Caversham's Bride (The Caversham Chronicles - Book One) (40 page)

I am certain they cannot read this. Your cousin is involved, he is not here. There are two men guarding me, both have pistols.

They are keeping me in London, near the river. I hear the bells of St. Paul’s. Look for an abandoned warehouse. The building is partly burned and the roof fallen in on one side. They keep me locked below ground in an old cold storage room.

Please hurry. My labor has begun and our child is coming soon.

I love you,

Your Lia

In the excitement of the moment, he choked with relief. “She’s alive! We must hurry and find her,” he said as he began to bark orders to the footman to have their horses and a closed carriage brought around. “Then find Prescott and have him here when we return. Tell the women to prepare for Her Grace’s arrival.”

Michael took the note from his hand and read it.

Ren gave the details to Cartland, who gathered all his men at the rear of Caversham House and ordered them to scour the miles of docks on both sides of the river, within sounding distance of St. Paul’s, looking for abandoned, partially burned and collapsing warehouses. Once the building was discovered, the men were to find Cartland and Ren before entering.

He and Michael then gathered pistols from Ren’s armoire. Taking his coat, he went out front, mounted his horse, and rode hard toward the warehouse district. With the force of his private army close behind him.

L
ia fought back the tears from pain. She wiped her brow with her shawl, and silently cried out again for her husband. She hoped the note reached him soon. Lia didn’t know how much longer she had before her child would have to make his entrance and she didn’t want her babe born here. These conditions, and her fever, were sure to kill them both.

Yesterday, she took an enormous risk writing her own note to her husband. From the moment she thought she could get away with it, she grew bold and told Ren everything she remembered as the guard dictated his ransom note. Now, as she heard the start of the noon bells at St. Paul’s begin again on this, her fifth day, she prayed her husband might find her in time for her unborn babe to have a chance at survival. She didn’t want to give birth in this vermin-infested hole in the ground. Their son or daughter deserved better.

Another contraction ripped through her, and she bit her fingers suppressing her screams. A flood of liquid gushed from her and ran down her legs. “Ren, hurry! Please hurry,” she cried softly.

S
ome ninety men scoured the docks along the river, searching both sides simultaneously. Ren, Cartland and Michael watched the sun rise as they stayed together while each team reported their findings, then would fan back out covering new ground.

Just before noon they came upon the site one of his men reported, just off Blackfriar’s road. Ren thought of Lia’s description,
abandoned warehouse, building is partly burned, roof fallen in on one side.
Ren got an inexplicable feeling as he neared it. Then he heard bells and he knew.

“This is it,” he said confidently.

Cartland nodded. “It’s exactly what she described.”

“She’s here. I feel it.” Ren moved toward the building. “Let’s go.”

The detective stayed him with an arm on his sleeve. “Wait a few minutes to see if anyone arrives. It will also give more of my men time to get here, and a chance to move in closer to evaluate the building.”

“My wife is in there, possibly having my child while we sit here doing nothing!” Ren snapped. “I haven’t time to wait!”

Before Ren had finished speaking, a rented hack pulled up in front of the building, and a cloaked figure disembarked. He watched as the man handed the hack his fare and went inside. Unable to discern if it was Thomas at this distance, Ren decided it didn’t matter. Any affection he had for the cousin he once loved as a brother, was long gone. He turned to Michael and said, “If my wife or my child is dead, he dies a horrible, painful, and slow death.”

The bells finished their song marking the noon hour. He looked at Cartland. “How long before we go in?”

The detective looked to his men, disguised as longshoremen, drunks and merchants, then gave the signal. “Give them two minutes to get into place.”

Ren watched in awed silence as, without drawing any undue attention to themselves, a score of men slipped toward the building. Minutes later, with pistols primed and raised, Ren, detective Cartland, and several other men moved toward the back door, while Michael and the others went to the other side of the building. Every possible exit to the warehouse was covered to prevent the kidnappers’ escape.

“On my cue we move,” Cartland whispered.

Ren nodded.

The detective signaled, one man silently turned the handle on the door. It was locked. On the count, two burly men stormed the door, breaking it from its hinges. Six men rushed forward with pistols raised, holding the prisoners inside at bay, while Cartland, Ren, and the others quickly followed, all armed and ready.

Ren took in the sparse surroundings, and the three occupants of the room. Behind a crude table, sat someone he’d once thought dead. Even with the black hair grease covering his blond waves, mustache and full sideburns, Ren recognized his cousin, Thomas Whitby.

All three men in the warehouse were in obvious shock. The big fellow raised a pistol and a shot rang out from behind Ren, echoing throughout the empty warehouse. The henchman fell backward onto the floor, one tiny hole between his eyes oozing blood as the room filled with the acrid scent of burned powder. The act stopped the other two occupants’ movements.

“Anyone else?” Cartland warned.

Thomas lowered his weapon, a sardonic grin turning up the corners of his mouth. “So, cousin, we meet again.”

“Where is my wife?” Ren demanded.

“She’s at another location,” his cousin said. “Her gaoler awaits my return before she’s to be freed. Let me go and she will be returned unharmed.” He made a slight move toward the door and was halted by an armed guard.

“You’re goin’ nowhere, m’lord,” Cartland interjected, “You and yer friend’ll both be swinging from the gallows shortly.”

“
Where is my wife
?” Ren bellowed as he lurched for his cousin.

Thomas raised his weapon but before he got it level, Ren shot him in the chest, collapsing his cousin into a heap on the floor. The third henchman lurched for the door and Cartland’s men caught him and led him out to the street.

