Caversham's Bride (The Caversham Chronicles - Book One) (39 page)

“Millicent’s caretakers are trying to convince her she has not seen Thomas,” Ren told his friend, as he began to pace the length of his office. “But, what if Thomas is alive, and he did visit his mother. What if, Michael?” He stopped in front of his friend. “She said she prayed for the souls of our dead relatives, but never mentioned her own son. That’s what got me thinking. What if?”

Michael and Ren stared at each other for a moment, before Ren went back to his desk. Taking out a sheet of stationary, he began to pen a note. “This is for Cartland. I need to reinstate security at Haldenwood immediately. Thankfully, Lia is unable to leave the house, and Thomas isn’t fool enough to enter the home to steal her away. The staff all know him.”

“But they aren’t looking for him,” Michael noted, the disciplined attorney in him taking over. “They think Thomas is dead.”

He lifted the bell to ring it, when a commotion in the foyer belowstairs caught his attention. Footsteps running up sent him striding toward the door, and he opened it just as one of the young grooms from Haldenwood reached the landing. Mud-splattered and soaked from riding in the mist and snow, the lad collapsed into a heap at his feet.

“Her Grace has been abducted,” he panted, trying to catch a breath. “I came straightaway as soon as they noticed her gone. Men have been sent in all directions from the estate, Your Grace, covering every road, stopping every conveyance.”

From the darkest corner of his soul—a primal place so deep no compassion, no love of kin existed, he cried out. And once the pain and shock wore away, he started commanding the servants to various tasks, including sending for Cartland. Within the hour he, Michael, Cartland, and a dozen others rode hard through the evening and into the night to arrive at Haldenwood in the early hours of the morning.

Their investigation began immediately on the front porch, the scene of the abduction, where traces of his wife’s struggle still remained on the snow-covered porch. Each and every male employee, from the house steward and butler to the grooms and under-gardeners, was questioned about their findings. While Ren and Michael questioned the staff, Cartland and his men were out knocking on doors of every home in a ten mile radius, to see if anyone saw anything out of the ordinary.

As he questioned the footmen and gardeners who had gone out the day before, some on horseback, others on foot. Ren learned that they’d followed wheel tracks to the main road, and stopped every vehicle they saw on that road and all the smaller roads and drives that broke off the main. Once each vehicle had been searched, the passengers were apologized to and sent on their way. All the staff said no one appeared criminal or suspicious in any way.

“How long was it before she was discovered gone?” Michael asked.

Mrs. Davies, the last to have seen her said, “About one hour, my lord. Her Grace came down to fetch a book, and planned to return to her room. Not long after that, her maid asked if we belowstairs had seen her mistress. That’s when we began the search.”

“How is it possible?” Ren’s voice rose to a tense roar, as he clipped, “Why was she left alone?”

“Your Grace, yesterday was bough cutting,” the housekeeper said through her tears. “You know, it’s something we do every year at this time.” The woman wiped her eyes, then added, “Everyone was so cheerful to go out, not just for the snow, but also it’s the first time in several years we’ve had a reason to be be joyful, what with the new babe coming...,” this set the woman to weeping further. “We thought all was fine when we sent Lady Elise and the children out with several footmen and gardeners to protect them.”

“Do not blame the children or the staff, Your Grace,” said his grandmother as she entered his office at Haldenwood where the interrogations were taking place. “None of us had any way of knowing he would strike while the house was less guarded. Remember, we all believed him dead.”

Michael stepped forward. “Thomas spent many a holiday here. He knew the estate would be less guarded yesterday, as he knew your family’s tradition of bough cutting. That is why he visited his mother when he did. So that you would get called to Cornwall, leaving Her Grace here relatively unattended, making it easier for him to take her.”

Ren couldn’t help but agree with Michael’s assessment. His wife’s abduction was planned and calculated. Thomas took Lia, and Ren feared for her safety and that of his unborn child. But the more he thought about it, Thomas knew killing Lia would not get him what he sought, the money he needed and the title he wanted. Both of which Thomas could only get if he were to kill him. Holding Lia was intended to bring Ren to him, where Thomas would attempt to kill him again. Ren was terrified for his wife and child, but his fear increasingly turned more to anger as the minutes ticked by.

Cartland hurried into the room, and came up to them. “A tenant saw a black carriage speeding toward Town yesterday, at about the time Her Grace went missing. He said it almost ran him off the road as he was returning from helping a neighbor, that’s why he remembers the time.”

“He’s taken her to London,” Michael said.

“Let’s go,” Ren stressed. “I must find my wife.”

“God be with you, Your Grace,” his grandmother said after Ren kissed her cheek.

“Where I am going I don’t want God with me,” Ren replied. “He will be disappointed in me for what I’m about to do.”

T
he cold, windowless, damp cellar store room where Lia was being held reeked of innumerable foul odors. She heard slithering insects on the walls and rodents on the damp earthen floors. No air circulated to move the pungent smell of decay in the musty underground room. When she was abducted she’d been wearing only a shawl over her dress, and her body was becoming unable to fend off the temperatures.

Fumbling around in the dark when she’d awakened on the moldy mound of straw, Lia had found a lone wooden crate, turned it over and sat on it. In the days since she’d arrived, she hadn’t moved from that spot except to relieve herself in a corner of the room.

Another mild contraction tightened across her lower body. She took a deep breath, and expelled it slowly. The pains had begun a few hours back, and she remembered Dr. Prescott saying they had to be frequent and consistent before she sought her bed. They were neither yet. Lia had to rely on the doctor’s words, and since there were still long stretches passing between the spasms, she hoped she had plenty of time.

