Two in the Bush

by Judith Hale Everett

  As the dinner hour approached, Genevieve left her workbox, but could not abandon her musings, to attend to her toilet. As she went up the stairs to her room, she passed a maid and asked her if Lenora had yet returned from her errands. Bobbing a curtsey, the maid informed her that she had not seen Miss, but would inquire if she was in the house. With a nod of thanks, Genevieve continued to her room, a little crease between her brows.

  She dressed for dinner, stifling the temptation to dawdle because Sir Joshua was to dine with them and she had little inclination to make a fool of herself, as she would inevitably do. She finished in good time and went downstairs, enquiring of the butler if Miss Breckinridge had come in while she was dressing.

  Bowing, he said, “No, ma’am, but John came in over an hour since. Knowing that he was to accompany Miss Breckinridge, I took the liberty of asking where she had gone, and he told me she had met with a gentleman friend, and had sent him home, but as she had Miss Chuddsley with her, he saw nothing in it.”

  “Did he tell you the name of the gentleman, Cottam?” At his negative, she desired him to send John to her in the Blue Saloon, knowing that the dinner guests would be assembling in the drawing room.

  The footman came into the saloon with trepidation, his eyes darting everywhere but to her face. With mounting concern, she asked him the name of the gentleman with whom Lenora had gone.

  “He said as he was a Mr. Smith, ma’am.”

  Her brows lowered at this unlikely surname. “Had you seen him before, John?”

  “Only in the pub, where we met, ma’am.”

  Shocked, she immediately demanded, “Did you arrange a meeting between this Mr. Smith and my daughter?”

  Trembling, he wrung his hands before him. “No, ma’am, please, ma’am, I didn’t mean to do wrong. Only he said as he had a passion for Miss Breckinridge, and he looked so forlorn, that she wouldn’t never meet him, and he only wanted a few minutes of her time, to tell her how it was with him. I told him as she wasn’t never left alone, and he said as how that was proper, and he wouldn’t never be so ungentlemanly as to try to meet a young lady on her own, clandestine-like, but that if I could bring her with her maid to a certain place, he’d speak with her out in the open, and engage to get her home safe afterwards.”

  Words forsook Genevieve for several moments. When at last she could command her voice, she asked in a ragged tone barely above a whisper, “And you saw nothing wrong in this, John? Nothing suspicious in a strange man wishing to meet with a young lady over whom you were to guard?”

  “No, ma’am!” he cried, his face white with fear. “Leastwise, he told me how he had known her all her life, and that they’d had a misunderstanding, and that was all that kept her from his company. He told me all about her, so’s I’d know he really did know her, and when I told him she walked often with her friend, he named Miss Chuddsley, and didn’t have no argument over having her with them while they talked. I saw no wrong in him speaking to her in public, with her friend by.”

  Before Genevieve could respond to this, the door opened, and a maid entered, a note on a tray before her. “If it please, ma’am, this just arrived.”

  These words struck foreboding in Genevieve’s heart, and with a shaking hand, she took the note, dismissing the maid. The footman stood trembling before her as she stared for some moments at the folded note in her hand, her reeling brain somehow recognizing the hand that had written her name in florid characters across the front, as if it were an invitation—or a celebration. Almost in a trance, she broke the seal and opened the note.

  “My dearest Genevieve, you must forgive me for sinking beneath even myself, but you have given me little choice, and I must have my way. Your delightful daughter and her lovely friend find themselves in my company this evening, and will stay with me at Nordley until you, and only you, come to collect them. I have no doubt that you will have guessed by now the price for their freedom. I will accept no compromise. You may be assured of their safety—until I despair of your coming. Then, it will be beyond my power to dispel your fears. I trust you will believe that I am made wretched by this course of action, but I have no doubt that it is my surest path to reward. Come quickly, my love. Carlisle”

  Her free hand went out to grasp the back of a nearby chair for support, and the footman took an agitated step toward her.

  “John,” she said, her voice dangerously low. “At what time did you leave Miss Breckinridge with Mr. Smith?”

