An Unconventional Miss (23 page)

The carriage jolted to a halt, there was a scrambling from the roof and the door was pulled open. Despite her gasp of protest, the fetid covering was once more thrown over her head, but, instead of lifting her in his arms as he had done previously, her captor tossed her over his shoulder and carried her through a doorway, along a passageway and up a flight of stairs before dumping her, unceremoniously, down on to what she was soon to discover was a well-padded and expensively covered
chaise longue
.

Removing the blanket, a shabbily dressed, pock-faced individual leered down at her.

‘Them windows is all locked,' he advised her, jerking his head to her rear. ‘And there ain't any point in you 'ollerin' for 'elp, 'cos there ain't no one 'ere as'll 'ear you! Best you just sit there, nice and comfy-like, 'til 'is lordship gets 'ome!'

Then, tucking the blanket under his arm, he moved towards the doorway of what, to Jessica's astonishment, appeared to be a gentleman's library. A very large and grandly appointed library, it was true but, then, of course, the man
had
referred to his employer as ‘his lordship'. She wasn't sure that she had actually made the acquaintance of many lordships—apart from Wyvern himself, of course, and she immediately discounted his involvement. She frowned, trying to remember which of her earlier corps of young devotees had laid claim to such a title, but could hardly believe that either of the, quite frankly, rather bird-witted Lords Covenham or Middleton had sufficient nous to dream up such a shocking caper! She then tried to comfort herself with the thought that the whole affair must have been some ghastly mix-up. Clearly, she must have been mistaken for somebody else and, as soon as the unfortunate error was discovered, she would be set free!

But, with a wry twist of her lips, she quickly realised that, even if it should transpire that her abductors had picked up the wrong female, her own release was far from assured, given the severe penalties for such crimes as kidnapping and—bearing in mind what had happened to Mr Allardyce—attempted murder! She did so hope that the poor man's injuries had not proved to be fatal.

Kicking off her remaining slipper, she walked over to the room's door, having made up her mind that it was up to her to try to extricate herself from this disastrous situation. To her surprise, she found that the door was unlocked but since, upon inching it gently open, she could clearly hear the voices of her two abductors, coming from a point somewhere over to her right, she supposed that, being so close at hand, her captors had judged it unnecessary to lock her in. Sidling out of the room and keeping herself pressed firmly against the wall, she caught sight of two men standing, luckily with their backs towards her, just inside the front door of the property. They appeared to be waiting for someone—presumably the master of the house and the unidentified ‘lordship' of whom the pock-faced one had spoken.

Breathless with anxiety, Jessica inched her way slowly down towards the green baize door that she had spotted on the opposite side of the narrow hallway. It would, she was certain, lead down to the kitchens and the servants' hall. The majority of London's houses of this type, as she knew from the Dover Street property, as well as from her frequent morning visits with her cousin, had basement exits out into the main thoroughfare and, if luck were on her side, she had every reason to hope that such an exit might offer her a means of escape.

Her eyes intent upon the backs of her abductors, she tiptoed across the hallway and silently pulled open the baize door until the gap was large enough for her to slip through. The cheerful clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen below, along with some tuneless singing, greeted her ears and, as she had suspected, a flight of stone steps lay in front of her. Whether she would be able to make her way past the unseen vocalist without her presence being detected remained to be seen. Crossing her fingers, she crept down the stairway, her stockinged feet making no sound.

Breathless with anxiety, she was within two feet of the property's back door when an astonished voice hailed her from a small scullery on her right-hand side, the sudden shock causing her almost to jump out of her skin.

‘Well, if it isn't my little lady from the tea-rooms! Whatever are you doing down here in my kitchen, my dear?'

‘M-M-Mrs Barrowman!' gasped Jessica, still eyeing the rear exit and wondering if she dared to make a dash for it. ‘H-how do you do, ma'am?'

‘You will have to speak up, my dear,' returned Mrs Barrowman who, stepping forward, her elbows akimbo, was surveying her unexpected visitor with a puzzled expression on her face. ‘I'm afraid I'm a little hard of hearing!' Then, ‘Goodness me, my pet, you are in a mess! You look as if you've been dragged through a hedge backwards!'

Many a true word spoken in jest, reflected Jessica ruefully as, casting a nervous glance up at the door at the top of the stairs, she found herself obliged to raise her voice. ‘A slight accident, I fear!' she enunciated carefully. ‘I was hoping to find a door out into the street.'

