Elyse Mady (26 page)

Resisting the urge to fling a poker through the large mirror above the fireplace to relieve his feelings, Thomas asked instead, “How much do you suppose he will demand for her return?”

“A thousand pounds. Two, even. It takes a great deal of money to flee the country in any sort of comfort. He has timed it to maximum effect. Her brother’s trial begins in days. While our attentions were there, he struck.” Sir John turned to George. “Has a note been delivered to Mr. Ramsay’s house?”

“No, not whilst I was there,” George spoke up. “But Mr. Wallis would send word immediately if anything were to arrive. He’s taken this terribly hard, he has.”

“It’s not his fault,” Thomas reassured him. “Wooley is a man who thrives on disruption and chaos. What we must do now is secure Hester’s release. I will not allow him to hold her a moment longer than I must.”

George’s eyes widened. “He keeps rooms in Lincoln Inn! I accompanied Miss Aspinall there. I’d remember it if I returned. We could go there and—”

Thomas dismissed the suggestion. “No, he would not dare to take her there. It is too public. He will go to ground, I am sure of it.”

The question, of course, was where. The city was a veritable maze of byways and alleys, many unmarked and many more truly dangerous. How could they ever hope to locate one young woman?

“When I set my clerks to investigating him, I learned that Wooley is a landlord many times over,” Sir John said, his face wrinkled in thought. “My clerks gave me a list. Reinvesting the takings of his crime in less fraught enterprises, I suppose. Most of them were occupied. Businesses mostly, tradesmen and the like. But there was one, down near the river, that was reported vacant.”

“Do you remember its particulars?”

The lawyer frowned, absorbed by the effort of recalling the details. After a moment of thought, he scribbled the map on the back of a page of a discarded journal. “Here. This is as near as I can recall.” He made a shooing motion. “Go now. I will raise the necessary officials. They will want to catch him up too. But you should try and get there first. Their goal will be to secure Wooley. They won’t care for Miss Aspinall’s safety as you will.”

From the chair where he had retreated, Edward looked up. “You will need as many men as you can muster if this Wooley is as dangerous as you report. Let me come with you.”

“George will be with me.”

“Your servant is a boy.”

The footman bristled at the insult.

“
He’s
loyal.”

Edward stood slowly. “Please, Thomas. Let me come with you. I feel I owe you that much. If it had not been for me, Miss Aspinall might never have been snatched. I would do this for you, if you’ll allow me.”

It was the hesitation lurking in his brother’s eyes that decided him. Edward was never hesitant.

“Fine.” Thomas whirled away. “But you will follow my orders and do as I say. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, perfectly.”

He took a deep breath and prepared himself for what was to follow.

Chapter Twenty-One

The room in which she was being held was damp, with a distinct odour of wax and tallow that told her that once upon a time, there’d been a chandlery located on the lower level. Now it was empty, a narrow brick building of three stories, the shutters on its upper windows fixed by bars. Hester had no way of knowing the time but it had grown dark some hours ago and she suspected it must be nearing midnight.

She heard voices below and then a door, opening and closing. Wooley appeared, a dish of tea in his hand. He offered it to her politely, as though he had not abducted her off the street. She shook her head, afraid that it might be drugged. He shrugged and set it on the battered wooden table that was, other than the two decrepit chairs, the room’s only furniture.

“You have pluck, Miss Aspinall,” he said, seemingly delighted at her resistance. “I knew you would be an asset to my operations the moment I laid eyes on you. Most of the women I meet in the course of my work are so common. Rough in body. Rough in manners. But you, you are different. So quiet, so reserved. Your clothes are good, your face pleasant. You can pass yourself off as a lady gently bred, can’t you?” He laughed. “Of course, you and I both know that isn’t true but as I’ve learned over the years, it’s appearances that count most. You, my dear, have the appearance of goodness that is so critical to any successful transaction.”

“Goodness? Breeding? Honour? You would not recognize any of these, sir, not if you were to study them a hundred years. You are a charlatan and a cheat who preys upon the most vulnerable in their hour of need.”

He held a thin hand over his heart in mock distress. “You wound me with your harsh words. Every man must make his way in the world. I merely exploit those talents which I happen to possess. In fact, I will even submit that I am quite a competent attorney, if I am forced into it.” He leaned forward and placed his hand on Hester’s knee. He squeezed, his grip painfully tight as he looked deep into her eyes, all veneer and polish stripped from his face. “You discount my resolve at your own risk.”

She could not believe she had ever thought him a gentleman—now, his wicked menace naked on his face, she knew him to be a very dangerous man. “What do you want?”

“A great many things,” he said. “But let us begin by discussing what you will do for me.”

“You have all my money. There is no more.”

He smiled. “There is much more. You simply need to know how to make it.” He lifted a small satchel from the seat beside him and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He looked down at them, fanning them apart as he did so.

“What is it you want of me?”

He handed her the sheaf of papers. Her hands were trembling so badly she had trouble deciphering them in the dim light.

