by Alexa Aston
“You know Rachel. She’ll want to grab the nearest fireplace poker and bash Morrison in the knees until he confesses,” Evan said. “Her love of family is fierce and she absolutely adores Mia.”
The group left, with Hudson walking out with Easley. He asked, “What are our options if we can prove Morrison set the blaze—or paid others to have it done?”
“That’s a very difficult situation, Mr. St. Clair. As a peer of the realm, it would be hard to make a case against the viscount, much less bring him to justice. If he hired men to act on his behalf and we can find proof of their involvement, then I assure you they will hang, especially because of the night watchman’s death. If anything, Morrison would be placed in a madhouse. It’s the best you can hope for.”
The Runner’s words told Hudson what he already knew. That if society wouldn’t allow justice, he must seek to mete it out on his own. He knew his St. Clair brethren would want to act with him but he wanted them protected from whatever outcome occurred. He decided he should go down to Surrey now and confront Morrison on his own. First, though, he needed to check on Mia.
He went to their new residence, pride filling him as he entered it. This is where they would raise a family. Grow old together. Despite how bleak today seemed, he knew they would enjoy many tomorrows together here.
“Mia!” he called.
Only Nelson came to greet him, weaving through Hudson’s legs. He picked up the tabby and went through the house, surprised that she wasn’t home yet. He noted various pieces of furniture which had been brought from his rooms though some of it had been designated to remain behind for use in her new laboratory. He wondered if she and George had already started trying to assemble some new equipment and decided to return there.
“Hopefully, Mia will be back soon,” he told the cat, leaving it in the house and leaving to hail a hansom cab. He arrived half an hour later, dismissing the cab since he saw the carriage in front.
Entering, he saw George busy moving a table around, with Annie dusting. He knew Mia had asked the maid to come and clean today once the servants had moved the furniture to Mayfair. He noticed his old bookcase now lined with rows of new notebooks stacked within it.
“Mr. St. Clair,” George said. “How do you think things are coming along? I’ve been out buying what we need to start up again.”
“I noticed the notebooks.”
The servant beamed. “That was my first purchase. Mrs. St. Clair does love to jot down her ideas.”
“Where is she?” he asked.
George frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I came from our townhouse and she wasn’t there. I assumed she was still here.”
“No, sir, she hasn’t been here since I returned. Annie?”
The maid halted her dusting. “Mrs. St. Clair left here just after you did, George. I was cleaning the front windowsill when you pulled away. Another carriage came up right behind you.” She frowned. “It did seem odd. Mrs. St. Clair spoke to whoever was inside and then the footman helped her up. Rather clumsily. Almost like he pushed her. I thought he must be new and better learn quickly how to hand a lady up or he’ll be out of a job.”
Hudson stilled. Apprehension filled him. “When was this, Annie?”
She told him and his gut knew she’d been spirited away by her cousin.
“Were there trunks on top?” he asked casually.
Annie thought a moment. “Yes, sir, I did see trunks.”
He pulled a few coins from his pocket and handed them to her. “When you finish here, take a hansom cab back to the Mayfair house. Mrs. St. Clair and I may be home or we may stay here this evening. George, I have use of you now.”
“Thank you, Mr. St. Clair.” Annie went back to her dusting.
He nodded to George and the two men went outside. “I think Morrison has taken my wife.”
George’s hands balled into fists. “I’m with you, Mr. St. Clair. Whatever it takes.”
He decided he might need his family after all. “Take me to Everton’s first. I think the situation calls for reinforcements.”
When they arrived at Jeremy’s, Hudson bounded from the carriage and into the house, not bothering to knock. He passed Barton and raced up the stairs to the drawing room. Everyone had already arrived.
“Mia’s gone,” he said tersely. “Morrison took her.”
Questions peppered him left and right and he held a hand up, silencing them. He told them the little he knew.
“I agree that her cousin has kidnapped her,” Luke said. “It’s time to get her back.”
*
Mia was surprised at the lack of activity as they arrived at Morris Park. She knew the few servants who’d been working there had left but supposed her cousin had hired others to take their places. No one was in sight, however, as they exited the carriage. The driver and footman unloaded the trunks atop the vehicle and she wondered if her notebooks rested in one of them. The pair disappeared inside the house and returned moments later so she knew the trunks had been placed just inside the front door.
Work had begun on the roof but no workers were in sight. The task was only half-completed. She wondered if labor had halted due to non-payment, knowing her cousin’s money troubles. He nudged her in the back, his pistol still trained on her, and she entered the foyer. Scaffolding appeared, with tarps covering the floor. It, too, appeared abandoned mid-job, laborers deserting their posts.
“Look around,” Morrison said, anger edging his voice. “I should have inherited more than a measly title. Instead, I got a ramshackle house that needs repairs too numerous to count and no tenants to generate any kind of income.”
“And no money to be had,” the viscountess added. “What I had before our marriage has been drained.” She glared at Mia as if Morrison’s gambling debts were her fault. “We cannot complete the work here. We cannot pay our servants. You are going to get us out of this mess.”
“How?” Mia asked.
