The House in Grosvenor Square (30 page)

Lavinia scrambled to her feet and searched the room to see if it adjoined with another, but there was no other doorway. She rushed to a window and threw aside the curtain, but the street below, scarcely populated, held no beadle or officer of the law who might come to her aid. It was too far to jump—it would be the death of her, being three stories at least. But she could still shout—yes, scream if she had to!

She tugged at the window, but it was no use. The weathered wood had expanded or perhaps was painted with the sill, and it wouldn't budge. Loud thuds at the door got her attention, and she spun around. The voice of the abbess angrily shouting…then another voice. Oh! Could it be? It sounded like Lord Antoine! Without thinking she rushed at the door crying, “Antoine! I'm here! It's me, Lavinia! I'm here!”

The door opened then, and her hopes dropped abruptly. It was Lord Wingate, not his brother. He sneered at her, “
Antoine! I'm here, it's me, Lavinia!”
And then he snickered and was joined by the abbess. He held up a piece of paper. “I've got it, my little lamb, the thing that will earn your freedom.” She eyed him warily but said nothing.

“Are you not curious? Oh well, here it is then. A detailed account of your fate, unless Miss Forsythe can persuade her heart's admirer to pay the price I've named. It requires only your signature.” He shoved the paper at her saying, “Here. Read it if you like. And sign it.”

Lavinia didn't take it. “You will not get a great sum for me. Mr. Mornay cares nothing for me!”

He took a breath. “Do not tax my patience, Miss Herley. I am determined
to deliver this letter tonight. So, you see, you must sign it now, or I will be forced to deal with you.” His tone was light, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye. He had picked up the paper and now held it out to her again. She took it. The abbess was on hand with a quill pen and ink.

Lavinia hated to do it, but she was relieved that at least it meant they would know something of what had happened to her. And by whose hand. She signed it a bit shakily and handed it back. Lord Wingate took it eagerly and nearly pranced to the door, stopping only to say a few words to the abbess, and then he was gone. His exit gave Lavinia some relief. Unlike Antoine, whom she was in love with, his brother filled her with unease. He was handsome in his own way but far too frightening to truly hold any appeal.

Downstairs Mr. Mornay had arrived. He'd been searching systematically through house after house, pushing away people—men or women—who got too close, asking questions of some and constantly keeping a sharp eye out for either of the brothers. At Mrs. Wood's he asked for Wingate and gave the usual information: that he owed the man money from a wager and was there to pay up.

This earned him the information that he had just missed the man! Where did he go? He was given only the direction, but that was enough and in seconds Mornay was on the street and running after the tall, thin figure quickly moving across the street.

Chesley and Lord Antoine came at Mrs. Wood's from a different direction and saw Mornay just as he left the building.

“Him?” Chesley cried, stopping his companion.

Antoine said, “I ain't afraid of 'im. Maybe he'll serve to help us!”

“Well, I don't like him,” replied Chesley. “If your brother had appeared with his lady, I wouldn't have raised a finger to help her.”

Lord Antoine said, “But she is a woman of gentility and done you no injury.”

Chesley was still staring after the man he detested. “She's marrying him.”

Before entering the house, Holliwell took out his pistol and cocked it. He hid it again while he used his familiarity with some of the regulars to ascertain whether or not his brother was in the building. He was informed
that Wingate had left not long ago. Was he alone? He was.
Good .
That meant Lavinia was still in the building.

His lordship sought out the proprietress, Mrs. Wood. She was an over-weight woman with sloppy hair, wearing very white face powder and dark lip color that made her look garish. Mrs. Wood was no rattle-trap and always tried to protect her patrons, but she knew Antoine. Therefore when he asked which room his brother had rented, she said, “Last room on the left at top o' the stairs, luv.” She eyed the young noble a moment and added, in a leering tone, “Don't you want your own room now?”

“Not this time,” he answered, and she shook her head disapprovingly. But he had found out what he needed. They reached the room Mrs. Wood had specified and stopped outside the door. There was no sound from within.

Antoine knocked, pistol in hand, his muscles tensing of their own accord. The next minute would decide if the business was going to be a simple matter or, God forbid, a bloody one. Chesley too was at the ready, his eyes riveted at the door, his hands balling into fists.

When Lavinia heard the knock, her eyes opened in hope. The abbess turned to her and hissed in a low tone, “Not a sound out of o' you, missee, or Wingate will know of it!”

The sleeping man came to with a start. “There's someone at the door,” the woman said to him, just as the knock came again.

“'Ere, who is it?” She had gone close to the portal and spoke through the wood.

“Antoine! Open up, Mrs. Smith!” Her brows cleared, and she went to open the door.

But the man cried, “Not so hasty, luv! I don't think 'is lordship's on terms with 'is brother.”

