by Mary Nichols
She was roused by Annie. ‘Miss, we are coming up to Barnet. Do you wish to step down? I believe it is a longer stop for refreshment.’
‘Yes, I would. I am a trifle hungry.’
All three went into the inn and, while the ladies went to relieve themselves, Madison found a table for them and ordered ham and eggs and bread rolls for all three, paying for it with money Lord Myers had given him for the purpose.
Sophie noticed the way he looked at Annie when they returned and the bold way the girl smiled at him, and concluded the two were head over heels in love. Oh, how she envied them! There would be no obstacles in their way, no strict protocol to observe; they were both mature adults and needed no one’s permission to marry or to make love without the benefit of a wedding ring, if they chose.
‘You will be glad to return to your posts,’ she said, by way of conversation while they waited for their food to arrive.
‘Oh, we ain’t in no hurry, miss. The master and mistress will be gone time we get back…’
‘But perhaps you would rather be elsewhere than escorting me?’
Annie looked at her lover and smiled. ‘We don’t mind, miss, it give us time to be t’gether.’
‘Ah, I see. You are sweethearts?’
Annie giggled and Madison chuckled. ‘You could say that, miss. We’ve bin walkin’ out for years, but we don’t often hev a chance to be alone. There’s always someone around.’
‘Then why don’t you take the opportunity to spend some time together now? You do not need to come the rest of the way with me. It is only another short ride and we shall be in the capital, I can manage that very well on my own.’
‘Oh, no, miss, Lord Myers said we was to deliver you—’
‘I am not a parcel, Mr Madison. I am perfectly used to travelling on my own.’
‘All the same, it ain’t right. Lord Myers would have our hides.’
‘How is he to know? He will be in India for years.’
They looked doubtfully at each other, but duty prevailed and they insisted on returning to the coach with her. But she had obviously tempted them and when they arrived at the White Horse in Piccadilly, she had no difficulty in persuading them that she could accomplish the short walk to South Audley Street on her own. They ran off, hand in hand, to see the sights and, if Sophie guessed aright, find a lodging house to be together for the night before returning to Hertfordshire. She smiled fleetingly and started to walk very slowly in the direction of Belfont House, telling herself she did not want to come face to face with the Duke. But she knew she was deceiving herself.
What she wanted most of all in the world was to see him again, to see him smile, to hear that he had forgiven her, to be held in his arms, content and safe from all harm, to be with him for the rest of her life; most of all, to be told he loved her and wanted no one else. But it was a dream, an unattainable dream. The reality was that she had to creep into the house unobserved and make her way to the library where she would have to break open the drawer of his desk to retrieve her manuscript and then she would have to leave the same way.
‘Why, if it isn’t Miss Langford!’
She turned to find Alfred grinning at her. Alfred of all people, the person she most wanted to avoid, apart from Count Cariotti. She was reminded of the conversation she had had with Lord Myers about evil men and suddenly she was afraid. ‘Mr Jessop.’ She inclined her head in polite acknowledgement, but he did not stand aside for her to pass.
‘Where have you been hiding yourself?’
‘I have not been hiding. Now, please let me pass.’
‘Why the haste? The Duke is from home and so is Cousin Harriet, went off in their travelling coach a few days ago, I ain’t sure exactly when seeing I am not privy to their comings and goings. My mother thinks they have most likely gone to Dersingham Park—it is nearly the end of the Season—washed their hands of you, left you to the tender arms of your intended.’
She did not want to believe it. Surely, surely the Duke knew her better than that? But did he? If he knew and understood her, he would not have made that cold-blooded proposal. He would not have accused her of having an assignation with the Count. He would not have believed her capable of publishing scandal about him. Had she been hoping against hope that the situation could be recovered, that they would come together because love always triumphed in the end? She felt like weeping, but Alfred was still standing, blocking her way, looking into her face for her reaction, wanting to hurt her, though she did not know why. Oh, but she did know. He had an interest in ensuring she did not marry the Duke, and aiding and abetting the Count might achieve that end.
‘Mr Jessop, I am not at all interested in what you have to say. Please step aside and allow me to pass.’
He smiled and offered her his arm. ‘Then let me escort you.’
‘I do not need your escort.’
‘Do not be so top lofty, Sophie. My carriage is just along the street. Do you not think it would be better to ride quietly in that than attract more attention?’ He waved his arm to encompass the crowds who came and went around them. ‘You would not like to add to the scandal?’
‘What scandal?’ she asked, in spite of her determination not to rise to his bait.
‘Why, that you had visited Count Cariotti in his lodgings.’
‘You promised not to say anything about that; considering you tricked me into it, it was the least you could do.’
‘I said nothing. You were seen.’
‘By whom?’ She was walking beside him towards his tilbury, which was stationed at the side of the road. It had its hood up, she noticed, and would serve to conceal her from public gaze, because he was right—she could not afford to cause any more scandal, not for her own sake but the Duke’s.
‘Lady Carstairs and my mother.’
