The Education of Portia (27 page)

"And she will be again soon. Gavrielle will go with you." Portia found her confidence
strained by the assurances she had to give. "I am going to send for your papa, so that he can
know what is happening. So soon as he arrives I shall bring him to you. And he may sleep in my
dressing room, close by so that you need have no worries."

She ushered the girls with Heloise and Gavrielle from the room, and alerted a maid to
attend on their wants. Then she turned back to her study and her step-brother.

"I shall write a note to Stadbroke; please have a groom mounted immediately, Cal, so
that he can carry it to London."

He left the room and she heard him in quick conversation with Euston. After a moment
only, he returned.

"Did you see nothing at all in the grounds?" she asked as she dipped her quill and began
to write.

"Nothing. We shouted ourselves hoarse, and heard nothing." Dent absently ate a cake
from the abandoned tea tray. "We took torches and found nothing but a great many tracks from
the girls' earlier chases and capers. There are broken twigs and that early patch of daffodils had
been disturbed, but nothing untoward, not a single clue. It's dashed cold out, Port."

"Don't remind me," she snapped. "Oh I am sorry, but I fear the worst, Cal. Surely she
will not have gone as far as the Coldfall Wood. But what if she has, or if she has gone as far as
Muswell Hill? She might have been taken by gypsies or, or, procurers." She pulled on the quill in
her hand and it snapped. Flinging it on the floor she took up another and dipped it in the ink. A
large blot appeared on her paper as she began to write and she choked on a sob.

"You must control your imagination, Port!" Her step-brother poured out a cup of
lukewarm tea which he gulped down. "You will be no use to anyone if you continue in such a
vein. This is not like you. I know you love these girls, but try for composure."

Portia took herself in hand, and inhaled sharply. Caldwell was right, such panic was
unlike her and unworthy of her. To be of real use to Penelope, she had to control her fears and
use all the resources available to her. She took a new piece of paper, wrote her note, sanded,
folded, and sealed it, and gave it to Caldwell.

He returned to the entry hall and she could hear him instructing the groom who had
appeared to make all haste to Hill Street. She felt very cold. She could not imagine what had
happened to Penelope, but she feared the worst. What would Ingram do if the child was
irrevocably lost? It would break his heart as well as hers. She had no doubt that Penny's sisters
would be equally shattered. It did not bear thinking of.

She looked up at Caldwell's return. He had donned his greatcoat again, and held his
low-crowned beaver in tightly clenched fingers.

It was he who broached the unthinkable. "Port, what if it is my father?"

She shook her capped head. "I must admit he was my first thought, but...surely not.
What can he have to do with this?"

"If he is truly desperate... And if he is angry enough... You said Lord Stadbroke had
confronted him at the Afrique; well, we know Stadbroke struck him. If he wanted to retaliate for
that insult, how better than to kidnap one of the viscount's daughters? Even hold her to ransom?"
Caldwell was choking out the words, revulsion over his father's wickedness obvious.

"Good God, I cannot imagine it. Revenge? He is not so vile, is he? So lost to all decency
as to harm a child? No, surely she has gone to walk to London again, and lost her way." Portia
clutched her
chatelaine
as though it was some charm against harm.

"I hope you are right, but I think not. I am going out again." He slapped on his hat and
drew on the gloves he carried. "We'll go east this time toward the villas--Comton
Grange--though we have no reason to suspect she went that way. If that is unsuccessful we shall ride out.
Thank God for those horses you hired..."

"Let us hope that God takes a hand in this somewhere." Portia bit her lip. "It will take
two, even three hours for Stadbroke to reach us. It is just after eleven of the clock. That is ample
time to find her surely. I cannot wish to greet him empty-handed. Do come back, Cal, so soon as
you have any news."

"I'll be back," he assured her grimly.

* * * *

The message found Ingram as he returned to his Hill Street house from a ball. He had
the intention of changing his dancing slippers for a pair of boots and donning a greatcoat over his
evening coat for a visit to Cribb's Parlour. He could be sure of some sporting conversation there,
a fitting end to busy, but somehow meaningless, day.

