A Curse of the Heart (24 page)

He rounded the table with lightning speed, his fist clenched and ready to end the life of anyone who got in his way. He grabbed Frederick by his coat and pulled him into his chest until their noses were touching. “You had better start bloody well talking and quick. I want to know everything about this Pennington, who he is, where he lives, what he said to you.”

“It can’t be him,” Frederick said yanking his lapel free and straightening his coat. “He didn’t know who Rebecca was until I pointed her out at the Chelton’s.”

Sarah Stone started sobbing, and George went to her side to offer comfort. “I suggest you tell Stone everything he wants to know, Freddie, else I’ll throttle you myself.”

Gabriel strode to the door and hollered Cosgrove, running out into the hall when he heard the slow click of shoes on the wooden floor. “Tell Higson to ready my carriage and to wait out front. Tell him to hurry.”

“You can explain everything to me on the way,” Gabriel said returning to the room. He scoured the desk for a weapon, finding an old quill knife, wishing he was as sensible as Rebecca and had a pistol in the top drawer. “We will start by visiting his lodgings or his house or wherever the hell he lives.”

“What could he possibly want with Miss Linwood?” Sarah asked.

“I have no idea,” Gabriel said, struggling to keep calm. If he were to lose Rebecca, well, the thought was so painful he could not give it merit. “But I will bleed Frederick dry until I find out.”

Chapter 25

Higson raced through the streets at breakneck speed, the carriage swaying to and fro, the four occupants inside forced to hold on to the straps for fear of tumbling into a giant heap.

Gabriel turned to Freddie. “You said Chesterfield Street. Do you know what number?”

“No, but it’s on the corner of Curzon. I’ll know it when I see it.” He glanced out of the window and then turned back. “Look, I still think you’ve got this all wrong. I’m certain Pennington doesn’t even own a carriage. He’s a decent fellow and has helped me out a number of times.” He gave an amused snort. “Perhaps Rebecca has taken a lover, and we’re chasing about London over some silly tiff. I bet they’re cuddled up in his carriage, and that’s why he shoved her in with such gusto.”

“Rebecca has not taken a lover,” Gabriel snapped, tugging on the leather strap with such force it was in danger of being ripped from its moorings.

“How do
you
know?” Freddie asked defensively. “Rebecca always flouts the rules. She’s far too independent for her own good. I wouldn’t be surprised if —”

“Miss Linwood is not entertaining a lover,” Sarah interjected. Gabriel met her gaze, expecting to feel a sense of awkwardness that would force him to look away. Instead, he was surprised to find a glimmer of affection in her eyes, a look he did not deserve. “Why would she,” Sarah continued, “when she is in love with Gabriel?”

Freddie scoffed, and Gabriel’s heart slammed against his ribs like a battering ram.

Weeks ago, the mere mention of love would have incited panic, would have choked the life out of him, caused him to retreat into his tomb and drag the stone lid over his sarcophagus. Yet now he wanted to bask in the warm feeling that filled his chest, let it embrace him, consume him — never let him go.

“You’re mistaken,” he said, doubt forcing him to hide behind a shield strong enough to ward off a Viking invasion. “We are good friends, colleagues. Rebecca displays a kindness and affection for everyone she meets.”

“Not everyone,” George countered. “She looked down her nose at all the gentlemen I introduced her to.” He leaned to his left, his cheek a mere inch from Sarah’s. “I have been trying to allude to the possibility for days though he refuses to accept it.”

Sarah gave an affectionate smile and whispered. “I would not normally break a confidence, not unless the situation warranted it, but Miss Linwood told me she was in love with him.”

He pretended he hadn’t heard them, his mind occupied with conjuring an image of Rebecca’s soft lips as they formed the words, of eyes filled with desire. The pleasant dream quickly disappearing as her face turned pale, her body crumpling to the floor devoid of life.

A coldness swept over him.

To lose Rebecca now would be the end of him.

Without Rebecca, he had nothing.

