by Louise Allen
‘I’ll send a letter with them,’ Garrick said. ‘My brother in law’s a blacksmith, you might recall, my lord. Big chap and handy with his fists. He wouldn’t let anything happen to any of them.’
‘I am going out.’ Lucian picked up a hat and cane from the hall stand and went to the front door.
I ran after him. ‘You can’t go out like that – you look as though you’ve been rolling around in the road in Pall Mall.’
‘This cannot wait.’ He strode out.
‘Oh, bother the man.’ I ran to my bedroom, found an unbattered hat, pulled new gloves on over my scraped hands and hurried after him, buttoning my pelisse as I went.
I caught up with Lucian in Piccadilly. ‘I have no idea what – ’
‘Return home, Cassie. I am going to kill him,’ Lucian said, cutting across me.
It was so out of character for him to be rude, let alone to a woman, that I just gawped at him.
‘I will take him apart,’ Lucian swore.
I took a couple of skipping steps to catch up. ‘Where are we going?’
For answer he stepped into the road and gestured at a hackney carriage. ‘If you must come, get in.’ He opened the door, pushed me inside and snapped an address at the driver.
‘To Sir Clement?’
There was no answer, although I rather thought he was grinding his teeth. Then I saw his face properly and caught my breath because I don’t think he was even properly aware I was with him, he was so angry.
When the cab stopped Lucian was out of it and up the steps of the house before I had even got off the seat.
I climbed down and the driver leaned over. ‘You want me to wait or what, Miss?’
‘No, thank you. How much do I owe you?’ I fumbled in my reticule with the unfamiliar coins and probably over-tipped the man, but I was half-turned to watch Lucian as the front door opened.
‘Thank you, Miss.’ The driver whipped up the horse and was off at a brisk trot. I obviously had been far too generous.
The butler who had answered the door looked somewhat apprehensive. Presumably he had a better view of Lucian’s face than I did. ‘My lord?’
‘Selbourne. Now. Fetch him.’
‘I will ascertain whether Sir Clement is at home, my lord,’ the butler said as I reached the top step ‘I am not certain – ’
At that moment the man himself came into the hallway. ‘Who is it, Baines? Ah, Luc, I am glad you – ’
He did not stay glad for very long. Lucian simply shouldered past the butler, sending him rocking on his heels, marched down the hall and punched his friend in the face. Selbourne went sprawling full length on the chequered marble floor.
‘You lying, treacherous bastard!’ Lucian hauled him to his feet by the neckcloth, drew back his fist and was punched in turn by Selbourne who swung a left that sent Lucian crashing into a side table. A vase full of roses rocked wildly.
I steadied the swaying butler and pushed past him to the two men who were rolling on the floor now, apparently trying to kill each other with their bare hands.
Chapter Eighteen
There was a gasp and a maid, who had just emerged through a door with a large flower arrangement in her hands, stopped dead and began to scream.
I grabbed the vase from her and upended it over the men, then picked up the rose bowl from the hall table and added that for good measure as a footman came bursting through the baize-covered door under the stairs.
‘Help me!’ I got hold of Lucian by the collar and tugged and the footman and the butler waded in.
The two fell apart abruptly and lay sprawled on the marble, panting and swiping at wilted foliage. Both of them were bleeding from the nose, from cut lips and battered knuckles. The butler and footman got their master to his feet and half-dragged, half-helped him into the nearest room.
I bent over Lucian. ‘Stand up or I’ll have them haul you in too.’
He got to his feet, swatted a rose from his sodden waistcoat and stalked into the drawing room, his dignity not helped by the trail of bent fern fronds that fell in his wake.
‘Towels and a valet, quickly,’ I said, shooing the servants towards the door and closing it behind them.
When I turned round Sir Clement was still on the floor, but he had hauled himself back against the sofa and was gingerly moving his jaw while he dripped water and petals onto the carpet. ‘What the hell do you think you are doing?’ he demanded, having apparently decided that nothing was broken.
