Flying into a rage would, he knew, serve no real purpose—although it was hard to deny an almost overwhelming desire to kick something—and Kit purposefully downed a bracing two fingers of whiskey before asking Lucy to tell him everything she knew. Once the girl had delivered her small store of hard information—embellished more than a little bit by way of her fertile imagination—the earl knew they could have a real problem on their hands.
“Ozzy,” he asked, “can you think of any reason for Ives to be calling on m’wife? I’d be inclined to think he asked her for a loan, but even Ives seems too intelligent to try such a ridiculous stunt.”
Mr. Norwood could see that Kit was as sore as a boil and trying not to explode, and he could only hope that Kit wouldn’t soon recall just who had first introduced Ives to the Wildes and take out his anger on him. “What? Me?” Ozzy exclaimed incredulously. “Why would I know anything? You know me, Kit, old fellow; dense as a house, that’s me. I haven’t a clue what maggot Ives has taken into his head. It’s you that’s got a brain sharp as needles. You figure it out!”
“You’re a real brick, Ozzy,” Kit gritted sarcastically as Lucy crossed her arms across her breast and rolled her eyes. “All right,” he went on, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, “I will figure it out. But,” he warned, his fierce expression freezing Mr. Norwood where he stood, “once I have got it figured out I will expect your wholehearted cooperation in whatever steps have to be taken from there. Surely, old fellow,” he drawled, “you are not so dull as to misunderstand what I am saying.”
Ozzy swallowed hard and waved his hand as if to say get on with it. While the ladies sat watching from the sidelines, Kit took his turn pacing the carpet, telling everyone that he was sure Ives had fed Jennie some line of drivel that convinced her she must use her winnings to save some poor unfortunate chimney sweep or some such faradiddle. Perhaps, he told his assembled audience with more hope than assurance, once he had been successful in relieving Jennie of her heavy purse he would return her to Berkeley Square. After all, he pointed out logically, Ives couldn’t kidnap Jennie, for goodness’ sake—else he’d have to flee the country. “And God knows five thousand pounds isn’t worth that,” he ended, smiling a bit as he began to believe what he was saying. Jennie, sweet, gullible soul that she was, would be out her winnings, but she would have learned a valuable lesson about putting her trust in people who did not deserve it.
“Four thousand, five hundred pounds,” Miss Bundy corrected helpfully. “Jennie quite naturally reserved five hundred pounds for Charity and little George.”
“Naturally.” Kit grinned, his spirits lifting momentarily. “But unless I sadly mistake my man, Ives will be paying his tailor and a half-dozen other creditors with the remainder of the proceeds. What I don’t understand is why it is taking so long to relieve my wife of her winnings. It certainly didn’t take Ives long to persuade her to ride out with him, if what Ben told Lucy is correct. No,” he said, shaking his head, “there’s something more to this, and I’d give my best bays to know exactly what it is.”
The earl’s bays were a real prize, and Ozzy saw his chance to have himself riding up behind them in his own curricle. “Ives has been running tame in this house before with you not home, right?” he asked in sudden inspiration. “Could it be your filly has bolted with him? After all, old fellow, you said yourself that she was an easy mark.”
It took the combined efforts of Del, Bob, and Ben to keep the enraged Kit from bashing his good friend into a pulp, so great was the man’s exception to the suggestion that his wife had run off with another man. “Now, now, guv’nor,” Ben soothed as he dangled three feet off the floor, with his arms and legs wrapped around his lordship’s waist and neck. “Anyone ken see wot the cove’s dicked in the nob. Ya ain’t gonna let no croaker with the wit o’three ’ave ya dancin’ at Beilby’s Ball?”
“What did he say?” Lucy asked Renfrew, who had by necessity become quite conversant in the footmen’s mode of cant. “Ben has referred to Mr. Norwood as being crazy in the head, miss,” he whispered under his breath as Kit peeled off his protectors and shook out his sleeves. “And then Ben suggested that his lordship shouldn’t allow any foreteller of bad news who had only the combined wit of two fools and a madman to nudge him into doing murder and then being hanged. Beilby was a famous hangman, I believe.”
“Oh,” Lucy said, nodding her understanding. “Thank you, Renfrew. Jennie said I could always look to you to know the answer to anything, and she was correct. Perhaps you have a solution to our current problem you might share with us.”