  “Just past four o’clock, ma’am.”

  It was now a quarter past six. “That will be all,” she managed.

  The unfortunate footman fled from the room, leaving Genevieve pale and shaking, clinging to the chair. Montrose had fooled them all, even Sir Joshua. He had lulled them into a sense of security, pretending to have left London, to have given up his pursuit of her, but setting forth on this despicable plot instead. She had mistrusted Sir Joshua’s assertion that Montrose was beaten, and so had not lifted the constant watch on Lenora, but had been too distracted by her own worries to give proper consideration to her fears. And now, he had taken Lenora, and Elvira as well! His estate was three hours or more from town, and the girls had been left with him two hours since. There was not a moment to lose. She must go.

  Dropping the note in her haste, she rushed into the hall and collided with Sir Joshua. He caught her shoulders, helpfully holding her upright, his apology dying on his lips when he saw her face.

  “Good heaven, Genevieve, you are white as a ghost! Tell me what is the matter,” he demanded. When she could only stare up at him with a horrified gaze, he led her back into the saloon. Closing the door behind him, he said, “Tell me, Genevieve.”

  “Something—something dreadful has happened—to Lenora—” she stammered.

  His hold on her arm tightened. “Is she hurt? Where is she?”

  Such a jumble of emotions assailed her that, once again, she could not speak. Sensing this, Sir Joshua gently propelled her to the sofa, helping her to sit before going quickly to the sideboard to pour out some sherry.

  “You are overcome,” he said, pressing the glass into her hands. He waited until she had sipped it, then adjured her, “Tell me what has happened.”

  She knew she must tell him all. Even could she rid herself of him, she could not, and would not, rescue the girls by capitulating to Lord Montrose’s demand, which was all she could hope to do if she attempted a rescue alone. She needed an accomplice, and she could choose none better than Sir Joshua. The story tumbled out of her then, and Sir Joshua listened quietly, but before she had done, he stood abruptly and strode to the fireplace, leaning against the mantelpiece and staring into the flames. Genevieve finished her tale and watched him, hating that she wished he did not feel so strongly.

  “You say they were delivered to him two hours since?” he asked suddenly. At her affirmation, he murmured, “Then they are nearly at Nordley.” He paced in front of the fire. “Even so, it is not too late. Not until—” He turned and came to her, taking her hands in his as he sat beside her on the sofa. “I will go, Genevieve. I hold myself to blame for this. I did not heed your warning. I ought to have been more watchful, more careful of Lord Montrose. I will not let him compromise Lenora.”

  She gripped his hands, ashamed of her littleness and determined to redeem herself. “If anyone is to blame, it is I. I hoped to protect Lenora by keeping her from him, but I failed utterly! I ought to have given her more information about him, not been so reticent—I ought to have refused his acquaintance, as you counselled me to do, and risked reprisal.”

  “But we should still have been right where we are, in that case,” Sir Joshua said, gently. “You told me so, at Vauxhall, but I did not believe you. This despicable action of his has finally convinced me that nothing you could have done would have dissuaded him from his course. He is a villain, and will do as a villain does.”

  At that moment, the doo
r opened, and Mr. Ginsham rushed into the room, halting at sight of their agitated faces. “Devil take that butler of yours!” he cried, then tried to compose himself. “Forgive me, ma’am, but I’m dashed if something is not very much amiss.”

  Genevieve let out a dismayed sigh. “Oh, dear. Mr. Ginsham, I had quite forgotten you were coming tonight.” She rose with tolerable composure and held a hand out to him. “Pardon our confusion, sir. You find us in an uproar, for we have just discovered that Lenora and Elvira have met with an accident—nothing serious, I assure you—but I am quite distracted.”

  “I should say so! And you’re not alone, ma’am,” he confided, still upset. “Here’s Miss Chuddsley’s aunt in palpitations because her niece has gone missing, and I managed to convince her that the girl’s got to be here. But that butler let slip that neither Miss Chuddsley nor Miss Breckinridge has been seen since four o’clock, then he tried to fob me off with some Canterbury tale about a sick relative!”

