Corey McFadden (36 page)

Giles stopped at number thirty-four, a large townhouse with a great stone facade. A carriage stood in front, a driver on the box. Giles climbed down from the box and walked back to the door of his own carriage. He could see Will stirring through the window flap. As he reached for the handle, he heard a commotion behind him and turned to see a large, florid man rapidly descending the front steps of number thirty-four. A hapless footman hurried to stay ahead of him, and a man who was obviously the butler struggled to keep up.

“Cancel it, damn you,” the man shouted over his shoulder at his butler. “I do not know when I’ll return. Tell them I was called away on urgent business. I’ve no time to write a note now.”

The footman had reached the door of the standing carriage mere seconds before his master, struggling with the catch on the door to get it open quickly enough so as not to keep the man waiting. He barely made it, but the relief on his face was obvious as he closed the door behind the man and took his own place at the rear of the coach. The butler turned and made his way up the stairs, shaking his head as if in some distress. The carriage started off abruptly, the footman having to grab on to keep from falling.

Not one of them had spared so much as a glance at Giles or his coach.

Like a flash of lightning, Giles was back on the box, flicking the reins over his mismatched, weary team of rented horses. He was quite sure he had recognized Lord Beeson, the sardonic twist to his mouth, the dark, mean eyes. Wherever the man was bound for, he was angry and in a hurry. It was unlikely that Hawton would have dared to deliver his kidnap victims directly to Lord Beeson. Better to follow along at a discreet distance and see where the man was going.

They drove along at a fast clip for some quarter of an hour. Giles’s fears that the footman would look back and note that they were being followed proved groundless. The young man rode with his head down, showing no interest in his surroundings. Nevertheless, Giles kept his coach back as far as he dared, particularly since they appeared to be rapidly leaving the fashionable district and making for an older, commercial part of the city.

Finally the coach slowed to a stop in front of a large townhouse on Lombard Street. Giles stopped his own coach well down the block and, keeping his hood over his face, leaped down. He watched as Beeson’s footman jumped down as well and made his way to the door of the carriage. Lord Beeson stepped out and brushed past the boy, taking the steps of the townhouse two at a time, his great cape swirling black around him.

“Let’s go, Will,” Giles said softly as he opened the door to his carriage. Will stepped out quickly. The fast drive through city streets had put him on the alert.

“I saw our man, Beeson, coming out of his house and I followed him here,” explained Giles tersely. “He went into that establishment. I recall this general area from my younger days, and there were a number of brothels around here then. I do not know if that is one of them, but we shall find out.” His mouth set in a grim line, Giles made his way down the street, Will following closely behind.

At the door, Giles lifted the large brass knocker and set up a din. The door was opened almost immediately. Giles felt his guts grind as he took in the appearance of the man at the door. Here was no butler from a well-positioned, merchant-class family. This man was a thug, beefy and scarred. While his clothing was neat and clean, he wore none of the trappings of a well-placed servant. He looked like what he had to be—a tough doorman for a rough brothel.

“We don’t open until ten this evening, sir,” said the man, taking in Giles and his servant in one look and starting to close the door in their faces.

“I’m here to see Lord Beeson,” said Giles, stepping swiftly in and putting his hand on the door so that Will could enter behind him.

“’Ere, there’s no one ’ere by that name, sir, and I’ve told you we was closed. Come back at ten if you want what we ’ave.” The man looked annoyed but it was clear he was not inclined to offend potential clientele.

“I saw Lord Beeson enter this establishment not three minutes ago. It’s a matter involving kidnapping, so unless you want the law down on you, you’ll tell him I’m here at once.”

The man’s eyes narrowed and his jaw set. Without a word he closed the door behind Giles and Will. Giles could hear a heavy bolt sliding.

“Wait ’ere. I know now ’oo you mean and I’ll fetch ’im for you. Don’t move a step, sir,” the man said, his voice quiet and cold. With no further word, he turned and disappeared into a door down the hall. Seconds later the door opened and he re-emerged with three men, even larger than he, right behind him. Too late, Giles turned behind him, seeing that a heavy bolt held the door fast. It would take too much time to get it open, and these thugs were nearly upon them. Two closed upon Will, one smashing his fist against his face as he struggled against them.

