Love in the Moonlight: A Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Collection: 7 Delightful Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Stories (Regency Collections Book 6)

by Arietta Richmond

  “That must have been very difficult for you,” said Beatrice in a tone of feigned sympathy. Wilson stared hard at Slade in disbelief.

  “It was,” Slade replied, blinking his eyes and shaking his head and holding it between his hands, as if he was trying to prevent the room from spinning. “We attended Oxford together, and even though he studied agriculture and had to hire private tutors to help him, he still obtained a measure of respect from his peers and professors that I could only dream of. Even my own father preferred him over me.”

  Tears had begun to stream down his cheeks, and his lower lip started to quiver.

  “Did he tell you this?”

  “He said it to my face.” He paused to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Looking back, I think that was the final blow. I resolved then and there that I was going to discredit Nathaniel Talbot — the oh, so proper Lord Salborne — and his entire family, even if it took the rest of my life.”

  “That was quite brave of you,” said Beatrice, carefully suppressing a feeling of great excitement. “They are a powerful family, are they not — furnished with immense wealth, and they have it in their power to destroy anyone who opposes them.”

  Slade nodded, looking flattered.

  “I was under no illusion that it would be easy. But the Talbots have been a boil on the back of my neck for as long as I can remember. They’re a threat to the common good and they deserve to be brought low.”

  “No doubt,” said Beatrice. “Together I think that we could defeat them. I have spent enough time with Lord Salborne to learn his weaknesses, some of which must already have been clear to you.”

  “Yes.” Slade nodded slowly, in a jerky fashion as though nodding off. “From a young age, he’s believed that he had a great destiny and that providence was directing his path to a future beyond the lot of ordinary men. It never occurred to him how easily these ingrained beliefs could be turned and used against him — to destroy his family’s reputation.”

  “And how did you intend to do that?”

  But Slade did not answer. For the last several minutes he had been eyeing Beatrice with a hungry look while she struggled to maintain her composure and hide her disgust.

  “How do you plan to elicit your revenge upon Nathaniel?” asked Wilson in a louder voice, sensing that they would soon lose him.

  “Do you want to know how?” Slade leaned forward with a look of amorous cunning that made him look horribly like a squat toad in pursuit of a fly. “Together you and I will destroy him. Think how devastated he’ll be when he learns that I’ve stolen away his only true love, as well as his family’s fortune!”

  He laughed, then leaping out of his seat he flung himself on Beatrice, who reared back with a loud cry like a mongoose battling a snake. Wilson reached for the silver candlestick holder on the mantelpiece and prepared to hit him with it. But before he could reach it Slade moaned loudly and fell head-first onto the floor in a deep sleep.

  Alarmed, Wilson felt for the man’s pulse to make certain he was still breathing.

  “Not that I particularly want him to live,” he muttered in a tone of disgust, “but we still haven’t found out how he intends to destroy Nathaniel’s family.”

  “I still think it must have something to do with this investment he seems determined to lure Nathaniel into making,” said Beatrice. “He was so close to telling us, if only we could have kept him awake another minute.”

  “There must be some other way to know.” Wilson rose to his feet and paced the floor, ruffling his hair in agitation. “Maybe he whispered his plans to a friend, or—”

  “Or left a record of it in his office,” said Beatrice. “I have the address where his business is headquartered, the same location where I sent him the letter. While he’s asleep I think we ought to go over there and investigate.”

  Wilson shook his head.

  “Even if he doesn’t catch us, someone else is bound to. There must be dozens of people employed there in some capacity and any one of them could find and report us. Even if the business is closed at this hour, someone may have remained to stand guard.”

  “I think that this is one instance where the sheer number of workers could even work to our advantage,” said Beatrice. “If we stride confidently into the building and look like we know what we’re doing, no one will think to question it.”

  “I still think that is too risky,” said Wilson. “I don’t plan to go there, and I definitely don’t think you ought to be going by yourself — especially without a chaperone.”

  “Oh, piffle! You stay here, then.” Beatrice rose and reached for her reticule with determination. “I’ll see that one of the footmen makes the carriage ready right away. You watch over Slade and make sure he doesn’t wake up. If he does, you know where to find the candlestick. Just make certain he stays here until I return.”

  Wilson threw up his hands in the air. He could see now that there was no stopping her. “Yes, but when are you going to be home? I don’t want to have to guard this lunatic forever, and I don’t want to spend hours upon hours worrying about you.”

  Beatrice paused on her way to the door.

  “I know,” she said. “But we’re close, so very close to finding out what is really transpiring here. Just give me a few hours.”

  “I really hope you’re back by then.”

  Beatrice did not respond. Bracing herself, she slipped on her coat and walked out into the cold and mist of a London late-autumn afternoon.

  Chapter Nine

  When Beatrice entered Slade’s office at five o’clock she was surprised that, although there were multiple desks and fabric samples on the walls — just as Nathaniel had described to her — there was no bustling business, no clerks inundated with work. There was but one man, a man she instantly recognized.

  He said nothing at first, but it was clear from the look on his face that he recognized her as well. He glared at her in suspicion, seeking in her eyes an indication that she had identified him. For a long moment they stood there, quietly assessing each other.

