Chapter Eighteen #2
No such luck. They arrived to find Lord Curston handing Lady Marple into her traveling carriage. At a glance, Drake could see that Ruby Marple had been crying, and Pearl looked anguished. Of their sister Beryl, and of Cilla and Livy, there was no sign.
Bane wasted no time on courtesy. Dismounting, he demanded, “Where are the two Miss Wintergreens?”
“Gone,” Pearl answered on a wail. “Beryl, too. Mama will not say…”
“Be silent, you foolish girl,” said Lady Marple. “This man has no right to demand answers from us.”
“Nonetheless.” Bane took a couple of steps closer, until he loomed over Lady Marple. He pushed his hood back and glared down at the woman. “Where are they?”
“She would not let us look for them,” Ruby told him, choking back a sob. “She said they were being looked after.”
“Mr. Sanderson and Mr. Sanderson!” Drake recognized the speaker as one of Wintergreen’s footmen. He was being half supported by another of them, with a third man hovering behind. The carriage driver called out, “There you be! You near got left be’ind!”
“Henry, isn’t it?” Drake remembered.
“Yes, sir. They came out of the woods, sir. Four of them, on horseback. One of them coshed me, and I don’t know what happened after that.”
“Did you recognize any of them?” Bane asked.
“Yes, sir,” said Henry. “Lord Marple and Mr. Curston, sir. Also Mr. Curston’s valet. He was the one what coshed me.”
“Where did they take the ladies?” Bane demanded of Lady Marple, who shrank away from his harsh tones and burst into tears.
Or perhaps it was his face that frightened her, for he was pale, and his knot of scars stood out red against his white skin.
His mouth was set in a snarl, and his mis-matched eyes blazed.
Bane turned on Lord Curston. “Where?”
“See here, young man,” Curston blustered. “I do not appreciate your tone.”
“And I do not appreciate you conniving at the kidnapping of my betrothed,” Bane snapped back.
“I say.” The speaker was another of those present—there were perhaps twenty or more finely-dressed ladies and gentlemen on the carriageway, or on the steps leading down from the house, all gawking at the spectacle of Bane confronting Lady Marple and Lord Curston.
The portly gentleman who spoke was not wearing boots or a traveling coat, so in all likelihood was the host. “I say,” he repeated. “What is going on?”
“This peasant has attacked and maligned me, Lord Finch,” said Curston, his chest swelling.
“Three young ladies who arrived here with Lady Marple are missing,” Drake said. “Miss Wintergreen, Miss Lucilla Wintergreen, and Miss Beryl Marple. The Wintergreen’s footman, Henry, was with them, and was knocked out by four assailants on horseback.”
“Nonsense,” said Lady Marple, who seemed to have remembered her backbone.
“My nieces have accepted a ride with my son and Lord Curston’s son, and my daughter has gone to chaperone them.
Nothing wrong with that. No doubt these louts have paid this servant to malign our dear boys, just because the Miss Wintergreens prefer suitors with breeding.
” She stuck her nose in the air and sniffed with contempt.
“’Enry ’ere were knocked out right enough,” said the man with the two footmen. “Me an’ George found ’im ‘obblin’ in from the park, all woozy, like.”
“The guests at the garden party did not go down into the park,” said the lady who had come to tuck her hand into the host’s arm. Lady Finch, Drake presumed.
“Livy and Cilla did,” Ruby said. “Beryl took them there. She said Mama wanted to meet them in the park. She went with them to show them where.”
The last sentence was shouted over Lady Marple’s demands that she shut her mouth, and from behind Bane, where she had taken refuge from her mother’s attempts to strike her.
“Who are you?” Lord Finch demanded of Bane, who was occupied in trying to protect Ruby without taking hold of or otherwise assaulting Lady Marple. Drake envied his control. He wanted to tear the sister’s aunt limb from limb until she disclosed the whereabouts of the girls.
He forced himself to an assumption of calm.
“I am Mr. Drake Sanderson.” Drake took a leaf from Bane’s book and claimed a status that would give him the right to pursue the kidnappers.
“I am Miss Lucille’s betrothed, and my brother, Mr. Bane Sanderson, is betrothed to Miss Wintergreen.
Our companions are Lord Thornstead and Lord Wharton. ”
The introduction set the onlookers twittering.
“The Duke of Dellborough’s boy?” said Finch.
“The same, sir,” said Garry, with a bow. “May I have your permission to check the place where the footman was assaulted, to see if we can find any trace of the stolen ladies?”
“Carry on,” said Lord Finch, with a wave of his hand. “Are you up to showing them the way, lad?” he asked Henry. Drake’s opinion of the man went up a notch for his kindness.
“I’ll take you up behind me, Henry,” said Garry, and they set off, with the other footman jogging alongside.
Lady Marple was still denying everything, but Lord Finch had clearly decided there was at least a case to answer. Lord Curston, on the other hand, was sidling toward another carriage.
“Lord Finch,” said Drake, “are you the local magistrate, sir?”
“I have that honor, Mr. Sanderson.”
“Then can you please insist, sir, that Lady Marple and Lord Curston remain here until Mr. Wintergreen arrives? He is the father of two of the missing ladies, and follows us here by carriage.”
Lady Marple heard that and stopped in mid-sentence. “Horace is coming?” she demanded, and then bolted for the carriage, shouting up at the coachman, “Drive on. Quickly.”
Lord Finch raised his eyebrows and gave the coachman a look. “No problem, me lord,” the man said. “Me an’ the ’orses’ll just stay right ’ere till yer lordship sez the word.”
Two of Finch’s footman, at a gesture from their master, were ushering Lord Curston back into the house.
“Can you let Mr. Wintergreen know that we and Lord Thornstead will search until we find the ladies?” Bane said to Lord Finch. “Come on, Drake, Wart.”
“Sir,” Drake said, “could you spare us fresh horses? And a couple of grooms to ride back and forth with messages? That way, you can let us know if Lady Marple or Lord Curzon disclose anything that would help. And we can keep Mr. Wintergreen informed.”
“Good idea,” said Lord Finch. “Albinus, my boy? Erasmus?” A pair of young men who looked like an amalgam of Lord and Lady Finch stepped forward. “Go with these gentlemen, my lads. My sons, Mr. Sanderson.”
“We’ll fetch enough horses for us all and follow you, sir,” said one of the men.
Good enough. Bane was waiting impatiently. The brothers left their mounts to the care of Lord Finch’s stables and strode together in the direction that Garry had gone.