Fall From Grace

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Let’s hope you’re right about that,’ Isaac said dubiously. ‘I don’t trust the rogue an inch.’

  ‘No more do I, my friend. No more do I.’ Jake sighed. ‘Anyway, where’s Olivia?’

  ‘She went into the withdrawing room a while back. Eva’s just gone to look for her.’

  Jake scowled. ‘I should have realised that this crowd would be too much…in her condition.’

  ‘She was determined to be here to support Megan Cantrell.’

  ‘Charles seems to be doing well enough in that regard without any help for us.’

  Both men chuckled as they watched Charles move elegantly from one group of influential guests after another, presenting Megan to them. Jake could see that they had trouble concealing their interest in Luke’s unlikely choice of a wife. Whether Charles championing her cause would make her more or less acceptable to them was harder for him to decide.

  ‘The worm seems to be turning,’ Isaac remarked. ‘I just now overheard Lady Courtney invite Megan to take tea with her later in the week. And she, as you know, is one society’s leading lights. If she takes Megan up then others will follow her lead.’

  ‘Except for Luke’s immediate relations,’ Jake replied, nodding towards the dowager duchess and her party, who were standing across the room and following Megan’s progress around it. None of them looked pleased, presumably because they were unable to have her ejected. ‘Rumour has it that Lady Courtney hasn’t forgiven Arabella Cantrell for rejecting her son’s offer of marriage and she and the dowager Lady Cantrell have been at daggers’ drawn ever since.’ Jake looked towards the withdrawing room door, losing interest in a subject that wouldn’t normally hold any interest for him at all. ‘What can be keeping Olivia?’ he asked, his concern for her welfare increasing.

  Eva scurried up to them, looking anxious and upset. ‘I cannot find Olivia anywhere!’ she cried, throwing up her hands.

  Jake was filled with foreboding. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Don’t overset yourself, my love,’ Isaac said. ‘She must be here somewhere. She can’t simply have disappeared.’

  ‘By she has!’ Eva looked to be on the verge of tears. ‘We both saw her go into the withdrawing room, she isn’t still in it and hasn’t come out again. There’s an adjacent salon but the ladies making use of it have been there for a while, keeping Miss Addison company until a servant can repair her torn sleeve, and they’ve not seen Olivia.’

  Jake ran towards the door to the room in question and burst through it, ignoring the indignant cries from the ladies in occupation of it. Eva and Isaac were close on his heels.

  ‘Pardon me, ladies,’ he said absently.

  He questioned the attendant, who assured him that Mrs Grantley was not using the facilities.

  ‘Have you been here all the while?’ Jake asked her impatiently.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ She hesitated. ‘Well, apart from a few minutes when I went to fetch some green thread so that my fellow attendant could mend a lady’s torn sleeve.’

  ‘And locked the door when you left,’ one of the ladies in the room helpfully supplied. ‘We tried to come in here a few minutes ago and found it locked tight.’

  The attendant looked both bewildered and frightened. ‘I didn’t lock it, my lord. Upon my life, I swear I did not.’

  ‘Where does that door lead to?’ Jake asked, pointing to another door and ignoring the sea of faces following their discourse with avid interest.

  ‘To the terrace, my lord, but it’s kept locked and I don’t have a key.’

  Jake strode towards the door, turned the handle and it opened. The attendant gasped. ‘I have no idea how that can have happened,’ she said, clutching her face in horrified concern, presumably for her position.

  Jake shared a glance with Isaac and felt the bottom fall out of his world. ‘Someone has taken her,’ he said grimly.

  ***

  The light carriage into which Olivia had been thrown was driven at a brisk trot by a single horse, the sound of its hooves ringing a muffled tattoo on the cobbled streets. The man who had thrown her into it was not inside with her. Nor was Miranda Southcott, yet Olivia was convinced it had been her scarlet gown she’d caught a glimpse of. Why had Miranda taken it upon herself to kidnap her? Surely she wasn’t so deranged as to suppose that Jake would turn to her for solace if Olivia disappeared?

