The House in Grosvenor Square

by Linore Rose Burkard

  Ariana came to her feet agitated. “My word! I haven’t seen my family for near three months! But I dare not go! What would Mr. Mornay say?”

  “He is an understanding man,” opined Miss Herley, but her look changed to uncertainty and she added, “on occasion.”

  “He will not brook it, if I disobey.”

  “But he adores you. I think you are perfectly safe in this. How could you refuse to see your own family?” Lavinia pointed out.

  “Only recall his words to me. He forbade me to leave the house. I dare not, I tell you.” She looked at her aunt. “You must bring my family here, Aunt.”

  “With the work going on? That won’t answer, my dear. Recall that we are in the second parlour because the workmen have taken over the other. And the dining room is equally unfit for guests. We shall see them at Hanover Square.”

  Ariana brought her hands together in thought and strode to the window. She stood there looking down at the street. Mrs. Bentley’s coach was indeed at the curb. The thought of her family being in Mayfair was such a happy one! But Mr. Mornay was soon to be her husband. She could not shirk his wishes, not after such a disaster as resulted when she went out to call upon Mr. O’Brien. He had said, “Is this what I am to expect when we are married?” And today his words were loud and clear: “Stay in the house. Do not cross me in this.”

  She would stay.

  She turned to her relation who was watching her impatiently. “I cannot accompany you.”

  Mrs. Bentley waved her hand at her. “So be it! Do as you wish! But when Mr. Mornay returns, you must to my house at once. He can convey you there himself. And you too, of course, Miss Herley.”

  Lavinia nodded her thanks.

  “Goodbye, my gels,” said her aunt, and she closed the door and was gone. Ariana turned and said, “I must have Freddy send a man to your parents before they begin to think you’ve run into more mischief.”

  “Thank you, dearest.”

  When that was done, Lavinia looked at her friend. “Now. Were we not having the most delicious conversation before your aunt came in?”

  Ariana smiled impishly. “We certainly were. And I remember exactly where we left off.”

  Mr. Mornay’s coach had been making the rounds of the East End, from St. Pancras to Cripplegate, stopping at every flash house, tavern, and other places of ill repute where Holliwell thought they might find his brother. They had begun the search in the shabby, rundown room the brothers were calling home at the moment and had continued to find him absent from every other haunt he usually favored. They questioned demireps and Corinthians, sharpers and high kicks, tavern owners and chambermaids, but the man was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t a matter of being blocked by friends who were protecting him because Holliwell knew the same friends. His brother was known as a ‘here or thereian,’ and no one knew his current location.

  “I don’t understand it,” Holliwell lamented, returning to the coach after checking the house of Wingate’s favorite doxie. “He should have turned up by now. Word is he’s got new wheels, so perhaps he’s gone somewhere.”

  “How does he manage to keep a coach?” Mornay wondered. It was expensive to do so.

  “Well, he wins ‘em every so often from the occasional greenhorn. Then, he sells ‘em or rents ‘em out, if he can get by on it.”

  “So he takes advantage of inexperienced young men who get in over their heads and lives off his winnings.”

  “That’s about the size of it. Along with an odd job here or there with other fellows.”

  “By ‘job’ I take it you don’t mean work.”

  “Good heavens, no! Can you see Julian working? Though I think he went body-snatching once. That reeks of work to me. Not to mention being the devil's own business!”

  Mornay shook his head. Why had he asked? “Leave messages that you’re looking for him,” he said, “and we’ll come again later. Perhaps tonight we’ll fall upon him when he’s had a chance to get deep in his cups.”

  His lordship nodded his head. “Oh, he’ll know I’ve been looking for him, no fear there. He’ll hear it everywhere he goes.” He met Mornay’s eyes. “He ought to be eager to find me, actually. He knows by now I had a hand in getting Miss Herley from his grasp, and he’ll feel wronged by that. Julian, as you well know, does not forget when he’s been wronged.”

