Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Hare and Hounds
Two weeks later
The lively crowd in the taproom clapped their hands to Pete the Piper’s rendition of The Irish Washerwoman on his penny whistle. Some knew the words and sang along. Some, including Sofia, had pushed the tables aside to dance, laughing with every spirited turn and buoyant skip-step.
Doyle grabbed Annie around the waist and swept her into the tide of dancers. The wench didn’t strike Doyle with a pewter tankard but linked arms and made merry.
The Countess of Berridge was Sofia’s partner.
Reid watched the women laugh as they twirled with each other. Their eyes sparkled with exhilaration. Tendrils of hair tumbled from their pins, bobbing against their cheeks in time with the music.
Aaron Chance stood beside Reid, his posture stiff.
“There’s nothing more attractive to a man than seeing his wife happy,” Reid said, staring at Sofia with burning admiration. He’d never wanted her more than he did at that moment.
“I’m not afraid of anything, but love scares the hell out of me,” Aaron admitted. “Even so, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”
“Yes.” Reid could not imagine his life without Sofia. Every day with her was a blessing. “Love strips us bare, yet makes us feel whole.”
Aaron drank from his tankard, though his dark eyes remained fixed on his wife. Seconds passed before he changed the subject. “Daventry said the evidence against Turner is conclusive.”
The searing ache left by his colleague’s betrayal returned. “Mrs Ludgrove finally gave a statement, and the waiter at Antoine’s identified him.” A deep sadness swept through him, too. “His father’s journal confirmed Turner’s motive for wanting rid of me.”
It had made difficult reading.
His heart and throat constricted as he imagined his mentor slipping the cruel letter in amongst his father’s possessions. If only his mother had read the letters his Uncle Edmund had received. She might have realised how deeply she was loved.
“It must be a relief to know your cousin is innocent.”
“He’s still a fool. Trusting him will always be an issue.”
He trusted Sofia, Rothley and his other friends.
He trusted Aaron Chance and Lucius Daventry.
No one else.
“People can only hide behind a mask for so long,” came Aaron’s wise observation. “My wife believes we should approach all relationships with an open heart. I prefer cautious optimism.”
Their wives called to them, beckoning them to dance.
Aaron shook his head. “Joanna knows hell will freeze over before I prance about like a dandy. I’ll make up for the disappointment later.”
Reid laughed. He thought of a story he would tell his wife when they were alone. A detailed description of an erotic dance during a hot night in Madras.
“I hear Merrick moved out of the house in Dean Street and took the stage back to Scotland with his sister.”
“Because he knows it’s not his house,” Reid said, clenching his teeth, though he was glad to see the back of Victor Merrick. “Daventry’s probate lawyer is still investigating, but it looks like Sofia’s grandmother owned the house. She left it in trust for Sofia, but Mr Moorland was permitted to live there until his death.”
“It sounds complicated.”
“It’s more complicated because the lawyer suspects Judith’s will is a forgery.” It was undoubtedly why Merrick packed his belongings and fled to Scotland.
“Do you think Merrick killed her?”
“I’m convinced he did.” The coroner cited death by hypothermia based on her wet clothes and the windy conditions.
While their wives sang and danced a country reel, the conversation turned to more pleasant topics: the recent birth of Aaron’s nephew, born to his brother Aramis; the new properties he had acquired; and his spirited debates on reform in the House of Lords.
For a moment, life was perfect.
Then a young groom from the stables entered, bringing the smell of hay and horse sweat. He approached Reid, tugging off his dusty cap. “A cove came into the stall and asked me to give you this, gov’nor.”
Reid took the folded note and gave the lad a shilling.
The lad shifted nervously. “He said it’s for your eyes only. Said there’ll be trouble if anyone sees what’s written inside.”
“Trouble?” Pulse rising, Reid scanned the taproom, searching for a man sitting quietly alone, but he knew most of the faces here tonight.
The lad wrung his cap with dirty fingers. “He said a pretty lady might get hurt.” His bottom lip wobbled. “That no one will notice a blade in the back when everyone’s dancing.”
“What the devil?” Aaron growled.
