The House in Grosvenor Square (40 page)

Lord Antoine and his steward joined him as he started toward the house. It felt unbelievably superb to know that he was soon to greet his love. It meant so much to him, more than he knew it would, to have her under his roof. It was a feeling he wanted to grow very familiar with.

Freddie's face at close range revealed more than tension. He looked agonized.

“What is it, Freddie?” he asked.

“Miss Forsythe, sir—” He choked on what he had to say, and Mr. Mornay felt his blood run cold. “She's been abducted—again, sir!”

A
n awful energy, a pain of shock, ran through Mr. Mornay's whole being. His mind, heart, and limbs all rebelled at the words he'd just heard:
It's Miss Forsythe, sir. She's been abducted—again!
Every last bit of him wanted to yell
nooo!
Instead he took a deep breath to steady himself and forced his brain to remain calm. “What happened, Freddie?”

The butler had sent a man to Hanover Square already and had the whole story. Mornay's heart sank while he listened to it, but he also felt a determination and anger growing within him so that he flew into action. No wonder they had failed to find Wingate. While they'd been scouring his neighborhood in their search for him, he'd been plotting and planning in theirs! It was the perfect irony.

He turned to Lord Antoine, who had heard the explanation and whose mouth was set and hardened in as firm a line as Mornay's. He stifled an oath and instead vowed, “We'll find them. I promise you!”

“Good,” Mornay said. He then turned back to the butler. “Open the armoury.” They walked to the little inner room with no windows. “Take these men to the kitchen so they can eat. Quickly! Tell Cook to give them something for the drive.”

“Yes, sir. Will you be eating, sir?”

“No.” He had no appetite for anything except possibly murdering Wingate. He knew he wouldn't do that, of course, unless the man attacked him. But he would see him hung for this! Transportation no longer seemed severe enough for his crimes. He had struck too great a blow by taking his beloved yet again. It would not, must not, be borne.

In fifteen minutes Mr. Mornay was back in his coach with Antoine, his steward, who had elected to stay on in case he could help, and the two
soldiers. He took them first to Hanover Square, where an assortment of local law officials were gathered, as he thought they would be.

Mrs. Bentley wanted to speak to him, of course, but he told Haines to send the men out, and soon he was back inside the coach again. Now the small group was larger with the addition of two stocky, strong-looking men. One was a night watchman, and one a policeman. Antoine sat atop the board with the coachman to direct him because he best knew the neighbourhood and his brother's likely whereabouts.

Mr. Mornay occupied himself by loading three separate pistols and placing them about his person. One went in a waistcoat pocket, one in his boot, and one in his coat pocket. Afterward he still felt a nagging concern that he was
not
prepared. Then it hit him—he hadn't prayed!

“Gentlemen,” he said, looking around at the assorted men in his carriage. “Before we arrive and separate or anything can get out of hand, please join me in a word of prayer for the safety of the ladies, the capture of Lord Wingate, and no harm to our persons.”

The faces around him showed surprise, but these were followed by grateful nods of agreement. “Mr. Mornay, sir, if you like,” offered the watchman, “I've a proper Bible 'ere, sir.”

He accepted it gratefully and with no small surprise. There truly were more devout people in the world than he had ever realized when he wasn't one of 'em!

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat and bowed his head. “Almighty Father…”

Back at his house, Mrs. Hamilton was in her room, filling a traveling trunk with her effects. She knew her days were numbered in the establishment. The master knew, or would soon, that she was the source of unrest upon which the staff had reacted, that she had “leaked” the rumour that their situations were in peril, though she had no proof that it was so. Moreover, he was annoyed at her reporting on the missing items—why hadn't he been annoyed at Miss Forsythe as she'd hoped would happen? She had gone to such lengths to make sure it appeared as if that lady was to blame for the thefts. Why didn't he seem to care?

She wasn't going to leave just yet. She'd wait for her next wages and then take all her things, most especially all the things she had squirreled away in
a secret place in Molly's room. There were more things than what had been reported. Mrs. Hamilton had actually been stocking up her “savings” since she joined the staff, for if she didn't look out for her future, who would? She had no assurance of a pension of any sort—it was not guaranteed in her contract. So it only made sense that she had been padding her effects since entering the household. Lots of servants did the same thing, she knew. Her own mother, unfortunately, had not. And she had ended up at Draper's.

