Mrs Mahaffey slammed the door, shutting them in. The older children moved then, relaxing, eyeing Lesley curiously.
“Who’s her?” the older girl asked Sandy, pointing to Lesley.
“My Aunt Les,” he said proudly. “Told you she would come, didn’t I? She found me.”
“Frenchie brung her,” said Nick in his husky voice. “Said she was gentry, Peg got to get rid of her.”
Reflective looks were cast at Lesley. She shuddered, but said bravely, “My husband will come for me and for Sandy. I know he will. Then we shall all leave this horrible place.”
“It ain’t so bad,” said the older boy calmly. “She ain’t so bad. She hits us some if we don’t get nuffin from the gents. But if we do, she gives us some food. She’s fair if she ain’t too drink-taken.”
“Where’d you get the shawl, Lena?” asked the older girl. “Thought you didn’t go out today!”
“No, the lady give it to me,” said Lena, and held it out to Penny. The girl took it reflectively. Lesley wondered, would she steal it from the small girl?
“This will be big enough for three of ye,” said Penny. “Lena, and Stevie, and Millie here. Lie down, I’ll cover ye.”
They lay down obediently in the corner, away from the draught at the cellar door. Penny covered them tenderly, tucking frail Stevie between the girls. They lay down quietly. Millie’s dirty hand went to her mouth, and she began to suck her thumb noisily. Penny lay down beside them, huddling next to them, between them and the door.
“I have a heavy petticoat,” said Lesley. She got up and removed it, shaking it down from under her warm skirts. “Nick and Joe, you lie down next to Penny, I’ll cover you all.”
They obeyed in silence, watching her with big curious eyes. When the warm petticoat dropped down about them, they sighed, and cuddled closer to each other.
“Warm,” whispered Nick, his eyes just showing over the edge of the petticoat hem.
“Sleep well,” said Lesley. “God bless you all.”
There was a silence, then Penny said, “I didn’t know God was here,” in faint surprise.
Lesley felt tears sting her lashes. How brave they all were, how uncomplaining, taking all that life had dealt to them with courage because they did not know any other way. She lay down on the other side of them, near the wall, and took Sandy beside her, covering him with a fold of her skirt. The other fold she put over Joe.
“I don’t need so much,” said Joe. “You trade with me, Nick.” And he pushed the smaller boy closer to Lesley. Lesley covered them both up again, as warmly as she could.
There was silence for a time, the children sighing and coughing as they tried to sleep. “Will she come back?” whispered Lesley to Sandy.
“Not till morning, when it’s light,” he said. “She sleeps upstairs with her manfriend.”
Lesley flinched and grimaced in the darkness. How much Sandy was learning of unpleasant facts of life! Still ... he had lived with the Stukelys and probably knew of Aunt Felicia’s affair with Guy Janssen.
As she lay there, almost asleep in spite of the discomfort of the dirt floor and the foetid odour in the cellar, she thought of Burke.
Oh, Burke, come quickly, she thought. Oh, dear Burke, pray you come quickly! We have much need of you now.
And somehow she had a calm faith that he would come and find her. It was incredible that the old woman would be able to kill her and Sandy and dispose of their bodies. She knew it could happen — but she refused to believe it would. And with Sandy in her arms, she fell asleep.
CHAPTER 16
Burke felt half out of his mind. Lesley had been stolen away two days ago. He had returned from the solicitors with word that the courts were taking quick action to question Aunt and Uncle Stukely and charge them with the thefts from Sandy’s and Viola’s funds.
His solicitors were practically certain now that the guardianship of the two young people would be given to Burke. He had longed to give Lesley this good word — and the butler had met him with the news that the lisping Frenchman had taken her away.
He was frantic with fear. He had no illusions about the character of Guy Janssen, he was a rake, a thief, a cruel and malicious person. He might rape Lesley, he might kill her. Oh, why in the name of God had Lesley gone off with him?
Frank came from the study, his beard bright red in the darkness of the hall. “Nothing yet this morning, Burke,” he said quietly. “Did you sleep?”
