A Most Discreet Inquiry (The Regent Mysteries Book 2)

by Cheryl Bolen

“I think the fact the switch has been scheduled for midnight will be of tremendous advantage for us.”

  “Why?” Jack asked.

  “Because it will be very dark. You and I are built most similarly. A hood about my head and I daresay even our wives won't know the difference. From a distance.”

  Jack had most seriously misjudged the man who stood before him, offering his own life to save Daphne. No wonder Sir Ronald had been so intent on removing Virginia from the room. No matter how much she loved her sister, she wouldn't want her husband to use himself in such deadly barter. If she'd been hysterical before, she would be prostrate on learning of her husband's noble offer. “I can't allow you to endanger your life in such a manner. You just said the duc means to murder me.”

  “I don't intend to be killed. You'll come along behind me and save the day, don't you know.”

  “The two of us would be outnumbered. I'm almost certain d'Arblier hired the three cutthroats who attacked me at the public house, and there's no way of knowing how many others he employs.”

  “I'm counting on your element of surprise being the weapon that tips the scales in our favor.”

  Jack could understand Sir Ronald's logic. “Today we must do reconnaissance.” The success of any mission lay in precision planning. Before they set foot near that barn tonight, Jack aimed to know every square foot of land within a one-mile radius of it.

  “You're too well known to them,” Sir Ronald said. “Leave it to me. In daylight my blond hair will set me far apart from you. Besides, I have many friends in Hampstead who may be of assistance.”

  A female screamed. This was not an oh-goodness-I-just-saw-a-mouse scream. This was the kind of scream that came from one witnessing a gruesome death.

  Chapter 19

  The Lambeth housekeeper stood in the grand hallway of Lambeth House screaming and crying at the same time. “My master! My master! Oh, please, someone, help!”

  Jack's gaze swept from the distraught, middle-aged woman to the Elizabethan sideboard in which a lone door stood open, and Lambeth's soft leather boot—a rather stiff leg attached to it—protruded. He fleetingly thought of filching the boots for poor Andy and hoped to God the lad hadn't been slain by the same fiend who killed Lambeth.

  His first instinct was to comfort the housekeeper, but he realized such an action would betray that he had known the viscount had been murdered and stuffed there. Better to appear shocked and dismayed.

  With Sir Ronald at his heels, he stormed up to the sideboard, and peered into the dark, bloodied opening before looking back at the hysterical woman. “I take it this poor creature is Lord Lambeth?”

  Her teary eyes wide, she nodded.

  “Demmed Frenchies,” Sir Ronald said before begging the woman's pardon for his foul language. Jack rather admired what a gifted actor Sir Ronald was proving to be.

  “A pity we did not learn of the threat in time to prevent this unfortunate deed.” Jack was tearing a page from Sir Ronald's rather brilliant script.

  Virginia, her shaky hand clasped to her mouth, stood at the top of the stairs peering down at them. “How dreadful.” Then she hurried down the stairs and put her arm around the housekeeper. “Come, my dear woman, and sit down. I'll have cook prepare you a cup of tea.”

  “I should have left when the others did,” the whimpering woman said. “It's a wonder I wasn't murdered.”

  “But, gratefully, you were not.” The tenderness in Virginia's voice reminded Jack of what Daphne had told him about her nurturing sister.

  God, he was worried sick about Daphne. He hadn't been so low since Edwards had been murdered.

  “Do, love,” Sir Ronald said to his wife, “find out if she knows a kinsman of Lord Lambeth. Someone will have to make the proper arrangements. . .”

  Once the women were in the drawing room, Jack and Sir Ronald began to plan. The baronet would rush to Hampstead immediately to familiarize himself with the terrain, and the two would meet at Primrose Hill in three hours to discuss their next move.

  They decided to stay with the plan to have Horse Guards watch Lambeth House, Jack suspected because Sir Ronald knew he would not be able to get his wife away, and he was not about to leave her at Lambeth House unprotected.

  Jack had his own plans for the next three hours. As soon as the Horse Guards arrived, he mounted Warrior and rode fast and hard to the Foreign Office.

