An Unconventional Miss

by Dorothy Elbury

  Then, suddenly conscious that the Honourable Walter had been patiently waiting to assist her down from the supper box, she accepted his arm and allowed him to escort her across the crowded concourse in the wake of the other three couples, doing her best to close her mind to his inevitable remarks about the superiority of the new gas lighting, as compared with the garden’s older and far less reliable system of oil lamps!

  ‘Who was that gentleman who was pestering Miss Draycott?’ she asked, as soon as she was able to get a word in edgewise. ‘She seemed very put out by his appearance!’

  ‘Nasty piece of work, name of Hazlett,’ replied Allardyce, somewhat testily. ‘Fellow had no business confronting Miss Draycott in such a brazen manner! Actually leaned right over the barrier and spoke to her! Nearly had a mind to call the scoundrel out!’

  ‘Yes, but who is he?’ persisted Jessica, who had been mulling over Felicity’s rather odd behaviour towards her. Some inner instinct was telling her that the deathly pallor of the other girl’s cheeks was not something that could be laid down to a simple affront at having been accosted by a passing roisterer. Nor indeed, could the terrified expression she had witnessed in the other girl’s eyes. Clearly, there was some mystery here!

  However, it seemed that Allardyce was not at all anxious to continue the conversation. ‘Bad lot,’ he said, abruptly. ‘Not at all our sort of person—best not to worry your pretty little head about such things!’ Then, with a puzzled frown, he added, ‘Well, I’ll be da—! Oh, pray excuse my language, Miss Beresford!’

  ‘Is there something wrong, sir?’ enquired Jessica, hiding the smile that threatened. As though she had not heard far worse language than his restrained expletive, she thought scornfully.

  ‘Not at all, my dear,’ came the Honourable Walter’s swift reply. ‘I was just a little surprised that we were taking this particular route, that is all.’

  Not having been paying a great deal of attention to her surroundings, Jessica, too, was just a little taken aback at finding herself being led down what appeared to be one of the notorious dark walks of the gardens. Even Matt, as she recalled, had refused Imogen’s teasing request that they might investigate the area and, laughingly pulling her away from the entrance down which she had been peering, had pretended to be deeply shocked at his wife’s prurient interest in such matters. He had later explained that the more respectable elements of society tended to avoid such areas, since they were known to be the favourite trysting-places of some of the rather doubtful-looking characters who could be seen wandering about the gardens.

  Only very slightly nervous, since she and Allardyce were still in close company with the other three couples in front of them, Jessica tightened her grip on her escort’s arm.

  ‘The gaslights are much further apart down here, aren’t they?’ she observed, her voice almost a whisper.

  ‘Probably cost too much,’ the Honourable Walter replied, patting her hand reassuringly. ‘Can’t think why Pevensey thought to venture down here—not at all the—oof!’

  The remainder of Allardyce’s words were cut off in midstream and, to Jessica’s horror, he collapsed in a heap at her feet, blood streaming from a cut on his head. Before she could regain sufficient presence of mind to scream out for assistance, a vile-smelling blanket was thrown over her head, obscuring her vision and muffling her angry protests. Almost immediately, a pair of strong arms whisked her off her feet, dragged her backwards through the bushes that bordered the walk, tearing her skirts and ripping off one of her slippers in the process.

  Oh, God, no! she thought, in dismay. Not another abduction! Matt will go berserk! Then, despite her far from laughable situation, she almost smiled at her own lunacy and, ceasing her frantic struggles to escape from her unknown captor, she let herself go limp in his arms. Knowing that it was in her nature to be a veritable spitfire when she was really roused, she had decided that it would be far more prudent to conserve her energy until a more suitable opportunity presented itself.

  ‘The chit seems to have fainted,’ she heard a coarse voice mutter. ‘Best if we take off this ’ere blanket—whadyer say?’

  ‘Nah!’ came the reply from his associate, who sounded equally uncouth. ‘Won’t do ’er no ’arm—carriage’ll be ’ere in ’alf a tick!’

