The Society Catch (Harlequin Historical)

by Allen, Louise

  She broke off, panting, and watched the expressions on the two predatory faces opposite her. There was calculation going on and for a moment she dared hope, then Lucille said, ‘No. She would, of course, say that to buy time. But even if it were true, if we released her, she has seen us. As it is, a few months in Milo’s care and her family, if they exist, will not want her back to shame them.’

  She took the valise from her brother’s hand and opened it, sorting roughly through its contents. She removed a nail file and a pair of scissors, then tossed it into the room. ‘There. Now, rest and do not try to make a noise. There is no one to hear you and you will not want to annoy Thaddeus. He would not leave a mark on you, naturally, but you would be sorry none the less.’

  The door closed and Joanna heard the sharp click of a lock, then the further sound of two bolts being drawn. Shaking in every limb she sank down on the bed and tried to think, tried to plan, but all that was in her head were those obscene words. Someone was going to pay to…to… No! She buried her face in her hands and still the Thoroughgoods’ words invaded her mind, a rape in themselves. Pay to watch…pay handsomely to watch…

  It was impossible. Of course, men went to brothels, she knew that. But surely they went because they wanted women who knew what they were about, who would know how to give them pleasure? How could they want to watch a terrified girl being raped, let alone carry out the act? The sheer perversity and wickedness of such a thing steadied her as she applied her reason to it. There were people who got pleasure from being cruel to animals, there were bullies, people who maltreated their servants; perhaps this was an extreme example of that. But that there should be so many men that a brothel keeper could grow rich from them was appalling. Had she met such men? Could they go about in society hiding such evil behind a mask of respectability?

  The thought brought her back to her own fate and, for all her courage, she suddenly gave way to racking sobs, curled up on the musty counterpane where, she supposed through her misery, other girls had sobbed in despair before her. Other girls. Joanna sat up, scrubbing the back of her hand across her wet eyes. Other girls. If she did nothing, not only was she damned to this hell, but all the others who followed her would be. Under no circumstances was she going to be worthy of Giles if she gave up now.

  Joanna blew her nose, got to her feet and examined the room. Her legs felt like string, every now and again a sob escaped her, but she forced herself to search. There was nothing that could be used as a weapon. The bed was screwed to the floor, the sheets were thin with age and would tear easily. The washstand was bare of ewer or basin and under the bed the chamber pot was of such thin china that it would hardly bruise a head if she struck someone with it.

  The door, as she expected, did not even move when she pressed against it and there was no handle on her side. The window was barred, not with wood, but with iron set into the frame, and the opening sash had been screwed up.

  Joanna stared out down the front drive to the glimpse of road at the gate. Could she attract attention if someone passed? No, she would have no warning of their passing, the hedge was so high.

  So, she could not escape from here. Then it would have to be the carriage when it came. From what the Thoroughgoods had said, there might be other girls in it, girls in the same predicament. That seemed too easy—a carriage full of frantic, healthy young women would be difficult to control. In the Thoroughgoods’ shoes, if it were possible to imagine inhabiting them, she would drug the prisoners. Which meant she must not eat or drink anything, dispose of what she was given, and then feign the right kind of reaction to an unknown drug.

  Difficult…Joanna paced away from the window. The practical problem of escape was mercifully blocking out the true horror of her situation, but it lurked in the back of her mind, surfacing every now and again to send shocks of paralysing terror through her before she could wrestle control back again.

  Giles…what would Giles do if he were captured? The thought steadied her again, gave her courage, something to fight for. If she never saw him again, if these evil people defeated her, she would at least know she had done all she could and had not been a feeble victim.

  There was the sound of carriage wheels on the drive outside and she ran to the window. Surely this was not the threatened Milo Thomas so soon? But all she could see was a curricle, the reins looped around the whip, a pair of handsome matched greys in the shafts standing steaming, their heads down.