  “Mr. Anthony Bragg?” she said finally in a voice of feigned innocence. She had been acting so much that day that she was beginning to develop a taste for it. “What an extraordinary surprise! And how surreal to see you in an ordinary setting, where no one is being summoned from the grave.”

  “If you’re looking for Mr. Slade,” said Bragg, sounding confused, “I can’t honestly tell you where he’s gone—”

  But Beatrice was not paying attention. Motioning to the silks on the wall she said, “I had heard rumours of the splendour of these silks, but no one did justice to their quality. It must have cost you a small fortune to have these imported from India. Blue, green, and teal… have you any other colours available?”

  And on it went as she wandered through the office, inspecting the tops of desks and chattering all the while. She asked so many questions that Bragg was hard-pressed to keep up.

  At the back of the room stood an unmarked door. Beatrice inched her way slowly toward it while telling a long story about a great-uncle who had once worked for the East India Company. Finally, she paused in front of the door and with an air of surprise she said, “Oh, there’s even a show-room! Do you have more silks on display in here?”

  Before Bragg could stop her, she opened the door and walked through onto the middle of a long landing. To her left was a stairway going from the landing down into a large dimly lit basement. At the end of the landing to her right was a door, through which she could see another set of stairs leading upward.

  In the basement, she could see several labourers, working by the light of numerous oil lamps and dressed in white, sweat-soaked smocks. They were opening large chests filled with powder and transferring their contents into row upon row of small wooden boxes. Once the powder had been placed in the boxes, they were nailed shut.

  “Perhaps we had better come back in here…” said Bragg, motioning her back into the office with a worried look. “I wouldn’t want you to
get injured.”

  But just as he said this, one of the workers let out a loud cry and the chest he was moving fell with a deafening thud onto the wood floor. The chest burst open and the powder inside dispersed into the air like pollen.

  “This area can be dangerous, Lady Beatrice,” said Bragg. “I think you should come with me to a place of safety.” He grabbed her by the arm and began leading her to the right and up the staircase toward an upper room.

  It was a small room containing only a single small window through which fading daylight was streaming. A table and one chair stood in the middle of the room, a candle burning in the centre of the table. Sensing that he intended her no good, Beatrice tried to break free, but he maintained an iron grip as he forced her down onto the chair.

  “I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere for a while,” he said with a frown, as he stepped back. There was a coil of rope lying in one corner and he turned to retrieve it. If Beatrice was going to escape, this would have been the right moment. However, when she attempted to stand he quickly returned and shoved her firmly back onto the chair. When he began tying her to the chair she realized that she was powerless to resist.

  Beatrice began to scream, and he grabbed a piece of scrap silk and tied it around her mouth.

  “There,” he said, surveying his work with some satisfaction. “That ought to quiet ye down, lassie. And if you think that’s bad, wait and see what I’ll do if yeh keep screamin’!”

  Beatrice attempted to scream but found it useless.

  “I must leave you now, lassie, for I have things to do, starting with moving your carriage out of sight.”

  Plodding loudly down the stairs, he left her alone in the gathering darkness. Through the door she could hear him yelling at the worker who had dropped the chest full of powder. Then after a time the yelling stopped and she once again heard the heavy sound of his boots on the landing. This time they faded into nothingness as he entered the office. She began to tremble with fear as she awaited her fate.

  ~~~~~

  At Hadleigh House night was falling and Slade had just awakened from his stupor.

  “Where am I?” he asked in a groggy voice, rubbing the back of his head. “How did I get here?”

  “You came over this afternoon to inquire about a proposed investment,” said Wilson, barely able to conceal his disdain for the man. “You shared some refreshment with my sister and me.” Wilson smiled. “Apparently you were not able to hold your coffee.”

  “Oh, yes.” The colour flooded into his cheeks as he began to remember how the conversation had ended. He looked around the room. “Where is she now?”

  Wilson should never have told him, but Slade so disgusted him that he could not resist saying the one thing he knew would anger and worry him most.

  “She’s gone down to your offices in Limehouse to investigate your crooked business. She’s going to put an end to your illicit dealings, and your plan to ruin the Talbots.”

  “What?!” shouted Slade, rising from the floor with some difficulty and grabbing his hat. “I must stop her!”

  “No, you won’t!” cried Wilson, who then grabbed him and attempted to pin him by the arms. This, too, proved to be a mistake, as the more muscular Slade quickly overpowered him.

  “I think I’ve seen enough of you for one day,” muttered Slade as he dragged Wilson across the stone floor.

  “HELP! Jeremy! Someone come and help!” cried Wilson, but no one answered. It was as if the house was empty save for the two of them.

  Slade kicked him hard in the shins to quiet him. Wilson winced in pain and tears started into his eyes. If only he had been carrying the candlestick he could have stunned him, but Slade’s strength was formidable and there was no escaping his grip.

  “I wish I felt bad about this,” said Slade as he flung Wilson into a closet filled with glass tumblers and exotic-looking tea chests. “But since I don’t…” He slammed the door and locked it, ignoring Wilson’s increasingly desperate cries. He rushed outside, mounted his waiting horse, and rode with all haste in the direction of his office.