  Her heart pounding, Jessica realised that her captor had come to a halt then, moments later, as she heard the sound of horse’s hooves and carriage wheels on a gravel surface, she recognised that they must have arrived at the roadway outside the gardens. The carriage door was opened and she felt herself being hoisted upwards and deposited, with no great civility, on to one of its seats. For several moments, she lay supine, as she waited to hear whether either of her abductors were intending to travel with her. To her surprise, and considerable relief, the door was shut and the unmistakable sound of someone vaulting up beside the driver was heard, indicating that at least one of her captors was travelling with them. Then the gentle rocking movements commensurate with those of her brother’s finely sprung landau were soon to be felt. A gentleman’s carriage, concluded Jessica, as she gingerly inched the foul covering from over her head, giving a gasp of dismay when she realised that, contrary to her expectations, she could see little more now than she had before! All the windows had been obscured and, when she finally managed to sidle across the seat to reach one of them, she discovered that the leather curtains had been securely taped to the framework. The door, as she had supposed, had been secured from the outside.

  With a rapidly sinking heart, she realised that, until the carriage reached its intended destination, there was not a lot she could do to help herself and, although she did her best to keep track of its left and right-handed turnings, the only place that she could easily identify, thanks to the clear difference in sound, was when they crossed Vauxhall Bridge. At least they were now on the north side of the river, she thought with some relief and, judging from the carriage’s regular forward progression at that point, they seemed to be making for the St James’s Park area, but then, after several more twists and turns, she was obliged to admit that she no longer had any idea where they might be.

  The carriage jolted to a halt, there was a scrambling from the roof and the door was pulled open. Despite her gasp of protest, the fetid covering was once more thrown over her head, but, instead of lifting her in his arms as he had done previously, her captor tossed her over his shoulder and carried her through a doorway, along a passageway and up a flight of stairs before dumping her, unceremoniously, down on to what she was soon to discover was a well-padded and expensively covered chaise longue.

  Removing the blanket, a shabbily dressed, pock-faced individual leered down at her.

  ‘Them windows is all locked,’ he advised her, jerking his head to her rear. ‘And there ain’t any point in you ’ollerin’ for ’elp, ’cos there ain’t no one ’ere as’ll ’ear you! Best you just sit there, nice and comfy-like, ’til ’is lordship gets ’ome!’

  Then, tucking the blanket under his arm, he moved towards the doorway of what, to Jessica’s astonishment, appeared to be a gentleman’s library. A very large and grandly appointed library, it was true but, then, of course, the man had referred to his employer as ‘his lordship’. She wasn’t sure that she had actually made the acquaintance of many lordships—apart from Wyvern himself, of course, and she immediately discounted his involvement. She frowned, trying to remember which of her earlier corps of young devotees had laid claim to such a title, but could hardly believe that either of the, quite frankly, rather bird-witted Lords Covenham or Middleton had sufficient nous to dream up such a shocking caper! She then tried to comfort herself with the thought that the whole affair must have been some ghastly mix-up. Clearly, she must have been mistaken for somebody else and, as soon as the unfortunate error was discovered, she would be set free!

  But, with a wry twist of her lips, she quickly realised that, even if it should transpire that her abductors had picked up the wrong female, her own release was far from
assured, given the severe penalties for such crimes as kidnapping and—bearing in mind what had happened to Mr Allardyce—attempted murder! She did so hope that the poor man’s injuries had not proved to be fatal.

  Kicking off her remaining slipper, she walked over to the room’s door, having made up her mind that it was up to her to try to extricate herself from this disastrous situation. To her surprise, she found that the door was unlocked but since, upon inching it gently open, she could clearly hear the voices of her two abductors, coming from a point somewhere over to her right, she supposed that, being so close at hand, her captors had judged it unnecessary to lock her in. Sidling out of the room and keeping herself pressed firmly against the wall, she caught sight of two men standing, luckily with their backs towards her, just inside the front door of the property. They appeared to be waiting for someone—presumably the master of the house and the unidentified ‘lordship’ of whom the pock-faced one had spoken.

