by Sahara Kelly
He knew, deep inside, what was planned for the Dower House.
How did he know?
He’d seen it before, when he arrested the sons of two high-ranking members of parliament.
They were charged with raping a girl and they had the gall to deny right it in front of the child’s broken body. Their drunken protestations barely covered her whimpers—a sound Burke had never forgotten. The house they were in was an elegant mansion, “borrowed” from a friend who was making the Grand Tour.
The bedrooms were made up, the salon littered with bottles, most empty. But as Burke had checked the rest of the house, he found the kitchen all but deserted. The servants’ quarters were dark and there were two men acting as butlers, hired for the evening and paid well to turn a blind eye to whatever happened.
Of course, the two young men had been exonerated. Parental influence, when coming from the highest levels at Court, could work miracles. Burke, disgusted, asked to be transferred and his request was quickly granted. He realized he was a threat to the peace of mind of two members of the House of Lords. He used it to his advantage and moved out of London, vowing never to return.
But before he left, he took a measure of comfort in the news that one of those monsters had met an untimely end at the hands of some ruffians outside his club one foggy night.
Burke liked to think that one of them might have had a young sister and that they knew exactly what they were doing. It felt…justified.
All these memories resurfaced as he found himself nearing Harbury Hall’s Dower House.
He was familiar with it, having walked this way several times before. But now he saw lamps lit inside and a couple of servants freshening the curtains and cleaning the windows.
He followed the path that led toward the rear and found himself looking at a winter garden, a few straggling herbs and some evergreens lending color to an otherwise cold vista.
There was the servants’ entrance, as Portia had mentioned. And it clearly opened into a kitchen, since there were pipes leading inside and a well outside, just in case the water system failed or froze. All typical of the working side of a house like this.
But there was no activity in there, no lamps, nothing he could see through the grimy window but a faint glow from the front of the house.
More disturbed than ever, he turned his steps away and headed back. He needed to talk to Charlotte…and most of all he needed to keep Portia as far away as possible from this place.
His memory jogged him. That couple he’d seen, the red haired woman and the man he still hadn’t been able to identify—they’d been driving away from here. From the Dower House.
So if he could learn who they were, then perhaps he’d be a step closer to finding out what was going on. And, if necessary, stopping it.
After all, it was his job.
*~~*~~*
“No, no, I told you earlier. The baby blue ribbon, not the sky blue. What is the matter with you?”
Louise Onslow put her hands on her hips and stared at Daisy, while the other twin looked shamefaced and kept her gaze lowered.
“Nothing, Mrs. Onslow, honest.” Daisy’s lip trembled.
“Don’t you lie to me, girl. You and your sister have been tittuping around here all week like you’ve got ants in your knickers. What on earth is going on?”
“Not a thing, Mrs. Onslow. It’s just getting into winter and we’re hoping to spend a bit more time with our friend from London. She’s ever so nice and it’s been lovely having her with us. We hopes that mebbe she can stay through Christmas.”
“Well that’s nothing to get all hot and bothered about.” Mrs. Onslow snorted and turned back to her counter. “We’re in the millinery business not the have-a-good-time business. So get on with it.”
Maisie glanced at her sister and winked. Daisy winked back.
The bell tinkled as the door opened to admit a customer, and there were two matching gasps and exclamations as the girls recognized Mary O’Malley.
“Good afternoon, Ma’am. How may we help you?”
Mrs. Onslow was all smiles, and Mary smiled back. “I’m told you make the best hats south of London, so I thought I’d better come and see for myself. Especially since you have two such enchanting assistants.” She removed her bonnet and let the sunlight catch her flaming red hair. “Girls, may I have a quick hug? I don’t want to disturb your work, but I couldn’t not visit this lovely establishment.”
“Goodness, well I suppose just for a moment.” The voice was not encouraging, but not discouraging either.
Mary knew the woman had already priced both the bonnet and modest gown Mary wore, and had her pigeonholed as a client with a few pounds to spare. She smiled as she opened her arms to the twins and gave them a quick hug.
“All set for tomorrow night,” she whispered into Daisy’s ear, quickly moving back from their embrace and tucking a lock of hair back beneath Maisie’s cap. “Thank you…Mrs. Onslow, isn’t it? I do love your shop.”
“And how are you finding Little Harbury, Madam?”
“Quite delightful. I was lucky enough to secure a charming room at the Arms and the girls are quite close to me. It’s an excellent arrangement and I am very much enjoying both the country and their company.”
“It’s been quite chilly and rainy of late, though. Such a pity. You should see it in the spring. Quite a sight, I must say.”
“It must be indeed.” Mary moved to a display of bonnets. “You know, I would rather fancy a wool bonnet to keep the winter cold away.” She turned to the older woman. “What would you suggest?”
“Hmm.” There was a moment’s silence as the mistress of millinery assessed her customer. “With your wonderful hair, it has to be a forest green. And I’d encourage you to think silver ribbons…so delightfully wintry against the lush wool. A daring combination but I know on you it will look magnificent.”
“Bravo.” Mary clapped her hands on a laugh. “Quite brilliant. I would love that very much.”