  Mrs. Bentley settled back into the carriage as they pulled away from Grosvenor Square. The streets were no longer clogged with traffic, but much alive with commerce and pleasure vehicles as usual. Mrs. Bentley looked tiredly at the empty seat across from her, staring blankly, seeing nothing. Only a few more days must pass before her niece would be safely wed. Ah, the comfort she would take in that. She was quite pleased by the early arrival of her brother and his family—she hadn’t expected them for another day at the least. But she was, no use denying it, happiest in her own home and despite all her bravado about staying with Ariana come what may, it was a notable relief to be heading back to her own bed.

  She did not relish having to explain Ariana’s absence to her brother. But she was certain Mr. Mornay could no longer insist upon keeping the girl at Grosvenor Square now that her father had arrived. She would keep her niece under lock and key, if necessary, until the ceremony! The strain of these past days was too provoking. Abductions and rescues and shootings on the streets! Mrs. Bentley had always thought her nerves to be of the strongest constitution, but she was nearing her limit of what was tolerable.

  The coach pulled to the curb. Mrs. Bentley looked out at the familiar house with a sigh of relief. How pleasant to be back home. In a moment the steps were let down. It annoyed her that Haines did not have the door open before she reached it; but when she opened it, and started to call for him, she was taken by surprise by two ruffians who pulled her roughly into the house. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Before she could speak a third man appeared.

  “Oh! My word!” It was the man who had pointed a gun at her! The man who had abducted Miss Herley right from her carriage! Lord Wingate, wasn’t it?

  “Where is your niece?” he demanded, approaching her, his face mean and angry.

  “Where is my brother and his family?” she asked in return, greatly affronted. Miraculously she seemed to have lost her fear of the man. She was too provoked at finding her own house had been infiltrated, too outraged, suddenly, at the intolerable misfortunes she’d suffered on his account to feel the least fear of him.

  “Why did you leave your niece behind?” he demanded again.

  “What have you done with my servants?” she responded.

  “Allow me,” he said with derision, “to ask the questions. Your life is in peril if you do not answer.” He was surprised to find this lady staring him down so boldly. Was this not the woman who had swooned at sight of his pistol only two days earlier? “Why did you not bring Miss Forsythe with you?” He gave her a sneering look and held the weapon up, pointing it at her head.

  Mrs. Bentley no longer believed his aim was to do away with her, however, and so she merely responded in kind, with a voice fraught with disdain. “Miss Forsythe has a mind of her own, sir,” she responded. “She refused to come. And I must say, ’tis providential that she did.”

  Without answering Lord Wingate turned to his men. “Put her with the rest of them and on the double! We’ll have to get Miss Forsythe before Mornay returns to his house.”

  Mrs. Bentley gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!” And then she recalled that here they had dared to enter and command her house. And they had even rendered her servants helpless for none were in sight. As one man led her off towards the kitchens, she looked back at Lord Wingate, hoping to sound ominous. “Mornay will have you hung if you harm that gel!”

  About twenty-five minutes after Mrs. Bentley’s carriage had driven off from Grosvenor Square, another carriage pulled to the curb in front of the house, and three men appeared from within it. They strode rapidly to the door, one man looking around warily as he did so. Freddy answered the knock a
nd a moment later backed away, his eyes bulging as the men forced their way in by lieu of a pistol in the butler’s face.

  “There’s no need for alarm,” said Lord Wingate, his long face curling into a chilling grin. “As long as you do exactly as you’re told.”

  The man who had spoken and seemed to be in charge nodded at his companions, and they took off toward the stairs. Freddy’s heart sank, knowing the master was out with the prince’s men who might have come in quite handy just then. And one servant had gone off for Burton Crescent to deliver Miss Herley’s message. If only Mr. Mornay was home! Thankfully, there were two men charged with keeping an eye on Miss Forsythe. He hoped they were on the alert. The man turned to him.

  “Sit here.”

  “Upon the floor?”

  “Yes, upon the floor! I am pointing at the floor, am I not?” Without another word, Mr. Frederick sat himself down, sighing inwardly. He had his back against the wall, and knees pulled up against him. He eyed the stranger resentfully. If only the master were home!

