by Merry Farmer
“Turnbridge.” Alex nodded as he marched up the aisle between school desks to the man. “Have you seen James and Miss Goode?”
Mr. Turnbridge blinked and shook his head. “No. Should I have?”
Marigold squeezed Alex’s hand harder.
“James has gone missing,” Arthur explained while Alex sent Marigold what he hoped was a reassuring look. “Your Miss Goode was the last person he was seen with.”
“My Miss Goode?” Mr. Turnbridge blinked.
Alex’s heart sank. Suddenly, being crushed by a train or drown in the river seemed like a small problem.
“You remember, sir,” one of the older boys piped up. “The pretty lass who helped out at Winterberry Park that time.”
In an instant, Mr. Turnbridge looked as alarmed as Alex felt. “I don’t know who she was,” he said, putting his chalk aside and cutting through the boys to stand closer to Alex. “I didn’t think to question, since she seemed so willing to help out. I needed the help. But that was the first and only time I saw her.” He paused, glancing to Marigold as she drew in a breath and clapped a hand to her chest. “Honestly, sir, I thought she was a new maid at Winterberry Park.”
“She wasn’t.” Alex’s voice had gone cold and hard. He didn’t truly blame the schoolmaster, but too many mistakes had been made.
“We need to find out if anyone saw her,” Arthur said. “I can ask around town to see who she had interactions with.”
“I’ll help,” Mr. Turnbridge said. “I can send the children home for the day. It’s almost time anyhow.”
“Want me to dismiss ’em, sir?” the boy who had spoken up earlier said.
“Yes, please, Ned.”
“You heard Sir,” Ned spoke up to the children left in the room. “Get yerselves gone!”
Alex, Marigold, Arthur, and Mr. Turnbridge headed out of the school house in an avalanche of rushing boys. The chaos of the schoolyard as Ned repeated his announcement did nothing to soothe Alex’s fraying nerves. There was no way to deny that something far more sinister than James simply wandering off was at hand.
“The train station,” Marigold suggested as they made their way back to the street. She’d gone pale, and her voice was wispy and uncertain. “We should check the train station. That’s where he’d wandered on the day I met him.”
Alex nodded, taking her hand and starting off in that direction.
“I’ll check down by the dairy, just in case,” Mr. Turnbridge said. “He also likes to visit the cows.”
“And I’ll start asking around to see who knows anything about Miss Goode,” Arthur said.
“Miss Goode,” Alex muttered as he and Marigold turned onto Station Street. “I’m beginning to wonder if that name wasn’t designed to lull us into complacency.”
“Don’t say it,” Marigold whispered, squeezing his hand tight. “I can’t bear to think about the possibility that….”
She didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t have to. Alex had a terrible feeling that they were thinking the same thing.
By the time they reached the station, the only activity they found was a few people wandering the garden as they waited for the evening train and the porters putting away a few pieces of baggage from the last train.
“James?” Marigold called out, heading straight to the spot where they’d first found him. “James?”
“James?” Alex added his call to hers, but the suspicion that it wouldn’t do any good already had him in its grip.
Mr. Bolton, the stationmaster, popped his head out through one of the stationhouse’s windows. Alex spotted him right away and let go of Marigold’s hand to march over to him.
“Bolton, have you seen James?” he asked.
“No,” Mr. Bolton answered, frowning and scratching his head. “But I thought I heard him out here earlier.”
“You did?” Hope surged in Alex’s chest.
Marigold rushed to join him, just as full of hope, but Mr. Bolton’s expression wasn’t at all reassuring.
“It was strange,” he said.
“What was?”
Mr. Bolton gestured for them to walk around to the archway that separated the street from the train platform. Even the tiny delay was maddening, but Alex took Marigold’s hand and rushed to meet Mr. Bolton as he came out of his office.
“There was a strange fuss earlier,” Mr. Bolton began immediately. “I thought I heard James, so I came out to take a look. He hasn’t wandered down to say hello in every so long. I didn’t see the lad anywhere, but before I got a really good look, a stack of luggage was upset on the platform.”