  Stranger things had happened, but somehow Olivia doubted it. Thinking more coherently, she also doubted whether she would be harmed. She was engaged to be married to one of the most influential men in England who would not leave a stone unturned in his quest for justice if she was hurt. And perhaps even if she was not. Jake had a reputation for ruthlessness and people were wary of upsetting him. Surely no one would be foolish enough to take the risk?

  Unless desperation, jealousy or vindictiveness drove them.

  The man who had bundled Olivia out of that withdrawing room had been a gentleman. Even through her gloves she had felt the velvet of his cuffs and the fine wool fabric of his sleeve. Only the smell of tobacco disguised that of an otherwise recently bathed body and the few words he had spoken were uttered in a refined tone.

  The blinds inside the carriage were fastened closed, impossible for Olivia to release. She tried the curricle’s doors, but those too were firmly locked. She had no choice but to settle back in the darkness, shivering in her flimsy ball gown. She found a rug on the seat and draped it around her shoulders. Her abductors were considerate of her comfort, she thought scathingly. That consideration bolstered her conviction that she would not be harmed. It was simply a question of their keeping her out of the way for a while and making sure that she didn’t know their identity.

  But why?

  She tried to keep track of time, distance and the direction she was travelling in, but the complete darkness inside the carriage was disorientating. The noxious odour of the river convinced her that they had crossed the Thames to the south side but the cold and lateness of the hour had driven people indoors. The streets were unnaturally quiet in the foggy night, and none of the sounds she would normally expect to hear were audible, lending clues to her whereabouts.

  The carriage continued on its journey for almost an hour…a distance, she reckoned, of about five miles. Her nerves returned when it finally came to a halt. She blinked when the door was opened and was almost blinded by the light from a single lantern. She was unable to see the features of the man holding it, since his face was covered. He beckoned to her, holding out his other hand to help her from the carriage. She wanted to avoid taking it but would most likely fall on her face if she didn’t accept his help, so awkward was it to alight from a carriage in her wide gown. But, she reminded herself, hands could tell you a lot about a person. This one, she discovered when she took it, was rough and calloused…definitely not that of a gentleman.

  With both feet safely on the ground, she almost gagged on the overwhelming smell, unable to identify it. The man grasped her elbow, still without saying a word, and steered her towards a monolith of a building that was shrouded in fog and looked bleak and uninviting. This was not someone’s residence. It was more likely to be a place of business. Before she could decide what type of business, Olivia was pushed into a room on the ground floor. The door was closed behind her and locked from the outside. Her gaoler hadn’t spoken a word and pride had prevented Olivia from attempting to engage him in conversation or to threaten, cajole or beg for her freedom when she already knew such entreaties would fall upon deaf ears.

  She inspected her prison. That proved to be no easy task since the only small window was set high up in one wall, a consequence, she supposed, of the recently repealed window tax. Windows were routinely boarded up in established buildings and new premises kept them to the minimum to avoid the tax in question. A gaslight outside fought a losing battle against fog and grimy glass, but she could see just enough to establish that she was in a small office with a desk that had locked drawers and some sort of display along one wall.
/>   Hats! She could just make out a display of hats. She was in Bermondsey, she decided, feeling mildly euphoric to have deduced at least that much, even if she was unsure what good it would do her. Her conclusion fitted with the length of the journey she had made. Several milliners had their premises here, alongside fellmongers, the smelliest of all the trades dealing in untreated hides, which would account for the foul odour that had made her stomach turn when she left the carriage. Curriers, who produced fine coloured leather, parchment-makers and leather merchants also had family businesses that had been established in the area for generations.

  She felt her way to the only chair in the room and cautiously perched on its edge. Who did they know with connections to the millinery trade?

  Olivia borrowed a word from Jake’s vocabulary as the realisation came to her.

  Hepplewaite!

  That family had a long and distinguished record in that trade, even if the current Lord Helpplewaite’s grandeur kept him well away from his family’s roots. He preferred to reap the profits and pretend he didn’t know where they came from. But his son—his married son—had been following Miranda Southcott around like a lovesick puppy the entire evening, probably trying to convince her to become his mistress.