The carriage was still rolling when Gabriel opened the door and, amidst the gasps and cries, jumped to the pavement. There was no time to waste, he thought, surveying the only house on the corner of Chesterfield and Curzon Street and instinct told him it was Pennington’s.

Freddie hurried to meet him, pointing to number fifteen. “This is it. I believe Pennington said the house has been converted into apartments.”

“Which one’s his?” Gabriel asked scanning the numerous windows.

“How should I know? I’ve never been inside.”

A waft of brandy drifted past Gabriel’s nose. “Have you been drinking?”

Freddie shrugged. “Only a nip from a hip flask. Do you want some?”

“No, and if you don’t start thinking quick, the only thing you’ll be drinking is the piss from the bottom of a chamber pot.”

Freddie blinked rapidly and, despite the arrival of George and Sarah, fell silent, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip as he stared at the floor in concentration. “Wait,” he said lifting his head and pointing to the upstairs window. “It’s the one on the right. I remember calling by in a hackney and he raised the sash and hollered to me.”

“What now?” George asked. He turned to Sarah. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to wait in the carriage?”

“I couldn’t possibly sit waiting while Miss Linwood is out there all alone and in need of our help. Besides, with a lady as a companion, it looks as though we’re making a house call.”

“She’s right,” Gabriel said turning the large brass knob in the hope some fool had left it open. “It’s locked.”

“If we knock, someone is bound to hear us,” Freddie said.

Gabriel used his weight to push against the door, but it didn’t budge. “Yes, and so will everyone else on the street.”

“Stand aside if you will.” Higson’s monotone voice caught them all off guard, and the coachman squeezed through the group. Rummaging around in the deep pocket of his overcoat, he removed a ring of keys and began sifting through them. “No, not that one,” he muttered trying a brass key in the door. “But this one should do it.” Leaving another key in the lock, he delved into his pocket and retrieved a length of wire and after some fiddling, said, “There you go.”

Without another word, and oblivious to the shocked gazes that followed him, Higson stomped back to the carriage and climbed back on top of his box.

“My word, he’s a handy fellow,” Freddie said. “Just the sort one needs after a night at the tables.”

George sighed. “After a bottle of brandy, you mean.”

“I’m fine after the first bottle,” Freddie said as they entered the terrace house. “It’s after the second that I struggle to get my hands in my pocket.”

They made their way up the stairs and rapped lightly on the door. When Pennington failed to answer, Gabriel sent Freddie back out to fetch Higson, who came and performed the same trick with a little more ease, before returning to his post.

Pennington’s lodgings consisted of a large room overlooking the street, a master bedchamber with canopy bed, a small one for guests and a study. No doubt the owner of the property occupied the lower level apartment and provided meals upon request. A faint smell of tobacco lingered in the air, mixed with the sickly-sweet smell of an excessive consumption of wine.

Gabriel made a quick scan of the rooms, to be certain there was no one home. “Take a room each,” he said. “Look for anything that might relate to Rebecca, anything you think is strange, anything you feel is out of place.” Noticing the crystal decanters on the sideboard, he added, “Freddie you take the small bedchamber, George the larger one. Sarah, will you be alright in here?”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said rushing to the side table and opening the only drawer.

Gabriel strode into the study, rifled through the papers on the desk, pulled books off the shelves and shook them, flicked through the pages of a ledger.

“There’s a bill here for the hire of a carriage,” he shouted. “For one week dated yesterday.”

Freddie raced in. “Let me see it.” His eyes flitted across the crisp note, his finger following the words. “It doesn’t make any sense. You think this is proof he abducted Rebecca?”

“Most definitely,” Gabriel barked, feeling a rush of anger for Freddie’s naivety. “But there doesn't seem to be anything else here. Nothing to offer any explanation for his actions.”

George and Sarah met them in the hallway.

“There’s nothing of interest in his bedchamber,” George said looking forlorn. “I’ve even rummaged through the man’s smalls.”

Sarah’s eyes filled with panic. “I found nothing of interest, either. Oh, Gabriel. What are we to do?”