But, when Mrs Barrowman gave a decisive shake of her head, Jessica's heart sank, only to rise again in unbelieving joy as she heard the rotund little woman declare, ‘There's no way that I would allow you to venture out into the street looking like that, my dear! You'd best come along with me and I'll see what I can do to help you.'

And, so saying, she took hold of Jessica's arm and led her over to a nearby coat rack. ‘Looks as though my gentleman has been up to his tricks again,' she muttered witheringly, as she rummaged through the assembled garments for something suitable for Jessica to wear. ‘Seems to me that that nice husband of yours ought to take more care of a pretty little thing like you, but then…' she sniffed, unhooking a caped mantle and handing it to the open-mouthed Jessica ‘…there's no accounting for how some folk's minds work. I've seen things in this house as would shock the devil himself.'

‘Then why do you stay here?' Jessica was curious to know.

‘It's a roof over my head.' The woman shrugged. ‘The work's not hard and the pay is fair. Plus, his lordship leaves me to my own devices. What more could an old woman like me ask at her time of life?'

There was no answer to that, so, after placing the serge mantle over her shoulders, Jessica merely nodded.

‘Nevertheless,' Mrs Barrowman then went on, a kindly smile creasing her ruddy cheeks, ‘I'm not one as tends to forget the generosity of other folk so, one good turn deserves another, as they say!' And, bending under the settle, she drew out a badly worn pair of ankle boots. ‘Ahah!' she crowed jubilantly. ‘Thought they was still 'ere! Belonged to the last housemaid they did and look to be about your size, too, unless I'm much mistaken, my dear!'

‘But, won't she miss them?' exclaimed Jessica, accepting the footwear with a worried frown.

‘Gone,' came the non-committal reply. ‘Never stay long, any of them—can't say as I blame them, mind—luckily I'm too old in the tooth for him to bother with the likes of me!'

Thrusting her feet into the shabby boots, despite their proving to be at least two sizes too large for her, Jessica could not help feeling that the sooner she made her escape, the better. This master of Mrs Barrowman's, she reasoned, who was in all likelihood the very man who had ordered her abduction, did not sound to be at all the sort of gentleman with whom she would care to come face to face.

Wrapping her arms around the little housekeeper, she placed warm kisses on each of her cheeks and, reaching for the back-door latch, let herself out into the basement area.

‘Take care, my dear,' came Mrs Barrowman's whispered admonition, as, crossing herself, she closed the door behind her.

Raising her hand in farewell, Jessica hurried up the metal staircase that led out on to the pavement. Pausing for a moment to get her bearings, it suddenly occurred to her that, in answer to Wyvern's questioning on that fateful day in Gunter's, Mrs Barrowman had given Half Moon Street as her place of work—barely five blocks away from Jessica's own address in Dover Street!

Hardly daring to believe her luck, she set off to walk the fifty yards or so down the street that she knew would lead her into Piccadilly but, after proceeding barely half the distance, it became necessary for her to toss back the hood of the thick woollen mantle with which Mrs Barrowman had provided her, for the late spring evening was still rather warm.

At the top of the street, and just as she was about to cross over into the main thoroughfare, she found herself having to step back quickly in order to allow a fast-moving carriage to swing into Half Moon Street. Glancing up as the carriage flashed past her, she was given a brief, but all too recognizable, glimpse of the scarred face of the same man who had accosted Felicity in Vauxhall Gardens! Her blood ran cold and, fighting down the sudden tremor of foreboding that threatened to paralyse her limbs, she dashed into the roadway. As she did so, she was aware of the screeching noise of the brake shoes hitting the metal rim of the wheels, the crash of the door against the carriage's bodywork as it was flung carelessly open and, most frightening of all, the sound of footsteps in rapid pursuit. Running for her life, as she was very much afraid that she was, Jessica had almost reached the opposite pavement when one of her too-large boots caught on the hem of her borrowed mantle, sending her flying to the ground, where she lay sprawled in an ungainly heap at the feet of her pursuer.

Hauled roughly to her feet and spun around to face her aggressor, she found herself staring up into the repugnant features of the man that Mr Pevensey had referred to as Hazlett.