“Beeson! I know you’re here, Beeson!” Giles shouted as loudly as he could, before the two others converged on him. One shoved a fist as hard as a brick against his jaw, the other came up behind him and grabbed his arms. Knowing he was beaten, but unwilling to go down without a fight, Giles kicked hard against the shin of the man in front of him, then aimed another kick at his groin. The man doubled over, groaning, but threw his arms around Giles’s legs, preventing further attack.

“Beeson! Kidnapping is a hanging offense, Bee-son!” Giles shouted, his words cut off as a large square of cotton closed around his mouth. Now he was trussed tightly, ropes cutting mercilessly into his flesh. He twisted his head around and saw that Will was writhing on the floor, blood gushing from his nose. He, too, was being bound.

He cursed himself a thousand times for being fool enough to walk into such a trap.

Just then another door off the hallway opened.

Beeson stepped out, followed by a tall, thin woman, hands clawed at her sides, her mouth tight with rage.

“Bring them in here,” Beeson said, gesturing imperiously. Giles was half carried, half dragged into the room and was thrown to the floor. Will was carried in and thrown beside him. Giles could see that the bleeding from Will’s nose had slowed to a trickle, but he was covered with blood and showed no signs of being conscious.

Beeson and the woman followed, Beeson seating himself behind a large desk and leaving the woman to stand next to him.

“Fetch the man who brought the shipment here,” Beeson snarled. There was silence while one of the men left the room. Beeson stared down at Giles, his eyes dark with anger.

“I want something to drink, Mrs. Boyd. Make it brandy, and not that swill you serve your customers,” Beeson said.

Mrs. Boyd nodded at one of the three men and he left the room immediately.

“You can go,” Beeson said, nodding to the two men who remained. “Check outside and make sure they arrived alone.” As they left, the other walked back in carrying a silver tray with a brandy decanter and snifter on it. Beeson poured himself a generous amount and knocked it back. As he poured himself another, the first man walked back into the room, followed by Hawton.

Giles lay as he had fallen with his face to the floor but he twisted his head to the side to observe the newcomer. Their eyes met, and Hawton gave a start of pure terror as he saw who it was. Giles could see his steward’s hands start to shake as he stood in front of the desk. Beeson’s face was purple with rage.

“You told Mrs. Boyd the man was dead, Mr. Hawton,” said Beeson, his voice barely controlled. “Well, he doesn’t look very dead to me. What else have you fouled up?”

“I—I thought he was dead, sir. Now we’ll just have to make certain it’s done properly this time.” Hawton shifted his eyes away from Beeson.

“You are a bleeding imbecile, Mr. Hawton. You’ll be very lucky if it isn’t you who winds up dead. You’ve made a mess of this operation from start to finish. You and Eleanor. I should have known better than to have involved that drunken madwoman in my business. You also neglected to mention to Mrs. Boyd that Sir Giles had married the wench a few days ago. Did you think Eleanor had not spewed her venom to me in a letter? Not that it matters any longer. Now you have stuck me with an ex-governess, two children, one an idiot,
and
Sir Giles Chapman.”

“But Joanna and Emma can serve in this or another establishment, my lord,” stammered Hawton. “Mrs. Boyd told me the girl would fetch a pretty penny among your clientele and that the governess could be sold off to a brothel that does not specialize in virgins.” He broke off and skipped aside as Giles began to thrash on the floor, too close to his own feet for comfort.

At the barest of nods from Lord Beeson, one of the thugs approached Giles and landed a swift, hard kick in his belly.

“You’ll have your turn to speak, Sir Giles,” sneered Lord Beeson. “For now, I expect silence from you while I get to the bottom of this mess.”

He took his time sipping the brandy, giving it a long, approving sniff.

“As a rule, we do not use girls or women kidnapped from the gentry, Mr. Hawton,” Lord Bee-son went on. “You can appreciate that we would not last long in this business if such a thing were to become known. But I can see that in this case the choice has been made for me. Take the gag off of Sir Giles, Teddy,” said Lord Beeson. “Now, Sir Giles,” he continued, while Teddy pulled at the knot holding the cloth around Giles’s mouth, “I trust you understand you are not holding a particularly good hand here. I want some information from you. If I get the truth, and if I like what I hear, I just may find myself able to spare your wife and your niece. You, of course, will not be spared under any circumstances. This fool of a steward and your sot of a stepsister have seen to that. Nevertheless, you may make a noble gesture and spare these two you seem to be so fond of. Do we have an agreement, sir?”