“Don’t react,” Reid said, attempting to remain calm while his mind ran amok. “He may still be watching us.” Or one of his cronies lurked in plain sight. “I’d better do as he says.”
He drew back a few feet, peeled open the folds and read the terse message. Whoever sent the note held his grandfather hostage. A carriage awaited Reid on the Barking Road. No one would be harmed if he climbed into the vehicle and came alone.
There was no ransom request.
No demand for gold and silver.
Which meant Reid was the prize.
He glanced up, hunting for signs of an accomplice.
Sofia smiled and waved at him, her eyes gleaming like polished emeralds. She believed their problems were over and a future filled with love lay ahead.
He waved back at her, receiving the knowing grin that said she would devour him in bed tonight.
“I must leave,” he whispered to Aaron. “Watch Sofia. Keep her safe. Don’t concern yourself with me.”
Sofia turned away, clapping and singing to a new song.
Reid needed to go now.
He pretended to tuck the note inside his coat but turned to Aaron, gave him a playful pat on the back and slid the letter into the man’s trouser pocket.
He left the Hare and Hounds without alerting Sofia and strode through the darkness towards the Barking Road.
A veil of mist rolled off the surrounding fields, swirling and shifting around a lone black coach parked fifty yards ahead.
The jarvey didn’t doff his cap or make conversation when Reid approached. He didn’t clamber to open the door but sat as rigid as a stone effigy.
Reid climbed into the empty vehicle, which jolted forward and gained speed before he could settle into the worn leather seat. The jarvey drove as if pursued by a horde of axe-wielding heathens.
They turned off the main road ten minutes later and journeyed half a mile along a narrow dirt track. Branches whipped the window, the driver’s curses mirroring Reid’s anger at the situation.
An old barn loomed at the end of the misty lane, its ghostly timbers pale beneath the light of the waxing moon. All was quiet but for the distant hoot of an owl and the faint grumble of men’s voices.
Reid alighted when the carriage stopped.
The coachman said nothing but pointed at the path leading to the barn.
Ivy covered half the roof, and the huge barn door hung askew. The faint glow of lamplight filtered through the gap.
He knew to expect Victor Merrick. Only a few men dared to kidnap an elderly viscount. Desperate men did desperate things and it wouldn’t be long before the lawyer proved Victor was guilty of fraud and murder.
The punch came as soon as Reid opened the creaking door and stepped inside the old hay barn. Victor hit him squarely in the jaw, knocking him to the ground.
Reid spat out blood and wiggled his jaw, relieved nothing was broken.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt him,” came an eloquent voice Reid knew.
Reid scrambled to his feet to meet the barrel of Merrick’s pistol.
“Move, lad, before I make your wife a widow.” Merrick gestured to the musty hay seat, the once golden strands now grey and brittle. No doubt it was a home for mice. “Sit there.”
Reid did as Merrick commanded.
His grandfather appeared from a darkened corner of the barn. His white hair was neatly combed, not sticking up in tufts. His hands and feet were unbound. There wasn’t one crease in his coat. Not a scratch or blemish where he’d put up a fight.
“You weren’t dragged from your fireside chair, then?” Reid said with dripping sarcasm. “You weren’t made to change out of your banyan at gunpoint? You’re here of your own volition.”
With his eyes downcast, his grandfather’s countenance carried the burden of guilt. “Merrick left me little choice in the matter.”
It wasn’t hard to imagine what the men had discussed. “You went to visit him when Hickman gave you the address. You will have presented your calling card, believing your title carries some sway.”
The viscount shot Merrick a look as cold as ice. “He didn’t care a whit. He wanted to trade information.”
Merrick sniggered, though kept his pistol raised. “Tell him!” Merrick shouted. “Tell him what you offered if I got rid of Sofia.”
“Tell him what you threatened if I didn’t pay.”
Reid studied both men, struggling to pick the most wicked.
Merrick made no excuses and was capable of killing in cold blood. His grandfather was Machiavellian, a cunning man always one step ahead in his calculated schemes—until now.
It proved no man was infallible.
