A Wicked Gentleman (35 page)

And silence fell. Harry's face was without expression, his eyes almost blank, showing nothing of his feverish calculations. He had two knives now and one wounded and disarmed opponent. But the other had Cornelia.

There was one possibility. “Give him the thimble, Nell,” he said quietly. He didn't know how long it would take for the man to realize the thimble was a counterfeit, and a clumsy one at that, but there was a chance he might be fooled long enough.

“Not until I have Stevie,” she said, her voice clear and steady. “Where is my child?”

“Stevie's all right, love. He's sleeping,” Harry said, still quietly. “Give him the thimble. It's what he wants.”

Cornelia didn't immediately respond. If she refused to give her captor the thimble, then it seemed likely he would try to wrest it from her. If she put up enough of a struggle, it might give Harry an opening. But then, of course, the man at her back could simply drive the knife into her throat and take the thimble that way. The grim reflection was punctuated by another prick of the knife against her neck.

She looked bleakly at Harry. Did he really know that Stevie was all right? How could she really trust him? He might be deceiving her for his own ends. He'd been doing that, after all, since first they met.

As she stared at him, trying to read his soul, she sensed a change in him. A sudden stiffening, imperceptible, and yet she who knew his body so well could sense the subtle tension in his muscles. His eyes never left her face, his mouth showed nothing, but he was as alert as a panther scenting the hunter.

She stamped hard on her captor's foot, bringing her full weight to bear, heedless of the threatening prick of the knife, aware instinctively that Harry needed the man to lose focus, even for a second.

As she did so, Lester hurled himself from the doorway. Her captor made a surprised little sound, halfway between a grunt and cry, and the press of the knife was no longer against her neck. The imprisoning arm fell away, and she felt his weight brush against her back as he crumpled to the floor.

“Where's Stevie?” Her voice sounded thick and hoarse.

“Behind you,” Harry answered. “On the cot.” He wanted to look at her neck, but he knew it would have to wait.

Cornelia saw the cot for the first time, or at least registered its presence for the first time. And she saw the small, curled, blanketed bundle. She ran to her child, kneeling by the cot to gather him against her, tears now flowing as she cradled his head against her breast. She was aware only that he was breathing, and his body felt the same as it always did. Holding him tightly, she inched herself onto the bed, positioning herself in the angle of the wall so that she could hold him in her lap, rocking him gently, while her eyes now roamed the miserable chamber, taking in everything she had not noticed before.

Lester.
What was he doing here? But, of course, he was connected to Harry. His employment in Cavendish Square, such a useful man to have around, had not been in the least serendipitous. Harry had planted him there. It was all too clear now. She watched as the two men conversed swiftly in an undertone, heads together with the ease of those who knew each other of old, who trusted and relied upon each other. Who would each give his life into the other's hands.

Another melodramatic thought, Cornelia reflected, amazed at the return of cynicism after the scrambling terror of the last minutes. It would be melodramatic in the ordinary world, she amended. But not in this shadowy universe in which she now found herself. The rules by which these four men played bore no relation to any she understood.

No, not four, five. Harry had moved to the bound figure in the chair. He sliced through the bonds with his knife before reaching behind his head to untie the gag.

Cornelia stared. The figure moaned with pain as the blood returned to his arms.
“Nigel.”
She spoke his name incredulously, clutching her child closer to her. What had Nigel to do with this?

Nigel spat blood. His voice was thick and muffled. “I didn't do it, Nell…I couldn't do it,” he said, confusing her even more. “They tried to force me…I tried to stop him from being scared…I swear—”

“Don't try to talk,” Harry instructed curtly. “You can explain later, when Nell has the time to listen to you. You're the least of anyone's concerns at the moment.”

He went over to the cot, and sat beside Cornelia. He caught her chin, turning her head to one side to look at the cut on her neck. “It's not too bad, but it needs cleansing. Lester is going to take you and Stevie home.” He touched the child's cheek, relieved to note that a smidgen of color had crept into his complexion and the lips were less blue. “He's taken what I suspect is a fairly large dose of laudanum, and he'll have a headache when he wakes. He'll probably be sick too. But there'll be no lasting ill effects.”

“You would know, of course,” she said bitterly. “Did you calculate the dose precisely?”

