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Before she’d reached the bottom of the stairs, the knocker sounded and the footman posted there opened it.
Recognizing Ainswood’s courier, Lydia hurried to the vestibule and took the note he’d brought, then sent him down to the servants’ hall for something to eat.
She was tearing the note open as she hastened back to the library.
My love,
Bless you a hundred times for the wise words you wrote, and for sending Millie to me.
She had wandered northward, into Bagnigge’s “territory,” and I had been about to send someone to fetch her back. But your letter gave me pause. I recalled that Robin and I had traveled there as well, and climbed Coombe Hill, which is not far from Aylesbury. I’ll make a long and convoluted tale brief: Thanks to Millie’s attention to gossips, we found near Aylesbury the inn where the girls had spent several days. Emily had been ill. We’re assured she was quite well when they set out again on Saturday. On Sunday, they were in Prince’s Risborough, where they left Emily’s brown frock in exchange for some boy’s clothing. They’d taken it from a basket—one of several left for the church to distribute among the poor. It was Millie who interrogated the vicar’s wife, and ascertained exactly what was taken.
A detailed description of the boy’s garments followed.
He went on to say they were currently following a trail tending southward, toward the coaching road Vere and Mars had been exploring. This time, though, it was a young woman and boy they asked about, with more productive results.
When Lydia finished the letter, she relayed its essentials to Tamsin.
“We’ll have to awaken the servants,” Lydia said. “All the London searchers must be informed. There’s no telling how far ahead of Ainswood his wards are. They might already be in London, or enter at any moment. Everyone must be put on the alert.”
“I’ll copy the description,” said Tamsin. “It’s only a few lines. One for each of our messengers, so they don’t have to try to remember. They’ll be sleepy.”
“So are you,” said Lydia. “But there’s no help for it now. I’ll have a pot of strong coffee sent up.”
The farmer put Elizabeth and Emily down in Covent Garden, which seemed to be wide awake, though it was early morning. Elizabeth had heard church bells toll six o’clock only minutes before.
He’d refused to take money from them. He was going the same way they were, he’d told them, and they took little room in the cart. Besides, his apples were highly prized in London and he’d earn plenty.
And that, Elizabeth saw, must be true, for despite the predawn darkness several costermongers were already hurrying toward the wagon, and they were already haggling with him by the time Elizabeth had helped her sleepy sister down.
Their rescuer didn’t hear Elizabeth’s thanks. Still, she had thanked him repeatedly during the slow journey. Dodging shoulders and elbows, she led Emily away.
“It’ll be easy now,” Elizabeth told her. “St. James’s Square is not at all far from here.”
If only I knew what direction to turn, she added silently as her bewildered gaze wandered about the rabbit’s warren of a marketplace. The sun was no help, since there wasn’t any. She wished she’d thought to bring a compass, but then, she hadn’t thought of a great many things. She had certainly not prepared for a two- to three-day journey turning into eight desperately long days.
They had not brought enough money. They’d sold or traded most of their belongings, which had been few enough in the first place. Emily was very tired and very hungry. They had eaten a few apples, at the farmer’s insistence, but only a few. They hadn’t wanted to cheat him of his hard-earned profits.
But that would soon be over, Elizabeth told herself. They were in London, and all they needed to do was obtain directions to St. James’s Square and then…
And then Emily swayed and sagged against her, and Elizabeth heard a shrill voice call out, “Oh, dear, the little boy’s took sick. Help ’im, Nelly.”
Elizabeth did not have time to help her sister, or say that she could. Everything went wrong in an instant: a tawdry red-haired girl dragging Emily away, the crowd closing about them, an arm fastening on Elizabeth’s, squeezing painfully hard. “That’s right, my dear, not a word, not a squeak. You come quiet-like and Nelly won’t lose her temper and cut yer little friend’s throat.”
Chapter 17
Tom hadn’t had a good look at the pair. He might not have noticed them if he hadn’t recognized the wagon and moved closer, watching for a stray apple. That was when the older one had climbed down, showing a bit of very pretty ankle, and moving surprisingly quick and light for an old woman. He’d tried to squeeze through the crowd for a closer look. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d been on watch for so long that every odd thing made him look twice.
He saw the taller one looking about and looking lost, and then the smaller one went white.
And then, as fast as you could blink, the pair of them were in Tow Street, with Coralie Brees and one of her game gals doing the towing.
Tom didn’t stop to ask himself whether he was right or wrong, whether the pair Coralie had were the ones Miss Grenville was looking for or not. Tom and his fellow street arabs had chased plenty of false trails in the past few days, but there was no telling unless you did it, and better to chase than to chance missing them.
And so he didn’t pause to reflect this time, but dashed straight into pursuit.
Stupid as Coralie was, she could not only tell a girl from a boy—regardless what the young person wore—but she could also recognize the accents of the upper classes. This she did within minutes of shoving her captives into the ancient carriage waiting around the corner, with Mick at the reins.
“I collect you mean to hold us for ransom,” the older one said, warily eyeing Coralie’s knife. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to take us to Ainswood House and say you’d rescued us. You’re bound to get a reward?”
If the girl had not mentioned Ainswood House, Coralie would have stopped the carriage, flung the door open, and pushed them out. Her prey was restricted to girls no one wanted or cared about, who hadn’t powerful families to call down the full force of the law upon her. No whoremonger with an ounce of self-preservation made off with gently bred misses, because those they belonged to usually offered large rewards for their return.
There wasn’t a soul Coralie knew who wouldn’t betray his or
her mother or firstborn for a reward. This was why crimes against the upper orders tended to get solved more often and speedily than did those against the dregs of humanity. London’s law officers depended upon confession and informants to bring criminals to justice. And stupidity—for the criminal mind, in the majority of cases, was by no means brilliant.
While Coralie’s intellect wasn’t of the highest order, she was cunning enough not to get caught. She was also a dangerous woman to cross, as everyone knew. Troublesome girls were brutally punished. The few so misguided as to attempt betrayal or escape were caught, mutilated, and killed, as an example to the others. To date, Annette was the only one of her employees who’d managed to get away alive. This, Coralie was sure, was because the girl had taken money and jewels with her. She’d either bribed Josiah and Bill or had talked them into working for her in Paris, because the bully boys had never returned.
Since this was all the new Duchess of Ainswood’s fault, it was no wonder that when Coralie learned that the two young females she’d collected were the duke’s wards—and found proof in their belongings—she did not eject them from the carriage.
She’d heard something was amiss at Ainswood House, and was aware the duke was away from London. She hadn’t learned much more than that. This was because she’d been lying low in recent weeks. She’d had to leave Francis Street without paying the rent—also the Jack whore’s fault—which meant the bailiffs were looking for her.
But she’d had to kill one runaway a few days ago, and temporarily incapacitated another girl in a drunken temper fit. As a result, she was short two employees, which was not good for finances. Like it or not, she’d had to venture out early this morning to seek replacements.
Now she wouldn’t need any. Now she had a way to get even with the scribbler bitch and make a fortune at the same time.
