He had been promising his father that he would find a new idea, a new product, something to turn their business around, and make them more successful than the Mortons. His father had originally looked doubtful, but said little. Now, he had moved to outright mockery, every time Porter mentioned it. He ridiculed Porter, calling him useless and deluded. It was not to be borne any longer. He needed a different approach.
Perhaps he could use the girl after all. He had the beginnings of an idea – he just needed more leverage, something, perhaps, to threaten them with.
He looked at her, considering, as she nattered on at him. Her brother was still away in the Americas, apparently. Good. That should make things easier. The women were far more likely to give in to any demands he made than a man. His tension eased and he smiled. He would succeed yet. He would destroy them, one way or another. He set himself to listening to her again, as they rolled around the Park, and then made their way back to her home.
Once she and the maid were delivered safely, Porter took himself to the Club, to settle in a quiet corner and plan. The men around him talked quietly, mostly about business, but sometimes rather more in the way of gossip. One name caught his attention, and he concentrated on listening to what was said.
“You know that woman who’s running the new business for Morton? The one they call ‘Lady Serafine’? Turns out she really is a Lady born – never would have thought it, to see a Lady born in trade, and doing well, eh? So I asked a few questions. Seems there was some scandal with her family a few years back, and the toffs all dumped them straight. Gave ‘em the cut direct. Their loss – she’s a good business brain on her, and not too hard on the eyes either.”
“Really? Well Morton’s always been clever – no wonder the stuff they’re making does so well with the toffs, she’d understand the sort of stuff they like, alright.”
“True. Don’t give a damn about scandal m’self, if I’m making money.”
They turned to other topics then, and Porter leant back in his chair, tapping his fingers together and smiling.
It was not a pleasant smile.
Now, he had everything he needed. Now, he had a plan that would work. He downed the rest of his drink and left.
~~~~~
At the same point in time as Porter Arbuthnot left the City Trade Club, Lord Geoffrey Clarence, and Charlton Edgeworth, Viscount Pendholm, were settled in Charlton’s study, with brandy of a far better quality than that which Porter had just so happily quaffed. Geoffrey broke the comfortable silence.
“Things have settled a little of late. Hopefully there will be no more assassination plots for a while, although Prinny is rather good at offending people. But the way these last few months have been, I’m glad that, despite Raphael’s fears, things with his family and business have been running smoothly. One thing, though, does concern me a little. Lady Serafine seems unhappy all the time, yet, from what Raphael had said before, and from what Jenkins tells me, when he checks in, she used to be, until a month or so before Raphael left, a cheerful sort. I can’t help but wonder what the problem is.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed the same. I’ve a feeling that Jenkins knows what it’s about, but is too loyal to tell us. She seems a woman who inspires loyalty, one who holds to her word. She’s certainly not like most society women. Most of them, in the situation she found herself in, would have starved. I can’t help but admire her strength and sensible attitude. I suspect she’d get on well with my mother.”
“I suspect you’re right, Charlton.”
A week or so later, Porter Arbuthnot arrived before the Morton house to collect Isabella. He looked, Bella thought, almost alarmingly cheerful, compared to his more recent demeanour. He had been so gruff and vague of late, that she had decided that, after this time, she would not see him anymore. He had become very boring, and seemed less attractive every time she saw him.
They set off as usual, with Liza uncomfortable behind them. Porter drove rather too fast for the busy roads, and Bella wondered if she should have come at all. They stopped in front of a baker’s shop, which was known for its wonderful sweet buns, and Porter handed Liza some money and told her to go and buy some buns for them. Bella was not impressed with this co-opting of her maid’s services, but let it pass.
As soon as Liza had disappeared into the shop, Porter flicked the reins and they shot into motion at an alarming pace.
“What are you doing? You’ve left Liza….”
“She’ll cope. I have a surprise for you – just for you, by yourself. Now be a good girl Miss Morton and wait until we get there.”
Bella gaped at him in shock, then shut her mouth and clung on grimly as they turned precipitously, passing the park and taking a road that led eventually towards one of the warehouse districts. It was not an area in which the Mortons had a warehouse, but she knew that many other merchants did use that locale.
“Mr Arbuthnot… could you, perhaps, go a little more slowly?”
He seemed to not hear her, and the expression on his face was not at all reassuring. Eventually, they reached an area where the warehouses were old, and not in the best of repair, Porter slowed their pace a little, and drew to a halt in front of a warehouse which looked as if it had been unused for some time.
He jumped down, and turned to reach for her.
“Come on then, Miss Morton. Your surprise is inside. Do hurry.”
She hesitated, alarmed by his manner, but saw nothing for it but to humour him. Whatever strange idea he had, she would need him and his carriage to get home. When she gave him her hand, he almost pulled her down, rather than simply assisting her. He kept hold of her hand, and drew her to the door. Unlocking it quickly, he led her inside, before she could remove her hand from his grip. He kicked the door shut with his foot, and darkness surrounded them, only relieved by a few shafts of dull sunlight, where the dust covered windows up high let it in.
