The House in Grosvenor Square: A Novel of Regency England (The Regency Trilogy Book 2)

by Linore Rose Burkard

  There were other gentlemen about, and Mr. Chesley did not want to blurt the thing in their hearing, so when he sat down, he simply gave his friend a look.

  “What’s on your mind, Chesley?” Holliwell took a good draw on his pint of ale. Chesley looked around a bit and frowned, but he said, “I just saw a young woman whom, I believe, you are acquainted with.”

  Holliwell looked at him sardonically. “Well? I know plenty o’ morts around here, what of it?”

  “This one isn’t a mort—and she’s not from around here. Come with me a sec and I’ll tell you more about her.” He was gesturing with his head and eyes, but Antoine was being cork-brained or he was too deep in his cups—and it was only morning.

  Lord Antoine leaned forward. “Did you take note of Miss Herley last night? Her little kindnesses to me, and all that?” He paused. “I ain’t your man, Chesley.”

  “Don’t be a gudgeon!” he returned with fervour. Then, in a fierce whisper, “This is about Miss Herley!”

  “What? You saw her hereabouts? Why didn’t you say so, you lackwit!”

  Chesley had risen. Antoine did the same, and the two left the place. “I wanted to, you hulver-head, but your friends are so chummy with your brother, and he’s the one that’s got her!”

  Holliwell halted abruptly. His face had frozen with an ominous look on it. “Explain your meaning.”

  “Just what I said. I saw him bullying her into Mrs. Wood’s, and she didn’t look too chipper. He also had that nasty jarvis with him. What’s ‘is name—Campbell, and I don’t doubt he had a pistol at her side.”

  Holliwell’s face hardened, his nose flared, and he quickened his steps. “I’ll kill him if he lays a finger on her! I swear I’ll kill him!” Their eyes met. Chesley nodded.

  In tandem they began running down the street. They’d have to hoof it to Mrs. Wood’s house,

  but both men were young and had the speed-enhancing benefit of a noble cause. They made it in record time.

  Lavinia had stopped crying, but she wouldn’t accept a drink from her captors, and she was terrified that Lord Wingate would return and something terrible would happen to her. She knew she was in a brothel, what the lower classes called a monastery. Thoughts too horrible for words were going through her mind—which was a shame because it would have been strangely fascinating to be in such a place otherwise. Shocking thought! If mamma knew, she’d give me an instant combing.

  She had read about such establishments, and heard of the rare police raid, but to actually see these women, to see that such places existed really—it was so curious! She was studying the woman she liked to think of as the “abbess,” (another cant term that she wasn’t supposed to know) when the sound of agitated voices came to her ears and grew louder.

  The abbess heard it too and at first reacted with a look of sheer boredom. But she grew suspicious as the sounds grew closer, and she got up and went toward the door. Stopping to look back at Lavinia with a leer, she said, “Sit tight, luv, I’ll be back in a wink.” Lord Wingate’s earlier companion, the driver, had been dozing for the past ten minutes. The lady left, locking the door behind her.

  Lavinia scrambled to her feet and searched the room to see if it adjoined with another, but there was no other door. She rushed to a window and threw aside the curtain, but the street below, scarcely populated, held no beadle or officer of the law who might come to her aid. It was too far to jump—it would be the death of her, being three stories at least. But she could shout; yes, scream, if she had to.

  She tugged at the window but it was no use. The weathered wood had expanded or perhaps was painted with the sill, and it wouldn’t budge. Loud thuds at the door got her attention, and she spun around. The voice of the abbess angrily shouting....then another voice. Oh! Could it be? It sounded like Lord Antoine! Without thinking, she rushed at the door, crying, “Antoine! I’m here! It’s me, Lavinia! I’m here!”

  The door opened then, and her hopes dropped abruptly. It was Lord Wingate, not his brother. He sneered at her, “Antoine! I’m here, it’s me, Lavinia!” And then he snickered and was joined by the abbess. He held up a piece of paper. “I’ve got it, my little lamb, the thing that will earn your freedom.” She eyed him warily but said nothing.