“Luggage?” Marigold blinked.
Mr. Bolton rubbed his neck, looking uneasy. “We have spills now and then. That much wasn’t unusual. What was strange was how long it took to set things to right. This bloke waiting for the train kept trying to help, but he was a clumsy sort. The whole thing took me and both my porters to set to rights. By the time we were done, I felt as though I’d been spun around, turned upside down, and shaken out. The bloke disappeared an instant later.”
“That’s not so strange, is it?” Marigold asked, false hope bright in her eyes.
Mr. Bolton winced. “The strange bit was that I could have sworn I heard James’s voice on the train after that.”
Panic gripped Alex so suddenly that the edges of his vision went black. The pieces were falling together too perfectly. James wasn’t just missing, he’d been kidnapped. Alex was almost certain of it.
“Was there a woman in the vicinity of the train station earlier?” he demanded of Mr. Bolton, perhaps a little too forcefully. “Brown hair, brown eyes, medium height.”
Mr. Bolton flinched, flushing. “I’m sorry to say, sir, but that description could fit a dozen or more women who have passed through the station today.”
Alex could have punched his way through a solid brick wall. Miss Goode was unremarkable looking. Perhaps a bit too much so. He could give out her description in as much detail as he wanted and still come up with nothing. Just like the driver who’d run off with his carriage and caused the wreck.
His thoughts were interrupted by a scruffy young boy asking, “Are you Mr. Croydon?”
Alex blinked and twisted toward the lad. In the process, he noticed that Marigold had gone paler still and was shaking. “I’m he,” he said.
The boy held out an envelope. “She gave me a sixpence for handing this to you when you came by.”
Alex took the envelope, anger and fear roiling in his stomach. Whatever was in the envelope wouldn’t be good.
“Open it,” Marigold implored him, her voice hoarse.
Alex turned to her, ripping through the envelope’s seal. A single page was folded inside. It simply read, “If you want to see your son alive again, put an end to the scandalous rumors immediately.”
Dread gaped in Alex’s gut. He didn’t need to ask who had sent the note or what it was about. It had Turpin’s signature all over it. Worse still, Alex’s first instinct was to do everything Turpin wanted, just to get his son back.
“He can’t get away with this,” Marigold said, her voice shaking. Evidently, she didn’t need to be told what the letter meant either. Her burst of fury turned quickly to tearful panic. “He didn’t even say how or where we could get James back.”
“London,” Alex growled. “If she took James away by train, they’re headed to London. Turpin has more allies there, more places to hide him.”
The horror filling Marigold’s eyes was more painful than any wreck or wound. “What do we do?” she asked, clapping a hand to her mouth.
As far as Alex was concerned, there was only one thing to do. He took Marigold’s hand and marched out of the train station. “We go back to London.”
Chapter 19
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Marigold that her world could be turned upside down in the blink of an eye. For the third time in almost as many months, everything changed in an instant, leaving her with the feeling that she’d been hurled f
rom a catapult into the unknown.
“The next train to London leaves in just over two hours,” Mr. Bolton informed them as Alex grabbed Marigold’s hand and shot out of the station. “Do you want me to make out a ticket?”
“Make out two,” Alex called to him, clearly anxious to get moving. “I’ll need Phillips with me.”
“Three,” Marigold corrected. “I’m coming too.”
Alex stopped his rushed steps to pivot to her. “Are you sure you feel well enough?”
Marigold stared at him, her brow furrowed in determination. “He’s my son too.”
The corner of Alex’s mouth twitched, and a momentary spark of joy lit his expression. He wanted her with him, no matter the danger. She would fight for James, fight for them to be a family, as doggedly as he would. “Three,” he called to Mr. Bolton, then set off with Marigold as fast as she could run.
Winterberry Park was in an uproar when they returned. Word had somehow gotten back that it was very likely Miss Goode had run off with James. Everyone from Mr. Noakes to Annie, the scullery maid, were beside themselves. And Ruby was inconsolable.
