Dangerous Lover, page 18
She thrust her arms into her robe, left the lamp, and took a lit candle with her as she left the room. As on her first night here, the sound seemed to fade as she closed the door and walked toward the stairs. But since she was sure it had been coming from below, she descended the staircase, studiously ignoring the library. This was no time for an unplanned encounter with Sir Nicholas.
Although I would not mind, she thought wistfully.
Yes, you would, she berated herself. And besides, he’s asleep.
She paused for a moment on the first-floor landing. Then, sure she could hear an echo of the clanking, she began to descend further.
A sudden creak and the swish of an opening door below startled her. She fell back against the wall, almost losing her footing, and hastily shaded her candle as it threatened to go out.
From below, the clanking sound was suddenly apparent once more.
“James.” Sir Nicholas’s voice called from somewhere toward the back of the house. “You can go to bed after that. I’ll bring the rest.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Frozen to the spot, Alexandra saw James walk into view, setting a lamp down on the table that stood by the chairs the policemen had sat in yesterday morning. He carried a sack-like bag over one shoulder as he walked into one of the unused rooms on the ground floor.
A door closed again somewhere, muffling the machinery sounds. Afraid one or both men would find her skulking on the stairs, she fled back up, hoping she was unseen and unheard.
But the incident hardly quenched her curiosity. What were they up to? And where were they up to it? She had been down to the kitchen with Evelina to “help” Cook bake some cakes. There had been no sign of any kind of machinery that could make that kind of noise, just the usual oven and stove. And access to the cellars.
Her heart beat fast as she closed her bedchamber door once more and blew out the candle.
Perhaps Harris thought he kept his extorted money and more abducted children in those cellars. Or used child labor to operate whatever that machine was. Except Griz and Dragan knew differently—a man of radical, even revolutionary principles would hardly do such a thing.
And yet, he was clearly up to something.
Before she retired, she peered out of her window. She could see no one in the garden, and the policeman who had been skulking in the mews was no longer visible either.
Alexandra dropped the curtain and padded back into bed. Determinedly, she closed her eyes to sleep, for she wanted to be up early enough to investigate both the room with the sack and the servants’ hall.
*
Although she slept a little later than she meant to, she still rose well before breakfast time in the schoolroom. Hastily washed and dressed, she walked briskly downstairs and, finding the hallway deserted, she went straight across, and into the room James had entered several hours before.
It was empty.
There were shutters across the window, but no curtains, no furniture, no sacks. Layers of dust crunched under her feet. Perplexed, she gazed around her, wondering if there was a trapdoor from here into the cellar or some way into the garden.
The shutters parted easily to her touch. Behind them, the window was grimy and locked and looked as if it hadn’t been opened in decades. The floorboards were grubby and a bit uneven but showed no obvious signs of disguising a door of any kind.
Then she paused. By the light from the doorway, she could see scuff marks in the dust and a cleaner patch. As though a sack, or sacks, had lifted the dirt from the floor.
But whatever had been there was gone.
Frustrated, she left the room and walked purposefully to the green baize-covered door. She had not gone far along the passage that divided the servants’ hall from the kitchen when Mrs. Dart emerged from her sitting room and stopped, clearly startled to see her.
“Miss Battle! What brings you down here?”
“I was looking for you,” Alexandra said promptly. “I hear strange noises at night, sometimes, a bit like machinery of some kind. What on earth could that be?”
Mrs. Dart didn’t look remotely furtive. “Probably wind and rain in the chimneys,” she replied. “They make funny noises sometimes, especially with the fires not being lit in summer. It’s a mad old house!”
Alexandra smiled back. “I wondered if it was coming from the cellar.”
Mrs. Dart laughed. “No room in there—look.” She lifted a large key from the loop at her waist and walked swiftly to the door at the end of the passage, where she inserted the key and threw the door wide.
Alexandra glanced in and saw all four walls of a small, cavernous room lined with racks of wine and spirits and casks of ale.
