Eventually, he telephoned Matilda’s house.
“Have you found anything?” she asked, hope in her voice.
“Nothing. I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t really think he was there. I think they are keeping him where they took me.”
Privately, Ewan had his doubts. Why make it easy for them to find the boy? “We are so close to where you were taken, though.”
“There might be a connection through the men who work there. A wife is keeping him, something like that.”
An excellent notion. “We need to interview the men here. That is an excellent point.”
“Will you come for dinner?” Her voice broke, then strengthened again. “It has been a long day for you.”
He didn’t know if he would have the chance to hold her, but even seeing her would be enough. “I would like that very much, thank you.”
“I will need to return to London tomorrow, I’m afraid.”
“Why?”
“I know it is ridiculous, but I’m going to help with Mr. Bliven. Gawain is coming with me to pay for a cemetery plot. What if Jacob wants to be buried near his father someday? I need to choose somewhere nice.”
“Why would Jacob want that?”
This time he heard an actual sob. “I’m never going to tell him the real story. It’s going to be a romantic one, about a man who went away to sea, never knowing the truth.” She sniffed.
“Oh, Matilda. If you must, you must.” Gawain must think it was a good idea if he was going along. He would go as well. They’d have more freedom in London. “I will see you soon.”
As the warehouse shift ended, he gathered his five men together.
The tallest man spoke first. “Nothing out of the ordinary here that I can see. They bring in beans down the river, transport them here in wagons, then repackage to individual farms.”
“Some flour moving through,” another reported. “They supply bakeries in Bath from here.”
“Just barley and oats, barley and oats,” said a third, in a sing-song voice.
“No outbuildings at all,” said Barker, the man sent to look outside. “It’s a small operation.”
“I found nothing in the offices, no correspondence that seemed telling,” Ewan said with a sigh.
The last man spoke. “I thought a couple of the men in my section were shifty-eyed, if you know what I mean. They kept an eye on me and the other men. Don’t know if they are involved, or just doing something like stealing.”
“Tomorrow we need to interview everyone who works here. See if anyone will tattle on another’s wife or someone like that, watching a child. Miss Redcake reminded me that she seems to have been brought very near here to see her child.”
“You think whoever has him has a connection to the warehouse?” the tall man asked.
“It makes sense. Once we learn something from the interviews, we can have a private inquiry agent follow the most suspicious men and see if it leads us anywhere.” Ewan rubbed his aching scalp. Had he been tugging at his hair all day?
“Has the family heard anything more about the kidnappers?”
“I’m afraid not,” Ewan reported. “A great pity.”
The five men shook their heads. “We’ll be here tomorrow. Do you want us to talk to the men casual-like, or do you want us to haul them, one by one, into an office?”
“I’m not sure. What do you think?”
“We don’t want to scare them off,” said Barker.
“Very well. Each of you take the men in your area aside, one by one. Tell them the new director wants a private word to discuss safety issues. Learn about the families and especially find out where they live. I’m going to send Barker here around the neighborhood with the list of addresses I’ve received from the foremen.”
“What you want me to do with it, guv?”
“You remember the other search? A brick row house with a fence, same description? That’s what we’re looking for. You find it, take the omnibus to the Redcake home, and find Sir Bartley. But make sure there aren’t five of them exactly the same first.”
“Don’t want to raise the family’s hope, like,” Barker said.
“Exactly. They’ve been through enough. Today was the day we expected things to change and it hasn’t happened. Tomorrow needs to be that day.”
The men nodded.
“I will not be able to be here tomorrow. I have to be in London. But I will have Greggory come by at the end of the shift so you can keep us informed. Hopefully, they won’t recognize him as a Redcake. Anything else?”
“We need to return to our own jobs,” the tallest man said. “How long do you expect us to be here?”
“Just through tomorrow, I hope. If you can talk to all the men, we’re done here. We already know Jacob isn’t about.”
“Poor little mite.” The speaker stopped and hummed. “Wish we could have found him for Miss Redcake.”