‘What am I doing? You lie to me, you involve me in your lies, you ruin a respectable young lady – And then you stoop to attempted murder of me and this lady.’ Lucian paused in mid-rant and swiped a handkerchief across his bleeding mouth before gesturing in my direction. ‘I thought you were my friend. I believed I could trust your word. Did you set those footpads on me as well as that coach? It was a miracle that Cassie was not killed.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Lucian, sit down.’ I pushed him towards a chair and, for the first time, he seemed to properly take in the fact that I was there in reality and not simply as someone to rant about.
‘Sir Clement, Arabella’s maid has finally confessed that she helped her mistress to elope with you that night, that you sent Arabella a note and met her in a carriage.’
‘What? The hell I did! My apologies, Miss Lawrence, but this is outrageous.’
I went and held out my hand to help him to his feet and, as usual, he reached out with his left, got in a muddle and almost had me on the floor by the time he’d finished. But for all his clumsiness, he had a stunning left-handed punch from what I had seen in the hall: it did not do to underestimate this man.
‘We believed her,’ I said. ‘She was telling the truth.’
‘I did not send Arabella a note, I did not arrange an elopement. I do not know where she is. And I did not try to have you killed. Are you insane, Radcliffe?’
I looked at Lucian as he stood up. ‘Upon your honour?’ he demanded.
‘Upon my honour,’ Sir Clement said bitterly. ‘Although why you should take my word of honour when you did not accept my word as your friend, I do not know. Hell, Luc – did you really believe that I could try and have you murdered?’
I could feel the physical effort it was taking for Lucian to keep meeting Selbourne’s hurt gaze. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘I was angry that Cassie could have been killed this morning.’ For some reason the colour came up in his face under the bruises and he flicked a glance in my direction. ‘And I found I did not trust myself to make the judgment when a young woman’s – Arabella’s – life is in danger. And I should have done, should have trusted you. I apologise for not taking your word, for believing you could lie to me. For hitting you.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘There is no reason why you should not have us thrown out of your house – except that Arabella is with someone who lured her away, made her believe he was you.’
‘And so she is in danger,’ Sir Clement said bleakly. ‘Oh, come here, you bloody fool.’ He took one long stride and grabbed Lucian in an awkward hug. ‘I forgive you.’ He met my gaze over Lucian’s shoulder. ‘And I apologise for my language. And the violence, Miss Lawrence.’
‘Please, don’t apologise. We are all on edge.’
The door opened and a slight young man came in holding towels and a shirt. He had a mass of richly coloured brocade over one shoulder, a robe of some sort. ‘Sir Clement. I will have hot water taken to your dressing room.’ He cast a glance under his lashes at Lucian’s dishevelment. ‘And to a guest chamber?’
‘In a while, thank you, Dobbs. That will be all.’ Selbourne tossed a couple of towels to Lucian and scrubbed one over his hair. ‘I do not think my shirts will fit you, but if you want to take off that wet one and put on this banyan…’ He had remembered me.
‘That’s quite all right, gentlemen. I will turn my back.’ I did so as I spoke. The fact that the glass in the door of a cabinet gave me a perfect reflected view of the pair of them stripping of
f appeared to have escaped him. I reckoned that I was owed a little light relief after the morning I’d had. Selbourne was lankier than Lucian, but his stomach was flat and muscles moved distractingly under his skin as he dragged off his shirt and towelled down his torso. Lucian tossed him a dark blue robe and began to pull off his own shirt and my mouth went dry.
He didn’t have the gym-built body that is so desired now, but he was hard and lean and fit and utterly, powerfully, masculine. And I wanted him. Wanted to touch his chest, wanted to run my fingers through that dark hair, follow it down… It was almost a physical relief when he picked the red robe off the sofa and put it on.
‘Are you decent yet?’ I could see that they were, but I managed, just in time, not to turn round and betray the fact that I had been watching.
‘Yes.’ Lucian raked his fingers through his hair as I faced them again. ‘Clem, I am more sorry than I can say to have doubted you, but the girl was so believable.’