  How far would he go in order to achieve that ambition? Olivia started a meticulous, finger-tip search of her temporary gaol. She would have been missed long since and Jake would be frantic. But she couldn’t rely upon him finding her and coming to her rescue. So she would have to find a way out of here for herself.

  ***

  Jake scoured the grounds outside the withdrawing room door, clinging to the unrealistic possibility that Olivia had sought some air. But he knew in his heart that he was deluding himself. He discovered a narrow path that led directly to a gate in the grounds and thence to the road beyond.

  ‘Anyone could have had a carriage waiting here,’ he said to Isaac, slapping his thigh in frustration. ‘I never should have let her out of my sight. We were so focused on sheltering Lady Cantrell that we neglected to protect our own ladies.’

  ‘No point in recriminations. Let’s try and decide who has taken her, and why.’

  ‘Go and talk to the lady in the other room, if you please, Eva,’ Jake said as they returned to the withdrawing room. ‘Ask her how she came to tear her sleeve and why‒’

  Eva had barely agreed when the door to that room opened and two ladies left it, one wearing a green gown.

  ‘Miss Addison,’ Jake said, giving a hasty bow. ‘Excuse the intrusion, but would you be so kind as to explain how your gown came to be torn?’

  Miss Addison looked a little taken aback and rather frightened by Jake’s presence where he had no place to be. The manic edge to his voice probably did little to reassure but Jake was too preoccupied to worry about Miss Addison’s finer feelings. 'An unfortunate collision with another lady’s bracelet,’ she said, bewildered. ‘These things happen in crowds.’

  ‘Which lady?’ Jake asked sharply.

  ‘Arabella Cantrell, but it wasn’t her fault.’ Miss Addison now seemed wary. ‘Why do you ask, my lord?’

  ‘Thank you.’ Jake gave her an abrupt bow but didn’t answer her question. Instead he turned to the nervous-looking attendant who had followed the ladies from the room. ‘Why did you not have the necessary thread to hand to effect the repair?’ he asked.

  ‘I have every colour of thread available as a general rule, my lord. Always. But for some reason there was no green in my bag.’ She looked totally perplexed and Jake knew she wasn’t lying. ‘I cannot think what could have happened to it.’

  Jake could. He turned on his heel and returned to the ballroom, Isaac and Eva close behind him. A small crowd had gathered in the ante-room beyond it, presumably because word of Jake’s intrusion upon the ladies’ domain had spread. Bodies parted to allowed Charles and Megan to the front of the crowd.

  ‘We just heard,’ Charles said. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Where’s Thorndike?’ Jake asked, moving away from the growing crowd so that he could converse with his friends in relative privacy.

  ‘I saw him just a moment ago. He hasn’t left the ballroom.’

  ‘Do you suspect him of this?’ Isaac asked, sounding sceptical.

  ‘I would but for the fact that Lady Arabella tore Miss Addison’s gown deliberately and arranged for the green thread to be taken from the servant’s supply, making it necessary for one of them to leave the withdrawing room at the vital moment.’

  ‘How could they have timed it that way?’ Charles asked. ‘They were not to know when Olivia would use the room.’

  ‘They were watching her, I imagine, and when she headed in that direction Lady Arabella did her part. She probably selected Miss Addison as her victim beforehand because she was wearing such a vibrant shade of green that couldn’t be mended with any other colour.’

  ‘So the thread was stolen in advance,’ Isaac said, articulating his thoughts. ‘When Olivia used the facilities, Lady Arabella played her part but remained in full sight of everyone, diverting suspicion. At this point, whoever was orchestrating the abduction took control.’

  ‘Miranda.’ Jake growled the word. ‘I saw her talking with Thorndike immediately after I left him. I came this way but was delayed several times by people wanting to speak with me. I recall now that I saw her moving in this direction. Just a flash of that scarlet gown, you understand, and I didn’t think anything of it.’ He glowered at his friends. ‘Miranda’s penchant for standing out in a crowd worked against her this evening, since she’s the only lady wearing scarlet. Perhaps appropriately. Be that as it may, she obviously forget that some aspects of her work this evening required her to blend in.’