  Meanwhile Lord Wingate was eyeing the expensive furnishings and his thoughts turned to the practical matter of theft. Why settle merely for taking Miss Forsythe? There were numerous doors adjoining the rich hall with its marbled tiles, and he suddenly realized he might do well to avail himself of some treasures. The sound of his men on the next storey floated down from the direction of the staircase, however, and he pointed his pistol at the butler with renewed focus.

  At that moment, Mrs. Hamilton walked innocently out of a doorway, evidently coming from the kitchens. Eyes wide, she stopped in alarm with her mouth opening slightly. Lord Wingate had not seen or heard her, and she cautiously backed away. The butler saw her but speedily removed his gaze so he would not alert his captor to her presence. He prayed the woman would somehow quickly summon help! Where was Mr. Fotch when he was needed? He hoped Mrs. Hamilton had the presence of mind to run to a neighbor. There were footmen enough on the street to make up a small army, and he was certain the dwellers on the Square would willingly lend their men when they understood the threat. But would the housekeeper think of it?

  Suddenly sounds came from the stairwell, and then the young women appeared, faces quite fallen, each held by one arm by a rogue with a weapon. When Wingate turned and saw them, his eyebrows rose and he smiled. “Well, well, this begins to make up for all, does it not? What do you call it? Two birds with one stone?” He gave a wicked laugh.

  Mr. Mornay and the other men were leaving the East End to return to Grosvenor Square. He had to return his steward, for one thing. And he would allow Holliwell a short time to see his love—chaperoned, of course. He’d get that letter written, too, to the girl’s parents, a recommendation of the marriage between their daughter and the young nobleman. Then after the pleasure of seeing his own future bride, the men would return to the East End to put Wingate in his place once and for all.

  He was getting married in four days. He wanted to be done with this nonsense. Tonight would be an end to it, if it took him all night.

  “Do not scream or raise your voices in any manner, or I will use this weapon.”

  Lavinia said, “Listen to him, dearest!” Wingate had locked the butler in the pantry, and pocketed anything he could quickly grab. He also threw some things hastily at his men, who shoved them obediently into the great pockets of their coats, which, like Whiddington’s, were fashioned expressly to answer that purpose.

  He motioned for the men to move the young women out of the house, and in a moment they were being hurried, rather brusquely and at gunpoint, into the worn black equipage. Ariana was tense, but she could sense that Lavinia was terrified, and she held her hand bracingly. Two of the ruffians jumped on back of the equipage, so that only Wingate entered after them. A small relief, but nothing to ease their tension.

  “So this is Lord Wingate,” Ariana said icily. She’d managed to keep her voice calm, although she remembered only too well that Whiddington had called him a “murderous blood.”

  He bowed his head mockingly.

  She was surprised to find that the dark-haired, finely featured man might have been considered handsome, but for a mean glint in his eyes, and a gauntness of features that spoke of hard living. He studied her in turn. “Happily, you are as attractive as I’ve heard, Miss Forsythe; Mornay will pay a pretty penny for his pretty lady, I’ve no doubt.”

  Mrs. Hamilton had run down to the kitchens in a flutter after seeing Mr. Frederick on the floor with a pistol staring him in the face! Upon telling Cook and the kitchen maids the situation, these ladies fell into such fits of fright that the housekeeper had been forced to quiet them before deciding what she ought to do.

  It only took another minute for her to reach much the same thought as Mr. Frederick’s—to approach the neighbors. She went without even a shawl over her gown and headed next door for Derby House. She had to stop and wait, however, for upon reaching the street she saw the seedy black coach at the curb, and its driver sat atop the board; he would see her emerge.

  When finally she saw him turn away to watch a passing wagon and its cargo, she darted from the service entrance and dashed to the next house, not daring to look back. She was forced to wait minutes to see Lord Derby. Her protestations that it was of the utmost urgency, that ruffians were in the house and ladies in danger had little effect upon his servants. Even his lordship at first seemed doubtful. By the time she emerged from the house with Lord Derby brandishing a pistol and his footmen in tow, it was just in time to see the back of the carriage as it left the Square.