Ren checked on his cousin’s condition, though he knew from the close distance he’d taken the shot, Thomas was soon to die. He tried to speak, but could not. He coughed when he tried to take a breath, and soon made a sick gurgling sound. Ren knelt down and seeing his cousin’s struggle, he demanded, “Where is my wife?”

“Be...,” he paused and began to choke on his blood, “low,” he finished.

Ren gave a curt nod in appreciation for that bit of information, then stood, telling his cousin, “Make your peace with God. You haven’t long.”

Just then Thomas closed his eyes and began to cough and spit out blood. His head fell to the side and blood began to pour from his mouth.

Ren began to scan the room, just as an agent shouted from the far side of the building, “There’s a door here. It’s locked tight. I can’t budge it.”

Just then everyone heard the frightening screams coming from the other side. Knowing it was his wife behind the door Ren ran forward and pounded at it, but it wouldn’t budge.

M
oments after she heard the gunshots, Lia heard the sounds of muted men’s voices, and banging on the door at the top of the steps. Afraid for her life if she made more noise, she bit her lip, tasting her own blood as another contraction gripped her. She held on to the edges of the crate, and breathed deeply for the duration, relaxing as much as possible before another came. In the din upstairs, one deep, true sound was familiar.

Her husband’s voice.

He’s here!
Holding her belly, she walked to the base of the steps and grasped the rail. She pulled herself up two steps and stopped. The familiar tightening sensation began again, indicating another contraction about to crescendo. This time Lia let her screams ring through the warehouse, knowing Ren would soon free her from this hell.

R
en fumbled with the set of keys Michael handed to him, having fished them off the dead henchman. After unlocking the door, he threw the bolt and yanked it open. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but in the cold and stench-ridden hole, Ren saw his wife hunched over on the steps, gripping the rail, trying to pull herself up. He ran to her, lifting her into his arms, where she collapsed. He took the steps up cautiously, careful not to jostle her. Once in the light of the warehouse, he got a look at her. Her cracked lips had dried blood in the corners and her once-beautiful green eyes had sunk into her now ashen face. When Lia shivered he pulled her closer, disregarding her damp, reeking clothing.

Hurrying through the warehouse, he stopped in front of the remaining henchman. “If she dies,” Ren growled, “I will kill you myself.”

Doors opened for him as he carried her to his coach and laid her gently on the seat, covering her with his cloak. Ren began to issue orders as he stroked his wife’s damp cheek and fevered brow. Lia’s eyes flew open and held his gaze as she began to wail softly, then more loudly, while she grimaced in agony.

His vehicle was quickly escorted across town to his house, where Prescott waited in the Duchess’ suite.

“Burn the clothing,” Ren said as he began to undress his wife. He had to hold back his tears as he saw what condition she was really in. She’d obviously struggled against her bindings as her wrists were bruised. Above one eye, right at the hairline, her forehead sported a knot the size of an egg, with split skin and dried blood, as though she’d been hit with a heavy object. Her hair was caked with dried mud, infested with fleas and likely worse. In her fevered state she shivered and swat at imaginary pests around her face and arms.

“We must bathe her thoroughly,” the physician said. “In my experience the wounds are less likely to fester if they are kept clean.”

Moments later two maids assisted Ren in bathing his wife, all the while she labored through her contractions in a state of semi-consciousness.

After three washings with lye soap, her hair was still infested. On the prompting of Prescott, Ren closely cropped all of her glorious dark brown tresses himself, refusing to let anyone else do the deed.

“It will grow back, love,” he whispered to her as he finished the task. His wife never heard his words for she doubled over on the floor, in the midst of another strong contraction. Ren carefully lifted her blanketed body and placed her in the center of the bed.

“Let’s get her raised against the headboard,” the physician ordered. “It will make the birthing easier.”

Once they had her propped against the pillows of her bed, Ren paced the room, crazy with worry for his wife—and for their child. He wanted to help her, wanted to take her pain from her, but all he could do was groan in frustration. And pace.

His entire world was on that bed. She was his life. Without her, he didn’t want to live.

“It would be best if you leave now, Your Grace” Prescott said. “It won’t be much longer.”

He wanted to be with her. She needed him, and he’d be damned if he was leaving. He met Prescott’s level gaze steadily, and said, “I stay.”

“As the babe comes, it’s not a sight you’ll want to witness.” The physician giving him an opportunity to change his mind.

Suddenly a guttural cry ripped through his wife, as she forced herself forward, bearing down in the throes of the birthing process.

Dear God, do not let her die. Do not take her from me.

Prescott moved the sheet aside to check Lia’s progress. Ren moved closer, giving her his hand. She squeezed it with a force he didn’t know she had.

The physician ordered Lia to stop pushing, and reached for a wet cloth. “Good. Good girl,” Prescott cooed soothingly. He placed the unfolded wet cloth in his hands, and called to Lia, “Now push again! A big push, Your Grace, for you have a big babe.”

Ren looked down and witnessed his babe’s head and face as it emerged. Lia let out a sob of relief and momentarily relaxed before taking a deep breath and finishing the task. Soon, the babe’s screaming wails filled the room, and Prescott chuckled reassuringly, handing the infant over to one of the maids. Afterward, Lia fell back onto the pillows, exhausted from her effort. Her eyes still closed, she wept.

Ren heaved a relieved sigh, then pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “It’s over now, love,” he whispered to her. “We have our babe.” He choked down tears, thankful for the child he now had, yet fearing for his wife.

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” Prescott said. “You have a son.”

“Did you...,” he cleared his throat and started again. “Did you hear that, sweetheart? We have a son.” She didn’t move or speak an acknowledgement of the child. In fact, if it weren’t for her rapid pulse and tears, he might have thought her....