Her plan now was to slowly collect everything she'd lifted from the house and make a run for it, if need be. With that thought in mind, she went down the hall to the scullery maid's room. As the least important member of the staff, Molly had the smallest room. It was at the very end of the hall and had an outside wall, which meant the room was harder to keep warm. But Mrs. Hamilton had found a loose brick near the rafters during a routine inspection of the servants' quarters, and when she pulled it out, there was quite a large recess behind it. Perfect for stashing her articles!

As of this day, a little silver candlestick was there. So too was a lady's pistol she'd taken from the armoury, a small pile of guineas, taken with great trouble and mostly one at a time so as not to be noticed, and an assortment of other small but valuable items: a silver spoon, two elegant ivory snuff boxes, a necklace that had been Mrs. Mornay's (the most daring of her thefts!), a teacup and saucer, a watch fob, and other small objects that she had pilfered in the nine months she had been employed in the house.

The prospect of having a future mistress had only hastened the otherwise painfully slow acquisition of valuables, which she intended to sell for her future upkeep.

When she reached the room, she found that Molly was there already, on her knees beside her bed.
My word, but the child prayed!

“What are you doing here so early?” she asked.

Molly looked up, startled. “Me work's all done!”

“Go down to the kitchen and fetch me some tea leaves.”

“Tea leaves! Mr. Frederick keeps the tea, mum. Under lock and key.”

“I know that, you stupid girl! Now go and tell him I've run out and must borrow a little. I'll buy some back for the house when I've had my wages.”

“Yes, mum,” she said and scampered to her feet and curtseyed quickly. Then she hurried from the room to do as she was bade.

Mrs. Hamilton watched her go and then went and found the loose brick. She pulled it quietly from its place, reached her hand in, and pulled out the silver candlestick. She'd pawn this now, before she found herself on the
street! She looked it over briefly, admiring its shine, and then tucked it into her apron and replaced the brick with her free hand.

Satisfied, she went back to her chamber. Molly soon appeared with the tea and then left.

The coach was bulleting onward toward the East End, but Mr. Mornay was determined to read something from the little leather Bible the watchman had loaned him. He flipped through the pages, turning to the Psalms. He'd discovered that its pages were oozing with comfort for times of distress— times like this.

He felt exceedingly on edge, almost unable to contain himself. His passion to find Ariana was powerful—frighteningly so. But there was another side to that coin, a side he didn't want to think about. How terrible his heartache would be if something were to happen to her! The thought of her danger was almost too terrible to tolerate. Why had he brought the soldiers with him today when he might have left them with Ariana? Why hadn't he realized that something could occur even his own house? Why? Why?

It all came down to that reprobate Wingate! What should he do with the man? He looked down and saw that he had opened to Psalm 149, and he began reading. He wasn't on his knees, but he read the words as though it was the prayer of his heart:

He stopped and went over two of the lines that had jumped off the page
at him. “To bind their kings with chains, their nobles with fetters of iron”! He felt an unbelievable relief. God Himself had a “judgment written” against Wingate! This gave him great expectation that their mission would indeed succeed. With excitement, which would have been completely out of character for him only weeks earlier, Mr. Mornay, the Paragon, read the excerpt to his companions. The nodding of their heads and the spark of hope that jumped into their eyes—just as it had Mornay's—filled the air of the carriage with an entirely different spirit than the gloomy outlook it had contained before.

It was,
thought Mr. Mornay,
nothing short of a miracle.
His terrible fear had turned almost to joy. He was that certain of success—just from reading a book!
The Bible truly is the most amazing thing.

Back in her room, Molly got into bed but recalled that she hadn't finished praying. She climbed back out and fell to her knees. But something was wrong. There was a scratchy dust beneath her knees. It hadn't been there before. It was brick dust. She looked around wonderingly, saw the bricks below the rafters, and began touching a few. Bless her, one was loose! She pulled on it tentatively, and suddenly it came out easily. She took her small candle and tried to peek in the hollow that was revealed but could not make out the items. She shrank from the idea of putting her hand in without knowing what awaited.

Her first instinct was to run to Mrs. Hamilton's room to get the lady, which she started to do. As she got near the woman's door, however, something slowed her steps.