“You deceived me,” Dr. Hayes said accusingly to Trent.
“I believed the ends justified the means,” the duke said with a slight shrug. “And that doesn’t negate our reason for coming here. Did you even see Mrs. Grayson in person before you diagnosed her?”
But Dr. Hayes was not interested in answering questions. “I’m sure you’ll both excuse me. I made time to see you specially but I’m afraid that I have much work to get to this morning.”
Ophelia almost shouted with frustration, but she needn’t have worried. Trent stopped the physician’s progress to the door with a few words.
“Not. Yet. Sir.”
As if a string had pulled him up short, Dr. Hayes stopped in his tracks.
“I would like an answer to my question,” Trent said in a deceptively casual tone. “And I believe Miss Dauntry is still waiting as well. What possible motive could you have had for declaring Mrs. Grayson mad sight unseen?”
“I would imagine,” Ophelia said softly, “it was a financial incentive.”
Hayes turned and glared at her. “If you were a man, Miss Dauntry, I could call you out for that.”
“That would require you to be a man of honor, Dr. Hayes,” she retorted coldly. “And we know by now that you have none. No man who would take money in exchange for a woman’s freedom could.”
“For your information, Miss Dauntry,” the doctor said through clenched teeth, “I make sure the streets are safe for ladies like you by making declarations of insanity against those whose relatives have deemed them unbalanced. There is nothing dishonorable about it. If at times I have them taken up before I have a chance to see them personally, then it is always with good cause. And if I have made a mistake, which I beg to inform you that I never have, then that person would be set free as soon as it was discovered.”
It was what she’d expected, of course. Ophelia shouldn’t be at all surprised. Even so, hearing him declare it so baldly, admitting that it took no more than the suggestion from a relation that the person in question was unbalanced, was terrifying. For who could be safe when there was such a practice? It would take only the word of a disapproving parent, or a jealous sibling, to see to it that their offending relation was removed from society indefinitely.
“And what was it that George Grayson told you about his wife’s condition that deemed her worthy of committal?” Trent asked. “Or was it just his coin that spoke for him?”
The flush that rose in the doctor’s face told the tale more eloquently than words could have done.
“I had a long talk with Mr. Grayson,” Dr. Hayes said defensively. “He was quite worried about his wife’s condition. Quite worried.”
“When was it that you spoke to him?”
Ophelia had by now stepped aside to let Trent do the questioning, since he seemed to be making better headway than she had.
“Yesterday morning,” Dr. Hayes said. “Around nine. I remember because it was rather early in the day for a gentleman. I generally do not see members of the upper classes until later in the day.”
At the doctor’s admission, Ophelia saw Trent scowl. “What did Mr. Grayson look like?”
“I thought you were acquainted with this couple,” Dr. Hayes said darkly. “If you’ve come here under false pretenses…”
“Just answer the question, Doctor,” Trent said in a tone that would brook no demurral. “What did this man who called himself George Grayson look like?”
“He was around your height,” Dr. Hayes said, dropping all show of defiance. “With light brown hair. And he had an eye patch. I assumed it was from a war injury. He did tell me he’d fought against the French at Waterloo.”
“An eye patch?” Ophelia asked, surprised despite herself. It certainly wasn’t George he was speaking of. Not only did George not have an eye patch, but he was also quite fair-haired. Far too fair-haired to be called a brunet. She exchanged a look with Trent who looked just as shocked as she was. “Doctor, I don’t know who you spoke with but it wasn’t George Grayson.”
But Dr. Hayes was not convinced.
“Now see here,” he said sharply, “I have only your word that the man I spoke to is not the actual George Grayson. I take my authority as a physician seriously and would never declare someone mad on a stranger’s word.” Once more he tugged the bellpull.
Before Trent or Ophelia could retort, two large men entered the room. But not the men who had taken Maggie.
How many of these giants did Dr. Hayes have in his employ? she wondered with irritation.
