Regency Admirer/The Merry Gentleman/The Gentleman's Demand

by Meg Alexander

  ‘You’ve just told me that I can’t escape,’ she told him in despair.

  ‘Not ’ere, ma’am, and not at this particular minute, but there’s a ways to go. They’ll be that busy when we reaches Lunnon... Maybe we’ll see a chance...’

  Sophie reached out for his hand. ‘I won’t forget your kindness, whatever happens, Wat.’

  ‘T’weren’t nothing, ma’am. As I told you, I don’t ’old wi’ murder.’

  The next few hours seemed endless, but as they reached the outskirts of the capital the roads were better. Soon they were rattling over cobblestones, and Sophie knew that they must be near their destination.

  ‘Now don’t you go a-doin’ nothin’ stupid,’ her companion warned. ‘Leave it to me to take a look about.’

  Sophie was aware that they had slowed down almost to a crawl, and there was something else. The wind had died away and the noise from the street seemed to be curiously muffled.

  She raised herself a little and tried to move her limbs. Stiff from many hours of lying bound in the bottom of the wagon, she could scarcely move. How long had their journey taken? Surely it must be daylight?

  ‘Where are we?’ she whispered. ‘Can you see anything?’

  Her companion seemed to be enveloped in a haze of yellow mist. Now he loosened the covering at the rear of the wagon and peered out. She heard a muttered exclamation.

  ‘Danged if I can see a thing. In this fog you couldn’t find your hand in front of your face.’

  Hope flared high in Sophie’s breast. ‘This may be our chance,’ she urged. ‘Come with me, Wat! We could slip away without being seen. I’ll make sure that you don’t suffer for your part in this.’

  ‘Where would we go, ma’am? I ain’t been ’ere afore, but I ’eard tell that the streets ain’t safe, especially in these fogs. We’d be knocked on the ’ead and robbed for sure.’

  Sophie coughed as the acrid vapour caught at her throat. Her eyes were streaming, and she found it difficult to breathe, but still she tried to persuade him.

  ‘That may be better than what may lie ahead of us. Harward cannot allow me to live. You know that as well as I do myself, but won’t you think of what may happen to you?’

  Wat didn’t answer her.

  ‘Suppose the Runners are waiting for you?’ she continued. ‘There’s always the danger of a trap.’

  ‘Mester Harward will see ’em off. There’s too many of us for they Redbreasts.’

  ‘But not too many to fight off a company of Militia, or a troop of Dragoons. Do you want to sit in the dock at Newgate, with your coffin in front of you, listening to a person preaching a last sermon, before they take you out and hang you?’

  She heard a sharp intake of breath, but Wat had hesitated just too long. Fog billowed into the wagon as Harward raised the covering at the back.

  ‘Awake, my dear?’ he enquired. ‘I thought I heard you coughing. This fog is so unpleasant, is it not, but it is quite a feature of the London scene. I confess that I enjoy my trips into the country.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ she told him bitterly. ‘They must show a handsome profit.’

  ‘Oh, they do, my dear! They do! Bear up, Mistress Firle. We are almost at our destination. We shall have you safe indoors before too long.’

  Sophie was silent, but despair engulfed her. If Wat had acted quickly they might have escaped into the fog. She’d welcomed it at first, but now it was her enemy. Even if her rescuers were close at hand they would find it almost impossible to follow the different groups of smugglers as they made their way towards the river.

  They were now close to the Thames. Sophie could hear the hollow boom of the warnings from the mass of shipping which thronged the busy waterway.

  She guessed that they were making for one of the warehouses which lined the river banks. Then the wagon stopped. At some prearranged signal great doors swung open upon their hinges and they moved inside, out of the all-pervasive choking mist.

  The thud of the closing doors sounded to Sophie like a death knell, but she was given no time to think. Rough hands reached out for her and dragged her from the wagon. Then Harward produced a wicked-looking knife and sliced through the ropes which bound her feet. She held out her hands, but he shook his head.

  ‘Not yet, I think! Now come with me!’

  As he took her arm she tried to move, but her legs would not support her. She heard an exclamation of impatience, and then she was flung over the shoulder of one of his companions.

