Victorian Dream (23 page)

“What do you suggest?” he grudgingly asked. “Tell me quickly, I fear time is of the essence.”

“I know the ins and outs of the place, even the private rooms where Lucien likes to frequent. I’ll get to your woman and bring her out to you. Lucien will think she has abandoned him and then he will come back here to me. The rest is up to you. Keep the little princess away from my Lucien. Take her off to America, or anyplace far from here. You’ll have what you want, and things will be like they was for me.”

Unable to come up with a superior plan, he agreed. To induce Lucien away from Trelayne long enough for Beatrice to do as she promised, he suggested they leave a message for him in the lobby of the establishment. Tearing off the letterhead of the fine parchment found in the desk, he wrote the note for Lanteen, then a second missive.

Dearest Trelayne,

You are in danger. I await you outside and will explain all once you are safely in my arms. Trust no one, other than the woman who delivers this note—and her guardedly.

Devotedly, Capt. W. Garrison

He folded the memo, but was reluctant to let it go. What if the woman gave the note to Lucien rather than Trelayne?

“I’ll not betray you,” she said, with insight and surprising kindness. “It will all work out. Don’t you see, it must. I can’t go on no longer the way things are.”

She snatched both papers and stuffed them into the bodice of her dress. There was despair in Beatrice’s eyes. She must have had a lousy life if getting Lucien back was the most important thing she had to live for. It was frightening to think of him as anyone’s hope or salvation.

Walker smiled. “I have faith you will do what is right, and not just what is to your own advantage.”

She nodded, but her own smile trembled as she jammed her feet into soft leather boots and flung a cape about her shoulders.

“Do not fail me,” he added as they took their leave. “You hold in your hands the fate of many people. And you’d best choose wisely tonight in all matters, for your fate is among them as well.”

At the street, the sound of coach wheels on cobblestone echoed through the night. When the carriage materialized out of the fog, Walker flagged it down and they were off.

“Don’t be getting impatient for us,” Beatrice said, as they halted at the servants’ entrance of the Bond. “It may take a while to play out all of the drama about to unfold.”

“I understand,” he said, his lips pressed into a determined line. Waiting was going to be pure hell.

“You really do love the rich little baggage, don’t ya?” she threw over her shoulder, and hurried off.

“Move on driver,” he ground out. Beatrice’s last words left him feeling desperate in a dozen different ways.

They circled around to the front of the building, and it was all he could do not to leap from the coach and proceed with the ill-advised frontal attack—previously discussed and rejected. Instead, he directed the coachman to secure a discreet position a few streets away where he sat in the deafening silence, fighting to remain calm.

The sides of the carriage seemed to draw ever closer, and remaining inactive and sequestered was an effort requiring all his concentration. He was a man of action. This idle waiting went against the grain. For the second time, he checked the load on his pistol and the time on his pocket watch. What seemed an eternity was in reality only a few minutes.

Touching the St. Brendan medal at his neck, he implored the saint to watch over Trelayne, for tonight she surely swam in uncharted waters. Then, sitting there in the dark, it occurred to him there was only one way to make good Philip’s request to keep Trelayne safe. What would she think of such a plan?

****

Lost to the shadows, Beatrice pressed back against the brick wall a few paces from the back door. Used by the kitchen help, and bolted from the inside, there was nothing for it but to wait.

Flushed with excitement, she hardly noticed the cold. It had been a long time since she had felt this alive. She was about to do something important, motivated by the intent to do what was right and good for the greater whole. At least the greater whole as she knew it.

The door creaked opened, and a lad came out lugging two buckets of food scraps to add to the heap already piled high. While his back was turned, she sneaked forward and gained entrance.

Inside, she drew up her hood to conceal her identity, sought out the manager, and delivered the urgent message intended for Lucien. Waiting in an alcove near the private rooms, she saw the house-page head off to deliver the note. A moment later, Lucien stormed past in the direction of the reception area—a scowl on his face, the note in one hand, his walking stick in the other.

As soon as he was out of sight, she began knocking on doors. She needn’t look in any other area. Regrettably, she knew Lucien would already have Trelayne isolated in one of the luxurious side rooms—already plying his charms and reaping his rewards.