“You can rot in hell for eternity, Beeson,” snarled Giles as the gag fell from his face. “I trust nothing you say.”

“Whom did you tell of this little escapade before you hared off so precipitously for London?” Lord Beeson asked, his tone mild, as if he had heard no insult.

“My entire household staff knows where I was bound for, Lord Beeson,” countered Giles, matching the man’s even tones. “You can kill me, you can kill the lot of us, but my whole household knows the name of Lord Beeson and your Hanover Square address. Moreover, my housekeeper had arranged to meet with our local constabulary the day after I left to report the entire matter. No doubt word is on its way to the London authorities even as we speak.” None of this was true, of course. Giles had mentioned nothing of Lord Beeson’s letter to Mrs. Davies, but the pinched, gray look about Beeson’s mouth made the lie worthwhile.

“Gag him, Teddy,” snarled Lord Beeson, taking an angry gulp from his brandy. Teddy made short work of it, landing several more well-aimed kicks at Giles’s gut before the procedure was completed.

“No one in my household can trace me to this establishment, except as an evening visitor, and they all know enough to hold their tongues anyway,” Beeson seemed to be musing to himself.

“Bobby,” he said, turning to one of the men who stood at respectful attention, “Sir Giles and his man arrived in his own carriage, did they not?”

“Yes, sir, the carriage ’as already been brought round back,” was Bobby’s response.

“Good man. See to it that the horses are fed and watered, then harness them again. I’ll want that carriage moved to a place where no one will think to look. In the meanwhile, offer Sir Giles and his man our hospitality.” Beeson set his snifter down and stood.

“As for you, Mr. Hawton, I am seriously displeased with how this affair has been handled. I can understand that the girl screaming on the beach put you in an awkward position, but it is obvious that you and Eleanor were running your own nefarious enterprise on the side, and that has now involved me as well. I’ll pay you for the Irish shipment as we agreed, but I’ll give you no further money for the two females because you are putting me to the trouble of two murders and the risk of being caught up in a kidnapping charge. And you may tell Eleanor that she will be hearing from me regarding the future of our partnership. I suggest you get yourself back to Queen’s Hall as soon as you can. No doubt you left a mess there for Eleanor to wallow in.” Beeson flung a small purse in Hawton’s direction, not bothering to aim. Hawton had to bend down and pick it up from the floor where it lay next to Giles.

“I will return this evening, Mrs. Boyd, as originally planned. I’ll send word to you regarding how I want these men disposed of,” said Beeson as he disappeared through the door.

“Get them out of here,” Mrs. Boyd spat at her henchmen. The four men converged on Giles and Will, lifting them roughly and carrying them through the door into the hallway. Giles hung between his two captors, face down. He lifted his head and looked over at Will, and was relieved to see that the man’s eyes were open now and focused. Will met his glance with angry, determined eyes. Giles wondered how much he had heard.

They bumped roughly up four flights of stairs, Giles making a mental note of the twists and turns along the way.

“Watch out for the idiot,” growled one of the men, and the procession came to an abrupt halt. Giles could see a small pair of feet in the hallway and he heard the faint intake of breath. Lifting his head up, Giles met the startled, frightened eyes of Tom, peeping at him over a tall stack of what appeared to be clean bed linens.

“What do we ’ave ’im for?” asked one of the men over Giles’s head. Giles and Tom held one another’s glance, Giles willing the boy with his eyes to be silent. The boy looked stricken, as if all hope in him had been drained away. Giles tried to smile at him but it was hopeless, his face twisting into a bloody grimace.

“’E’s ’armless,” answered one of the other men. “Fetches and carries like a dog with a stick. Doesn’t talk. Needs to learn about ’is betters, though. ’Ere, you, boy, when you see any of us comin’ you get out of the way, is that understood, idiot?” The man emphasized his words with a clout to Tom’s head that sent the boy reeling and spilled the linens to the floor.

Giles ground his teeth at his own helplessness, watching as Tom bent over slowly and began picking up the sheets. The boy straightened and again met Giles’s eye. Giles read anger in him now, and Tom watched them from the rear until the men turned with their burdens into a room several doors down.