  “Are you not curious? Oh well, here it is then. A detailed account of your fate, unless Miss Forsythe can persuade her heart’s admirer to pay the price I’ve named. It requires only your signature.” He shoved the paper at her saying, “Here. Read it if you like. And sign it.”

  Lavinia didn’t take it. “You will get no great sum for me. Mr. Mornay cares nothing for me!”

  He took a breath. “Do not tax my patience, Miss Herley. I am determined to deliver this letter tonight. So you see, you must sign it now, or I will be forced to deal with you.” His tone was light but there was a dangerous glint in his eye. He had picked up the paper and now held it out to her again. She took it. The abbess was on hand with a quill and ink.

  Lavinia hated to do it, but she was relieved that at least it meant they would know something of what had happened to her. And by whose hand. She signed it a bit shakily and handed it back.

  Lord Wingate took it eagerly and nearly pranced to the door, stopping only to say a few words to the abbess, and then he was gone. His exit gave Lavinia some relief. Antoine’s brother was a devil. He was handsome in his way, but in an evil way.

  Downstairs Mr. Mornay arrived. He’d been searching systematically through house after house, pushing away people—men or women—who got too close, asking questions of some and keeping a sharp eye out for either of the brothers. At Mrs. Wood’s he asked for Wingate and gave the usual information: that he owed the man money from a wager and was there to pay up.

  This earned him the information that he had just missed the man! Where did he go? He was given only the direction, but that was enough and in seconds Mornay was on the street and running after the tall, thin figure quickly moving off down the road.

  Chesley and Lord Antoine came at Mrs. Wood’s from a different direction and saw Mornay just as he left the building.

  “Him?” Chesley cried, stopping his companion.

  Holliwell said, “I ain’t afraid of ‘im. Maybe he’ll serve to help us!”

  “Well, I don’t like him,” replied Chesley. “If your brother had appeared with his lady, I wouldn’t have raised a finger to help her.”

  Lord Antoine said, “But she is a woman of gentility and done you no injury.”

  Chesley was still staring after the man he detested. “She’s marrying him.”

  Before entering the house, Holliwell took out his pistol and cocked it. He hid it again while he used his familiarity with some of the regulars to ascertain whether or not his brother was in the building. He was informed that Wingate had left not long ago. Was he alone? He was. Good. That meant Lavinia was still in the building.

  His lordship sought out the proprietress, Mrs. Wood. She was an overweight woman with sloppy hair, wearing very white face powder and dark lip color that made her look garish. Mrs.Wood was no rattle-trap and always tried to protect her patrons, but she knew Holliwell. Therefore when he asked which room his brother had rented, she said, “Last room on the left at top o’ the stairs, luv.” She eyed the young noble a moment, and added, in a leering tone, “Don’t you want your own room, now?”

  “Not this time,” he answered, and she shook her head disapprovingly.

  They reached the room Mrs. Wood had specified and stopped outside the door. There was no sound from within.

  Antoine knocked, pistol in hand, his muscles tensing of their own accord. The next minute would decide if this was going to be a simple matter or, God forbid, a bloody one. Chesley too was at the ready, his eyes riveted at the door, his hands balling into fists.

  When Lavinia heard the knock, her eyes opened in hope. The Abbess turned to her and hissed in a low tone, “Not a sound out o’ you, missee, or Wingate will know of it!”

  The sleeping man came to with a st
art. “There’s someone at the door,” the woman said, to him, just as the knock came again.

  “’Ere, who is it?” She had gone close to the portal and spoke through the wood.

  “Antoine! Open up, Mrs. Smith!” Her brows cleared, and she went to open the door. But the man cried, “Not so hasty, luv! I don’t think ‘is lordship’s on terms wi’ ‘is brother.”

  The lady hesitated, looking at him, but in an irked tone, replied, “What’s that to me? It ain’t ma funeral.” She opened the door, was met with a pistol, and said hurriedly, “I let you in, didn’t I? You don’t want to shoot ol’ Mrs. Smith, now, do ya?”