Her first attempt garnered a masculine voice advising her to go away or risk bodily harm. Undaunted, she rapped on the second door. When silence followed, she knocked again. This time she heard a weak female voice. Easing opened the door she peered inside. There she was, the silly woman, draped over the cushions and furs. Her dress undone and gapping, her hair disheveled, her eyes glassy and overly bright.

“Miss Trelayne, you must come with me,” Beatrice began, and hurried forward.

“Penelope?” Trelayne made a halfhearted attempt to sit up. “I’m so glad you’ve come. I’m frightfully confused.”

Beatrice extended her hand. Trelayne reached for it, missed, and slid down the mountain of pillows to land in a heap at Beatrice’s feet.

“Bloody hell.” She bent over to right Trelayne and study her more closely. “Are you drunk, girl?”

“Definitely not,” Trelayne protested. “And you are not Penelope. But,” she added politely, “it was terribly nice of you to stop by.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. She had been prepared to face a stubborn Trelayne, an arrogant Trelayne, even a snobbish, angry, disbelieving Trelayne. But she had not been ready for the drugged, helpless, childlike Trelayne before her now. This was an unanticipated complication.

She squatted down and buttoned up the back of the lace dress. As her rough hands fingered the expensive material, she was overcome with envy and resentment. If she lured Trelayne into the street, and left her to fend for herself, in her present condition she was unlikely to survive the night.

Especially if left in the neighborhood Beatrice had in mind.

Then she remembered the Captain’s words of trust. He was a man who would move mountains for the woman he loved, and his strength and goodness was contagious.

For a moment, Beatrice sat motionless imagining what might have been, and the shard of decency buried deep in her abused soul surfaced long enough to point her back toward the compassionate direction.

When Trelayne babbled incoherently, Beatrice examined her eyes more closely.

“God’s bones.” She was trepanned as well as bleezed. Lucien had been overly liberal in the amount of opium doled out to the girl. She was near unconscious, and they needed to get a move on.

Efforts to get Trelayne up and walking proved unsuccessful. Maybe if she gave her the letter, it would bring her around.

“Here,” Beatrice said, pressing the note into the other woman’s hands. “It’s from your friend, Captain Garrison.”

Trelayne took the paper and stared at it as if she’d been struck illiterate.

Chapter Nineteen

Beatrice gritted her teeth in irritation. Grabbing the useless note, she stuffed it back into the bodice of her dress. “Wake up girl,” she demanded, giving Trelayne a good shake. “You must come with me.”

“I do not wish to go anywhere for any reason,” came the petulant reply, as she crawled back onto the cushions. “I am much too tired, and it is quite comfortable here. Who are you? Did you already tell me? Have a strawberry, dear. They’re delicious with champagne.”

Before Trelayne could latch onto another piece of fruit, Beatrice snatched up the tray and set it aside. Then temptation won out and she sampled the fare. The food was heavily laced with drugs. She downed two more pieces, and although not partial to highfalutin bubbly wine, drained a full glass of champagne in three gulps. That was better. Summoning her patience, she tried again, but the situation was going awry in a hand basket.

“Look, ducks. I’m a friend of Captain Garrison’s. He’s ever so handsome and waiting for you just up the row. Now come along like a good little lamb. We must leave, really we must.” As she spoke, Beatrice hauled Trelayne to her feet, and bundled her in the fine cloak waiting at hand.

“Walker? Is he here?” Bleary-eyed Trelayne glanced around.

“By the Saints. I’d have better luck with a two year old. Captain Garrison isn’t
here
—he’s waiting outside. We must go to him, straight away.”

This time, Walker’s name had a charmed effect, and Trelayne became more attentive and focused.

“Come then,” she coaxed, trying to make a game of it, “let’s find Walker.”

She shoved Trelayne toward the door. Checking to make sure the way was clear, she took a deep breath and dragged her charge into the dimly lit hallway. Music and laughter echoed off to the left, and Trelayne turned to follow the sounds of gaiety. Beatrice grabbed her none too gently, and redirected her forward momentum toward the door leading to the alleyway.

Once outside, Beatrice heaved a sigh of relief. The chill night air seemed to revive Trelayne, and a more pinkish hue colored her previously pale lips and cheeks. She no longer appeared to be on the verge of unconsciousness.

