by Mary Brendan
Kidnapping was something new and very bad for Sam to be involved in and Megan had told her sweetheart her thoughts on it. Not that he ever took any notice of her; Sam was too eager to please his boss because he liked his pockets jingling and he didn’t intend mucking out stables all his life, so he’d told her.
But an idea was taking root in Megan’s mind, making her slowly retrace her steps towards the seated women. The Chapmans were not first-rate Quality; if they had been, Mrs Chapman wouldn’t be travelling in a mail coach. But she was genteel and such people hated scandals. The mother couldn’t yet know what had happened to her daughter, but when she found out she’d want to protect Fiona’s marriage prospects and whip her back to London. In Megan’s opinion, that couldn’t happen soon enough. The longer Mrs Chapman hung around asking questions, the more likely it would be that the whole story might emerge. The locals tolerated the Collins gang for the sake of cheap tea and brandy, but they’d be outraged to hear of an innocent woman’s kidnap and furious if dragoons started turning houses upside down in their hunt for the perpetrators. Megan knew that if her sweetheart were arrested he stood little chance of acquittal.
Sam had told Megan of Fiona’s eventual fate: Major Wolfson—who the gang suspected was a turncoat—had bought her from Collins to be his paramour. Jem had regretted bartering his prisoner and had sent Sam and Fred to snatch Fiona back, but they’d been given the slip. Miss Chapman was not the aristocrat’s daughter they’d first thought her, but Wolfson’s interest in her had piqued Collins. Jem had told his men he reckoned Wolfson saw Fiona Chapman as good for a profit as well as a roll in the hay.
‘What is it you want?’ Maude had turned and seen the serving girl hovering just behind.
‘I think I do remember your daughter, madam...’ Megan began in her slow country burr. ‘I believe she was with a gentleman.’ She lowered her voice and her eyes, as though embarrassed by the information she was imparting.
‘A gentleman?’ Maude echoed hoarsely. It had crossed her mind that Fiona might have a secret beau, but she’d dismissed it as too fantastic.
‘His name is Major Wolfson as I recollect,’ Megan added helpfully.
Maude had turned white and Rose sent her mistress a concerned look.
‘And where might I find this fellow?’ Maude croaked, glancing about as though anxious nobody should overhear the alarming news that her daughter might be a fallen woman.
‘I’ve no idea, madam, but I do know he had business with the Duke of Thornley,’ Megan said.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Might that be him, do you think, ma’am?’
‘I don’t think so, Rose; he is not in military uniform,’ Maude answered, squinting at the broad back of a tall fellow who was striding away from them towards his horse.
The gig Maude had hired at the Fallow Buck had turned through wide crenellated pillars and rattled along a mile of meandering tree-lined avenue before pulling up in front of a sweeping set of steps. She’d watched the darkly handsome young man athletically descending the shallow flight of stone two treads at a time, his long leather coat flying out behind him. He was certainly a dashing individual, but in her mind’s eye Maude had an image of her daughter’s swain—if indeed one could term Major Wolfson such. Maude had a depressing idea her daughter was possibly viewed as a mistress rather than a wife by the scoundrel. But she strove for optimism and to believe him honourable if predictably mundane. He would assuredly not be so distinguished looking as the gentleman in the distance, who was probably the duke’s son. Fiona, Maude inwardly sighed, would be true to form and attract a suitor with little to recommend him. Possibly this major had just the prospect of his army pension to offer a wife.
It had been a great sadness to Maude that Fiona had not found an eligible chap like her younger sister. Verity was a vivacious charmer and had her glossy chestnut hair and petite figure to turn a man’s head, whereas Fiona, being rather too tall and too bland in looks and personality in her mother’s eyes, had been overlooked by the bachelors who’d come into her daughters’ orbit.
