“Where are they thinking of going?”
“Somewhere industrial, I’d imagine, somewhere Kinnell would have little reason to go. Birmingham, perhaps, or Manchester.”
“That’ll be quite a journey,” Murdo said. “You can have the carriage, of course, but you’ll have to put up with my company if you’re going anywhere. I have no intention of letting you out of my sight anytime soon.”
“You have your own problems to resolve,” David pointed out.
“And resolve them I will,” Murdo assured him. “But I won’t make the mistake of leaving you alone. You have a tendency to run into trouble when left to your own devices. Don’t fight me on this, David.”
Murdo’s overbearing protectiveness didn’t sit well with David. He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could do so, there was a knock at the door. It was Mr. Liddle.
“There’s a gentleman asking for Mr. Lauriston,” the man said. “A Mr. MacLennan.”
“Euan?” David looked up, concerned. Why would Euan come here? “Where is he?”
“In the drawing room, sir,” Mr. Liddle said. “I should say that he seems very agitated. He was most adamant that he speak to you straight away.”
David stood up quickly, forgetting about his leg, as he occasionally did. He gave an impatient wince at the jarring pain that accompanied his precipitous action and turned to Murdo, who was also on his feet.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Murdo said.
“I can’t think why else he’d come here,” David admitted.
EUAN WAS PACING THE floor when they entered the drawing room. He turned at their entrance, and his face was a mask of grief.
“Davy,” he said, “Kinnell’s taken Lizzie. His men came for her after you left, and I wasn’t there to stop them. I don’t know what to do!”
“Christ, no,” David said, his heart plummeting.
“He’s had her for hours now and—” Euan broke off, turning away as a harsh sob tore from his chest.
David went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get her back,” he said firmly, forcing a note of confidence into his voice that in truth he didn’t feel.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Murdo said, making Euan look up and seem to notice him for the first time. Euan stared at Murdo for a long beat and David wondered if he was remembering the last time he’d encountered the other man—the wariness and desperation in his gaze suggested he might be.
“I hardly know anything,” Euan said at last. “I came home at four o’clock, and she wasn’t there. The kitchen was in a mess—she’d been cooking. I was calling her name, looking for her. That’s when our neighbour Lily came round. She’d been waiting for me to come back for ages.” He swallowed. “Lily saw the carriage arrive. It had to be Kinnell’s; there was a crest on the door. Then she saw two men come out of the house with Lizzie between them. Servants, probably, since neither of them sounded like Kinnell. Lily said they bundled Lizzie into the carriage, and a moment later, they were gone. She was near frantic, not knowing what to do till I got back. And that’s it. That’s all I know.” His voice was raw with pain.
“I must’ve led him to you,” David said slowly. “I came to your house yesterday, and the very next day— God, Euan, I’m so sorry!” He felt sick inside at the thought that he was to blame for this. If only he’d been more careful, taken more precautions.
Euan just stared at him with an agonised expression, and David could see he’d reached the same conclusion.
“It’s not your fault, Davy. I just—I have to get her back,” Euan said. “But what the hell can I do? If Kinnell has her locked up in that house of his, I won’t be able to get anywhere near her.”
“To be frank,” Murdo interrupted, “there’s not much you can do. He’s her husband, and that gives him all the power. If he gets her away from London, you’ll have no chance.”
“Murdo!” David hissed. Euan’s face had paled at Murdo’s words, and he looked like he was about to vomit.
“I’m sorry to be brutal, but we have to be realistic here,” Murdo replied. “MacLennan won’t be able to sort this out for himself. Only someone who moves in Kinnell’s world has a chance of getting close to her now.”
“Someone like you, you mean?” Euan asked.
Murdo nodded.
“And—and would you be willing to help Lizzie?” Euan asked with painful humility. “I’m not too proud to beg. I’d do anything to get her away from him. Pay you anything. Name your price.”
“I don’t want your money,” Murdo said, sounding insulted. “I’ll do what I can to help Elizabeth—for David’s sake.”
Euan nodded slowly, his gaze shifting between them assessingly. “All right, then,” he said at last. “I—thank you. I’ll take whatever help you’ll give and be grateful. Do you have any ideas what to do?”
Murdo paused, considering. “I know some things about Kinnell,” he said carefully. “There may be some threats I could make. I doubt Kinnell would admit me to his home, though, since he knows I’m associated with David. Which means I need to engineer a public encounter, and soon. What do you know of his habits?”
“Nothing,” Euan admitted. “My first instinct was to go straight to his house—to stick a knife in the bastard, or at least see what I could find out—but I have to assume he knows about me and daresay he’d take great pleasure in setting his dogs on me. And that won’t help Lizzie.”
“You’re right there,” Murdo replied. “He’d love the chance to set his men on you. He isn’t one for carrying out his own dirty work. Even when he was boy, he preferred to have his friends hold his victims down.”
Murdo had been one of those victims, one of the younger boys at the school they’d both attended. David shivered to think of that.
“I’ll ask Liddle,” Murdo said, crossing the room to ring the servants’ bell. “If anyone can find out how Kinnell spends his time, it’s him.”
A few minutes later, the butler entered the room.
