‘I am sure that Mr Hunter will return in time.’ ‘We do have to make a stand after last night.’ Phoebe nodded.
‘And if we see Lord Linwood tonight, Phoebe, you had best hold me back as well.’ Mrs Hunter smiled and then retired to her bedchamber, leaving Phoebe alone in the drawing room.
She had only been sewing for a few minutes when a knock sounded on the drawing room door and Trenton, appeared. ‘A message for you, Miss Allardyce.’ He handed her the sealed note. ‘Delivered by hand, miss—the lad did not wait for a reply.’
She recognised the carefully formed handwriting in which her name upon the letter’s front had been written and a wave of nausea swept through her. She dismissed the butler before sliding a finger along the edge of the paper to break the sealing wax. On the note within the instructions were concise:
Head towards Davies Street on foot immediately. Come alone. Tell no one. Bring what is required.
There was no signature, but Phoebe did not need one to know who the letter was from—the Messenger.
She shivered and moved quickly to the window, knowing that whoever had sent this must be watching the house to know that she was alone and able to leave this house at this moment. A gentleman rode past on his horse. A cart carrying coal rumbled over the cobbles and a carriage was almost out of sight in the opposite direction. An old man hobbled along the pavement and a couple of urchins were cheeking the coachman of the chaise waiting outside the house three doors down. No sign of the Messenger … or of Lord Linwood.
She moved away again, folding the letter into the pocket of her new fawn day dress. A chill seemed to touch to her blood and a shadow cloud over all of her hopes. She shivered again and hurried to fetch her bonnet.
‘Shall you be requiring the carriage, miss?’ enquired Trenton as she stood in the hall with her bonnet tied in place.
‘No, thank you, Mr Trenton.’ Phoebe fitted the gloves onto her fingers. ‘If Mrs Hunter should enquire, please tell her that I have gone for a short walk. It is such a fine day.’ She smiled, but the smile felt stiff upon her lips and more like a grimace. She did not have the ring. Hunter was gone from home. And she dare not ignore the summons.
Chapter Sixteen
She had been walking in the direction of Davies Street for only some five minutes when the black closed carriage stopped beside her. The door opened and the Messenger jumped down, pulling the door shut again behind him.
‘Miss Allardyce, we meet again, just as I promised.’
‘Sir.’ She looked at him and felt fear and that same overwhelming sense of dislike and anger.
He waved his hand towards the coach. ‘Your carriage awaits, miss.’
‘I am not getting in there with you. We may discuss what you will out here just as well.’
‘May be, miss, but there’s someone who wants to meet you.’
A vision of Lord Linwood appeared in her mind.
The Messenger added, ‘I must insist, Miss Allardyce. Or maybe you’ve forgotten all about your pa since you’ve been down here in fair old London town?’
Phoebe met the Messenger’s sly gaze squarely. ‘The carriage it is then, sir.’
He opened the door, kicked down the step and bundled her inside before following. The door slammed shut and, before her eyes could adjust to the dim light of the interior, a dark hood was thrust over her head. She fought to free herself, but rough hands clasped hers, wrenching them behind her back and holding her tight.
‘Unhand me, you villain!’ she demanded, the hood muffling her words.
‘Calm yourself, Miss Allardyce. I have a mind to speak with you without revealing my identity, that is all.’ The voice, which came from the seat directly opposite, was not that of Lord Linwood. It sounded like that of an older gentleman and there was something vaguely familiar about it, although she could not place it.
The Messenger’s grip tightened unbearably and Phoebe ceased her struggles.
‘That is better.’ The gentleman took a breath. ‘Now, let us not prevaricate, Miss Allardyce. Do you have the ring?’
‘I …’ Her stomach clenched at the thought of revealing the truth to this man. She knew he must be very powerful. She knew just what he could do to her father. ‘It is not yet in my possession.’ The hood was a thick heavy black material that smelled faintly of sweet tobacco and sandalwood. It not only rendered her effectively blind, but made it hot and difficult to breathe.