Bella blinked, suddenly afraid. She was right to be, for, seconds later, she was shoved forward, hard – hard enough to make her fall to her knees, and then forward again onto her face. She landed on something that felt like a pile of old hessian sacks, and, in a fleeting thought, was glad that it was not a solid brick or packed earth floor beneath her. With her face forced into the sacks, breathing was difficult, and in the moment that she gasped for breath, her hands were pulled behind her, and roughly tied with something that felt like coarse rope.
She twisted desperately, as much to lift her face up from the sacks and breathe as in an attempt to escape.
“How helpful.”
Porter’s voice sounded strange, and, as he spoke, he slid something under her face and pulled it into her mouth, swiftly tying the gag behind her head. She thought, from the texture of it, that it was his scarf – fortunately a high-quality woollen weave, but just the thought that it had recently been against his skin made her gag against it even more.
“Up now.”
He hauled on her arms and half lifted her to her feet as she made choking noises against the gag, then pushed her forward. Across the open space, there was a small room against the back wall – probably, when this warehouse had been in use, a manager’s office. She stumbled through its door in response to his none too gentle push.
“Sit, Miss Morton. You see – I am kind enough to provide a chair. I told you I had a surprise for you. Are you surprised?”
He was, she concluded, insane.
He apparently felt no need of an answer from her, not that she could have done more than make further gagging noises anyway.
“Do make yourself comfortable. I will be back, as soon as possible. Let us hope that your family are cooperative. But, if they’re not, I will have other uses for you, another… surprise… if you will.”
He was definitely insane. His eyes glittered in the dim light, and his movements were rapid and jerky. Bella forced herself to stay still, as panic rose in her. If she could barely breathe now, any attempt to fight her bonds would likely make it worse.
; With one final look at her, and a satisfied nod, he turned and left her. She heard a key grate in the office door, then the sound of the main warehouse door being closed and locked as well.
Terror slid through her, like ice in her veins. No-one knew where she was. No-one would worry for hours, as they expected her to be out for some time. Liza would take quite some time to make her way home, from where she had been abandoned, and raise the alarm – but what could she tell them? Bella was alone, and who knew what Porter might do to her, when he returned? She shivered, and for a moment, she mindlessly fought against the rope, as panic took her.
The sensation of the chair tipping, perilously close to falling over, snapped her back to her senses. Flailing about would gain her nothing. It seemed obvious that the rope was not going to conveniently break, or loosen, so she would have to think of another way out of this trap. She settled to thinking, trying hard to ignore the smell of Porter’s cologne that rose from the scarf that gagged her.
~~~~~
Porter was elated - so far, all was going according to plan. From his coat pocket, he pulled the note that he had written earlier, so that he would be prepared if things went well. From under the carriage seat he removed a rather large old greatcoat, and another scarf. A scarf of lesser quality, he thought, mournfully. Still, the other one was serving an important purpose. A pity that he would likely have to give her back – she looked rather fetching tied up like that.
Satisfied that he looked completely unlike his usual tidy self, he drove some distance, until he found an Inn of moderate quality. Leaving the horse and carriage with the ostler, he looked about the street. As was usual near such a place, a couple of grubby urchins stood about, hoping for errands to run, or a chance to hold horses to earn a penny. He called one of the boys over.
“I’ve a job for you. If you do it well, you’ll get extra money when it’s done.” Porter showed the boy a shilling, and his eyes lit up with greed. “This now, and another of those when you return, with an answer. Take this message to Morton House, wait for an answer, and bring me their reply. Be back here in four hours or sooner. I’ll be in the taproom.”
Once he was sure that the boy knew how to find Morton House, Porter sent him on his way, then settled into a darkened corner of the taproom of the Inn to wait.
~~~~~
The Morton Prosperity was making good time, although the weather looked likely to turn for the worse, and slow her down. Travel westward was always slower than coming home, for the prevailing winds were against them much of the way. Her hold was full of a rich cargo of goods, a mixture of English items, and things drawn from Morton Empire Imports far flung suppliers in India and beyond.
The Captain was pleased – if the previous cargo was any indication, he’d again make a nice profit on his share from this voyage, as he had on the last. Locked in the chest in his quarters, the packet of letters from Raphael’s family and staff lay secure. Letters which spoke of good business, and good days at home, of a brother growing into his duties as a man, of a sister bored with cold weather, of no problems of any kind, of a family who missed him, and a hope for his swift return. Although a return by Christmas seemed now unlikely, perhaps late January was not out of the question.
The ship sailed on, and the mostly fair weather held.
~~~~~
Raphael nodded to his watchman as he left the warehouse. The place was nearly full – he hoped that the Morton Prosperity would make port soon, or they’d need another building. Christmas was approaching at a great rate, and, by his calculations, there was now no chance of them being back in England by then.
They had sent letters with many of the ships going east, over the last few months, and Setford should be pleased, for all was well and a fairly smooth path to the intended treaty was likely.
He had new friends here, and the trade would make his business even more successful, once they established a regular shipping schedule. He ached to be home. If he was honest, he ached to see Sera again, most of all. She was still, after all these months, the thought foremost in his mind, almost all of the time.
