‘As do I,’ Eva agreed without hesitation.
‘I am sure Megan will be delighted to…’
‘What is it, Parker?’ Jake asked.
‘Lord Charles’s man is here and requires an urgent word.’
‘Show him in, Parker, and stay yourself. You might be needed.’
The man who entered the room handed Charles a note. Charles read it swiftly, looked furious when he absorbed its contents and only just managed to smother the curse that threatened to escape his lips. He glanced up at the sea of concerned faces watching him.
‘It’s from Megan…Lady Cantrell,’ he said. ‘She requires to see me as a matter of urgency. Her son has been snatched from her.’
Chapter Three
‘Damn it, I should have anticipated something of this nature!’ Charles cursed his stupidity in permitting Megan to remain unprotected in a strange city when he knew very well that certain determined people would stop at nothing to remove the inconvenience of her son. He leapt to his feet so abruptly that his chair almost toppled over. ‘I must offer whatever assistance I can.’
‘And get her child back,’ Jake said briskly. ‘Get yourself off to Pimlico and see what you can find out from Lady Cantrell. Time is of the essence,’ he added with a significant look that curdled Charles’s blood. ‘Take Parker and Franklin with you. You’re searching for a year-old baby, Parker. Find out where he was taken from. Spread coin liberally to freshen memories and loosen tongues. Someone must have seen something.’
‘Bring Lady Cantrell back here, Charles,’ Olivia said, grasping his arm. ‘Even if you don’t find her son.’ She swallowed. ‘Especially if you don’t. She can stay with me until her affairs have been resolved.’
‘You are very kind,’ Charles replied, dashing for the door.
In the short ride to Pimlico, Charles became increasingly frustrated by the delays in the overcrowded streets. Omnibuses cut in front of private carriages in an effort to keep to their schedules. Hansom cab drivers took it as an affront if an omnibus attempted to pass them and refused to give way. The race was on, adding to the chaos. At one point a flock of sheep appeared from nowhere, herded across the street by a wizened old man and several mangy dogs. The shepherd appeared oblivious to the shouts directed his way by drivers inconvenienced when traffic came to a complete standstill. Barefoot urchins and opportunistic purveyors of just about every commodity imaginable dodged in and out of the stalled conveyances, shouting their wares.
The last of the sheep cleared the street and the traffic finally moved again. Charles was on the point of breathing a relieved sigh when they turned into Lupus Street, only to find an equipage with crests on its doors blocking the entrance to a dilapidated dwelling as well as half the street. His driver was obliged to slow to walking pace in order to squeeze through a gap so tight that the wheels of his carriage passed within an inch of the offending vehicle’s. If Charles hadn’t been so distracted he would have found the presence of the inconveniently parked carriage diverting. He recognised its insignia as belonging to a certain duke who was well known for flouting conventional behaviour and not giving a damn who knew it.
‘His grace still enjoys his little economies,’ Parker said, chuckling as he followed the direction of Charles’s gaze. ‘I hear tell he’s set his latest ladybird up in that less than salubrious establishment.’
‘No wonder he can afford the best of everything,’ Charles replied with a wry smile.
By the time they reached Megan’s dwelling, Charles had had ample opportunity to explain her circumstances to Parker and Franklin and they understood the urgent need to find her son. Their faces were grim and they didn’t need to be told that they might already be too late.
Megan had obviously been looking out for his arrival from a first floor window and flew to open the street door to them before Charles could wield the knocker. Her eyes were red from crying and there was a wild look about her. The landlady gave the deputation of three men calling upon one of her lodgers a sour look.
‘No gentleman callers,’ she said severely to Megan. ‘I run a respectable house.’
Charles looked down his nose at the flat-chested old harridan, thinking that a chap would have to be pretty desperate to consider entertaining her. He took Megan’s arm and led her towards his carriage, which was taking its turn to block half the road.