“For his own sake,” Barker said. “Let’s get home to our own families, and hug our wee ones tight.”
Ewan nodded and led them out the door as the night watchman entered.
Ewan followed the Redcakes into dinner that evening, feeling underdressed. He hadn’t thought Matilda kept a very formal home, but now he saw evidence to the contrary. His suit, perfectly fine for work, had obvious dust stains, and a streak of white paint had embedded itself into the fabric atop his right knee. Dougal Alexander, on the other hand, lean and dark-haired, had dressed appropriately for his first night in Bristol.
Thankfully, though, Matilda’s mother was no stickler. She gave him her usual kind, vague smile as her gaze passed over him.
“That’s a very fine mural,” he said as he held out her chair so she could seat herself at the dining table.
“I painted it myself. Arthur helped me with some of the bigger shapes. He had promise,” she said.
“He was named for my father,” Greggory said from across the table. “He is a painter as well.”
“Your father introduced me to Sir Bartley,” Lady Redcake said. “We met when we were both painting the Avon Gorge. That was long ago, before the railway was built.”
“I didn’t know that, Mother,” Matilda said, then thanked Mrs. Miller as she poured wine.
“I thought your father’s name was Charles,” Ewan said to Greggory.
“No, it’s Arthur,” Lady Redcake said, holding up her glass. “Though he likes to style himself A. Charles. Artistic temperament, you know. Such a pretty yellow, isn’t it?”
“Yes indeed.” Ewan smiled. “Tell me, what is the mural meant to represent?”
“The grounding of the steam tug Black Eagle,” Lady Redcake said. “In the gorge. It’s not easy to navigate through.”
If Ewan squinted, he could almost make sense of that: the shape of the gorge, the small tugboat puffing steam in the middle. She’d painted it in abstract fashion, with a bird’s-eye view. Matilda’s mind ran along far more concrete lines than her mother’s.
“I’ve been waiting patiently to hear what happened at the warehouse today,” Sir Bartley boomed. “Obviously nothing of import.”
“No, sir,” Ewan confirmed. “But we haven’t ruled out some kind of participation from an employee’s family. We’re going to interview everyone tomorrow, and I hope we can get a look at the homes of those who live near the warehouse.”
“An excellent notion,” Dougal Alexander said from his seat. “I’ll come with ye tomorrow and search the area.”
“I had hoped Mr. Hales would come to London with Gawain and me tomorrow,” Matilda said. “He’d be such a comfort to me.”
“He’s needed here to interview the men.”
“That will be done by the Redcake’s factory foremen who are assisting.”
“I can manage well enough without him,” Dougal told Sir Bartley. “Even if another ransom note comes tomorrow, they’ll have tae give ye a day or more tae collect the funds. If they go across tae London for just a day, they will not miss much.”
&
nbsp; Sir Bartley’s eyes narrowed. “When has Mr. Hales become such a comfort to you, daughter?”
Gawain coughed as his swallow of wine went down the wrong way. His wife patted him on the back, serene in the face of his distress.
“I shall come as well,” Gawain’s wife said. “It is time I visit my own little one.”
Sir Bartley’s expression didn’t change. “I asked you a question, Matilda.”
Ewan cleared his throat, and as the Redcakes’ gazes turned to him, he stood, lifting his wineglass to shoulder height. “I hope you will congratulate us. Miss Redcake has agreed to become my wife.”
Matilda knocked over her wine. Her mother’s eyes went wide. Gawain chuckled, and Dougal Alexander’s sharp investigator’s gaze went to each of the family in turn, assessing.
“I-I thought we had agreed,” Matilda said, in a much breathier voice than usual. She didn’t finish her thought as her mother leaned over her and patted her hand.
Ewan felt like the Black Eagle, foundering in a twisty river. “I am sorry, I merely meant to explain your remark. It would be an honor to be of comfort to you either way of course.”