Harry looked shocked. “You can't imagine that
I
…Nell, I didn't do this.”

She gave a short laugh. “No, not with your own hands, I'm sure. But you were responsible for it.” She stared at him, her eyes as hard and blank as blue stone. “Deny it, if you can.”

And he couldn't.

He rose from the cot, his face closed. “Lester has a carriage downstairs. I must finish up here.” He gestured briefly towards the physical debris on the floor. One man was surely dead, Cornelia thought with strange dispassion. The other rocked on the floor clutching his shoulder, from which the blood oozed thickly. Nigel sat slumped, his hands over his face.

“Coles and Addison'll be along shortly to help with the cleanup, sir,” Lester said in his stolid fashion. “I'll be taking Lady Dagenham and young Stevie home now.” He came over to the cot and gently but firmly took the boy from Cornelia. “Come on, ma'am. The sooner the lad's in his own bed, the better he'll be, I reckon.”

Cornelia as always found Lester's calm competence reassuring. Whatever his involvement in this shadow world, he was not directly responsible for what had happened to her son. She knew where that responsibility lay. Nigel must have had something to do with it, but God knows what mess he'd found himself in. She did believe him when he said he'd tried to help Stevie.

Harry Bonham was another matter. He had used her, used her children, her friends. But most unforgivable of all, he had taken her soul.

A
HACKNEY CARRIAGE
stood in the street outside the tavern, a much more salubrious-looking vehicle than the one that had brought Cornelia. She climbed in and impatiently held out her arms to Lester.

“Give him to me.”

“Here you are, ma'am.” Lester leaned in and placed the child on her lap, then called an instruction to the jarvey as he climbed in after her. He took the corner seat opposite and sat back, folding his arms with an air of placidity that seemed extraordinary to Cornelia, given that he'd just killed a man.

But presumably that was not a noteworthy occurrence in the world that Lester and Harry Bonham shared. Her mouth hardened.

Stevie stirred, and his eyelids fluttered a little, but he didn't wake. She drew him closer to her, hoping that her familiar scent and warmth would penetrate his drugged stupor and chase away the fear that must have been his last waking emotion.

“How long have you worked for Lord Bonham?” she asked, glancing across at Lester.

“Around twelve years, give or take,” he responded serenely. “Since his lordship joined the service.”

“What service would that be?” She couldn't help the sardonic edge to the question.

“Why, the Crown's, ma'am,” Lester answered, as if it was obvious.

“Ah, yes, of course, the Crown's,” Cornelia said as sardonically as before. She should have known. Harry had told her rather obliquely that he worked for the government when he'd reminded her that England was at war. She just hadn't really absorbed it.

So she and her friends and her children had been conscripted in the same service, without their knowledge. Was that supposed to excuse Harry's actions? Was it supposed to make her feel better? Was she supposed to be grateful for the compulsory opportunity to serve her country?

Well, it didn't and she wasn't.

She was simply enraged. And if she could hold on to the purity of her fury, then she could ignore the tangle of emotions swirling beneath.

She reached into her pocket for the thimble and drew it out. “So what is this, Lester? Why was my son's life risked for this?” She tossed it disdainfully onto the seat beside Lester.

He picked it up. “You should ask his lordship, ma'am.”

“I'm asking you,” she stated flatly. “What's the significance of those engravings?”

Lester for the first time looked uncomfortable. He turned the thimble around between finger and thumb. “Actually, there's no significance to
these,
ma'am.” He held the thimble out to her.

Cornelia stared at him. “What? I don't understand.” Absently she took it back, enclosing it in her palm.

Lester pulled at his chin. “His lordship will explain, my lady.”

“In his absence I see no reason why
you
shouldn't,” she insisted. “As it happens I don't intend to give myself the opportunity to ask Viscount Bonham anything, but I would like an explanation from you.”

Lester frowned. “I don't fully catch your meaning, my lady. His lordship will explain everything, I'm sure, when you see him next.”

“Let me be quite frank, Lester. I do not intend to see Lord Bonham again. So, will you tell me why those engravings have no significance?” She thrust the thimble back into her pocket.

Lester felt himself shrinking from the ice blue darts of her eyes. This was the viscount's mess, not his, and he wanted nothing whatsoever to do with it. “It's not for me to say, ma'am,” he stated, fervently hoping that she'd leave it at that.

