Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) (23 page)

Presented with the card minutes later, Wilhelmina pondered. ‘Mrs Tanner, Mrs Tanner. I know the name but cannot think why.’ She put the card on a side table. ‘Ah well, if we see her tomorrow you must point her out.’

They did see Mrs Tanner on the following day. After Wilhelmina had swallowed more of the Pump Room’s reeking waters, the lady chatted so delightfully about the many diaries she had read by renowned explorers she procured a visit for Araminta to her house for the next afternoon to borrow one.

Relieved to have found some different company, and an excuse for a walk through the city, Araminta followed Mrs Tanner’s directions with enthusiasm. An unwilling Hollins trailed behind. She dragged her feet along the north side of Queen’s Square, hoping the young miss would tire and go back.

‘Keep up, do,’ Araminta said. ‘It’s a beautiful day for a stroll.’

Hollins regarded the sun smiling over the rooftops with disaffection. She crossed her fingers and wished under her breath for rain. Rain might mean a chair for each of them on the return. ‘It’s a long way, miss.’

‘Nonsense. We’re almost in Charlotte Street now. Little Stanhope Street is just beyond it.’

They turned into the street. The houses lining it were not as elegant as those in the centre of Bath. Araminta paused. Perhaps she had made a mistake in accepting the invitation. But Miss Orksville knew Bath. It must be suitable. She walked firmly on, passing a dusty carriage standing outside the first house until she reached number six. She knocked on the door. An untidy maid opened it.

‘This way if you please, miss.’ She stood aside in the narrow hallway. ‘Mrs Tanner says to show you in then take your maid to the kitchen.’

Hollins cheered slightly at the prospect of a sit down. There might even be enough of yesterday’s leaves left for a dish of tea.

Araminta entered the front room. The door closed firmly behind her.

Mrs Tanner rose from her chair by the empty fireplace. ‘Good day, my dear. I’m delighted you have come. I have a surprise for you.’ She indicated the opposite corner. Araminta turned.

A tall, darkly handsome man regarded her with amusement.

‘Lord Trelowen. Whatever are you doing here?’

The Viscount bowed, reminding Araminta to curtsey. ‘Why else but to see you of course? Mrs Tanner told me you had met so here I am.’

‘I didn’t know you were acquainted with her, sir.’

‘Oh we go back
many
years.’ Trelowen smiled at his hostess whose straight look indicated displeasure at the timespan claimed. ‘She tells me she has a slight headache today. Rather than put you off she begged me to drive you up to Sham Castle. I doubt you have seen the view from there.’

‘No. I can’t. I –’ Araminta frowned. ‘I didn’t see your phaeton outside.’

‘Don’t concern yourself. It’s mere feet away.’ Trelowen walked towards her. His mouth smiled but his eyes stayed cold. ‘Shall we go?’

‘I said I can’t. I’m betrothed now. Miss Orksville says it’s not proper for me to keep company with any other gentlemen. It’s ridiculous but she’s been most insistent. ‘

‘Oh, now that is tiresome’ His lordship shook his head sadly. ‘I’m afraid it means I shall have to insist.’ He strode forward.

‘Insist?’

‘Yes.’

Araminta backed away until the closed door stopped her. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘This.’ Trelowen grabbed her round the waist and hoisted her off her feet.

Araminta gasped. She struggled in his hold, raining punches and kicks onto his head and shins. Trelowen turned her ungently round.

‘Hollins,’ she yelled.

Trelowen clamped a hand over her mouth. Cursing, he manhandled her away from the door. Cicely Tanner dragged it open. Araminta braced hands and feet against the frame. Trelowen gripped her tighter and dragged her sideways through it. Her left knee hit the wall. She kicked out again. His curses grew louder.

Cicely Tanner squeezed past them in the narrow hallway to open the front door. Araminta punched her on the cheek. The woman yelped. ‘For God’s sake, be quick,’ she panted. ‘Someone might see.’

Bundled out of the house and into the street, Araminta saw the dusty carriage pull up in front of her. She bit Trelowen’s hand to the bone. He pulled it away with a curse.

Araminta yelled as loud as she could. ‘Hollins. Hollins, help me. Help.’

Sounds of a different struggle emerged from the house. Hollins staggered out, dragging her arm free of the maid to the sound of tearing dimity.

‘Run for help,’ Araminta shouted, landing a backwards kick on Trelowen’s kneecap. ‘Run. Before they get you.’

Cicely Tanner let go the carriage door. She grabbed for Hollins. The maid slapped her firmly across the face. Regardless of the torn sleeve flapping, Hollins lifted her skirts and fled down the street yelling, ‘Murder. Murder,’ at the top of her voice.

