Secret Confessions of the Enticing Duchess: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Olivia Bennet

  “Psst!”

  He turned with a frown, looking for what or who had made the sound. A flash of white caught his eye, which rapidly disappeared back down the alley. Percival hesitated as brigands were not known to dally in Mayfair but it did not pay to be reckless. He knew that lesson well. The flash of white was back, a face peering out at him from the alley.

  “Psst!” The person said again and then disappeared. Percival walked the three steps that took him to the entrance of the alleyway and looked down it. A woman dressed in the uniform of a lady's maid was cowering mid-way along the alley, and Percival walked towards her with more confidence.

  “You called?” He asked, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

  “Y-yes, your lordship. You is looking for that woman what had come for tea with my mistress, Lady Rosaline?”

  Percival could not help himself, he grabbed her arm. “You know something?”

  The woman began to blubber and stutter with fear and Percival sighed, letting go of her arm. “Please, ma’am, if you know something, tell me?” he cajoled as patiently as he could.

  “I-I-I s-s-s-s-she…”

  Percival wanted to shake her. Instead, he took a deep breath and gently held her by the arms. “Breathe for me. Yes, that's it, slowly. You can do it. Breathe.”

  The woman obediently did as he asked and eventually, her breathing returned to normal. “If they catch me they will—”

  “Nobody will catch you. I promise you, I will protect you.”

  The woman nodded. “They...the mistress, Lady Rosaline, she called for the Bow Street Runners. Said that the woman what came for tea? Said she stole her brooch. They took ‘er away. Newgate, my mistress said.”

  Percival went cold. “Newgate? You are certain?”

  The woman nodded her head so frantically that her curls loosened and fell about her face.

  “All right. Thank you…” Percival fixed her with an inquiring look.

  “Nell. My name is Nell.”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Nell. Thank you very much for your information.” He pressed a guinea into her hand, “Just in case you need to travel quickly. Come to Northcott House. There will be work for you there.”

  The girl curtsied clumsily. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  Percival just had to smile in spite of the grimness of the circumstances. “You’re welcome, Nell.”

  Chapter 23

  Investigations are Ongoing

  Abigail awoke, to find someone shaking her frantically.

  “Le’ me ‘lone,” she murmured, not willing to open her eyes.

  “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

  Tommy’s voice had her sitting up in surprise. She cried out as she moved her neck too suddenly and a twinge filled her with discomfort. She realized she had fallen asleep on her knees, her side leaning against the wall, head pillowed on stone. She moved her head from side to side as tentatively as she could, trying to loosen the crick in her neck. It took a moment for her to notice Tommy’s hitching breath.

  “Tommy? What’s wrong?”

  He just hiccupped, his small hands fisted in her dress. She felt downward until her own hand was covering his.

  “Tommy? Tell me what is the matter?” She tried to make her voice strong and confident but she could hear the trembling in it just as well as Tommy could.

  “You wouldn't wake up,” he said, tearfully.

  Abigail took a deep breath, “Yes, well, I'm awake now. So there's nothing to worry about, is there?”

  She felt the side to side movement of his head against her thigh and deduced that he was shaking his head. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had not eaten for a while.

  “Tupenny loaves!” Somebody called out from down the dark hallway as if they’d heard her thoughts.

  “Here!” Abigail screamed, waving her hand even though nobody would be able to see it in the dark. She heard footsteps squelching down the corridor.

  “We are here. Right here. We need food.” She kept talking until the footsteps came to a stop in front of her.

  “We would like some loaves, please,” she said to the strip of white she could see a few inches in front of her. Something was thrust against her chest and she squeaked in surprise, reaching up to catch hold of the round hard items before they fell on the ground.

  “Tupenny!” The voice said.

  “Oh, of course,” she thrust her free hand into her pockets, worn under her garments, looking for coins. It closed over a round piece of metal, too big to be anything but a guinea. She scrabbled around a bit, searching for another coin but there was nothing in that pocket and she had no idea if she still had her purse with her. The Bow Street Runners might have taken it as they clapped her in irons. In any case, her range of movement was limited, and she could not search her entire person. So she grabbed the guinea and held it out.

  “I'll take loaves for a guinea,” she said nervously, fully expecting the person to laugh in her face and run off with her blunt. So she was a little surprised when more loaves were thrust into her hands.

  “Good luck keeping the shite offa ‘em,” the voice said and cackled as it moved on.

  At least now we have food.

  Tommy was already pulling her skirts, and she handed him one loaf, tearing off her bodice, to wrap up the rest.