‘Not yet, you say?’ the gentleman said. ‘And yet you have had ample time in which to recover it, Miss Allardyce. Perhaps you do not have so much care for your father as we had thought?’
‘I have every care for my father, but it has been difficult. At first I could not find the ring at Blackloch Hall—’
‘At first, implies that you have now discovered its location.’
‘I …’ To admit it felt like a betrayal of Hunter. ‘Miss Allardyce.’ The man’s voice was harsh with warning.
‘The ring is in Mr Hunter’s possession.’ ‘You have seen it?’ ‘I have, sir.’
‘Where precisely, Miss Allardyce?’ ‘It was upon Mr Hunter’s finger.’ ‘He wore it?’ The man sounded shocked. ‘He did, sir.’
There was a small cogitative silence. ‘Does he have it with him here in London?’ Phoebe was loathe to tell them. The silence within the carriage seemed very loud. ‘Your father is in danger and yet still you hesitate to co-operate.’
‘Sir, I am co-operating fully. Have I not searched every last room in Blackloch Hall for you? I … I am not certain as to the ring’s precise whereabouts since we have come to London.’
Another loaded silence stretched between them, in which Phoebe could only hear the sound of her own breath loud within the hood.
‘I have heard a whisper that you harbour tender feelings for Hunter,’ he said at last.
‘No.’
‘And from what I saw of Hunter’s little display last night he is certainly not indifferent to you.’ ‘You are wrong, sir.’
‘Having an affair with his mother’s companion while pretending to us all that he has reformed his rakish tendencies after a year spent brooding upon his lonely moor.’
‘Such scurrilous accusations are false! There is nothing between Mr Hunter and myself.’
The man laughed at her protestations. ‘That is why you do not have the ring, is it not, Miss Allardyce? You cannot bear to steal from him.’
‘No!’ she lied. ‘I have already told you the reason I do not yet have it.’
‘That was no doubt true at first, before Hunter seduced you.’
‘He did not seduce me, sir. I will not hear you say it of him.’
The man let another silence open up so that Phoebe did not know whether he believed what she said or not. The seconds stretched to minutes.
‘If you have a notion to confide in Hunter, or anyone else for that matter, Miss Allardyce, I will arrange for him to follow the same fate as your father.’
‘You would not dare to threaten him.’
‘Oh, I assure you, Miss Allardyce, we will do more than threaten. We are very powerful. There is no one who can hide from us.’
‘Who are you?’ she whispered.
‘No one that a young lady should concern herself with.’
‘Do not hurt him. I have told him nothing.’
‘Then let us keep it that way. I will know if you tell him. Nothing escapes me, Miss Allardyce. Believe me when I tell you I have eyes and ears everywhere.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘And so now to the ring once more, my dear. My patience wears thin with the wait. I require that the matter be concluded by the end of this week.’
‘Impossible, sir,’ Phoebe protested.
‘If the ring is not within your possession by then, Miss Allardyce, I shall make arrangements for Hunter to be relieved of it by violent means. And, of course, then there is the little matter of your papa to be dealt with … Both their lives will be extinguished.’
‘No! I beg of you, sir!’
&nb
sp; ‘The end of the week, Miss Allardyce. Not a day longer. When you have secured it, wear this red shawl and stand by a front window of Hunter’s town house. We will then send you instructions of how to proceed.’ He passed her a small thin red shawl. ‘Go now, my … associate … will assist you out of the carriage.’
She heard the slide of a window. ‘All clear, gov,’ said the Messenger and then he manhandled her to what she presumed must be the door, standing behind her and pulling the hood from her head as he opened the door and tipped her out onto the footpath. The door slammed and the carriage pulled away at a brisk pace, leaving Phoebe blinking in the sudden strong sunlight.
Hunter had arrived in the drawing room of his town house in Grosvenor Street at five minutes before eight the next morning. The curtains were open and the early autumn sunlight filled the room. He was still waiting at nine o’clock when he enquired of Trenton as to his mother and Miss Allardyce, and was told they were both not yet risen for the day. He took Ajax for a gallop in Hyde Park, and returned two hours later to find both ladies in the drawing room entertaining Lady Chilcotte and her daughters. He had endured an hour of Lady Chilcotte thrusting her eldest daughter beneath his nose in far too obvious a manner, but Phoebe did not once meet his eye.