Chapter Twenty Nine

I
n the hotel, Lord Frederick forced his features into a pleasant expression and bowed to Wilhelmina Orksville.

‘I am pleased to see you so well recovered, ma’am.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’ Wilhelmina surveyed his uncrumpled coat and excellent cravat. ‘But I suspect you are less than pleased at Araminta’s absence.’

‘I . . . er, I . . .’

‘I take the liberty to tease you, my lord.’

‘Ah.’ He bowed again. ‘I’d offered to bring Pegasus to her so I have.’

‘I am sure she will be grateful though I fear she may be some time yet. She has gone to visit Mrs Tanner.’

Frederick’s face whitened. ‘Mrs Tanner? Of Bath? Mrs Cicely Tanner?’

‘Indeed, yes. Are you acquainted with her?’

‘No I am not.’ His complexion turned from white to red. ‘Are you aware, ma’am, that she is . . . er, was . . .’ He took a deep breath and directed his gaze over Wilhelmina’s shoulder. ‘Is a friend of Trelowen’s?’

‘Friend? Of Trelowen?’ Air was drawn in through narrow nostrils. ‘Be frank, Lord Frederick. Do you mean she was his mistress?’

‘I do, ma’am. I’m sorry to have to mention such a –’

Wilhelmina flapped a hand. ‘Never mind that nonsense. I’m not a green girl.’ She rose, somewhat agitated. ‘I have the directions to her house.’ Quick steps took her to the small table by the window. She reached for a square of paper. ‘Here. I beg you will make haste. I do not like the idea of such company.’

Frederick all but snatched it from her hand. ‘Immediately, ma’am. Immediately.’

He dashed from the room, heading for the mews and his horse.

Quickly mounted, he urged the animal down George Street with vigour. Two gentlemen crossing the road had to hasten their steps. Their cries of protest barely registered. He turned into Gay Street, looking at Queen’s Square at the end. Heads turned at his headlong gallop. Halfway there he heard his name called.

‘Lord Frederick! Lord Frederick! My lord, stop.’

He dragged at the reins. A woman, obviously a maid and in some distress, ran up to him and grabbed his stirrup. ‘Oh, my lord. Save her. You must save her.’

Frederick looked down at the flushed face, the skewed cap, torn sleeve and tumbling hair. ‘Save who? What are you talking about woman? Who are you?’

‘Hollins, my lord. Miss Neave’s maid. They took her, my lord. T’were that Lord Trelowen.’

‘Ye Gods. Took her where?’

‘I don’t know. He tumbled her into a carriage and off he drove.’

‘His carriage? With his arms on the door?’

‘No, my lord. It were an old one. Real dirty. It drove down the street to the river.’

‘My God.’ Frederick’s stallion took objection to having its head dragged round and let him know it. He patted its neck. ‘Right. Right. You go to Miss Orksville. But tell her gently. And walk properly. Don’t go screaming and carrying on. We don’t want the whole city to know. Tell her I’ve gone after them. They’re in a carriage. I’m sure to catch them.’

He dragged his protesting horse further round and galloped off pell-mell through the crowds to the Avon, regardless of the attention he caused.

Araminta kicked, thumped and struggled in Trelowen’s grasp. Despite her efforts he held her easily until she sank her teeth into his smothering hand again. It forced a surprised yelp from him and wiped the smirk from his face.

‘Vixen,’ he spat, shoving her across the small carriage.

She landed on the dusty leather bench. Her head banged on the wall. Her straw bonnet flattened. For a second the impact stunned her. The carriage slowed at the turn for the bridge. Collecting her senses she hurled herself at the door.

A long leather strap held up the window. The hole where slotted over a metal peg was worn. She grabbed the leather with both hands and heaved. It broke suddenly and the window crashed down into its niche in the door.

She toppled backwards. Struggling up, she lashed at Trelowen’s face with the tail of the strap and leaned out. ‘Help,’ she shouted. ‘Help me, please.’

The nearest of a pair of street cleaners looked up from shovelling horse manure into a barrow. ‘Oi. What yer about?

‘Mind your business,’ the driver called from the box. He whipped the horse. It spurted along the bridge.

Trelowen grabbed at the neck of her spencer. He dragged her back inside. The fine wool ripped in his clutch. She fell across his legs. ‘Bitch,’ he cursed as the strap lashed his cheek again. He caught it, wrenching it from her fingers. ‘I’ll teach you to behave.’ He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. ‘And I’ll be less gentle ’til you do.’

Araminta’s eyes shot fire at him. ‘Don’t you dare touch me. I’ll see you whipped for this.’ She raised her fist.

He grabbed her wrist and twisted it. ‘Oh, yes? You and who else? That shabby Ellonby sprig? He’s only interested in horses.’

