The Clarendon Rose (36 page)

Archer had gone with Bastian, who had headed off to get reports from the other men assigned to the case, while Clarendon investigated the house in Cheapside.
 
Pepridge had resorted to his usual method of luring his victims, then ambushing them, it would seem.

When Tina, Archer and Richards, the footman who had also accompanied her inside, did not emerge after a lengthy period this afternoon, the driver grew concerned.
 
He had knocked at the servants’ entrance of the small residence and received no response.
 
Upon further investigation, he found Archer and Richards bound and gagged—and the house otherwise empty.

“Archer says there were five of ‘em, Your Grace.
 
And they were ready for us.
 
Once we entered, they were on us before we even got our bearings.
 
I din’t get to see what they looked like—and Archer says he didn’t fare much better,” Richards told now told Clarendon as they walked through the unfurnished rooms, looking for clues. The man’s accent had begun to slip, as anger and self-disgust weighed down his voice.
 
“They must’a subdued ‘er and used a back exit to take ‘er to another location, Yer Grace.”
 

“Indeed,” he replied.
 
“Have you any leads on where that secondary location might be?”

“Not as yet, Your Grace.”

“Right.
 
Well, we’ll start our investigations with this area.
 
Surely a group of five men would draw some attention to itself.”
 
He nodded at two of the several staff he had brought with him.
 
“You two, have word sent around that I’m willing to pay anyone who has information as to the direction they might have taken.”

“Immediately, Your Grace.”

The men disappeared and Clarendon turned to the driver.
 
“We’ll need all male staff from both the family townhouse and my residence to follow up with whatever leads we receive.
 
Off you go.”

Clarendon barked out further instructions to the other men, his throat constricted.
 
It was going to be a long night.

At first, Tina thought she was having one of her nightmares—but the cloying, rotting smell and the pain in her head soon convinced her otherwise.
 
Her second thought was even more disturbing: that somehow, all the years since her mother had died and she had gone to live with Uncle Charles had been the dream.
 
That she was still a little girl, huddled in that awful apartment, and she had never known the warmth of the old duke’s affection, or of Edmund’s friendship—or, most devastating of all, of Clarendon’s passion.
 

Then, as she shifted, she felt the abrasion of rope against her wrists and the stiffness of cramped muscles, as if she had been lying in this position for some time.
 
Her legs had been bound at the ankles, and her captors had dumped her on a low bed in the corner of a dingy room, her back propped against the wall.

She looked around, trying to work out where she could possibly be.
 
Certainly, she recognized the smells, the rough, unfinished walls and the wood floors.
 
The room was probably located above a business establishment of some sort, from the distant bustle of sounds that reached her.
 
Though some of that was also probably coming from the street outside.

Yes, she knew all this very well, dating back to her earliest conscious memories.
 
She could just imagine the rough corridor outside this room, leading to a shabby staircase.
 
From there, she could hardly begin to guess at the nature of the establishment below without a few more hints.
 

But, she could visualize the narrow, twisty road outside—one of many, forming a labyrinthine warren of streets housing the poorest of the poor.
 
Those were the roads of her childhood—crowded, dim, stinking of disease and rot, unwashed bodies and offal, human and animal feces.
 
Streets where Quality would rarely stray, and even then would only undertake to do so with the greatest caution.
 

She was probably still in London, in one of the many impoverished and criminal districts the city boasted, but she couldn’t begin to guess which one.
 

The window had been latched shut, but she could see the bright lines of daylight through the gaps between the boards of the shutters.
 
Still, she had no way of determining the time of day or of guessing how long she had been unconscious.
 

She turned her attention to the room itself.
 
A low stool had been shoved under a table opposite her.
 
A lamp rested on top of the latter, providing a dim illumination that did not reach the corners of the room.
 
Glancing over into the shadows, she thought she could see the hints of movement that were also a familiar feature in this part of town—mice, or rats, scuttling through small holes and cracks, from room to room.
 

Nothing too helpful there.
 
So, she turned her thoughts to the question of how she might have ended up in this situation.

She remembered ascending the front steps to the modest house that was Mr. Fitzwilliam’s supposed residence, flanked by Richards and Archer.
 
The door had opened smoothly at her knock.
 
Assuming the servant stood behind the open door, she stepped inside, her guards right behind her.
 
She just had time to note that the house was suspiciously devoid of furnishings, when a blow to her head led into darkness.

Tina sighed, looking around the room for further clues about her specific whereabouts.
 
But, a meticulous scrutiny yielded no further enlightenment, and frowning, she concluded her time would probably be better spent trying to loosen her bonds.

Before she had managed to do much more than chafe her wrists some more, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching.
 

She froze, once again transported back to her childhood and the dread of her stepfather’s approach.
 
Everything was too familiar here, and already the fear was rising in her chest.
 
She tried to remind herself that she was no longer a child, and it was not her stepfather who approached, but her body didn’t believe her, and the fear continued to rise, clogging her throat and tightening her muscles as she cowered in the corner of the room.

By the time the steps stopped in front of the door, she was half-convinced it was actually him, reaching across the years to hurt her.
 
Or perhaps,
she thought wildly, knowing she was being ridiculous but unable to stop herself,
he’s found me after all this time and brought me back.

The door opened and she swallowed.
 
From where she sat, she still couldn’t see whoever it was.
 
She curled even further into herself, pushing her body back into the corner of the room without even realizing she was doing it.

Then, he stepped in and she gasped as he glanced over at her.
 
Her body relaxed slightly, but not before her shaggy-haired captor had noted her tense, cowering form.
 