“Will this engagement not cost you your position with Lord Fitzwalter yet again?” Gawain said.
“Not if we keep the information within the confines of this house,” Ewan said, more sharply than he meant. “We’ll see this dastardly business through to the end, and not marry before that. I’ll do what I must, as we all have.”
Gawain nodded. “This does not, of course, come as a surprise, but you are not much of a love wallah, are you?”
His wife shook her head ruefully. “He’s doing his best, my dear. Such a difficult time, with poor Mr. Bliven dying in such a fashion, and Jacob missing. But love will out in the end. It always does.”
“A short engagement?” Sir Bartley mused.
“It depends on so many factors,” Ewan told him.
“It is best to share happy news, even in hard times,” Lady Redcake said. “Life must go on. I imagine Jacob will be so excited to have a new addition to his little family.”
Matilda’s eyes went wide, which clued Ewan in to the import of her mother’s words. Did Lady Redcake think Matilda was expecting his child?
Across the table, Gawain openly grinned. His wife had a secretive female expression on her face. Ewan couldn’t speak in his defense, given that they were lovers, though of such a short duration it would hardly matter if they wed soon.
He cleared his throat again, wishing he could down his glass of wine in one long gulp. “I would hope we could wed soon. I have a special license. But there’s no need to be so fast about it that we draw talk.”
“No?” Sir Bartley said.
“No, sir,” Ewan assured him.
“Hmph,” his former employer said in response.
Matilda had gone scarlet. Ewan felt awash in sympathy, especially given this was not her first time having embarrassing news disseminated through her family. Never again. She’d be a respectable married lady soon enough, and a countess someday.
Soon, her time of shame would end, once and for all. If he couldn’t offer the woman he loved some happiness, what good was he? He wasn’t much of a man either, if he allowed his desire for physical passion to risk a premarital pregnancy. No, he would not attempt to make love to her again, not until they were wed. He must be a gentleman with her, even if her blazing cheeks reminded him of the way she looked in passion’s sway. Her shallow breaths plumped the soft rise of her breasts over the top of her dinner dress. How he wanted to bury his nose between those soft, scented mounds. He wondered if he could tease her nipples from behind their hidden prisons of whalebone and linen and suckle her until she moaned.
Gawain raised an eyebrow at him. Ewan shook his head ruefully.
“I am sure Ewan is too well trained in his habit of respecting our family to overstep his bounds with Matilda,” Gawain said, tapping his index finger against the dinner table. “I am sure his courtship has been a model of propriety.”
“Really,” Matilda muttered, just audible enough to hear.
“After all, dear sister, you did learn your lesson the last time. As much as we’ve all been pleased to have little Jacob, what led to his appearance in our family was regrettable,” Gawain said.
Gawain’s wife turned her head to Ewan. “Are you aware, Mr. Hales, that our own dear son Noel was born out of wedlock?”
Ewan choked on his wine. Really, he didn’t think he’d ever hear a conversation like this taking place around an earl’s table. “I may have been aware of that, but it’s long forgotten, Lady Redcake.”
She smiled serenely. “I just want you to be aware that, all teasing aside, any Redcake child will be welcomed by all of us, with no trifling worries about the baby’s birthdate. As a midwife, I’ll be more than happy to see to Matilda when the time comes.”
Matilda pushed back her chair and stood, trembling. “There is no child. The only child that should be of anyone’s concern is Jacob. Just Jacob, my missing son.” She turned and ran, the blue silk half cape attached to her dress fluttering as she moved from the room.
The men stood automatically. Ewan reached her before she fled and tucked her against his chest.
“Ann, my dear,” Gawain said mildly. “Most ladies do not care to discuss the mysteries of reproduction at the dining table.”
“I was merely attempting to generate a little enthusiasm and reassurance,” his wife said serenely.
“Please do not,” Matilda said. She let Ewan reseat her.
