Chapter Thirteen
The week following their trip to the solicitor was wet and cold. Prue grew more and more restless at being forced to stay indoors.
“You remind me of a caged lion in the Tower at the London Menagerie,” Gramma said, throwing up her hands. “Now that that man is in custody and the rain has stopped, why not go for a walk?”
“I am sorry I’m restless, Gramma.” Prue gave her a guilty smile. “I expected to hear from the trustees by now.” But it was Lord Hereford she really hoped to see, bringing news concerning Everton.
Prue stepped out clutching her gray pelisse with the warm, fur collar around herself, as the autumn day was chilly. Winter wasn’t far away. She set off down the path to the river, the acrid smells of decay, damp vegetation, and odoriferous mud at low tide, tainting the air.
Reaching the shore, she stood watching the river traffic, the barges and wherries carrying goods.
A grand yacht sailed close to shore and those on board waved to her.
Prue waved back and continued walking. She reached the boundary of Gramma’s property and gazed out over the river, her attention caught by eight rowers, their oars sending a scull racing over the water.
Prue stayed to watch them until they disappeared around a bend.
Then she entered the woodland path that led back to the house.
At first, Prue ignored the rustling in the bushes, suspecting a hedgehog or badger.
At the sound of footfall crashing though the undergrowth, she stopped, but before she could turn to see what, or who it was, someone grabbed her from behind and pulled a stifling hood pulled over her head.
She gagged at the stale body odor and flailed, her fists hitting out at what she was now sure was a man.
It might have been a rock for all the effect her fists had.
Her screams muffled, she panicked and fought to free herself but soon found it useless, as a pair of strong arms lifted her like a sack of swansdown and strode through the woods with her.
Where was he taking her?
Prue’s heart beating like a frightened bird, her captive opened a door and thrust her onto the seat of some kind of vehicle.
“Who are you?” she cried out, reaching up to take off the hood. “Let me go!”
He captured her hands and tied them together with a cord. It cruelly rubbed her wrists. She heard his noisy breathing. He smelled unpleasantly of tobacco, hops, and rancid sweat. Her stomach clenched in revulsion.
“Take this thing off me!” Desperate for air, she pulled uselessly at the cloth over her head with her bound hands. Failing, she fell back against the squab. “I am suffocating.”
The carriage jerked forward at the crack of the coachman’s whip. Still no reply from him. “Who are you?” she asked again, yelling through the material pulled tightly over her face. “Where are you taking me?”
Silence. She could sense his presence, like an evil force robbing her of air, and hated that it made her tremble so violently, he could no doubt see it.
Prue was relieved when the man lifted the hood a little.
But the smothering, strong-smelling cloth he held to her nose made her cry out in terror.
She tried to twist her head away and hold her breath, but she gagged.
Her lungs ran out of air, and she dragged in a deep breath of something that smelled stringent and strange.
Her eyes stung, and her head swam. Then a veil of black came down and blotted out everything.
Prue came woozily awake. She opened her eyes and groaned, putting a hand to her head, which ached.
Propping herself up on her arms, she looked about her.
She lay on a narrow cot in a small, stone-walled room.
The barred window emitted a scant amount of light.
“Where is this place?” A quick check of her clothes reassured her.
While someone had taken off her pelisse and thrown it over a stool, Prue was still in her gown, although her half-boots had gone.
She peered under the bed. When she found them, she sagged with relief, although she had no idea why that should reassure her.
There was no sign of her bonnet, lost on the journey here, she supposed.
Wherever here was. Rolling off the cot, she walked on jelly-like legs to the window.
Her limited view took in a steep drop from this stone room to the dense forest below.
The scene was completely foreign to her.
Prue moaned and rubbed her temples. Where was she?
She stumbled over to the arched oak door, which offered the only chance of escape, and wrestled with the heavy iron handle.
The door was bolted from the other side and didn’t budge.
Hot tears gathered at the back of her throat as panic clamped her chest like a tight band.
How would she ever escape this chilly room with its dusty smell of neglect?
And Gramma! How frantic with worry she must be.
Footfalls sounded outside. Hurrying to the cot, Prue lay down and closed her eyes. She heard the door open and then a jangle of keys as someone entered.
“Are you awake, miss?”
Curiosity got the better of her. Prue raised herself on her elbows. A nun in a gray habit and veil stood at the end of the bed, holding a tray. A chatelaine hung from a rope belt at her waist, from which keys dangled.
“Why was I brought here?” Prue demanded, sitting up.
The nun didn’t reply. She placed the tray on the small table, which was the only other piece of furniture in the room, apart from a small, wooden stool. “I’ve brought your luncheon. You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten.”
Prue’s stomach roiled. “What is this place?”
The nun gazed at her serenely. “The Sisterhood of the Holy Cross.”
“I don’t believe it. There are no Catholic convents in England. There haven’t been for centuries.”
“We are Anglican. A religious community for women.”
“What reason would you have for holding me here against my will?”
“I do not know the reason, miss.”
“Where is this place?” she asked again.
“Our convent is in the hills near Wantage.”
“I wish to leave immediately.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Then tell whoever is in charge to come here.”
“This is a busy time. It is wise to keep up your strength with the soup and bread while you wait.”
“I don’t want to eat,” Prue said. “I want to leave.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, then darted past the nun to the door. It was locked.
Furious, Prue whirled around and glared at the nun, who watched her without comment. “Unlock the door.”
“I am sorry, miss. They will only open it for me. Better that you eat and rest a little until you recover from your ordeal.”
“My brutal kidnapping, you mean? How can you face your God when you hold me captive against my will?”
The nun tucked her hands into the wide arms of her habit. “It is not I who has put you here. But we are told it is for your own good.”
