Authors: Julia Ross
"You stayed out of London longer than Ι
expected," Dovenby began.
"Ι was busy with some new cats."
Alden did not want to admit how he had raged and brooded at Gracechurch Abbey.
"The lady's pets? She mentioned them."
Alden propped his shoulders against the wall and
crossed his arms. "Ι didn't know you were acquainted."
"Since you were otherwise occupied, Ι
saw that she returned safely home that next morning," the Dove said
frankly.
"Thank you. Ι should have done it.
Unfortunately, Ι was sadly incapacitated. One more bone to pick with our
mutual friend."
"How did you ever fall into his clutches to
begin with?"
Alden shrugged. "Carelessness. He was the
spider. Ι was the fly. You are aware of the original scandal-"
"Ι was in London at the time. Not only
were she and the butcher's grandson held up to vicious ridicule, but the
broadsheets were full of very vigorous cartoons about our mutual friend that
were extremely close to the bone."
"His tastes are indiscriminate," Alden
said, "like a cat's."
The Dove stretched out long legs. His shoes
boasted discreet silver buckles. "Ι doubt if he ever felt anything as
honest as simple lust. He hungers only for the further inflation of his pride,
rather publicly damaged, of course, by the lady. Marion Hall was his idea of
revenge?"
"It goes further than that. He also wanted her
locket. He chose a particularly diabolical way to secure it, but the locket
itself was one of his aims."
"Because the lady valued it?"
It was pure instinct to think he could rely on
this man, yet Alden trusted him.
"That was his first incentive. For sentimental
reasons, she valued it more than anything she possessed. No one could have
told our friend that, except her husband. Yet one would think these two men
would never be on speaking terms: a duke's son and the commoner who stole away
his intended bride. So Ι assume they had business dealings?"
"They did," the Dove said.
"Ι thought so. Did Lord Edward
deliberately ruin Hardcastle's timber business to gain control over him?"
"Ah," the Dove said. "Ι
believed you to be a perceptive man. George Hardcastle does not know that, of
course."
"Or he would hardly have told Lord Edward
about his wife's locket. Yet Hardcastle must think it valueless-"
"Why do you think any of this would be of
interest to me?" Dovenby asked.
"Ι made a few inquiries," Alden
said. "Discreetly, through an agent. You also have business dealings with
our mutual friend."
"To my benefit. Not, unfortunately - though
he doesn't know it yet - to his."
"Yet he trusts you. He invited you to Marion
Hall. Ι would like to know whether he is just driven by greed, or if he is
in truth in need of funds?"
Dovenby studied his shoe buckles, a small grin
bending the corners of his long mouth. "One might say that his affairs are
in considerable disarray. Yet he knows only that he needs vast amounts more
capital to continue to invest in his dearest business ventures. His intention
is to become the wealthiest man in England."
"It's not easy being a younger son,"
Alden commented dryly.
The grin became wider. "Greed is an
unfortunate attribute. It can blind one to reality. Ι have wondered why he
seemed so incredibly overconfident lately, though Ι have found his hubris
most usefu1. You imply the lady's locket has some critical role to play?"
"He wouldn't sell it back to me - not for
blood, nor even for money. Ι believe he thinks it will lead him to the
Felton treasure: a legendary hoard buried about a hundred years ago and never
recovered, a fortune in gold and jewelry."
"Which explains a great deal," Dovenby
said. "Thank you for this information. May Ι advise you not to invest
in the Isle of Dogs Muscovy Pelt and Sable Company, where our mutual friend is
now so heavily committed?"
"Yet perhaps Ι have my own plans for
his downfall," Alden replied quietly.
Dovenby closed his eyes as if he were making up
his mind to something. "You don't have rime. There is another task for
you, if you' re interested. The details of this new Muscovy venture do not
auger well for the lady."
Alden' s small shred of satisfaction vanished.
"What the devil do you mean?"
The other man glanced up, his face calm, but a
small pulse beat visibly at the side of his jaw. "What use is his wife to
George Hardcastle? He abandoned her five years ago. She is only in the way now.
To get him to bring her to London, Lord Edward ruined Hardcastle's business,
trapped her into adultery, then told her husband where to find her in Manston
Mingate. One would think his revenge on her complete. Yet now, for no apparent
reason, the duke's son has given her husband a partnership in his new Muscovy
Company. Lord Edward believes - if mistakenly - that it is going to make him
very rich. Now he voluntarily shares that wealth with a man he despises?"
Dread seized Alden by the throat. He paced away
across the room. "The devil! On what conditions? What the hell has he
demanded from George Hardcastle in return?"
"Sir Reginald Denby - no doubt in his role
as lackey for Lord Edward - has been collecting affidavits: from a woman in the
village who worked for the lady, even a lady's maid from your mother's
house-"
"Tilly? Κate?"
Alden spun about to stare at Dovenby. "What
about?"
"Her servants swear she ate flowers. Just to
turn down a duke's son and run away with the steward is enough proof of lunacy
in the right quarters-"
Alden's hands closed on a length of linen.
Without conscious thought, he grasped fabric in both fists and ripped. The dust
sheet tore to reveal the marble statue of a woman.
"He
cannot
make such accusations
stick!"
"Of course he can." Dovenby was white
about the nostrils. "With the husband complicit and Lord Edward paying the
doctors?"
"And she behaved with exquisite insanity at
Marion Hall?" Rage formed a sick knot in his throat. It was his fault!
His
fault!
To be declared mad was worse than death. "She has already been
locked away? Where?"
"Perhaps you can find out." The Dove
held out a folded slip of paper. "Ι had planned to go after her
myself, but perhaps the task is rightfully yours. Leave our financial revenge
on Lord Edward to me, and Ι shall - with a certain personal reluctance,
Ι admit leave the lady's rescue to you. Here is Hardcastle's
address."