  When he arrived, he stalked past Lord Castlereagh's office and continued climbing stairs until he reached the top floor and the small office of Harold Martin. The well-dressed silver-haired man gazed up at Jack, and a broad smile brightened his face. “Well, if it isn't the best spy in the history of England,” he said, as he got to his feet and came to shake Jack's hand.

  Jack was inordinately pleased over the man's praise. If Daphne had said those words, it would have bothered him. Before today. Now, if he could just see her, he wouldn't care what words streamed from her mouth.

  “It's you, Martin, who's the best there ever was. In fact, that's why I'm here today. I need to bring the master of disguise out of retirement.”

  “There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Captain. Tell me what you need.”

  * * *

  When Sir Ronald rode his mount half way up Primrose Hill three hours later, his brows elevated at what he saw. The normally well-dressed Harold Martin—with whom he often worked at the Foreign Office—sat on the box of a hay cart, shabbily dressed and stoop shouldered. Beside him Jack was dressed all in black with a sword at his side.

  “A plan is in the germination stage, but I need to know everything you learned today,” Jack said to Sir Ronald.

  Sir Ronald greeted Martin, then addressed Jack. “Most of my friends in Hampstead are not acquainted with the Methodists, but one of them lives fairly close to the Methodist preacher—I believe that is what he's called. He said the preacher, whose name is Douglas Douglass.” He held up his hands. “I am not making this up! Well, Douglas Douglass was called away to his married daughter's who is gravely ill. He and his wife left, and the house has been dark for the past couple of days. No one's there, nor is there anyone in the barn. I checked.”

  Jack nodded. “It rather makes one think the duc must be close to someone in the vicinity.”

  “I thought the same thing,” Sir Ronald said. “I asked if any French émigrés lived nearby, but the answer was negative.”

  “What about disreputables?”

  “My friend said to his knowledge there weren't any really bad sorts about, but there were some pretty pathetic gin-soakers.”

  “You found out where?”

  “I did, but they haven't been home in the past few days.”

  “They could very well be Daphne's captors. Which means they could be anywhere in the Greater London area.”

  “But one thing's certain,” Sir Ronald said.

  Jack raised a single brow in query. “What?”

  “They'll be in Hampstead tonight.”

  A solemn look on his face, Jack nodded. “I brought pen and paper in the hopes you can draw for me the barn and the area around it.”

  For the next half hour Sir Ronald told Jack everything he needed to know.

  “From what you're telling me,” Jack said, “I think my plan just might work.”

  “Enlighten me, please,” Sir Ronald said.

  “It's likely someone is watching the barn today, wouldn't you say?” Jack's gaze fanned from Martin to Sir Ronald.

  Both men nodded.

  “I think I know what you're planning,” Sir Ronald said, eying the hay cart. “You're going to hide beneath that hay, aren't you, Dryden?”

  Jack nodded.

  “And this harmless old, silver-haired man will be seen delivering hay to the barn belonging to Douglas Douglass,” Sir Ronald continued.

  “No one will be able to see Captain Dryden leave the cart because I'll have it scooted just inside the barn door,” Martin said. “He gets out of the cart and hides beneath hay once more inside the barn.”
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  “What if they find him tonight? Before they bring Lady Daphne or when they first bring her?” Sir Ronald asked.

  Jack shrugged. “I have a knife as well as a sword.” He swallowed and gazed at his brother-in-law. “If they kill me, I'm counting on you to save Daphne.”

  “I give you my word.” Sir Ronald looked at Martin. “Can we count on your help?”

  “You couldn't keep me away.”

  “I am not fooled by your gray hair,” Sir Ronald said. “Past your prime you may be, but you're an uncommonly skilled swordsman. I propose to have you stay at my friend's who lives near the Methodist preacher in Hampstead. I'll give you a letter of introduction.”

  “Will I be able to see the barn under tonight's three-quarter moon?”

  “You will.”

  “Then if you need help, I will be there.”