“Well, miss, now that you mention it,” Renfrew confessed shyly, “I have been thinking it might be a good idea to call in the Bow Street Runners and see what they think.”
“China Street Pigs!” the three footmen shouted as one. “What d’ya want wit’ them red breasts?” Clearly the Bourne servants had no high opinion of the gentlemen of Bow Street.
“The Runners would appear to be either extremely incompetent,” observed Lucy’s Aunt Rachel prosaically, “or quite the reverse, considering the reaction these servants have had to the butler’s suggestion.” As Lucy had told Jennie, her aunt might not be talkative, but when she said something it usually made perfect sense.
Kit’s grudging acceptance of his hasty apology having eased Ozzy’s fears that his lifelong friend was about to do him bodily harm, the man felt no qualms about opening his mouth yet again. “Bow Street would only assign one or two men,” he said contemptuously. “If your lady is adrift in London with Ives it will take a small army to ferret her out.”
Kit looked about the room, noticing the collection of bodies gathered around both doorways in an effort to hear what was going on, and then counted the heads of those already in the room. “A small army, hmmm?” He smiled, spreading his arms wide. “And what would you call this gathering, Ozzy? Look around you. What do you see?”
“I see a giant, a dwarf, a madman holding a cleaver, two Drury Lane madams, and a trio of bandy-legged escapees from Newgate. And all of us, of course,” he ended hastily when Lucy made a point of clearing her throat to call attention to herself.
“Oh, how famous,” Lucy shouted, catching Kit’s drift in an instant. “We are a small army!”
Kit bowed her his congratulations. “My servants, you will understand, abound in all the first-rate virtues—pocket-picking, petty thievery, head-bashing, et cetera. Although my wife would argue the point, I am sure, I believe it is time I set my servants to a job for which they are uniquely qualified. Gentlemen, ladies,” he inquired silkily, turning to the assembled servants, “what say you? Can you find Lady Bourne for me?”
Ben smiled, revealing his sparse teeth. “Quicker than the cat ken lick ’er ear, guv’nor!” he replied promptly. “Jist let me an’ the rest ’ave a little council o’ war, so ta speak, an’ we’ll be off.”
“Report back to me here as soon as you learn something,” Kit called after the small group as they headed for the kitchen to hold a conference. “Lady Bourne may return on her own, you know. But if she doesn’t, I reserve the right of rescuing her for myself. You just find her for me. Mr. Ives,” he said grimly, “is mine.” At Tiny’s groan of disappointment Kit smiled at the giant and added cheerfully enough, “Never fret, old son. If you’re very good, I just may let you have him once I’m through with him,” a promise which resulted in a round of cheers from all the misfits whose devotion to the angel who had rescued them from poverty knew no bounds.
“What about me?” Ozzy asked, looking rather crestfallen at the thought of being left out of all the fun.
“You run around to Ives’s rooms and see if you can pick up any clues from his manservant. Lucy and the rest of us will wait here in case Jennie comes home or…”
“Or what?” Lucy asked worriedly, coming over to Kit and laying a hand on his arm.
“Or until a message arrives telling us that Jennie is being held for ransom.” Lucy gasped, and Kit wheeled on his heels, st
riding toward the library where he kept his pistols. He had gone through hell and more on the Peninsula, he thought ruefully as he lifted his pistols down from the shelf, but never before could he remember his hands shaking so terribly at the thought of a coming battle.
IT WAS COMING ON TO DARK when Ozzy reentered the mansion in Berkeley Square, a note held in his outstretched hand. “Here it is, Kit,” he shouted, tossing the paper to his friend before dropping heavily into a nearby chair. “I had the devil’s own time getting Ives’s landlord to let me in, but once I had crossed his palm with a little bit of the ready he became quite obliging. Ives has cut and run, that’s for sure, as the whole place was stripped bare, and I found this note on his dressing table. I imagine he left it there knowing we’d be searching his place before long.” Ozzy shook his head sorrowfully, obviously blaming himself for the whole affair. “I never knew what he was like, Kit, I swear it, or else I’d never have let him within sight of your Jennie.”
