by Shirl Henke
Amber sat in her robe, idly stirring cream into a cup of coffee. She had always drunk it black, but now it seemed more appealing if the color did not so closely resemble her mood. She made no reply.
Sighing, Grace stood up and came around the table to place her arms around Amber’s shoulders. “Jenette has visited the children at the Elijah Woodbridge School every day. They all ask after you. I know it would do you a world of good to see how well they’re doing.” When that elicited nothing more than a nod, Grace paced across the carpet to the window. “I should never have instigated this whole tangle,” she said, hugging herself in misery.
Amber looked up at Grace’s forlorn figure. Her face appeared haggard in the harsh morning light. A pang of guilt touched Amber. “Please don’t feel you are to blame. It was something I wanted, else I would never have come to you when he asked for my help.” She walked to Grace and hugged her. “I do not regret loving him, you know. Even if it could not last, he did love Gaby and even Fantasia just a little bit. At least I have learned what love is.”
Grace looked into Amber’s eyes as her own filled with tears. “Jenette is certain that he will come about. If he loves you half as much as you do him…”
Amber shook her head. “You know ′tis impossible. Even if I were not the notorious Lady Fantasia, I am still a married woman.”
“That will be remedied shortly,” Jenette said from the doorway. She was dressed in a vibrant rose traveling suit trimmed with snowy white lace. “La Comtesse de St. Emilion is expected in Northumberland Thursday next. The Marquess of Eastham will be dead within a fortnight.”
“No, Jeni, I beg you, do not do this! They will kill you and you will die horribly—then how could I live knowing I was the cause of it?” Amber rushed over to her friend and hugged her. “Please, you—”
“She will do as you would if your positions were reversed,” Grace said firmly.
“Ma petite, have you no faith in me after all I have survived?” Jenette asked in a scolding tone. She took Amber by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length, then cocked her head and smiled. “I shall eat nothing from his kitchen and watch Mrs. Greevy as if she were Foche himself. Never fear. Now, wish me bonne chance,” she said, bussing Amber lightly on both cheeks.
“Everything has been arranged,” Grace explained to Amber. “A large house rented, servants hired from the village, and half a dozen French émigré soldiers are accompanying her, in addition to two of our most loyal veterans. She will be safe.”
“Think of this as ridding the world of a monster and also keeping his poor son from following his father’s evil ways,” Jenette said. “Now, you will see that she does not languish until I return,” she instructed Grace, bussing her cheeks in farewell. Before she headed for the door, she said to Amber, “Then we shall discover how to bring your earl back, oui?”
Each day when he entered Lords, Rob could not stop himself from scanning the gallery seats for a woman in black. He found it difficult to concentrate during debates, missing opportunities to challenge his opponents’ inconsistencies in logic and legal precedent. His colleagues in both houses of Parliament commented upon it and speculated as to why the earl appeared so preoccupied.
Some laid the fault with Baroness Oberly, whose pursuit of him had tongues wagging across the ton. Too polite to bluntly dismiss the lady, he performed the minimal courtesies at social gatherings where she contrived to accidentally meet him, which was sufficient fuel for many discussions over scandal broth.
Others were certain the problem was political in nature. The Tories insisted that he had grown disenchanted with radical causes and broken with the reformers over increasing Luddite violence in the countryside.
No one had the slightest idea that he was in love with a courtesan. From her daughter’s house in the country, Abigail read the London newspapers with increasing dismay and continued writing admonitions to her son regarding Amber. When she received evasive replies, she resolved to give him a serious set-down as soon as the session of Parliament ended and he returned home.
Since Jenette’s departure for Northumberland, Grace insisted that Amber keep busy lest she lose her mind worrying about her friend. When her duties running the House of Dreams allowed, she took to visiting the Woodbridge School, something Grace strongly encouraged. Sharing the innocent joy of children was healing, even if no one but Rob St. John could completely mend her broken heart.