  With a look of alarm, the man in the room hurried to get up and get to his coat with its pistol, but Holliwell came in forcefully, understood his object, and went and stood between the man and his overcoat, saying, “Not another inch. Sit back down, and you won’t get hurt.” The man reluctantly did as told.

  Lavinia was in tears with joy, and let out a relieved sob. Holliwell’s eyes met hers. She rushed to his side and threw herself against him. With his one free arm he circled her and the look on his face became by turns tender, then angry. His eyes glittered at the man and woman to blame.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, leaning down enough to speak into her hair.

  “No, I am not.”

  “Get the key,” he instructed Chesley, who obediently went towards Mrs. Smith, who didn’t fight him at all. She held it up, in fact, with a hollow smile, and he took it.

  “Check his coat,” Holliwell added, nodding towards the crumpled garment, which had been tossed over the back of a chair. The man on the floor frowned as Chesley obeyed the order. Soon Mr. Chesley was brandishing a pistol, which he had pulled out of a deep pocket of the coat. He also pulled out a flask of some liquid, but Antoine shook his head, and it was returned. Chesley took the pistol to his friend, who had motioned for him to do so. He tucked the gun safely inside his waistcoat.

  “Over here, Mrs. Smith, if you please,” his lordship said, pointing to the far side of the room. The lady promptly began to move. “Your brother will want your ‘ead for this,” she said warningly as she went.

  “I don’t doubt it.” But he was in high spirits with Lavinia near, and he added an impish wink to the statement, so that Mrs. Smith smiled and instantly forgave him all.

  In moments the threesome backed out of the room, locked the door behind them, and hurried down the stairs of the establishment. They had no idea when Lord Wingate would be returning, and they needed to get as far from Mrs. Woods’s house as possible. When they’d gone a few streets away, Holliwell said, “We’d best split up.” Chesley agreed. He said his farewells to Lavinia, who thanked him tearfully for coming to her rescue, and walked away from them.

  Shortly afterward his lordship engaged a hack and was comforting Lavinia in his arms until they reached Burton Crescent. His brother was indeed going to be in a rage over the day’s events, but Holliwell loved Lavinia Herley. Somehow, someway, he would have to prove his worth to her parents so he could marry their daughter in a respectable way. The question was how to do it? How?

  When Ariana finally awoke near four in the afternoon, the two maids from Hanover Square had fallen asleep in their wing-back chairs across the room, and Mrs. Hamilton was reading a book by the light of a candle in a chair closer to the bed. Ariana was blithely unaware of what happened to Miss Herley that morning and was feeling much restored from her own misadventure. But her mind did wander to the events that had befallen her. She thought of Mr. O’Brien and remembered the awful gash on his head. He had been injured on her account.

  What if he was to develop the fever? What if he failed to heal, or if his brain were somehow affected? Such gruesome thoughts assailed her. She would ask Mr. Mornay to send a servant to find out how the man was doing. Surely a doctor had been by to see him, and would have given his opinion regarding Mr. O’Brien’s recovery. I simply must know.

  “Good day, Mrs. Hamilton,” she said.

  “Good day, Miss Forsythe.” The lady looked up from her book. “Shall you want something to eat, ma’am?”

  “I need to speak to Mr. Mornay. I should like him to—”

  “I’ll see if the master is home,” she said, rising and going at once for the door. Ariana was certain that Mr. Mornay was home—why would he leave when he had taken such pains to have her beneath his own eyes? Hadn’t he said she would be safest with him in the same house? The servant had been short with her, but she shrugged it off and awakened one of the maids to help her dress.

  After washing and dressing, the housekeeper still hadn’t returned, so Ariana went downstairs. The footmen she discovered at her door instantly followed her, which this time she found amusing. She knew it was not because she was distrusted, but loved!

  She stopped in the morning room, hoping to find tea or coffee available, but nothing was in evidence. She spotted the housekeeper passing in the hall, and called out for her.

  The lady barely curtseyed, mumbled that she was sorry, but Mr. Mornay was indeed not in the house at present.

  Did she know where he had gone?

  “No.”