‘I’ve been looking and calling and asking everyone,’ Megan said in a voice that was nearly hysterical. ‘But hardly anyone pays any attention and those that do didn’t see him disappear.’ She threw up her hands. ‘It’s hopeless. I’ve lost him and he’ll be so scared without me.’
She burst into a fresh bout of tears.
‘Stay strong, Megan,’ Charles said, giving her shoulders a squeeze. ‘Sebastian will need you when he is found.’
The tears stopped and she sent him a look filled with so much confidence in his abilities that Charles felt wretched for making promises he was unsure he could keep.
He helped her into his carriage and introduced her to Parker and Franklin.
‘Where did you lose sight of little Sebastian?’ Charles asked.
‘In the market over yonder.’ She pointed down the street to a collection of stalls. Despite the wind and rain, the market was crowded. ‘He was fractious and I thought he would benefit from a little fresh air. There’s a small park, which is where we intended to go, but then I saw an organ grinder and his monkey and I thought Sebastian would like to…it’s all my fault!’ Fresh tears poured down her face. ‘I am a terrible mother.’
Charles laid a calming hand on her arm, wishing he could do more to reassure her. But there was no time for sentiment. Every second could be vital.
‘Where were you when you became separated?’ he asked.
‘There was a surge of bodies because two men started to fight and everyone seemed to want to watch. I was carrying him as the market was too crowded for a perambulator, but we were bumped into and suddenly he was simply no longer in my arms. I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t drop him and didn’t feel anyone snatch him, but I suppose they must have done.’ Her torment was pitiful to observe. ‘No one would help me look. They took no notice of me. All they seemed to care about was the outcome of that stupid fight.’
Charles gave Parker and Franklin their instructions and they left the carriage. Charles needed to join them but must first ensure Megan’s safety. He would wager fifty guineas that either the dowager, or more likely Arabella Cantrell, was behind the abduction. She must realise that time was of the essence. Megan would eventually be able to prove her marriage and the legitimacy of her son, and Arabella wouldn’t permit her ambitious plans to be spoiled by Sebastian’s existence.
Or Megan’s either.
When proof of Sebastian’s parentage was produced, suspicion would then fall upon the family, no matter how well they’d covered their tracks. Even if nothing could be proven, the scandal would taint the Cantrell’s reputation and to someone with Arabella’s pretentious nature, that could never be permitted to happen.
Megan would have to be permanently silenced as well.
The only advantage she had was Charles’s friendship and by association that of Jake and his powerful allies. Megan assured him that she had not mentioned knowing Charles to the dowager, since she had barely exchanged a dozen civil words with any member of the family and none of them had engaged her in idle conversation. That was to Megan’s advantage, since the Cantrells would assume she was alone and unprotected. An easy target and one whose word would not be taken over that of the dowager countess.
‘I am going to join the search,’ he said, squeezing her hands. ‘Go back inside, lock your door and don’t open it to anyone except me. Not even your landlady.’
‘I want to come too.’ She plucked frantically at her black skirt. ‘I cannot bear to do nothing.’
Charles touched her face. ‘The best way you can help is by doing as I ask. Go inside where you will be safe. I can’t be worrying about
you as well as looking for Sebastian.’
But would she be safe? Charles knew she could not have told the dowager where she intended to live, since she hadn’t known herself until she arrived in London. Unless she had written to her, in case she’d decided upon reflection that she wanted to see her grandson after all. Charles asked if that was the case and Megan shook her head. Which meant that he was to blame for Sebastian’s abduction. Presumably Arabella had someone follow him to Pimlico when he’d called to see her previously. She’d had several days to set her plan in motion and Charles had been too distracted, the streets too busy, for him to notice if he was being followed.
But how would they know about Charles’s friendship with Megan if she hadn’t mentioned it? Charles shook his head at his own stupidity as he realised the truth. They had been seen in one another’s company whilst still in India, with Luke and more frequently after his death. Any one of a dozen returning Englishmen could have mentioned the fact in passing to the Cantrells. From that point, it would be easy enough for anyone sufficiently interested to check the passenger lists and discover that they had returned to England on the same vessel.
