Lord Portman's Troublesome Wife (23 page)

She would have all the patience in the world, she promised herself.

They returned to London the following morning to find Mrs Crossley flying hither and thither, trying to organise their ball and wondering if it should go ahead if the host and hostess failed to turn up for it. Janet was quite sure her mistress had met a dreadful end at the hands of robbers on the road somewhere and was in tears. Harry calmed Mrs Crossley and Rosamund assured Janet she was whole and hearty. When they had refreshed themselves and changed their clothes, husband and wife sat down to a meal together before Harry left to make his report to the Piccadilly Gentlemen.

He was more content than he had been since Beth’s death. That his wife knew and understood how he felt was a great weight off his mind, though it had taken more courage than a little to admit he could not do what came naturally to every man and made him less than a man because of it. They would be companions, sharing their good days and their bad days, without secrets. He was glad he had told her about the Piccadilly Gentlemen.

Rosamund settled down in the small salon with a book, but it soon dropped into her lap while she sat musing. She and Harry had come to an understanding but that was all it was: an understanding. He had blessed her and said he did not deserve her, but he had not mentioned love, neither of them had, though her heart ached with it. He had loved Beth, still did, she supposed, which was why the memory of her death still haunted him.

She remembered when he had first suggested
marriage he had said, ‘I am not disposed to fall in love again.’ She had accepted that, but she had not, at the time, known the real man beneath the fop, had not expected to find herself falling in love with a gentle, caring, charismatic and courageous man. He made her heart beat faster when he gave her one of his enigmatic smiles. He made her legs weak and her whole body tremble when he touched her. What would it be like to have him desire her, really make love to her, to be told he loved her?

Sighing, she picked up her book again, but had hardly begun to read when a footman came to tell her that Travers had arrived and wished to speak to his lordship.

‘Travers?’ she queried. ‘Is something wrong at Bishop’s Court?’

‘I do not know, my lady. I told him his lordship was out. He was somewhat agitated and asked to speak to you.’

‘Then send him in at once.’

A moment later Travers rushed into the room, pulled up short in order to bow perfunctorily. ‘My lady, Miss Annabelle has disappeared. We have searched everywhere for her, all over the house, in every nook and cranny of the grounds—there is not a sign of her. Her pony has gone too.’

‘Oh, no!’ Rosamund sprang to her feet in alarm. The child was as fearless as her papa and would have thought it a great adventure to ride out alone. But she had undoubtedly taken a tumble and could be lying injured in a ditch. Or worse. It did not bear thinking about. ‘How did you get here?’

‘I brought the carriage, my lady. I thought you would have need of it.’

‘I will come back with you.’ She gave orders for someone to fetch Harry from Lord Trentham’s. How long would he take to arrive? Should she wait for him or go on ahead? Supposing he was not at Lord Trentham’s, but had gone on somewhere else, perhaps in one of his disguises? It might take hours to track him down. There was no time to waste. She scribbled a note for him and with Janet in attendance, set off to cover the same ground she had covered only that morning.

The journey, though only a matter of an hour and a half, seemed interminable and night fell before they arrived. Rosamund scrambled from the carriage before the coachman or a footman could let down the step and rushed into the house. Mrs Rivers and Miss Gunstock were in the hall, along with half-a-dozen outdoor servants, obviously in a huddle trying to decide what to do.

‘Have you found her?’ Rosamund demanded, looking at their anxious faces.

‘No, my lady,’ Miss Gunstock answered her. ‘But her pony has come back alone—’

‘She must have had a fall,’ Rosamund said, deciding now was not the time to berate the governess for neglecting her duty or the grooms for saddling her mount and letting her go. ‘She cannot have gone far. We must continue the search. If she is hurt and alone…’

‘There is more, my lady.’ This from one of the grooms. ‘The pony had this attached to its saddle.’ He held out a scrap of paper.

Rosamund took it and scanned it swiftly. ‘Lord Portman, your daughter is safe for now. Bring one
thousand guineas to Feltham Farm and she will be returned to you unharmed. Come alone.’

What she had dreaded had come to pass; not all the coiners had been arrested and whoever was left was determined on revenge. They had seen through Harry’s disguise and were using Annabelle to wreak vengeance. She handed Travers the note. ‘Don’t unharness the horses. I need the carriage. His lordship can follow when he arrives.’

