But the man had been investigated thoroughly. How on earth had something like this been missed?
Victoria jerked at her bonds again. It was no use, she really was tied up tight. There was no give to the cords on either her feet or her hands. She was lucky that she had woken up at all; only half digesting the pill that Pedro had forced on her had lowered the effect of whatever was in it.
“I’ll just check on Lady Muck again. There are several hours before the meeting starts. I want to make sure that she is still in a fit state for sale.”
All of Victoria’s muscles turned rigid as the door to the board room opened again to reveal the speaker—Pedro, still dressed in a top hat. Taking in a deep breath, she forced them to relax one by one. She couldn’t let the man know that she was awake. She moaned gently and closed her eyes.
“Here, what are you doing on the floor?” Pedro muttered. “Bloody opium. It never knocks my little chicks out. Makes them think they have got wings. Up you get.”
A pair of hands firmly grasped her under her arms and hauled her up onto a chair.
“If you have bruised yourself in any way I will be very angry with you. Buyers don’t like damaged goods. My father told me that.”
Holding tightly onto the fire that was beginning to burn strongly in her belly, Victoria remained unresponsive as Pedro lifted up her skirts to check her knees and pulled roughly at the lace at her elbows. He grunted in satisfaction.
“You’ll do.” Victoria sensed him take a step back. “You know if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were untouched by a man’s hand. The bidder tonight is going to get a very interesting surprise.” Pedro sniggered. “If only my father knew.” His snigger turned into a full belly laugh. “Just like if he knew I had been impersonating him whilst stealing away all my lovely girls. Oh ho! My lovely chickety chicks.”
Victoria wasn’t sure what was worse. Being tied up in the presence of Pedro, or being left to the mercy of the delusional Pablo.
“Now then. Just you look after this for me, just in case mind.” Victoria felt a hand slip a piece of paper down the front of her dress. She fought hard against the revulsion as the hand grazed roughly at her chest.
“Oh lovely.” Pedro groaned. She tensed as he let his hand lie against her naked skin. “Mustn’t tamper with the goods. Got me into trouble before,” Pedro muttered again before removing his hand from her dress. “Anyway, you’re a little too old for my tastes.”
Victoria heard him leave. She was left propped in the chair. He had said a few hours. A few hours till what? An auction. An auction of herself as a slave to a group of people. Victoria didn’t want to open her eyes again. The blackness was preferable. Where was the beast when she needed it? It had been all too prevalent from her young years when her parents had died right up until that moment when she had let her guard down. Oh God. She only hoped that Chantelle and Carruthers had understood her message.
She had been so naïve. She should have recognized her feelings for Bill as soon as he had kissed her. If only she hadn’t been so proud. Setting him that list had been a moment of pique. Victoria had thought he would recognize that she was giving her all, at least all that she could give without giving up her whole self by offering a carte blanche. But he had obviously wanted more. Without the list, they could have been married in days, and Bill would have been none the wiser about her impending fall from grace as Lady Colchester. Even she, with her limited experience, recognized that what they had was something more than a passing attraction. They could have perhaps built something more out of it, returned to Brambridge… She was fantasizing. She wouldn’t trap the man in a lie. She’d promised herself that.
Victoria took in a shuddering breath as a rare tear welled in the corner of one eye. She scrunched her eyes tightly shut, but no waves of blackness appeared.
Damn. She had a lot to blame that man for.
And she still hadn’t worked out what his relationship with Celine was. Or all those other women for that matter. The sad thing was that she thought she might be dangerously in love with him. And the fact that he seemed to be embroiled with other women didn’t dim that attraction. It was perverse. She was perverse.
God. Only an hour had gone by. How long had Pedro said? Several hours. She had to make a plan. She couldn’t walk, however, so there was no getting out of the room. She wasn’t meant to be awake, she was meant to be under the influence of opium. Could the rules even help her?
Be patient.
That didn’t help very much. That was like waiting for life to happen. She overused that rule anyway.