“That is a lie. Who brought me here?”
“I cannot tell you. I merely take orders.”
The nun turned and went to knock on the door. It opened a crack, then widened, and the nun passed through. The door closed smartly behind her. Prue had tried to see who the other person was, but they stood back, out of sight.
She fell onto the bed, her head in her hands, and contemplated throwing the plate of some kind of thick, green soup smelling of cabbage, and the basket of bread, at the wall.
But that would be foolish. It would get her nowhere to act irrationally.
Better to plot her escape. A knotted sheet at the window like something in a romantic story would be dangerous.
She would have to come up with a convincing argument when whoever was in charge here came to see her.
But who was it? Could this be connected to her father’s murder?
How would anyone find her shut away in this place?
Lord Hereford couldn’t help her this time.
The realization chilled her to the bone, and she curled up in a fetal position and moaned.
*
Will Darby’s friend, Benny Kellog, worked at a slaughterhouse in Barking.
Jack’s men had learned this from Will Darby, who had softened a little under pressure in his cell, although he rigidly refused to give them the vital information they sought concerning the earl’s murder.
He was guilty, no question, which made Jack so angry, he longed to shake it out of the villain.
But he hoped to have better luck with this Benny Kellog, who had a great deal less to lose by confessing what he knew.
Jack unearthed the man outside the reeking slaughterhouse. He was seated on a wall eating his meat, pickles, and cheese. How he could eat here with this smell was beyond Jack, but Benny smelled almost as bad himself. “Benny Kellog?”
The ginger-haired man scowled up at him. “Who wants to know?” He dropped the remains of his food onto the filthy ground and leaped up as if ready to take flight.
Jack folded his arms. “Viscount Hereford. You are an associate of Will Darby’s. If you tell us what we wish to know about him, it could be advantageous to you.”
Kellog danced a step back with a nervous grin, his teeth, those he still had, badly stained. “Yer got bats in yer head. Will would cut me throat from ear to ear.”
“Don’t let that concern you. Darby won’t get the chance. You are unlikely to see him again. Unless you plan to watch him hang. On the other hand, you might end up in Newgate yourself, being involved in a crime, as you are.”
Benny’s hazel eyes widened. “Yer bluffing. I had nothing to do with any of it.”
Jack shook his head regretfully. “If you don’t tell us what you know, we are liable to think the worst.”
He gasped. “Awright! I will! But I don’t know much. Will wouldn’t tell me much. ’E said it was safer that way.”
Jack dug out two guinea coins from his waistcoat pocket.
Benny’s gaze dropped to the bright gold coins in Jack’s palm, flashing in the midday sun. He licked his lips.
“What can you tell me, Benny?” Jack asked.
Benny glanced over at his place of work. “I have to go in.” He eyed the coins again and heaved a sigh. “It’ll have to be quick.”
Impatient, Jack waved an encouraging hand. “Let’s hear it.”
“Someone wanted a man disposed of and hired Will to do it.”
“The name of the man he was to kill?”
He shrugged his thin shoulders. “Some rich blighter. Will never told me ’es name.”
“Had this person hired Will before?”
“Yer. Sent work Will’s way once. Paid well, Will said, and Will was good at it.”
“What did Will call this man who hired him?”
Benny shrugged. “Called ’im ‘govnor’ sometimes.”
“And at other times?”
“’Is Lordship.” Benny watched the coins disappear back into Jack’s pocket. “I can’t tell you ’is name if’n I don’t know it, can I?” he whined.
“I am going to need more.”
“Will was waiting to hear from the tozzer. Wanted his money. That’s why ’e hung around the room. As soon as it came, Will would scarper quick smart. ’E ain’t been paid. Not the last I ’eard. Would’ve shown you lot a clean pair o’ ’eels then.” He nodded his eyes wild. “Might yet.”
“Not enough,” Jack said folding his arms.
Benny shrugged. “Will said the blighter who hired him never met him in the same place twice. He had to wait to be contacted.”
Jack turned away.
“Wait!” Benny called as Jack turned to leave. “Saw the blighter once with Will in the pub near the Docks. The King’s Head. Made sure they didn’t see me. Didn’t think it was healthy to show meself.”
Jack walked back to him. “What did this man look like?”
“Tall tozzer. ’E was no yobber. Dressed like a toff. Bit skittish. Kept lookin’ around.”
“Hair color?”
He shrugged. “Wore a hat. One of those fancy beavers. But ’e looked to be tow-headed.”
“And that’s all you can tell me?”
Benny’s lips pulled down. “It’s enough, ain’t it?”
Jack tossed him a coin. “Find out anything more of interest to me, and you’ll get the other one.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and took out calling his card.
Benny snatched it, uttered a foul oath, and hurried away, disappearing into the building.
It was late afternoon by the time Jack had returned to Mayfair. As he removed his hat in the hall, Stoker handed him a note on the silver salver. “Delivered by Lady Aldridge’s liveried footman, milord. Said it’s urgent.”
With a feeling of dread, Jack’s ribs became a vise stripping him of air as he read the hasty missive. “Send the footman to the stables. I want Joseph and the curricle at the door with a fresh pair of horses, posthaste.”
Stoker left the hall at a run. He returned a moment later. “Do you have time to eat a spot of luncheon, milord?”
Jack shook his head. Lady Aldridge’s letter had been brief.
Lady Prudence had failed to return from her walk in the grounds.
Although they had searched everywhere for her, they’d found no sign.
He snatched up his hat and gloves where he’d only just cast them down, and buttoning his greatcoat, strode out the front door.
Shortly afterward, filled with unease, he set out for Richmond with his groom.
Jack gripped the reins in tense hands. Had he missed something vital and not done enough to protect her?