  Breathless with anxiety, Jessica inched her way slowly down towards the green baize door that she had spotted on the opposite side of the narrow hallway. It would, she was certain, lead down to the kitchens and the servants’ hall. The majority of London’s houses of this type, as she knew from the Dover Street property, as well as from her frequent morning visits with her cousin, had basement exits out into the main thoroughfare and, if luck were on her side, she had every reason to hope that such an exit might offer her a means of escape.

  Her eyes intent upon the backs of her abductors, she tiptoed across the hallway and silently pulled open the baize door until the gap was large enough for her to slip through. The cheerful clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen below, along with some tuneless singing, greeted her ears and, as she had suspected, a flight of stone steps lay in front of her. Whether she would be able to make her way past the unseen vocalist without her presence being detected remained to be seen. Crossing her fingers, she crept down the stairway, her stockinged feet making no sound.

  Breathless with anxiety, she was within two feet of the property’s back door when an astonished voice hailed her from a small scullery on her right-hand side, the sudden shock causing her almost to jump out of her skin.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t my little lady from the tea-rooms! Whatever are you doing down here in my kitchen, my dear?’

  ‘M-M-Mrs Barrowman!’ gasped Jessica, still eyeing the rear exit and wondering if she dared to make a dash for it. ‘H-how do you do, ma’am?’

  ‘You will have to speak up, my dear,’ returned Mrs Barrowman who, stepping forward, her elbows akimbo, was surveying her unexpected visitor with a puzzled expression on her face. ‘I’m afraid I’m a little hard of hearing!’ Then, ‘Goodness me, my pet, you are in a mess! You look as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards!’

  Many a true word spoken in jest, reflected Jessica ruefully as, casting a nervous glance up at the door at the top of the stairs, she found herself obliged to raise her voice. ‘A slight accident, I fear!’ she enunciated carefully. ‘I was hoping to find a door out into the street.’

  But, when Mrs Barrowman gave a decisive shake of her head, Jessica’s heart sank, only to rise again in unbelieving joy as she heard the rotund little woman declare, ‘There’s no way that I would allow you to venture out into the street looking like that, my dear! You’d best come along with me and I’ll see what I can do to help you.’

  And, so saying, she took hold of Jessica’s arm and led her over to a nearby coat rack. ‘Looks as though my gentleman has been up to his tricks again,’ she muttered witheringly, as she rummaged through the assembled garments for something suitable for Jessica to wear. ‘Seems to me that that nice husband of yours ought to take more care of a pretty little thing like you, but then…’ she sniffed, unhooking a caped mantle and handing it to the open-mouthed Jessica ‘…there’s no accounting for how some folk’s minds work. I’ve seen things in this house as would shock the devil himself.’

  ‘Then why do you stay here?’ Jessica was curious to know.

  ‘It’s a roof over my head.’ The woman shrugged. ‘The work’s not hard and the pay is fair. Plus, his lordship leaves me to my own devices. What more could an old woman like me ask at her time of life?’

  There was no answer to that, so, after placing the serge mantle over her shoulders, Jessica merely nodded.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Mrs Barrowman then went on, a kindly smile creasing her ruddy cheeks, ‘I’m not one as tends to forget the generosity of other folk so, one good turn deserves another, as they say!’ And, bending under the settle, she drew out a badly worn pair of ankle boots. ‘Ahah!’ she crowed jubilantly. ‘Thought they was still ’ere! Belonged to the last housemaid they did and look to be about your size, too, unless I’m much mistaken, my dear!’

  ‘But, won’t she miss them?’ exclaimed Jessica, accepting the footwear with a worried frown.

  ‘Gone,’ came the non-committal reply. ‘Never stay long, any of them—can’t say as I blame them, mind—luckily I’m too old in the tooth for him to bother with the likes of me!’