‘My lady, I am not sure I should obey you,’ the groom protested, after reading the note. ‘His lordship would not like you putting yourself at risk. It is dark and that road is dangerous and you do not know what lies in wait for you.’

‘Annabelle needs me now, not some time in the future.’ She left the house with everyone behind her. ‘I want three men in the coach with me and someone up beside you.’

He sighed and gave instructions to the biggest and strongest of the men to arm themselves and everyone piled in the coach and they set off towards Hounslow Heath at a swift canter.

The meeting of the Piccadilly Gentlemen had finished early and Harry had gone from there by chair to Newgate prison and requested to speak to Michael O’Keefe. The whole gang had been arrested at Feltham Farm, caught red-handed doctoring the coins Harry had given them. They were due for an early trial and a one-way trip to Tyburn before the month was up. It gave the Gentlemen, and Harry in particular, a great sense of achievement, but there was still one mystery that had not been solved and for Rosamund’s sake, he would try and solve it.

Rather than conduct the exquisitely dressed fop through the filthy, noisome prison to the cells, O’Keefe was brought to him in the governor’s office. The coiner stood facing Harry defiantly. ‘What do you want with me?’ the man demanded. ‘Want to satisfy your curiosity, do you, and have a bit of fun at a poor prisoner’s expense? Want me to sing for my supper, do you?’

‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘That is exactly what I had in mind. Sing me the tale of Sir Joshua Chalmers.’

‘Sir Joshua Chalmers. Never heard of ’im. Who’s ’e?’

‘He was my wife’s father.’

‘Oh, now I place you. You’re Lord Portman, him that got robbed on Hounslow Heath a month or so back. Did they ever catch the rascal, my lord?’ And he grinned widely.

‘No, I fear not. Do you know him?’

O’Keefe shrugged. ‘D’you think I would tell you if I did?’

‘It matters not. I am more interested in Sir Joshua.’

‘What makes you think I know anythin’ about ’im?’

‘The Barnstaple Mining Company. You are listed as its proprietor. What did you mine? Gold, was it?’

O’Keefe laughed. ‘You could say that.’

‘What happened?’ When O’Keefe stood stubbornly before him and refused to answer, he went on. ‘You have nothing to lose by telling me; there is enough evidence to hang you already and it would be better to clear your conscience before you meet your Maker, don’t you think? On the other hand, should you be obdurate, I am not particular as to the condition in which I send you back to the cells.’

O’Keefe laughed his contempt. ‘You! A puff of wind would blow you over.’

Harry stepped forwards, grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it behind him, pulling it up between his shoulder blades until he cried out in pain. ‘This puff of wind is a tornado, O’Keefe.’ He gave him another sharp tug.

‘Leave off, can’t you. I’ll speak.’ Harry relaxed his hold and the man stood rubbing his arm and shoulder. ‘But it’s atween you an’ me,’ he said. ‘If you try bringin’ it up in court, I’ll deny it.’

‘I won’t do that. I simply want to set my wife’s mind at rest.’

O’Keefe looked at him and decided it would be best to comply. ‘I met Sir Joshua at the Cocoa Tree. There’s a lot of business goes on there…’

‘I know. Go on.’

‘He was bemoaning his investments were not doing well, so I told him about the mining company. He bought into it…’

‘With gold coins, I assume.’

‘Yes. I don’t know ’ow, but ’e smelled a rat and asked that lawyer fellow of ’is to look into the company and he found it only existed on paper. Sir Joshua asked for his money back.’

‘And you would not agree to that, would you?’

‘Course not. But he threatened to go to the law, so we offered half what we paid…’

‘In clipped coins,’ Harry interjected.

‘Yes, you don’ think we was stupid enough to give him real coins, do you? We needed them.’

‘Did he realise they were clipped?’

‘Oh, I told ’im, offered ’im a deal, passing the coins.
He’d ha’ made a good passer, bein’s he mixed in high society where guineas don’t raise eyebrows, but he refused and said he was goin’ to take ’em to the law. Couldn’t let that happen, could we? ’E had a little accident on the way ’ome. Trouble was we didn’t know where he’d put the money. Had to lie low ’til we were sure the law weren’t arter us and then we meant to search ’is ’ouse. But the lady moved out and took the coins with ’er.’

Harry did not correct him. He picked up his gloves and hat and went to the door.