  At the head of a flight of steps, Harward led the way into a well-furnished room. Sophie was surprised. It might have been the setting for a business meeting. Then she realised that that was exactly what it was.

  Half a dozen men were seated around a long mahogany table. As she was thrust into a chair, they looked up in astonishment.

  ‘What’s this then, Harward?’ one of the men enquired. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’

  ‘No, sir! I have an excellent reason for bringing this woman here...’

  For the first time in their acquaintance, Sophie detected a note of deference in his voice and she looked at his questioner with interest. This was clearly a man of substance, as were his companions.

  ‘Well, man, out with it! What has gone wrong now?’

  ‘A minor incident, my lord. Unfortunate, but necessary. The lady was a witness.’

  ‘Another killing! Will you never learn? The last one caused a serious delay in realising our profits, or had that escaped your notice?’

  Harward flushed. ‘We had no choice. None of you gentlemen would care to be the victim of a blackmailer, I fancy.’

  He had courage in speaking as he did, as Sophie quickly realised. The men around the table were unaccustomed to being threatened. Their expressions were murderous.

  Then one of the others spoke. ‘We don’t quarrel with your methods, Harward, but we do object to inefficiency. If aught else goes wrong we may have to look elsewhere for co-operation...’

  Harward had regained his composure. Now he bowed. ‘You will not find it necessary, my dear sir. The goods have been retrieved and it is a large consignment. Shall we get down to business?’ He moved to take a seat at the table, but one of his companions stayed him with an upraised hand.

  ‘What of the woman?’ he demanded.

  ‘Why, sir, she presents no problem. You need not fear that she will speak.’

  Sophie lifted her head and looked at them, but none of the men would meet her eyes. They knew Harward’s intention as well as she did herself.

  ‘I don’t like it!’ One face at least was twisted in distaste. ‘Is there no other way?’

  ‘We could let her go, of course.’ Harward glanced at Sophie and she shuddered. He looked like some predatory animal, tensing for the kill. ‘But remember, gentlemen, she has seen you, and the lady is no fool. Given the opportunity, she will be happy to destroy you.’

  ‘This girl?’ The speaker sounded incredulous. ‘Offer her money, man! That should silence her!’

  Harward took his time, anxious that his next words should carry maximum effect.

  ‘This, gentlemen, is Mistress Richard Firle!’ he said.

  For Sophie, the silence which followed this statement could only be interpreted as a death sentence. Each of them had been party to the killing of her husband, if not in fact, certainly in their acquiescence. Her fate was sealed.

  ‘Why bring her here?’ one of the men enquired. ‘You are not infallible, Harward, as we know to our cost. If she should chance to escape, all our lives are forfeit.’

  ‘I think not!’ Harward looked at her as a cat might look at an injured mouse. He was toying with her before the kill. ‘I believe that she will serve another purpose.’

  ‘We’ve had enough of your mysteries, man!’ an irritated voice announced. ‘As for myself, I have no time to waste. We’ve struggled here through the worst of the weather. Forget the woman! She has naught to do with us.’

  ‘On the contrary, sir, you may fin
d that her presence here will prove to be invaluable. We may not have long to wait...’ With great deliberation he drew out his pistol and laid it on the table.

  Sophie closed her eyes. Was he planning to murder her here, in front of his companions? She wouldn’t put it past him. It would implicate them all—a useful consideration for a man like Harward.

  ‘Spare us the melodrama!’ the previous speaker snapped. ‘Save your posturings for those who will appreciate them. We have no need of weapons here, though I don’t doubt that you flourish them among your men. Kindly remember where you are!’

  Harward reddened at the contemptuous tone. It goaded him into a sharp reply. ‘Does the thought of violence trouble you, my lord? Perhaps you should consider more carefully exactly what is involved in these operations which bring you so much profit. My hands may be dirty, but your own are none too clean.’

  Sophie heard the scrape of a chair, and she opened a cautious eye. One of the men was on his feet, his face a mask of anger.

  ‘Damn your insolence, you dog! You will keep a civil tongue in the presence of your betters. Have you forgotten who I am?’

