The House in Grosvenor Square (43 page)

As he approached, Mornay waited. He could hear, more than see him, but he pocketed his pistol and prepared himself to face the man. And the moment Chesley was close enough, Mornay grabbed him and quickly felt to see if he had a weapon. Then, taking him by the collar, he pushed him forward and said, “Keep going!”

Once they cleared the alley, a dim street lamp offered sight of each other.

Chesley looked relieved. “Thought I was apt to swoon like a woman from that stink!” He took his handkerchief, wiped his face and mouth, and blew his nose heartily.

“Why the devil did you run from me?”

“You looked devilish angry! Couldn't think! Didn't know! I just ran!”

“What are you doing in this neighbourhood?”

“Oh, come! We can't all afford Boodle's for our supper, and there's plenty friendliness of the petticoat sort in these parts! You can understand that, surely!”

Mr. Mornay was staring into Chesley's eyes as he spoke, and he was not convinced.

“You saw her. You saw Miss Forsythe, didn't you?”

“What? No, I haven't seen her! She wouldn't be around here!”

“I don't believe you!” He pulled Chesley up by the lapels of his coat. The watchman joined them at that moment and stood back watching. Chesley saw him and choked out, “Help me, sir! Get this man's hands off of me! I ain't done nothing!”

He was ignored.

“Tell me, Mr. Chesley, where did you see her?” Mornay was beginning to speak through gritted teeth. Chesley tried to kick him away, but Mornay pulled a pistol back out and stuck it against his side.

“Sir—” the watchman said. “He does look a gentleman. I say, is that necessary?”

“I only, ever, do what is necessary,” Mornay replied, with the feeling that he had said such before. “I shouldn't like to kill you, Chesley. I know your
parents. So tell me where you saw her, or I'll have to inform your family of the tragic death you suffered in the East End, where you were found cavorting with drunkards. Doesn't your father wish you to enter the church? It will probably break his heart, poor soul.”

“Put me down,” he gasped, “and I'll tell you!”

He was put down and more gently than he deserved. His face had grown exceedingly reddened, and he was sweating profusely. He looked up with an evil eye at his tormentor and hissed, “I shall tell you what I know not because I fear you! I don't think you'd have the nerve to kill me! Not when you know I haven't done anything!”

Mornay took a breath, forcing himself to be patient. “Go on.”

Chesley took a deep breath, gathering his wits. “I didn't see Miss Forsythe. I saw Wingate. He had a lady with him, but I couldn't tell who she was.”

“Only one lady?”

Chesley caught the note of surprise. “Only one.”

“Where and when?” he demanded.

“The house we were just in.”

“Do you have an idea where she might be in the house?”

Chesley was silent.

“Do not trifle with me, Mr. Chesley!”

“I don't know for certain!”

“Show us.” Mornay motioned with his pistol for the young man to lead the way.

Ariana was sitting in the dark since Wingate left her. She didn't mind the darkness, in and of itself. It was the sound of little rodent feet that bothered her, and she had tried to scream out twice when the sounds came too close, only to find that her heavily muffled tones, which was all she could make with the cloth filling her mouth, did little to deter the beasts.

She had continued praying, not out of hopelessness, but due to her discomfort and fear of the rodents. So far they hadn't actually touched her, even though they'd come close.

With alarm—mingled with hope—she heard sounds from outside the door and then a key turning in the lock. And then her heart sank. It had to be Wingate. He had the key.

He came in saying, “I left you in the dark, did I? Beastly of me.” He sounded out of breath, which encouraged her. He brought a candle in with him, and suddenly all the shadows—and the mice, for that's all they were— fled.

Her eyes were filled with accusations. He studied her and said, “It shan't be long now. Mornay knows what I want. If he is willing to pay, you'll be safe—and in his arms, I have no doubt—in two hours, more or less.” She couldn't help but feel relief, though something told her Mr. Mornay would never pay for her release not because he didn't value her or couldn't afford it, but because he would much rather find her and nab Wingate. She didn't know if it was male pride or a sense of justice, but she would be shocked if he met Lord Wingate's demands.

Wingate checked the knots on her hands and those keeping her tied to the chair. She made sounds sufficiently with her mouth, letting him know she wished to speak.

“You need to speak.” He paused. “Very well, I shall give you the opportunity, but—” And here he paused again and looked her point blank in the eye. “If you scream or call for help, I'll do my worst with you. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

When he untied her, he waited to hear what she would say, staying close by.