‘I still believe her,’ I said as I sat down and they both subsided, wincing, into chairs.
‘What? That I – ’
‘No, Sir Clement. I believe you too, but I am also certain that she was telling the truth as she knows it. Someone made that note convincing enough that Arabella believed it was from you and that someone took her away. She did not know it wasn’t you until she was inside the carriage and away from Martha, so he must have been masked.’
‘How do we prove it though?’ Selbourne looked utterly wretched. ‘And until we can prove it was not me we will never convince Cottingham or anyone else to take her disappearance seriously as anything but an elopement.’ He ran his hand through his hair, wincing as the bruised knuckles caught a tangle.
I had a sudden inspiration as I watched him. ‘May I borrow your footman to take a message to Albany? I would like Garrick to ask Martha Toms another question.’
Selbourne reached for the bell pull and when the butler answered, sent him for the man while I wrote a note for Garrick. ‘I think that now she has had a chance to calm down she might recall more and I think Garrick might scare her less than we do.’
When the note had been taken I explained to Lucian and Sir Clement what I wanted Garrick to ask Martha.
They both stared at me. ‘Are you sure I do that?’ Selbourne demanded.
‘Oh yes. You are so left handed that I haven’t seen you spontaneously offer your right hand first yet, even in quite formal situations like an introduction. But we will wait and see what Garrick replies.’
It seemed to take a long time, but Lucian did not want us going back to Albany until Garrick had got Martha safely on her way out of London. With us both away it seemed likely that any watchers would have followed us, not stayed behind. We drank tea, talked of this and that – anything but Arabella.
I felt as though we were facing a blank wall and, until we had this little piece of the jigsaw, we wouldn’t be able to see a picture. I gave myself a mental shake for my mixed metaphors and, finally, the footman came back.
I opened the note from Garrick and read it out loud.
‘The man was right handed. Martha was quite close but behind and to the side of the carriage. He’s put in a sketch.’ I handed it to Lucian and carried on reading. ‘The man inside put out his hand, ungloved. She saw a black sleeve and it was his right hand, put out without hesitation. I did not prompt her, because of what you said about her wanting to say the right thing to please us. I kept making her describe it and she remembered the way his hand curved in the lamplight. She said she thought he had a ring on, but she was not certain because his palm was toward her so she could not see a stone, or an engraved signet, only a quick flash of gold.’
‘My God,’ Lucian said softly.
‘So, we know he is a white, right-handed, adult male and wears a gold ring on his right hand,’ I said.
‘It will not be any help for identification in a court of law.’ The baronet was back to being gloomy again. The confirmation that his Arabella was in the hands of some unknown man, and had not run away by herself, seemed to have hit him hard.
‘And he must be close enough to you in build for her not to panic when she saw him in a darkened carriage,’ I went on, searching for clues. ‘If he was very much shorter, or if he was fat or exceedingly thin she would have noticed at once.’ I was clutching at straws and I knew it. How many white, right-handed men of Sir Clement’s build were there in London? Even if we assumed he had to be a gentleman and not one of the working classes, it hardly made it any easier.
‘I want to get back to my boards,’ I said.
‘Good idea. Clem, you come too.’
It took another half hour while the valet took them away to doctor the worst of the scrapes and bruises and find a coat that Lucian could get into without popping the seams, but eventually we were back at Albany.
Garrick had heated enough water for two shallow baths and Lucian and I went off to our rooms to finally get rid of the evidence of the morning’s collision with the carriage.
At last we were all gathered in front of the incident boards, Garrick with us, and a plate of cakes to go with our tea.
Garrick reported in the safe departure of Martha in a roll of carpet, an unlikely Cleopatra. I added a new section for ‘X’, our unknown perpetrator, and pinned up the tiny scraps we knew about him, then we stared at the boards in silence broken only by the rattle of cups on saucers and my faint moan of pleasure at the juicy tang of the fruit cake.