  For the next hour Jack and his brother-in-law made their plans with the precision of a most disciplined architect.

  Chapter 20

  Daphne hadn't the heart to tell Andy that Jack's previous rescues had been conducted when he was in prime physical condition. That, sadly, was no longer the case. His ribs were broken, his shoulder was incapable of movement, and his knee was so swollen he could hardly put his weight upon it. Some help he would be!

  But for the lad's sake, she must keep up the illusion that invincible Jack would save them from the murderous French duc.

  The room they were being held in had gone almost completely dark after the sun set. She had no way of knowing the time. When there was nothing with which to occupy oneself, each minute was like ten. Or twenty. She calculated it must be ten or eleven, judging from when the last rays of light shone through the transom before it had gone dark.

  Though she could no longer see Andy clearly, she could picture the strapping lad who was all dangly arms and legs with little meat on those elongated bones. She fancied Jack might have been similarly slender when he'd been that age. It would have taken a few years for the musculature to develop on that tall body.

  Her pulse accelerated at the memory of Jack's sublime body, of lying beside him on the red velvet bed, of wanting to make love to the man she had pledged herself to in a sacramental ceremony.

  A fog horn sounded some little distance away, confirming her suspicion they were being kept in a warehouse in the Docklands. Memories crashed over her of that last time the duc had kept her prisoner in a warehouse that was likely located near this one. She had cried that time because she didn't want to go to her grave a virgin. Now she was a married woman, and the same fear brought tears to her eyes.

  She must reverse the morbid direction of her thoughts. “Tell me, Andy, do you ever fight?”

  “What kind of fightin' might ye be referring to, me lady?”

  “Fisticuffs, actually.”

  “I wouldn't want ye to be thinking of me as a 'othead. Me mum always said because I was big, I couldn't go beatin' other fellows up. Turn the other cheek, she always told me, but sometimes a bit of fightin' is unavoidable.”

  “Oh, I can tell you're ever so obliging. I know you would never initiate a physical confrontation. In the same way, I know you wouldn't back away from one, either.”

  “That be a fact, me lady.”

  “It has occurred to me you might be able to assist my husband when he tries to rescue us.”

  “How? I can't do nothing as long as me hands is tied behind me.”

  “Then we shall have to see if there's some way to remove the rope. If you could figure out a way to untie mine, then I would be at liberty to untie yours. I say this only because I believe you are much more capable of undoing my ropes than I am of yours.”

  “Let's give it a go.” He began to scoot toward her.

  “Should you prefer me seated or lying on my stomach?”

  “Seated should be good enough.” He drew so close she could feel his body heat. Next, she felt his knuckles brushing against her hands as he fumbled with the knots of her rope. This went on for several minutes. She kept hoping he would emerge victorious from his task, but five minutes dragged into ten, then into twenty—she was quite sure, even though she had no way of telling time. The poor lad kept mumbling unpleasantries under his breath as each new attempt came up without success.

  But he would not give up.

  She ignored the hemp burns scratching her flesh. When weighed against the prospect of release, a bit of raw flesh was most negligible.

  After a very long time, Andy decided to try a different approach. “I believe I'll try to bite through the rope. The knots must 'av been tied by sailors 'cause they're near impossible to undo.”

  “Come to think of it, my husband thought the men who attacked him the other night might have been sailors, and I have no doubts they were hired by the wicked Frenchman who abducted us.”

  She hated to discourage Andy when hope was all they had. But the likelihood of gnawing through one-inch rope with human teeth was most improbable. “I do hope your teeth are strong.”

  “They better be. I'll be chewing for our lives.”

  So he did know how bleak were their prospects.

  “I am ever so sorry for involving you, Andy. You were just trying to do an honest day's work, and fate has pitted you against the most vile spy France has.”

  He spit out a mouthful of hemp fibers. “I mean to get us out of 'ere. The captain will need me assistance.”