  Thrusting her feet into the shabby boots, despite their proving to be at least two sizes too large for her, Jessica could not help feeling that the sooner she made her escape, the better. This master of Mrs Barrowman’s, she reasoned, who was in all likelihood the very man who had ordered her abduction, did not sound to be at all the sort of gentleman with whom she would care to come face to face.

  Wrapping her arms around the little housekeeper, she placed warm kisses on each of her cheeks and, reaching for the back-door latch, let herself out into the basement area.

  ‘Take care, my dear,’ came Mrs Barrowman’s whispered admonition, as, crossing herself, she closed the door behind her.

  Raising her hand in farewell, Jessica hurried up the metal staircase that led out on to the pavement. Pausing for a moment to get her bearings, it suddenly occurred to her that, in answer to Wyvern’s questioning on that fateful day in Gunter’s, Mrs Barrowman had given Half Moon Street as her place of work—barely five blocks away from Jessica’s own address in Dover Street!

  Hardly daring to believe her luck, she set off to walk the fifty yards or so down the street that she knew would lead her into Piccadilly but, after proceeding barely half the distance, it became necessary for her to toss back the hood of the thick woollen mantle with which Mrs Barrowman had provided her, for the late spring evening was still rather warm.

  At the top of the street, and just as she was about to cross over into the main thoroughfare, she found herself having to step back quickly in order to allow a fast-moving carriage to swing into Half Moon Street. Glancing up as the carriage flashed past her, she was given a brief, but all too recognizable, glimpse of the scarred face of the same man who had accosted Felicity in Vauxhall Gardens! Her blood ran cold and, fighting down the sudden tremor of foreboding that threatened to paralyse her limbs, she dashed into the roadway. As she did so, she was aware of the screeching noise of the brake shoes hitting the metal rim of the wheels, the crash of the door against the carriage’s bodywork as it was flung carelessly open and, most frightening of all, the sound of footsteps in rapid pursuit. Running for her life, as she was very much afraid that she was, Jessica had almost reached the opposite pavement when one of her too-large boots caught on the hem of her borrowed mantle, sending her flying to the ground, where she lay sprawled in an ungainly heap at the feet of her pursuer.

  Hauled roughly to her feet and spun around to face her aggressor, she found herself staring up into the repugnant features of the man that Mr Pevensey had referred to as Hazlett.

  ‘Well! Well! Well!’ exclaimed the viscount, a malevolent grin on his disfigured face. ‘Now, how did you manage to get out, I wonder? Certain persons are clearly not doing the job they were paid for and will answer to me for the consequences!’

  Then, grasping Jessica’s arm in a vicelike grip, he proceeded to drag her back down the entire length of the street, disregarding her panic-stricken insistence that
his minions had mistaken her for some other female.

  ‘You would do well to stop that caterwauling!’ he advised her, in a cutting tone, as he dragged her up the steps to his front door and kicked at it.

  It would be difficult to describe the looks of mingled apprehension and shock that swept across the countenances of Jessica’s two abductors when, upon opening the door to their master, they found themselves face to face with such an indisputable confirmation of their total ineptitude.

  ‘How the—!’

  ‘Wha’ the—?’

  ‘You may well ask!’ returned Hazlett savagely, as he hauled the still-protesting Jessica across the hall’s marble-chequered floor back into the library from whence she had made her escape. ‘I will deal with the pair of you later! In the meantime, if you value your lives, I advise you to stay by that door—I expect company very shortly. When he arrives, search him for weapons—and for anything else of interest that he may have about his person!’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hurriedly dismounting from his horse, Wyvern tossed the reins to the waiting stable hand and, after instructing the man to have Berridge bring his curricle and pair round to the front of Ashcroft House in fifteen minutes, he strode quickly through the mews to enter the property by way of its rear entrance.

  Taking the stairs two and three at a time, he was about to enter his chamber on the second floor, when he met up with his grandmother, who was just on the point of exiting her own set of rooms.