  Did he say when he would return?

  “No.”

  “Has Miss Herley come to the house?”

  “No, ma’am.” (This was the truth, Mrs. Hamilton reassured herself.)

  “Please send Frederick to me,” she said, thinking that she would learn more of Mr. Mornay’s business from that man, who always was nothing but helpful to her.

  After waiting for some minutes for Frederick, Ariana finally left the room in a huff, causing the two footmen to scramble hastily from their places flanking the doorway.

  “Freddy,” she said, after coming upon him in the hall. “Do you know where Mr. Mornay has gone?”

  “No, ma’am, his whereabouts are unknown.”

  “Did he say when he would return?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Has he left no message for me?” She was a bit shocked.

  “He wishes for you to remain in the house until he returns.” Ariana nodded. That, at least, made sense. “I need a footman or boy to run an errand for me.” He seemed a little nonplussed, so she said, “Is there a problem?”

  “No, ma’am—except that these two,” and he motioned at her bodyguards, “are not to leave you, and the boy is already out to market for Cook.”

  “Surely Mr. Mornay has other footmen,” she said, reasonably.

  “He took a few men with him, ma’am.”

  She turned to the two who had been stationed at her doorway. “One of you needs must go.”

  Frederick cleared his throat. “Ma’am, they would face the master’s displeasure if they were to leave you for an errand.”

  He seemed to be looking at her pointedly. Not with an ounce of affability, as was his usual attitude. Perhaps she had scandalized the servants by spending the night in the home of her future husband? Oh, dear! Servants with poor attitudes were not to be borne! She wished suddenly to be back at Hanover Square. If Mr. Mornay’s footmen must follow her there, so be it. Then she remembered Mr. O’Brien. She had not dismissed Frederick, but he was turning to leave!

  “Mr. Frederick!” She looked at him with a little asperity. She considered defending herself. She wanted to say, “You must know there was no impropriety in my spending the night here! Mrs. Hamilton herself was beside my bed!” But one did not explain oneself to the servants. They were expected to behave as their station required, regardless of their judgments.

  “I will need use of a carriage. A closed carriage. These men may accompany me on back.” Frederick hesitated. “Ma’am, may I remind you that Mr. Mornay wished—”

  “Yes, I know what he wished. I shan’t be long.”

  The butler cleared his throat. Mr. Mornay had told him in no uncertain terms to keep Miss

  Forsythe in the house. What was he to do? In a minute, his confusion cleared up. It was his part to obey his master—not a future mistress and certai
nly not one that was intent on parting him from his situation!

  “I am afraid, ma’am, that I cannot allow it.”

  She opened her mouth a little in surprise. “I am not asking for your permission,” she said, her face flushing with anger, “I am giving you an instruction. Which you will obey!” When he still hesitated, she added, “Or shall I go on foot?” The servants must not think they did not need to respect her wishes, even if she was new to the household and even if they did think she was scandalous. Ariana knew enough of how new households were run to know that if the servants didn’t respect you, they would never be in line. They had to know from the outset who was in charge.

  Frederick looked at her for a moment, but his face grew unsettled, and he dropped his eyes.

  “As you wish, ma’am.” He was not going to fight the woman. He had tried to obey his master’s orders, but Miss Forsythe had seen fit not to. It wasn’t his fault.

  “You may inform Mr. Mornay, if he returns, that I have gone to Blandford Street to check on Mr. Peter O’Brien’s condition.”

  In a few minutes, Ariana was being handed into a small, closed carriage by a footman. He put up the steps and jumped on back beside the other liveried servant, and the vehicle began moving away from the curb. Once they were out in traffic, Ariana rehearsed the morning’s events. Why are the servants at Grosvenor Square suddenly so off-putting? By rights, they should be eager to see to my comfort. It is beyond the pale the way Mrs. Hamilton kept me waiting with no word for so many minutes. And then Frederick hadn’t even come to my room when he was expressly requested to do so. She had not mentioned these gaffes to the servants, not wanting to appear too particular, but when Frederick had challenged her authority—that was too provoking.