“Have you any idea where we be?” she asked, with high expectations.

Solemnly and thoughtfully Trelayne glanced around. “It’s terribly cold,” she said with concern. “Is it York we’ve come to visit?”

Beatrice groaned. Trelayne broke into a fit of laughter.

The alleyway opened out onto Rampling Street, a bustling thoroughfare not far from Upper Sydenham Road. Cajoling the woman into the stream of pedestrians, she expertly threaded a path through the surprisingly heavy crowd. In a matter of minutes, they were off the busy avenue and into a quiet side street. The carriage and Captain Garrison waited just up ahead. They were almost there. They were going to make it. Then Beatrice heard a commotion across the way.

She hustled Trelayne into an alleyway, and peering around the edge of the building, spotted a man across the street. He stepped into the halo of a gas street lamp, glancing first right, then left, and her heart near stopped. She knew that blonde hair and recognized his stance—Lucien. He’d already discovered their ploy. Heaven help her. What was she to do now? This venture was likely to be her doom rather than her salvation.

He turned in their direction, and made as if to cross the street. This was the end. He’d never forgive her if he knew she was party to Trelayne’s escape. Tears wet her cheeks. Served her right for trying to help, for thinking she could outsmart the devil.

Just as she’d given up all hope, a figure leaped out of the mist and grabbed Lucien from behind. Cape swirling, fire shooting from his fingertips, the fiend let loose with a terrible howl. It was Spring Heeled Jack. Beatrice swallowed a scream, and with Trelayne in tow, she dragged her up the street at a run.

Nearly at the coach, she glanced back. Poor Lucien, set upon by that vile creature. Employing his walking stick, he seemed to be holding his own. No doubt he was madder than a hatter over tonight’s events, and spoiling for a fight. Spring Heeled Jack clawed at the air with talon-tipped gloves as Lucien flung him sideways up against the wall. Even at this distance she heard a growl of surprise and rage as the boogieman leaped upon the stone ledge and made for the nearby rooftop. Agile as a chimneysweep, he scrambled over the slippery shingles and disappeared into the night.

Beatrice wretched open the carriage door, shoved Trelayne inside, and clambered up behind her. Huddled on the floor out of sight, she prayed they hadn’t been seen.

“What are you doing?” the Captain roared. “And what in God’s name is wrong with Miss St.Christopher?”

He scooped up his unconscious sweetheart, and gathered her against his chest. Even in the dark, his expression gave Beatrice the shivers.

“Damn it, woman, what have you done to her? Or was it Lucien?” he added, his voice sharp with anger.

“Get a bloody move on,” she advised, avoiding his questions. “And as for Lucien, he’s just down the street. If it weren’t for Spring Heeled Jack he’d have seen us.”

“To the Royal Lambeth Hotel,” the Captain called to the driver. “What has that marauding monster got to do with anything?”

As he fawned over his true love, she explained the near miss. “Guess that’s the first time old Jack ever came to anybody’s rescue,” she added, but the captain listened halfheartedly.

“Trelayne, can you hear me?” he prodded. When no response ensued, he pinned Beatrice in place with a deadly glare.

“She’s only had a bit too much to drink,” she lied. “Just let her rest a spell.”

After seeing Walker’s full-on fury, she wasn’t about to let him know the love of his life had nearly been drugged to the point of overdose. It would only make more trouble for her and dear Lucien.

“That had better be the truth,” he challenged, with a dark scowl.

“I swear on the relics it is. I’ve no reason to lie to you. Blimey, I’m the one took all the chances so far, so don’t be ranting and railing at me.”

“You’re correct. I am sorry. I appreciate your help” He retrieved several coins and handed them to her. “You did the right and admirable thing. Thank you, Beatrice, I’m in your debt.”

Surprised at being treated kindly, she remained silent all the way to the ritzy hotel. But when the good Captain prepared to carry his precious woman through the front door of the lobby, she felt compelled to speak.

“You’d best take her in the back way,” she advised. “It’s probably too late to salvage her reputation, but you might at least try.”

****

As the carriage bearing Beatrice disappeared into the night, Walker considered the advice and changed course. Trelayne probably had suffered irreparable social disgrace, which reaffirmed his idea as to what they must do next.