But Fiona had not helped herself, Maude thought crossly; as a dutiful mother she had often bitten her tongue about her eldest girl’s frustrating lack of ambition to catch a man. ‘Why can you not be more like your pretty sister?’ would have been too cruel a comment to fire at Fiona. But to Maude’s chagrin it had nearly rolled off her tongue on more occasions than she could count. Then, after Anthony died, assailed by loneliness and grief, she’d been glad to have Fiona’s company...until Cecil wormed his way into her life and she’d again resented her daughter being under her feet. But only at first.
Maude knew she’d been wrong about Fiona in many ways. She should have heeded her eldest child’s warning about Ratcliff’s swinish character. But the most startling thing for Maude was learning that the girl she’d known for twenty-five years had an inner steel and a sense of adventure that she’d overlooked. It had come as a shock when Fiona had bluntly told her that Cecil Ratcliff was a lecher and not only that, but she was also off to Devon to start a new life so she’d never have to see him again. Might her homely daughter surprise her one more time by netting an eligible gentleman who’d propose to her and give her everything her heart desired? If such a miracle were to come to pass, Maude knew that all their troubles would be at an end. She’d live with her newly married daughter and son-in-law in their lavish home and Cecil Ratcliff could go hang!
These mixed musings and fantasies had passed through Maude’s consciousness as she gazed up at the magnificent house. With a deep sigh she collected her thoughts and got down to the job in hand. ‘Well, here we are, then,’ she declared briskly.
The stable lad driving the gig was peeking nervously from under his brows at his grand surroundings. He’d never before been so close to the ducal residence and felt like a trespasser. His customer might be gentry from London, but he didn’t believe she was of a class that hobnobbed with dukes any more than he was. ‘Reckon I should’ve taken you straight round the back,’ he muttered.
‘Indeed, you should not!’ Maude said indignantly, despite also feeling awestruck. She watched the handsome fellow galloping off into the distance, then turned her attention to the shrinking youth. ‘Come help us down if you please. I have urgent business with this Duke of Thornley.’
The boy did as he was bid and watched, slack-jawed, as the lady marched to the steps and started up them. Arriving out of breath at the top, Maude took an inspiriting lungful of air, then hammered on the door.
His Grace had been on the point of returning to his study, having spent some minutes conversing with his butler after Wolfson had left. ‘Who in damnation might that be?’ He strode to the door in front of the ancient servant, muttering to himself, ‘Has Wolfson remembered his manners and come to apologise?’
In fact, Thornley knew that the mercenary had nothing to be sorry about. The man had told him plain truths, as he always did. Grudgingly, Thornley was coming to like the fellow, even though he had learned some worrying and rather humbling things from Wolfson today.
Flinging the door wide, Alfred stared at the two middle-aged women on his step. He could tell the mistress from the maid, not just from their attire, but from the air of entitlement exuded by the person closest to him. ‘And, pray, who might you be?’
‘I am Mrs...Ratcliff...’ Maude announced in her crispest accent. In common with Rose she hated giving her name as Mrs Ratcliff, but knew she must, as unfortunately, that’s who she was now. ‘I have come to speak to the Duke of Thornley on an urgent matter. Would you fetch him, please?’
‘I have no need to...you are speaking to him, madam.’ Thornley looked her buxom figure up and down then cocked his head at the maid hovering behind.
A silence ensued during which Maude felt her temper rising. How dare he make her stand outside while he boldly gave her the once-over as though she were some auditioning
servant! She’d not expected the fellow to be so...imperious in tone and presence. And why he attended his own door was beyond her. Anybody might be excused for thinking him one of the hired help. ‘I do not discuss my business on the front step,’ Maude burst out, her bravado wavering.
‘Well, I suppose you’d better come in, then,’ Thornley said, and stalked off. Over a shoulder he instructed his butler to show his visitor to the blue saloon and enquire whether she would like refreshment.
After ten minutes the tea arrived. Maude and Rose sat perched on high-backed velvet chairs in a sumptuously furnished room. The blue saloon lived up to its name: a hue of a summer sky, adorned with puffy clouds and fat-cheeked cherubs, decorated the ceiling while the soaring walls were lined with watered silk in a toning pastel shade.