After luncheon, when his mother had decided to go shopping, again, Hunter accompanied them, carrying parcels once the footman’s arms became full. And again Phoebe would not meet his eye, even when she had perforce to take his hand when he assisted the ladies into and out of the coach. At the fashionable hour of five o’clock his mother expressed a desire to take a drive in Hyde Park. And again Hunter accompanied them. And still everything of Phoebe was closed against him, almost as if their conversation of the previous day had never occurred, so that he grew increasingly convinced that something had happened between then and now, something to make her change her mind.
At dinner in the town house Hunter gave up waiting and addressed her directly.
‘You seem a little preoccupied today, Miss Allardyce. Is all well with you?’
‘Everything is fine, thank you, sir,’ she answered and it seemed she had to force herself to look at him. Her eyes were dark and troubled, her face pale with a haunted expression she could not quite hide. Hunter resolved to speak to Trenton to discover if Miss Allardyce had received any new letters.
‘Then you will be accompanying my mother to Arlesford’s ball tonight?’
‘I … urn …’ She hesitated. ‘I do have something of a headache.’
‘A headache, Phoebe?’ asked his mother.
‘Perhaps I would be better to stay at home tonight—
that is, if you could manage without me tonight, ma’am.’ Phoebe looked at his mother and not once at him. But Hunter knew exactly what she was doing. She knew this was the ball to which both his mother and himself had been especially invited. She wanted to be alone in the town house, and Hunter had a good idea as to the reason.
‘How very peculiar,’ he said. ‘I feel the stirrings of an ache in my own head.’ Hunter touched a hand to his forehead. ‘Perhaps it is a contagious headache, Miss Allardyce.’
‘Well, I cannot very well go alone,’ said his mother, ‘and if both of you are struck down with it, perhaps it is only a matter of time before I, too, am likewise affected. And I was so looking forward to the night. I have my new grey-silk ball gown especially for the occasion.’
‘Now, ma’am, we cannot have that,’ said Phoebe quickly. ‘If you will excuse me, I will go and lie down for half an hour and I am sure that will help diminish the headache.’
‘Very well, Phoebe,’ said his mother.
Phoebe sat by Mrs Hunter’s side at the Duke of Arlesford’s ball and tried not to look at Hunter. She had successfully eluded him the whole day through, but the strain of it had frayed her nerves and she was feeling tense and miserable. Her eyes roved through the throng of people, remembering the man in the carriage’s words that he had eyes and ears everywhere. Was the man here himself, watching her and Hunter even now?
On the other side of the ballroom she saw Emma Northcote, but Emma’s eyes moved to where Hunter was standing behind Phoebe’s chair and when she looked at Phoebe again she gave a small shake of her head as if to tell her that there could be no friendship while Phoebe was allied with the Hunters. Emma turned her attention back to her mother. Phoebe glanced round and saw that Hunter had seen the interaction between Emma and herself.
He waited until his mother was fully engaged in conversation before leaning forwards and saying quietly, ‘Phoebe—’
‘Ah, there you are Hunter, old man, and Miss Allardyce, too.’ She was mercifully saved by Lord Bullford’s interruption. Hunter shot his friend a look of irritation. And then, after speaking to Mrs Hunter, Lord Bullford had her up on the dance floor for the next two dances, and by the time he returned her to her seat Hunter was over talking to Arlesford.
‘You are sure about this?’ Arlesford asked.
Hunter nodded. ‘I know it is a big favour to ask of you, but it is the only way that I can see of getting her alone.’
‘Very well,’ Arlesford gave a nod. ‘Only do not cause a scandal at Arabella’s ball.’
‘I will guard against it most carefully. Thank you, Dominic. You know I would not ask were it not important.’
‘I am well aware of the importance of Miss Allardyce to you.’