“You’re more alike than you realise,” Reid said, wishing Uncle Edmund had mentioned the viscount’s devious tactics before. “You both strive to control everyone and everything.”
The viscount took umbrage. “I’m embroiled in this mess because of your poor choices. I’ve been forced to step in and fix your mistake.”
“I love my wife. There’s no mistake.”
The viscount groaned and began pleading with Merrick. “He doesn’t love her. He loves the idea of hurting me. If you take her, I’ll ensure he raises no objection. Take her tonight. Take the money and leave. Was that not the plan?”
Merrick raised a thick, black brow, looking somewhat amused. “The plan was always to have Sofia. I spread the rumours about the auction. I left the letter suggesting Harrop would buy her. Knowing the fool was a degenerate, I made her serve him wine at card games.”
“You underestimated her.” A rush of pride filled Reid’s chest. He admired his wife’s strength and dedication. “Sofia wasn’t waiting for you to save her when you returned from Scotland with Judith conveniently dead.” She’d left the only home she’d known and taken control of her own affairs.
Merrick’s sinister smile made Reid’s stomach squirm. “The girl has spirit. She almost ruined everything by marrying you, but then your grandfather gave me an idea to solve all our problems.”
The viscount gestured to the small wooden chest on the ground beside Merrick. “Take the coins and jewels. You know where to find the girl. Go now, and you could be in France tomorrow.”
Merrick laughed. “You aristocrats are all the same. You think money solves every problem, but you’re missing a crucial part of the plan.” He aimed the pistol at the viscount but barked instructions at Reid. “The noose on the floor. Drag it over your head, or I’ll shoot the old man.”
“Why put a noose around his neck?” The viscount’s words tumbled out in a garbled rush. “You have my word we won’t follow. How can we? My coachman is still waiting at the East India Docks.”
“He won’t leave until we’re dead.”
Merrick only had one shot and meant to hang Reid first.
“Why kill us?” the viscount said with a huff of superiority. “I’ve kept my end of the bargain.”
It seemed money could not buy intelligence. “Judith Merrick didn’t own the house in Dean Street. More than likely, Sofia does. To get the house and the money, Merrick needs to kill me so he can marry my wife.”
Sofia knew something was wrong when she turned and saw Aaron Chance standing alone. A strange unease sent her heart sinking to her stomach, but still, she scanned the taproom, looking for Reid.
Mr Chance wore a deep frown of suspicion as he studied every face in the crowd. He met her gaze and marched towards her. “Would you care to dance, Mrs Gentry?” He didn’t give her the option to accept or decline but gripped her arm.
Joanna’s face brightened when Mr Chance took to the floor. She clapped with delight as he swung Sofia around until she was dizzy from all the whirling.
Sofia held her breath, waiting for the blow she’d been expecting.
“We have a problem,” he whispered through a feigned smile.
“Where’s Reid?”
“Just laugh and act like everything is fine.” He twirled her under his arm three times. “But glance around the room and tell me if you notice anyone watching you.”
“Where’s my husband?”
“There’s no time for questions.”
She did as he asked. No one glanced her way. They were all singing or supping ale or nodding in time to the music. Two men debated putting another log on the fire. Another tried to get his whippet to hop on its hind legs.
“I see nothing untoward.”
“Look again,” Mr Chance demanded.
She linked arms with him, as did another woman, barging into their intimate circle and grabbing Sofia’s arm, too.
“Dance,” the woman said in a soft Scottish burr, her eyes pleading. “For heaven’s sake, dinnae stop until I’ve told ye what I ken.”
Mr Chance glared. “Start talking.”
“Do ye remember me?” the woman asked Sofia. “I’ve red hair beneath this dark wig. I let ye into the house in Dean Street.”
With her fiery hair concealed, she bore no resemblance to the woman who had ushered them into the drawing room. “You’re Mr Merrick’s sister?” The words carried curiosity, not certainty.
In the time she’d known him, Victor had never mentioned a sister. It was all rather suspect. Why bring her to London now? Had he needed a witness to confirm Judith’s death was an accident? And why hadn’t she returned to Scotland with Victor?