  Phillip got to the top of the hill and whistled the signal. It had been years since he had had to use it and yet it did not feel strange. It was like wearing an old comfortable pair of boots, where he knew the exact location of every pinch. He thought he might have to wait but within minutes there was a small boy at his side, already chewing tobacco, with eyes older than men three times his age.

  “Hail to the Foxes.”

  Philip turned to the boy, “You know me?”

  The boy nodded once.

  “Spread the word. The jewel has fallen from the nest, the wolves might have it.”

  The boys spat, his saliva a murky color from the tobacco. “What do ‘e wish us to do when we find ‘er?”

  “Send me word.”

  The boy nodded. “Hail to the Foxes.”

  With that he disappeared.

  Philip took his time, walking the streets, just listening. It had been one of his strengths when he had been his brother's lieutenant. He could pick up rumblings before they could grow into something unmanageable. He was a little rusty, but he found that he had not lost the skill. He found himself in front of an apothecary shop, already closed for the night.

  He stood in front of it, just listening.

  There were two men speaking in the alley behind the shop. It sounded more like arguing. Philip pricked his ears.

  “We canna do this! D’ye know who she is? I dinna want to trouble with the Foxes.”

  “The Earl is offering five hundred guineas man! Five hundred!”

  “Ye canna spend it if ye’re dead.”

  Philip, agitated, wondered if he should interrupt them now or wait for them to finish their conversation. They seemed to have completed the information exchange portion and were now just arguing to see who would turn out to be right.

  Philip did not have time for this. He picked up his cane, grasped the hilt, twisted it, and pulled out the sword that was hidden within the wood of the cane.

  He whipped around and ran down the alley, his sword already at the neck of one of the men before they even realized he was there.

  “Tell me about these five hundred guineas ‘the Earl’ has offered you. What does he expect you to do for it?”

  “Ah, bollocks!” the man Philip was holding said, sounding quite resigned. “I told you, Tobias.”

  The other man put up his hands and began to back away. “I don't know nothin’.”

  “You take one more step and you're a dead man, Tobias.” Philip threatened. For all Tobias knew, they were surrounded by Foxes.

  “Now tell me what I want to know.”

  “Ah, sir, please you cannot expect us to cry rope on ‘im.
‘E’s an Earl.” The one Philip had at sword point was literally in tears.

  “Oh, but I do expect you to. If you don't I shall kill you, your entire family, and their ancestry as well. So choose.”

  The two men were making sounds of distress.

  “I told you we shoulda left it alone!” the one not called Tobias said.

  “Shut up, Judas,” Tobias replied irritably.

  “Judas?” Philip was amused. “I'll give you 30 pieces of silver if you tell me what you know.”

  Percival was torn between alerting Abigail's parents about her situation and hastening down to Newgate prison to see if she was all right. But no, he was not really torn. He knew that he was going to Newgate. But he did not want to leave her parents in the lurch, either. He decided that as he was not far from home he would write a note and send for one of his footmen and a driver to deliver it to Mrs. Thorne.

  In that way he would fulfill his obligations without taking the additional time it would take to get out to Devonshire Terrace and then head to the prison. He had heard horrific things about the conditions inside the stone hall and it turned his stomach to think of Abigail in there alone and terrified.

  He arrived as the sun was nearing the horizon, and there was a change of guard at the prison. He flagged one guard down as he passed.

  “I need to see the prison warden. Where can I find him?”

  The guard laughed. “Try Susan's Tavern. He's probably three sheets to the wind by now,” he said pointing down the road, still laughing.

  Percival did not have time for this. He grabbed the guard’s arm. “I need to see a prisoner.”

  The guard glared at him, looking daggers at Percival’s hand on his arm. Percival carefully removed it, digging into his pocket and coming up with a silver coin.

  “There is more where this came from. Now will you assist me in this matter or not?”

  The guard looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Visiting hours are not till morning.”

  Percival dug in his pocket and came up with three gold coins, eyes never leaving the man in front of him. The guard's eyes widened with avarice. He cleared his throat.

  “What prisoner did you want to see?”

  “Her name is Abigail Thorne. She would have been brought in sometime this afternoon?”

  The guard merely grunted. “You’re looking for a cherry? What’s ‘er crime, then?”

  “They said she stole something.” Percival chose to ignore the insult to Abigail, instead of beating his only means of seeing her to death.

  “Oh, that means she's in the Stone Hall.” The guard grinned. “I’ll see if she's up to seeing ye.”

  The guard moved to turn away but Percival grabbed hold of his hand again. “What is your name?”