“See these two out, please,” said Dr. Hayes haughtily. “I have said all I care to say on the subject of your friend. And I have grown quite tired of your insults.”
When the guards made to put their hands on Trent, however, he held them off with a look. Then he turned and took Ophelia by the arm. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Hayes. I feel sure we’ll be seeing one another again.”
Ophelia was quite sure he had the right of it.
Ten
“So this is what those bullies did to you?” Hermione, Countess of Mainwaring, asked, inspecting the bruise on Ophelia’s forehead. “It’s monstrous that anyone can simply be placed in manacles and led away without a by-your-leave. You must do something about this in the House of Lords, Jasper.”
“It’s certainly worth looking into,” Ophelia said, grateful to be back among friends after the tense meeting with Dr. Hayes.
As soon as they’d left the physician’s office, Trent had suggested they pay a call at the town house Lord Frederick Lisle and his wife, Leonora, shared with her aging father. Ophelia had agreed with alacrity. She badly needed to talk about what she’d found at the newspaper office that morning. Fortunately Hermione and Jasper were also paying a visit to the Lisles, which meant she could discuss Maggie’s disappearance with all of them.
“My dear,” said Leonora, whose pregnancy was disguised by a generously cut gown, as she ushered Ophelia to a comfortable settee. “You must be exhausted. When I got Trent’s note I was desperate to see you myself just to ensure that you are still in one piece.”
“I thought we’d put all this derring-do and grappling with ruffians in the past when Trent took over the Lords of Anarchy,” Hermione said with a speaking look at the duke. “To think that those horrid men actually struck out at you. It’s getting impossible for respectable ladies to go about in public without being interfered with in some way.”
“I can assure you, Lady Mainwaring,” said Trent from where he stood to one side with Freddy and Jasper, “that this time the Lords of Anarchy are most certainly without blame in the matter. Though Mrs. Grayson, the friend whom Miss Dauntry was attempting to prevent from being taken, is married to one of the new members.”
“That has yet to be proved,” Ophelia said sharply. “While we can find no connection just yet, I am not ready to absolve the driving club so easily. It is entirely possible that whoever it was that approached Dr. Hayes pretending to be George Grayson was a club member.”
She felt Trent’s annoyed gaze, but refused to meet his eyes. When they were alone together it was quite easy to believe that he and the club weren’t involved. But she didn’t wish to allow their new amity to cloud her judgment on the matter. So until she was convinced otherwise, the club would remain on her suspect list.
Ignoring the six feet of exasperated male in her peripheral vision, she related what had happened the day of Maggie’s abduction and all she and Trent had learned since then. “At this point, I’m not sure who we should be focusing on. It is certainly damning that George Grayson has gone missing, but I found something in Maggie’s notebook that might give someone else a motive.”
“You didn’t share this with me,” Trent said crossly. “I thought we were working on this together, Miss Dauntry.”
“Oh, I think with all the time you’ve been spending together you can dispense with formalities, Trent,” Freddy said, clapping his friend on the shoulder as he crossed to sit on the arm of Leonora’s chair.
“Unless you object to that, Ophelia?”
Ophelia knew better than to believe that Freddy’s suggestion was innocent. Her friend’s husband had an impish sense of humor and didn’t mind poking fun at his friends when he thought they needed it. Still, it was rather silly to continue addressing Trent as “your grace” or to expect him to call her “Miss Dauntry” when they were among friends. “I have no objection,” she relented. “What say you, your—Trent?”
When she looked over at him, he caught and held her gaze for a moment and Ophelia felt curiously breathless. It would be all too easy to allow herself to imagine that such intensity meant far more than it did. But she had seen enough ladies make fools of themselves over the handsome duke to know that he wasn’t easily susceptible to flirtation. Still, it was hard to resist that pull between them when he looked at her the way he did now, as if they were the only two people in the room. “I’m agreeable to it, Ophelia.”
The way he said the words, it was difficult to know if he meant using their Christian names, or something far more dangerous.