Gabriel thrust his hand through his hair, the crippling feeling of despair causing a rush of emotion he could not suppress. “There must be something here to implicate him, something to explain motive, some blasted clue as to where he’s taken her. He’s planned this and has probably been watching her for the last two days. There must be something else here other than a bloody bill.”

Sarah placed her hand over her stomach as if soothing some imaginary pain. “In the carriage, you mentioned the damaged portrait. It stands to reason that Pennington is responsible. With an act so personal, you would imagine the culprit has a tangible object to focus on, to remind him of his motive, to keep the fire of vengeance burning within.”

Gabriel threw his hands in the air. “Then where is it?”

“This is personal,” she muttered to herself, staring at the floor. “Where does one keep their most personal items?” Her head shot up, her eyes suddenly brightening. “Show me the master chamber.”

George sighed. “Aside from lifting up the floor, I’ve already conducted a thorough search.”

Sarah patted him on the arm, and George sucked in a breath. “I know,” she said, “but it would not hurt to check it again.”

George bowed his head and conceded. They all congregated in the doorway of Pennington’s chamber, scanning the large four-poster, the toilet stand, and the wardrobe, searching for obvious clues.

“This is ridiculous,” Gabriel said, his hands clenched by his side. “God only knows what Rebecca’s going through while we’re standing here staring at saggy old bed drapes.”

Sarah’s gaze shot to the dark-green hangings. “They’re not old, Gabriel. They look quite new.”

“I’m not interested in the quality of his furnishings. All I want is to —”

“Wait!” she cried examining the heads of the three gentlemen. “Gabriel, you’re the tallest. Stand on that chair and see why the roof of the canopy sags in the middle.”

With a disgruntled huff, Gabriel did as she asked. He reached up and stretched his arm across the top. “It’s as dusty as hell up here,” he said, turning his head to stifle a sneeze. “Wait, there is something here, I think I … I’ve got it.”

Gabriel stepped down from the chair, a beaten leather satchel in his hand. He threw it on the bed. “Pennington’s had this down recently as there’s not a speck of dust on it.” He opened the flap and pulled out a pile of papers, a brooch, porcelain trinket box and a book.

Sarah ran her fingers over the brooch and lingered on the red stones. “A family heirloom, perhaps?”

Gabriel shrugged and picked up the papers, flicking through a few random sketches of what appeared to be the secret musings of an artist, while the group huddled round.

“Stop,” George said, peering over his shoulder. “Let me look at that one.” Gabriel handed him the sketch and George studied the image. “This looks like my father, as a much younger man, but the likeness is definitely there.”

“The one you’re holding, my lord, is older and worn around the edges,” Sarah said pointing to the next sketch. “This one is much newer and drawn by a different hand, see.”

Gabriel pulled it out and held it to the light. “It looks similar to the painting of Rebecca’s mother. The Egyptian costume is almost identical.”

“I have never seen the painting,” George said looking up. “But it looks like Rebecca to me.”

“There’s writing on the next one,” Freddie said glancing at the paper on top of the pile in Gabriel’s hand.

Gabriel placed the sketch of Rebecca on the bed and focused his attention on Freddie’s comment. “It’s just a list of names. Doesn’t mean anything to me, what about you?” he said handing it to George.

George shook his head. “Out of the list of eight, two are peers, the rest I’ve never heard of. The name at the bottom has been crossed out and marked
dead
.”

Sarah cocked her head. “There’s something written on the back.”

George flipped it over, his eyes growing wide. “It’s my father’s name and Rebeca’s mother: Dorothea Carmichael. They are both crossed out and marked as deceased. Why write deceased on this list and dead on the other?”

Sarah pointed to the names below. “Your names are listed too, but it says Rebecca Wellford, not Linwood.”

Freddie chirped up. “That’s because he assumed she was a Wellford. He told me so at the Chelton’s ball. He suggested she might be ashamed to use her real name, being born out of wedlock. But I told him she just preferred anonymity.”