by Mary Nichols
‘Never mind those now. I need you. Lavinia has disappeared.’
‘Disappeared? How? When?’
‘I don’t know. The silly chit decided to take herself to the ball last night and that scapegrace, Benedict Willoughby, told her about the child, said it was mine. She may have been upset.’
‘May have been! I should say she certainly was. But you think that was why she disappeared, ran away because she couldn’t face up to it?’
‘The Countess certainly thinks so.’
‘The lady knows the truth now, does she?’
‘Yes.’ He was not inclined to elaborate. ‘Now, I mean to organise a proper search. Get help from the Runners. If that madman…’
‘Poole, you mean? You think he’s back in London?’
When he and the Major had arrived in Derbyshire they discovered his erstwhile head groom had persuaded the framework knitters that they were in the van of a national revolution and that if they marched on London, thousands of working men and women would follow their lead. Some of them started out, but faced with a magistrate and a troop of cavalry they had turned tail. Poole had tried to rally them into marching on Loscoe Court, which had been his intention all along but, thanks to Donald’s informant, they had forestalled him and persuaded the marchers to disperse. Unfortunately Poole had slipped away in the confusion.
‘He would still want his revenge, wouldn’t he? If Lavinia was wandering about town on her own, he might very well have picked her up. Do you have any idea where the man might be lodging?’
‘None, my friend. Our best course is to go to where we saw him at that first meeting, someone there might know, though persuading them to tell us might be more difficult.’ He paused. ‘But are you sure there isn’t some more simple explanation. Could she have gone visiting friends, or shopping?’
‘No, I’ve been everywhere she might be and no one has seen her. I thought she might have gone back to Risley on her own, but Corringham has checked all the coaching inns she might have left from. And Frances doesn’t think she has eloped to Gretna Green or anything like that because as far as anyone is aware her affections have not been engaged by any of the young bloods in town this year and she could not have done it without involving someone else to help her. Besides, she has taken no baggage. She never meant to be away more than an hour or two.’
‘If Poole has her, he won’t harm her, he’ll demand a ransom. It will be his passport out of the country.’
‘I can’t wait for that. Anything could have happened. Are you going to help me or not?’
‘Of course I am, you don’t have to ask.’ He turned to tell the gunsmith he would take the pistols and the account should be sent to his lodgings before picking up the box that contained them and following Marcus out to his curricle. ‘When was the last time you were at home?’
‘Hours ago. I have been combing the streets looking for her and you too. No one at your lodgings knew where you were.’
‘I suggest we go back to Stanmore House before we do anything else. She may have returned or there may be a ransom demand waiting for you…’
They clambered into the curricle and set off as fast as the traffic would allow which was not fast enough for Marcus who swore at a dray which impeded them and a phaeton being driven by some young blade in a many-caped driving coat and the yellow and black striped waistcoat of the Hellfire Club.
‘Paying a ransom would not necessarily ensure her safe return,’ Donald said calmly as Marcus negotiated a hackney carriage which had moved out to overtake a slower vehicle and suddenly blocked the road. ‘And I do not fancy being thrown into the road and trampled to death by flying hooves, so go handsomely over the bricks, will you?’
Marcus smiled grimly, remembering that he had used that phrase the evening before, hoping to prolong his tête à tête with Frances in the carriage. And all the time she was listening to his explanations, his declaration of love, his proposal of marriage, she had been keeping from him the fact that his daughter had gone out on her own and she had condoned it by covering up for her. And because of that Vinny thought she could do as she pleased and go out when she pleased. According to Frances, James Corringham had seen her home, but supposing he had left her at the door and not watched her go in? Supposing Poole had been lying in wait?
As soon as his daughter was safe, Frances Corringham would learn from him that he was displeased, more than displeased, he was angry. And after yet another confrontation, she would turn down his offer. Why, in heaven’s name, had he ever made it? He must have been mad.