‘You goin’ to put a good word in for me with the judge, your lordship?’ O’Keefe called after him.

Harry turned. ‘The only good word for you, Mr O’Keefe, is dead.’ He nodded to the turnkey who had been waiting outside and strode away, out into the night, back to Portman House, back to Rosamund. He was smiling and humming a little tune as he went. He would tell Rosamund what he had learned, that her father had been innocent, but he did not think it was necessary to tell her that he had been murdered. It would only distress her.

He had begun to think she was right when she said Beth had cursed him
in extremis
and would have retracted had she lived. Did women really welcome the pain of childbirth? Was it a little like going into battle? You knew you might be wounded but you did it anyway for the reward of victory. If he thought of it like that, perhaps…

He left his horse in the mews, so absorbed in happy contemplation, he did not notice the carriage had gone. He even forgot to mince like the coxcomb he was
supposed to be as he hurried into the house. His wife was not at home, the whole household was awake and buzzing and it was a minute or two before he could make out what had happened. And then he had Hector saddled again and galloped off in the direction of the Kensington Road, ignoring the shouts of chairmen, linkmen and pedestrians who had to dodge out of his way.

Rosamund’s little force of men left the coach a little way short of the farm and scattered on foot, leaving only the driver to take the carriage right up to the house. The dog barked just as furiously as before and Mrs Chappell came to the door and stood watching as Rosamund stepped down and edged round it. ‘Madam, I would be obliged if you would call that dog to heel,’ she called out. ‘I cannot speak to you above the noise of its barking.’

Mrs Chappell came out and smacked the dog on the nose and it slunk away as far as the chain would let it and sank down. ‘What are you doin’ ’ere?’ she demanded. ‘Send you in ’is place, did ’e? Too frightened to come ’isself?’

‘Not at all.’ Whatever happened she must remain calm, Rosamund told herself, at least until the men were in place. ‘His lordship is not at home. I promised you compensation for the loss of your income and that you shall have, but only if you return Annabelle to me unharmed.’ She looked up at the house. Apart from the light spilling from the open door, there were no lights to be seen. ‘Where is she?’

Mrs Chappell shrugged. ‘Le’s see the colour of yer money first.’

‘No. I want to see Annabelle.’

The woman jerked her head towards the barn where the gang had worked on the coins. Rosamund wondered how many of them had evaded arrest and were there waiting for her. But the thought of Annabelle and how frightened she must be drove her on. She walked purposefully towards the door. It opened and a woman stood silhouetted against the light behind her. There was no sign of the Chappell men or any of the others. ‘So we have the lady of the house, do we?’ The woman gave Rosamund a mock curtsy. ‘Lady Portman, pleased to make your acquaintance. Or should I say Mrs Gus Housman.’

Rosamund stifled the gasp that came to her throat. ‘I do not know what you are talking about,’ she said. ‘I came in good faith to recompense Mrs Chappell and take my stepdaughter home.’

‘Can’t let you do that,’ the woman said, moving forwards and seizing Rosamund by the arm. ‘It’s ’is lordship we want and until ’e comes, you and the girl are stayin’ right ’ere.’ She dragged Rosamund into the barn and bolted the door.

Rosamund looked about her. A lamp on a table illuminated the small area around it, but the corners of the building were in darkness. Rosamund had no idea how many men lurked in the shadows. There was no fire, no liquid gold, no evidence that the coiners had ever been there. But the room was peopled with children, some big strong youths, some ten or eleven, some only toddlers, all dirty and ragged. They surrounded her in silence. ‘Annabelle!’ she called. ‘Annabelle!’

A muffled sound came from a corner. The child was lying trussed up on a heap of sacks. Rosamund pushed her way past the children and ran to her. She pulled the gag from her mouth and began untying her bonds. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ she said, pulling the child into her arms. ‘Mama’s here.’

‘And Mama stays here until we have what we want,’ the woman said, watching them. ‘If Portman thinks he can get away with sending my ol’ feller to the nubbing cheat, ’e’s about to learn different. Now I ha’ got two hostages instead o’ one.’

‘Lord Portman is in London,’ Rosamund said. ‘He won’t come tonight, you may be sure.’

‘I can wait. I’ve already spent three months trackin’ the muckgrubber down, another few hours is neither ’ere nor there.’