You idiot, Hadley!
‘On second thoughts, stay in the carriage and watch the street.’ He squeezed her hands again. They were frozen. Ignoring her protests, he wrapped a carriage blanket around her shoulders. ‘Have courage,’ he said softly. ‘We will find him.’
She nodded wanly, a handkerchief screwed tightly in her fist. Charles could see that the small square was already soaked through. He removed his own much larger one from his pocket and handed it to her. She managed a brief smile of thanks but he could sense that her emotional turmoil had deprived her of the ability to speak.
Charles left the conveyance and had a brief word with his coachman. ‘Stand careful guard over Lady Cantrell,’ he adjured him. ‘Lock the doors, don’t permit anyone to approach the carriage or divert you in any way.’
‘You can depend upon me, my lord.’
Charles strode down the crowded street, his silver-headed cane tapping on the cobbles, the length of his stride and the determined set to his features causing the crowd to part like the Red Sea, clearing his path. Noisy Londoners were out in force, undeterred by the unseasonably cold weather and eager to find bargains. The organ grinder that had attracted Megan appeared popular with children, despite the fact that his monkey snapped at anyone brave enough to try and touch him. Sellers of ballads recounting barbarous and horrible murders were unnecessary reminders of Charles’s reasons for venturing into this part of town. The aroma of roasting chicken, hot pies, chestnuts and live eels failed to mask the stink of the river to the south.
‘Make way for the gentleman!’ cried a hawker, who then fell into step with Charles. ‘Mind you pockets, good sir,’ he added. ‘This lot will swipe the hat from your head if you don’t have a care.’
Charles ignored the man, aware that the hawker himself was probably one of the miscreants he was being warned against. He scanned the crowd and found Parker and Franklin talking to a holder of a stall selling copper pots and trinkets.
‘What have you discovered?’ he asked.
‘This man saw something,’ Parker replied. ‘He remembers the lady because she looked so out of place. Even dressed in mourning clothes she didn’t look as though she needed to shop here, and didn’t seem well-versed in the city’s ways either. This chap was convinced she would be relieved of her purse before she went another ten yards.’
And yet she lost something a great deal more precious, Charles thought.
‘Did you see what happened to the child?’ Charles demanded of the man.
‘No, sir. There was a fight. Some ruffian stole from the pie stall over yonder and the seller took exception. Everyone’s attention was on that. When the fight ended, the woman was screaming that someone took her child but no one saw nothin’.’
‘Sounds as though that fight was staged,’ Parker said in an aside to Charles, who had already reached the same conclusion.
Charles beckoned to the pie-seller who left his stall in the charge of his assistant and joined them.
‘What can I do for you, sir?’ he asked, doffing his tatty topper.
‘I hear there was a ruckus here earlier,’ Charles said. ‘Was it staged?’
‘Staged?’ The man removed his hat and scratched his head. ‘Course not. What would be the point in that? I’m here to earn an honest living, not scare the customers away.’
‘But you were one of the combatants,’ Charles said, glancing down at the man’s bloody knuckles.
‘Well, all right, I was today, but it’s the customers that regularly start scuffles. They do it to create a diversion. Makes it easier for them to steal. I’ve had my eye on that blighter who tried it today for weeks now. He’s always skulking around her, helping himself to stuff and I’ve had just about enough of it. He’s right artful and hard to catch in the act.’
‘But not today?’ Charles said impatiently. ‘You did catch him.’
The pie-seller looked momentarily confused. ‘Funny that, now that I think about it. It was like he wanted me to see him.’
‘Do you know who he is and where he lives?’ Charles asked.
‘Can’t say as I do.’
‘You askin’ about the thief?’ A child of no more than ten with a basket of watercress over her arm joined them. ‘If’n you are, he lives in a basement in Jute Street with a woman who ain’t his wife. He steals anything that ain’t bolted down. It ain’t right. We’ve all gotta make a living. It’s all well and good stealing from the gentry, begging your pardon, sir, but he didn’t ought to be helping himself from his own kind.’