If only Pablo would turn up and discover his son doing whatever he planned to do. Then at least she might be freed to bargain for her life.
Victoria relaxed her features as the door to the board room banged open again. “Change of plan, my lady.” Good grief, it was Cryne this time. “The meeting’s been brought forward. It seems that Pedro’s father is a little agitated. Someone’s dropped a word in his ear about Pedro and the girls. We need you shifted before he turns up.”
Cryne’s hands were rougher than Pedro’s. He pulled her hands up above her head and pushed her to the floor. Yanking her by the cords on her hands, he pulled her along the polished floorboards of the room like a sack of washing. Victoria could barely keep herself from screaming.
“Here, what are you doing, Cryne? Don’t you know the basics about selling goods?” Pedro had entered whilst Cryne was pulling her along. “If you have damaged her…”
“You know I’ve got a bad back, Peter,” Cryne whined. “I did the same with Maisie.”
“Yes, and look what happened with her.”
“I wasn’t there when she fell down the stairs.”
“I’m not sure I believe you. Mr. Robertson was quite upset to find a dead girl in his hallway.”
“At least he gets a good cut of the takings. I’m sure he gets more than me.”
“What does it matter if he does? There is more than enough to go round.”
Victoria’s head hurt from the verbal sparring. She wanted them to get on with it.
“Look, you take her arms and I’ll take the legs. The meeting’s in the cellar. Robertson has lit some nice candles for the occasion. Our guests have already arrived.”
Victoria was lifted and carried; it was more comfortable than being dragged. They left the boardroom and seemed to take the main route into the front hall, then through a narrow doorway where they banged her against the wall with muffled oaths and finally into a damp, beer-smelling cellar. The heat from the candles that had been placed close to where she was finally sat, warmed her chilled skin. Pedro and Cryne’s hands let her go and their footsteps retreated away across a soft sandy floor.
The murmur of voices around her ground to a halt. Into a short silence, someone swore.
“What’s this, Pedro? Are you fooling with us?”
“Not at all, my lords, lady and gentlemen. I promised you something a little extra this evening and so you shall have it.”
“Snakes alive. That’s Lady Colchester. Won’t she be missed?”
Again, Pedro’s voice interjected smoothly. “She may be, but when the world finds out that she really wasn’t Lady Colchester, but was married to an imposter, then no one will blame her for having run away prematurely. I understand that no one cares for her much. She is known as the proverbial ice queen.” A general murmur of assent greeted his assertion.
“Married to an imposter? How do you know?”
“Because that imposter was my uncle. He killed Lord Colchester with a shotgun and took his place.”
“Never did like the man. Thought he was terribly bad ton,” a lady’s voice said.
“Come on, let’s see the goods then, Moreno. She looks like she’s dead.”
“I must have given her a bit too much opium. I’ll give her a slap. They all wake up and sing like a canary after that.”
“Hmm. I’ve found that too,” a hoarse voice said to muffled laughs.
; Victoria knew that she had to wait for Pedro to hit her. At least then she would get the opportunity to open her eyes and see what she was facing. The stinging slap was still a surprise, and her eyes watered greatly as she fluttered them open. The glare from the candles almost caused her to close them again. She rolled her head slightly from side to side, not sure how to act. Dimly, the figures around her came into focus. There were ten in all. They hadn’t even bothered to disguise themselves.
A laugh bubbled up from her stomach. She gasped, eyes bulging, trying to hold it in.
“She’s having a fit, Moreno, do something.”
“Don’t worry,” came Pedro’s smooth voice, “sometimes the opium takes them like this.”
Victoria couldn’t hold it in any longer. Throwing back her head, she opened her mouth and laughed and laughed and laughed. Be patient, the eighth rule had said. Her voice crescendoed in a cackle.
CHAPTER 30
Bill buried his hand in Brutus’ fur and scratched gently. The large dog moaned gently and raised a drooping eyelid. He was still heavily sedated from whatever Pedro had fed him.
