The light on the third floor reduced to a tiny visible line as if it was leaking under a badly fitting closed door. Another light appeared flickering again down the stairs. Someone was descending the steps. A well-wrapped man appeared at the door and boarded the carriage without uttering a word, which promptly drove off. When the carriage was out of sight Madelaine moved out of the shadows and checked the door, but it was firmly locked and strongly built. Madelaine doubted a strong man could kick it down.
There was no one who was out on the darkened streets whom she could send with a message to Henri and Timothy. She moved back into the shadows away from the door. The windows on the ground floor were boarded up and she could find no easy access from that side of the building. No easy ledges to make climbing practical. She worked down the street, the buildings each side were similarly secured and abutted the warehouse, leaving no gaps between. At the end of the road a short muddy path led to the river and a six foot high brick wall blocked her view of the rear of the buildings. Checking warily for any observers, Madelaine removed the thick cloak, her hat and wig. She bundled them in the cloak with the foil she was wearing tying the resulting bundle securely to her back. Then, reaching up to grip the top of the wall, she pulled herself up and scrambled silently over the wall.
All the buildings were unlit, except the fifth building down, which showed a glimmer of light on the third floor. She found herself in a short but cluttered yard which was walled on the other side. Wonderful, she thought another four walls to climb. However, she could see the buildings on the other side of the warehouse continued on down the road without break. From the rear of several of the buildings stuck out an arrangement with chains and hooks which could be swung out over the boats and towards the building by a system of ropes which allowed cargo to be stored on the highest levels of the five storey building. She would have no difficulty accessing the rear of the building that way as several of the openings on the higher floors were unblocked.
She returned to the road to consider what to do in time to see the return of the man who had driven the carriage away. She watched and considered the possibility of jumping him as he unlocked the door, but he was cautious and there was no way she would have the advantage of surprise. She could see from his silhouette that he was wearing a sword and she had to assume he was carrying a loaded pistol as well. Getting a pistol ball in her would not help Edward. She believed, no, hoped, he was still alive. Why would they bring him all this way, if there was no purpose to it? If they intended to kill him then they could have shot him or stabbed him at Vauxhall and left his body there. So something must have changed for the attackers now to want him alive. They must need him alive for something.
Madelaine worried about the condition Edward was in. If he was unconscious he was far too heavy for her to carry alone. She doubted he would find it easy to get down the way she planned to get into the building, particularly if he had been injured in the struggle with his kidnappers. The attackers must want either information from Edward or for him to do something for them. For either they would need him awake. Once they had got what they wanted there was no likelihood of his release.
They would put paid to any risk he would be able to give descriptions to the authorities. It was only eight weeks since he had last been knocked unconscious, it might take him longer to recover this time, but even so she thought he would be awake by dawn and those men would be in a hurry to get what they wanted and then get rid of Edward’s body before the hue and cry went out and London was searched for the missing earl.
Still it could only be about one o’clock in the morning, so she had a couple of hours she hoped before anything worse happened to Edward. Madelaine thought Edward would not be particularly obliging in acquiescing to their wishes. She hoped he would have the sense to pretend to be groggier than he actually was. Madelaine considered moving away from the warehouse to enable her to send a message to Henri and Timothy, but realised at this time of night she would have to travel some miles before she would find a hackney to carry a message to Vauxhall. She listened to the sounds of the city at night. She could hear the wash of the river as the wind freshened and the distant sound of a dog barking, but there was no traffic on the roads nearby.
The buildings close by were all commercial properties; warehouses or workshops. The area was busy in daylight, but dead as tombs at night. Waiting in the gloom, Madelaine considered various strategies for releasing Edward. All of them came down to the simple problem that even if she could deal with his gaolers she was not sure if she would be capable of getting him away safely. Her ears picked up as she heard the sound of a coach a few streets away. The coach was coming closer. Was that a second coach she could hear further back? Madelaine thought she could just hear a second carriage.
The first carriage stopped and then moved off again. She could hear it receding into the night. There was no sound from the second coach and Madelaine wondered if she had imagined it. Then she could hear the sounds of a man walking towards her, his boot heels clipping against the cobbles as he came up the street towards where she was hidden. The man stopped at the warehouse and rapped loudly at the door. He rapped again and shouted before one of the men descended and let him in. In the light of the lantern of the man opening the warehouse door, she could see the face of the man who had been admitted. The French man at Vauxhall, the man from her past, the man whose death she needed to release her, from the nightmares he had created.
Madelaine had not wanted to believe he could be responsible for all this. He was Edward’s nemesis and hers. She wondered what advantage the French man sought from kidnapping Edward. His interests would never be purely pecuniary; there would be some clandestine political motive for his actions. As the sounds subsided from the men ascending the stairs, Madelaine heard the quiet steps of another man coming towards her: the shadow she had spotted following him at Vauxhall. If he was spying on the French man then he was probably a friend or at least her enemy’s enemy! She waited until he took up position in a shadowy recess opposite the warehouse. He could not have seen the man enter the house which indicated he had followed her enemy before and had a good idea as to his destination.