  ‘No, I have not forgotten you...any of you...’ Harward’s gaze rested on each man in turn. ‘My betters , you say? Tell me, who is more at fault—the man who kills when necessary, or the traitor whose gold has brought about the deaths of many thousands of his own countrymen?’

  There was an ominous silence, but Sophie could sense the tension in the still figures of the men who sat around the table. An explosion of some kind seemed imminent, and as she watched, Harward laid a careless hand upon his pistol.

  ‘I suggest that you mind your own manners, gentlemen,’ he continued. ‘Let me assure you that we sink or swim together.’

  A murmur of rage greeted his words. It was left to one of the older men to save the situation.

  ‘Gentlemen! Gentlemen!’ he pleaded. ‘Where is the sense in quarrelling among ourselves? We are wasting time. Now let us forget our differences. Perhaps our friend here will give us an account of the profits we have made. It was the usual fifty per cent, I hope.’

  Harward thrust the pistol into his capacious pocket. Then he bowed, and when he spoke it was in a more agreeable tone. He’d made his point. He had them in his power and they knew it. He was tempted to inform them that those who ride the wind must reap the whirlwind, but he thought better of it. If ever he decided to give up the dangerous occupation of free trading, each of these men would provide him with a handsome income for the rest of his life. They had delivered themselves into his hands. The late Richard Firle was not the only one who had considered the possibilities of blackmail.

  He drew out a chair and sat down at the table. ‘We have taken the usual profits,’ he informed them. ‘As always, they are returned to you in the form of goods.’

  ‘Most satisfactory!’ The peacemaker beamed his approval. ‘We should be able to increase that profit by half as much again if we choose our markets carefully.’ He nodded at Harward. ‘Will you give me a hand, sir?’

  He reached beneath the table and, with Harward’s help, lifted up a strongbox. As he raised the lid, Sophie stared, wide-eyed. The box was filled with golden guineas.

  ‘This is the next consignment,’ the older man announced. ‘Let us hope that in future we meet with no further difficulties such as those we experienced on this last occasion.’ He lifted out a small leather sack and pushed it across the table. ‘Perhaps you would care to count your share, Mr Harward?’ he suggested.

  ‘Not at all, my dear sir! I trust you implicitly.’ Harward’s tone was ironic as he laid his hand upon the sack. Then, quite suddenly, he motioned the others to silence and jerked his head towards the door.

  Sophie’s heart was pounding as she followed the direction of his gaze. Then she cried out as Hatton stepped into the room.

  ‘Welcome, my lord!’ Harward murmured smoothly. ‘We have been expecting you. Gentlemen, pray allow me to introduce our visitor! The Viscount Hatton is the son of the Earl of Brandon.’

  The panic on the faces of his companions was unmistakable, but Harward appeared to be enjoying the situation. ‘How right I was!’ he observed. ‘I was persuaded that the presence of the lady must bring you to us.’

  Hatton did not answer him, though he kept his enemy firmly in his sights as he moved to Sophie’s side. His pistol did not waver.

  ‘Can you stand?’ he asked her briefly.

  Sophie could hear the emotion in his voice. She knew then that he had not expected to find her still alive.

  She nodded, too overcome to speak. Mutely, she held out her bound hands.

  ‘My apologies, Mistress Firle!’ Harward rose and walked towards her. ‘An oversight on my part! Pray allow me to release you.’ Something flickered behind his eyes, and Sophie saw it.

  ‘Take care!’ she cried. ‘He has a gun!’

  Her warning came too late. Harward had moved with cat-like speed. His pistol was already in his hand as he reached her side. Then the cold metal of the barrel was pressed against her temple.

  ‘Drop your gun, my lord!’ he advised. ‘If you have any doubts that I will shoot, the lady will confirm it, won’t you, my dear?’ He wound his free hand into her hair, dragging back her head. ‘Tell him!’ he ordered savagely.

  ‘He killed Nancy,’ she whispered. ‘I saw him do it.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it!’ Hatton’s tone was cool. ‘Don’t compound your crime, sir. You can’t escape. Your men are already taken.’