Burke shook his head, moved into the study, pushing back his black curly hair wearily. “Nothing,” he repeated hoarsely. “Oh, God, have the constables returned?”
“An hour ago. Nothing found yet.” Frank put his hand on Burke’s shoulder as the man sank into the chair before the desk. “We’ll find her, Burke, nothing will stop us. And my sister has a cool head on her shoulders. She’ll find a way to escape.”
Burke buried his head in his hands. He could not weep, he was so shocked, so stunned, that Lesley also could be gone! He could not believe it, he got up again and again in the night to go to her room and gaze at the empty bed. It must be a nightmare — yet she was gone.
Mortimer entered the room. His eyes showed that he had slept little as well. The whole household was involved: the maids wept, Mrs Grigson prayed constantly. Mrs Meredith had moved in with them to help keep the household going and fed, as she said practically, though her eyes were red with weeping.
Viola had not taken to her bed. She showed unexpected strength, remaining at Edgar’s side, speaking to any who came to the door and questioning them for clues, sorting truth from the lies of those who just wanted some coins.
“Mr Penhallow, sir, a gentleman is here and insists on speaking to you yourself,” he said.
Burke sprang up. “Show him in!”
Mortimer bowed. A moment later he showed in a neatly garbed, grey-clad man who appeared to be a store keeper.
The man advanced. “I am a pawnbroker in the city,” he said quickly. “Last night — late, just as I was about to close — a man came in, a Frenchman, Guy Janssen. He showed me a jewel, sir, and I bought it, though he asked high.”
He opened his hand and held it out to Burke. Burke snatched it from him, turning quite weak and sick at the sight. Lesley’s ruby heart, surrounded by diamonds.
The man was going on excitedly. “I recognized the jewel, sir. I saw it on Mrs Penhallow when you came into my shop questioning about the lad, your nephew, who is missing.”
Edgar had entered the room as he was speaking. He too examined the pendant, nodding his recognition.
“It is — my wife’s,” said Burke numbly.
“Yes, sir. I thought it was. Know jewels when I see them,” said the pawnbroker. “I questioned the man, seeing how he was drunken. I asked him if he would have more jewels for me of the same quality. He said no, he was leaving London, he hated the place now, and was going to the coast, to take ship for France. I said it might be dangerous, he laughed and said no, not for him.”
“Damn his eyes,” said Frank excitedly, thumping a chair back. “Going right back to France. He’s a spy!”
Burke stirred, his hand clenched over the ruby. “Probably not, Frank. Just an opportunist, who will try to sell some knowledge to the French. He is a man who lives by his wits. But he must be stopped. Do you know someone you can send to the coast, to warn the navy personnel?”
“Right, I’ll get to that,” and Frank hurried out.
Burke roused himself to thank the man warmly, write out a note on his bank for him, and shake his hand. “If you hear further, you will let me know at once?”
“Oh, yes, sir, that I will!”
The man was shown out, Burke sank again into his chair. Edgar said quietly, “Have some breakfast before we set out again, Burke. You will need your strength.”
“I wonder if Lesley has had aught to eat this day,” muttered Burke, his head bent.
Voices in the hallway, then Viola came in, leading young black-eyed Freddie, very dusty, as though h
e had been sweeping chimneys again. But he was bright-faced, alert.
“Look who has just come up to London, to help us search for Sandy,” said Viola, trying to smile. “What a good soul you are, Freddie, though you should not have tried to walk all that way.”
“Lord love you! I walked little! I caught rides on the wagons coming to market. Where is Mrs Pen’low?” he enquired, gazing about.
“She also has been snatched, Freddie,” said Viola simply.
His eyes opened wide. “Lord, Lord,” he breathed. “I come right in time! We got to find Mrs Pen’low!”
Burke could not smile, he rubbed his face wearily. “We have been hunting these two days, Freddie. We’ll be going out again shortly. Do you rest, and Viola, see to it he is fed and given a room.”
“Oh, sir,” said Freddie quickly. “Don’t send me away! I wants to help, I does! And nobody knows about London and places like me, sir, really, sir!”
