Caroline who were rushing toward the door. Their escape was blocked by the onslaught of blue uniforms, forcing them back into the bright, cheerful room.
Looking for a weapon, James grabbed up a brass vase from the mantel and tossed the fireplace poker to Brant. They held their arms outstretched in both a threatening and protective stance. But they were well outnumbered and retreat was their only option.
As the wave of uniforms surrounded them, Beth and Caroline pushed tables and chairs into the paths of those approaching but were forced continually backward. Ultimately, they were pressed into the corner by the windows. James grabbed the coat of the man closest and threw him to the ground, placing himself between the ladies and the attackers. Brant joined him, shoulder to shoulder, their chests heaving, weapons held high, ready for a fight.
Suddenly the room was still. The men no longer advanced.
The inspector parted the blue coats and came forward. “You cannot escape, you know.” He addressed first Brant and then James. “We have you.”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
The inspector ignored the questions. He looked to Beth and Caroline, who were standing in the shadows behind James and Brant.
“Come, ladies.” The man smiled and reached his arm out.
With a slash, James brought the vase down, narrowly missing the man as he jumped back.
The inspector faced James, his face now a ruddy glow, his mouth a firm line. “You will desist immediately! You are well and truly caught! There is nothing to do but submit and allow the ladies their freedom.”
“Allow the ladies their freedom?” James repeated. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”
Puzzlement flashed across the inspector’s face. “We have it on good authority that these ladies are being hel
d against their will.”
Beth gasped in surprise.
Inspector Davis glanced in her direction and then called out. “Sergeant! Sergeant Waters, get Mr. Osborne.”
James straightened and lowered the vase—marginally. “I believe there has been a mistake, Inspector.”
“Perhaps.”
A slight young man was led forward. His head was bowed at first as if intimidated by the proceedings. However, when he looked up there was determination in his eye.
“Mr. Osborne, are these they?” the man calling himself Inspector Davis asked.
James felt the movement of both Beth and Caroline. He knew them to have stepped forward and peeked out beyond his and Brant’s protective backs. Beth placed her hand on his arm as she did so.
Mr. Osborne looked at Caroline and frowned. Then he turned to Beth. His face lit up and his immediate step forward attested to his conviction.
“Becca! Oh, thank the Lord, it is you!” When Beth did not react, his smile faltered. He pointed to himself. “It’s me … Jeremy Osborne … your cousin.”
Just then a calamitous noise could be heard from the hall. It was the sound of scuffling and shoving and voices saying over and over, “No, m’lord, best stay here.”
“Davis! Osborne!” a deep and raspy voice bellowed. “Where are they?” It was obvious that whoever the men below were trying to restrain was slowly advancing up the stairs, despite the obstacles.
Inspector Davis shook his head. “Leave him be,” he ordered loudly, and the footsteps came on more quickly.
Like a parting of the Red Sea, the peelers stepped out of the path of the tall, broad-shouldered, gray-haired man. James was surprised to recognize him.
“Lord Hanton?”
“Do not talk to me, you filth.” Lord Hanton’s eyes blazed with fury. Without turning, he addressed the inspector. “Davis, where the devil are my daughters?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Renewed Hope
James relaxed his hold on the brass vase to the point that it dropped from his fingers with a clunk and rolled across the floor. Another clang indicated that Brant had dropped his poker as well. Grinning, James turned to his companions.
Laughter and bedlam broke out. There were half sentences, words on top of words, on top of claps. Caroline grabbed Beth and hugged her, kissing one cheek and then another. Beth smiled broadly and then gulped; she had a name, a cousin … and possibly a father.
“What is going on?” roared Lord Hanton.
“Sergeant Waters, clear the room!” Inspector Davis shouted above the pandemonium.
With a great deal of shuffling, but little time, the room emptied. Soon the only interlopers were Davis, his sergeant, and Lord Hanton; even Mr. Osborne had been ushered to the hall. Davis directed the doors to be closed and turned to face the four still holding fast to one another in the corner.
“There is an explanation here, Lord Hanton.” James started to guide Beth forward but was distracted by her resistance. “Beth, whatever is the matter?”
“Beth? Whatever are you talking about, man?” Lord Hanton made as if to grab Beth and drag her from the protection of her circle, but she screamed.
The inspector and his sergeant grabbed Lord Hanton’s arms, holding him back.
Davis struggled with the large man. “Please, m’lord. Are you certain it is she?”
Lord Hanton yanked his arms from his inferiors and pulled his waistcoat straight. He addressed Beth, who was still partially hidden behind James. “Come forward then. Let us have a look at you.”
Beth clutched at James, then lifted her chin, and stepped out of the shadows. She was not prepared for the reaction.
The harsh, cold countenance of the broad-shouldered man instantly dissolved. A sequence of sentiments rushed across his face; it started with recognition and ran through relief, calm, and great felicity. Emotion rushed to his eyes. When the momentary storm had passed, his face held infinite joy.
Lord Hanton stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Beth and lifted her from the floor. Her hand was pulled from James’ and the room began to spin. The man twirled her round and round.
“Please, sir,” she tried to say. The fabric of his coat muffled her voice.
Lord Hanton loosened his grasp, allowing Beth to breathe.
