Chapter 17 #2
Though he knew this part of town inside out, he’d never felt more lost than now. He scrubbed his forehead while trying to figure out how to proceed from here without any clues.
The approaching sound of shoes against the pavement had him glancing sideways. Jackson jogged toward them and Adrian turned to better face him.
“I’m sorry,” Jackson said. “The lamplighter had nothing to report. He didn’t see or hear anything.”
“Up there,” Kendrick said. He jutted his head toward a window and Adrian followed his line of sight to a slightly parted curtain. “A woman was there a second ago. We can ask if she saw something.”
Adrian braced himself. The building they were now headed toward belonged to the Marquess of Lundquist. Adrian had deliberately avoided the man after wrongly accusing him of murdering Evie.
The allegation had been made at a musicale.
In front of half the peerage. If that weren’t bad enough, Adrian had also attacked the marquess physically.
Edward and Eldridge had finally managed to restrain him.
In hindsight, it was a miracle Lundquist hadn’t pressed charges or challenged Adrian to a duel on account of the insult.
Hanging back, Adrian allowed Kendrick to take the lead. If they were lucky, the marquess had gone straight to bed after returning home from the Moorland House ball. In any event, his butler would answer the door.
Kendrick knocked and took a step back. They waited. Three men, pulling at straws. Even if the woman in the window had taken note of what had occurred, it was unlikely she’d have more to share than Jennings.
The door swung open and Adrian’s heart dropped. Why the hell would a marquess come to answer a call himself?
Lundquist gave the assembled group a swift once over and pulled the door wider. “Get in so I can shut out the blasted cold.”
They filed into the foyer. The door was pushed shut. Everyone faced Lundquist, who frowned at them with interest more than concern. Still dressed in his evening attire though with his cravat undone, he looked like he might have been relaxing a bit — perhaps with a night-cap — before retiring.
“I’m guessing you’re here because of what happened at Moorland House, though I’m not sure how I can help.
” Lundquist crossed his arms and raised his chin a smidgen.
It was clear he had no intention of inviting them farther into his home.
“As you know from your interview, Kendrick, I wasn’t acquainted with Orwell’s son.
Barely recall him being present this evening. ”
“We’ve actually come for a different reason,” Kendrick said.
Lundquist arched a brow. “Oh?”
“My wife was taken this evening,” Adrian said, his voice like chipped ice.
When Lundquist merely responded with a blank stare, Adrian described what had happened.
“They abandoned my coachman here, so we thought to come and check the street for any potential clues as to where they might have gone or…something…”
“I saw a woman in one of your upstairs windows,” Kendrick said, taking over. “That’s why we knocked. In case she may have seen what transpired. It could be she noticed something the coachman missed.”
Lundquist’s expression remained neutral though he eventually nodded. “Wait here.”
Adrian watched him climb the stairs. He still didn’t comprehend why Lundquist hadn’t summoned a servant to do his bidding, as was commonly done in upper-class homes.
He caught Kendrick’s gaze, then looked to Jackson, and realized both men had made the same observation though neither one made a comment about it.
Instead, they remained silent while they waited, which suited Adrian well.
He had no wish for unnecessary conversation.
The only matter of consequence to him right now was finding his wife.
When Lundquist returned, he was accompanied by a middle-aged woman whose position was underscored by the chatelaine pinned to her dark blue gown. The keys suspended from it jangled as she descended the stairs, her gaze fixed on Lundquist’s broad back.
The marquess made a swift introduction, then asked Mrs. Shelby if she’d seen a carriage parked in the street prior to his return from Moorland House.
“There were two,” she said, sharpening Adrian’s attention. “Along with a couple of carts. One of the carts blocked the flashy carriage’s onward progress. The other boxed it in.”
“A definite trap from the sounds of it.” Lundquist regarded Mrs. Shelby with a grave expression.
“Forgive me.” Contrition swept her features. “I was going to tell you as soon as you…um…sorry…I—”
“It’s all right,” Kendrick told her, his voice gentle. “We’re not here to judge you. Only to obtain whatever answers you may provide as a witness. Please, Mrs. Shelby, do go on.”
“I didn’t see the actual blockade happen,” Mrs. Shelby said, “but the shouts I heard afterward drew me to the window.”
“And what did you observe?” Adrian asked, doing his best to hold onto the thin thread of calm he needed in order to process what he learned with a rational mind.
