“Climb onto the hay,” she told Alice. “It will be warmer than the floor.” She worked on one of the bundles, pulling until she loosened the hay from the ropes. At last she had enough to spread over themselves and ward off the frigid temperature of the night. They huddled together and, eventually, their shivering eased. Alice relaxed into sleep, but Julia remained awake. The situation was too much like her nightmares, the painful and frightening memories of violence and separation.
Why had Renard sent Beatrice away? Did she survive and live somewhere else? Julia shivered, the too-familiar loneliness chilled her more than the night air. Only Renard would know. Yet, if he was part of the scheme as Ned claimed, she dared not approach him to ask. But could she accept not knowing the truth now that she remembered that jumbled night when they’d arrived in England? Now that she knew Renard had lied? Tears gathered behind her lids. Papa. Maman. Her brothers Andre and Etienne. Gone so long, but their voices still visited her in her dreams. She blinked the tears away. She didn’t know how, but if she escaped the perils that surrounded her and Alice, she would find some way to learn Beatrice’s fate. To do either, she needed to formulate a plan. And she would need every bit of courage she could find.
They would have to leave the warehouse come dawn, but where could they go? Alice was the key to controlling Lord Goodwin, and the traitors gaining the information they wanted. Julia couldn’t take Alice to any of Goodwin’s friends. Ned and Tom would expect Julia to take her there, and that would make Alice vulnerable again.
Julia herself knew no one in London who did not also know her cousin, if they acknowledged her at all. Her disastrous behavior had made her persona-non-grata among the ton—as demonstrated by the message Tristan had received from his superior. As confirmed by his superior’s mother, Lady Ravencliffe. Yes!
She didn’t dare approach the Earl of Ravencliffe at the Foreign Office— again, her cousin would find out. But if they went to the earl’s mother, Julia could contact Tristan’s superior without giving away their presence to anyone connected to her cousin. Lady Ravencliffe might refuse to admit her since the countess had witnessed Julia’s disgrace, but Julia could think of nothing else. She tucked Alice closer and pulled more straw over them. It shouldn’t be difficult to discover where Lady Ravencliffe lived.
Despite her best effort, Julia dozed off only to wake with a start when the rattle of a wagon warned her morning had dawned. She gently shook Alice awake. “Come, Alice. We must leave before we are found.”
They finger-combed their hair and brushed stay wisps of hay from their hair and clothes as much as possible. As she straightened their wrinkled clothing, Julia wondered if Ned had returned the night before or if he still might return this morning. She could not let Alice fall into their hands again.
When they were ready to leave, she knelt down and stared into Alice’s eyes. “Tom and Ned may still be looking for us. If they see us or we see them, I want you to run as fast as you can and hide until they are gone. You remember how Mr. Sheffield taught you?”
Alice nodded solemnly.
“Though I pray we are not separated, do not wait for me to catch up. Find a shop and ask for direction to the Earl of Ravencliffe’s residence. He is Mr. Sheffield’s superior and will keep you safe. Go there as fast as you can. When you arrive, tell the butler who you are and that Mr. Sheffield sent you there for safety. I shall do the same.” She hugged Alice to her and prayed nothing went wrong and that they would locate the earl’s home together.
She stood and took Alice’s hand. “Remember. If I let go of your hand—run!”
THE COLD WET OF THE day before had cleared and high billowing clouds sailed across blue skies by the time Tristan sauntered into the Gray Whale Tavern. He took a seat near the back and signaled the serving girl for a pint. Pools of lamplight eased the dark interior and the rich aroma of foreign tobaccos mixed with the sharp tang of ales and gin. The tavern’s location made it a popular gathering place for both sailors and merchants, and the crowded tables meant he’d made a good choice for his investigation. Maisie’s men would inform him if any word of Julia or Alice surfaced in his old neighborhood.