Several other people had joined the group and were nodding their agreement. The man—whose name Charles eventually discovered was Faulk—appeared to be universally unpopular. The type who would stoop to any level—even abducting a child, or worse—if suitably recompensed.
‘You’ll know his woman when you see her,’ someone said. ‘Hard as nails, so she is, with a face like the back end of a horse.’
‘Hey, there’s no call to insult an innocent horse,’ someone else said, earning a hoot of laughter from the growing throng.
Charles would have found it all entertaining, were he not in such a tearing hurry to find Sebastian. Convinced that they were on the right track, he forced himself to be patient.
‘Mrs Faulk,’ the cress-selling girl said sarcastically, ‘always wears a moth-eaten fur tippet, even in summer. Her pride and joy, so it is. She thinks it makes her look like a lady.’
Charles knew that tippets were a popular item in the used clothing stores. They kept a lady’s bare shoulders warm in winter and, as the child had just implied, made her feel more ladylike. Even the poorest of people maintained their standards. There were empty bellies aplenty in this market but not a single bare head. The headgear was dilapidated and had been repaired with ingenuity that compensated for lack of skill. Straw bonnets with holes in them were decorated with lavish flowers. Toppers, refurbished and re-blocked, were perched at jaunty angles on straggly hair that hadn’t been washed in weeks. Charles had already seen an “old clothes’ man” wearing a pile of hats on top of his own as he circulated the market. A badge of his trade, Charles supposed, and a useful way to keep his stock safe.
‘We’ll find the place,’ Parker said, distributing generous amounts of coin when it seemed they had learned all there was to know. The scrap of a child selling cress gawped at the shiny sixpence Parker had placed in her palm. Her fingers closed over it quickly, as though she thought Parker might have a change of heart or, more likely, feared one of the boys would swipe it from her grasp. She sent Parker a toothy grin before the coin disappeared at lightning speed into a pocket sewn into the folds of her tatty skirt.
‘Do you know the street where Faulk lives, Franklin?’ Charles asked as they followed Parker out of the market.
‘I reckon I do.’
‘Then go back to the carriage. Guide
my driver to the place and stay in the conveyance with Lady Cantrell. She will want to be there if we find her son.’
‘And if you don’t?’ Parker gave him a significant look. ‘Or worse, if he’s…’
Parker didn’t finish his sentence, but then he didn’t need to since Charles too was obliged to concede that Sebastian could already be dead.
‘Even so…’ he replied, himself allowing his words to trail off. ‘Be gone with you, Franklin.’
Franklin nodded and disappeared in the opposite direction.
Charles and Parker set a brisk pace and just five minutes later were outside of the building where Faulk lived. None of the houses in the street were well maintained but the one they paused outside of was so derelict that Charles wondered if they’d been given the wrong address.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked Parker.
‘This is it.’
Charles glanced up at the house. Its window glass was missing, as were the frames, doors, mental hinges, internal staircases and just about anything else that could either be sold or used as firewood. The structure that remained, open to the elements since most of the roof slates had also gone, seemed to be held up at the whim of its neighbour, towards which it leaned drunkenly. Despite the fact that it was a death trap, every square inch of it appeared to be occupied by families with nowhere else to go. The only part of it that appeared to be secure was the basement. Three steps led down to a solid door. The small windows were boarded over with only minuscule gaps to let the light in, making it impossible to see if anyone was inside.
The smell of the river was even stronger here. There had been talk of legislation to enforce the installation of proper drainage and sewers, but Charles was not surprised to discover that nothing had been done about it during his absence. Talk was cheap and probably well meant, but someone had to pay for the massive undertaking and the upper classes would revolt if their taxes were increased. Derby was struggling to cling to power and any such demands would see the end of the Tory government. It was a sad fact that no politician would knowingly allow his social conscience to end his career, so once again it was the poor and destitute who suffered the most.
Fall From Grace Page 4