The clock chimed four o’clock, making Rose jump. The duke’s servant poured tea for Mrs Ratcliff, then put down the pot.
‘Please give a cup of tea to my maid,’ Maude said firmly.
Thornley’s lackey did as she was told, but with a pronounced arch to one of her eyebrows. Then she left, leaving the visitors alone. Before entering the blue saloon the butler had found Rose a chair in the hallway where she might wait while her mistress had an audience with the duke. But Maude would not hear of that and had insisted her servant accompany her, more from feeling nervous than egalitarian. Nevertheless, Rose had given her employer a grateful look and the butler a smug sniff on passing.
‘Perhaps the duke has forgotten about your arrival, ma’am,’ Rose ventured in a whisper on hearing her restless mistress’s teacup clatter on its porcelain saucer.
‘Perhaps the bumptious fellow has not forgotten but has no intention of giving me five minutes of his precious time,’ Maude returned bitterly.
‘The bumptious fellow shall give you ten minutes of his time, madam, but not a moment longer,’ Thornley said drily, having just entered the room and overheard his visitor’s sniping.
Maude blushed, put up her chin and pushed away her cup. ‘Then I will state my business without delay, sir. I am looking for my daughter and have a report that she might be in the company of a Major Wolfson. I have also heard that you may know of that fellow’s whereabouts. If you do, I would be grateful to have his direction.’
Beneath his breath Thornley made a sound, part-chuckle, part-groan. So Wolfson’s doxy was refined enough to have a mother worrying about her. Yet Alfred was sure the boy he’d sent to the King and Tinker with a note for Wolfson had told him the courtesan’s surname was Peake, not Ratcliff. Of course, he wouldn’t be surprised to know the handsome major had more than one camp follower...
‘I do know Wolfson but, alas, am not acquainted with your daughter. You have just missed the man, actually, but I expect you might find him at the King and Tinker, or perhaps the Pig and Whistle. I hope you are successful in your search.’ Thornley turned for the door as though to leave. ‘Do finish your tea...if you will.’
‘That was him?’ Maude exclaimed, jumping to her feet.
‘Who was him?’ Thornley asked a trifle impatiently.
‘We saw a fellow leaving.’
‘Yes...that was Major Wolfson, or Mr Wolfson as I believe he terms himself now.’
Maude almost stamped in frustration. ‘Oh...but I might have asked him about Fiona and have missed the chance.’
‘Fiona?’ Thornley had again been on the point of quitting the room, but pivoted back to stare at Maude.
‘My daughter... Miss Fiona Chapman,’ Maude snapped, sure the fellow hadn’t paid heed to a word she’d said. Obviously he thought himself too important to bother with her. Rather haughtily she said, ‘Thank you for your time and hospitality, sir. We must go now.’ She wanted none of his tea, or his condescension, and for two pins would tell him so.
‘No...please...sit down...stay a while so we might talk.’ Thornley sighed, feeling a weight sink to his stomach.
That morning he had sent his steward looking for Luke Wolfson so he might quiz the mercenary over his friend Rockleigh. In no uncertain terms, Wolfson had told him that Drew Rockleigh was an exemplary individual with excellent connections, but he was his own man and would be coerced into nothing against his will. But Wolfson had had more to deliver than his friend’s character reference: the major had gone on to relate a deeply disturbing story that had left Alfred feeling shocked and ashamed and deserving of his hireling’s rebuke.
He knew himself to be arrogant and impetuous and had never before thought to curb those traits. He was the Duke of Thornley and had been bred to do as he pleased and damn the nay-sayers. But Heaven only knew he regretted the day he’d concocted the kidnap plot because never had he imagined how awful might be the consequences.
So, this was the mother of the brave woman Wolfson had told him about. Less than an hour ago he had heard a tale about an abduction and a young woman’s pluck and fortitude in coping with an ordeal that, Thornley was sure, might have deranged lesser females. He glanced at the lady who’d brought into the world such an intrepid soul. Yes...he could believe the connection true; Mrs Ratcliff was proudly challenging him with her stare—just like his late wife in that respect. Ethel would often tell him he might be a duke, but he was her husband first and he could get off his high horse.