“I’m nae his sister,” the Scotswoman confessed. “We’ve been friends since we were bairns, but I’d nae seen him in years. He offered me a chance to come to London, but he’s nae the man I remember.”
“We don’t care about your life story,” Mr Chance said, irritated. “Just tell us what the hell is going on. Did Merrick write the note? Did he take Viscount Hanberry hostage?”
“What?” Sofia blurted.
“Aye, but they’ve got an arrangement.” The Scotswoman urged them to keep dancing. “I dinnae ken who’s watching. Victor threatened me until I agreed to do his bidding. He said he needs money. I’m to remain here and make sure Mrs Gentry does nae leave the inn.”
“Where is my husband?” Sofia demanded to know.
“Somewhere close, I suspect. I heard talk of a barn half a mile from the Barking Road. But ye cannae leave. His men might kill us all.”
Mr Chance tugged his arm free. “No disrespect, but if Merrick trusted you to watch the target, he has no capable men.” He faced Sofia. “Fetch Doyle and meet me outside. Bring the Scotswoman, too, we’ll need her statement. Be quick.”
Mr Chance left the inn, taking his wife with him.
Through narrowed eyes, Sofia looked for Mr Doyle and saw him talking to Annie in a quieter corner of the taproom.
“Mr Gentry is in trouble and needs your help,” she said, hoping her abrupt tone revealed her inner turmoil. “Your insight saved his life once. I need the same from you again.”
The light-fingered fellow was reluctant to move. “What trouble? I saw him drinking with a friend a moment ago.” Mr Doyle turned his attention to the lively throng, his eyes darting back and forth. “Well, he was there.”
“Do you know of a barn nearby? Off the Barking Road? Somewhere secluded?” Losing patience, she gripped Mr Doyle’s elbow and gave him a firm shake. “The Earl of Berridge wishes to speak to you outside.” She deliberately used Mr Chance’s title, knowing it carried more weight. “He’ll ask the same question—and demand an answer.”
“There’s old man Frogart’s place. Though it ain’t been used in years. I’ve spent one or two nights there myself.”
“Good.” She pulled Mr Doyle towards the exit. “Direct the earl to the barn.”
Mr Chance had summoned Reid’s coachman, Nokes, complaining it was taking too long to hitch the horses. He saw Mr Doyle and fired a range of questions before the man mentioned the barn.
“Take me there.”
“If you drive a coach down the narrow lane, milord, they’ll hear you coming. Best approach through the woods and across the field.”
“There’s no time, and I promised not to leave Mrs Gentry.” Mr Chance looked skyward as if appealing to the heavens. His whispered plea drifted on the still night air. “I’ll go alone. Bring me a horse.”
Mr Chance was right to place his trust in divine providence. Another vehicle came hurtling into the yard: an imposing carriage pulled by a team of muscled black Friesians.
The Marquess of Rothley vaulted to the ground as the vehicle rolled to a stop. “Where’s Gentry? Fetch him!”
“He’s not here. We need your carriage. I’ll explain en route.” Mr Chance gestured to his wife, Sofia and the Scotswoman. “Climb inside. Doyle, ride atop the box and direct the driver. Hurry.”
A minute later, the vehicle charged out of the yard and headed towards Barking at breakneck speed. The padded leather cushions failed to absorb the shock as the carriage bounced through ruts in the road.
“Read this.” Mr Chance gave the marquess the note.
Lord Rothley scanned the missive. “Recent events make sense now. Gentry asked me to have his grandfather followed but never gave the order to stop.”
“Your man followed him tonight?” the countess asked.
“Yes, Gentry’s grandfather left his carriage at the East India Docks. He carried a small wooden chest to an awaiting vehicle but was forced inside at gunpoint. When I learnt they were heading towards the Barking Road, and knew you were at the inn, I came at once.”
“Thank heavens you did,” Sofia said, her heart full of gratitude. She had never been so glad to see anyone. “Mr Merrick must need money and likely threatened the viscount.”
“Indeed,” the marquess replied, though the shadow in his dark eyes hinted at far more sinister suspicions.