‘Means, motive, opportunity,’ I said out loud as I thought. ‘This is not something random, some pervert snatching a woman off the street to rape or kill. This was premeditated and planned by someone who knew Arabella. They wanted her, not just any woman. The motive has to do with her. It had to be someone who could organise a smooth operation. They either knew, or found out, who her maid was and that she was loyal to her mistress. They wrote a note that was plausible as coming from Sir Clement so they must have access to some of your handwriting. Although that must be easy enough within your own circle, I suppose. When you wrote to her before, were they long letters?’ I asked him.
‘Just a few short notes,’ he admitted. ‘Her brother forbade it, but I slipped them into flowers, that sort of thing.’
‘X knew that, and could forge your handwriting,’ Lucian said. ‘So what is the motive – money, passion, revenge?’
‘Any of those,’ I agreed. ‘Just because this man is operating efficiently does not mean that he is not mentally disturbed, though. So we might not accept that he has a rational reason for whatever his motive is, even if he does.’
‘Opportunity.’ Sir Clement sighed. ‘How can we possibly establish that? We are in the middle of the Season and everyone is in Town.’ He frowned. ‘I am being defeatist and I must not be. Arabella is relying on me.’
If she is still alive.
‘We are going to have to make some assumptions,’ Lucian said. ‘Otherwise we will never get anywhere. We can assume this is someone of her own class, someone she will have met socially. The obvious candidate is a man who has fallen for her and has been refused, either by her brother or turned down by Arabella herself.’
‘If this was an attempt at extortion, surely Cottingham would have heard by now, so this is motivated by passion,’ Sir Clement added.
‘We assume he has not been contacted,’ I interposed.
‘I saw him this morning and he snarled at me like an angry dog and said he still believed me responsible,’ Sir Clement said. ‘He went out of his way to accost me. Would he have done that if he was dealing with demands for money and threats to Arabella?’
‘He might have been told to keep up the pretence of blaming you, I suppose.’ Lucian shook his head. ‘No, it seems improbable, especially if he had to go out of his way to approach you.’
I was still thinking out loud. ‘She went willingly, thinking it was Sir Clement. Unless she knew it was someone else and this was an elaborate double bluff to deceive Martha…’
‘She loves m
e,’ Sir Clement said with a dignity that I found heart-breakingly convincing. ‘And she is not a deceitful, cunning person. She is very straightforward – too much so, sometimes. She says what she thinks. If you believe she may have been feigning her feelings for me, in order to deceive everyone, why not simply pretend to fall in with her brother’s wishes and show no interest in anyone?’
‘That is what I would do,’ I agreed. ‘Why make her brother suspicious and over-protective and life more difficult for herself if she intended escaping with another man?’
We all stared at the boards as though they would speak and give us an answer.
‘I need to talk to her friends,’ I said at last. ‘Do they support her in her affections for you, Sir Clement?’
He nodded. ‘All the ones I spoke to were young women she had told me she had confided in and who believed she should be allowed to marry where her heart was.’
‘Then you must introduce me to them. They might well talk to another woman more easily, and I want to know if she told them about any unwelcome suitors, men she had snubbed or discouraged or anyone who had made her feel uncomfortable.’
‘I will ask Henrietta to hold a tea party and invite you and all Arabella’s friends as soon as possible,’ Sir Clement said and got to his feet. ‘They will come unencumbered with their mamas if it is a party for young ladies only.’ He looked grim. ‘She is anxious enough about your knowledge of her escapades for her to do as I ask without argument.’
‘Tell her she will be a heroine if this helps us find Arabella,’ I suggested. That should appeal to the rather self-centred creature.
‘I will,’ he agreed and went out, followed by Garrick.
Chapter Nineteen
I leaned back against the sofa cushions and shivered, suddenly cold and depressed and fearful. My new bruises and scrapes had begun to throb and the image of that battered young woman in the morgue, used, abused and thrown away like so much rubbish, seemed to float up out of my subconscious to haunt me.