‘He’d punch you down. Will punch you when he finds me.’

‘That’ll be a match for the books. He’s never set foot in a ring. Stands no chance against me.’ He pulled her towards him. She landed on her knees on the carriage floor.

‘Leave me be, you coward.’

He scowled. ‘That’s enough of your insults.’ Trapping her arms between his thighs, he pushed the crushed bonnet off backwards. In a second he had the handkerchief bound over her mouth. She twisted her head in vain. The linen cut between her teeth silencing all but the deepest of growls.

He lifted her bodily onto the bench. ‘Settle yourself,’ he ordered. ‘There’s no help for you. You must do what I say.’ His eyes sparked. ‘In everything.’

Her face flushed and denied speech, Araminta glared at him. Her fingers scrabbled at the handkerchief.

Trelowen snarled in his throat. ‘You tiresome filly.’ Ignoring her fists flailing on his back and shoulders, he bent down and ripped the frill from the bottom of her shift. Catching one flying fist, he wrapped the cotton round it then bound in the other.

Panting with the effort to escape, Araminta subsided against the shabby cushions. Angry tears sparkled in her eyes Anxiety edged over her fury. She looked away from Trelowen. She must try to think. Think where they’d be going. Where he was taking her. And how – or if – she could escape.

Frederick galloped down to the river, his horse sweating and speckling his pantaloons with gobbets of foam. The two shabbily-dressed labourers eyed his approach with misgiving.

‘If’n he’s riding that animal so breakneck, it’ll mean more work for us. You see if it don’t.’

The taller and shabbier of the two dragged his barrow off the bridge. They leant on the stone pillar and watched Frederick approach. One of them coughed loudly from wheezing lungs. He spat.

Frederick urged his skittering horse towards them. ‘You there, have you seen an old carriage pass here? Moments ago?’

The coughing one cleared his throat and spat again. ‘Well now, yer ’onour. We sees many such in our work.’ He sniffed disgustingly. ‘Watching out for ’em takes time an’ stops us from earning.’

Frederick mastered the response that sprang to his lips. He rummaged in his pocket and produced a penny. ‘Will this prod your memory?’

‘Well, it might at that, yer ’onour. It might be as there were two carriages crossing over just now.’

‘Two?’ Frederick’s hand holding the penny drooped. ‘Damn and blast.’

‘A course, if it were the one with the screeching female inside, we saw where that went.’

‘What? Where?’

The man craned his scrawny neck to eye the coin. Frederick tossed it to him.

‘It turned up the Bristol road.’ He pointed.

‘Good.’ Frederick flexed his heels, then paused. ‘I’ve seen your faces. Be warned, if you’ve told me a rum ‘un I’ll seek you out for a good whipping.’

‘Ah, no, sur,’ the shorter one said. ‘It be God’s own truth. It were that way. An old green carriage with a bay mare.’

‘Good.’ Frederick spurred his horse across the bridge.

Inside the carriage Araminta slumped in the corner and pretended to be overcome. Away from any chance of attracting help, he had pulled the handkerchief down from her mouth. Her lips and cheeks still tingled where it had cut into them. She lowered her eyes and allowed her head to droop. When she was sure she looked defeated, she cast a sidelong glance out of the left hand window, shielded by her thick lashes.

Beyond the few trees the river ran in a loop across a field. She thought furiously. Her back was to the front of the carriage. The sun was doing its best to shine in through the grimy window on the right. They must be travelling west.

What was to the west? How she wished she had better studied England’s geography. She knew more of India’s than here. Her hands in the folds of her gown clenched. The west? The west? What was to the west?

Of course. Bristol. Some of Pa’s boats landed at Bristol. Boats. The word struck fear into her. Could it be he was planning to sail her out of the country? Fingers tightening even further, she prayed he was not. No matter how resourceful she was, escaping from a boat at sea could only be beyond her. Her heart thumped. If it was a large boat, it must be moored at a dock. With stevedores about. Her father was well-known at many docks. What was today? Wednesday? No? Yes? Anyway, not Sunday. Some men must be working. If she screamed Pa’s name and a promised reward, someone would surely help.

Her heartbeat slowed. A plan formed in her mind. She’d appear subdued and weak. That would avoid another bout with the gag. Nor could he tie her up where people would see. When he took her out of the carriage, she’d pretend to faint. Then she could grasp her skirts and run towards help as fast as she could. The corners of her mouth lifted.

Trelowen saw the movement. He was pleased she’d stopped struggling and screaming. But surprised. From what he knew of her, particularly the way she rode neck-or-nothing, he disbelieved her docile pose. No, she was not overcome. If he judged her aright, she was planning something.