  ‘Does Miranda have a connection with the Cantrells?’ Megan asked.

  ‘Miranda thinks only of herself,’ Jake replied disdainfully. ‘But she is intimate with the Hepplewaites and they are as thick as thieves with the Cantrells. Miranda was attempting to manipulate me with information she thought she held against me fed to her by Thorndike, but Thorndike warned her off.’

  ‘Only a few minutes ago,’ Isaac replied in an urgent whisper. ‘There was no time for her to concoct this elaborate means of revenge. Besides, what did she hope to gain from it?’

  Thorndike approached them. Jake treated him to a malevolent scowl. ‘I would like to think you know nothing of this,’ he said in a vicious undertone.

  ‘Not my style, old chap. You know me better than that. I might on occasion be devious when a situation calls for it, but women and children are definitely off limits.’

  Incredibly, Jake believed him. ‘You didn’t tell Miranda anything about that other business, did you?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Jake fell into momentary contemplation. ‘Hepplewaite, damn it!’ he cried. ‘Unless I miss my guess, he wants Miranda for a mistress and she’s using him to get what she wants, which is revenge upon my family.’

  ‘I don’t follow, Jake,’ Charles said, shaking his head.

  ‘Hepplewaite was a close friend of Dakin, one of Edward’s friends who was with him on the night he died—the one who subsequently died himself. He must have made some sort of deathbed confession to salve his conscience.’

  Thorndike nodded. ‘She just told me as much. Very reluctantly, I might add. Dakin apparently raved in the grips of the fever before it killed him, going on and on about Edward, his death not being right, about you being there and…well, Miranda smelt a rat and decided to embellish what she’d heard, hoping to catch you unawares and gain an advantage.’

  ‘Then Arabella Cantrell came up with a scheme that Miranda was even happier to assist her with, using Hepplewaite to help her.’ Jake ground his jaw. ‘They contrived Olivia’s abduction between them.’

  ‘Why?’ Charles and Isaac asked together.

  ‘Don’t you see, it’s a distraction?’

  Megan gasped, her face deathly pale as she clutched it with both hands. ‘They are going after my baby?’

  ‘Why the n
eed for such an elaborate distraction?’ Charles asked in an undertone.

  Jake’s expression hardened. ‘They don’t just want the child,’ he said, also speaking so that the distressed Megan, being comforted by Eva, wouldn’t overhear. ‘They know that with us backing Megan’s claims, she will never be quieted so they need her to be permanently silenced. And we foolishly provided them with the time to lay their plans by advertising our presence at this ball.’

  ‘What can we do now?’ Charles asked, looking as angry as Jake felt.

  ‘Play into their hands, of course. If we all dash off in pursuit of Olivia, it’s reasonable to suppose that Megan will return alone to Cheyne Walk. Needless to say, she will not be alone and no one will get anywhere near her. I am less certain what they plan to do with Olivia but think I know where she must have been taken. Come along.’

  Lady Garmin bustled up to them. ‘I have just heard that Mrs Grantley can’t be found. Naturally, I shall have my servants conduct a thorough search of the house. I’m sure she can’t have gone far. This is most irregular, most upsetting.’

  ‘Don’t concern yourself, Lady Garmin,’ Jake said suavely, conscious of Miranda pushing her way to the front of the growing crowd, her concerned expression not quite disguising her pleasure at Jake’s discomfort. Hepplewaite clung tenaciously to her side, despite the fact that his young wife was in the room. At least he had not actually taken Olivia to her temporary prison personally, even if he had attended to her abduction himself. And he must have done. He or Joseph Cantrell. Jake gave no sign that he was aware of Hepplewaite’s participation and would deal with him later. ‘Olivia complained earlier of a headache. I dare say she has returned home and her message didn’t reach me. If you will excuse me, I shall go and ensure her welling.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lady Garmin replied, looking relieved to be absolved from blame. ‘I do hope you find her safe and well.’