They all stared at him, then at each other. He urged them again.
“Let me come with you, Mr Pen’low! You’ve been going out every day, have you?”
Burke nodded. “Every day, for weeks. And now — Lesley gone also —” His voice broke. Freddie sniffed thoughtfully.
“Hmm. I bet we should go out at night,” he said. “That’s when everybody is in house, and sleeping, or drinking. Yep, go out tonight, with torches, and quiet-like, and open doors, and snoop around. I knows places where children are kept. Freddie knows them all, you can gamble on it!”
Edgar breathed reverently, “‘Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength, because of thine enemies; that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.’”
Burke clasped Freddie’s shoulders gently in his big hands and gazed down into the eager dusty face. “Freddie, do you know what you say? We have a better chance of finding them at night?” Hope was rising in him, perhaps he grasped at anything in his despair.
Freddie nodded again. “Yes, sir, Mr Pen’low. We best go out tonight. Especially since you been searching days, and they’ll be careful-like if they’re hiding Sandy and Mrs Pen’low. I knows places. If we but had some lights to search —”
“Torches,” said Edgar promptly.
“The footmen, the grooms and coachmen,” said Burke, and they went out to prepare. Excitement stirred in the house, and new hope in all of them. Freddie swelled with importance, but was as anxious as the rest.
They waited until dusk, Burke could not endure to wait longer. An odd procession started out: two carriages driven by coachmen; outriders and stable grooms and footmen, all carrying torches and loaded pistols; Burke, Edgar and Frank, all with pistols and swords, and Freddie leading the way, perched up beside the coachman in the first carriage.
They drove to the outskirts of the slum sections. The carriages were left there with two coachmen and two outriders, all with loaded pistols, to guard the carriages and horses. The torches were lit, they flared in the growing darkness.
People stared at them, furtive forms flitted in the alleys as they strode along into the darkness. But for the torches they could not have seen anything. Occasionally a candle burned in a home, the door opened. Most of the time complete darkness reigned in the slum areas.
They stepped in filth up to their ankles, the boots protecting them. They walked in ruts, squeezed through tight places where one house leaned against another. Sometimes the stone walls of a warehouse loomed in front of them, they had to walk around it, and found men sleeping in the doorways, grumbling as they were disturbed.
A woman cried out in a high-pitched voice. Burke started wildly. “Lesley!” he breathed. Freddie beside him reassured him.
“No, Mr Pen’low, that’s no lady, that’s a female,” he said.
They walked on, and Freddie finally stopped them at one door. With assurance, he said, “That’s one of the orphanages.”
He pushed open the door, darted in quick as a fox, and, with the light of a flare held high by a footman, he quickly examined the frightened silent children lying on the dirt floor. He returned, shaking his head.
Burke’s hopes, though, were rising high. Somehow they were achieving entry into places they had never seen before. Freddie moved with the familiarity of one who had lived in these places all his life.
He guided them down another alley, into a wider lane. He opened the door, to shrill abuse. He paid no attention to the woman scolding him, darted in and out again.
“No,” he said, and motioned them on.
They moved quickly. People were all about them, curious, furtive in the shadows of the torch light; they had aroused the populace, the night stalkers, the prostitutes, the pickpockets returning from the evening’s work. Murmurs sounded about them, soft voices, growls. Burke felt his back prickle, the way it had done in battle when he knew the enemy was all about him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
It was chilly and damp, a light rain had begun to fall. But the atmosphere back here was even colder and more ominous. He shuddered even in his warm cloak. They were all in dark clothes, on Freddie’s suggestion.
Freddie pushed open another door. Someone cursed him, and pushed him out as he would have entered. Burke shoved his pistol at the nose poking out; it retreated. Freddie entered and darted about. He returned. “No,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. He must have seen Burke’s expression in the light of the orange flares. “Don’t worry. There’s lots more places to look, Mr Pen’low. We’ll go all about tonight, and see them all. ’Cause if they know we’re looking like this, they might take them away tomorrow.”