  Genevieve raised eyes heavenward with a most unladylike wish regarding the disposal of all silly butlers. “Cottam is an excellent servant—too excellent sometimes, I fear. No, Mr. Ginsham, the girls are merely detained, and we intend to be off directly to rescue them.”

  “Good,” he said. “I shall offer you my services.”

  “No need,” interposed Sir Joshua. “I shouldn’t dream of imposing upon you in this circumstance.”

  “But Miss Chuddsley—an accident, you said—”

  Sir Joshua waved away his anxiety. “They are quite well, you may be certain. They need only to be fetched back home, which is no dire business.”

  “We are so very much obliged to you, Mr. Ginsham, for your kind offer,” put in Genevieve, taking his arm and leading him toward the door, “and we shall certainly apprise you of their safe return and continued well-being.”

  He disengaged his arm from her grasp and eyed the two of them narrowly. “You’re both acting dashed havey-cavey. I’ve a strong notion that butler isn’t the only one trying to fob me off!”

  “You’re right, Mr. Ginsham,” said Sir Joshua evenly. “We are wishing you at Jericho, for the longer we stand talking, the longer Miss Chuddsley and Miss Breckinridge await their rescue.”

  “Then why may I not go with you?” the young man demanded.

  “The fact of the matter is, this is none of your concern.”

  Mr. Ginsham stepped hastily toward Sir Joshua. “I may not have your years, sir, but I’ve cut my wisdoms. Please! I wish you will stop shamming it, and tell me the truth!” With a side glance at Genevieve, he lowered his tone. “You know how I feel, sir. I will go mad if I do not know she is safe!”

  This straw broke Genevieve’s poise, and she threw up her hands. “Would that I had gone by myself!” she cried. “There is no help for it, I’m afraid, Sir Joshua.” Turning decidedly to Mr. Ginsham, she declared, “The truth of the matter is that the girls have been abducted.”

  He stared at her. “You’re bamming me.”

  “No, sir, I am not,” replied Genevieve. “One of my husband’s old enemies has, for reasons which we need not go into, taken the girls and holds them for—for ransom at his estate. If we do not redeem them before the night ends—you know the consequences.”

  Words seemed to fail Mr. Ginsham. He goggled first at Genevieve, then at Sir Joshua and, receiving comfort from neither, tottered to a chair and sank into it. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Speech is unnecessary, sir,” said Sir Joshua dryly. “If you still wish to be of service, you may stay to protect Mrs. Breckinridge.”

  That lady turned indignantly to him and declared in an undertone, “I go with you!”

  “That is out of the question,” he said shortly.

  She angled in front of him, her chin up. “The note stipulates in no uncertain terms that I, and I alone, must go! I already risk their harm by bringing you as an accomplice. I will not risk more by failing to appear at all!”

  “Your presence will not be necessary, I assure you,” he said, a mulish look about his mouth.

  “How, pray, do you intend to redeem them without the payment?” she cried.

  Sir Joshua took her arms in an ungentle grip. “There will be no payment, Genevieve! Am I clear?” He looked fiercely into her eyes. “The villain will give the girls to me or he will have great cause to regret, and that will be the end of it.”

  Mr. Ginsham jumped to his feet, suddenly reinvigorated. “He dashed well will! I give my word of honor to that, ma’am.”

  Sir Joshua glared over at him for an intense moment, then nodded briefly. “I will call my carriage.”

  Releasing Genevieve, he strode toward the door, but she darted ahead of him, opening it and standing defiantly with her hand on the knob. “You both fail to recollect,” she said in a derisive tone, “that the great danger we must avert is the compromise of two young ladies, which will rather be accomplished if they are rescued from the clutches of one man, only to be seen coming into town in the early hours of the morning in the company of two!” She opened the door and sailed through, tossing back over her shoulder. “I go or all is vain!”