With Seven Dials under surveillance, Tristan hoped to rule out the docks where women often disappeared into the brothels—or illegally into ships bound for the slave markets of foreign ports. Until the tide allowed ships to sail tonight, he had time to scout the area and listen for gossip of trafficked goods. One thing his experience assured him was that gossip had no social barriers, and men in taverns were the worst of the lot.
He’d exchanged the casual clothes of a Surrey squire for the rough clothing of a dockworker again. No one paid him any attention as he surveyed the room.
Arriving home after months at sea, sailors took full advantage of the women working the dockside brothels. They also regaled each other with comparisons of the prowess and the skills of their favorites. Any new or unusual offerings would sweep through the tavern as quickly as a wave in a storm.
Jane Dawes had already sent word that Julia was not at Summerfield’s townhouse. The cook, Mrs. Dawes had reported, let slip that two of the earl’s footmen were missing from their posts, though she did not yet know if their absence was of any import. Tristan suspected it was. Someone had made off with Julia and Alice and he believed it was someone Julia knew. Either way, she had been rushed from the house. The question remained as to whether Summerfield knew of their actions or if someone else betrayed his name.
An hour later, he signaled the tavern maid for another pint. Sitting in a tavern waiting for some tidbit of information that might or might not come his way made him impatient and irritable. His instinct screamed at him to stride through every building along the quay until he discovered whether or not Julia and Alice were in the district. His intellect and experience told him to be patient and keep his ears alert to the gossip and conversations filling the room.
He fought his guilt for choosing to take time away from Julia and the aching awareness that plagued him whenever she came near. They would not be in the danger they were in had he kept them in sight the way he should have. Had he not allowed his personal comfort to take precedence over the child and woman in his charge, he would not have been caught off guard. In fact, Alice’s chatter would have prevented him from drifting into the relaxed state that had left vulnerable to assault. Certainly Julia’s presence would have kept him fully on alert.
Another hour passed before he caught the tail end of a sentence that made him adjust his seat and send a glance toward the speaker.
“–raised a ruckus, she did. Opened my door t’see what was what, but Ned shot me a look so I closed it quick. He ain’t a man to interfere with.”
The speaker sat with two other men at a table to Tristan’s left. Rail thin with a bulbous nose and balding head, the man picked up his glass and took a swig.
“Ned’s back?” This from the wiry, ginger-haired man who looked like a warehouse clerk. “He ain’t brought no one to market for six months or more. Thought he’d given that up when ‘is boss took sick.”
“Naw. He weren’t done, just set it aside for a bit.” This from the third, and most muscular man of the trio. “He told me his boss had other more important fish to fry—and with better profit.”
“Well, it looks like he’s back to the game-pullet supply trade, and he’s branched out. Had a little-un with him, too.”
That made Tristan clench his fist around his glass.
“Never did like trade with little ‘uns,” the ginger-hair mused. “No tits or bush to raise my interest. There’s more to swivin’ than a poke.”
That made the other two chuckle and agree.
“Speakin’ of swivin’,” the muscular one said. “What say we pay a visit around the corner when we’re finished here? Plenty of tits and bush there.”
“No time like the present,” declared the bald man. They each drained their glasses and stood. “There’s a buxom redhead there who knows how to give a man his money’s wor
th.”
“Hell, you fool,” scoffed the ginger-hair as they wove their way past Tristan’s table. “They all do.”
TRISTAN ENTERED THE tall narrow building where he’d followed the bald man from the tavern, and after he left the brothel. Footsteps led him to the second floor where the sound of the door closing told Tristan the man had reached his rooms. No light showed from the windows and the building was almost silent. Someone had cooked fish earlier. And onions. The walls were thin enough he heard someone cough, but no one stirred.
The woman “who raised ruckus,” surely Julia, had been on these stairs so the criminals and their captives must be on the third floor. He lit his miner’s lamp, climbed to the next level, and carefully tried the first door at the top of the landing. Locked.