They were approaching the house when he noticed James standing beside his horse on the road by the door. He jumped down almost before the curricle came to a halt. ‘Have you news, Corringham? Is she found?’
‘No, but the Countess had disappeared too.’
His heart missed a beat. ‘You can’t mean it? She has just gone off on some errand of her own. You know she would not think it necessary to tell anyone where she was going.’
‘I know she could never sit at home doing nothing, waiting for news, even though she said she would,’ James said, ignoring the implied criticism. ‘And I was right. John Harker—he’s her groom, you know—came to me in a great panic. He’d come from the orphanage where he’d taken her. She told him to tell you where she had gone but he couldn’t find you and so he came to me. The message was that Lady Lavinia had been seen talking to a man in Covent Garden and her ladyship was of the opinion it was a man called Poole—’
‘I knew it,’ Marcus said. ‘And I suppose the silly ninny set off to look for them.’
‘Something like that. She also said to tell you that the child was safe in the orphanage.’
‘It appears her ladyship is better at finding people than we are,’ Donald said laconically, as he came to stand beside the two men.
‘And losing herself into the bargain,’ Marcus snapped. ‘They are a pair, those two. Was ever a man so plagued with independent women!’
The independent women were busy trying to open the window of their prison. Frances had taken a dirty blanket off the bed to help deaden the sound and protect their hands and faces from broken glass as she hit it with her shoe. One pane shattered and they could hear the broken glass falling into the street with a clatter which could not fail to be noticed by the people going about their business down there. But the window itself remained obstinately shut and removing one small pane did not help. The wooden frames were rotten and she might be able to break them, but it would take time and make a great deal of noise.
‘I’ll have to hit it with something heavier and break the frame as well,’ Frances said.
‘Even if you could, we couldn’t climb down; if we jumped, we’d break our necks. And if we didn’t do that and landed safely, we wouldn’t get far considering the street is full of people and they’d set up a hue and cry. Mr Poole is bound to have left the tavernkeeper on guard.’
‘They might help us.’
‘Do you think so? Do you really think those people down there care a fig for us? They’d strip us bare as soon as look at us and you know it.’
Frances was well aware of the truth of that, but she had to do something, she could not sit and meekly await their fate. She dropped the blanket on the floor, scattering broken glass, and tugged ineffectually at the window frame. ‘Considering these buildings are all but tumbling down with neglect,’ she said angrily, ‘you’d think the windows would fall apart at the least breath of wind. Instead they are as tight as any prison bars. Oh, damnation, now I’ve cut my hand.’ She turned suddenly and caught the sleeve of her gown on a splinter of wood. ‘And now I’ve torn my gown as well.’
Lavinia grabbed the bleeding hand and wrapped her own handkerchief about it. ‘Countess, leave off, do. Come and sit down and we will think of something else.’
Frances smiled as she went to sit on the edge of the bed beside the girl. ‘You know, Lavinia, you are very cool. I expected to find you in a quake.’
‘When I
was alone I was very near it, I confess, but now you have come and you say Papa is on his way, I am not at all troubled.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Though we shall both have to have an extra long bath and burn our clothes, for I very much fear this mattress is full of ticks. Papa will undoubtedly not allow us into his carriage and we will have to go home in a cab.’
Frances was glad the girl could joke about it, but then Lavinia did not know that Mrs Poole had been brutally murdered. What Poole had done once he could do again. She smiled. ‘At least we now have some fresh air, and if we watch out we shall perhaps see your papa approaching and can shout out to him.’
But that was not to be, for a few minutes later Poole returned with the tavernkeeper, whom he called Mullet, and informed them they were being moved.
‘Why?’ Frances demanded.
‘To keep the Duke and his minions guessing. If you could find me, so can they and I don’t choose to let them, not yet.’
He grabbed Frances by the arm and, helped by the tavernkeeper, swiftly tied her hands behind her back and gagged her, before turning to do the same to Lavinia who had tried pummelling him on the back and been unceremoniously thrust aside. Then each man picked up a struggling female and flung her over his shoulder and in that way they were carried downstairs, through the taproom and out of the door where they were deposited in a dilapidated closed carriage.