The lady hesitated, looking at him, but in an irked tone, replied, “What's that to me?” She opened the door, was met with a pistol, and said hurriedly, “I let you in, didn't I? You don't want to shoot ol' Mrs. Smith now, do ya?”

With a look of alarm, the man in the room hurried to get up and get to his coat with its pistol, but Antoine came in forcefully, understood his object, and went and stood between the man and his overcoat saying, “Not another inch. Sit back down, and you won't get hurt.” The man reluctantly did as told.

Lavinia was in tears with joy and let out a relieved sob. Antoine's eyes met hers, and she rushed to his side and threw herself against him. With his one free arm, he held her, and the look on his face became by turns tender, then angry. His eyes glared at the man and woman to blame.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, leaning down enough to speak into her hair.

“No, I do not think so!”

“Get the key,” he instructed Chesley, who obediently went toward Mrs. Smith, who didn't fight him at all. She held it up in a matter-of-fact manner, and he took it.

“Check his coat,” Holliwell added, nodding toward the crumpled garment, which had been tossed over the back of a chair. The man on the floor frowned severely as Chesley obeyed the order. Soon Mr. Chesley was brandishing a pistol, which he had pulled out of a deep pocket of the coat. He also pulled out a flask of some liquid, but Antoine shook his head, and it was returned. Chesley took the pistol to his friend, who had motioned for him to do so. He tucked the gun safely inside his waistcoat.

“Over here, Mrs. Smith, if you please,” Lord Antoine said, pointing to the far side of the room.

The lady promptly began to move. “Your brother will want your 'ead for this,” she said warningly as she went.

“I do not doubt it.” But he was in high spirits with Lavinia near, and he added an impish wink to the statement, so that Mrs. Smith smiled and instantly forgave him all.

In moments the threesome backed out of the room, locked the door behind them, and hurried down the stairs of the establishment. They had no idea when Lord Wingate would be returning, and they needed to get as far from Mrs. Wood's house as possible. When they'd gone a few streets away, Antoine said, “We'd best split up.” Chesley agreed. He said his farewells to Lavinia, who thanked him tearfully for coming to her rescue, and walked away from them. Shortly afterward his lordship engaged a hack and was comforting Lavinia in his arms until they reached Burton Crescent. His brother was indeed going to be in a rage over the day's events, but Antoine was now more certain than ever that he loved Lavinia Herley. Somehow, someway, he would have to prove his worth to her parents so he could marry their daughter in a respectable, traditional fashion. The question was how to do it? How?

When Ariana finally awoke near four in the afternoon, the two maids from Hanover Square had fallen asleep in their wingback chairs across the room, and Mrs. Hamilton was reading a book by the light of a candle in a chair closer to the bed. Ariana was blithely unaware of what happened to Miss Herley that morning and was feeling much restored from her own misadventures. But her mind did wander to the events that had befallen her. She thought of Mr. O'Brien and remembered the awful gash on his head. He had been injured on her account.

What if he was to develop the fever? What if he failed to heal or if his brain were somehow affected? Oh, my!
Such gruesome thoughts.
I will have to ask Mr. Mornay to send a servant to find out how the man is doing. Surely a doctor has been by to see him and has given his opinion regarding Mr. O'Brien's recovery. I simply must know!

“Good day, Mrs. Hamilton,” she said.

“Good day, Miss Forsythe.” The lady looked up from her book. “Shall you want something to eat, ma'am?”

“I need to speak to Mr. Mornay. I should like him to—”

“I'll see if the master is home,” she said, rising and going at once to the door. Ariana was certain that Mr. Mornay was home—why would he leave when he had taken such pains to have her beneath his own eyes? Hadn't he said she would be safest with him in the same house? The servant had been short with her, but she shrugged it off. Her only concern right now was to ascertain the state of Mr. O'Brien. She awakened one of the maids to help her dress.

After washing and dressing, the housekeeper still hadn't returned, so Ariana went downstairs. The footmen she discovered at her door instantly followed her, which this time she found amusing. She knew it was not because she was distrusted, but loved!

She stopped in the morning room, hoping to find tea or coffee available, but nothing was in evidence. She spotted Mrs. Hamilton passing in the hall and called out for her.

The lady barely curtseyed, mumbled that she was sorry, but Mr. Mornay was indeed not in the house at present.

Did she know where he had gone?

“No.”

Did he say when he would return?

“No.”

“Has Miss Herley come to the house?”

“No, ma'am.” (This was the truth, Mrs. Hamilton reassured herself!)

“Please send Frederick to me,” she said, thinking that she would learn more of Mr. Mornay's business from that man, who always was nothing but helpful to her.

After waiting for some minutes for Frederick, Ariana finally left the room in a huff, causing the two footmen to scramble hastily from their places flanking the doorway. They had been leaning against the wall a bit lazily but quickly came to attention to follow her.

“Freddie,” she said, after coming upon him in the hall, “do you know where Mr. Mornay has gone?”