A groom, chilled and be-grimed, was waiting in the entry as his butler opened the door
for Ingram. "This fellow is carrying a letter he will not relinquish but to you, my lord," his
servant announced. "A message from Mansion House Establishment."

Ingram snatched at the paper, with a quick look at the groom's tired face. Fear clutched
his stomach. He read Portia's note, then reread it, and felt all colour drain from his face.
Penny...his little one...gone.

"Order my grey saddled. And I want every able bodied man in the household to follow
me to Mansion House. Miss Penelope is missing, I may need their help to search. John
Coachman can bring the phaeton, Turley can drive with him and they must bring the Ruffian.
Mount the grooms and footmen--hire horses if necessary. You stay here in London, I will need
the house ready for my return." He took the stairs two at a time.

It was only moments before Ingram was mounted and heading out of London. For the
agonizing hour as he rode north to Hornsey and the school, he was conscious only of anger and
prayers circling in his head. He guided his favourite horse with automatic care, intent upon
obtaining the maximum in speed from the beast while protecting its endurance.

He burst into the entry hall of the Mansion House School just as the long case clock on
the landing tolled one. The porter pointed wordlessly to the study and Ingram flung through the
door without knocking. He knew he must be wild-eyed and dishevelled, and he cared nothing for
it. If he frightened Portia Crossmichael and Heloise Montlucon as much as he was frightened, it
was all one to him.

"Have you found her?" he said between clenched teeth, without other greeting.

"No," Portia replied, as baldly.

He noted her white and haggard face without emotion. "Dear God!" he said and dropped
into a nearby chair to cover his eyes with one shaking hand. "My little Penny... Where are Mel
and Sabina?"

"In my chamber. I promised that you would go up as soon..."

"You promised? What good are your promises?" Ingram's anger spilled over, overriding
his fear, and he did not temper his words. He leapt again to his feet, tension in his every muscle.
"You promised you would keep them safe. You said they would come to no harm through you.
And now my youngest daughter, my little jewel, is gone."

He stalked across the Turkey carpet to thrust his face close to hers. "Where? Where have
you searched? And where are her clothes? My men are bringing Ruff. He will pick up her scent;
there is nothing...no one...he cannot track."

Portia looked almost afraid of him, and Madame was definitely shrinking away.

Caldwell Dent hurried in, his greatcoat damp and his face ruddy from the chill night
air.

Ingram did not move.

"You are frightening the ladies, Stadbroke."

Dent caught Ingram's attention by his very quietude. He spun on his heels to stare
inimically at Portia's step-brother. "You tell me then," he sneered.

"She is not to be found in the immediate vicinity. We are about to extend our search to
the Coldfall Wood, and south toward the metropolis. And to the river." He straightened his
shoulders, and gave his step-sister an admonishing look. "Portia will not credit it, but I think
my father
--" He spat out the words. "--might be involved in Penelope's disappearance.
Before he went to London, he was frequenting The Three Compasses. Melicent saw him,
and--"

Goaded by the revelation of more occurrences of which he had not been advised, Ingram
turned on Portia again. "Dent was in the neighbourhood and you did not tell me?"

He watched her with reluctant admiration as she conquered her fear of his anger and
faced him with dignity.

"I think Cal is wrong," she said.

"What?" Ingram lost his composure utterly. He roared, "Why should he be wrong and
you right? Damned women. Manipulation, prevarication and lies. That is all you deal in."

He had apparently ignited Portia's temper at last. "I have not lied to you!"

Ingram tried to lower his voice, conscious of his daughters above-stairs and the other
girls in the building. "You have been damned economical with the truth then, ma'am. You did
not tell me that Harold Dent had stayed in the neighbourhood. Or that Melicent had any
knowledge of him."

"I tried! I was on the point of telling you some time ago, but you were off on some
tangent of your own. And it did not seem important--"

"Of course, nothing is important to your sex but clothes, parties and entrapping
men...stupid females!" Ingram knew he was growing irrational, saying things he no longer
believed true, but he was unable to stop himself.