They travelled for hours, first over cobbles with the sounds of the busy streets ringing in their ears, and then over rougher ground when all they could hear was the creaking of harness, the clop of hooves and the soughing of the wind, until suddenly they stopped. Frances, who had sat up and was doing her best to work her wrists free, looked up as Poole opened the door. ‘Out!’ he commanded.
When she did not obey quickly enough, he grabbed her arm and hauled her out. She stood unsteadily, looking about her while Lavinia received the same treatment. They had drawn up outside an isolated cottage. There was nothing to be seen but the narrow path over which they had just come, winding its way over flat uneven ground which she was sure was marshland and very unstable. The path continued towards what she took to be the sea or perhaps the Thames estuary, for the air had a salt-laden tang. In the opposite direction she could see a church on the distant horizon. There were no other buildings.
‘Inside,’ Poole commanded, pointing to the cottage.
They stumbled inside. They found themselves in a tiny room with a bare earth floor and very little in the way of furniture. There was a table, four upright chairs, a sagging horsehair sofa and a dresser. The grate spilled cold white ash.
‘You’ll be tight enough here and Mullet will look after you,’ Poole said, pulling off their gags. ‘No use shouting, there’s no one to hear and no point in trying to cut and run, there’s nowhere to go.’
‘You are going to leave us here with him?’ Frances demanded, nodding in the direction of the tavernkeeper.
‘I am. But you had better pray it won’t be for long. When I come back, if the Duke has been disposed to be generous, then I might set you free.’
‘You expect him to pay a ransom for us?’ Lavinia asked.
‘Oh, he will pay. Even if he were glad to be free of your troublesome self he would never acknowledge it; he cannot be seen to cut off his own daughter, can he? Not his legitimate offspring. Now his bastard, that’s another matter, he can throw him off with impunity…’
‘That child is not his Grace’s son, whatever you may think,’ Frances said. ‘You are mistaken if you imagine an honourable man like he is, who had promised to look after his people, would do such a thing.’
‘Oh, ho, methinks I smell a romance here. The tales of you and he were not so far abroad after all. I am doubly blessed with two such fine specimens for barter. If you are good, friend Mullet will untie your hands, but you had better behave, because I have to tell you he has a very short temper and there’s no telling what he’ll do if you cut up rough.’ And with a last instruction to his accomplice to watch them carefully, he returned to the coach and drove away.
For the next hour Frances and Lavinia sat side by side on the sagging sofa, while Mullet relit the fire and set a pot on to boil into which he threw some meat and vegetables. This they knew would be their supper, but though they were very hungry, neither of them could eat any of it when it was served to them on two cracked plates taken from the dresser.
‘Starve, then,’ he said, taking their plates and scraping the contents on to his own. ‘You’ll get nothing else.’
‘I need to relieve myself,’ Frances said.
‘There’s a privy out the back.’ He stood up and opened the back door for her. ‘There.’ He pointed. ‘And don’t shut the door.’
‘Why? Do you think I can disappear from there? And if I could, where would I go? Mr Poole is expecting to release us unharmed. Should I not believe him? And would I go anywhere without my young friend?’
He went back inside and slammed the door, though she knew he was watching from the window. She went into the reeking privy which was nothing more than a little wooden shed with a hole in the ground which stank so badly she thought she would be sick. She shut the door firmly and relieved herself because she had to, and then went back into the house, deep in thought.
Mr Mullet had found a small cask of brandy in the bottom of the dresser and was busy sampling it when she returned. ‘Best French cognac, left behind by the smugglers,’ he said, holding out a glass of the liquid to Frances. ‘Try it.’
‘No, thank you,’ she said coldly.
‘Please yourself.’ Mullet was evidently very fond of a tipple because, with nothing else to do and the company not to his liking, he sat down before the dying fire and proceeded to do justice to his find.