Ewan sighed and sat again. They spent the next half hour listening to Lady Redcake, who planned and replanned Matilda’s wedding three times. Ewan refused to make any comments. The wedding was the bride’s affair. All he needed to do was be available with the license. Dougal Alexander, however, was quite enthusiastic on the topic, sharing details of his Heathfield Farm wedding with his wife, Lady Elizabeth.
Gawain’s wife made a point of asking after Dougal’s foster daughter, careful to ensure Ewan recognized that Lady Elizabeth had taken in a foundling herself, yet another out-of-wedlock child embraced by kin of the Redcakes. Yes, they were a veritable tribe of bohemians.
No wonder Lord Fitzwalter was so skeptical of his alliance with the family, after his experience with Lord Ritten and the eccentric Walters. Yet Ewan had never felt so at home. He would have a family for the first time since early childhood. This band of outspoken, even outré Redcakes felt more like his clan that the Douglases ever could. He could admire no one any more than he admired Sir Bartley, Gawain, and his sisters.
As the conversation wound to an end, Ewan took Alexander aside. “Mr. Alexander, please do everything in your power to find Jacob. I am convinced he is in a house near to that Douglas warehouse.”
“He was recently,” Alexander agreed. “I will go door-tae-door if I have tae.”
“Thank you.” Ewan sank into his chair, wondering what they would do if he was wrong.
Matilda rang for Daisy once dinner was done, eager to get out of her confining evening dress and into a nightdress. The dress had seemed much too tight around the bosom. All that talk of matrimony and babies had her remembering the signs of early pregnancy. Of course, even if she had conceived, it could not matter yet. Ewan would marry her before she would have any suspicions at all. She could trust him. Detecting deception was a skill she’d worked hard to earn after her experience with Mr. Bliven. Mr. Bliven, who would be buried tomorrow. She wondered if he’d had any premonition of disaster in 1887, when he’d boarded that ship for India to escape from her. Had that supposed fiancée waiting for him there even existed? Gawain had been insistent over the years that Bliven had his good points, but Matilda had decided the man was quite mad. Unlike Ewan, who had been a positive rock in her family’s employment for years. Why, she’d never even seen him with a lock of hair out of place until Lord Fitzwalter had entered the man’s life. Between the earl and her, Ewan had experienced a sea change, yet he still seemed controlled,
at least most of the time.
She climbed into bed and twisted her head into her pillow, breathing deeply of the lavender Mrs. Miller tucked around the linens, and tried to make herself relax.
“There, miss, you are all packed for tomorrow,” Daisy said. “Poor lamb. Would you like some hot milk?”
“No,” Matilda said. “That will be all. Go and help Mrs. Miller.”
“Yes, miss,” Daisy said, not moving.
“What is it?”
“You’re ever so lucky to have a nice beau,” Daisy said. “I feel sorry for that Izabela sometimes. All those men panting after her, but the silly chit couldn’t tell who the good ones were, and who were the villains. Makes a body wonder if she had a brain in her head. Why, to hear Mrs. Miller speak, that Gipsy trader is quite a man. And the butcher boy has prospects, you know. A nice butcher’s shop. I wouldn’t mind that.”
Matilda sat up. “Obviously you know something about the bad men Izabela chose. Have you remembered something about the most recent bad choice?”
“I think his name started with W,” Daisy said, after a moment of reflection. She shrugged. “I knew he was a bad one. It goes without saying.”
“Anything else?”
“No, miss. Nothing else. I am sorry. I just remember the name from Izabela saying her prayers.”
“Could I have missed any mail today?” Matilda asked.
“No, miss, you went through it all. You are most particular.”
Matilda stared at the ragged cuticles on her right hand. “There should have been a ransom note by now.”
“Maybe they won’t write again until they spent the first money. It was a lot of money, miss.”
She tucked her hands against her heart. “They won’t keep Jacob alive that long.”
“You never know. He’s an important boy, and such a dear. Why, I’m sure even an evil snatcher couldn’t help but fall in love with him.”
Wedding Matilda (Redcakes Book 6) Page 21