"She's not in Bedlam?" The question
almost choked him.
"No," Dovenby said, standing.
"Α private asylum, Ι understand - I don't know where."
Alden strode blindly back across the room.
Appalling images flooded his mind. The Bethlam Royal Hospital lay north of the
old London Wall at Moorgate, where bored ladies and gentlemen paid a fee to
laugh at the lunatics - an afternoon's entertainment, to watch the filthy,
witless creatures shout and swear and rattle their chains.
Was Juliet now locked in such a place?
With his fingers on the door latch, Alden forced
himself to stop and look back. "Thank you, sir. We’ll stay in touch?
Ι will find the lady, but Ι' m not done with Lord Edward."
Dovenhy walked to the window and looked out,
palms clasped behind his back.
"I’ll keep you informed, Lord
Gracechurch."
The statue appeared to be staring past him. With
one hand the marble woman clutched her Greek robes to her breast. In the other
she held out a ball of fine thread.
"Ariadne," Alden said.
Dovenby looked around and cocked a brow.
Alden nodded at the statue. "The king’s
daughter who led Theseus out of the labyrinth after he killed the Minotaur,
only to be abandoned on the isle of Naxos by the hero she had rescued. Is it
ever possible to rewrite myth and find a happy ending?"
"I don't know," the other man replied.
"But good luck."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ALDEN'S FIRST IMPULSE WAS TO OPENLY CONFRONT
GEORGE Hardcastle or the duke's son. To find out where Juliet had been sent, he
could easily justify the infliction of pain. Yet he knew a physical
confrontation would be useless. His enemies could lie, prevaricate, delay. Lord
Edward would relish being given such power. Meanwhile a simple message would
see Juliet moved, farther and farther from Alden's reach, until she had disappeared
so deeply that no one could ever find her.
He walked blindly through Bracefort's house,
ignoring the naked women, the couples copulating in the hallways. The thought
flitted vaguely through his mind that this was the longest he'd gone without
sex for ten years. He dismissed it, concentrating only on Juliet. He did not
love her, but he was damned if he'd see her incarcerated for life as a lunatic!
"You are to be congratulated, sir, on your
narrow escape," a man's voice said.
For a moment, Alden's rage was so intense that he
could have murdered with his bare hands. Instead he raised both brows and
stared back at Lord Edward Vane.
"From what, sir?"
The duke's son burst out laughing, two patches
dancing on his cheeks. "From any deeper entanglement with sweet Juliet, of
course. She has gone mad. Did you know?"
It took every ounce of self-control, but Alden
shrugged. "Really? Ι fail to see, sir, how that doleful fact
concerns me."
Was Lord Edward disconcerted, even for a moment?
"Faith, sir! You truly are a coldhearted dog."
Alden gave the duke's son a careless bow.
"Hearts, sir, were never at issue. Ι trust Mr. Hardcastle and his mad
wife may dance along merrily enough together?"
He managed to walk away. He even stopped casually
in the hallway to exchange a lewd joke with Trenton-Smith, who appeared to
have forgotten their small misunderstanding over the man's unholy sister.
At last Alden walked out into the stench of
London streets and called for a sedan chair. If he was to best Lord Edward in
this, he must overcome his murderous rage - the impulse to drive too fast
across the board. Winning had never before been this important, and this time the
checkmate must be absolute. The chair jolted along the cobbles. Alden leaned
back and forced himself to think, to concentrate on a gambit for victory. He
had no legal or social justification whatsoever to interfere in what they had
done to Juliet. She was another man's property. Doctors had declared her
insane.
Ariadne, the king's daughter who led Theseus out
of the labyrinth after he killed the Minotaur, only to be abandoned on the isle
of Νaxos by the hero she had rescued.
If he was to save her this time, it meant
disappearing into the labyrinth himself.
JULIET SAT IN STONY SILENCE AND STARED AT THE
SOUP. TINY black specks floated among the brown chunks of mutton. She did not think
they were edible. In fact, she very much feared the specks had once enjoyed
individual lives of their own. Nevertheless she dipped her spoon into the
liquid and swallowed. The woman in the next room had been refusing food. They
had tied her hands and legs to force a physic down her throat. The woman had
retched and screamed for an entire night.
Juliet ate the soup.
The room was tiny, little more than a cell,
somewhere near the top of a large house. Light filtered in through a barred
window high up on the wall. She had no idea what kind of house, because they
had arrived in the dark and she had been bound and gagged.
A madwoman!
Since then this little space was all she had
known. It held a bed, a wooden chair by a shelf against the wall, and a chamber
pot. The bed was equipped with large leather straps. There were, she was sure,
worse places to house a lunatic. At least she had her own room and the public
did not pay a fee to look at her.
A woman in a white apron came and took away the
bowl. She was sandy-haired, no longer young, with a fearful look about the
nostrils, as if she had never received quite enough air.
"Excellent soup, Mistress Welland,"
Juliet said. "An imaginative recipe. Ι am glad to know that Lord
Edward is getting his money's worth."
"Any more talk like that and it’ll be the
gag," the sandy-haired woman replied. "Or the dark cell. Ι have
my orders."
The dark cell was, Juliet had learned, a place in
the cellar with no windows at all, where lunatics could be left for days at a
time in pitch blackness. Confinement was considered therapeutic. At least as
long as she stayed in this room, she had daylight.
"My apologies, ma'am. Your chef would grace
the king's own kitchens, of course."
Mistress Welland shouted. Footsteps pounded in
the corridor. Two men burst into the room and grasped Juliet by both arms,
dragging her from her chair. The woman thrust a rag into Juliet's mouth and
tied it behind her head, while the men strapped her down to the bed.