“Crammed to the gunnels with wine,” Mrs. Dart said cheerfully. “I tell Sir Nicholas he’ll never drink it all, but there it is!”
“Are there no other cellars? I’m sure Sir Nicholas mentioned there were. They must stretch under the house and part of the garden, too.”
“Oh, they’re all blocked off. Even before the incident with Evelina, no one could get into the other house cellars.”
You mean you don’t have a key to them. But I’ll bet Sir Nicholas does. And James.
“Oh, Sir Nicholas left a note for you,” Mrs. Dart said suddenly. “About dinner tonight. It’s in the schoolroom—the note, I mean, not the dinner!”
Laughing, she locked the cellar door again, and Alexandra, having run out of time, left the servants’ quarters for the schoolroom, trying not to speculate on what Sir Nicholas had to say about dinner.
It tended toward the curt, as did most of his communications. It seemed he had encountered his brother at Mrs. Jenner’s and invited him to dinner, along with his wife and three children. He suggested the children have their dinner party in the schoolroom for the sake of his civilized guests, supervised by Anna.
He didn’t even trouble to sign it, although he had added a postscript at the bottom of the page, to the effect that he meant also to invite Mr. and Mrs.…
She turned the page over. Mr. and Mrs. Tizsa.
She wondered if she would get the chance to consult with Griz before she read the second postscript.
By the way, you have grasped that you will be in the dining room and not in the schoolroom? You are the nearest thing I have to a hostess.
*
Although rather a noxious fog was coming off the Thames, Alexandra found it something of a relief to escape the schoolroom and take Evelina shopping to see if she could find a pretty new ribbon for her hair. Mrs. Dart had mentioned a little shop off the Strand, where they did indeed find pretty, embroidered pink ribbon. Alexandra bought a length with the money Sir Nicholas had given her and then decided to go home via Hungerford Market.
Evelina was not much interested in fruit and vegetables, and she wrinkled her nose as they descended the steps toward the smelly fish market, but she did gaze curiously at the stallholders and the buyers.
As they pushed through the fish stalls toward the river, Alexandra felt her skin prickle as though she were being watched. But Evelina bounced happily at her hand, and James still hovered watchfully behind. She squeezed past an enormously fat woman, who was clearly extremely particular about which fish she was prepared to buy.
Abruptly, instinct drew Alexandra’s gaze from the woman, past the stall-keeper to the other side. And there, bold as brass, stood her father.
Chapter Eighteen
“This is the place?” Griz followed Inspector Harris through the door. It had been locked, but one of Harris’s men had put his shoulder to it.
“According to Betty Bryce,” Harris replied, looking about him, “the younger of the women we arrested. She claims to have come here on a couple of occasions, that Ricco, the man who ordered and arranged the abductions, was definitely living here.”
“He doesn’t appear to be here now,” Dragan observed.
They were in a suite of three decent rooms, including a separate bedchamber and kitchen, a bit of a luxury for this part of town. It was clean and tidy and decently furnished. And when Griz pulled open the door of a wardrobe, she found two smart suits of clothes hanging there.
“He doesn’t seem to have gone far,” she said. She felt the fabric of the coat. “Good quality.”
“I’m sure,” Harris said ironically. “And I doubt he’s gone farther than Hungerford. They’re about Swan’s size, too.”
“I do not see Sir Nicholas as the villain,” Dragan stated, looking under the bed.
“Nor do I,” Griz said. “Alex trusts him. And if you had seen how upset he was about his own daughter’s disappearance—”
“I did see,” Harris interrupted. “And in my opinion, that tells against him. He didn’t want his own child hurt. Nor anyone else’s. Those boys you freed were well fed and entertained. They weren’t remotely frightened, and that all came from this man’s orders.”
“Ricco,” Dragan said thoughtfully. “An unusual name.”