Time to pick locks after checking the entire floor. When he reached the second apartment, he found the door ajar. The room was empty, but footprints in the dust assured him someone had occupied it recently. His stomach lurched. They must have been moved on. To a local brothel? To a ship bound for a foreign slave market? Slavery might be illegal in England, but it was not forbidden in other lands.
He held the lamp a bit higher, and a glint beside the door revealed a woman’s bent hairpin. Relief washed over him and his lips lifted into a wry smile. Julia. Only a pin twisted with purpose would take that shape. The one he’d shown her how to form.
Small footprints in the dust mixed with the larger ones further convinced him Julia and Alice had been held here. He carefully checked the rest of the space in the front room. There was no sign of struggle, but several lengths of rope lay on the floor. If they’d been caught, the ropes wouldn’t have been left behind. They must have escaped, so where were they now? Julia knew the dangers women faced on the street at night. She would look for a place to hide until daylight, but where would they go come dawn? Her cousin’s? Whoever had taken Julia had obviously been known to both her and her cousin. If her captors were employees of Summerfield, she would know better than to go there. Nor would she dare the Foreign Office. She was too clever for that. If they worked in Summerfield’s home or office, as he was coming to believe, the kidnappers would easily discover where they were.
Tristan circled the block in a futile attempt to search for any clue as to which way Julia and Alice had gone. Intermittent rain-washed the street of any foot trace and there were too many darkened buildings to locate people hiding in the pitch-black night. He knew if he found sign, whoever had held them would have, too. The empty rooms convinced him Julia had succeeded in running to ground. But had she run into more trouble along the docks?
CHAPTER 18
Julia carefully scanned the crowd for their captors. Was Tom awake and looking for them? Had Ned returned? A low ground fog had risen with the passing of the rain, and she peered ahead, her heart beating quick time in her chest.
The rain from the night before hadn’t lessened the rank odors from the river, nor had it washed away the grime embedded in the structures surrounding them. She checked around the corner of a narrow alley before leading Alice onto a broader thoroughfare. The wider street allowed more carriage traffic, and the rattle of delivery carts and the steady clop of horse’s hooves on the cobblestones threatened to overwhelm her. She had conquered her fear of Portsmouth’s streets, but London loomed larger and noisier.
The best way to hide, Mr. Sheffield had declared, was to make yourself fit in with the people around you. Julia noted that most walked swiftly as they accomplished their errands for their employers. Few dawdled, and those who did stood out from those who moved with purpose. Determination made her square her shoulders and stride down the street as though she and Alice had an appointment of import to accomplish. Swallowing her fear, Julia approached a young woman carrying a basket of fruit to ask the location of the Ravencliffe residence.
When they finally reached the address, Julia would have abandoned the quest if not for Alice. The great townhouse dominated the square with a bay window and lions atop the pillars on either side of the door. Julia might be a gentlewoman from a noble family, but it had been a long time since she had broached the exclusive environs of her theoretical peers.
Alice grasped Julia’s hand a bit tighter, their bare hands nearly blue with the cold, and she remembered why she needed to take this step. The child needed a warm, safe place. Certainly, if the countess refused to acknowledge Julia, the woman would not leave Lord Goodwin’s seven-year-old daughter unprotected.
Gathering her courage, Julia stepped to the door and released the knocker. She forced herself to stand straight with her hands at her sides her head held high.
The elderly butler who opened the door assessed them silently, obviously deciding if they should be sent to the servants’ entrance or merely turned away without bothering the master or mistress of the house.
“Miss Julia Dorsey and Miss Alice Goodwin to see Lord or Lady Ravencliffe, if you please,” Julia told him. ‘It is a matter of some import.”
The butler eased his stance a bit when he heard Julia’s cultured speech, but he did not invite them into the foyer. “They are attending a function today. I shall give them your card if you would leave it.”
Dismay washed through her. She had so depended upon Lady Ravencliffe to be home. She could not give up. They could not wander the streets until some unknown time when the earl or countess returned. Even if she did not fear being found by Ned or Tom, she and Alice were tired and hungry. If not for Alice, she would be at the end of her courage.