‘Well! Well! Well!' exclaimed the viscount, a malevolent grin on his disfigured face. ‘Now, how did you manage to get out, I wonder? Certain persons are clearly not doing the job they were paid for and will answer to me for the consequences!'

Then, grasping Jessica's arm in a vicelike grip, he proceeded to drag her back down the entire length of the street, disregarding her panic-stricken insistence that his minions had mistaken her for some other female.

‘You would do well to stop that caterwauling!' he advised her, in a cutting tone, as he dragged her up the steps to his front door and kicked at it.

It would be difficult to describe the looks of mingled apprehension and shock that swept across the countenances of Jessica's two abductors when, upon opening the door to their master, they found themselves face to face with such an indisputable confirmation of their total ineptitude.

‘How the—!'

‘Wha' the—?'

‘You may well ask!' returned Hazlett savagely, as he hauled the still-protesting Jessica across the hall's marble-chequered floor back into the library from whence she had made her escape. ‘I will deal with the pair of you later! In the meantime, if you value your lives, I advise you to stay by that door—I expect company very shortly. When he arrives, search him for weapons—and for anything else of interest that he may have about his person!'

H
urriedly dismounting from his horse, Wyvern tossed the reins to the waiting stable hand and, after instructing the man to have Berridge bring his curricle and pair round to the front of Ashcroft House in fifteen minutes, he strode quickly through the mews to enter the property by way of its rear entrance.

Taking the stairs two and three at a time, he was about to enter his chamber on the second floor, when he met up with his grandmother, who was just on the point of exiting her own set of rooms.

On a sudden whim of fancy, he darted to her side and, to the elderly lady's utter consternation, placed his hands upon her waist and proceeded to swing her off her feet in a wide circle.

‘Put me down this instance, you foolish boy!' she gasped indignantly. ‘Have you run quite mad?'

‘Very probably,' grinned Wyvern, as he lowered her gently to the ground and swept her a deep bow. ‘Allow me to inform you, dearest Grandmama, that our difficulties are at an end—our coffers will soon be overflowing!' At the dowager's frown of incomprehension, he paused momentarily then, looking her straight in the eyes and in a much more serious vein, added, ‘Much more to the point, as far as I am concerned, I now find myself free to marry whomsoever I choose!'

Executing another bow, he would have turned to go had not Lady Lavinia reached out a hand to stay him. ‘Explain yourself, Benedict, I beg of you!' she implored. ‘I really have no idea what you are talking about!'

‘A circumstance that you have brought entirely upon yourself!' he riposted gently, as he extricated himself from her grasp and held her away from him. ‘Had you not been so eager to have me “sent to Coventry” during the last couple of weeks, you would have been in full possession of all the facts!'

‘Nevertheless—!' began his grandmother, eager to point out that, in her opinion, her recent conduct towards him had been fully justified in the circumstances.

With a brisk shake of his head, Wyvern held up one hand to silence her. ‘You must forgive me, Grandmama,' he interjected. ‘I have no time to debate the matter at present—but I promise you that all will be revealed on my return!'

‘But you have only just returned!' she retorted wrathfully, as she watched him turn back towards his own chambers. ‘Where are you off to now?'

‘Patience, dear lady!' he called over his shoulder, as he entered his room and closed the door. For some moments, he stood in silent contemplation for, if the truth be told, he was not altogether certain as to his next move. His initial intention, after his afternoon peregrinations, had been to make straight for Vauxhall Gardens, for he could hardly wait to share his good news with Jessica but, having given the matter some thought on his journey back from Middlesex, it had occurred to him that, perhaps, a visit to Dover Street, to petition Matt Beresford for his sister's hand, might be the more sensible option.

Quickly making up his mind, he rang for Taverner and began divesting himself of his dusty travelling garments and, with that erstwhile gentleman's assistance, he readied himself for what, as far as he was concerned, looked set to be one of the most important interviews of his life.

Seated at his dressing table stool, clad in his best jacket of dark blue superfine, grey waistcoat and buff-coloured, thigh-hugging pantaloons, he thrust out each leg in turn to allow his valet to ease on the highly polished Hessians that the man had just that minute brought up from the boot-room, then, getting to his feet to survey himself in the looking-glass, he pronounced himself reasonably well satisfied with his appearance.