“By selling your bloody devices!” her cousin shouted.
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. It can take years to perfect one. Even then, it must be something viable that someone wants and is willing to pay for it. I’ve been working for years and have only had limited success.”
“What about your steam engine?” Morrison demanded.
“What about it? The St. Clair family purchased it. It is now being produced in their factory. It could be a long time before I ever create something as useful.”
His eyes narrowed. “St. Clair said you were brilliant. That your machines would make you wealthy in your own right.”
Fear gnawed at her belly.
“Do you have money of your own, Mia?” he asked. “Money that St. Clair let you have?”
She gambled and said, “I don’t really know about that. I’ve never had a head for business. Doesn’t the law say what I bring into the marriage belongs to my husband?”
He and his wife exchanged a glance.
“Did you sign any papers?” Lady Morrison prompted.
“I did. I’m not sure what they were,” she fudged. “My husband just told me they were necessary for the marriage. I did as I was told.”
“We need to see a copy of those papers,” hissed the viscountess. “He might have been a fool and made allowances for her to keep what she earned from this steam engine.”
“Is that the case, Mia?” her cousin prodded.
“I don’t know,” she protested, hoping to buy some time. “I didn’t bother to read anything. I trusted Hudson when he said to sign them.”
“She’s just like her father,” Morrison scoffed. “Full of book smarts but little common sense.”
“We need to see these papers,” his wife insisted. “She could be sitting on a fortune. It could be ours.” She looked to Mia. “We don’t have time for you to invent something and sell it. We need help now.”
“Then you shouldn’t have wed a man addicted to the throw of the dice,” Mia said. “You had money before your marr
iage. You never should have taken him as a husband.”
Morrison struck her. Mia fell to the ground. He kicked her in the ribs and she yelped.
“We’ll need to take her back to London tomorrow,” the viscountess proclaimed. “She’ll have to show us these papers.” Then her voice trailed off. A brilliant smile crossed her face.
“You have an idea, my dear?”
Lady Morrison nodded. “St. Clair has no title. No children.” Her smile grew. “If he dies, everything would go to his widow. Why should we skulk about and look for papers, taking what the little bitch has now—when we can claim Hudson St. Clair’s entire fortune?”
He shouted for joy and flung his arms about his wife. “You are magnificent, Hortense. A mind as sharp as any man’s. Once St. Clair is done and gone, my dear cousin can have her own accident. As her nearest relative, it will all be legally mine.”
With the gun no longer aimed at her heart, Mia sprang to her feet and took off running.
A gunshot pierced the silence and she cringed, ducking, but it didn’t seem to have been fired in her direction. She continued racing through the house, her mind a blank as panic swallowed her. She ran the length of the house and out the kitchen door. The driver and footman emerged from the stables at that time.
Mia clutched her hiked skirts and raced across the yard, knowing she ran for her life. Another shot rang out and she winced but never broke stride. If she could reach the woods, she would be safe. She knew them better than anyone, having spent her entire childhood playing in them. Horatio never had gone outside on his rare visits. The other two men were unfamiliar with them, as well.
Being caught meant Hudson’s life was in danger. She had to escape and reach him. She had to warn him.
With a final burst of speed, urged on by the love she had for her husband, Mia reached the forest.
And disappeared from view.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hudson strummed his fingers along his thigh nervously as the carriage drew closer to Morris Park. The five men remained quiet the entire trip. Each was armed, thanks to Jeremy, though Evan had declined a pistol, revealing he always carried one, a habit from his war years.
He wondered if they would have to use one in order to force Morrison to hand Mia over.
Trying to keep his mind a blank had been impossible. Images of his lovely wife filled it. He only hoped that her cousin hadn’t hurt her in any way. If he had, Hudson would kill him on the spot with no regrets.
Glancing out the window, he said, “We are approaching Morrisfield. The village is a little over two miles to the north of Morris Park.”
He watched out the window as they passed through. Consulting his pocket watch, he saw it was almost seven o’clock. Sunset would come around a quarter past eight. He hoped they would be back on the road by then. It would take longer to reach London as darkness fell but he prayed he would spend what was left of this night in his new home with his wife in his arms.
They reached the end of the sleepy village’s main thoroughfare and continued. Suddenly, the carriage screeched to a halt and he heard George shouting. Hudson threw the door open and leaped from the carriage.
His heart nearly burst with love and happiness. A disheveled Mia limped toward the coach, her long, dark hair having lost its pins, spilling around her shoulders and down her back.
“Mia!” he cried and ran to her, his arms enfolding her, his mouth on hers, taking, taking, grateful beyond words.
He broke the kiss and his hands cradled her face. She winced and he saw the bruise on her cheek.
“Morrison did this to you?” he asked, trying to keep the anger from his voice.
She nodded. “They’re looking for me. We need to get inside the carriage.”
Hudson swept her off her feet and carried her there. His four companions looked on in relief as he told George, “Give us five minutes and then continue to Morris Park.”
They all entered the carriage and seated themselves, Mia in his lap, his arms about her protectively.