  Probably a friend of the Thoroughgoods. But what if it were not? What if this were some innocent neighbour or passer-by? Joanna looked around the room wildly. Faintly from below came the thud of the knocker sounding. How could she open the window? The door below must have opened, for she could just hear the rumble of masculine voices. Desperately she snatched a sheet from the bed, wound it around her fist and punched a hole through the glass.

  ‘Help! Oh, help!’ she screamed, hitting the glass again until it showered down on to the front step below. ‘Help!’ There was a scuffle from below, then silence.

  Joanna snatched up a long sliver of glass from the floor and ran to the door, standing at the hinge edge, desperately trying to quieten her gasping breath. There was a noise on the landing and the sound of bolts being dragged back. The visitor? Or Thaddeus Thoroughgood? If it was Thaddeus she was going to stab him, she had no doubt about it, not even the slightest qualm. The back would be the place…

  The door swung open, she took a step forward and a voice she could not believe she was hearing said, ‘Joanna?’

  ‘Giles?’ She must be hallucinating, delirious, the whole thing was a dream. Then he came into sight around the door and she was stumbling forwards and into his arms, the lethal glass dagger falling unregarded to the floor. She was saved: and saved, miraculously by the man she loved. ‘Giles, oh, Giles…how did you find me? These people…oh!’ Over his shoulder she saw Lucille, a poker clenched in her fist, her arm upraised to strike. ‘Behind you!’

  Naturally Joanna had never seen a fight, let alone men boxing, but even she could appreciate the economy and power of the single blow that Giles delivered as he swung round. It took Lucille perfectly on the point of the chin and she went down with a thud, quite still.

  ‘Damn it!’ Giles knelt beside the recumbent form. ‘I’ve never hit a woman before.’

  ‘I hope you have broken her neck,’ Joanna said vehemently, startling him. He had expected tears, fainting, but not such fierceness. She must have been terrified: he recollected the feeling of her quivering body as she hugged him so fiercely. ‘Where is her brother?’

  ‘Unconscious on the hall floor. Joanna, never mind them, are you—’

  ‘Yes, I am fine, thanks to you,’ she said, regarding Lucille with a wary eye. She did not appear to understand what he was really asking, and he did not persist. Time enough for that. ‘Giles, we must not risk these two escaping before we can get the magistrate. I cannot begin to tell you how evil they are.’

  Giles had formed a very good suspicion of exactly what he was dealing with as soon as he heard the landlady’s tale of the kind clergyman and the string of unfortunate young ladies who all had their pockets picked on the stage. The last few miles, springing the already tired horses, had been a battle between his imagination and years of disciplined calm under extreme pressure. Now he simply nodded, accepting what she said without questioning her. ‘Is there a room where we can lock them up?’

  Joanna put her head around the adjacent door. ‘This one, the window is not broken. Oh—’ She broke off, turning to him, her eyes wide with horror. ‘Oh, look.’ The room had manacles bolted to the wall at the bed head.

  She had gone so white that Giles thought she was about to faint. He put an arm around her and she looked up into his eyes, her own dark with, he realised with a jolt, burning anger. ‘Put them in here,’ she said fiercely. ‘Shackle them to the bed.’

  Before he could respond she was running downstairs, the poker in her hand. ‘Joanna, stop!’ For a horrible moment he thought
she was going to strike the unconscious man who sprawled on the dingy tiled floor, but she was only standing over him, watchful for any sign of returning consciousness.

  Giles crouched, hauled Thaddeus over his shoulder and stood up in one clean movement, only a slight grunt of expelled breath revealing the effort it took. Joanna ran upstairs after him, and, when he turned from dropping Thoroughgood on to the bed, she was already dragging his sister into the room by both arms.

  He picked up the unconscious woman and laid her on the bed beside her brother, then snapped a shackle around one wrist of each. ‘Now, where are the keys, I wonder?’

  ‘Here.’ Joanna, who had been carefully checking the room for anything that might give the Thoroughgoods assistance, picked up the key from the bare washstand. She bent over Lucille, pulling the hair pins from her head and the reticule from her waist. ‘They might pick the lock,’ she said tersely. ‘What has he got?’