Time for what? How long had she been here? Three days or four? Her stomach growled, and she tried to think of something other than food or drink. She shivered in a feverish stupor. Her body was weakening by the hour and the babe seemed to sense her predicament and conserved it’s energy too. She didn’t want to die, but if she didn’t leave here soon, neither she nor the babe would survive this nightmare. Again, she prayed for her husband to find her soon. He loved her, and he wanted his child. This she was sure of.

Her head dropped forward and she closed her eyes. In the distance, she heard the heavenly sound of the bells of St. Paul’s again. It was noon, which meant she’d been in this old ice hole for four days.

Lia startled at the lock turning in the door, then a bright light pierced the darkened cell, as someone came down the steps. She squinted toward the blinding sight, a silhouette of a man descended the stairs, then she lost him in the dark room.

She heard the sound of a second man coming behind the first and their footsteps drew closer. Lia caressed her taut abdomen, hoping it was food or drink the guards brought. She hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since the day before.

“Well now, Your Grace, we would like to make you an offer.” The first man said as he stood over her seated form.

Lia grunted, too tired to even speak.

“Are you ready to go home to your husband?” the second man asked. “Cause we’re ready to send him that ransom note now that our transport is arranged.” The man paused as he bit from a meaty-smelling pastry. “Now be a good duchess and write the note, then we’ll share some of our pastries and ale with ye.”

Lia’s mouth watered at the thought of crumbs falling to the ground, wasted. What she’d give for a taste.

Her gaoler spoke through a mouth full of food. “Imagine how thrilled he will be to receive a note, by your own hand of course, telling him you, and more importantly his heir, are still alive. I think he would be willing to part with a good deal of coin. Don’t you?”

“He will kill you if he finds out who you are,” she said, feeling more energetic now than she had all day.

“I think not, Duchess,” the paunch-bellied man said before taking another bite. “Once I have my coin, I’m gone from this country. I’ll be rich enough to start over someplace else.”

Lia considered her words as her babe kicked fiercely within. The child wanted to live, and it was hard for her to fight this battle when the loser was not just herself, but also the son or daughter she carried.

“We’ll be rich like ye nobs out in Australia,” said the second man, “and no one will know who we are.”

She wanted to ask the man why he needed her to pen the ransom note, but got her answer a minute later when the second man muttered to the first, “It’s better this way. He’ll know she still lives.”

The second man replied, “We coulda been gone ’fore now if his lordship had wrote the note when we first got her.”

Lia snapped to attention in the dark room and hoped her jailers couldn’t see her face. She knew now, Lord Whitby was involved. She had to think quickly. She needed a way to let her husband know. Then it hit her. Write the note in Italian. These men were likely unable to write in their own language, much less hers. It made what she was about to do an enormous risk, though one she had to take if she was going to survive this nightmare.

“
Sí
,” she nodded, “I will do it,” she responded, her throat dry and her voice weak.

“Very wise of you. Now follow me.”

The bigger man of the two led the way to the stairwell, with the other following behind her. Lia took the stairs up very slowly, the small amount of energy it took to climb them drained her completely. She stopped once, midway up, and the man behind shoved her, prodding her to keep moving.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright sunshine streaming in through the grime-covered windows. Upon entering the cavernous warehouse, empty but for a few boxes and a desk, Lia gazed at the freedom of outdoors. It had been days since she breathed fresh air. Even the rank, river-smelling air up here seemed crisp and clean compared to the stench in that hole in the ground she’d been forced into days ago. Looking behind her she noted the building was partially burned and the roof on that side had collapsed.

The guard led her to a crate near the desk, and motioned for her to sit. The first man shoved a sheet of paper, an ink jar, and a blunt, broken quill at her. “Write down every thing I say,” he said.

“I do not know English well enough to write in your language.” She hoped God would forgive the lie. “I must write in my language.”

“Can His Grace read your jibberish?” the shorter man asked.

“I hope so,” Lia replied.

“As long as you’re sure he can read it, I don’t care,” the taller one said.

She offered up a quick prayer of thanks, and began to compose her letter to her husband as her captor dictated his.

R
en stared out at the early morning light on Upper Brook Street, below his office window, and seethed inside. His wife was here in London. Another day was about to dawn and still he knew not where she was. And, the longer she wasn’t in his care, the angrier he got.

She was likely in the underbelly of London somewhere, as this had been Thomas’ home for the past year. His cousin had become one with the rats of the underground and sewers. There was nothing in the country for him to hide in or behind, especially near Haldenwood. The rank, nefarious slums of this town had been his home for so long now, Ren doubted that Thomas remembered he was born a gentleman.

As the investigator took his seat, Ren motioned for the footman to refill his cup with more coffee. He and Michael listened to the evening report from Cartland, when a disturbance in the halls at the rear of the Caversham House began to grow louder. Ren went to the door of his office just as the baize door slammed open and one of the investigator’s men came running through the house and up the stairs.

“A note addressed to Your Grace arrived by messenger just now. The boy didn’t know who sent him, only that he was to collect coin upon delivery. Your footmen are keeping the boy in the kitchens, and the cook is feeding him. We kept him here in case you want to question him.” The young man looked at his employer, then at Michael, then back to Ren. “Shall I bring him up, Your Grace?”

“No,” Michael said stepping forward while Ren took the note. “Keep him in the kitchen. We will send for him when we’re ready.”

Lia’s handwriting on the letter caused Ren’s stomach to lurch. Fighting down the urge to rip it open, he took a deep breath, broke the wax and unfolded the page. The words brought joy to his weary and frightened soul as he scanned the note, oddly written in Italian. He struggled to remember the translations from his school days, but he figured out enough to know where she was.

Dear Husband,