“I counted seven men in total. All were armed and brandishing pistols. The fancy carriage’s coachman was forced from his block and sent off on foot. A few minutes after he left, another carriage arrived. Possibly a hackney or simply a cheaper vehicle.”
“And then?” Kendrick asked.
Mrs. Shelby shot a look toward the chief constable. “A lady was ordered out of the first carriage and into the second.”
“What about the man who escorted her?” Adrian asked.
Mrs. Shelby’s head swiveled back in his direction. “He confronted the attackers first, but without much success. Severely outnumbered as he was, I’m afraid they had him restrained and disarmed in a flash.”
“Did they put him in the other carriage as well?”
Mrs. Shelby shook her head. “He was taken away in one of the carts.”
Not good. They’d separated Murry from Samantha. He’d not be able to help her escape. Adrian tried not to let that stark realization consume him.
Forcing himself to focus, he asked Mrs. Shelby, “In which direction did the vehicles go?”
“Toward Oxford Street.”
“All of them?”
A curt nod confirmed this.
“Thank you for your time,” Adrian said, directing the words not only to Mrs. Shelby but also to Lundquist.
The marquess’s gaze met Adrian’s. Grave yet sympathetic. “I hope you find her quickly.”
Not knowing what to say besides the obvious, Adrian turned for the door which Kendrick was already pulling open. Only a quick backward glance made him privy to the look that passed between Lundquist and Mrs. Shelby.
Affection. That’s what it was.
Perhaps the explanation for why no one else was about?
With more important matters to deal with, Adrian dismissed all speculation as soon as the door closed behind him.
Addressing Kendrick, he said, “Based on what Mrs. Shelby has said, O’Leary has already managed to build a bigger operation than I was aware of.”
Jackson agreed. “One that runs with incredible smoothness” When both Kendrick and Adrian turned to him he said, “They managed a challenging feat, abducting your wife without anyone being able to stop them. And without any clue as to where they’ve gone.”
The truth in the younger man’s words forced additional tension to coil around Adrian’s ribs. “I need a brisk walk to clear my head.”
“We’ll figure this out,” Kendrick promised. “We already know O’Leary means to negotiate with you. To do so, he’ll have to keep Mrs. Croft safe.”
Adrian swallowed past the uncomfortable knot in his throat. Despite the insult he’d spoken to Kendrick earlier in the carriage, the chief constable was both willing to help and offer reassurance. A lesser man would not have been as kind.
“Thank you,” Adrian said, suddenly eager to be on his way — to think and process — to plot and plan. “I’ll stop by Bow Street later today as agreed.”
“If you’re able,” Kendrick told him. “Your situation has since changed. I understand that you’ve other priorities now.”
Again, the mark of an honorable person.
Adrian shook both men’s hands and left, his long strides taking him to Oxford Street where he turned left. He worried that Kendrick was wrong about O’Leary needing to keep Samantha safe if she were to be a bargaining tool.
Alive, yes, but there was no guarantee he’d treat her well.
In all likelihood, everything that had happened so far, from the stolen crates to this, was part of a trap O’Leary was building. Shoulders hunched against the wind, Adrian shoved his hands in his pockets. Were he in O’Leary’s shoes, he’d lure Adrian in and make sure he never escaped.
In which case, there was no deal. Just an illusion intended to make him come to Samantha’s rescue. Which he’d do in a heartbeat as soon as he knew where he had to show up.
What concerned him was the possibility that neither he nor she would survive what followed. That O’Leary would execute both to enact his vengeance and make sure no rival existed. Now or ever.
His heart turned heavy as it hardened, transforming into a lump of lead, every muscle a band of iron encouraging him to fight.
To do so, he needed answers. If he could pre-empt O’Leary – gather information — launch an assault of his own, his chance of saving Samantha and the baby would be so much higher.
Aware of what had to be done, he hailed a hackney and ordered it to Upper Thornhaugh Street. Not caring that it was six in the morning, he stepped up to Number 8 and banged on the door with his closed fist.
Almost five minutes passed before a bleary-eyed Murdoch pulled the door open. He stared at Adrian, who promptly shoved his way past him.
“Greetings to you too, Mr. Croft.” Murdoch closed the door and faced Adrian. “To what do I owe this—”
“My wife’s been taken,” Adrian said. “I need your help.”