Early on a warm, sunny Monday morning, Grace, their cook, two kitchen helpers, and Bonnie set out to do the weekly marketing, intending to have luncheon in a nearby alehouse. Grace tried to cajole Amber into joining the outing, but she declined, saying that she needed to spend the day taking care of bookkeeping. After they departed, she summoned Sergeant Major Boxer and convinced him that she would be perfectly safe at home while he visited his niece who had just given birth to a son named Waldo in his honor. He agreed only upon her pledge to remain indoors until he returned.
An hour later Amber was engrossed in her ledgers when a commotion downstairs interrupted her concentration. Setting aside her pen, she pulled a scarf across her face and walked to the head of the stairs. A gentleman of middle years dressed in a good but dusty suit argued with two of her footmen. The one assigned to guard the front gate had allowed the disheveled gentleman to approach the entry. The door stood ajar with her two employees blocking his entrance.
“I tell you, the older woman in the accident kept repeating this direction! Mrs. Winston was obviously a lady of breeding. No gentleman would refuse to aid her, especially in such dire circumstances. She could barely speak—”
Amber rushed down the stairs and shoved the guards aside. “What happened to Mrs. Winston and the others?” she demanded.
“It was a terrible smash with a dray about a mile down Alpha Road,” he said, bowing politely to the lady in the blue morning dress. “My coach and driver were involved also, but we were spared injury. Another older domestic and several young maids were also hurt, one with red hair is most probably dead. I could not be certain…” His voice faded as he mopped his forehead, shoving back thinning gray hair that stuck up in unruly tufts. His eyes were wide with horror and he was trembling.
“Has help been summoned?” Amber asked, resisting the urge to shake the panicked man.
“Yes, another gentleman on horseback has gone to fetch a leech and notify the authorities. I thought it best to come here.”
“Is your coach undamaged?” she asked. When he nodded, she said, “Please rest in the sitting room for a few moments while I prepare. Clifton, bring Mr.—” She stopped and looked at the messenger.
“Samuel Abercrombie, at your service, m’lady,” he replied with another bow.
“Bring Mr. Abercrombie a glass of cool water while he waits. I shall be back very shortly.” Clifton showed the guest into a nearby sitting room. As soon as they were out of earshot, she said to Jonathan, “Fetch horses for yourself and Clifton. I’ll require your assistance with the injured.”
She raced up the stairs and called out to Lorna, “Come with me!” Lorna hurriedly followed her into Grace’s quarters. Amber snatched a pen and a sheet of stationery from the escritoire and scrawled a street address. “Send word immediately to Mr. Boxer at this direction. There’s been a terrible carriage accident and he’s to return at once!” She shoved the paper into Lorna’s trembling hands.
As soon as the young woman rushed off to summon a boy to deliver the message, Amber gathered bandages, ointments, and other medical supplies from Grace’s cabinet, all the while praying that Mr. Abercrombie had been wrong about Bonnie. Already heartbroken over Rob and frantic with worry over Jeni, she simply could not lose another person she loved. Not her faithful young maid and not Grace. Please, God, not either of them!
As an afterthought, she seized her LePage pistol and shoved it in a reticule before heading back downstairs. When she gathered up Mr. Abercrombie and Clifton, the three of them headed out the front door. Jonathan rode up with a second mount f
or his companion. Under their watchful eyes, Abercrombie’s driver assisted her into the open carriage and the five of them rode pell-mell down Alpha Road.
Two hours later Sergeant Major Boxer whipped his horse up Alpha Road. When he saw no signs of a carriage accident, he became alarmed. By the time he reached the house, a frantic Grace was waiting at the front door, chalk-faced, wringing her hands. “Where is Lady Fantasia?” he asked, knowing the news would not be good.
“In the hands of the devil! Jonathan returned with a pistol ball in his shoulder. Clifton is dead. Amber was taken in by a charlatan who convinced her we’d been in a carriage accident. She and the men rushed into a trap. They were met by half a dozen armed ruffians. The charlatan just sat back while his driver disarmed Amber. At the same time, Clifton and Jonathan were shot.”
