Chapter 18
Eighteen
The punch connected squarely on Justin chin, sending him sprawling onto his backside.
“Sorry!” Hartley extended a hand and helped his friend to his feet. “Your wits must wandering for you to let me plant such a facer.”
One of the attendants of the famed boxing establishment glowered at them. “That’s enough fer you lads,” he called “If Gentleman Jackson had to witnessed that ‘orrible display of skill, I reckon you’d both be thrown out on yer ears.”
Red-faced at the set-down, Justin and Hartley slunk off to dress, enduring a gamut of friendly jibes from others waiting to go a few rounds.
“Forgive me, Freddy,” said Justin as he toweled off and reached for his shirt. “I know that I’ve not been the best of company for the past few days.”
Hartley shrugged. “No need to apologize.” He glanced around and then lowered his voice to a nervous whisper.” Have you heard any further word? I take it we will not be having to flee the country?”
Justin shook his head, feeling guilty over how much anxiety he had caused his friend. Dueling was, after all, illegal and if Branford had died from his wound, the two of them would have been very serious trouble.
“No, thank heavens,” he answered. “It appears the earl will recover.”
“Aye, thank heavens,” echoed Hartley as he knotted his cravat and expelled a sigh of relief.
“In that case, there’s no need to be blue-deviled.
Come, we’ll stop by the club, then there’s going to be a phaeton race in Hyde Park between Endicott and Marshall which promises to be entertaining.
And of course, we’ll put in an appearance at the Creighton’s soiree. ”
Justin nodded and finished dressing. Perhaps Freddy was right, he told himself, and it was best to keep occupied. And yet, he couldn’t seem to banish his low spirits.
As the two of them headed for the street, an attendant approached.
“Excuse me, Mr. Chilton. A man left this for you.” The fellow held up a sealed note. “He said I was to give it to you when you was leaving.”
Justin broke the wafer and quickly ran his eyes over the contents.
“Freddy, you must excuse me,” he said as he fumbled in his pocket and pressed a coin in the attendant’s outstretched hand.
“Is something —” began Hartley, but Justin had already disappeared out the door.
Once out on the street, Justin set off in a blind rush, fear twisting in his gut, making it impossible to think straight. All he could see in his mind’s eye were the terrible words scrawled on the paper …
If you wish to see your sister alive again, be at the crossroads two miles east of the village of Weston at the hour of 6 tonight. Come alone, or else.
Steady, steady—he sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to get a grip on his emotions. Panic would only play into the hands of his unknown enemy.
It appeared that Alex had been right after all.
He should have taken her warnings more seriously.
But it had been more convenient to dismiss them as the exaggerated worries of an overprotective older sister …
even though a part of him had known that it was highly improbable the string of accidents had been mere coincidences.
However, it had seemed absurd that someone would be trying to harm him.
After all, what possible threat was he to anyone?
It made no sense—and try as he might, Justin couldn’t think of any plausible explanation. Even now, with Alex trapped in a deadly web of intrigue, he had no idea of how to begin unraveling the mystery.
But the one thing he did know for sure was that he wouldn’t ride meekly to his appointed doom. Alex would be furious with him if he were to be so corkbrained as to fall into such an obvious trap without trying to figure out a way to best their shadowy nemesis.
But how?
Justin came to an abrupt halt. Ye gods, the first step was to make sure it wasn’t a ruse, and that he didn’t run off willy-nilly without ascertaining that Alex was in fact gone.
After flagging down a passing hansom, he arrived at Half Moon Street in short order and took a moment to assume an air of nonchalance before entering the library.
“Aunt Aurelia, have you perchance seen Alex?”
His aunt looked up from her book. “No. Givens mentioned that she left here earlier this morning, but she hasn’t yet returned.
” A note of concern had crept int her in her voice.
“He said that she received a missive from Mr. Simpson inviting her to view some newly arrived plants—but it appeared to him that she was acting a bit strangely.”
Lady Beckworth removed her spectacles, her eyes clouding with worry. “Something has been quite wrong lately—do you know what has Alex so upset?”
Justin drew in a measured breath. “I have an inkling what it is.”
She blinked back tears. “Is … is everything going to be alright?”