“Please, sir?” His voice sounded puzzled. “Sir? What is this ‘sir’? I am your dear papa.”
He held her aloft as if to allow her a full view of him. “Becca, dear. Thank the Lord you are safe. But where is Elizabeth?”
“Are you certain, sir?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” Lord Hanton frowned. “What is this?” His jaw clenched and his face tightened, but his voice was still smooth. “Becca, you are most certainly my daughter. Do you not know me?”
Beth shook her head with downcast eyes. She pinched her lips tightly, trying to control her emotions. “No, sir. I know you not,” she finally said in a quavering voice.
She pulled herself from Lord Hanton’s grasp. She backed away slowly, retreating until she felt James’ muscular, safe body against her. His presence gave her strength. Without taking her eyes from the viscount, Beth addressed the gentleman behind her. “Lord Ellerby? Are we certain of Lord Hanton?”
James ignored the surprise on Hanton’s face and turned Beth so that they might fix their eyes on each other, and disregard all else. He was heartbroken to see the fear and uncertainty that covered every contour of her face.
His voice, just above a whisper, was meant for her alone, but the silence of the room was such that his words echoed. “Yes indeed, this is Lord Hanton. He is not such an unknown as was Mr. Paterson. If Lord Hanton says that you are his daughter, we need not fear a lie. There is no doubt that you are she.”
For some moments Beth and James were locked in their own private world. James was rewarded when realization and acceptance relaxed the expression on her face, but with it came tears.
Beth closed her eyes for some moments and then reopened them to find James smiling gently with a touch of sadness. “You are the honorable Misses Hanton. Rebecca Hanton.”
“But I know him not,” she whispered, swallowing hard again, trying to fight the hysterics that were constricting her breath. “I had thought—” She brought her hands together in front of her mouth, clasped as if in prayer. “I had thought,” she tried again, “that to know who I am, my name—to know that I am Rebecca Hanton—to meet my family … well, I thought that my memories would return.” Again speech was momentarily impossible. “But…”
James had to strain to hear her.
“But I do not. I do not know him.”
The familiarity between the two was more than Lord Hanton could stand. “You scoundrel!” he shouted, and once more pulled the two apart. He swung his arm wildly, and as he did so, was rewarded with a connection.
James fell hard to the floor, his nose bloodied, but there he stayed. No hint of retaliation glinted in his eye. Instead, vexation and anger emanated from another source.
“How dare you!” Rebecca shouted. She knelt beside James, took his arm, and helped him to his feet. She held her hand beneath his nose to catch the dripping blood, and then exchanged it for the handkerchief offered by Dr. Brant.
“You should be thanking God for this man. It was he who came to my rescue and with a lot less theatrics than this.” She swept her arm toward the helter-skelter around the room, upended tables and couches, and broken ornaments.
Rebecca could feel the outrage building in her and she opened her mouth to give it full vent.
But Lord Hanton smiled at her. Smiled? What new trick was this?
“There is the Becca I know.” His eyes sparkled and he smiled again. “That’s my girl.” He half turned toward the inspector, waving his arm in her direction. Then his eyes met James’, and they hardened. “Where is Elizabeth?”
“Who is Elizabeth?” James asked, looking mystified. “If Beth is Rebecca, who is Elizabeth?”
“My other daughte
r, you fool!” Lord Hanton shouted. “I have two!”
James took a step back from the angry eyes, startled as much by Lord Hanton’s words as by the suffused emotion in his shout. Rebecca gasped and reached out to him for support.
“My sister?” she asked in a whisper.
Glancing down at Rebecca, James placed his hand on hers and glared a reproach at the older gentleman.
“Please,” Caroline entreated, looking at Rebecca, watching the color drain from her face. “We need to sit.” She stepped forward, kicking bits of pottery from her path, and halfheartedly pulled at one of the settees, trying to right it. She sighed and looked around the room, shaking her head.
“There is much to discuss. Let us adjourn to the dining room,” Dr. Brant said. “Where we will be able to talk in comfort; certainly, more comfort than this.” He glared at the inspector.
Before anyone could respond, Dr. Brant held his arm out to Caroline and he led her to the door. It left the others with no choice but to follow. Lord Hanton offered Rebecca his arm, but she ignored it. In a blatant snub, Rebecca reached over to James and placed her arm lightly—with intentional ease—on his. James removed the cloth from his nose and saw that it was no longer bleeding. He crumpled the stained cloth into his pocket and led Rebecca forward.
Reeves waited in the outer hall with the inspector’s men. Only his slightly askew tie attested to the evening’s trauma.
“We will have tea and brandy in the dining room, Reeves,” Dr. Brant addressed his butler.
Reeves bowed.
“Please,” the doctor added, “have Mrs. Sagor put the drawing room to rights in the morning.” He then led Caroline through the throng of uniforms without a backward glance.
Reeves scurried ahead of them to light the ornate silver candelabra waiting in the center of the large mahogany table. The light proved ample to dispel the shadows from the corners of the less-than-cavernous room.
No one spoke while the ladies were seated and Reeves scurried away. Rebecca made a ceremony out of placing her skirts just right, and resting her hands on her lap. James stood behind her and, likewise, Dr. Brant placed himself behind Caroline.