The man stealthily settled into the shadows. Madelaine took off her mask and moved into the scant light of the moon and stars that filtered down between the dank buildings. No street lanterns had been lit to light the road. She walked slowly towards the man’s hiding place with her hands away from her body in a non-threatening manner making it obvious they were empty. She still had her foil at her hip but hoped she would not have to use it.
A few paces away she addressed the man quietly, “Excuse me but would you happen to know a Timothy Griggs?”
“I might do,” muttered the man moving slightly into the light.
“You wouldn’t be employed by his uncle, perhaps? No don’t bother to answer the question. Let me tell you a story. This evening I went to Vauxhall. The man you followed here was there as well. He was very interested in the Earl of Chalcombe who was in a party with his mother and some others. Although I didn’t see him, I assume Timothy Griggs was in attendance on him. There was a disturbance involving a blonde woman and the earl went to assist her. The disturbance was a ruse and two men attacked the earl and bundled him into a closed carriage and brought him here. I was not in time to prevent his abduction but caught up with the carriage before it moved off. I stowed away and the earl was carried into that warehouse. I could get into the rear of the warehouse, but even if I could deal with all four men I know are in the building, I couldn’t get the earl out myself if he is not capable of walking. Does this story interest you?”
“Very much! As you guessed I work for Charlie Griggs, but what’s to be done?”
“I heard a hackney cab draw up a couple of streets away but not drive off, did you leave transport there?”
“Aye, I left me cab in Druid Street so as not to be too obvious to the Ferret.”
“Major Furet was one of France’s foremost spies
, when I had the bad luck to come across him. That was twelve years ago but I doubt his profession has changed. We will need more men to attack the warehouse. Could you go back to Vauxhall, find Timothy and my servant Henri and bring them here. Pick up any other of Mr. Grigg’s men you can. I think it would be best if I went in through the back.” She went on, “I could get in from the rear of the building and wait and if you could make a disturbance down here trying to get in the front that might draw the men downstairs. I could try and see what shape the earl is in. If you had enough men you might be able to help dispose of the kidnappers and rescue the earl, but he was concussed two months ago from a similar attack and might still be unconscious. He’ll need a doctor.”
“I think that’s probably the best plan. I don’t like leaving you here alone, but you’re the lass the earl’s sweet on aren’t you? You saw those other ruffians off when he was attacked before? I’ve seen you travelling in the earl’s carriage. If you’re sure you’ll be all right, I’ll be off? But don’t try to take them on by yourself, before I get back with some help!”
With Madelaine’s brief assurance he set off only to turn back. “Don’t you worry your head lass, Alfred won’t let you down.”
When Alfred’s quiet footsteps faded into the distance and she heard the sounds of the hackney being turned and driven off at the best speed it could manage, Madelaine retraced her way to the rear of the buildings. She made her way noiselessly across the unlit shadowy riverside yards to the rear of the warehouse with a minimum of fuss. Warmed by her exertion, she muttered to herself “Ladies don’t sweat, ladies only glow!”
The wooden hoist was swung part out and chained into position, but the chain was only looped onto a nail and not padlocked. The chain was well oiled and slid off quietly. Madelaine swung the hoist back in towards the warehouse; it took all her strength to make it move, but once started in it swung smoothly and with only a slight creak. Looping the chain upwards she fitted the hook into one of the links making a loop to rest her foot in. Then by contorting her body round to the raising rope she pulled down hard lifting herself off the ground. The chain groaned as it moved through the pulley she waited to see if the noise had been detected within. The chain locked in place holding her about five feet off the ground.
No one came in response to the noise and pulling the rope once more she rose up the side of the warehouse more gradually and quietly than before. The chain swayed as she lifted upwards and she clung on with one arm as she pulled with the other. As she reached the first floor of the building she neared an open aperture, a couple of yards from the hoist. A worker or two would normally hook the bales inwards with poles from the opening, but Madelaine had to swing her body back and forth to bring the chain towards the opening, freeing her foot from the loop and holding the chain only in both hands.
Two swings of the chain and she was nearing the opening. Swinging once more out from the building and back in, she released the chain and threw her body through the opening landing quietly crouched on the balls of her feet. Now damp with perspiration and breathing hard from the exertion, the muscles of her back and arms on fire from the unusual strain. She waited for her breathing to return to normal and wiped her face and hands with one of her father’s handkerchiefs before untangling the foil from the bundle of her cloak and re-buckling it around her waist. She put the cloak back on as well because now she had stopped moving her skin was becoming quite chill as the temperature of the late night air was dropping towards freezing. She crammed her long braid of hair back under the fusty smelling wig and pulled the hat down on top to hold it on.
Madelaine’s breathing gradually returned to normal although the beating of her heart sounded very loud in her ears. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light; the faint beams of the half- moon shone through the open loading doors outlining the distinctive shapes of crates, barrels and sacks stacked in irregular piles around the cavernous space. Much of the warehouse was in deep shadow but she began to be able to see where she could place her feet and creep carefully around the obstructions.