But Kit wasn’t listening. After reading the note he rolled it into a ball and angrily tossed it into the fireplace. “He doesn’t tell us anything we hadn’t already figured out once Jennie hadn’t returned home for dinner. He’s got her, sure as check, but the kitten’s gambling winnings are no more than a down payment on the sum he’s asking for now. What he doesn’t say is how I’m to get the ransom to him—or when the exchange is to be made. That paper’s as worthless as Ives himself.”
Lucy could understand Kit’s chagrin, for she felt just as helpless. She had been cudgeling her brain for the last hour and more without coming up with a single answer. But now the faint glimmering of an idea shed some light on the matter, and she jumped to her feet, crying. “What about the address Del lifted from Ives’s pocket the other day? I remember it as being somewhere in Holborn. Perhaps it is a clue. Renfrew!” she called unnecessarily, for the butler was already making free of his mistress’s writing desk, searching for a slip of paper.
“Ah, thank you,” Lucy said, relieving the butler of his prize and handing the note over to the bewildered earl, who had not been informed of Del’s little lapse into his former line of work. “We found this in Ives’s pocket, Kit. See, it’s the address of a house on Cow Cross Street. Surely this is a clue, for why else would the man have need of such an address if he did not mean to hide our Jennie away there while he waited for you to pay the ransom?”
Kit looked at the paper, hope leaping in his chest. “It may just be the address of some accomplice he has hired to serve him,” he pointed out, trying not to become too excited. “A man can rent killers in Holborn at two a penny, you know.”
“Jack Ketch’s Warren, guv’nor,” Ben corrected as he walked into the room. “That’s the ’andle wot we gives ta Holborn. That’s where the missus be, all right, but ’ow’d ya ken it afore Oi told ya?”
The small army was back together once more, and Kit readily allowed Ben to take charge for the moment, everyone listening intently while the thief-turned-footman painted a highly colorful picture of just what they were likely to find at number fourteen, Cow Cross Street. All the houses there were divided top to bottom into apartments, most of them having two or more doors to the outside, making them highly desirable homes for thieves and other cutthroats. The house Ives had chosen for stowing Lady Bourne in until his demands were met was one of the largest, housing a gin shop on the ground floor, a gaming hall on the first, and a half dozen or more apartments converted for use by low prostitutes. The rest of the apartments, Ben informed them, were used as dens for thieves and low toby men in the area. “’Tisn’t a pretty place, guv’nor,” Del added unnecessarily.
By the time Ben was finished, Goldie was lost to the small army, having been commissioned by the earl to take charge of Miss Bundy, another casualty, who had broken into loud sobs and been asked to vacate the room before her hysteria became contagious. That left Tizzie and Lizzie, Renfrew, the three footmen, Tiny and Goliath, Montague, Kit, Ozzy, Lucy, and Aunt Rachel. A mixed bag of rescuers, but the best the earl could come up with on such short notice.
Now they needed a plan. Ben took up his position beside Bob and Del as Kit stepped to center stage and took command. After a few pointed questions to each of his small assault force, during which he learned of their various specialties and individual talents, he set about utilizing each one of them to the fullest of their potential. The result was a plan that owed equally to ingenuity and good luck. It may not have done justice to Lord Wellesley’s genius, but it was all they had. And, for Jennie’s sake, they would make the best of it.
“AND TO THINK all this is happening because of a silly rabbit trap.” Jennie shook her head as she commented ruefully on the bizarre chain of events that seemingly innocuous episode had set into motion.
“What’s that?” Dean Ives, who had been consulting with his three cohorts, turned to ask, wondering if the girl had been unhinged by her abduction and taken to babbling to herself.
“Nothing that would interest you, Mr. Ives,” she told him cuttingly, “as you don’t stand to gain a groat by it. You know, of course, that this whole thing is no more than a great piece of nonsense. It would be famous if Kit refuses to pay you your blood money. Perhaps you should have thought of that before you began this little game. After all, Kit might not care a fig about me and refuse your demands. Oh yes indeed, Mr. Ives,” she ended smugly, “I believe you just may have made a muff of it after all.”