Hunter turned to leave. ‘Sebastian,’ his friend said softly. Hunter glanced back. ‘Good luck.’
Hunter gave a grave nod, then made his way nonchalantly from the ballroom.
Phoebe was making her way back from the ladies’ withdrawing room as the Duke’s footman approached her.
‘Miss Allardyce?’ ‘Yes?’
She saw the letter as he slipped it from his pocket and her heart began to race. She thought of the Messenger and his master in the carriage. ‘I was asked to deliver this note to you, miss.’ He slipped it to her surreptitiously and, with a bow, was gone.
She hid it in her pocket and headed a little farther up the corridor, away from the withdrawing room and ballroom, before ducking in to an alcove to read it. The hand in which her name was written was none that she recognised. It was not in the careful font of the Messenger, but the wax seal had been smudged just like those on his notes. Nor was it in the strong black spikes of Hunter’s writing. She broke the seal and opened out the letter to find one short message written in the centre of the paper:
Come alone to the Duke’s rose conservatory. There have been further developments since yesterday.
There could only be one person who would write such a message. He was here, watching her. She crumpled the paper and pressed a hand to her head. The end of the week, he had said. There were still two more days to go. What could possibly have happened? She drew a deep breath and smoothed the letter out before folding it neatly and placing it in her pocket. Then she braced her shoulders and went to find Arlesford’s rose conservatory.
The footman led her down an unlit narrow corridor lined its length with closed mahogany doors. The man ignored every door and kept on walking. The farther they walked from the ballroom the darker it became. Darker and darker until Phoebe had to strain her eyes to see what was before them.
Phoebe knocked once upon the door and then she pushed it slowly open to reveal a room illuminated by soft silver moonlight. The sweet perfume of roses seeped from within. She stepped inside.
There was no messenger waiting to pounce and slip a hood over her head this time. Indeed, on first impressions the room seemed empty. Three sides of the conservatory and the roof were part constructed from glass. The silver moonlight flooded through the wall of windows to light the collection of beautiful blooms housed within. The perfume of the roses was more intense in here; it seemed heady and intoxicating. She walked into the centre of the room. There was no one … and then she heard the door close behind her and her heart stuttered as she turned to face the villain once more. It was not the Messenger who was standing there lea
ning back against the door, but Sebastian.
‘You?’ The moonlight revealed him in full.
‘Who were you expecting, Phoebe?’
‘I …’ She shook her head. ‘I have to go. I cannot leave Mrs Hunter waiting.’
‘Not yet, Phoebe.’ He walked slowly towards her.
Her eyes measured the distance to the door, but he seemed to take up all the space and she knew she would not make it past him without capture.
‘You did not keep the meeting we had arranged for this morning.’
‘I …’ The music floated through from the ballroom, faint but still audible. ‘I could not.’
‘And all day you have avoided me most studiously.’
‘You are mistaken.’
‘I am sure that I am not.’
She swallowed hard and her heart was thudding so loud she was sure Sebastian must hear it in the quietness of the room.
‘Yesterday you asked for my help.’
‘The matter has resolved. I have no need of your help.’
‘If it had, you would have simply told me such. What changed between our last meeting and this morning?’ ‘Nothing changed.’ ‘Save the letter you received.’ ‘I received no letter.’
‘Hand-delivered by an urchin paid a copper to do so, or so Trenton informs me.’
‘Oh, that letter.’ She wetted her suddenly dry lips. ‘I had quite forgotten about it.’
‘Who was its sender, Phoebe?’
‘Sir!’ she exclaimed pretending to be shocked.
‘Phoebe,’ and his voice was something of a growl.
‘A … friend.’
‘The same friend whom you left almost immediately to meet.’
‘I met with no one. I went for a walk, that is all.’
‘In the evening and alone?’ he persisted. ‘It was not so late.’
‘Late enough that when you returned some half an hour later your hair was in disarray.’
‘Trenton exaggerates. The wind coupled with the vigour of my walking may have loosened a few of my pins.’
‘Who is he, Phoebe?’
A Dark and Brooding Gentleman Page 19