  ~~~~~

  Ever since the end of his last conversation with Beatrice, Nathaniel had been doing some serious thinking.

  After a brief discussion, late that morning, with his mother and father (who had been lucid enough to assess the situation and affirm that Nathaniel had been in the wrong), he had come to realize what a miserable fool he had been. His involvement in Slade’s investment scheme would have placed the family’s finances in jeopardy and, even worse, threatened to create a permanent rift between him and the woman he loved.

  “She is a fine young woman,” his mother had said, taking his hand in hers. “You would be a fool to give her up, especially when she is so close to being yours. A girl like her is worth any number of fortunes.”

  Nathaniel knew that he had behaved foolishly and wanted to make it up to her — but how? He spent most of the afternoon in his room, pacing the floor and trying to think of a gesture that would demonstrate his repentance.

  Joy and relief flooded over him at around dusk, as he realized what to do — he would have a silk dress made for her, created by Alexander & L’Anfon in Charing Cross Road, dressmakers to the royal family. It would be in her favourite colour — rose red — and created with the very finest silk, which he would of course obtain from J. W. Hunt.

  Now armed with a plan and excited to reconcile, Nathaniel did not want to wait even another minute. The first thing he must do was obtain the material for the dress. He set off straightway in an open carriage for Chapman Street in Limehouse.

  ~~~~~

  When Nathaniel arrived at the offices of J.W. Hunt it had become dark, the street lamps casting a glow through the fog, over the nettles and dock-weeds that lined the wharves. He found the outside door unlocked and the room lighted, yet strangely there was no one in the office. The door on the back wall was ajar, however, and through it he could hear angry voices shouting in the distance.

  Walking through the door and onto the landing beyond it, he saw the workers below, toiling away like slaves under some Indian rajah.

  Around them on the floor and tables lay a multitude of wooden chests and boxes, filled with piles of yellow powder wafting its sweet scent on the warm air — the sickly-sweet odour of dried poppy flowers.

  Opium!

  The blood drained from his face as Nathaniel realized, at last, the true nature of Slade’s business. All along he had been the innocent dupe of a master schemer. His family’s warnings and those of Beatrice came flooding back to him on a wave of humiliation. To think that he had nearly risked the family fortune on this — an opium smuggling operation — the thought was too wild and horrible to contemplate. All of this passed through Nathaniel’s mind in a flash. Presently, however, his attention was returned to the sound of raised voices emanating from somewhere to the right and above him. He recognized them at once.

  Slade? Bragg? How did those two men know each other?

  His curiosity piqued, Nathaniel walked quietly to the end of the landing and carefully opened the door at the bottom of the stairs. He silently crept up the first few steps, hardly daring to breathe lest the two men discover his presence. Suddenly the arguing stopped. He craned his neck, and through the railings he could discern the figure of a woman seated in a chair with her mouth gagged and her hands bound behind her back. She raised her head to look at them.

  It was Beatrice!

  It was difficult to imagine a more terrible dilemma. She was being held captive, and he was outnumbered. If he should storm the room and attempt to rescue her alone, he would immediately be overpowered and would likely share in whatever fate they had planned for her. Yet, at the same time, he had no intention of just leaving her there. While he crouched on the lower treads of the staircase deliberating, Slade and Bragg resumed shouting even more loudly.

  “You know very well how much pressure I’m under!” Slade cried. “As if it wasn’t bothersome enough having to mainta
in this façade as a legitimate importer of silks, now I’m beholden to a group of murderous opium traders from Calcutta.”

  “I wish you had told me this sooner,” said Bragg, glancing around as though expecting a gang of swarthy men to emerge from the darkness. “Are they on their way here to kill you?”

  “Not if I can fend them off. Currently I have thirty days to pay them the twelve thousand pounds I owe them.”

  “Twelve thousand pounds! Are you daft?”

  Slade wiped his eyes, then shot his assistant a threatening look.

  “Don’t pretend that you’re upset at the prospect of my imminent death. And don’t think you’re not in this with me, up to your worthless neck! You’ve foiled me at every turn. Pocketing half the sum I gave you to persuade that bit of Haymarket ware to play the role of Madame Zoltara — yes, she told me about that.”

  Bragg’s face poured with sweat.

  “Selina Sweet deserved but half the money we agreed upon. She got frightened out of her wits when unexpected events began to occur during that second séance. She was convinced — and so was I, as a matter-of-fact — that spirits had indeed invaded the room. She wanted to run, and I had to insist that she stay and finish the acting part to which she had contracted, or there would have been consequences.”

  “All this, and now you have allowed her to discover the true nature of our business” — here he motioned at Beatrice, whose terrified face gleamed with nervous perspiration in the dim light.

  “Slade, you know I’ve always been your faithful friend and companion,” said Bragg. “Truly, I was going to give you the money I held back.”

  Slade cursed, then added, “You’ve never respected me, never helped me. If I had known you were going to be such an incompetent assistant, I would never have loaned you the hundred pounds to pay your losses in that crooked game of baccarat.”

  “You know how grateful I was for your intervention.”