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

by Linore Rose Burkard

  “Oh, come, sir! We share a certain....shall I say, disregard? For the same man. You have taken steps to express your poor opinion of him. I can only applaud that.”

  Wingate’s features lightened. Ariana’s heart seemed to stop. What had she just heard? My word! Mr. Chesley was a devil! Wingate took a look back at her and then unlocked the door, and peeked out just a little.

  “Did you bring that pint?”

  “I thought you’d join me, downstairs.”

  “Not tonight. And tell no one you’ve seen me, by the by. Upon your life.”

  Chesley seemed surprised, but cried, “Done. Not a word! I will go and procure something to your taste... and then return to you.”

  “Very well. But remember, not a word!”

  Chesley took the steps with satisfaction. Soon he would know what’s what. He had seen Wingate in the dim light when he entered with a lady, and wondered if he’d had the audacity to nab Miss Herley again. He’d heard the man went into a rage at losing her. Though Miss Herley was not a love interest, she was one of the few ladies Mr. Chesley called a real friend. If Wingate had taken her, he had to know.

  Thus he’d followed the man surreptitiously, and concocted the scheme to get him to open the door. He should have known Wingate wouldn’t let him in empty-handed. He’d have to hurry to buy a few pints and get back up there to find out who the woman was. If only Antoine wasn't in prison! Just his dashed luck. But if it was Miss Herley, he was sure to find help at White’s or Boodleʼs. He might even stumble upon the rare constable. Imagine it, he, Chesley, asking help of a constable!

  He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  Ariana began to recite the ninety-first Psalm to herself in a low voice. Lord Wingate was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall with his head back and the candle near him. He said, “Take a seat,” to her, nodding at the single shabby chair in the room. The only other furniture was a small table and a bed! She shuddered, and took the chair.

  With a sigh, he got up and approached her, and then, using a large handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat, tied her hands tightly behind her, making her sit forward until he’d finished.

  This was disturbing, but she knew Mr. Mornay would do everything in his power to find her. She knew too that God was watching and would somehow keep her safe. This Psalm was one of the few portions of scripture that she’d successfully memorized in whole.

  “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”

  Wingate looked at her.

  “I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress; My God; in Him will I trust.”

  He said, “What—what are you saying?”

  “The ninety-first Psalm.” Then, looking away from him, continued. “Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under His wings shalt thou trust.”

  “Cannot you keep quiet?”

  She ignored him, for she needed to focus on God, not him. “His truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor the arrow that flieth by day; nor the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor the destruction that wasteth at noonday.”

  “Miss Forsythe! I can easily bind your mouth, so do not force me.”

  “Why do you not go to collect your money? You shan’t get a thing from Mr. Mornay by remaining here!”

  “I’ll go when I’m good and ready,” he returned. He took up a new post by a window, keeping carefully from sight behind ragged drapery.

  “A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.”

  He jumped towards her in anger. “I’ve given you fair warning! It’s yourself alone to blame.” He hurriedly began to remove his neckcloth, coming towards her ominously.

  “Lord Wingate!” She pronounced, icily. “I am speaking hardly above a whisper. I suggest that if the words of Scripture are injurious to your hearing, it is because you are not right with God. Rather than silencing me, you ought to give heed to the welfare of your soul!”

  He stopped for a moment, staring at her. She hoped she had given him cause to consider his ways. But he came toward her again, still unwinding the cloth about his neck. Halting in front of her, he studied her. “You are a prime article, aren’t you? Let us hope Mornay fully values you.” He went back to his perch at the window. Ariana breathed a sigh of relief.

  He seemed intent on keeping an eye on the street below, although he had to keep his head out of sight. Ariana continued reciting the Psalm. A minute or two later Wingate suddenly came to attention.

  “It’s Antoine! Devil take it! How did he get out of Newgate?”

  Ariana’s heart took a leap. If Lord Antoine was free, it stood to reason that Mr. Mornay would be with him—or not far behind!

  Wingate turned suspicious eyes to her. “He’s looking for Miss Herley, no doubt. But he could never have escaped from prison, so it means Mornay must have effected his release. In exchange for his help. Blast brotherly affection! I’ll kill him, if it comes to it!”

  She said nothing, but thought, Kill his own brother! Let it not come to that, O Lord! Her thoughts must have been evident on her face, because he saw her expression and added, “Antoine is here to do me in, I assure you!”

  “His object is surely to secure Miss Herley, my lord. You might consider abandoning the place while you can, and leave us to be discovered.”

  “If it weren’t for Antoine,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “your discovery would have taken Mornay weeks! No regular swell would have found me in this flea-trap so quickly! Dash it; he’s interfered with me once too often! And I might say the same for your betrothed!” He fell silent for a moment, while he furtively peeked out the window again. He saw the prince’s men and let loose an awful string of oaths. “My brother has indeed ruined the business! And I’ll hold him to account for it, by Jove!”

  He turned to her with a new thought. “Does Mornay carry a decent amount of blunt on ‘im?”

  “I have no idea, sir! It was never a part of our conversation.”