  She sighed. “Indeed he will, Andy.” She had no regrets about encouraging the fellow. The mood he was in now was much preferable than the melancholy which had beset him that afternoon. Now he possessed hope, and as long as he possessed hope he had the determination to at least try to get them out of that horrid place and away from the duc's reach. “My husband said the success of any mission is in precision planning; therefore, my lad, we must begin to plan.”

  He lifted his head from his gnawing-mouse imitation and spoke excitedly. “I was thinking, me lady, that after ye get the ropes off me, I would pretend they was still on---”

  “Andy, my brilliant young man! That is exactly what I was going to suggest.”

  “That way, when the wicked Frenchie comes for ye, I can wait until just the right moment to try to save ye.”

  “My guess is that he's offering to release me in exchange for my husband.” A little whimper escaped. “Oh, Andy, I couldn't live—wouldn't want to—without my Jack. You must keep the Frenchman from killing him.”

  He lifted his head and spat out another mouthful of the rope's fibers. “I shall do me best. Pity I won't have a weapon.”

  It was a dashed pity that neither of them would ever be free of these wretched ropes. But she would keep up the pretense. “Let us concentrate on things we can control.”

  “I don't mean to boast, but I'm a good fighter, but only with me fists. I ain't never held a sword in me hand.”

  “Then to even the fight, you must steal your guard's weapon when he's unaware. I've seen you with the horses. You have very quick reflexes.”

  “I 'ope I'm quick enough.” He paused and attempted to spit away the chunks of hemp. “Me mum says everything 'appens for a reason. The Lord must 'av put me in Lunnon so as I could help you and the captain.”

  “I hope so, Andy. I hope so.”

  All of a sudden her hands were free! She spun around and threw her arms around her liberator. “You succeeded! How wonderful!”

  “No time for celebrating, me lady. Ye need to untie me.”

  Given that it was dark, it was difficult to untie knots she couldn't see, but at least she had the use of both of her hands. In front of her. Within a few minutes, she managed to untie the knots and free him, too, of the ropes.

  He set about retying hers, then merely encircled his again with the gnawed-through rope to give the illusion his hands were tied behind him.

  “Remember what my husband says about planning.”

  “The success of a mission is in precision planning.”

  “Very good, Andy! Now, what is our plan?” />
  “I'm to look as if I'm tied up until there is a danger either to ye or to ye 'usband. Then me first act will be to quickly try to disarm the person making the threat to you.”

  “The minute I perceive a threat, I will attempt to distract the duc's attention away from the direction where you are. Perhaps I can wail and collapse at his feet.”

  “Perhaps is not precision.”

  Thank her stars Andy was intelligent. “You are right. Allow me to rephrase. As soon as I perceive a threat to me or my husband, I will wail and collapse at the duc's feet.”

  “And the instant you wail, I attack.”

  Horse hooves pounded three stories below them. They hadn't heard a single clomp all night. Instead of dying away, the clomping halted. Close. Her heartbeat thundered. The duc!

  But the person who raced up the stairs to the room where they were being held wasn't him. It was one of his hired English henchman, whom she was almost certain was a former sailor—and one of the three men who tried to kill Jack. He unbolted the lock and threw it open. “Out! And don't attempt to get away from us, or you'll get a knife through yer heart.”

  They wouldn't kill her. Not yet. They would want to keep her alive until Jack saw her. But what of Andy? Their captors had no reason to keep him alive. Likewise, they had no reason to kill him, either.

  She followed Andy down two flights of stairs and through the open door on the ground floor. In the moonlight she saw the duc d'Arblier mounted on a black stallion. He was dressed all in black, his hooded cape covering his head. “Pray, Hudson, help the lady mount. It's most difficult without the use of her hands.”

  A second man, who had been guarding the ground floor door, stepped forward and helped Daphne onto the other horse. “No side saddle for you,” the duc said to her, his voice sinister. “You'll sit the horse in the same way a man does.”

  Once she was mounted, the disgustingly dirty Hudson climbed up behind her. His thighs formed a V to close around her, sickening her.

  “Do not think about calling for help, Lady Daphne,” the duc said. “Hudson has orders to slit your throat if you try.