Mainwaring clearing his throat let her know that she’d perhaps been staring a bit too long. “What were we talking about?”
“Maggie’s notebook,” Leonora said with a broad smile. “I believe Trent was complaining that you hadn’t shared finding it with him?”
Not daring to look at him again, Ophelia sank onto the overstuffed chair beside the fire. “Yes, it was the notebook Maggie used when she was investigating the story about homes for unwed mothers.”
“That sounds rather dark for a ladies’ newspaper,” Freddy said with a frown. When Leonora, who wrote quite serious essays for several journals and newspapers, pinched him in the arm, he yelped, and amended, “Not that ladies’ newspapers cannot be serious. I just thought you and your friend wrote lighter fare for the Ladies’ Gazette. Nothing that would require you to visit the parts of London that might pose a danger to you.”
“That is actually quite true,” Ophelia said. “But both Maggie and I have been trying to convince our editor, Mr. Carrington, to publish more stories about the sort of things ladies care about. Like what happens when a girl bears a child out of wedlock.”
“What was the topic of your serious story?” Trent asked, an edge in his voice that told her he did not like her investigation into such dark topics any more than Mr. Carrington had.
“I hadn’t started mine yet,” she admitted, feeling somehow disloyal because she’d let Maggie put herself in danger while she stood safely out of the way. “We had agreed that she would write hers first to show Mr. Carrington that it could be done in a way that would appeal to the Gazette’s existing readers. Then, when he saw that, I would write the next one.”
“So what did her notes say, Ophelia?” Hermione asked, curious.
“They weren’t explicit, but it did mention the Hayes Clinic in conjunction with one particular home for unwed mothers run by a Mr. Daniel Swinton, and the words ‘discarded girls,’” Ophelia said. “And I do not believe that was a coincidence.”
“You might have mentioned this before we met with Dr. Hayes,” Trent said, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
“I could hardly make an accusation based on a few scribbled notes,” she retorted. “And you saw how Dr. Hayes reacted to our questioning. Can you imagine what his response would have been if I’d asked about his clinic in reference to children born out of wedlock?”
“We might have seen if he had any response to the name Swinton,” Trent countered. “If you don’t confide in me, Ophelia, I don’t see how we will ever find out what happened to Mrs. Grayson.”
She felt a flush rise in her cheeks. He was right, of course. But she was not one who refused to admit when she was wrong. “You’re right,” she said with a sigh. “I’m just so used to keeping the details of Maggie’s investigation a secret that I didn’t tell you.”
“Well, I’m here now,” he said calmly. “And I need to know everything you know if we’re to find your friend.”
She nodded. “That is everything, I promise.”
Feeling all eyes in the room on her, she quickly got back to the subject at hand. “So, have any of you heard of the Hayes Clinic? Or an orphanage run by a Daniel Swinton?”
“In fact,” Mainwaring said with a frown, “I have heard of this Daniel Swinton fellow.” He glanced at Freddy and Trent. “You know Lord Knox. Older chap, will talk your ear off if you give him half a chance? Lurks in the reading room at Brooks’s in search of innocent victims to sacrifice on the altar of his long-winded sermons?”
Freddy groaned. “He is relentless. I vow, he caught me a few weeks ago and I thought I’d have to fake a fainting spell to get him to let me leave.”
“What did he have to say about Swinton?” Trent pressed, leaning his shoulders back against the mantel.
“Well, he trapped me in much the same way as he had Freddy,” Mainwaring said with a grimace. “And his topic of conversation was Daniel Swinton and how he’s successfully reforming the children in his orphanage using some sort of miraculous technique that is able to turn even the most recalcitrant of youths into law-abiding citizens.”
“What is it?” Ophelia asked. “There was something in Maggie’s notes about ‘the method’ in relation to Swinton, but she didn’t give any details of it.”
“From what I remember,” Mainwaring said, wrinkling his brow, “I think it had something to do with immersion in cold water followed by strenuous labor.”