"Enough! Enough of this childish brangling," Caldwell's sharp tone put a stop to the
exchange of insults. "We could all apportion blame, I think, in this affair. What is important is
that we get Penelope back safely. Stadbroke, I'll await you outside."

"If you will follow me, my lord, I will take you to your daughters." Portia was coldly
polite.

She was cold, and Ingram felt frozen as he followed her up the stairs. He had wondered
from time to time over the past weeks, if his desire for her had turned to something else,
something akin to love. Now he knew that it had not been so. Women were all alike and never,
never would he trust one again, be she ever so appealing.

He said over his shoulder to Caldwell, "Two of my grooms, my footmen, my coachman
and my valet and my hound should be arriving shortly. You will direct the men how best to help
the search. I will take the hound myself."

He addressed Portia's straight back as she led him down the familiar corridor to her
chamber. "Miss Crossmichael, you should hope that we find Penelope well and soon. If we do
not, I will ensure that you no longer have a school and that you will never operate another in this
country, or any other."

Portia flung open her bed-chamber door and defied his threats. "Thank you, my lord, for
your intimidation. It displays your true character. I will fetch some of Penelope's garments for
your hound and return to the corridor here. When you wish to begin your search I will conduct
you to Caldwell. You will be provided with every assistance."

Ingram scarcely heard her; he hardly registered the presence of Gavrielle Montlucon in
the chamber. His attention was all for his remaining two daughters. They flung themselves off
Portia's bed and hurled themselves upon their father.

Ingram held his older daughters in his arms with desperate love and fierce protection,
his mind churning with anger and self-reproach. Whatever had happened to Penny, he would find
her. Whoever was responsible would suffer. And after they all were together again, they would
never be far from him.

Ultimately, all that had happened had been his fault, he would have to admit it. Had he
not wished for excitement, pleasure, and gratification of his baser desires, they should all have
remained in Lincolnshire. His girls would be safe, and he would never have met Portia
Crossmichael.

Damn her! She had been so clear-eyed, so honest, so good and so true, that he had
trusted her. He had never trusted another woman as he had her. And she had proved herself no
better than the rest. No better than his mother with her manipulation, his wife with her
unreasonable demands or his mother-in-law with her interference.

He pushed the thoughts, the recriminations aside. Penny must be his prime concern, her
safety his priority.

He soothed his daughters, forbade their leaving the house, refused their help. "You can
best assist by remaining safely indoors. Mel, I mean it. Ruff is coming, you know he can track
anything or anyone. He'll find Penny."

"Oh, Papa, he will. He has never failed." Melicent was calmer, confident of the hound's
abilities. Sabina was weeping softly.

"Dry your eyes, Sabby. We will find her. And we'll not be separated again, I promise
you that." He was rewarded for his words by his eldest daughter's watery smile and the beginning
of her return to composure. "I must go. I won't return without your sister." He thought for a
moment, then added, "Do as Miss Crossmichael bids you." With a last kiss, he left them.

Portia was waiting in the corridor as she had promised. She was carrying a neat pile of
muslin and merino that cut him to the heart. Her inimical stare stiffened his resolve
however.

They did not speak as she led him to an open side door of the ground level of the house.
She handed him the pile of Penny's clothing and she left him there without a word.

He dismissed her from his mind, and gained the gravelled drive. There he saw that his
men had arrived and that the Ruffian was straining at his leash. Caldwell Dent and his searchers,
all carrying lanterns and restless in their urgency, milled about the drive.

The night was dark, without a moon, but Ingram thought the cold had alleviated a little
since he had entered the house. A slight breeze stirred the horses' tails as Dent informed him of
the instructions he had given the men. Dent himself would accompany Ingram and the
hound.

They all streamed off, and Ingram gave one last look over his shoulder at the house. He
could not tell which window let on his daughters' chamber but at the front door he could see
outlined Portia's slender figure. He steeled his heart and shuttered his mind against his own
burden of guilt. This was all her fault.