“I didn’t know,” she sobbed, crumpled up on one of the benches in the front hall. “She seemed like such a nice woman. She was from the same place as me, the same street I was raised on.”
Marigold broke away from Alex to rush to Ruby’s side. “Have you not had many friends, Ruby?” she asked, gently rubbing the distraught woman’s back.
Ruby hid her face in her hands, shaking her head. Marigold hugged her, bitterness and pity warring in her heart. It didn’t take much to deduce that Miss Goode had told Ruby everything she’d wanted to hear in order to get close to her, just as she may very well have chosen a false name that would prompt them to trust her. Which meant that whoever Miss Goode was, she was an expert at deceit.
“Phillips.”
Marigold and Ruby both looked up as Alex turned to greet Mr. Phillips, who ran in from one of the sitting rooms. His face was splotched red with exertion, which, combined with his auburn hair and the fury in his eyes, made him look as though he were ablaze.
“I’ve just heard, sir,” he said. He sent an unreadable look in Ruby’s direction before marching up to Alex. Ruby buried her face in her hands once more, weeping twice as hard. “I was searching down by the Portis’s farm. Mabel Portis said she saw Miss Goode walk past, carrying James, about an hour and a half ago.”
Alex nodded, then started for the stairs. “We leave for London at once. Pack what you can in a suitcase.” He glanced up the stairs to where Ada was just coming down from the first floor. She stopped, then turned to head back up. “We only need enough for a day or two. Everything else will have to follow after.”
“Yes, sir,” both Ada and Mr. Phillips said.
“I’ll pack my own case, Phillips,” Alex went on. “I need you to hurry down to the train station to telegraph Malcolm Campbell. Give him as much information as you can, and tell him we’re on our way.”
“Yes, sir.” Phillips pivoted on the stair, then raced down again. He jumped the last three stairs and shot toward the front door.
Ruby raised her red, tear-stained face from her hands and called, “I’m sorry, Gil.”
Mr. Phillips skittered to a clumsy halt and turned to her. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His frown darkened, and he pursed his lips before turning and dashing out of the house.
Ruby burst into a fresh veil of tears. “He’s never going to speak to me again,” she wailed. “He told me I shouldn’t be so trusting, that we knew nothing about Miss Goode. I should have believed him. He’ll hate me now, and I don’t think I can live with that.”
Marigold’s brow inched up. They didn’t have time for romantic drama, but the hint that there was an entire story taking place under her nose that she hadn’t guessed at surprised her. She continued to rub Ruby’s back, as frustrated with her as she was sympathetic.
“You didn’t know,” she sighed. “But I suppose trusting people is a sign of a good heart.”
“No.” Ruby shook her head. “I’m of no use to anyone. You never should have taken me out of the workhouse, ma’am. That’s what I deserved.” She glanced mournfully at Marigold. “You’ll send me back now, won’t you?”
Marigold let out a tight breath. “We’ll discuss that later. As for now, we all need to concentrate on is getting James back.” She stood, starting for the stairs.
“I should come with you, ma’am,” Ruby called after her, jumping to her feet. “There’s places I know, places where they might take James, places I’ve been. Surely someone here could mind Faith for me. I…I owe it to you to help.”
A terrifying kind of hope surged through Marigold as she paused, waiting for Ruby to catch up to her. “Turpin is behind this.” She intended her words to be a question, but there was no doubt in her mind.
Ruby looked equally convinced. “He must be, ma’am, what with you and Mr. Croydon exposing him. And I know how his mind works.” She lowered her head as she spoke.
Marigold reached for her hand. “Then you’re right. You should come with us.”
The race to be ready in time to catch the train kept Marigold far too busy for the next hour to worry about Ruby’s part in James’s kidnapping, or, blessedly, what might be happening to James. When panic started to overtake her as she helped Alex and Ada pack suitcases, she forced herself to remember that James was of more use to Turpin alive than dead. But with that thought, she couldn’t shake images of how frightened and lost her little boy must feel. Her little boy. He’d only just walked into her life, but she would fight for him as fiercely as any mother.