“Made up,” Harris said with certainty. “It means rich in Italian. He’s having a laugh at the ignorant thieves working for him.”
“That doesn’t sound like Sir Nicholas either,” Griz said.
“No, but he’s lived most of his adult life in Italy,” Harris retorted. “And everyone says this Ricco is English, not foreign.” He strode off into the kitchen to search there.
“If he’s left everything,” Griz said thoughtfully, opening a drawer, “he’ll be back.”
“Maybe he took the important things, like carpetbags full of money, and fled.”
“But not to Hungerford House.” Griz rifled the next drawers, which were mostly empty apart from a couple of shirts, collars, and ties. “Surely Harris is wrong about that.”
“Yes.” Dragan hefted up the mattress and let it fall again with a sigh.
“He could have saved himself—and Alex—a good deal of trouble,” Griz said, shutting the last drawer with force, “if he had just let the inspector search the house as he wanted. I don’t understand why he didn’t.”
“I do,” Dragan said vaguely, walking slowly across the room and trying the balance of all the floorboards.
Griz joined him, but none of the boards seemed to be loose. “Wretched pride, I suppose. Did you try the wardrobe base?”
“Yes.”
Together, they left the bedroom and walked through the rest of the rooms, where Harris and his men were searching the furniture with no more luck.
“There’s nothing,” Harris said with dissatisfaction as they continued testing the floorboards. “Nothing but Betty’s word to connect whoever lives here with the kidnapped boys. No ransom notes, though there are pens, ink, and paper, no rolls of money or children’s stolen toys.”
“No, he kept the children, all the actual crimes away from himself,” Dragan said. “The men took the children at his orders, and the women looked after them. He might have watched the exchanges of boys for money, but it was men who made them.”
Harris nodded. “He came later to collect the money and give the others their share. Betty says he wasn’t ungenerous. It’s just a pity he wasn’t there to collect when you barged in. In fact, Betty was surprised he wasn’t there by that time.”
“He knew Miss Battle and Mr. Ingram were following him,” Griz said firmly. “He took care in his approach and probably saw us lurking around Betty’s door.”
“Or he was with you,” Harris said stubbornly.
“Then why did none of the villains recognize him?” Dragan asked mildly. He followed the floorboards out of the sitting room and into the narrow hallway. “Why not give him up when he was clearly responsible for their arrest?”
Harris glared at the floorboards as if daring them not to move. “I don’t believe they knew. It wasn’t exactly bright in there. They just saw a man barging in and fighting. I’m sure he altered his posture and manner and even his accent. Or perhaps they trust him so implicitly, they go along with everything he does, convinced he’ll reward them in the end. I don’t know. I do know it’s odd for a man of his birth and wealth to be living in that house in that location. If he doesn’t want to evict his brother from Brook Street—and I would have thought he would enjoy doing so!—why doesn’t he just buy another property? Not as if he can’t afford it.”
“No, but you can’t accuse a man of kidnapping just because you don’t like his house,” Griz said. “None of these wretched floorboards are loose.”
Dragan paused and looked at her. “Which is itself odd. This place is pretty decent for its location, but you would expect the odd creak.” His breath caught. “Move out of the light, if you please, inspector…” He crouched down, inspecting the boards more closely before moving awkwardly forward.
“What are we looking for?” Griz asked, bewildered but game.
Behind them, the constables snickered, until Harris cast them a glower.
“Shiny, new nails,” Dragan replied. “I think he suspected the police might trace him here and search. So, he nailed his treasure in with the intention of coming back when the police give up and leave.”
“Or took it away and doesn’t care,” Griz argued.
“Also possible,” Dragan admitted. “But a man like that must have a hiding place, and we certainly haven’t found it. Griz, is there a lantern?”
Wordlessly, Griz lit one and brought it to her husband in the dark corner behind the kitchen door. The police constables looked on with amusement and some doubt, though the inspector wasn’t laughing. Especially not when Dragan looked up with one of his rare, dazzling smiles that still made butterflies gambol in her stomach.