“’e protected her, you know,” Chantelle said gravely. “’e knew when danger was coming—especially when that man Pablo Moreno turned up. Pablo pulled a knife on the dogs but they did not back down. Especially when Pablo grabbed Victoria.”
Bill nodded. Brutus’ only downfall was his liking for food. Being such a big dog had its disadvantages, and wondering constantly where the next meal was coming from was one of them.
Ponzi lay close to Brutus’ side. She had eaten less of the poisoned food and recovered faster. It seemed her only concern now was for her companion.
“I’m never going to be able to split you two apart, am I?” Bill murmured gently. “Let’s hope your mistress will take me on, despite what she thinks about my motivations.”
“You just have to find the Heracles Club first.” Chantelle shook her head. “That is not going to be an easy task.”
“Did you say the Heracles Club, Chantelle?” Carruthers sat up. “I’ve certainly heard those words before.”
Chantelle frowned. “Now that you say that, I think I have too. But I have no idea when.”
“I do.” Carruthers banged a fist against his head. “It was in the weeks after Lord Colchester died. Lady Colchester hired me from Lord Anglethorpe. Quite a few of the old staff were still here then. Lady Colchester was going through a black spot.” Carruthers grimaced.
“So she was.”
“Lady Colchester disappeared off without telling me where she was going and came back looking quite pleased with herself. A short while later, a woman came to the door.”
“Lady Vanderguard,” Chantelle exclaimed. “She left in floods of tears after Lady Colchester wouldn’t see her.”
Carruthers nodded. “She implored me for an audience with Lady Colchester. But each time, Lady Colchester sent me back downstairs with a no. Finally Lady Vanderguard said to give Lady Colchester a message. That the Heracles Club would no longer meet. That she would deny anything that Lady Colchester said. That would Lady Colchester please forget the whole affair.”
Bill frowned. “I don’t believe I’ve met Lady Vanderguard. It seems strange that a woman would be caught up in selling other women.”
“Oh don’t you believe it, sir,” Carruthers said bitterly. Chantelle put a hand on his arm. “My mother… she ended up on the streets. The other women were the worst, the madams. Just because a woman has ‘lady’ in the front of her name doesn’t make her one.”
“She didn’t seem very nice at the time.” Chantelle gave Carruthers a concerned look. “But I’m not sure how one would go about finding her direction. Lady Colchester hasn’t mentioned her for years.”
“Freddie will know,” Bill said confidently. His friend knew everyone in the ton. His knowledge was encyclopedic. He found Freddie in the hallway, gazing at the painting of Victoria with Lord Colchester.
“You know, Standish. There is something very fishy about this painting.” Freddie murmured, pulling a quizzing glass to his eye. “The perspective is all off. I mean take the position of the—”
“Freddie, I don’t have time for your art appraisal.”
“—book, or is it a bible? Completely wrong balance. And the whole thing has been painted very quickly. The color is very slapdash.”
“Frederick Lassiter!” Bill shouted. “Where does Lady Vanderguard live?”
Freddie dropped his quizzing glass from his eye with a jump. “68 Brook Street,” he said quickly without pause. “Er, why?”
“Because that is our main lead for the Heracles Club.”
“Ooh. Odious woman. Might have known she was caught up in something like this. She has the manners of a fishwife.”
“What does that make me, with the manners of a smith?”
Freddie ignored Bill’s question. “I pity her poor husband. He was told he was getting a fortune when in reality what he got was a jumped up younger sister.”
“Will you listen to yourself, Freddie? You sound like a starched piece of blanket. What are you going to say when I marry Victoria?”
Freddie swung round his eyes wide. “So you are going to do it? Good on you, man. Never thought you would come to your senses and see how well you were both suited.”
“So you don’t think I’m a jumped up smith masquerading as a Crown operative chancing my arm with a well born lady?”
Freddie laughed. “I couldn’t have described you better myself.” He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s exactly what you are. And?”