  On this valediction, Genevieve went to Lady Cammerby, who waited in the drawing room in some bewilderment, having received the astonishing tidings from Cottam that three of her dinner guests were in heated argument in the saloon on account of the other two being gone missing. Genevieve swept into the room with no thought of disabusing her friend’s mind, instead delivering herself of a whirlwind explanation of nothing, while expressing inadequate but heartfelt apologies for the ruined party, interspersed with assurances that all was as it should be, before sailing out the door.

  This accomplished, Genevieve was the first to enter the chaise, and the gentlemen right behind, Sir Joshua, having had the forethought to avail himself of Lord Cammerby’s stables to augment his team from two horses to four, instructing his coachman to make for Amersham with the greatest possible speed. Leaving behind them an intensely curious staff, who had observed just enough to conjecture wildly, the trio fairly flew through the busy evening streets and, to Sir Joshua’s satisfaction, were clear of Kensington within half an hour.

  The long road to Nordley stretching out before them, each nursed their separate anxieties in silence for several minutes. The thoughts of the two gentlemen Genevieve could only guess at, but had a shrewd idea from their grim expressions along what lines they ran. Her own thoughts were rather more convoluted, beginning with her fears for Lenora and Elvira, twisting through a maze of guilt, jealousy, and distress, and ending with the resolution of finally annihilating Lord Montrose’s pretensions.

  On this thought, Genevieve roused herself. “We must have a plan,” she said.

  “There is not much question what there is to do,” said Mr. Ginsham, glaring out the window. “We break in the door, and knock down anyone who doesn’t give up Miss Chuddsley and Miss Breckinridge.”

  “That gem of idiocy is precisely why I had to come,” replied Genevieve bluntly. “If that is all you can come up with, you are welcome to stay in the coach. Knock them down, indeed. You had as well offer your head for washing.”

  “They’d not get far!” Mr. Ginsham retorted, firing up. “I’m pretty handy with my fives, I’ll have you know!”

  She snorted. “I’ve no doubt you are, sir, in a fair fight, with one, or perhaps even two opponents. But at Nordley there are more than one or two who will take exception to a stranger forcing his way into their master’s house, and you’d sooner find yourself trussed like a chicken and tossed into the cellar.”

  “They’ll have Sir Joshua to reckon with as well,” he pursued lamely.

  She turned her head to look with raised brows at that other gentleman, who had remained conspicuously silent. “And what do you think of Mr. Ginsham’s plan, Sir Joshua?”

  Sir Joshua stared ahead, unseeing. “We have no way of knowing
where he will be keeping the girls. Short of breaking into the house, I do not yet perceive how we can free them.”

  “You see?” cried Mr. Ginsham. “There’s nothing else to be done.”

  “But Mrs. Breckinridge is right,” said Sir Joshua sternly. “We’d not be doing the young ladies a favor by getting ourselves caught housebreaking. Lord Montrose would think it a mighty fine joke to hand us over to the magistrate while Miss Breckinridge and Miss Chuddsley languish somewhere in his house.”

  Silenced by this vivid image, Mr. Ginsham leaned back against the squabs, a belligerent crease between his brows.

  “We must find out where he is keeping the girls,” observed Sir Joshua, “and then we can make a plan to reach them.”

  “While alerting all the household staff to our presence?” said Genevieve, wryly.

  Sir Joshua turned at last and regarded her gravely. “Mr. Ginsham and I may very well be able to reach them from an outside window or back stair.”

  “While I am to sit tamely in the coach?” she retorted through clenched teeth. “Oh! I am out of all patience with the pair of you! This is no novel, and you are no knights errant!” She took a deep, calming breath and then said, “Perhaps you forget that Lord Montrose was a long-standing friend to my late husband. I have stayed many times at Nordley, and know the house very well.” She closed her eyes. “Too well, I think.” With another deep breath, she continued, “The rooms where the girls are most likely to be kept are on an upper floor, and would be impossible to reach from the outside, and difficult to find from a back way, without drawing undesirable attention.”