  Harward did not trouble to hide his amusement. ‘Do you tell me that your little band has overcome a hundred men?’

  ‘Not at all! We had the help of a company of Militia, the Dragoons and a number of the Bow Street Runners.’

  ‘You lie, damn you!’ Harward snarled.

  ‘If you don’t believe me, why not call for help?’

  Sophie saw the uncertainty on her captor’s face.

  ‘Stand up!’ he ordered. With the pistol still pressed firmly to her head, Harward dragged her to the doorway. Then he called down the stairs. No one answered him.

  Then there was a movement around the table.

  ‘This criminal is unknown to us, my lord,’ one of the men observed. ‘He broke in here and tried to hold us up.’

  Hatton smiled at the speaker. ‘He disturbed your business meeting?’

  There was a quick chorus of agreement. ‘We have no connection with him,’ another speaker said. ‘Whatever he may tell you, he has not the slightest shred of proof.’

  Hatton shook his head. ‘You disappoint me, gentlemen. I fear you are a band of innocents. When we search this room, as we intend to do, the evidence will be found. You have underestimated your accomplice. If I am not much mistaken, his records will be sure to implicate you. He is not the man to miss an opportunity.’

  Sophie heard an ugly laugh. ‘You have the matter to rights, sir. Allow me to direct your attention to the desk in the far corner of this room. There you will find the evidence you need.’

  He dragged Sophie away from the door. Then, as all eyes turned in the direction of his pointing finger, he opened a massive cupboard just behind him. He pulled her inside and turned the key in the lock.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sophie screamed aloud, but he struck her sharply across the mouth.

  ‘Be quiet, or it will be the worse for you!’ He reached above his head for a tinder box and lit a lantern, ignoring the pounding on the other side of the door.

  Well aware that Hatton would not fire for fear of hitting Sophie, her captor showed no sign of undue haste. He lifted the lantern high to illuminate a steep flight of steps.

  ‘Down here!’ he ordered.

  ‘I can’t! I’ll fall! Please let me go! Won’t you leave me here? I can only delay you—’

  ‘You could also save my life. Hold out your hands!’ He seized the end of the rope which bound her and untied it. ‘Down you go, and be quick about it. Hold on to the rail! If you fall you are likely to break y
our neck.’

  He pushed her ahead of him down the wooden staircase.

  Terrified though she was, Sophie was trying to think of some way of escape. If he’d gone first she might have pushed him down herself. She might even have managed to unlock the door for her rescuers before he recovered enough to fire, but he’d been aware of that. He’d thrown the key far into the darkness.

  Fearfully, she continued to descend the stairs, unsure of her footing. They must be very near the river. She could smell the stench and she recalled that the Thames had been described to her as an open sewer running through the heart of London.

  It was very quiet. She paused and listened, but the pounding from above her had stopped. Nicholas must be trying to find some other way of reaching her, but he would be too late. She and her captor had reached a long passageway with a door at the far end.

  Harward unlocked it and pushed her through. They seemed to be standing on some kind of jetty.

  Sophie was seized with a feeling of despair. Who could find her here? The fog which billowed all around her was thicker than ever. It hung like some evil miasma over the swirling waters of the river.

  She had no cloak and she was shivering uncontrollably in that all-enveloping vapour. The acrid mist was choking her and her eyes were streaming.

  Her companion looked about him with every sign of satisfaction. ‘My luck holds!’ he announced. ‘I couldn’t have wished for better than this. We shall not be followed.’

  He raised the lantern above his head and whistled low. Then she understood.

  This man was a survivor. He left nothing to chance. He would escape by water—a plan which must have been always in his mind if anything should go wrong. And he would leave no witness to his villainy.

  She looked about her wildly, but there was no chance of escape. If she ran he would fire before she could disappear into the fog. She looked down at the swirling waters. Could she jump?

  Harward read her mind with ease. ‘I don’t advise it,’ he said almost kindly. ‘In the unlikely event that you were rescued, you would not survive. That water is a flowing stream of poison. Look!’ He gestured towards the bank and a floating mass of jetsam caught beneath the jetty.