“Aye, Victor has nae plans to return to Scotland but mentioned visiting France for a time. He intends to leave once he’s gathered the funds.”
“Who is this woman?” the marquess said.
Before anyone could reply, the carriage stopped at the end of a narrow lane.
Mr Doyle climbed down and came to the window. “This is the place. I can’t say anyone’s there for sure, but it’s a half a mile to the barn.”
Sofia moved to alight. “It will take ten minutes to walk, five if I run.”
“I’ll go,” Mr Chance said. “Wait with Rothley.”
“Must you go alone?” The countess ran her hand over her abdomen. “Can we not all go together?”
Fearing they were losing precious time, Sofia quickly devised a plan. “We’ll go on ahead.” She gripped the Scotswoman’s arm. “We’ll pretend I tried to leave the inn and was brought here. You follow behind. Handle any men who might cause trouble. Enter the barn if you think we’re in danger.”
Ignoring the men’s protests, Sofia climbed from the vehicle, taking the Scotswoman with her. “If you want to escape gaol, you’ll help me overthrow Victor.”
“We’ll be directly behind you,” the marquess said, removing a walnut case from beneath his seat. “I’ll take great pleasure in ridding the world of a man like Merrick.”
The path was dark, narrow and thankfully dry. They covered the distance quickly, though slowed when a black conveyance loomed into view, blocking the track.
The burly man atop the box had his head bowed, the collar of his greatcoat raised to his chin. His snore rose and fell like the steady sawing of wood.
They edged sideways through the gap.
Sofia snagged her dress on a bramble and stifled a groan.
The men moved behind like wraiths in the darkness, the glint of moonlight on their raised pistols, alerting her to their presence.
Deep voices echoed inside the old barn.
“Do as I say, or I’ll shoot the old man,” Victor said coldly.
She would know his voice anywhere, but nothing terrified her more than the stare of those obsidian eyes at night.
“You’ve one shot,” Reid countered. “If you fire at him, you’ll have to kill me with your bare hands.”
He was alive!
A relieved breath left her in a whoosh of air.
The coach wheels creaked as the driver shifted in his seat, but the fellow slept as deeply as a bear in winter.
“You’ll say you caught me following my husband,” Sofia whispered to the Scotswoman, who began edging back from the barn door when Victor cursed loudly.
“He’ll kill me for betraying him.”
“He’ll kill you anyway. He can’t afford loose ends.”
“Put the damn noose around your neck, boy!” Victor yelled.
Afraid of what Victor might do next, Sofia burst through the barn door, stumbling over an imagined obstacle. “Stop pushing me,” she called to the Scotswoman.
The woman had no choice but to act the part. “If ye had nae been so nosy, ye would nae be in this predicament.”
Victor clenched his jaw, his eyes thunderclouds of fury. Yet he spoke calmly, every word laced with a veiled threat. “I told you to keep her at the inn.”
“I could nae stop her.” The woman heaved from exertion. “She ran into the yard and followed the carriage for a mile. She was so fast I could nae catch her.”
Sofia looked at Reid, sitting on a hay bale. The lit lantern hanging above gave a modicum of light. “Are you hurt?”
“You shouldn’t have come.” The tremor in his voice betrayed an inner chaos. “Merrick means to take you with him when he leaves.”
She turned to Victor, knowing she could no longer remain silent. “I’ll never leave with you.” She noticed the wooden chest near his feet. “I suspect the viscount paid the ransom. Take your money. No one will stop you.”
Except for the two peers outside, brandishing pistols.
Victor found her amusing. “You may have lost your virtue, but you still possess that innocent charm. A ransom signifies an exchange.”
Though puzzled, she could not mention that she knew Victor had forced the viscount into the carriage at gunpoint.
“I doubt Viscount Hanberry came here of his own free will. Now he knows men of your ilk cannot be trusted. You mean to take his money and hurt someone he loves.”
Victor chuckled like she was stupid. “If he loved his grandson, he wouldn’t have paid me to kidnap you. The old devil is my partner.”
Her world shifted.
“He paid you to kidnap me?” The words slipped through her like ice-cold water, chilling her veins and numbing every muscle. Tears built, stinging the backs of her eyes. “Why?”