  Giles raised his eyebrows at this ruthless practicality, but if it was helping Joanna he was not going to try and distract her. He removed Thaddeus’s tiepin and patted his pockets, coming up with a roll of bank-notes, a leather wallet and a pretty guinea purse.

  ‘That is mine!’ Joanna reached across and took it, clutching it tight in her fist. ‘He stole in on the stage.’

  ‘I know,’ Giles said, keeping his voice low and calm, sensing that it would take very little to tip her over the edge. ‘Come downstairs now, they are quite secure.’

  ‘Lock and bolt the door.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He reached up and pulled across the topmost bolt, allowing her to turn the key and shoot the lower bolt. Let her be certain her nightmare was safely shut away.

  ‘Now, come downstairs and I will see if there is anything for you to eat or drink in the kitchen.’ Joanna let him guide her down the stairs, her arm quivering under his hand. All at once she stiffened.

  ‘Miss Thoroughgood! Miss Thoroughgood, ma’am!’ A thin voice was calling from the back of the house, coming closer, accompanied by the sound of shuffling footsteps.

  Giles pushed Joanna firmly behind him and called, ‘Who is there?’

  ‘Just me, Mrs Penny, Mr Thoroughgood… Oh! Who are you, sir?’

  It was a woman, perhaps in her fifties, perhaps older, skinny in a shabby hand-me-down dress covered by a large sacking apron, her straggling grey hair pulled back into a bun. She stood wringing her hands in front of her, obviously completely unable to cope with the unexpected sight of two strangers in the hallway. Giles noticed with a pang how red and sore her hands looked.

  ‘Do you work for Miss Thoroughgood?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I comes in three times a week and does the rough cleaning.’

  ‘Does she have any other servants?’

  ‘No sir, just me.’ She did not seem able to ask what they were doing there, just stood and stared at them.

  ‘Well, Mrs Penny, I am sorry to tell you that Mr and Miss Thoroughgood are a pair of rogues of the worst kind and are going to be handed over to the Justices and will come to a very bad end.’

  ‘Gawd, sir!’ Her eyes widened. Giles could not believe for a moment that she had any idea what had been going on in the house.

  ‘I am Colonel Gregory, and this young lady is my…my sister. Now, Mrs Penny, where is the sitting room?’

  ‘In the front, sir…Colonel, sir.’ She threw open a door on to the most comfortable and well-kept room they had seen so far. Giles steered Joanna firmly towards the sofa. She moved when he pushed her, but made no effort to sit.

  ‘Can you make the young lady a cup of tea, Mrs Penny?’ The woman nodded, but he saw the anxiety in her eyes and how her hands were twisting in the apron again. ‘Now, you are not to worry. No one will think you have had anything to do with this. What are you paid?’

  ‘Sixpence a week, sir.’

  ‘And when were you last paid?’

  Her brow wrinkled with the effort to remember. ‘Three weeks ago, sir.’

  Giles fished in his pocket. ‘Here,’ he handed over a coin which made her gasp. ‘That will pay your back wages and is some extra for your trouble today. Now, the tea?’

  ‘That was kind,’ Joanna observed faintly as he pushed her gently onto the sofa.

  Giles sat down beside her, but did not try to touch her. He was puzzled that she showed no surprise at seeing him: perhaps the shock was just so all-encompassing that she would not have questioned any familiar face.

  ‘Joanna, did he touch you?’ he asked, and this time he saw she understood him.

  ‘Oh, no. There was no danger of that.’ Her voice was calm and, although faint, quite clear. ‘He wanted a virgin, you understand. He made it very plain what for, and that was where my value lay.’

  Giles had suspected that as soon as he realised that there was a woman in the scheme. Thoroughgood was not a solitary pervert, kidnapping girls for his own gratification. No, he was a trader in a very specialised commodity. But he had hoped that Joanna had not realised and that nothing had been said to shatter that innocence. He wanted to take her in his arms; even without touching her he could see the fine tremor running through her entire body. Her skin was so pale it seemed translucent and her eyes appeared unfocussed. But how would she react to being touched by a man now?