“But what you said about Lady Vanderguard?”
“What Lady Vanderguard was described to be, was something that she wasn’t. In this life it is better to go in knowing rather than finding out later. Who cares about someone’s pedigree? Who cares about how much money they have? So long as they are not trying to be someone that they are not, that is all that counts.”
It took Bill a few moments to digest Freddie’s statement. He had cared too much, he had to admit. And now it was Victoria who was guilty of that, as she had refused to see him, believing that he would no longer be interested in her due to her monumental fall from grace.
Chantelle was right. The English and their social class obsession had a lot to answer for.
“We should go and see Lady Vanderguard,” Freddie murmured, still squinting at the portrait on the wall. Bill nodded. Time was of the essence, and he was wasting it with his preoccupation with Victoria, who was in more danger every second he wasted.
The journey to 68 Brook Street was short. The carriage, normally occupied just by Freddie on his social outings, held not just him, but Bill, Chantelle and Carruthers too. Percy and George rode on top with the coachman and the Tiger. The heavy weight of the men on the back of the carriage caused it to squeak dangerously on its back axles as it careered around the cobbled corners.
“Lucky that we only have to travel a couple of streets,” Freddie remarked, biting the top of his cane. “Either that or you could put Percy and George on a diet.”
“I theenk George is just the right shape,” Chantelle said huffily, “my lord.”
Carruthers rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, Lord Lassiter. Chantelle is just like her sister Isabelle, always speaks her own mind.”
“I can understand why Lady Colchester employs her,” Freddie said admiringly.
“We’re here.” Bill opened the door to the carriage and jumped out. “Percy, George, go round to the stables and see if you can find anything out. The rest of you stay right where you are.” Bill gave a warning glance to Carruthers, who was already trying to step out of the carriage. He subsided and sat back down on the carriage seat.
Bill turned back to the house and adjusted his cravat. He hated calling on members of the ton unannounced. Sometimes they didn’t receive him. The house was of the imposing kind. A great brass knocker dominated the dark door. Surprisingly, the door was answered on the first knock.
“Mr. Standish to se
e Lady Vanderguard.”
“She’s not here,” the butler said snootily. “Please leave a card.”
“Where has she gone?” Bill demanded.
“I am not at liberty to say…” The butler stopped as a quavering voice shouted hoarsely from the front room.
“Is it that Landigno man again, Rogers? Tell him to stop harassing my wife.”
The butler grimaced and made a shooing motion to Bill. “Please leave. The master is agitated.”
The quavering voice started up again. “Coming round here talking about the Heracles Club. Don’t he know that I’ve banned her from that activity? The silly fool didn’t know what she was doing five years ago.”
Bill stared at the butler. Lord Vanderguard was obviously the owner of the quavery voice. He sounded very old to Bill. As he looked more closely at the hall in front of him, he could see where the carpet had worn through and not been replaced. Paint was peeling from the ceiling. He remembered Freddie’s comments about Lord Vanderguard expecting to marry a fortune. It had obviously not materialized.
“I need to speak to Lord Vanderguard immediately.”
“No.” The butler opened the front door in front of him. “His Lordship is old and easily confused. Please leave.”
Bill evaded the half-hearted grasp of the butler’s arm and strode into the front room. It was obvious that anything of value had been sold off; faded patches on the wall indicated where paintings had hung. Lord Vanderguard sat hunched in a wheeled chair, a blanket over his knees. He looked up when Bill strode in.
“Eh, Landigno again? I thought I told you to go away. Rogers! Rogers, get rid of the man.”
The butler strode in after Bill. “I told you, sir, not to disturb him.”
“Look, Rogers, I need to talk to your master.”
The butler glanced at the old man in the wheeled chair. “I am not Rogers, I’m Andrews,” he said softly out of the side of his mouth. “I’ve been with his lordship for thirty years.”
Bill frowned. “Then who is Rogers?”
“His previous butler.”
Reckless Rules (Brambridge Novel 4) Page 24