“My lord?”
“Mr. Liddle.” Murdo smiled. “I need some enquiries carried out—quickly and discreetly. Do you suppose you could do the necessary?”
Liddle didn’t react any differently to that pronouncement than he did to any other instruction Murdo ever gave him. Nor did he write any of what followed down or repeat any of the details back. He merely listened, nodding occasionally.
When Murdo was finished, Liddle said, “Sir Alasdair’s house isn’t far from here. An hour should be enough for me to get the information you seek, my lord. Shall I have some refreshments sent up while you wait?”
“Have a tray sent up for Mr. MacLennan,” Murdo said without seeking Euan’s opinion. “Mr. Lauriston and I have already eaten, and we will need to tidy ourselves up, so that we’re ready to go out. We hope to track down Sir Alasdair tonight.”
“Very good, my lord,” the butler said and withdrew.
“A mere hour?” Euan said, frowning. “To find out the man’s habits and report back?”
“Mr. Liddle is a quick worker. He knows practically every servant in London,” Murdo said, “and is owed favours by most of them.” He laid his hand on David’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s make ourselves more presentable while Mr. MacLennan has something to eat.”
“I don’t want anything,” Euan said. “How can I eat when I know what Lizzie must be going through?”
“You have to keep your strength up,” Murdo said firmly. “You have to be ready to act and if you neglect yourself you’ll be less able to do that. Think of Elizabeth.”
“All right,” Euan muttered unhappily. “I’ll try.”
David followed Murdo out of the drawing room and up the stairs to their respective bedchambers. Both of them were in dire need of a shave. David’s sparse auburn whiskers merely looked untidy, but Murdo’s dark beard grew in so quickly he looked as disreputable as a pirate.
When they reached the top of the stairs and Murdo went to turn away towards his own c
hamber, David detained him. “You told Euan you were helping him for my sake.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
Murdo gazed at him for a moment. “I knew you would do anything to help him,” Murdo said. He shrugged. “And I wanted to help you.”
David stared at him, unsure what to say to that, but Murdo saved him the bother of replying.
“Go to your chamber and get shaved,” he said gently. “And put your best clothes on. I’m not sure where we’ll end up going, and we can’t have you being stopped at the door because your coat doesn’t pass muster.”
LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, they were back in the drawing room. Murdo was dressed in his finest, an exquisitely pressed dark-blue coat stretched over his broad shoulders and a sapphire pin glittering in the folds of his cravat. And if David didn’t look quite so splendid, he still looked very fine in his black-and-white evening clothes.
The tray of food that had been brought for Euan sat on an occasional table, barely touched. The man’s stomach must be in knots as he contemplated what was happening to Elizabeth. All three of them were on edge as they waited for Liddle to bring news.
At last, the butler returned.
“Happily, Sir Alasdair’s coachman was able to provide a good deal of information as regards his master’s habits,” the butler reported. “Apparently, he accompanies Sir Alasdair almost everywhere he goes, as Sir Alasdair dislikes riding.”
“What of Lady Kinnell?” Euan said. “Any news?”
Liddle’s habitually cool expression softened a little at Euan’s desperation. “Very little, I’m afraid, sir. The coachman said she was being kept inside. I asked him to find out more from the indoor servants and hope to get more news later tonight.”
Euan nodded stiffly.
“Tell us about Kinnell, then,” Murdo said.
The butler proceeded to relay the information the coachman had given him, a rehearsal of Kinnell’s days in London. Breakfast at home with the morning post, a portion of each day with his secretary, visits to his tailor and afternoon calls. And in the evenings, visits to his club—Culzeans near St. James.
“Apparently he dines at Culzeans most evenings,” Liddle concluded.
“Culzeans,” Murdo murmured. “I might’ve known.”
“What do you mean?” Euan asked, looking up, his interest piqued.
“Culzeans is a private club for Scots peers and men of influence,” Murdo said. “Its members collectively own most of Scotland. My father is one of the leading members. It’s where all the big decisions are made, where the marriages of the great and the good are brokered.”
David wondered if Murdo’s own engagement had been brokered there, then tamped down that thought, asking instead, “Are you a member?”
Murdo frowned. “I used to be. I haven’t crossed the threshold in over ten years, but hopefully they won’t have struck me from their list. We’ll soon find out.” He turned to the butler again. “Mr. Liddle, have the carriage brought round. Mr. Lauriston and I are going to Culzeans.”
“Very good, my lord,” the butler murmured, withdrawing.
“Do you really think he’ll be there tonight?” Euan asked when Liddle was gone. “He’s only just got Elizabeth back today, after all.”
“I don’t know,” Murdo said. “But what choice do we have? We have to try.”
Chapter Fifteen
Culzeans, which occupied a large townhouse at the edge of St. James, oozed money. From the opulent drapes at the windows to the liveried footman standing guard at the front door, it was the very picture of a wealthy gentlemen’s club.
“It’s not so popular as White’s or Brooks’s,” Murdo told David, “but a lot of eminent Scots are members—though many of them will also be members of other clubs.”
“Like your father?”
Murdo nodded. “My father probably spends more time at White’s. But he comes here to catch up with his Scottish connections.”