“You know for certain who did it?” Boxer asked grimly.
“Jonathan was left for dead and only regained consciousness as they rode away, but he heard one name—Hull!”
Boxer’s ruddy face turned gray. “Have you sent for him?”
Rob stood in his office with the message crumpled in one fist. Stunned, he smoothed out the heavy velum and reread the spidery writing, obviously scrawled in terrified haste:
M’lord,
Amber has been kidnapped. When her captors deliver her to Wolf’s Gate in Northumberland, she will die a slow and horrible death at the hands of the Marquess of Eastham, her husband.
G
Some pieces of the puzzle that was Lady Fantasia now fell into place. She was the wife of that brutal old bastard Wolverton! Small wonder she had run away and now hid her face. Stuffing the missive into his pocket, he yelled for Settles. “Send for Sergeant Coulter and his men at once! Tell them to prepare for a long, hard ride and arm for a fight.”
“I shall lay out riding clothes as soon as I have done, m’lord,” the butler said, scurrying from the room.
The earl moved quickly to the cabinet where he kept his weapons. They would require all the firepower they could muster to rescue Amber from the legendary lair of a former member of the Hellfire Club!
Within the hour Rob and Coulter, along with six former dragoons from his old command, rode furiously down Alpha Road. He told the men only that one of the ladies who had helped them rescue the children had been kidnapped by the “Mad Marquess,” and would die if they did not reach her in time. No one questioned him.
When they reached Grace’s place, he had the men follow him upstairs. The moment he strode into the room, he could see from Grace’s and Boxer’s haggard faces that the situation was dire. She gave them a quick outline of the abduction and the sergeant major explained Hull’s destination, speculating that only a driver and possibly one guard might accompany him. Then Grace asked the earl to follow her into her office so they could speak privately for a moment.
As soon as they were alone, she said, “There is one thing you must know. Since Amber fled Wolverton, no man has touched her—until you.” Before he could frame a reply to the terse statement, she went on to describe Jenette’s mission and where they could find her when they reached their destination.
“I always suspected she was more than a lady’s companion,” Rob replied, trying to absorb everything.
“She is a lady, the sole survivor of a noble family who died at the hands of Napoleon. She eluded Foche’s secret police and worked as a spy for His Majesty’s government during the war. Now, let us rejoin the others.”
“We will save her,” Rob said as he opened the door for her.
Grace placed her hand on his arm and said softly, “Thank you, m’lord.”
Rob swallowed hard, trusting himself only to nod as they rejoined the anxious group of veterans.
Boxer, looking grim-faced and armed to the teeth, nodded to the earl, then exchanged a quick glance of understanding with Grace. Both were relieved that the earl had come and brought seasoned campaigners with him. They would require all the help they could muster. “We have to ride fast, m’lord. I’ve picked the best mounts from our stables, an extra for each man.”
“I’ve done the same with a few more to spare,” Rob replied as Boxer nodded his approval. “Have you a map of the countryside between here and Northumberland?”
“Yes,” Grace replied, standing over Amber’s big desk where she unrolled a large piece of paper. Rob, Boxer, and the rest of the men crowded around to study the map. “Amber marked the route to show Jenette before her first journey. She did not require it for the second trip.”
“A good spy always possesses an excellent memory,” Rob said as he traced the carriage route. “They will keep her concealed in a carriage until they reach…” He looked down at the map, then pointed to a less populated area disturbingly close to Eastham’s lair. “Until here, they will travel fastest by remaining on the coaching roads.”
“Can you stop them before they reach Wolf’s Gate?” Grace asked hoarsely.
Rob studied the location of the small village Amber had circled in Northumberland, only a few miles from Eastham’s fortress. “I dislike our chances since they are well over four hours ahead of us at the least. We would be wise to devise a plan to infiltrate his castle.”
“Here is Jenette’s direction. ′Tis on a hill midway between the village and Wolf’s Gate. You cannot miss it,” Grace said, offering him a sheet of paper with the rental information on it. “She is familiar with that devil’s ghastly den.”