He took out his penknife and began prizing out nails. Two minutes later, a floorboard was lifted, and from underneath it, Dragan pulled out an oiled canvas bag. It looked heavy, but he tossed it up to Harris, who pulled it open to reveal rolls of banknotes.
“A few ransoms, I’d say,” the inspector remarked, hefting it in one hand.
*
As soon as she saw her father standing there, in the middle of the fish market, the years fell away, and the old deluge of frustration, anger, and hopeless love flooded her. She saw at once that he looked well. Tired and a little creased, but well. His clothes were decent, too, those of a casual gentleman wasting time.
Wasting her time. Spoiling her time. Again.
He was not remotely surprised to see her. Had he known she was in the area? Or was he here by some unkind accident and spotted her from afar? Either way, her duty was to Evelina, and she deliberately looked away from him to march on to the steps.
When she next spared him a glance, he had moved to the next stall. He held a walking cane in one hand, which he tapped lightly on the ground twice. He would stay there until they could speak.
Why do you do this to me now? Am I never to be free of you?
And yet, as always, the fury came with pleasure because she had seen him again. Because he was her father.
Although she tried very hard to pay attention, the short journey home passed in something of a blur. She smiled at Evelina’s innocent pleasure in her new ribbon, though she barely heard the words, and somehow, she got through tea in the schoolroom. From then, as Evelina returned to Anna’s care, Alexandra was more or less free.
Seizing her bonnet and shawl, she walked swiftly along the passage, downstairs, across the hall, and out of the front door once more. It was not far to the market, but her stomach felt as if a stone sat in it, weighing her down.
She found Alexander Battle easily enough, sitting at the side of the steps up to the fish market, his hat off and his face turned up to the sun. He hadn’t been worried that she wouldn’t come. He had known she would.
“What a fetching sight,” she remarked, “for a dead man. What do you want, Papa?”
He smiled without opening his eyes. “Is that any way to greet a parent? I’m disappointed in you, too, my dear. I had hoped to see you established in Mayfair, not Hungerford.”
“I don’t have long,” she said impatiently. “Why are you here?”
He opened his eyes and patted the step beside him. Alexandra stayed standing where she was. He sighed. “I need a favor.”
“Sell your coat.”
“It is not money,” he said with dignity. “As it happens, I am currently in funds. However, I do find myself—temporarily—without a roof over my head.”
She stared at him. “The city is full of hotels, hostels, common lodging houses, take your pick.”
“Even if I were prepared to tolerate a common lodging house, I doubt I could cram myself in. And there are reasons I would rather lie low.”
“Of course there are. What do you expect me to do?”
“You have a decent lodging close by, I presume.”
“You expect me to take you to dinner with my employer’s family? And introduce you as what? The ghost of my father? A long-lost uncle?”
“Very kind of you,” her father said sarcastically, “but I shan’t embarrass you or your employer. I shall merely pass the time in your rooms, sleeping. And in the morning, I shall be gone about my own arrangements.”
“Merely,” she repeated. “Papa, I am the governess, not a guest. I don’t have a suite of rooms at my disposal. I have one room, and the house is full of servants. My pupil visits me in that room.”
“Lexie, I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. I have nowhere else to go.”
“Yes, you do,” she retorted. “You always do.”
He rose to his feet and nudged her gently with his elbow. “Is that a yes?”
“I suppose it must be,” she said bitterly, “but only because I know you’ll hang around the house and cause more trouble if I refuse. But you must do exactly as I say.”
Without waiting to see if he followed, she turned and walked back down the steps. After a time, as they walked up Craven Street, she said abruptly. “I will take you into the reception room as my guest, a visiting cousin, and when the coast is clear, I’ll smuggle you up to my room. But if you are discovered, Papa, I will be turned off without a character reference and be as good as ruined, with no means of earning my living except that from which you always claimed to be saving me.”