“I’m afraid I have no cards with me,” Julia said with dignity. That made him stiffen again, and Julia said, “The child and I have been—“ She stopped before revealing the details to a servant. Proper as he might appear, news spread through London through the servant connections ever faster than through the ton.
She shifted Alice to stand in front of her. “Miss Goodwin is in need of protection and a safe haven. We have no other place to go. If we may wait in a receiving room until either of them returns, I believe they will not object to finding us here.”
The butler looked down his rather long nose at Alice. She returned the assessment, blue eyes wide with appeal. After a moment, he stepped back and widened the door to allow them in. “You may wait in the small parlor for their return.”
As they followed him to the small receiving room, Julia’s stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard all the way to the docks, and she felt the telltale heat of embarrassment wash up her neck and across her cheeks. The butler gave no sign he noticed, but soon after he left them, a young maid arrived with a pot of chocolate and a plate of scones.
During their wait, Julia assured Alice that the countess would welcome her once she knew of their presence. She answered Alice’s questions about them as well as she was able. She remembered the countess had gently led Julia from the Barkley’s terrace to a side room all those years ago, and closed the door in the faces of the avidly curious. Alice would be cared for properly.
But would she?
That selfish thought made her ashamed, but did not answer the question of what would become of Julia once the Foreign Office learned the truth about her cousin and took him into custody. His properties would be confiscated by the crown and Julia would need to find a way to support herself. She had no idea where to begin. Though he’d never been a particularly attentive guardian, Renard had lessened the void of family in Julia’s life. Now, with her cousin’s reported double betrayal and treason, the future threatened destitution. She had no one at all.
Unless Beatrice lived.
Ned said Renard sold women, had sold Beatrice. Despite her fears for Alice and worries about her own future, a tiny flame of hope burned and she vowed she would find a way to search out the truth.
The clock chimed the passing hours three times before Julia heard the butler open the door and greet Lord and Lady Ravencliffe as they returned from their afternoon out. Julia’s heartbeat leapt and she clenched her hands into her skirts before smoothing the cloth again. A
lice, finally warm and fed, had fallen asleep in Julia’s lap.
She whispered, “Wake up, dear. They’re here.”
When the receiving room’s door opened, they both stood. Lord Ravencliffe entered the room followed by Lady Ravencliffe. Her blond hair had a few more silver strands than Julia remembered, but her expression was as kindly as it had been when she had assisted Julia the night of the disastrous ball.
Julia curtsied. “I apologize for my unannounced arrival. I knew of no other place to go.”
“Better that you had remained in Surrey,” Ravencliffe said bluntly. Of similar height to Tristan, Ravencliffe had his mother’s blond hair but none of her soothing manner. “Mr. Sheffield is searching the city under the impression you were abducted.”
“We were.” Relief surged through her. Tristan lived. “When the men arrived, I thought my cousin had sent his footmen to bring us to his residence.” She studied the earl’s face searching for some sign he believed her. “It was not until we were bound and locked into a room near the docks that I learned the truth. Bracing herself for his condemnation, she blurted, “The Earl of Summerfield is a traitor.”
TRISTAN RELUCTANTLY returned to his rooms in St. James after searching in vain for Alice and Julia. When he arrived, he found a message from Ravencliffe instructing him to report to the earl’s home for breakfast.
Tristan had never been invited to Ravencliffe’s for breakfast in all the years he’d known the earl. He could only think of one reason why he would be now. A glimmer of hope lifted the tension he’d carried since discovering them gone. Julia knew of Ravencliffe’s role as Tristan’s superior. Had she found him?
Had it not been so late he would have chanced Ravencliffe’s ire and gone to see him immediately. He slept well, but was awake early.
Upon his arrival at the townhouse the next morning, Billings opened the door and immediately stepped back to allow him entrance. “Good morning, Mr. Sheffield. Everyone is in the breakfast room. If you will follow me?”
Chasing Scandal Page 12