Cornelia continued to regard him in the dim light, a deep frown drawing her arched eyebrows together. Then Stevie gave a little cry, and she forgot all about Lester, the thimble, the viscount.

“It's all right, love,” she murmured. “Everything's all right now. Mama's here.” She lifted him up against her breast and kissed his damp forehead. His eyelids fluttered open, and he gazed up at her dazed and uncomprehending. “Go back to sleep,” she said softly, kissing his cheek. “Everything's all right now.”

Stevie settled again, his eyelids drooping heavily as he burrowed against her breast. She held him tightly within her arms and rocked him, crooning a lullaby, feeling him slide back into a deeper sleep.

Nothing more was said until the carriage drew up in Cavendish Square. Lester jumped down and reached in to take the child, but she said sharply, “No. I can manage.”

He helped her down with a steadying hand under her elbow and ran up the stairs to bang on the door. But it opened before he reached it, and Livia and Aurelia came rushing out.

“Do you have him…oh, thank God. Is he all right?”

“I think so,” she said, carrying him carefully up the stairs. “He's drugged, but he'll come out of it soon. He's already beginning to stir.”

“Who the devil did this?” Aurelia demanded, outrage shaking her voice as she looked at the inert little body in her sister-in-law's arms. “Who on earth would do such a thing?”

“You won't believe it when I tell you,” Cornelia said grimly as she entered the house. “I must take him upstairs. Linton will help.”

“The little lad's safe?” Morecombe stepped out of the shadows of the staircase. “Thank the good Lord, m'lady.” He called over his shoulder, “Our Ada…our Mavis, the lad's back, all right and tight.”

The twins emerged from the back regions at a near run, wiping their hands on their aprons. “Oh, mercy me,” Ada said, flinging her arms wide. “The poor little lamb.”

“Poor little lamb,” Mavis reiterated, fluttering around Cornelia and her burden. “I'll make 'im a junket. 'E likes my junket, 'e does, bless him.”

“Aye, but I reckon 'e'll need a spot o' gruel first,” Ada declared. “Looks right poorly, 'e does, the poor lamb. I'll get it goin' right away.”

“Thank you both.” Cornelia managed a fleeting smile despite her anxiety to get upstairs to the nursery. She hurried up the stairs, Aurelia and Livia in her wake.

Linton gave a cry of joy as they came into the nursery and rushed across to Cornelia. “Oh, he's safe. Oh, merciful heaven.” She flung her hands in the air and behind her, Daisy, still sodden, threw her apron over her face and burst into another flood of tears. Instantly Susannah and Franny, who'd been sitting by the fire solemnly sucking gingerbread, joined her in tearful wails, and Susannah hurled herself at her mother's knees.

Once order was restored, Cornelia sat with Stevie in the rocking chair by the fire, refusing to relinquish him. Susannah sat at her feet, sucking her thumb, resting her head on her mother's lap, her eyes drooping after the exhaustion of the long morning.

Linton, once more in command of herself and her domain, kept a sharp eye on them even as, wisely, she left mother and children to themselves.

When Stevie finally stirred with more purpose than before, Cornelia felt a surge of relief so powerful she realized how terrified she still had been that he wouldn't come out of his drugged stupor.

He opened his eyes fully with a cry of protest, and threw up.

“That's better,” Linton said briskly, coming over to them. “Let him get rid of that poison, my lady…Daisy, girl, bring a basin, hot water, and cloths. Jump to it now.”

Stevie vomited miserably for what seemed an eternity to Cornelia, who held him close throughout, rubbing his back and murmuring soft encouragement. But at last he lay back against her ruined gown and gazed up at her. “My head hurts, Mama.”

“I know, sweetie. I know. It'll pass soon, I promise.”

“He needs a nice warm bath and some hot milk,” Linton said authoritatively. “And then a proper sleep. Then he'll be right as rain.” She reached down to take the child from his mother. “Give him here, my lady, and you go and get yourself cleaned up. I'll look after him.”

Stevie allowed himself to be relinquished to the familiar arms of his nurse, and Cornelia stood up, gingerly holding her skirts.

“Take off your dress, and I'll fetch your nightrobe,” Livia said. She and Aurelia had remained in the nursery throughout.