‘Who lost no time in conveying the fact to his Grace,’ she said bitterly.
‘No doubt they considered it their duty.’
They had reached his carriage and he paid off the urchin that held the horse’s head and helped her into it before seating himself beside her and taking up the reins. Only then did she begin to wonder why, of all people, Alfred Jessop should be the one to see her come from the coaching inn and more importantly, if she could trust him to take her to Belfont House.
She was right to doubt him, she realised, when, instead of going down Piccadilly towards Hyde Park and South Audley Street, he turned down a side street and after one or two more turns, came out in a street that was vaguely familiar. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she demanded.
‘Home, my dear.’
‘But this is not the way to Belfont House.’
‘No more it is, but then Belfont House ain’t home, is it? Not any more.’
She knew where she was when he drew up outside the terrace house where Count Cariotti lodged. ‘I am not going in there again.’
‘Why not? It is home, the only home you’ll know from now on.’
‘Never!’
‘But it is the only house in which you will be received. Your reputation has gone. News of your previous visit has gone the rounds and the Duke of Belfont is so humiliated at being gulled he has resigned his position at court and retired to his country estate. No doubt he will be visited there by Ellen Colway when she is out of black gloves and all the fuss has died down.’
‘If that is so,’ she said as calmly as she could, while her mind was casting vainly about for a way of escape, ‘you do not need me, you have achieved your aim.’
‘Perhaps, perhaps not, but my friend Tony has yet to achieve his.’ He jumped down and reached into the carriage to pull her out. ‘And don’t cry out or struggle or I shall be obliged to knock you out and carry you inside.’
She could not escape or learn what they intended to do with her if she was unconscious, so she mustered her dignity and stepped down. He took her elbow firmly in his hand and ushered her up to the door, which opened as they approached. She was pushed past the housekeeper and bundled upstair
s and into the Count’s sitting room.
‘I’ve got her,’ Alfred said triumphantly. ‘You were right. She was coming back.’
‘I knew she’d have to come back for that book of hers,’ the Count said, coming forward with a smile. ‘It’s a little gold mine, isn’t it, sweetheart?’ He reached out and put a lean finger under her chin to raise it.
She stood in her faded black silk and faced him defiantly. ‘I shall be content if it is moderately successful and makes me a name as a writer. There is nothing in it for you.’
‘Oh, but there is. There is money to be made in not publishing it.’ He laughed. ‘You look puzzled, my dear. Would you like me to explain?’
She stared at him, trying to subdue her shaking, but did not dignify his question with an answer.
‘There is scandal in it, lots of scandal, names are named and people will pay not to have their dirty linen washed in public.’
‘That’s blackmail! And there is no scandal in my book.’
‘Not even about me, my dear?’
‘Definitely not about you. You are not interesting or important enough for people to want to read about you.’
He took a step towards her and raised his hand as if to strike her. She flinched and he laughed. ‘No, we do not want to mark that beautiful face, not yet. And it does not matter in the least what is in the book, considering it will never be seen in print. It is enough that you have hinted of its contents and worried those with secrets to hide, those who spent the war years abroad and now expect to come home to a welcome and sympathy for their suffering. They would not like their real activities to be made public—’
‘Such as you.’
He ignored that and went on. ‘All we have to do is approach people who are vulnerable—’
‘We! Do not expect me to collude in this. Besides, I do not have the manuscript.’
‘Oh, I know that. His Grace, the Duke of Belfont, has it, but he will hand it over.’
‘Why should he?’
‘Because you will ask him to. Now sit down, while I think how it is to be done.’
She made no move, but Alfred pushed her into a chair. She was suddenly glad of its support for she did not think her legs would hold her upright much longer.
‘Now,’ he said, fetching out pen and ink and a sheet of paper from a desk in the corner and placing it on the table beside her. ‘Write this.’ He put the pen in her hand. “‘Your Grace, I am being held against my will.’”
‘Why tell him that?’ Alfred demanded.
‘Shut up and listen.’ Then to Sophie, ‘Go on, put it down. You have no quarrel with the truth of that, have you?’
‘None at all.’ She dipped the pen in the ink, but her hand was shaking so much her writing was a scrawl. Perhaps James would not recognise it.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Carry on. “I shall be released in exchange for my manuscript…”’
‘You are never going to let her go,’ Alfred put in again. ‘She will shop us.’
‘I told you to shut up.’ He spoke in rapid French. ‘I am using her as bait. He will come to her rescue and then we will have him. It’s what you want, is it not? The dukedom will be yours, lock, stock and barrel. And I shall be free.’
Sophie, who had understood perfectly, gave no sign that she had done so, but sat with pen poised, waiting for him to continue dictation. Somehow she had to convey that it was a trap. The Duke’s life was in terrible danger. But what did he mean he would be free?
Alfred asked the question for her. ‘Free? Ain’t you free now?’