  She did not respond when Mrs Penny came in with the tea. Giles nodded thanks to the woman and told her to get on with the tasks she normally carried out but not to venture upstairs, whatever she heard.

  He pressed a cup into Joanna’s hand, but she could not hold it steady so he put it down again to let it cool. After a moment she turned and looked at him, although he could not tell whether she really understood who she was talking to.

  ‘He said that they would get a very good price from the man who…from the man—’ She broke off, biting her lip. ‘And money from those who would pay to watch. They said a man called Milo Thomas would come and collect me in a coach. I think there will be other girls in it.’

  ‘How can that be?’ Joanna asked him, her face reflecting her desperate need to understand. ‘I know men go to brothels, have mistresses. Of course I do. And I am not so foolish as to believe that women would not turn to such a way of life if they had better alternatives. But surely men want someone who knows how to make love? Is that not more pleasant? Yet there must be many men like those he was talking about, otherwise how could the brothel keepers and people like the Thoroughgoods make money from them? How could it be worth the risks?’

  Giles wished vehemently that he was not the one having to answer her questions. In fact, he would rather have found himself surrounded by French cavalry at that moment. If he got this wrong…

  ‘The vast majority of men are perfectly decent and normal,’ he said, keeping his voice as steady and quiet as he could. ‘Just as you imagine, they want to enjoy themselves, and they want the woman they are with to enjoy herself as well, whether it is within marriage, or outside it. Normal men,’ he added, with a hint of a smile, ‘would feel it a slur on their manhood if the lady did not find pleasure in their attentions.

  ‘But there are some who like cruelty, like to inflict pain. I think it must be about feeling powerful, that men who do not feel assured of themselves like to dominate someone weaker. Some stick at bullying their families and servants, others maltreat their horses. Some, just a few, go further. It is not many, Joanna, you must not assume that half the men you meet and know socially are like this, hiding a wolf’s teeth under a human smile. But the ones who enjoy such things can usually pay for it, and pay very well to get exactly what they want.’

  She looked at him, and he could see her eyes were beginning to focus a little and knew she had listened and understood. As he watched, her rigid calm began to falter and the tears started to well up in her eyes, which had turned a dark, dull brown.

  ‘Joanna, come here.’ Without stopping to think whether she might fight him, he leant forward, took her in his arms and lifted her on to his knee, holding her tight against his chest. ‘Most men are
decent men who respect women. Men like your father, like Alex, like William will be when he grows up.’

  He could feel the front of his shirt becoming wet. She was crying almost silently. Then she nodded and he heard her voice, muffled. ‘Like you.’

  ‘Yes. Like me. I would never hurt you, Joanna.’ For some reason that seemed to make things worse: in the tightness of his embrace he could feel her sobbing fiercely. Not knowing what to say, or whether it was better just to let her weep, he simply held her, his face buried in the silk of her hair, his body shaken with the force of her sobs. Never, in his entire thirty years, had he felt so violently protective towards a living creature, nor had he ever known himself to be in such a killing rage. He could not trust himself to open that door upstairs without a restraining presence or there would be murder done.

  Finally the sobs died down and he tentatively let his arms fall away from her. Joanna sat up a little, but otherwise made no attempt to move from his knee.

  ‘Would you like some tea?’ She nodded and reached out for the cup, sitting there sipping it like a trusting child in his lap.

  She put it down at last and turned to face him, her eyes still drowned in tears. ‘He did not touch me, but it still feels like…’ she struggled with the word ‘…like rape.’

  ‘Because he forced those words into your mind, he forced that image into your imagination?’

  ‘Yes, exactly that. You understand so well. Now I cannot make them go away.’

  Giles thought carefully before he spoke, then simply trusted to his instincts. ‘They were only words. They were only images, they were not reality, because you would not let them be. You were fighting back, you were not a victim. Those things would not have happened because you were never going to give up.’