On seeing them approach, the footman rapped the front door. It was opened by a tall, older man in butler’s garb who invited them into the vestibule, apologised obsequiously for not recognising them and asked for their names.
“I am Lord Murdo Balfour,” Murdo said, “and this is my guest, Mr. Lauriston.”
“Forgive me for asking, my lord, but are you a member?”
“I am,” Murdo said easily. “Though it is some years since I last visited.”
The butler bade them take a seat while he checked the membership records. It didn’t take long. The membership ledger showed that Lord Murdo was indeed a member and had been for the last twelve years. Having thus been granted entry, Murdo was also permitted to sign David in as his guest.
“Will you require a table for dinner, my lord?” the butler asked as he ushered them through the vestibule. “We have roast beef this evening, and there’s an excellent syllabub.”
“Not just now, thank you,” Murdo said politely. “I think we will take a look around to begin with.”
“Very good, my lord. You will find a number of lounges on this floor. This is where our gentlemen like to meet and converse. The dining rooms are on the next floor, and the card rooms are on the floor above that.”
“Thank you,” Murdo replied, his cool tone discouraging any further conversation. Taking the hint, the butler nodded and withdrew.
“Come on,” Murdo said to David, and they began a tour.
It quickly became plain that, despite the single front door, Culzeans occupied more than one house. There were four separate lounges of varying sizes on the ground floor, and the rooms had been arranged so that the members could stroll from one to the other with ease. Most of them were crammed with small groupings of comfortable-looking leather armchairs, many of which were occupied by the members and their guests. The fireplaces in each room burned merrily, and candles blazed from sconces on the walls.
It was when they reached the fourth and last lounge that Murdo was hailed by someone he knew.
“Murdo, my boy! What on earth are you doing here?”
Murdo stopped dead at the sound of his father’s cut-glass voice, and David halted slightly behind him. As luck would have it, the marquess hadn’t noticed David when he’d first clapped eyes on Murdo, and his tone was warm with mingled surprise and approval, his harsh features lightened by something that looked like real pleasure. A moment later, though—when he saw David at his son’s shoulder—the pleasure faded and his mouth tightened into a grim line.
“I see you have your...secretary with you,” the marquess added. There was enough of a pause before the word secretary to convey his displeasure without alerting his companion, a man with a stiff bearing who looked to be around the same age as the marquess, to his true thoughts about David.
Murdo looked up and, after a brief hesitation, shifted his course to approach his father and the other man.
“Good evening, Father,” he said. “Lord Hartley.”
Lord Hartley. So this was the man whose daughter Murdo was engaged to.
David had no choice but to follow Murdo. He stayed a little behind him, hovering at his right elbow, noting the cool expression on Lord Hartley’s face as he took Murdo’s proffered hand and shook it briefly.
“This is my secretary, Mr. Lauriston,” Murdo added, standing a little to the side. Hartley gave the slightest of nods, forced to acknowledge David but clearly not pleased to be introduced to so lowly a personage. David bowed politely, though not deeply, in return. The marquess ignored him.
Lord Hartley turned back to Murdo. “I didn’t realise you were in town,” he murmured, turning to glance at the marquess as though expecting an explanation from him.
“He’s only just arrived, haven’t you, Murdo?” the marquess said, smiling tightly.
“Indeed.” Murdo gave his father a wintry smile in return, then turned to Hartley. “I was actually planning to call on you tomorrow, my lord. I was hoping we could speak in private. Perhaps in the afternoon?”
The marque
ss spoke before Hartley had a chance to respond. “I have to attend Parliament tomorrow afternoon. The evening would be better. Perhaps over dinner—”
Murdo interrupted him before he could go further. “You misunderstand, Father,” he said mildly. “I wish to speak to Lord Hartley in private.”
The marquess’s lips thinned at that, but Lord Hartley said, “We can talk now, if you wish. There must be a private chamber we can use here.”
“I regret I cannot this evening. I am on an errand of some importance.”
“More important than speaking with your future father-in-law?” Hartley replied with a slight sharpness to his tone.
Murdo’s pause was uncomfortable. “Yes,” he said at last. “I’m afraid so.”
The marquess’s expression was pure ice, somehow furious and blank at once.
Hartley plainly wasn’t pleased either, but he gave a curt nod. “Very well,” he said. “Come to the house at two o’clock tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Murdo executed a short, stiff bow. “Please excuse us.”
He didn’t say anything to David until they were moving through the open doors into the next room.
“Sorry to be so high-handed with you,” he murmured, “but you are supposed to be my secretary.”
David just gave a soft laugh.
They took the stairs up to the next floor, the dining rooms. These were bustling with patrons partaking of the roast beef, which looked to be rather dry, and the “excellent syllabub”, which was, in fact, alarmingly grey. The diners seemed happy enough to wolf their dinners down, though. They weren’t here for the food, after all, but for the drink and the cards and, most of all, the company.
David and Murdo looked in each of the three dining rooms but saw no sign of Kinnell. When they came out of the last one, Murdo said, “Let’s try the card rooms. It’s rather early, but we may as well look.”
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