  He came at her and she looked away, but he turned her head to face him and said, “Do not trifle with me, Miss Forsythe. I remind you that you are entirely within my power.”

  “Not entirely, sir.” Her steadiness of voice and look of conviction startled him.

  “Eh? How is that?”

  “Even you are within God’s power. And so am I. Whatever you do to me or think you can, I assure you, you will answer to Him for it.”

  He looked sufficiently daunted at the thought, but then a look of sheer impatience replaced his better sense. “No more of your fustian, if you please, Miss Forsythe. You know the man. Does he carry a good amount of money on him or not?”

  “I would think he does, but I’ve never seen inside his pockets, sir.”

  He fell to thinking, and she added, “Since it is money you want in exchange for me, I warrant he will give you whatever you ask, if he can.”

  “If?” He studied her again, taking in her finely chiseled nose and mouth, the large pretty eyes, the shining hair.

  “If I don’t get money, he will not get you. In fact, if he tries to cross me, I’ll smuggle you to America with me.”

  She heard him out bravely though she might have collapsed into tears at such a nasty threat, but somehow Ariana felt sure that no such thing would happen. A verse from a different Psalm came to her: “When I am afraid, I will trust in you… In God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can mortal man do to me?”

  Wingate took his handkerchief and forced it into her mouth, saying, “I am afraid I must ensure your silence. Not very gentlemanly of me, is it?” Her muffled protests only seemed to amuse him. “I am going down to see what’s what. Pray that your betrothed has properly valued you, or I will come for you and keep you.”

  He blew out the candle and left the room, leaving her in d
arkness. After a minute or two she could see a very faint light from the window but the moon was weak and did little to relieve the blackness that surrounded her.

  With his absence, worries assailed her. What if Mr. Mornay failed to outwit him? Would Lord Wingate abuse her? Would he be able to steal her away, even out of the country? At this thought, her eyes filled with tears. That would mean separation from Mr. Mornay! Even as she thought it, however, she felt a check within her heart. She need not dwell on such a possibility. It would never happen….But how could she be sure? How? How?

  Trust. The word floated to her mind.

  It had bubbled up from an invisible place inside her, a place of assurance. She returned to Psalm 91, and, though she could not speak the words, she thought them. He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. She realized that Wingate had intended on this horrid dark room as being his secret place for her, when really she was in God’s “secret place,” under His wings. The secret place that could only be found by trusting Him. She was bound and gagged and helpless in many ways. But she could trust.

  Her heart lifted.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Just as Lord Wingate left the window from where he had spotted his brother on the street below, Mornay exited a seedy building across the road. He and Lord Antoine hailed each other.

  “Anything?” Mornay asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Mr. Mornay looked at the typical flash house before them. “Is this place a likelihood?”

  “Likely as twenty others! We have to check.”

  “By all means.”

  As they had done on their previous attempts to find the errant noble, they entered the premises separately, as though they were strangers. As Antoine entered, he was noticed immediately by Mr. Chesley who was holding two bottles in his hands and about to climb the stairs. Seeing Holliwell, his face lit up.

  “I say, Antoine! Excellent well done. You’re free!”

  The young noble went up to his friend, saying, “Mr. Mornay arranged it.”

  Chesley’s features dropped. But he said, “Upon my soul! That’s dashed peculiar! How do you account for it?”

  “Another time, I’ll tell you all,” the young man said, eyeing the bottles in his friend’s hands. “Where are you going with those?”

  Chesley had not yet seen Mornay, who instinctively stood back in the shadows listening. Before Chesley could answer, the sound of footsteps on the stairs above was heard, and someone coughed. Chesley glanced up worriedly, and Lord Antoine was instantly of the opinion that he was about to see his brother. Just at that moment, Chesley saw Mr. Mornay. There was something in the man’s face he did not like.

  “You brought him with you? Antoine!”

  Truth was Mr. Mornay was exceedingly incensed. He’d been in hunting mode all day, trying to find Wingate and so far failing. But he could smell his prey, as it were. He knew the man had to be close, in a relative sense. But already he'd seen enough rented rooms in these places to last him a lifetime—the skin trade was more active than he’d thought. When Mornay’s eyes alighted on Chesley, therefore, his features were set in a formidable mode. Mr. Chesley, moreover, was not innocent. He had not abducted anyone, but he had been in favour of Wingate’s revenge on Mornay. When their eyes met, all the guilt in Mr. Chesley’s thoughts was full on his face. Mr. Mornay’s eyes narrowed as though he was about to move in on his kill.

  To Mr. Chesley there was only one thing to do. He pushed the two bottles into Holliwell’s hands and took off as fast as he could go. He should have known that if you run from a hunting animal, particularly a lion, and more particularly a lion that has been deprived of its prey for a very long time, it will dart after you with every fiber of its being. This is precisely what Mornay did.

  Chesley bounded into the crowded roomful of culls, coves and demireps, running blindly in a dead fright. He cared nothing for what havoc he created or who he blundered into or over. Mornay never let the young man leave his sight. The way he had taken off only strengthened his resolve to catch him at all costs, and so, brandishing his pistol, he got an instantly clearer path before him than Chesley had. The chase took a roundabout direction, and then Chesley gained the hall and the front door. Huzzah!