His mother had sent letters, and it seemed that all was well. She had mentioned Sera – her hard work on the growing favours business, and her air of perpetual sadness. It cut to his heart to hear it. Could it be… that she missed him? But surely not – she had been so clear in her intent. If it was foolish to hope, he was a great fool, for he could no more prevent himself from doing so than he could stop breathing.
Oliver also was ready to go home – he missed Georgiana terribly, and had, at times, spent the evening over brandy, regaling Raphael with tales of their rather unusual courtship. His delight in his wife was obvious, and he did not hesitate to say how much he loved her. Raphael would listen, and drink, and become a little morose, his heart aching.
It had come to the point, this last week, where he had found himself thinking, as Oliver spoke, ‘I too wish I could be with the woman I love, but for me, it is not so simple as just going home’. The thought had pulled him up sharply, between one breath and the next. ‘The woman I love’ – that was what he had thought – and it was true.
He loved her, he had, he suspected, from almost the first he had met her. He had just been slow to truly know his own heart. Admitting it to himself just made everything worse – for she did not want him, had turned aside from him with that vow never to see or speak to him again.
He wished, in that moment, that he were a child, who could be forgiven for throwing things, for crying, for demonstrating their feelings. But he was a man, and those options were not available. The brandy was.
Oliver seemed to understand, without ever pressing him to talk about it, for which Raphael was profoundly grateful.
The manufactory was closed for another day, a good day’s work done, and Sera appreciated having Alf and the carriage to transport her to Sophia’s door, even though it was just a few blocks distance. The cold was biting, even though it was only late October, reminding her, yet again, how grateful she was for her new life, so far from the bitter desperation of a year ago.
Sophia’s house was warm and inviting as always, and Sera was assailed by the familiar heart ache as she entered – here were people she had come to care for, better friends than the women of the ton had ever been, yet here also was the reminder of the man that she loved, yet had foresworn. What she would do once he returned, and she could no longer come here and be at ease, she did not know. She would deal with that when the time came.
The footman took her coat and hat and she went towards the parlour, sure that she would find Sophia and Isabella there.
As she opened the door, Sophia spun towards her, her face alight with hope. Then, seeing it was Sera, her expression changed, and she resumed pacing about the room.
“Sophia, whatever is the matter? You look distraught.”
“Sera, I’m so worried. It’s Bella – she went driving again with young Arbuthnot this afternoon. Liza went with them, as always. She should have been back an hour ago. But she’s not. I know that he’s never done anything out of order, but I just can’t like that young man. Am I fretting foolishly?”
Sera went forward and took Sophia’s hands, halting her restless pacing.
“I am sure that she will be all right. There must be some explanation, even though I admit it’s worrisome. You must stay calm. Let us call for some tea, and think this through together.”
Once the tea arrived, Sophia managed to settle, and they were discussing the many reasons why Porter Arbuthnot and Bella might have been delayed, when they heard a knock at the door. Sophia started, for Bella would not be knocking like that, so who could it be?
Moments later, the footman tapped on the parlour door.
“Mrs Morton, there is a very… unsavoury… looking young man at the door, and he’s brought this message. He says he’s been told to wait for an answer.”
Sophia took the proffered note, which, although on good paper and sealed with a plain seal, had suffe
red from its transport in the hands of what must be a street urchin. She peeled it open, and read the words. As she read, the colour drained from her face.
She staggered a little, dropping onto the couch, and thrust the missive at Sera. Sera took it, and gasped as she began to read. It was scrawled in an inelegant, yet educated hand.
If you wish to see your daughter again, you will follow my instructions. You will sign over the entire Parkmorton Gifts business to Arbuthnot Traders. The papers for this must be delivered no later than a day from now. You will tell no-one of your actions, and you will cooperate with the provision of operating and customer information. Should you not comply, you will not see your daughter again, and you will lose the business anyway, as the gossips of the ton will be made aware of the scandalous Lady Serafine’s association with this business – and will, of course, feel it necessary to shun those products.
Cooperation is in your best interests. Send confirmation of your compliance with the one who delivered this message, and instructions for the handover of the papers will be provided.
Yours
A Friend of Your Enemies.
Sera’s face also went white, but she felt far from faint. Instead, a white-hot anger rushed through her system. How dare he! And oh, would the consequences of her brother’s ruin at the hands of the devil Pendholm never end? She was so ashamed that her very existence had put Bella in danger, that, in that moment, she would have given anything to go back in time, and change her actions, so that she never walked through the door of Morton Empire Imports.
But going back in time was not a possibility. This must be dealt with, and now. Sophia had, while Sera read, recovered from her near faint, and also reached a point where anger was her dominant emotion.
“I will not lose my daughter! But nor will I lose your business, and Raphael’s, to an insane young upstart. We will find a way to defeat this. Raphael told me, before he left, that Jenkins knew who, of his wartime friends, to contact, should we have trouble of any kind. I thought him foolish to expect any problems that might need such intervention, but it seems he is wiser than I.”
Winning the Merchant Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 8) Page 6