The calm tones were mature and wise. Burke nodded, swallowing. For himself he would not have been afraid, he could protect himself. But Lesley — slim and strong, but no match for a knife-wielding criminal. And Sandy, small, and thin now.
“Lead on, Freddie,” he said quietly.
The boy nodded, and led the odd procession down another alleyway, followed by muttered curses from dark forms in the shadows. “Gentry,” said one, and spat. “Coming in here. Let’s git them!”
But nobody followed up the threat, intimidated by the large men and the weapons they carried.
Burke stumbled over a dark form. A footman was quick to catch his elbow and hold him upright. He had fallen over something. The footman bent, then straightened. “Dead, sir,” he said, laconically.
Freddie bent also, and beckoned the footman to hold his torch closer. “Old Ben,” he said, and stood up. “Thought he was long gone.”
They walked on. Freddie led the way with assurance, and paused to knock on another door. It was opened reluctantly, at Freddie’s saying, “I’m Freddie the sweep. Open up!”
He darted in when the door opened, looked about, returned. “No,” he said.
They went on. He paused at still another door, a low door. He motioned for silence. “Old Peg sleeps upstairs,” he whispered. “With luck, it’ll be unlocked, she drinks heavy.”
He pushed at the door. It was locked. He grunted.
“I’ll break it down,” said Burke.
“Wait, I’ll call Old Peg. Hey, Peg! Peg Mahaffey!”
An old woman grunted and came to the door. “What’s there?” She stared wildly at the procession, at the men, and made to slam the upper door. “Go away!” she cried furiously. “A body can’t even sleep of a night!”
“We wants in. It’s Freddie the sweep, Peg! Let us in!”
“Go away!” she cried again. “I’ll kill you, I will! Get away from me! You ain’t got no call to bother me!”
Freddie said, in a low tone, “I’ll talk to her, you break down the door quick-like. And watch it, there’s stairs down to the cellar right beyond the door.”
There was suppressed excitement in his tone. Burke felt it also. There had been grumbling before, but no outright anger and refusal to let them enter.
He motioned to the two sturdy footmen beside him. They put their shoulders to the door, one wrenching at the frail door handle. They pushed again,
as Freddie called up to the woman, “Hey, Peg, don’t close up now. Let us talk to ye!”
“Whatcha want? Go away! What are you doing to me door?”
Another hard shove, double grunts, and the footmen had the door shoved open, the latch giving way with a shriek of metal. Peg screamed.
“Get that woman, and tie her up,” ordered Burke harshly, and a footman sprang to do it. He had a fight with the female, who was kicking out with her wooden peg leg. Another man had to come and help.
Freddie was racing down the stairs. Burke called, “Lesley? Sandy? Lesley?” as he ran down after Freddie.
“Oh — Burke?” cried a voice he knew. “Burke! Oh, Burke, we are here!” And she was suddenly in his arms in the darkness, sobbing and laughing and clutching at him frantically.
“Uncle Burke! He came! I told you he would come!” said Sandy, and gave a triumphant yell.
“Get out quick, afore men come,” panted Freddie, and shoved them all towards the stairs.
Burke scooped Sandy up in his arms, the thin sticks of arms closed about his neck tightly. He reached out his free hand to Lesley.
She turned quickly. “I must take the children with me,” she said tensely. “Penny! Bring Millie and Lena. Joe, get Nick — where is Stevie?”
There was confusion in the darkness. Then Lesley had picked up one small boy, and hurried the others towards the stairs. Burke waited until they were up. There was shouting overhead, sounds of cursing. He followed Lesley up the stairs.
Freddie hurried them away, the footmen lingered to protect the rear, the grooms went ahead lighting the way with the torches. Through the back alleys, along the dirt lanes they rushed, the children protected in the midst of them.
They came at last to the carriages, and Burke found himself helping Lesley up, hampered by the child she carried. He picked up another tiny girl, set her beside Lesley, then, carrying Sandy, he got inside.
“The others,” she said, and called out, “Penny, are you there?”
“Yes,” said the girl from the other carriage.
The Ruby Heart: A classic Regency love story Page 20