“Aye and so yer up.
 
Glad t’see that, I am.
 
I feared Pete might’a conked yer ‘ead a bit ‘ard.”
 

A tallish, roughly-dressed specimen who, from what little she could see in the dim light, had few features to distinguish him.
 
Of course, she hadn’t yet glimpsed his face, but his stooped posture, broad shoulders and slight paunch gave away very little of his identity.
 
He set the tray he carried down on the table.

Tina released a long breath and reviewed her alternatives.
 
First of all, her best bet would be to look helpless.
 
Weak.
 
Of course, she felt fairly weak and helpless at the moment, with her muscles stiff, her stomach growling and her mind racing.
 

But how was she to escape, under the circumstances?
 
If her hands had been unbound, she might have had a fighting chance.
 
But now…?
 
She’d simply have to keep her eyes open for any chance that might present itself.

Nor could she afford to fail, because if she did, she might never see Clarendon again—and might never have any hope of repairing the damage she had wrought with her own stupidity.
 
The aching loss she felt at the thought helped sharpen her senses, and already she was scanning the room with new eyes.
 

Between the familiar surroundings and the sick sense of fear that had lodged in her stomach as she contemplated failure, memories had started to slip back into her mind.
 
She found herself scrutinizing the room for possible weapons with the practiced eye of the child she had been, who had learned to exploit weaknesses in larger, stronger opponents, using whatever came to hand.

“’e sez we’s supposed ta untie yew for th’meals only, mind,” he muttered, his back to the lantern as he approached her.
 
Between that and the way his hair hung around his face, she would have been unable to identify him even though he leaned in close as he rolled her over and untied her hands.
 
Nor did his pungent odor serve to set him apart from the other inhabitants of the area.

As she lay, her face shoved against the coarse, musty-smelling wool of the bed cover, Tina’s mind continued to race.
 
For now, her captors’ most significant weakness was their likely assumption that she was a gently-reared woman who knew of little beyond her circumscribed world of drawing rooms and etiquette.

“’ere, yew’ve go’a bit of a chafe, there, Yer Grace.
 
Beggin’ yer pardon ‘bout that.
 
Nuffin’ personal, see?”

The removal of the ropes confining her wrists was utter bliss and as he moved to untie her ankles, Tina shook her arms and rotated her shoulders, sighing with pleasure.
 
In a few moments, her arms were suffused with painful prickles.
 
She groaned softly as she moved them, trying to get the circulation going as quickly as possible.

“Time t’ get up, see?
 
We gots some food for Yer Grace,” he continued.
 
“Don’t want it t’ get cold, eh?”

Tina nodded, trying to lever herself into a sitting position despite the prickling numbness in her arms.
 

“’Ere, ye wan’ some ‘elp, Yer Grace?”

“Thank you,” she said, trying to sound as genteel and helpless as possible.
 
“I would, please.
 
My arms and legs are a bit numb, I find.”
 
Which was true.
 
She wouldn’t be making any moves for a little while yet.

“Yeh.
 
Sorry ‘bout that, too.
 
Pete can be a bit rough, ‘e can.
 
Nuffin’ personal, see?
 
Bu’ ‘e isn’ always too thoughtful-like.”

“Right, yes, I see,” Tina said, liking this fellow in spite of herself.
 

As he said, the injuries inflicted upon her were nothing personal.
 
He might regret them, but they were inevitable—part of the job he had been given to do.
 
And, if she had to inflict some harm on him in order to secure her escape, she’d have to adopt the same attitude—nothing personal.
 
But first, “I don’t suppose you would accept a sum to look the other way while I leave, would you?”
 
She kept her voice low.
 
The words lingered between them, but carried no further.

He regarded her a moment.
 
She still couldn’t see his expression.
 
After a few moments, he sighed, before placing her arm around his neck and his hand around her waist.
 
“’ere we go.
 
One, two, free, hup!” he said, hefting her to her feet.
 
“One foot forward.
 
Yeh, tha’s it.”

Tina noted that even now, he didn’t take any liberties with her—though his hand could easily have strayed from her waist to her breast, it didn’t.
 
“Please, consider it,” she murmured

“I am, Yer Grace, though Pete would call me a fool t’ do it,” he said in a low voice.

“Well then, leave Pete out of it.”

“Can’t do that, Yer Grace.
 
See, it’s all abou’ keepin’ the peace,” he murmured.
 
“If Pete found out, ‘e might lock me out, or just leave me, see?
 
And that would be right ‘ard on me, see?
 
‘e’s no’ always good to me, I’ll admit, but…”

“He’s all you’ve got,” Tina finished for him, finally understanding.
 
“Yes, I see.”

“And as far as ‘e’s concerned, th’other cove’s already paid us some an’ I think Pete’s ‘ad some bad blood in the past wi’ some a’ th’ nobles not honorin’ their end o’ the bargain, if you’ll pardon me sayin’.
 
‘e always wants cash hup front these days, does Pete.”

“Of course.”

“So I’d like t’elp, but…” he said, with a regretful sigh as he helped her sit on the low stool in front of the table.
 
“Pete’s stepped away fer now, so we c’n talk ‘bout it.”

“Well, please think about it a little more,” she murmured.
 
“You’d just have to turn your back, or pretend to be injured or something.
 
Maybe I could knock you back and you could fall into Peter, then be a bit clumsy about getting up again.
 
I’ll run, and …”

“What would ye do then?”

“I’d think of something.
 
You wouldn’t need to do more than what I’ve said.”