After a minute adjustment to the already perfect arrangement of his master's snowy-white neckcloth, Taverner stood back with a contented smile, saying, ‘There you are, sir, and, if you will pardon my saying so, not even the most pernickety female on the planet could find any fault with you this evening, if I am any judge!'

‘Then you will no doubt be relieved to hear, Taverner,' replied the earl, with a cheerful nod, ‘that the young lady in question is not in the slightest bit pernickety! Unfortunately, however, the whole point of all this extra attention to detail is to impress her guardian, who may well be so inclined!'

Picking up his hat and gloves, he turned to leave but then, as his eyes fell on the twisted tube of oiled paper that still lay on his dressing-table, a slight frown creased his forehead. Having already studied the contents of the package with his two comrades, along with subsequent enquiries on his return to the capital, he had learned that the shares had, in the first instance, been owned by the missing Jack Stavely who had, some five years earlier, transferred his rights to the mine to Digby Hazlett. Scarcely two months before Theo's death, the viscount had, in his turn, transferred the rights to the then Earl of Wyvern. All of the transfers, including the final one from Theo to himself, had been duly signed and witnessed and seemed, insofar as the three friends were able to judge, to be perfectly valid.

Knowing that it would be impossible to visit the bank until first thing on Monday morning, Wyvern picked up the package, his anxious gaze flying around his bedroom in search of the best place to hide such a valuable object but then, as he recalled all the trouble that Hazlett had gone to in order to try to retrieve the documents, he decided that it might be rather more sensible for him to keep them about his person. But, having already had his pocket picked on one memorable occasion, and realising that this, perhaps, was not the best place to carry them, he opted to tuck the slim tubular package down the outside leg of one of his boots.

Hopping up into the waiting curricle, some time later than he had anticipated, the earl made his way through London's busy Mayfair and drew up outside Number Twenty-Four Dover Street, feeling rather less confident than his dress and demeanour would seem to indicate.

After being shown into the somewhat surprised Matt's study and hurriedly explaining the purpose of his visit, he assured Jessica's brother that, now that his financial difficulties were resolved, he need have no qualms about the suitability of the match.

‘Good Lord!' gasped Beresford, who was thoroughly taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. ‘Apart from that unfortunate incident last month, I had no idea that you were even acquainted with my half-sister!'

‘I have—er—found it rather difficult to get her out of my mind,' returned Wyvern uncomfortably. After Jessica's plea that he should refrain from mentioning the Oxford Street incident, he judged that it might also be as well to desist from drawing attention to their other meetings—especially last evening's episode out on the Conyngham's terrace! ‘May I take it that you have no objections to my paying court to her?'

‘Well, no, I suppose not,' replied Matt, distractedly drumming his fingers on his desk. ‘It's just that we are due to travel back to our estate in Lincolnshire tomorrow and I cannot, for the life of me, see how you expect to conduct such a courtship. I shall, of course, put your proposal to Jessica as soon as she returns. She is, at this moment, along with several of her friends, enjoying the entertainments at Vauxhall.'

Glancing over at the marble clock on the mantelshelf, which indicated that the time was almost ten o'clock, he shook his head. ‘I don't expect her home much before midnight—far too late an hour for any serious discussion, wouldn't you say?'

‘Then, with your permission, sir,' said Wyvern, getting to his feet, ‘it clearly behoves me to be on my way to the Gardens with all speed—I would prefer to present my case in person, as I am sure you will understand?'

‘Point taken,' grinned Matt, as he held out his hand. ‘I suppose I ought to wish you luck, old chap!'
And, in taking on that little bundle of mischief,
he then thought to himself, as he showed Wyvern to the door,
you are certainly going to need it!

Back on the driving seat, Wyvern whipped up his horses and set them into a smooth canter, estimating that it would take him the better part of twenty minutes to make his way across the river into Vauxhall and, having recalled the vast number of supper boxes that bordered the walks around the Rotunda, who knew how long to track down the Draycott party?

Nevertheless, the thought that he would soon, with perfect legitimacy, be once more holding his beloved in his arms, added extra zeal to his determination and, after concentrating his efforts on winding his way through the never-ending streams of traffic, he eventually arrived at Vauxhall Bridge. Checking only very slightly at the toll-bar, in order to toss the required payment at the waiting keeper, he whipped up again and pressed on towards the gardens, now scarcely five minutes away.