  “What is your quarrel with Mr. Mornay? Why are you doing this?” Ariana asked.

  He studied her for a moment, perhaps weighing whether to tell her or not. “That is not your concern.”

  “As you are abducting us, I think it is. What is it you want precisely? We know it isn’t us.”

  Lavinia said, “Must you point your weapon at her? If the carriage bounces you may kill her! We are only two women and surely you are not so frightened of us that you cannot put it aside.”

  Ariana wanted to say “Bravo, Lavinia!” but didn’t dare. She squeezed her friend’s hand instead.

  Wingate smiled, but he rested the weapon atop his thigh.

  “You look like a gentleman, sir,” Ariana said. “What is it that makes you abduct women who have done you no harm?”

  Lavinia remembered her earlier encounter with this man, and of how frightened she had been. She would never have had the presence of mind that Ariana was displaying. How did her friend possess such courage? It was a mystery.

  When Mrs. Bentley had been duly delivered to the servants’ hall where the staff was sitting, bound and gagged, her indignation reached a crest. Even Mr. Pellham, poor man, was among the prisoners and looking none too comfortable. It could not be borne! The mouths of each person, furthermore, were stuffed with her own expensive handkerchiefs and table napkins. It was distressing, indeed.

  At sight of Mrs. Bentley, the servants began emitting a stream of indignant sounds from their gagged mouths as best they could. The man who had brought her looked around in surprise and then hastily tied the lady to a kitchen chair, though she rapped his arms and hands with her fan until it was no longer possible to do so. She berated him ceaselessly the while, calling him a cowardly cove, a yellow-bellied liver, and one who could expect nothing but the gibbet for his certain fate. Surprisingly he did not bother to gag her but turned and fled as soon as she was securely bound in place.

  Her servants looked deeply sorrowful. With their mistress a prisoner like themselves, their hopes of rescue seemed to sink. Mrs. Bentley knew she must free herself. Her binds did not seem as tightly done as the others, and she was determined to break free. She set about wriggling in her seat and straining at the cloths which were twisted, rope-like, to tie her to the piece of furniture.

  “Do not fret,” she said aloud. “We are not harmed, and I will manage to free myself!” As an afterthought she added, “If it is the last thing I do manage!”r />
  Mr. Pellham nodded at her encouragingly and even winked. This gave her renewed strength, and as she twisted and strained, she felt certain she was making headway. The “chains” felt looser. Moreover, her determination gave others hope so that soon the roomful of occupants began to work at their own cloth binds with the same zeal. It was only a matter of time until someone broke free.

  It was just growing dark by the time the Paragon’s coach pulled to the curb in front of the house. The door opened before he’d even stepped down from the carriage, and he could see Freddy’s face, drawn and unhappy. He hoped there hadn’t been more trouble between his future bride and his staff—if it wasn’t painful for the people involved, including Ariana, he’d have laughed at it. He couldn’t figure out why trouble should have started between them. His staff was well-trained, and Ariana was agreeable to everyone. It made no sense.

  Lord Antoine, his steward, and the prince’s men joined him as he started toward the house. It felt unbelievably superb that he was soon to greet his love. It meant more than he knew it would, to have her under his roof. It was a feeling he wanted to grow very familiar with.

  Freddy’s face at close range revealed more than tension. He looked agonized.

  “What is it, Freddy?” he asked.

  “Miss Forsythe, sir—” He choked on what he had to say, and Mr. Mornay felt his blood run cold. “She’s been abducted—again, sir!”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  An awful pain ran through Mr. Mornay’s whole being. His mind, heart, and limbs rebelled at the words he’d just heard: “It’s Miss Forsythe, sir; she’s been abducted—again!” Every last bit of him wanted to yell nooo!” Instead he took a deep breath to steady himself and forced his brain to remain calm. “What happened, Freddy?”