  On the street he felt more confident now that he had more room, but wouldn’t you know it, he could hear the heavy footsteps of Mornay’s black boots behind him. They passed people who instantly took up his cause without knowing a thing about it because he was the one being chased. (They fought like cats and dogs among themselves, but would unite against the law in a second). Obstacles were pushed in Mornay’s path. Then the night watchman saw the action and he joined Mornay, so that two men now chased the young man.

  A woman of leering countenance and ill-bred appearance jumped in front of the watchman and foiled his progress completely, as he had to move her aside and then get her arms off of him. She cackled wickedly when he finally got away, but now he was decidedly behind.

  Mornay passed them without breaking stride. He’d seen his prey, no more than a dark figure at this distance, veering into an alley off the street. When he reached the alley, it was quiet and dead dark. He checked his grip on his pistol, held it carefully, ready to shoot, and walked into...darkness.

  Back at the flash house, Holliwell put the bottles down quietly on the steps. He was astonished that Chesley had run from Mr. Mornay. His recent help in getting Lavinia to safety had left no doubt in Holliwell’s mind that the man was true, a friend to be valued. But what on earth was between him and Mornay that had made him run like a scared rabbit?

  He had no time to think about it. The sound of footsteps grew close, and he still suspected them to be his brother’s. Thing was they might have belonged to a hundred different men, a thousand nameless underlings of London, but something in Lord Antoine's senses signalled that it could be Julian. He waited with one hand on his weapon. It was inevitable, their meeting, and had long been coming. He was relieved in a way, to get it over with.

  When his brother appeared around the bend in the stairs above, he was not surprised. He felt sad for Julian, despite everything.

  “So, Antoine, turned on your brother now, did you?”

  “Is that your greeting? Are you not surprised to see me?”

  “My surprise is that you are willing to block me at both ends.”

  “You’ve got Miss Herley, Julian! Miss Forsythe, dash it! You’re determined to nip the heels of old Grim as if you can avoid his fingers forever! You’ll find, sir, that the noose is not a respecter of persons!” He shook his head. “Are you actually eager to end your life?”

  “I am eager to supplement it for once with enough blunt to stop merely ekeing out a living!”

  Holliwell kept his temper in check. “There are men all over the East End at this very moment seeking you out! Soldiers from the Regent!”

  Wingate had thought as much himself, from his glimpse of the colours at the window, but his face blanched, nevertheless. “From the Regent? My, but I am making waves, eh?” He paused. “It’s Mornay’s doing.”

  “It is! Just as my freedom is!” He looked gravely at his brother. “He’s a reasonable man, Julian. He said I might bring you to your bearings, and yet spare you the gibbet.”

  “Bring me to my bearings?” He was slowly coming down the stairs so that the men finally faced each other on level ground. “What does that mean, Antoine? That I come out from my dark corner holding out my hands for cuffs?”

  “Give us the women! It is that simple.”

  “And then I may go, free as a bird, is that it?”

  “Not exactly. You’ll have to leave the country. But you’ll be free, Julian! You’ll have a chance at a new life!”

  “Not on your life, little brother! I’d be as poor as a pauper!”

  “I’ll help you!” He was desperate. His brother should have been the one to sound desperate, but he seemed to be too buffle-headed to understand his
own peril.

  Wingate grimaced in contempt. “You’ll help me? That’s ripe! With what?”

  “I will have the means,” he said with difficulty, emphasizing each word. “To offer you help.” Their eyes met. “That’s a clanker! You think me a fool?”

  “I’m telling you the truth. Miss Herley will have a stipend.” He could not, for anything, tell his brother that he would be living off of Mr. Mornay.

  “Ha! Miss Herley? If there is a Miss Herley!”

  Antoine’s face froze. “Tell me you didn’t mean that!”

  Julian said nothing, only looked away. Antoine was suddenly beside himself, and he pulled his pistol from his waistcoat and pointed it at his brother.

  “Take me to her. Now!”

  “But where is she?” Wingate asked, feigning ignorance.

  “Take me to her. I won’t go after you. You can do as you please!”

  “I want a sum of money from Mornay. If he can produce it, I’ll turn over the ladies.”

  “The game’s up, Julian! They are here, or nearby. We shall find them, with your help or not.”

  “Are you familiar with all the secret rooms on this street then?”

  Antoine’s eyes narrowed. It was well-known among criminals that certain houses contained secret doors which led to anything from small cubicles to entire rooms which were used to fence stolen goods until they were sold. Some of these rooms were so craftily hidden that only the mistress or master of the house knew of their existence. If his brother had used such rooms for the women, it could indeed take a long time to find them—if they could be found.

  “If you put us to that, the lords will hang you.”

  “It’s Hobson’s Choice, sir. That or nothing. If they prefer to hang me right now and let the morts starve to death—that is their choice.” He paused. “Or die of thirst, more like.”

  “You blackguard!” Lord Antoine had put his pistol away, but he balled up his fists.

  Julian ignored him. “Tell Mornay what I want, and I’ll meet you back here, in, say, two hours.”