She knew why.
She wasn’t a suitable match for his grandson, but the measures he’d taken to get rid of her beggared belief.
“Don’t waste your tears on him, Sofia,” Reid said, his bitter contempt directed elsewhere. “If a decent, moral person finds you lacking, perhaps it’s worth some reflection. But the opinion of a selfish devil is beneath notice.”
“Marrying her was your biggest mistake,” the viscount snapped.
“No, my only regret is trusting you.”
“Doubtless both statements are true,” Victor mused. “Ruining my plans will cost you your lives. You’ve complicated matters. Then again, I’m ten thousand pounds richer for the trouble.”
“Only one of us will die here tonight.” Reid stood, kicking away the noose. “Shoot. You’re likely to hit a beam in this dim light and with your shaky aim.”
Victor stamped his booted foot. “Don’t test me, boy. Do you want to know what the local justice will find when he comes here? A doctor dangling from the beams. A grandfather so distraught he used a pistol to end his misery.”
That’s not how this night would end.
Upon her signal, their friends would charge into the barn and arrest Victor Merrick. Only one question remained: Would they arrest a viscount?
Keen to bring this matter to an end, she faced Victor. “Leave while you can. Being a wanted felon, I suggest you venture somewhere farther than France.”
Victor lunged at her, seizing her elbow and yanking her to his side. Tightening his grip, he aimed the pistol at her and sneered at the hostages. “Kneel. Both of you.”
Hands raised, Reid did as Victor asked. “Don’t hurt her.”
His grandfather refused. “I kneel for no man. I’ll certainly not bow to a criminal. Go. Take the girl as planned. My grandson will come to his senses soon enough.”
The cold, callous nature of the comment roused Victor’s ire. “If you’re still breathing when I leave here, I’ll visit you in Cavendish Square and finish the job.” He released Sofia and made the mistake of stepping forward. “I know a wicked devil when I see one. The only thing keeping you from Newgate is that silver spoon in your mouth.”
The viscount looked down his snooty nose. “Is it wicked to protect one’s heritage? Besides, I’m not the one waving a pistol.”
No, but he was just as dangerous.
Sofia reached slowly into her hair, removing the pearl-topped hat pin she’d used as a decorative piece in her coiffure. Since the incident with Mr Turner, she felt safer knowing she had a weapon.
“You’re a damnable heathen,” the viscount added, his tone venomous.
Victor aimed at Reid, not the elderly fool. “I’ve been climbing the ranks since escaping the workhouse. I’ll trample over anyone who stands in my way, including your grandson.”
With tensions heightening by the second, she called for help.
“Now!” she cried, just as Victor cocked the pistol. She gripped the hat pin, plunging it through Victor’s coat sleeve, deep into his arm.
“Argh!” The pistol tumbled from his grip as the beast howled and dropped to his knees, cursing her to Hades.
Everything happened in a blinding flash.
Lord Rothley and Mr Chance charged into the barn. A fight ensued, though Mr Chance delivered a powerful blow that sent Victor spinning to the ground.
Lord Rothley grabbed the noose and used it to secure Victor’s feet. “The coachman is a hired thug. We tied him up and left him inside the vehicle until we can summon the local justice of the peace.”
Reid didn’t ask why the marquess wasn’t lounging at home, reading morbid poetry and sipping cognac. He called to Sofia, opening his arms and sweeping her into a crushing embrace.
He lifted her off the ground, kissed her ten times on the temple and uttered, “Ignore my grandfather. I’ll make sure he never bothers us again.”
Aaron Chance grabbed Victor by the scruff of his coat, forcing him to his feet. “What should we do with Viscount Hanberry?”
Reid faced the viscount whose arrogant stance faltered. “Do you know what happens to those who poison families with their evil plots and schemes?”
“No, but I believe you’re going to tell me.”
“They spend endless days and nights alone. They dine alone. They die alone.” Reid turned to Aaron Chance, his tone firm when he said, “My grandfather is an accessory to kidnapping. Take him and his chest of coffers back to London. Let him answer to Lord Melbourne.”