When she finally made sense of what she held, her jaw dropped.

In her hand were bank notes. One pound bank notes. She could only guess at the number but at least thirty, possibly more.

“You are returning our money?” It made no sense. “The retainer? Everything?” She could hire a proper lawyer now, one that would defend her brother and—

Wooley guffawed. “They are quite convincing, aren’t they?” He withdrew another envelope and then a third. And Hester knew what they contained.

“They’re forgeries.” It wasn’t a question. The solicitor, still daubing his damp eyes, watering with mirth, nodded.

“Ten shillings a piece. Not a bad return on investment.”

“Why are you showing them to me?”

“Because I had thought for you to pass them for me. Buy a pair of gloves. Pay for them with those and pocket the change. A tidy profit, even when I take my share.” He sniffed.

“You would have me pass fake notes? Risk my life for your profit?” The nausea was less when she allowed her anger free rein.

Wooley didn’t seem a whit discomposed by her raised voice. “I said that was what I had planned. But the raid has put paid to that. Unfortunately, Mr. Threws cannot be depended upon to keep his head during upheavals. More’s the pity. Now it is best if I remove myself from London entirely. And for that I need capital. Real capital, not my associate’s imitations.”

“You must know that neither my brother nor I have that kind of money.”

“Yes, yes. I am all that and more.” He seemed diverted by her incredulous snort. “I know almost as well as you how much the family Aspinall can lay claim to. Wouldn’t get much further than Essex on what’s in your kitty. But your friend, Mr. Ramsay, has ample funds. That is why I have written to him, requesting an exchange. Your safe return for an infusion of funds.”

“No.” Her voice was thin and reedy. “Mr. Ramsay and I have an arrangement, it is true, but he does not care for me in that way.” She tried to speak with confidence but her chattering teeth belied her resolve.

Her protest raised a laugh. “Ah, I see you do not know his movements as well as I do. Let me enlighten you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Knowledge is always a valuable commodity and so for the past several months, I have had the occupants of twenty-two Bruton Street under very close surveillance. Once or twice, I suspect your Mr. Ramsay to have observed my spies but on the whole, I have ascertained the comings and goings above and below stairs to a remarkable degree.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“No? Well, the day before last you went to the market and bought two pullets, a pound of leeks and one of carrots, ten yards of cambric—which you told the clerk you intended to have made up into aprons for the new maid—and visited the sweet shop for a half a pound of taffy for Mr. Wallis, who has, despite his starched exterior, a marked sweet tooth. Mrs. Fromm had her half day, as she does every other Tuesday and your young Mr. Simpson walked out with the second parlour maid from across the way at eight-thirty.” He tutted disapprovingly. “You might want to keep an eye on that, by the way, if you value the smooth running of the household. She certainly didn’t put up a protest when he tried to kiss her.”

“My God.” The minutiae he related was horrifying. Hester had done everything he had spoken of. Her resistance faded like a deflating hot air balloon. Wooley relished it, if the satisfaction on his narrow face was any indication. She tried to rally. “You are still mistaken sir, if you believe that Mr. Ramsay will pay you for my return. He does not love me.”

She willed herself not to reveal the depth of her own feelings. Wooley could not suspect that there was any real connection between them. She must persuade him that theirs was only a casual encounter. If he suspected otherwise, she knew he would stop at nothing to extort a fortune from Thomas.

But the solicitor was unperturbed by her claims. Indeed, he chortled, as though some secret knowledge amused him. “It appears your Mr. Ramsay has been remiss. I should have thought he would have spoken to you long ago. Made an honest woman out of you and all that.”

“I told you—we are not to be married.”

“And I told you that there nothing that goes on in Ramsay’s house that I am not aware of. Let me tell you where he was two weeks ago. I think you will find it interesting. He ought to have been in his offices, hard at work, but he slipped out on a very particular errand.”

She didn’t want to ask but knew that he would tell her regardless. “Where did he go?”

“The Doctor’s Commons,” he crowed.

Hester was stunned. “The Archbishop of Canterbury.” The only reason for Thomas to visit Blackfriar’s Bridge would be to obtain a special licence. A licence that would allow him to marry the woman named therein at his convenience. No banns, no waiting, no need for the approbation of the parish vicar.

Did that mean he meant to marry her? Did he
love
her as she loved him? Her heart expanded and contracted in a moment. Perhaps, but as long as she remained Wooley’s prisoner, she would not know the truth.

“Indeed!” He smirked as though she had unravelled a particularly difficult cipher. “It appears Mr. Ramsay is a man of honour. Poor fellow. Perhaps you are carrying his heir.” He cast a speculative glance at her midsection.

Hester sank back, revolted at the thought of Wooley’s possible examination. “No!”

“Pity. Nothing motivates a man like the safety of the next generation. I suppose I shall have to rely on the constancy of his emotions.” He sighed, as though he had little faith in such fey notions. “My associate has delivered the demand. Ramsay will have until noon tomorrow to deliver my money, at which point I intend to effect a hasty and permanent departure and you will be returned to the bosom of your lover’s arms, all this but a distant memory.”