A multiplicity of smells impinged on her senses, oaken barrels, pine-wood crates, animal fodder and spices all crowded into her nostrils warring with the stench of the river as it flowed quietly away. Fainter older scents tantalised her brain with memories from long ago bringing back pictures to her mind of her childhood: Henri and Madelaine had followed Louis’ fortunes throughout much of Europe. Sometimes they had struggled to make ends meet and lived in poorer conditions than Louis would have liked to keep his precious daughter. At other times Louis had been fortunate and when he was plump in the pocket they lived in some style and luxury.
Madelaine inched through the warehouse until she reached the stairs. The stairs were almost pitch-black, little light reaching the centre of the building. She slipped out of her boots and carefully carried them moving slowly up the stairs placing her stockinged feet at the sides of the stairs to try to avoid making them creak with her weight. She mounted to the next floor and waited listening. She could hear movements and muffled speech. She listened but could not recognise the warm timbre of Edward’s deep mellifluous voice only the harsh rasps of the cockney working classes.
From squinting up the stairs, Madelaine could see a thin strip of dull light beneath a large black rectangle she assumed was a closed door. She took a deep breath and crept up the stairs to the next level and moved away from the closed door to the open room at the rear of the property. This, too, was partially filled with crates and sacks which were silhouetted in the gloomy December moonlight through the unblocked loading doors. She moved carefully to the wall that separated the lighted room from the rear warehouse. Finding a heap of sacks which seemed to contain grain of some type, she seated herself upon them and replaced her boots. Wrapping her cloak tighter against the cold around her, she put her ear to the wall and listened to the voices within.
At first she heard nothing from the room, but as she began to become accustomed to the quiet noises around her they seemed to fade into the background. The wind was whispering around the building and through the riverside openings of the building, mice skittered some distance away and the building creaked a little as if it was settling into the mud of the river. The river lapped, murmuring against the muddy banks, and in the distance a hound uttered a pitiful howl and then fell abruptly silent. After a while she began to hear the sounds of talking within the room. She heard the French accents of Furet loudly berating the men for having hit the earl too hard as he was yet to awaken properly, despite their having dashed water in his face.
Madelaine hoped he was feigning unconsciousness, as if he was that deeply insensible he might never regain consciousness. She admitted to herself the thought of Edward’s death would greatly grieve her. Should he die at Furet’s orders it would intensify her bereavement. While it was her earnest wish to thwart whatever subversive plans Furet sought to put in place, she would feel considerable regret if Edward were killed. If he should ever discover she had that much feeling for him, it would only increase his determination to continue to press for her agreement to his proposal of marriage.
Sitting waiting in the cold warehouse for Alfred’s return with help, she thought of Edward insensate and imprisoned. He had always treated her with every courtesy and behaved towards her as a total gentleman. Despite her reluctance and the disparity in their fortunes he had offered her his name. His behaviour towards her father had showed great generosity of spirit and he treated him with charming deference. She mulled over enumerating Edward’s qualities. He was undoubtedly a very handsome man, he was tall, with excellent posture and a truly masculine figure which she believed the young bloods who supported the art of pugilism would declare would strip to advantage. He was an interesting conversationalist who genuinely seemed interested in the little she had deigned to say in reply.
In spite of her denial of his suit, he had shown considerable persistence and dependability. Madelaine had observed at Claudette’s many beautiful young ladies
of noble birth and fortune who would manifestly welcome his advances. Yet Edward had been incontrovertibly certain of his choice in selecting an émigré, who although apparently of respectable birth had no fortune or place in society to recommend her. Beyond her face and figure she had nothing to offer to equalise the standing between them, yet he had honourably offered marriage rather than attempting to seduce her. So many other gentlemen before him had thought she would be easily bought with the offer of a few trinkets and promises of pretty clothes and jewels. Some young smarts had not bothered to buy her charms, but had tried by main force to compel her compliance.
Apart from his doggedness in promoting the match, Madelaine could find no fault in the earl. He was such a paragon any unmarried woman of her mature years should be expected to pounce upon his offer with relief. Madelaine found she regretted circumstances prohibited her honest consideration of his proposal; she acknowledged to herself in secret that he would undeniably make an exemplary husband and a wonderful father. She would miss his friendship, but there could be no possibility of her consenting to become his countess. It came as a shock to her to realize she actually liked Edward Charrington. She was not in love with him, at least it had not gone that far, but there was an underlying attraction she knew she must resist with all her being. She would have to harden her heart or she might begin to sympathise with his ardour for her hand.
Time passed and thin clouds drifted across the moon reducing the light further and Madelaine sat huddled in her cloak brooding on the well-being of the man who was held against his will in the room behind the wall. No conversation could be heard through the brickwork for some time and the wind outside picked up blowing in gusts and cutting icily into her slender form. Then the closed door opened and Madelaine could dimly see the outline of one of the men holding a dark lantern. The man carried a cane which she suspected was a sword-stick and seemed a little larger than Furet. He turned back to the door and conversed in muffled French with a man she could not see, but from the sound of his voice believed was Furet. Madelaine formed the impression the other man’s French was not his native tongue as his accent and stresses did not sound correct.
The Fencing Master's Daughter Page 11