Justin quickly moved around to give her a quick hug. “You may count on it,” he promised, refusing to believe otherwise. “Don’t worry—we’ll both be home soon.”
However, his show of bravado began to waver as he left the townhouse and considered his options …
Think! Think! Alex was clever—what would she do?
Justin was forced to concede that he had no idea of how to start searching for the identity of his enemy or where he might be holding Alex captive …
Which did not auger well for a happy ending, he thought to himself with a grimace.
He had no illusions as to the intentions of the note’s author—or his willingness to carry out his threat.
The dastard was planning to kill Alex, and the meeting tonight was nothing more than a lure to reel him in to his death as well.
But as Alex was the lure, he had no choice but to rise to the bait.
Or did he?
Justin suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. A crazy idea had come to him—he was mad to even consider it. But he could think of nothing else.
Time was ticking away, and so he decided to throw caution to the wind.
Mustering his courage, Justin rushed up the entrance steps of the imposing townhouse steps and hurriedly rapped on the door.
It opened a crack, revealing a stately butler whose expression tightened to an imperious frown. “His Lordship is not—”
“I must see him!” Justin elbowed past him and darted into the entrance hall … only stopped, uncertain of where to go.
Recovering from initial surprise, the butler quickly followed and reached out—
“A life may depend on it,” entreated Justin.
The fellow hesitated.
“Please. If His Lordship says no, you are welcome to throw me out on my arse.”
A sigh. “Follow me, sir. But assured I shall do just that if your intrusion is unwelcome.”
The butler led the way down a long corridor that led to the back of the residence, then left him in front of a closed door with a brusque wave indicating that Justin was now on his own .
His mouth suddenly went dry. It was one thing to have made a spur-of-the-moment decision on the street … and quite another to now be faced with seeing it through.
What the devil would he say?
But reminding himself that the only danger was being tossed out on the street —while Alex faced …
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Justin opened the door and entered the earl’s study.
Branford looked up from his papers.
“Chilton.” He appeared surprised. “Pray, come in.”
“Please excuse my intrusion, sir, especially since—that is, in light of of …” Justin gave up searching for polite words. “Alex has been kidnapped,” he blurted out. “I don’t know what to do. I … I thought perhaps you might help me.”
Branford shot to his feet. “Bloody hell!” he said through gritted teeth. “When?”
“Sometime this morning.” He took the folded note out of his pocket and thrust it at the earl. “I received this at Jackson’s as I was leaving less than an hour ago.”
Branford read it, then crumpled it in his fist.
“I checked at home, just to be sure,” added Justin. “She left the house alone and has not returned.”
“Marlowe,” called the earl. “Bring me my greatcoat—and my pistols. Have Simms harness the greys and bring the carriage around immediately!”
Justin hung his head. “I’m afraid that I have no idea where to begin looking for her, sir—or who is behind all of this.”
“Oh, but I bloody do,” growled Branford as he took Justin by the shoulder and hurried him into the corridor.
Once in the carriage, Branford immediately set to checking the priming of his weapons. The grim set of his jaw discouraged Justin from saying a word until the earl rapped on the trap and called out a destination.
“White’s?” repeated Justin faintly.
Branford appeared not to hear him but kept his attention focused on ensuring the pistols were in perfect working order. Only when the horses came to a halt in the middle of St. James’s Street did he look up.
“Wait for me here,” he ordered curtly as the carriage door swung open.
“But milord,” cried Justin involuntarily. “Surely you can’t mean to enter White’s brandishing a brace of pistols …”
The earl’s expression caused him to swallow the rest of his words.
It was no more than ten minutes before Branford returned, a look of grim satisfaction flashing in his eyes. He spoke briefly with his coachman before climbing back into the carriage.
Justin couldn’t help but notice a spasm of pain cross the earl’s face features as he eased himself back against the squabs. Their eyes met and locked for a moment. Strangely, it was Branford who turned away to stare out the window.
The jangling of the harness mixed with the cries of the costermongers and bustle of the streets as Simms set the horses to as fast a pace as could be managed in the crowded London streets. Soon, however, the carriage was racing through the outskirts of the city.
Justin finally summoned the nerve to break the silence. “Sir, I wish to speak to you regarding our … last meeting.”
Branford slowly turned to face him.
“I truly regret having caused you injury, my lord. I meant to …”