“Get the basket,” he ordered and Jeremy pulled out the hamper Catherine had insisted they take along, filled with bread, cheese, apples, and a carafe of wine.
His brother opened it and poured wine for Mia, who accepted it gratefully, draining it and returning the glass to Jeremy.
“Food can wait,” she said as Jeremy took out the bread. “I assume you know Morrison took me since you are here.”
“Annie saw you get into a carriage,” Hudson said. “Knowing the warehouse had burned to the ground only a day after I threatened him, I told the family your cousin had to be the one who’d abducted you. But why?”
She still trembled. He stroked her back, trying to calm her.
“He admitted having the fire set. He removed my notebooks first, wanting me to interpret them for him so he and his wife could become rich off my ideas. He claimed they were Father’s work and belonged to the estate.”
Anthony snorted. “As if you would give that bastard the time of day.”
“I would have,” she said. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Lady Morrison told me if I didn’t, she would see you burned just as the warehouse, screaming for mercy.”
“My God!” Hudson’s arms tightened about her.
“I explained that it takes many attempts and a long time to bring a device to fruition. They obviously didn’t want to wait that long so Lady Morrison hit upon a new scheme.” She bit her lip to still it. “They were going to murder you, Hudson, so that your wealth would come to me.”
An angry murmur filled the carriage.
“Then they would kill me,” she whispered. “It would be made to look like an accident. As my closest relative, Morrison would inherit all.”
“I will tear him apart and then slice him into pieces,” Hudson promised, his voice low and deadly.
“How did you escape?” Evan asked.
Mia took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “While they were congratulating themselves on their brilliant idea, I ran. I knew if I could make it into the woods, I could lose them. I know the area like the back of my hand. Morrison pursued me, though, along with his driver and footman. I don’t know how close they are. I’ve been hiding for several hours and was making my way toward the village when your carriage appeared.”
The vehicle started up and Mia cried out.
“I’ve got you, love,” Hudson assured her, bringing her head against his chest. Looking at the others, he said, “He’s mine. No one else’s.”
They turned on the lane leading up to Morris Park. A calm had descended over him. He would avenge Mia. Nothing else mattered. As the carriage entered the drive, he asked, “Do you know where your notebooks are?”
She nodded. “Two trunks were placed in the foyer when we arrived. I’m certain they must be in one or both of them.”
Hudson thought a moment. “Where might your mother’s locket be?”
Tears sprang to his wife’s eyes. She tenderly touched his cheek. “The last I knew, it was in my bedchamber. I always placed it on the table beside my bed.”
“I will find it,” he vowed. “And your notebooks.”
The carriage slowed before it came to a halt. Luke flung open the door and said, “Jeremy and I will look for this driver and servant.”
“I’ll go with you,” Evan told Hudson. “Anthony, you should stay with Mia in the coach.”
Hudson stroked her hair. “I’ve got to go, love. I’ll be back.”
“He has a gun,” she warned. “I heard a shot before I fled the house. Another outside. I don’t know if the other two men are armed or not.”
“I’m an excellent shot,” he assured her. “How many servants are there?”
“None that I saw.”
Lifting Mia off his lap, he stood and placed her on the bench. He looked at Anthony.
“I’ll guard her with my life, Hudson,” his brother-in-law promised.
The four men spilled from the carriage and George asked, “Is Mrs. St. Clair al
l right?”
“She is,” Hudson replied. “Morrison has a gun. If you spy him, drive away. Keep her safe at all cost, George.”
“Yes, Mr. St. Clair,” the loyal retainer replied.
Jeremy and Luke broke away, going around to the back of the house, as Hudson and Evan entered through the front. The door stood wide open. They only went a few feet before Hudson saw Hortense lying in a pool of blood, staring at the ceiling, a look of horror on her face.
“He shot her. Killed his own wife,” he said, shock running through him.
Evan bent and closed her eyes. “He’s a monster and deserves to be put down.” He glanced around. “If we’re going to search the house for him, we’ll need light. I’ll go find candles.”
“I’ll stay here in case he comes through the front.”
Hudson watched Evan retreat and stood warily, pistol in hand, ready to use it the moment he saw Morrison. He glanced around, seeing renovations had begun on the dilapidated house, with two scaffolds standing in the foyer, tarps spread below them. He heard a noise and glanced up quickly, spying Morrison above him in a long, narrow gallery that overlooked the foyer. The balustrade came to his enemy’s waist. He held a lantern in front of him, blocking any shot.
Unless Hudson went for his head.
“It’s over, Morrison,” he called out. “Mia said you’d admitted to torching the warehouse. A night watchman was killed. You’ll hang for that—and for murdering your wife.”
Eerie shadows from the lantern danced across the viscount’s face. “Hortense deserved it. She thought the money would be ours. Women are such fools.”
“You mean the money you’d inherit once your murdered me and then Mia?”
“You’re a guttersnipe, St. Clair. You don’t deserve a large fortune,” snapped Morrison.
He’d been called worse and let the insult roll off him. “Whether I deserve it or not, I earned every pound of it. I might be a by-blow but you are an ass. You have wasted everything given to you. I’ll see you hang from a gibbet.”