“Excellent.” Mrs. Onslow beamed. “We could probably have it ready for you next Tuesday?”
“Oh there’s no hurry. I’m hoping to be in the neighborhood for some time yet.” She flashed the girls a quick smile. “I’ll have the twins keep me apprised of your progress. Thank you so much.” She pulled her bonnet back over her hair and knotted the ribbon beneath her chin. “I won’t keep you any longer. I’ve enjoyed this visit very much, Mrs. Onslow. The girls were right—you are very talented.”
“Well, goodness, I…” Flustered, the milliner dropped a curtsey. “Thank you, Madam.”
“Good day.”
The bell tinkled once more and a gust of cold air whisked in as the redhead whisked herself out.
For some reason, Louise Onslow felt the chill run up the back of her neck, and shivered. She couldn’t, for the life of her, understand why. She had a new customer, and one possessed of a comfortable amount of money to spend.
A giggle came from the rear of the shop, reminding her that she still had work needing completion and those two girls would leave it if she didn’t remind them about it.
She crossed the carpeted shop floor to the curtain that separated the selling area from the sewing area, her low-heeled boots making barely a sound. Then she paused, doing something she had never done before.
Eavesdropping.
“Do you think it’ll be fun?”
“What, tomorrow night? I should think so. It’s Harbury Hall. Must be very fancy.”
“No, you know what I mean.”
“The…you know…”
Louise couldn’t tell the girls apart by their voices. Their faces were just unique enough to separate them in her mind, but the soft sounds of their words were indistinguishable.
“Yes, the men. And what they’re gonna do.”
“I s’pose so. I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
There was another giggle. That was definitely Daisy.
“I’m thinking more about the money th
an the men.”
“Oooh, yes. Wonder how much Mary’ll give us.”
“A lot, I hope. We’re the ones sellin’ our virginity, not her.”
“Gawd, no. She sold hers years an’ years ago.”
“Shhh. Mrs. Onslow’ll hear. Stop talkin’ now and let’s finish up this dratted trim.”
Mrs. Onslow, who had indeed heart, stood with her hand on her bosom, as if to quell the horrified thudding within. That red haired woman was going to sell these two poor girls to some men tomorrow night, and it sounded like they were going to do it at Harbury Hall.
In her opinion, that was unlikely in the extreme. Such goings-on were for back street brothels and houses of ill repute, not the finest country estates. Louise couldn’t even see that happening at the Dead Boar, raucous though it was at times.
It had sounded as if the girls themselves weren’t objecting, but expecting quite a bit of money in exchange for their services.
Louise was torn. Her first instinct was to rip into both Maisie and Daisy, then turn them off without a penny of their wages. Both disgusted and distressed at the situation, she realized that dismissing them was not the wise course of affairs.
She needed to prevent this atrocity if she could, but without letting the twins know she knew. Then she could keep a much closer eye on them. No more living over that inn.
Her brother, the Reverend Herbert Onslow, lived not far away with his wife and young family. They had room and were looking for help. These two would make fine housemaids and could put in a few hours at the millinery as well if time permitted.
She wondered if she should visit him this evening after closing. It would mean a good half hour’s walk in miserable weather, but she couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.
Unable to think of another solution at that moment, she sighed, collected herself and pulled the curtain aside with a loud swoosh.
“Girls. I want that pink bonnet finished up before you leave. The velvet ribbon is in the cupboard and it’ll need tying up in a neat bow, please Maisie. Not that disaster you tried to pretend was a bow yesterday.”
“Yes, Mrs. Onslow.” Maisie dipped a curtsey.
“And you, Daisy, I think Mrs. Hughes’ church hat could use one or two extra silk flowers. Mind you sew with the matching thread and keep your stitches invisible.”
“Yes, Mrs. Onslow.” Daisy walked over to the drawer holding the decorative fripperies and took out several deep red roses. “How about these?”
Louise looked at the girl’s pretty face, so innocent and pure on the surface. But what lay beneath? She shivered again. “That’ll do. I’m going to stoke up the fire a bit. It looks like snow and I can feel it getting cold in here.”
Finally, the day ended, the threatened snow having become a miserable mix of sleet pellets and a bitter freezing rain.
As soon as the door was closed and locked, she pulled all the curtains tight, made sure the lamps were out and then went to the tiny back room. She kept her warm boots there just for nights like these. Her apartments were above her workplace, so she had little need for long tramps in the snow. But tonight was quite different. A matter of extreme urgency.
She hoped that her brother was at home, not off visiting some parishioner in need. But she had to try to reach him, no matter what.
Finally smothered in thick clothing, with a scarf tied around her neck and an older hat pulled low around her ears, Louise set off into the muck.
She knew the road fairly well, having traversed it quite often on weekends to visit with her brother and his family. His church was nearer, but tonight she needed his counsel not his prayers.
The going was getting more difficult though, and before she had reached the end of the main street, she’d nearly fallen a couple of times. Finally, she tripped over something quite solid, a rock probably, and crashed into the ground with a muffled cry.