Marigold didn’t have a chance to catch her breath until she and Alex were seated side-by-side on the train as it pulled out of Lanhill’s station. They’d managed to secure an entire first-class compartment for themselves, allowing Mr. Phillips and Ruby to ride with them rather than buying them second-class tickets.
“Time is of the essence,” Alex told Mr. Phillips as all four of them wriggled with impatience. “Turpin will know we’re coming after James. Who knows how long he’s had to plan for this.”
“There’s only so many places they could take the boy, sir,” Ruby spoke up tentatively. “There’s a house in Kensington, one across the river in Vauxhall, one in Spitalfields.”
“Unless he’s set up more places since you left him,” Mr. Phillips cut into her explanation. Ruby snapped her mouth shut and turned away from him, misery twisting her face.
That misery seemed to fill the compartment as the train chugged on. None of them felt much like talking, although if the others were anything like Marigold, their thoughts refused to stay still. The sun set, leaving them in tense, lonely darkness as the hours ticked slowly by in time with the train clattering over the tracks.
At one point, Marigold dozed off, her head lolling against Alex’s shoulder. She woke up with a start as the whistle sounded. Outside the compartment, a conductor passing through the train car shouted, “Paddington! London, Paddington, next stop.”
Relief spilled through Marigold as she and the others gathered their things and prepared to leave the train. The moment it stopped, Mr. Phillips shot forward, opening the door and stepping down to the night-blackened platform. Alex climbed down next, giving Marigold a hand as she disembarked. Mr. Phillips waited to give Ruby a hand down, rippling with tension. They exchanged a look that was heavy with emotion before both looked away.
“Alex!”
Lord Malcolm Campbell’s voice as he greeted them on the platform was the first encouraging thing Marigold had heard in hours. She rushed to Alex’s side, ready to greet Lord Malcolm as he marched toward them.
“Malcolm.” Alex paused only long enough to shake Lord Malcolm’s hand before their entire group headed for the station’s exit. “What have you been able to find out?”
Without hesitation, Lord Malcolm said, “Turpin’s people are definitely on the move. There was too much coming and going at his townhouse, and
at the other houses he owns, for this time of year.”
“Did anyone see Miss Goode arrive here with James?” Alex asked.
“We have a few leads,” Lord Malcolm answered with a frown. “But a woman traveling with a child isn’t unusual enough to stand out.”
“Someone must have seen something,” Marigold said as they stepped through the station door and into the bustling, London street. Even late at night, the area was full of activity and noise. The rush had always been a comfort to London-born Marigold, but for the first time, it unsettled her.
“We’re following several leads,” Lord Malcolm told her. He pointed down the street to one of at least a dozen waiting carriages.
Their conversation was interrupted by the bustle of climbing into Lord Malcolm’s carriage. There wasn’t enough room for Mr. Phillips and Ruby, so Mr. Phillips offered to take Ruby to Croydon House in a hired hack. Their small amount of luggage was sorted out, and after what felt like far too much time passing for Marigold’s liking, the carriage pulled out, taking them home.
“We have to move fast,” Lord Malcolm began as they rolled along. “There’s no telling how deep they could hide James if we don’t go after him immediately.”
“What if they hurt him?” Marigold asked, her heart fluttering to her throat. “Will they hurt him if we close in too fast?”
Lord Malcolm didn’t answer immediately.
“I’m sure they’ll keep James out of bodily harm,” Alex said, though his words felt more like they were designed to placate her than to be truthful.
Marigold swallowed, clinging to Alex’s arm.
“My men are already on the alert,” Lord Malcolm went on. Turpin is being watched in every way. We’ll know soon where he’s taken James, and once we do, we’ll move in.”
Lord Malcolm and Alex continued to discuss their plans as the carriage rattled on, but Marigold had a harder and harder time paying attention. All she could do was imagine James, scared and crying. Would he call out for her? Could he possibly understand how desperate she was to save him, and then to hold him and never let go?