* * *

The building Sir John’s map had led them to was a narrow brick warehouse in one of the streets that led from the waterfront. They had taken the barrister’s carriage as far as the river and then a boatman had taken them the rest of the way. They had slipped quietly up the stone steps of the embankment and now lay in wait across from the address, their presence disguised by a low stone wall.

There was no way of telling if anyone was inside.

The shutters were drawn and the window on the first floor boarded over.

“Should we go around back?” George whispered, clutching his club with white knuckles. “Might be an alley.”

“Yes,” Edward agreed, peering at the crumbling brick façade. He checked his gun, ensuring it was ready for anything they might encounter. “We are too visible here, Thomas. We cannot pry away a board. We must follow your man’s suggestion and find another way in.” He paused. “Do you know, I have a sudden urge for molasses drop cookies. Why do you suppose that is?”

“Adventures,” Thomas said, surprised Edward had remembered their childhood rambles. “We took them with us on adventures.”

Edward smiled, despite their circumstances. “Adventures,” he agreed. He crept to the end of the wall but before he could cross the narrow road and make his way around the building, there was sound. They ducked down as a door opened and a moment later, a man in a shabby blue coat, limping, appeared.

“Wooley is here,” Thomas hissed, recognizing him despite the darkness. “That’s his man. That’s the one who followed me.”

“Then we must act swiftly,” his brother urged. “There must be a door. If we can find it and force our way in, we can free Miss Aspinall.”

Thomas assessed the situation. He could not let himself consider what Hester must be experiencing right now. The terror, the fear, very possibly the physical agony. He must keep a clear head if he were to rescue her.

“No. It would announce our presence and give Wooley a chance to harm her. Let us try something else. Edward, give me your coat.” He gestured at the finely cut blue coat and understanding dawned in his brother’s eyes.

“It won’t fool them for long,” he cautioned as George helped him out of the garment.

“It need work only long enough to get us inside. They are down one man. Wooley is wanted. He will not want great numbers about him. Not when his profile must be kept low.”

Thomas and exchanged coats with Edward then stooped and collected some filth from the ground, rubbing it into his face and hair to disguise its fashionable cut. He turned up the collar of his coat.

“It will have to do,” he said. “Now follow me and keep back until I give you the signal.” Mimicking the hesitant shuffle he remembered from the day in the dress shop, Thomas headed into the narrow passage where the man had emerged. It was pitch black and he felt his way, his fingertips running over the rough clay of the bricks.

There, in the wall, a door.

Steeling himself and disguising his pistol behind his back, he knocked.

There was no answer. He began to ease the latch from its seat when the door was flung open. He jumped back, keeping his face in shadow. The man answering the door made no such attempt and the lantern lit Wooley’s face with deep craggy shadows.

“What delay is this now?” he snapped. “I told you to deliver the note to Ramsay.”

“And I have something to deliver to you,” Thomas growled, his head snapping up. Wooley recognized him, his eyes widening with shock. Thomas threw a fist towards the solicitor but the older man was quicker than he looked. He ducked and Thomas’s fist missed its mark.

George and Edward followed him into the warehouse.

“Watch yourself!”

Wooley’s men brandished their weapons: a cutlass, a longshoreman’s hook and a heavy club. Edward fired and the first man dropped, bellowing and clutching his gut. The remaining pair advanced more cautiously. One of them swung the club at George, and caught the servant on the arm. But George did not retreat, returning the blows with his improvised cudgel.

“Where is she?” Thomas shouted at Wooley. He tried to train his pistol on the solicitor but could not pin him down. He had but one shot. If he fired and missed, Wooley would escape before he could reload. “Tell me where she is.”

“Take them,” Wooley shouted at the dockhands, ignoring Thomas’s demand, as he retreated across the warehouse floor. The seamen advanced slowly on the avenging trio. Their injured companion disregarded his instructions, preferring to flee rather than face further hurts. His survival was a matter of indifference to Thomas; all that mattered now was Hester’s safe return.

The battle was short and brutish. Despite their superior size, the solicitor’s men were no match for the determination of their opponents. Soon, they were laid out cold and Wooley was without their protection.

Thomas advanced, his pistol extended before him. At this proximity, he would not miss. Wooley’s life was forfeit if any harm had come to Hester.

In the wavering light of the lantern that he still held, Wooley looked terrified. It was the first time Thomas had ever seen him and what he saw did not impress him. “Where is she?” he asked again.

Wooley lifted the lantern higher. His hands were trembling. “She is…she is…” Without warning, he flung the lantern aside. It smashed, plunging all into an inky darkness.

There was the sound of running feet and then a door. Wooley had the advantage; he knew the building and its layout. They were proceeding blindly. Wooley had fled like the coward he was. George darted forward, eager to track the solicitor down, but Thomas stopped him.