“Sounds delightful,” Leonora said acidly. “Just the thing to make a young prostitute being pimped out by her own mother change her evil ways.”
“I say,” Mainwaring objected with a stern look at their hostess. “That’s a bit dark.”
“Don’t be priggish, darling,” Hermione said to her husband. “Ophelia and I are quite aware of the horrors that occur every day in the poorer parts of the city.”
“And unfortunately, Leonora is right,” Ophelia said with a sigh. “It’s very likely that this method is being used on young prostitutes, given that the topic of Maggie’s story was unwed mothers. For what it’s worth, she seemed to conclude that there was nothing criminal about the practice.”
“Just heartless,” Trent said grimly. “I wonder how this Swinton would like to be the one enduring the cold baths and hard labor.”
“Like most men of that ilk,” Freddy said dryly, “I can only guess that he would scream bloody murder and claim to have been abused dreadfully.”
“Bullies are much the same wherever you go.” Mainwaring nodded. “Cowards, every last one of them.”
It was difficult for Ophelia to imagine herself trapped in such a place. She only hoped that wherever Maggie was, it wasn’t Daniel Swinton’s orphanage.
“Speaking of cowards and unwed mothers,” Leonora said, her eyes troubled. “I have recalled just where I had heard of the Hayes Clinic.”
Ophelia didn’t miss the comforting arm Freddy slipped around his wife’s shoulders. “I don’t like the sound of this,” he said, not taking his eyes from her face.
“It’s nothing to do with me personally,” Leonora assured him, patting his hand. “But you both remember my cousin Daisy, don’t you, Hermione and Ophelia?”
At their nods, she continued. “I’m quite sure she was confined at the Hayes Clinic.”
* * *
Ophelia’s eyes widened. “Daisy? Wasn’t she the one who went on an extended tour of Italy just a couple of years ago?”
Nodding, Leonora continued, “She was. But what wasn’t for public consumption at the time was the fact that she first spent several months in the care of Dr. Hayes.”
The room was silent as a tomb while they waited for Leonora to speak.
“Daisy was the sweetest little girl imaginable,” Leonora said with a smile. “I recall her as a sunny-natured child, who loved her dolls and was always ready with a laugh. But something changed when she began to mature. And, not to put too fine a point on it, she became somewhat difficult t
o manage around the age of sixteen. She was lovely—I mean, so beautiful that it was remarked upon by everyone who met her. And she attracted the notice of men. Many of whom were not eligible in the least.”
A knot formed in Ophelia’s stomach. She had a bad feeling about where this story was headed.
“This wasn’t a problem when she was in her right mind,” Leonora continued. “But when she was seventeen she suffered a brain fever that left her with a diminished capacity to make sound decisions. All the ineligible young men whom she’d rejected before the fever she suddenly allowed to pay her court. And … other things. And I am quite certain if she’d been a boy no one would have remarked upon it.”
“You are likely correct,” Freddy said with a frown. “There is a frightful double standard when it comes to such things.”
“The worst of it was that every time she became involved with one of these men, no matter what his motives,” Leonora said sadly, “Daisy fancied herself desperately in love. She wanted to marry each and every one of them, but my aunt and uncle refused to give their consent. It was their only means of controlling her. And because she had a handsome dowry that they were convinced the men wanted access to.”
“But what of her reputation?” Hermione asked, her brow furrowed. “Surely they would wish her to marry as quickly as possible to save it.”
“They didn’t trust any of the men to do right by her once they’d gained her fortune,” Leonora explained.
“So what happened?” Ophelia asked, dreading the answer.
“Aunt Sibyl placed her under the care of Dr. Hayes, who recommended immediate confinement in his clinic,” Leonora continued, “and for a little while at least, it worked. Out of the reach of the fortune hunters, she was able to gain some sense of perspective. Or at least that’s what my aunt said. It’s hard to know whether it was being out of reach or a change of heart that made the difference in Daisy’s behavior.”
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