‘Do you think he will drink himself insensible?’ Lavinia whispered when Frances rejoined her on the sofa.
‘No, he’s too wily for that and, being a publican, I have no doubt he can hold his liquour.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘He’ll have to go out to the privy some time. Be ready.’ Aloud she said, ‘Why don’t you try and sleep, my dear? It will help the time pass.’
Lavinia stretched out on the sofa and shut her eyes. Frances went to the grate and picked up a piece of charcoal, which she took to the table and began sketching on its bare surface.
‘What you doin?’ Mullet demanded.
‘Amusing myself drawing.’
He came and stood behind her chair. ‘Why, that’s me to the life, ain’t it?’ He sounded inordinately pleased.
‘Yes. Go and sit down again. I can’t finish it if you stand over me.’
He returned to his seat and adopted a stiff pose. ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘That’s no good. Carry on with what you were doing, it’s more natural.’ He relaxed and Frances continued to draw. If Marcus arrived and they had gone, taken elsewhere or even killed, at least she would have left a clue and the man would pay for his crime. She wrote ‘Mullet of the Magpie’ at the bottom of the picture and then pretended to put her head in her arms to sleep, covering the words. Mullet poured himself yet another glass of cognac. And another.
A few minutes later, he got up and staggered to the door, turning to make sure both his captives were asleep before going out into the dusk. Frances got up and shook Lavinia. ‘Shh, be quiet and follow me.’
They crept outside. Mullet could be heard in the privy, singing a bawdy song at the top of his powerful lungs. Frances picked up a stout piece of wood she had noticed earlier and silently propped it at an angle against the door, so that he was effectively imprisoned. ‘Now,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s be away, as far and as fast as we can before he realises what’s happened.’
There was only one way they could go and that was back along the road by which they had arrived. Crossing the marsh would be foolhardy. ‘We’ll make for the church,’ she went on. ‘Thank goodness it’s nearly dark, but be careful not to stray off the road or we’ll be lost for certain.’
Hand in hand they ran. They ran until their breath was spe
nt and they could run no more. The little cottage disappeared beneath a fold in the land behind them, but the church seemed no nearer. It was probably several miles away, but at least they had left the marshes behind and the terrain on either side of them was now scrubby pasture, dotted with bushes and brambles and an occasional cow, lying down for the night.
‘Do you think he’s got out by now?’ Lavinia asked as they stood panting for breath and listening for sounds of pursuit.
‘Probably. We must keep going.’
They had been walking for several more minutes when they heard the sound of a carriage approaching very fast. In a moment they had dived into the ditch beside the road and lay, hardly daring to breathe as an old coach passed them going towards the cottage. ‘Poole,’ Frances said, lifting her head slightly. ‘He wasn’t alone.’ She scrambled up to stare after it. ‘Now we’d best make haste because as soon as he sees Mullet, he’ll turn right round and come back.’
She had hardly spoken before the carriage came to a halt. ‘They’ve seen us! Run!’
They left the road and ran across the grass, stumbling in their haste as two men left the carriage to run after them. They could hear them shouting, but kept going, tearing their clothes on the brambles and muddying their shoes..
‘Vinny! Fanny! For God’s sake, stop running, will you?’
Frances came to a sudden stop. She knew the owner of that voice, even though he was shouting at the top of his lungs.
‘Papa!’ Lavinia, too, had at last understood what they were saying. She turned and ran back, straight into the arms of her father. Frances followed more slowly and stood facing him, panting for breath. ‘Thank God, you are both safe,’ he said. ‘Are you hurt, Vinny? Did those men hurt you?’
‘No, they would not dare while her ladyship was with me.’ Lavinia laughed, lifting her face from his chest. ‘You should have seen her, Papa, she was so brave, like a lioness. And when that dreadful man Mullet went out to the privy, she shut him in so that we could make a dash for it. He’ll be raging by now, even if he has got out.’