‘No. She knows too much. She knows where I was during the war and when. And why. Her father told her, told her what to write in that book so that I would be exposed. It’s no ordinary book, it’s code for something and Dersingham knows it. I can’t risk him rumbling me. The Emperor is still the Emperor, when all is said and done, and his plans for a return are well advanced. I have to stay under cover and report the plans being made to meet the threat.’
‘There are none because no one here believes in it.’
‘Except Belfont.’
So that was it! Sophie would have laughed if the threat to her and the Duke was not so dire. Her father had never told her anything, there was no code in her book, nothing that might expose the country’s enemies. The Duke knew that, so he would not mind in the least handing the book over. But would he be walking to his death?
‘How did Langford know so much? Careless, were you?’ Alfred said in very bad French.
‘Yes, a mite careless. I thought he’d act as my contact in England, seeing he owed me thousands, but the muckstraw suddenly became virtuous. He knew too much. I had to silence him. I didn’t reckon on the old fellow being sober enough to cover his back.’
‘I see. But why are you so sure it’s all in the book?’
It was something Sophie wanted to know and she waited silently for the answer. ‘I had worked out a code for when he had to send me information and we had talked about it, so I have to get my hands on that book.’
‘You could have stolen it.’
‘Then you would not be rid of the Duke and neither would I.’ He turned back to Sophie and resumed speaking English. ‘I know you speak fluent Italian, but did you understand any of that?’
She shook her head.
‘We were discussing ways and means of meeting the Duke,’ he lied. ‘It cannot be here. It would be the first place he would think of and we cannot have him rushing to the rescue before we are ready.’
‘What makes you think he will rush to the rescue?’ she asked. ‘Mr Jessop told me he had washed his hands of me and retired to the country.’
‘Then we shall have to lure him back.’ He turned to Sophie. ‘Write this. “If you value my life, bring the manuscript of my book and five thousand guineas to the Stanhope Gate of Hyde Park on Saturday at seven o’clock of the evening. You will be met and brought to me. Come alone and on foot and bring nothing but the money and all copies of the manuscript.” That’s three days away and should give him time enough to return to London.’
‘Why Stanhope Gate?’ Alfred asked, while Sophie finished writing. ‘It’s but a stone’s throw from Belfont House.’
‘Good. We will be able to watch him leave the house and make sure there is no one following him.’
‘I’m not doing any watching. He’ll tumble me straight away.’
‘I haven’t asked you to. Get Simpson and Flowers.’
‘How do you know James didn’t get a look at them the day we made the attempt on Wellington? Or that O’Grady didn’t talk? They’ve still got him in custody.’
‘He didn’t talk. It’s more than his life’s worth. And if he had, the militia would have been swarming round here long before now.’ He dismissed the danger and turned back to Sophie. ‘Now sign it.’
‘What with?’
‘Your name, of course. Get on with it. The sooner it’s on its way, the better.’
‘Perhaps he will not come,’ she said as she wrote her name in a flourishing scrawl, nothing like her usual signature, and ending it with a cross and an exclamation mark. Whether the Duke would understand that it was meant as a warning, she did not know. ‘You have made it plain to him that you intend to marry me, though why you should want to I do not know. We have no love for each other.’
‘No, but it occurred to me that a wife cannot give evidence against her husband.’
‘Evidence of what?’ she asked, remembering just in time that she was not supposed to have understood his conversation with Alfred.
He paused, then gave a bark of a laugh that sent a chill through her bones. ‘Whatever I decide needs to be done.’
‘You cannot make me marry you.’
‘We shall see.’ He went to a drawer in the desk; when he turned back to her, he held her lost fan in his hand. She gasped. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘Why, my friend, Alfred, found it. I was not sure at the time how I could use it, but I think now I will return it to its o
riginal owner. He might be very pleased to see it again.’
She made a grab for it, but he easily held it away from her, speaking to Alfred as he did so. ‘Go and fetch Simpson and Flowers and hire a closed town chariot. The sooner we have her out of here and in a safe place, the better…’
Chapter Twelve
The Belfont coach had no sooner drawn up at Belfont House than James was out of it and sprinting towards the door, leaving Harriet to make her way more slowly. He could not wait to see Sophie, to know she was safe, to enfold her in his arms and declare his love for her, that nothing would ever again come between them, to ask her again to marry him before they could begin any argument about why she had run away, why he had bungled his first proposal, before either of them had a chance to fly into the boughs. First things first.
‘Collins, where is Miss Langford?’ he asked the footman.
‘Your Grace?’ He looked puzzled.
‘Miss Langford. Is she in her room? Send Rose up to ask her to come down. No, never mind, I will go myself.’ And he bounded up the stairs and threw open the door of Sophie’s room.
It looked exactly as it had done the last time he had seen it. The bed was tidily made, the dressing table devoid of brushes, combs and hair pins. The towels on the stand were unused. He strode over to the wardrobe and pulled open the doors. All her beautiful clothes were hanging just as he had seen them last, the day he had searched her room for a clue as to where she might have gone. He turned to find Rose standing behind him. ‘She ain’t come back, your Grace.’