“Oh ma’am.” A man’s voice exclaimed above her. “Here. Let me help you. You shouldn’t be out in this.”
She looked up to see a face that looked vaguely familiar and an outstretched hand. “Thank you sir. Do I know you?”
He helped her to her feet, ensuring that she hadn’t been hurt. “I don’t believe we’ve met, ma’am, but I work for the Harburys.”
“Oh thank goodness.” She clutched his arm. “You are well met, sir. Are you heading there now?”
“I am, yes.” He helped her to a slightly sheltered spot beneath a tree where the ice was much less and she could see where to put her feet. “How can I help you?”
Louise thought rapidly. A message perhaps. Just a word in the right ear. “Could you possibly get a message to Lord and Lady Harbury? It’s crucial, sir.” She gripped his arm even tighter. “Most crucial.”
“Of course, of course.” He soothed her. “I can go straight to his Lordship the moment I arrive, if it’s that important. What should I tell him?”
“Tell him…” she thought for a second, “tell him that something dreadful is going to happen tomorrow night. At Harbury Hall. I don’t know where, or when, but my twin apprentices are going to be there and…and…they’re going to do a terrible thing. Just terrible.” She lowered her voice and leaned close. “It has to do with men.”
Her Good Samaritan made a sound of shock. ”Gracious. I will most certainly notify his Lordship of that, ma’am.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Louise sagged into his strength. “You are Heaven-sent, young man. Now I can go home. I was going to try and reach my brother, he’s the Reverend, you know.”
She turned and allowed him to escort her slowly back along the way she had come. “I knew he’d have some good advice on what to do. Two such lovely girls, they are. And talking about selling themselves for money—well, it’s just the most horrid thing to even think about.”
She paused as he walked her down the main street. “We should turn here. I live above my millinery, sir. It’s right on the corner.”
“What a comfortable arrangement, ma’am.” He kept walking, his arm linked tightly with hers.
She blinked. “I don’t believe you told me your name.”
He smiled down at her. “I’m so sorry. That was quite remiss of me. My name is Arthur.”
Chapter 11
Finally.
Beneath a watery winter sun, Charlotte watched her machine begin its cautious excavation of what should be the last layer of dirt covering the tunnel Portia believed ran beneath this hill. Last night’s precipitation had been a nuisance, but nothing would stop them from today’s work.
“It shouldn’t be long now.” James stood at her side, speaking in a low voice for her ears only.
“What do we do if it’s there?”
“Well,” he stroked his chin. “I suppose we move the machine away, but keep it going so nobody will get too curious. Then examine what we have, and make a plan of action.”
“You mean you don’t have one yet?”
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
She snorted. “Just what I thought.”
Apparently unable to come up with a suitable response, James remained quiet, gaze fixed on the several square yards of excavation and the busy machine in the center.
The sound of the scoop changed very slightly and he reached out to squeeze her arm.
“Yes, I hear it too.” She grabbed her skirts and lifted them above the mud as she hurried to Mr. Chomper and made some adjustments to the control dials. The gears shifted slightly and the scoop resumed work about three feet away from where it had just hit something.
Something hard.
Then, as he had done so many times over the past days, James sauntered nonchalantly to the freshly dug hole and poked around it with a thick stick he’d commandeered from the gardener. It was a broken spade handle and worked perfectly for James’s probing search.
Sure enough, within a moment he hit something hard enough for Charlotte to hear it.
She walked over, imitating his casual demeanor. “What is it?”
“A pipeline kind of thing?”
“Possibly. Or maybe a reinforcement of this tunnel we’re looking for.”
“How do we find out?”
There was a quick “oof” from James and the upper part of him disappeared.
Charlotte pursed her lips. “Well, that will do it, I suppose.”
He emerged a few seconds later, filthy but smiling. “It’s there. Just as Portia hoped.”
“Good God.”
“You weren’t a true believer, were you?” He grinned at her. “Oh ye of little faith.”
“I believe now.” She glanced over her shoulder. “What do we do to keep this between ourselves?”
“We do need a plan now, don’t we?”
She nodded. “I’ll start over here, I think.”
Walking over to the side of the excavation, Charlotte grabbed the handles of an empty wheelbarrow and pushed it directly in front of James’s tunnel entrance.
“Excellent.” He rubbed his hands together and picked up several digging tools, which he piled into the barrow and then covered with a handy oilcloth.
The hole was all but invisible.
Then he turned to Charlotte with a smirk on his face. “Time for the coup de grace.”
With all the elegant grace of a magician producing a rabbit from a top hat, James held out his hand toward her. On it was a rather muddy item shaped exactly like the head of an ancient spear.
“James.”
Stunned, she poked at it. “It looks real. Bronze age, I’d guess on first inspection.”
“It is.”
“But…I don’t…how…”
“Shhh.” He took her arm and led her over to Mr. Chomper. “Turn that thing off and let us take a look at what we’ve…er…found.”
Meekly she obeyed and in the silence that followed, she peered once more at the spearhead. “It’s even muddy. How did you do that?”
“Preparation and forethought. Essential to any well-thought-out plan.”