Rob accepted the paper and slipped it inside his shirt. “Good. She will be a formidable ally,” he said as he handed the map to Coulter.
As he led the men down the stairs and out the door, Grace clasped her hands and did something she had not done since her youth. She prayed.
Amber returned to consciousness slowly, the pounding in her head echoed by the pounding of horses’ hooves as they thundered down the road. The conveyance she was in rocked with every bump and turn, tossing her like a rag doll. She blinked and saw that she was in semidarkness. It was only when she tried to reach for the curtain to let in more light that she realized her hands and feet were bound.
“Ah, I see that you are returning to the living. For a bit there I feared the stupid driver had permanently damaged you and deprived me of a hefty reward for the return of Eastham’s runaway wife.”
Everything began to come back to her as sharp shards of pain lanced through her brain. She recognized the nasal voice and northern accent of Edgar Hull even before she could make out his form seated across from her in the dim light. “You ever were a stupid, greedy little weasel, Edgar. Eastham will not pay you. He will kill you,” she said, raising her hands to rub the knot on the side of her head.
“I think not,” he purred, “but he will kill you…after he has a bit of fun. I extracted a promise from him that I be allowed to watch.” Edgar Hull slouched in his seat, holding on to a coach strap to keep from being pummeled side to side in the small, lightweight carriage he had secured for a fast trip north. Amber tumbled right, left, forward, and back, bracing her legs so as not to fall into her dissipated captor’s arms.
“Mr. Abercrombie was quite convincing,” she said, trying not to dwell on what lay in wait for her when she was delivered into the hands of Wolverton.
Hull gave an ugly laugh. “That ‘kindly gentleman’ was an actor from Drury Lane, paid enough for a good drunk. Cressy promised to see that he never sobers up to repeat what he witnessed.”
“Cressy?” she echoed.
“A runner in my employ,” he said smugly.
“You mean Wolverton’s employ, do you not? You apparently do not have enough of the ready to pay for a jacket that conceals your increasing girth.” She stared at his ill-fitting clothing with disdain.
“I was smart enough to bait the perfect trap for you,” he snapped. “Once your female companion disappeared and that interfering earl stopped his visits, that left only the old soldier. All I needed to do was wait until he left you unguarded and make up a tale about the old bawd and her servants being in a
carriage wreck. I knew you would come rushing out,” he boasted. In fact, it had been Cresswel’s plan, but Hull would never admit it.
What a fool she had been! Half a dozen armed ruffians had burst onto the deserted road from a stand of trees only a short distance from the house and shot both of her men. Poor Clifton and Jonathan had died because of her reckless actions! Before she could reach the pistol in her reticule to aid them, the driver had turned around and struck her on the head. After that…her reticule! The pistol! Trying not to move suspiciously, Amber rubbed her head again, looking down. Had Hull found it, or was it still at her waist?
“If you’re hoping I overlooked that nasty little firearm in here,” he said, holding up her reticule with a sneer, “you hope in vain.” He had anticipated her carrying a good bit of extra blunt in it but was furious to find nothing more than the weapon.
“At least I shall have the satisfaction of seeing you die before I do,” she said to Hull.
He tsked at her. “Such venom. ′Tis I who have every right to wish you dead. I offered to marry you—”
“Even if I had been so foolish as to agree, my father would never have allowed me to wed a drunken sot such as you, turned out by your family for your wastrel ways.”
“There would have been no way to prevent his giving me a dowry for you once we’d eloped,” he replied angrily. “But no, you had to have your season, to look for some fancy toff in London! Well, I took care of that.”
“Yes, but I was sold to a man willing to pay for me, not given to one hip deep in dun territory,” she replied, curling her lip in contempt.
He raised his hand preparing to slap her, then lowered it. The marquess had been most explicit about having his “merchandise” delivered undamaged. The blow to her head was necessary, but he dared risk no further marks. Damn, he wanted her to pay for ruining his youthful schemes.