Alfred felt duty-bound to inform the girl’s mother about the dangers her daughter had faced and that the blame for Miss Chapman’s ordeal could be laid at his door. But he didn’t relish the doing of it. He hadn’t wanted any lasting gossip surrounding his daughter’s imaginary beau, so had known that at some time he’d have to expose all the details of his scheme to bring Collins to justice. He’d anticipated being hailed as a hero rather than an incompetent fool when his deception was made public.
The tale of Joan running off to elope had indeed pricked up the villain’s ears and made him act, just as Alfred had intended it should. And Miss Fiona Chapman, an innocent in all of it, had suffered because of his half-baked plot. Luke Wolfson had impressed that fact upon him and Alfred knew that, had the two men been the same age, he’d not only have felt the full force of the mercenary’s rage, but his fist, too.
Alfred would remain eternally grateful that the major had been in the vicinity to save the day; if Miss Chapman had been harmed Alfred’s conscience would have tortured him till he died. A young lady’s virtue, her dignity and self-respect—perhaps even her life—had all been at stake because of him. Alfred thought of his own daughter. He had put Joan at risk, too: she’d never have gone out late at night looking for Wolfson but for the plot’s existence. Oh, Joan had been all for the intrigue and excitement of it all, but she was still a green girl and should be allowed to indulge those sensations within a parent’s protection. Now Alfred accepted that Drew Rockleigh deserved praise not punishment for the service he’d done Joan. Neither of them wanted the marriage he’d been determined to force on them and having Joan blaming him for her unhappiness would be a constant torment. So, etiquette be damned! If anybody dared start a whisper that the Duke of Thornley’s daughter had been compromised, either by her imaginary beau, or by Drew Rockleigh, he’d sue them to kingdom come!
‘I think you have something bad to tell me,’ Maude said hoarsely. She had watched the duke’s harsh features altering shape beneath some inner conflict that had left him looking worryingly grave. Instead of feeling relief at his softening expression, Maude had been alarmed by the change in him. ‘Fiona has come to harm?’ Maude whispered.
When His Grace said nothing, but paced to and fro pulling on his lower lip, reflecting on a way to couch bad news, Maude let out a small wail. ‘It is all my fault! I’ve been stupid and selfish and a very bad parent. Why have I failed her when all I want is the best for my daughter? She would have been safe at home, had it not been for me.’
Thornley gazed at the woman who’d just voiced virtually word for word the self-abuse spinning in his own head. He knew that he
had many apologies to make and he might as well start straight away. Joan had chosen to be reckless, but Miss Chapman’s reputation had been sullied through no fault of her own. Many folk were privy to Fiona’s ill treatment, some of them very nasty characters. Alfred hated the thought of it, but feared the scandal would eventually get out and ruin this woman’s daughter. ‘Would you mind if your maid waited outside while we converse privately?’ he croaked.
‘I would not mind, sir,’ Maude whispered, giving Rose a nod of dismissal. She would sooner be on her own if she were about to hear of a disaster befalling Fiona. Rose had served the Chapmans well over many years, and was as loyal as the day was long, but Maude knew that there were occasions when class differences must be observed.
When Rose had been settled outside on a hall chair Thornley closed the door and ambled towards Maude. Stiffly he went down by her side and clumsily took one of her hands, cradling it in his.
With increasing incredulity Maude had watched him approach her and lower himself on creaky knees. As soon as he touched her she instinctively withdrew her fingers with a hiss of alarm.
Thornley patted her digits in reassurance, but left them curled on her lap. Turning himself to a more comfortable position, he sagged on to his posterior, next to her armchair. ‘First let me start by saying I have heard that your daughter has wit and courage and that it has sustained her through a very unpleasant episode. I can see from where your daughter might have got such qualities. Or perhaps you will tell me that Fiona favours your husband.’