“Thank you, Liv.” Gratefully, Cornelia accepted Aurelia's helping hands with her gown, then sponged herself roughly with hot water and a cloth before slipping into the robe that Livia brought up for her.

Linton was bathing Stevie in a bath in front of the fire, and the child seemed to have regressed to babyhood, offering none of his usual protests or comments. Cornelia knelt by the tub, wondering if it was wise to remind him of what had happened. But then she decided it couldn't be ignored. It might frighten him more if it wasn't acknowledged.

“Can you remember what happened, sweetheart?” she asked, reaching for the washcloth.

Stevie shook his head.

“Did you see who took you?”

The child shook his head again. Then he whimpered. “My head still hurts.”

“That's because you drank something nasty,” Cornelia told him. “It'll be better soon, I promise.”

Stevie nodded again, as if reassured, and his eyes started to droop. Linton scooped him out of the water, wrapping him in a thick towel. “Let's tuck you into bed, my sweet. Mama will read you a story.”

 

It was an hour later before Cornelia left the nursery, satisfied that her son was sleeping a natural, healthy sleep. She needed a bath herself, but was not surprised to find Livia and Aurelia waiting for her in her bedchamber.

“So, who did this?” Livia asked without preamble.

“Well, Nigel's in there somewhere. Although I really don't think he had any truck with Stevie's kidnapping.” Wearily Cornelia sank into the chair by the fire. “I don't know the whole, but I'll tell you what I do know.”

They listened in an incredulous silence and when she was finished, Aurelia said wonderingly, “So this house is the key to all this. Harry wanted to buy the house from the beginning, presumably because of the thimble…”

“Except that Lester said the thimble had no significance.” Cornelia leaned down to her stained dress that she'd dropped in a heap on the floor. She found the pocket and took out the thimble. “Actually, what he said was
these
engravings have no significance.” She held it up. “What did that mean?”

“That there's another thimble?” Livia suggested.

“And because Harry knew this was not the thimble they wanted, whoever they are, he didn't bother to take it with him when he went to rescue Stevie.” Cornelia leaned back against her chair and closed her eyes. It all made some weird sense in a world that bore no relation to the ordinary one she and her friends inhabited. Somehow they'd strayed into another one.

“How did Nigel get involved?” Aurelia asked after a minute. “It seems incredible.”

“I imagine he found himself in a terrifying nightmare,” Cornelia said rather dully. “Somehow he found himself in the company of people for whom a life means nothing.” She thought of the dead man on the floor of the tavern and shuddered. A life meant little enough to Viscount Bonham and his cohorts.

“And what of Harry?” Aurelia leaned forward on the window seat where she was perched. “Do you think he'll tell you everything now?”

Cornelia laughed shortly. “He'll not have the chance, Ellie. I don't intend to set eyes on him again. And as soon as Stevie's fit to travel, I'm going home with my children.”

“Yes, of course,” Aurelia said quickly. “We'll leave by the end of the week.”

“No…no, you don't have to come with me,” Cornelia said. “Of course you don't. You and Liv stay here. You're enjoying yourselves. I'll take Linton, if you can spare her. Daisy can stay here with Franny. She's perfectly competent with one child.”

Her friends exchanged glances that she couldn't read, but before either of them could speak, there was a knock at the door. “My lady, that viscount's here,” Morecombe announced from the corridor. “Wants t' see you summat urgent.”

Cornelia stiffened. “Tell him I'm not at home, Morecombe.”

“Oh, aye. Likes as not he'll not believe me.”

Cornelia got up and went to open the door. “It doesn't matter whether he does or not, Morecombe. I won't see him. Tell him that if you wish.”

“Oh, aye.” Morecombe shuffled off towards the stairs again.

Livia and Aurelia rose as if they both heard the same summons. “We'll leave you to bathe, Nell, and get some rest,” Livia said. “Shall we have dinner in the parlor, as we used to before we became so grand that we had to dine in the dining salon?” She attempted a light laugh, but it had a somewhat hollow ring.

“Yes, I'd like that,” Cornelia said with a warm smile. “I'll probably take a short nap after my bath. Dinner at six?”

“Six o'clock,” Aurelia affirmed, leaning in to kiss her sister-in-law. “Poor love, you've had a rotten time. Are you sure there's nothing else we can do?”