Flinging the reins to Berridge, he leapt out of the still-moving carriage, leaving his startled groom in charge of the equipage, and made his way through the entrance to the pleasure gardens. Having decided that the Rotunda would be the best place to commence his search, he pushed his way towards the centre of the gardens, cursing the many groups of revellers who were standing about enjoying the closing firework spectacular for which the gardens were famous.

Upon reaching the Rotunda, he was surprised to see a large group of people, each of them nodding and exclaiming to their neighbours in a most animated manner, gathered outside one of the boxes. Craning his head to see what all the excitement was about, his eyes were drawn to a scene that had the effect of stopping his heart in mid-beat.

Stretched out on the top of the buffet table in the booth lay the supine figure of the Honourable Walter Allardyce, blood trickling from a nasty-looking wound at his temple. Grouped around the dead or unconscious man—at this angle it was difficult for Wyvern to ascertain which—he was able to distinguish the faces of Gerald Pevensey, the Lyndhurst siblings, Sir Philip Henderson supporting a weeping Lady Helen Grainger and Felicity Draycott herself. But, of Jessica, there was no sign!

A sudden sense of dread swept over Wyvern and, as icy fingers seemed to clutch hold of his heart, he fought his way through the tightly knit throng of morbidly curious bystanders and leapt up into the supper-box.

‘Where is she?' he demanded hoarsely. ‘Where is Jessica?'

At the sight of the earl, Felicity, her face ashen with shock, flung herself towards him, her unexpected action almost knocking him off his feet.

Steadying himself, and gripping her by the shoulders, he thrust her away from him, his grey eyes dark with anger.

‘Answer me, Felicity!' he commanded the trembling girl. ‘Where is Jessica?'

‘Oh, Ben!' she wailed, reverting, in her panic, to the name she had used when the two of them were children. ‘He has taken her and it is all my fault—I am so very sorry!'

Wyvern's throat tightened. ‘Who has taken her?' he asked urgently, although it was not as though he did not already know the answer.

‘It has to be Hazlett!' she replied, with a low moan, as she registered the expression on his face. ‘He insisted that we all take a stroll down one of the dark walks—Sir Philip heard Mr Allardyce cry out, but, when we got to them, Jessica was gone!' Breaking into a fresh torrent of tears, she indicated the solitary blue satin slipper on a nearby chair. ‘I found it on the ground next to Mr Allardyce! Oh, Ben! What can have happened to her?'

Although he was still confused as to why Felicity should have felt it necessary to follow orders from Hazlett and, more to the point, why any of the gentlemen present had considered it advisable to take a party of gently bred females down one of Vauxhall Gardens' notorious dark walks, Wyvern knew that, if he meant to save Jessica, he could not afford to waste precious time in questioning the deeply distressed girl as to her involvement in the affair.

Jerking his head towards the motionless figure on the table, he asked, ‘Is he dead?' knowing that an answer in the affirmative would provide him with all the information that he needed as to exactly what lengths Hazlett might be prepared to go in his underhand machinations to regain the ownership of the Chilean gold mine.

With her hand on her mouth, Felicity gave a little shake of her head. ‘We are waiting for a doctor to attend him,' she sobbed. ‘His pulse is very weak and he has lost a great deal of blood—Mr Lyndhurst does not believe that he will survive!'

His lips pursed in anger, the earl nodded. ‘I shall need to speak to you later, Felicity,' he said, turning on his heel. ‘Now, however, is not the moment—I have to find Jessica before that devil does her any harm!' Then, offering up a fervent prayer that this all too likely possibility had not already taken place, and cursing his own folly at having gone to visit Beresford instead of seeking out Jessica, as had been his original intention, he strode rapidly back to the gardens' main exit.

Fortunately, Berridge had managed to secure a parking spot quite close to the gates and, within a very few minutes, they were on their way back across the river.
If only I had had the sense to ride straight to Vauxhall instead of wasting all that time tricking myself out to try to impress her brother!
groaned Wyvern to himself as, almost in despair, he found his curricle boxed in by two slow-moving vehicles.

Cursing at their drivers' incompetence and ignoring their outraged shouts, he steered his cattle straight up on to the street's narrow footpath and, ignoring his shocked groom's yell of protest as the curricle's wheels bounced with a jarring crunch as they hit the kerbstones, he brought his equipage back on to the road's gravelled surface, some distance in front of the now-infuriated dawdlers.