“You mustn't leave me in the dark like that again. Those horrid mice! It was too unkind.”

He seemed amused. He scratched his head and then looked at her wryly. “If I leave you with a light, it could cause a fire, and then you'd end up dead. That wouldn't be good for either one of us, now, would it?”

She didn't want to admit that he was right, so she said nothing. “May I have a drink? My throat aches.”

“Now there I can help you,” he answered, as if pleased to be of service. He had removed a coat and now went and dug into a pocket, pulling out a flask. He opened it and held it up to her lips saying, “I'll have to give it to you. Here.” She had no choice but to allow him to feed her the drink, but as soon as it hit her throat, she began to cough and splutter. He took a sip himself, watching her.

“Don't care for brandy, then?”

She didn't answer but shook her head. It was far too strong for her liking, and it felt hot on her throat.

The soldiers were back at Mornay's coach, looking around, not having turned up anything of the two women they were searching for or of Wingate.

“There! Isn't that Mornay?” said one.

“He's got someone,” said the other. In tandem they came hurrying toward the threesome, ready to take Chesley into custody.

“This isn't your man, gentlemen,” said Mornay, when they reached them. “But do come along, as we may be running into him shortly.”

Holliwell came out of the house at that moment. He'd spent the last few minutes going around the first floor rooms, but all he'd found was various couples, most of whom cursed at him heartily until he'd shut the door on them. There was no sign of either lady on that storey.

He hoped that Julian hadn't been serious about the two women being in secret rooms. He knew Mornay would have houses torn down sooner than give up looking. He had to admit it was a good idea, on his brother's part, from a criminal's point of view. But he still hoped it wasn't true.

He joined the men in front of the house and gave his report.

“Your brother is in this house?” Mornay was already checking his weapon.

Holliwell turned to Chesley. “What made you run like a rabbit? Knowing my brother isn't a crime, you know!”

Chesley merely glowered at him. “Lost my head, that's all.”

Holliwell added, “What room was Julian using for himself? Do you know?”

“Top storey, top o' the stairs. I was going to see if—” And here all the men turned as one to enter the house. Mr. Chesley's last words were muttered mostly to himself, though Mornay grabbed him by the coat lapel and dragged him along. “If he had Miss Herley.”

The men started up the wooden stairs, which creaked very much. Try as they might to keep the noise down, anyone listening for sounds would have heard them. Mornay said, “One of you must stay downstairs—Antoine it will have to be you.”

“Why?” He was indignant.

“Because you know the ladies. You will recognize them, and you know anyone who might try to smuggle them out while we search upstairs.”

“Very well.” But he wasn't happy about it.

As they neared the upper storey, the soldiers turned to Mornay. “We should go first. Remain on the stairwell until you see one of us, or if he comes out.”

“No.” Mornay spoke. “The safety of the ladies is our paramount aim here. I have a better idea.”

Lavinia was straining her ears to listen to the sounds from the hall. There were people on the steps, of that she was sure. But what kind of people? Would they help her? Or would it be worse for her, tied up as she was, to draw in the wrong sort of people while she was in such a helpless condition? The man who had brought her to the room had fallen asleep, right on the floor and near the door. He was not too far from a candle that was burning low. She almost wished it would burn him.

Wingate sat down tiredly against the wall, as he'd done earlier. He soon sat up with a start, however, listening intently.

“Not a word! Not a sound! Or I'll make you sorry for it!” After listening with his ear close to the door for a moment, he stood back and bolted it.

Moments later a knock sounded. First one, then another. Wingate said nothing and kept his eyes fixed on her with a warning glare in them. Then they both heard, “Wingate! Open the door, man! It's me. Chesley! I've brought you a bottle of sherry!”

He flew to the door but did not open it. “I don't want it. Where the deuce have you been? And don't you know better than to find a man when he doesn't want to be found?”

“I've got news from your brother! It's about Mornay! Open the door, sir!” Wingate was thinking. Ariana was horrified. It sounded again as if Mr. Chesley was in league with Lord Wingate. And had something happened to Mr. Mornay? Her heart froze in her throat, and she listened intently. Chesley banged again.

“Be silent, you fool!” Wingate hissed.

“You're the fool if you don't let me in!” he returned, just as forcefully. “Do you want your dashed money or don't ya?”