Ives came to stand in front of her, smiling down at his captive in amusement. “Oh no, my lady, I fear you are wrong there. I’ve seen your husband’s face as he looks at you. He cares about you right enough, and I’ll be willing to bet he’ll pay me every penny I’ve asked for to have you back. I’m only sorry you have to be inconvenienced this way,” he apologized, motioning toward the bonds that held her.
“No, you’re not,” Jennie contradicted.
“No,” Ives laughed, “I’m not. I just thought it would be the gentlemanly thing to say.”
Jennie would have given anything she had to be able to slap that silly grin from her captor’s face; but her hands were tied securely behind her and she had to content herself with sticking out her tongue at Ives’s back as he turned back to his companions. How could she have been so incredibly stupid, so trustingly naive, as to believe that farradiddle about Ives sponsoring an orphanage? Anyone could see the man hadn’t a charitable bone in his entire body. Oh, Kit would roast her good for this one once he got her out of this terrible coil. That her husband would rescue her she had not the slightest doubt, only wishing that he would hurry because her surroundings, shabby, smelly, and dirty as they were, had begun to prey on her nerves. Imagine the many innocent children who were forced to live in such squalor, she thought worriedly. Surely such conditions could not be allowed to continue.
If Kit had known just where his wife’s thoughts were heading, he would have made even greater haste in rescuing her.
IT WAS FULL DARK when Kit’s small army descended on Cow Cross Street, their raggedy, unkempt appearances making no stir among the street’s inhabitants. At a signal from their leader they dispersed, going off in small groups of two and three, while Kit himself melted into the shadows directly across from the front door of number fourteen, pulling Ozzy behind him.
“It’s a good thing you convinced Miss Gladwin and her aunt that they’d serve no purpose coming here,” Ozzy whispered. “Can’t say as I’d like them to see what’s going on over there.” Kit looked to the open door of the gin shop to see two sadder examples of their fellow men as they staggered out into the gutter, a bare-chested female of indeterminate years pressed between them, sharing her wares equally with the men as they grappled drunkenly at her body.
“It’s also a good thing Lord Thorpe’s too high a stickler to have a reputation for taking Blue Ruin with his fellows in such places, or else we’d never have been shed of her so easily,” Kit commented dryly. “But with Renfrew promising to keep them in Berkeley Square by brute force if necessary, I don’t bel
ieve we’ll have to worry about Miss Gladwin showing up to add her little bit to the rescue.”
“She’s game as a pebble, ain’t she?” Ozzy remarked admiringly.
Kit pulled a face. “She is that, Ozzy, but I’ll take my Jennie any day. They may both be full of heart, but m’wife’s decidedly more restful. I don’t know that I could stand Lucy’s determined streak over the long haul. I tell you, Ozzy, it will take a strong man to keep that chit on the leash. Jennie may rule me, sport, but at least she allows me the illusion of being in charge. Take this mess with Ives, for instance. If it were Lucy hidden away in that building I’d be worried senseless wondering what scheme she was hatching in her head to free herself. Jennie, the sweet love, will remain calm, knowing it is my place to effect the rescue. It warms a man, truly it does, to know the love of his life invests him with so much trust.”
Ozzy merely sniffed, thinking his friend looked more than a little smug, but he was not envious of Kit’s good fortune, merely thankful he himself was heartfree and able to enjoy his women without having to feel responsible for them.
A movement from across the garbage-strewn street caught their attention, and Tizzie and Lizzie, a drooping Montague supported between them, came into sight. The former actresses were dressed to the teeth in matching costumes they had worn when portraying ladies-in-waiting some twenty years earlier, and their painted faces and outrageous plumed coiffures fairly screeched that these were two practitioners of the world’s oldest profession.
Montague was a sight to inspire awe in his audience, which, thanks to the dramatic caterwauling of Tizzie and Lizzie, was growing by leaps and bounds. When Tizzie had produced the costume, Kit had known at once that it would come in handy, being, as the actress described it, “a suit o’ clothes for a ghostie, picked up fer a song at a sale on Drury Lane.” It consisted of a bloody shirt, a doublet curiously pinked, and a coat with three great eyelet holes upon the breast. A bottle of “genuine-looking human blood” was included in the sale, and Tizzie had made liberal use of the fluid, copiously dousing Montague’s head and chest with the gory confection.
The beleaguered Lord Bourne Page 17