  “Name’s Jack O’Malley.” He seemed irritated with the arm grabbing, but Percival guessed he was willing to put up with it for the gold coins.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jack O’Malley. There are three more gold coins for you if you return with Miss Thorne.”

  Jack’s eyes bulged out of his head at Percival’s words. He nodded firmly. “I will be back with her.”

  “Abigail Thorne! Is there an Abigail Thorne in here? Answer me Abigail Thorne.”

  Tommy nudged her thigh. “I’nt that you?”

  Abigail sighed, “Yes, it's me. Do they do that a lot? Call prisoners by name?” She peered out into pitch blackness that was the corridor. She blinked rapidly but it did not make her able to see a thing.

  “Abigail Thorne?” The voice was coming nearer.

  “Yes, sir, that's my name,” Abigail said, although she wasn't sure he would hear her over the din of other prisoners shouting things at the guard.

  “Abigail?” The guard shouted louder and she rattled her chains.

  “Here I am.” She really hoped he had a message for her from one of her kin and was not here to inflict further damage on her.

  The voice stopped in front of her cage. “Abigail Thorne?”

  “Yes, sir, that's me.”

  “There's a man outside what wants to see you.”

  Abigail’s heart leapt. “A man? Who is it? Did he tell you his name?”

  “Do I look like your butler?” The guard sneered, “Stand back while I unhook your chain.”

  Abigail stood very still, heart pounding away in her chest. The guard unhooked her chain from the pillar and then opened the door. “Come on, then.” His voice was gruff but kind.

  Tommy made a scared sound, latching onto her dress. “Don' leave me, please!”

  “Oh, Tommy I suspect that I'll be right back,” she said as softly as she could, searching for his hands in the dark so she could squeeze them.

  “No. No, please don't leave me,” Tommy was snuffling and sniffing. His hands on her dress were shaking. She sighed, turning to the silhouette of the guard. “Can he come with me?”

  “Is ‘e yours?”

  “No, he isn't.” Abigail did not want to say out loud that she suspected Tommy's mother had passed.

  “Well, then? What do you want wi’ him?”

  “Nothing. I just, I don't want to leave him alone.”

  The guard snorted. “Your funeral, innit?”

  “Thank you, sir.” She took Tommy's hand and walked out of the cell with him. The guard had a flaming torch, and so it was easy to follow him. He led them upward, to an area where the light of the moon shone through the bars in the blockhouse. She could see the silhouette of a man standing on the other side, hear a clip-clop of horses passing by, smell the slightly less fettered air of London town. She felt tears prick her eyes, recognizing that silhouette at once.

  “Percival,” she cried, as she fell against the bars.

  He tried to fit his fingers in the narrow squares, but only two could get in. “Abigail! Are you all right?”

  Abigail was so relieved to see and hear a friendly voice that she burst into tears. She let all her terror out, clutching at Percival's fingers, begging him over and over to help her. She paid absolutely no attention to her own words, too lost in misery and hysteria to realize what she was saying.

  “I will get you out of here, I promise you.” His voice was low and urgent, even as he bent his fingers around hers, “I promise you, morning will not find you here.”

  “Where's my mother? Does she know where I am?”

  “I sent a message as soon as I found out.”

  Abigail nodded, wiping the snot from her nose. “Good. Uncle Philip will know what to do.”

  Percival was rather stung by Abigail's faith in her Uncle Philip. Whatever resources Mr. Sinclair had, they likely did not surpass Percival’s own. However, he put his personal feelings aside, out of concern for Abigail. She was clearly not doing well.

  Her explosion of misery had left him feeling helpless and angry. He wanted to break down the bars of Newgate and take her away. It was severely painful to hear her cry and beg him to help her. There was a child or a midget with her, which seemed strange, but Percival had not the energy for curiosity.

  “I will get you out of here by morning,” he promised wildly, not having a single clue how he could possibly do that. Not since his own parents' death had he been involved in any criminal proceeding. He had no idea how slow or fast the wheels of justice turned. He did know that the penalty for theft was hanging. The only thing he could think to do, was to prevail upon the Earl to withdraw his accusations.

  If it could save Abigail's life, he would agree to marry Lady Rosaline—if that is what it took.

  He gave her as much reassurance as he could, frantically trying to think of ways to make her more comfortable. He took Jack O’Malley aside.

  “Sir, this woman is very important to me. I would make it worth your while if you were to ensconce her in comfort.”

  “First of all, where is the rest of my yellow boys?” Jack held his hand out through the bars, and Percival put three more gold coins in them. Jack grinned at him.

  “I take your meaning, sir. You
wish your cherry not to sleep somewhere filthy? But this is Newgate, sir. Everywhere is filthy.”