Chapter Sixteen #2
He carried the burnished mahogany case to his desk and opened it.
Sir Hadrien had moved closer and stood in a position to see the pair of pistols lying against the dark blue velvet lining.
Griffin ignored the disapproving noises coming from Sir Hadrien under the guise of throat clearing and examined each pistol in turn.
Both pistols were polished and primed. Griffin was glad now of his regular practice with them. They felt comfortable in his hand.
Griffin chose one pistol to secret under his frock coat at the small of his back.
It fit snugly but did not limit his movement.
Holding the other pistol aimed at the floor, he arched an eyebrow at Sir Hadrien.
“Shall we? As I intend to take advantage of your waiting carriage, I do not mind sharing the space…overmuch.”
Sir Hadrien frowned. “Very well,” he said finally. “Naturally I will go, and I should have thought of lending my carriage at the outset.”
“Good.” He turned to Mason, who was struggling to rise. “Stay where you are. Nat, do not fail me.”
Mason grimaced as he propped himself on his elbow. “Shall I send Foster to Bow Street, sir?”
“If I haven’t returned in…” He considered the likelihood that things could be resolved quickly. “Let us say, two hours. Send for the runners and tell them to begin with Mrs. Christie.”
“But you said she was gone from town.”
“She has returned, I think.” He turned dark, predator eyes on Sir Hadrien. “Isn’t that right?”
Guided by Alastair’s somewhat slurred and haltingly given directions, Olivia explored the confines of their prison. “Is this Mrs. Christie’s cellar?” she asked as she paced off the length of the wall lined with wine bottles.
“Think so. Las’ thing I recall before waking here was havin’ dinner with her, so s’possible.”
“She drugged you?”
“S’pose she did.”
Olivia absently rubbed the back of her head where she’d been struck. She thought she might have preferred a sleeping powder to being clobbered. “Have you seen her since you’ve been here?”
“No. She ain’t come around.”
“What about the villain? Does he come around?”
“Now and again, just to take a poke at me with his stick.”
“Who brings you food, takes the slop bucket?” When there was no answer, Olivia asked, “Are you shrugging, Alastair? Shaking your head? I can’t see either.”
“Shruggin’,” he said. “Don’ know who it is. Servant, I ’spect. S’not the one you call the villain. Seen him before, though. Not here. Somewhere else. Can’t remember where.”
Olivia sighed. “Tell me about who comes here. Same person or different?”
“Same.”
That made sense, Olivia thought. Wherever they were, the fewer people who knew about it, the better. She turned the corner, ran her hand along the cool and damp stone wall. “Did you ever try to escape?” There was silence again, and Olivia had to remind her brother she couldn’t see his reply.
“No,” he said. “The villain tol’ me you’d be hurt if I conceived any notions of bravery. Got drunk instead, but here you are so I s’pose I should’ve done something.”
She came abreast of her brother and reached down to touch his shoulder. “You’ll have to do something now, Alastair, no matter what he says will happen to me. He wants to hurt me.” She paused. “He’ll try.”
Alastair drew in his legs as Olivia moved carefully around him and continued her search. “Won’t let him touch you.”
“I know.” She bumped something with her toe, heard the slush of liquid, and grimaced as she stepped around the slop bucket.
Her nose had gradually become numb to the worst of the odor, but tipping the bucket would have tested her resolve to keep down her breakfast. “We can also depend on Breckenridge to find us. If not today, then tomorrow, or the next day, but he’ll come.
I am not of a mind to wait for him, though, and he will not expect that I should. ”
“I fear you are being optimish…op-ti-mish-tic…op-ti…hopeful.”
“It is not hope, but confidence.”
“We do not know where we are. How will he?”
“He already suspects a connection between Mrs. Christie and the gentleman villain. Since none of us knows the identity of the villain, he must begin with Mrs. Christie, and I believe our father will know where to find her.”
Griffin gave Sir Hadrien’s driver Mrs. Christie’s address, but as soon as the carriage began to roll, he set his eyes hard upon Olivia’s father and pressed for information. “Will we find her at the residence?”
“I couldn’t possibly—”
Griffin raised the pistol. “I will shoot. You’ve spoken to her.
Your son would not have returned the ring to me, then run to you with news of it.
He’s shown some backbone of late, but not so much as that, I’m sure.
If he didn’t tell you what he did, then you came by the news in the only other way possible: Mrs. Christie told you.
She must have been very angry with Alastair to take the matter up with you.
So I will ask you again, will we find her at the residence now that you are also in town? ”
“I cannot know.” He thrust his hands forward as though his palms could ward off a pistol ball.
“She might be gone shopping. Paying a social call. How can you expect that I will know if—” He stopped when the pistol jerked in Griffin’s hand and sat back hard against the plump leather squabs.
He could not quite contain the rise of panic.
It edged his voice, lending it the slightest quiver.
“She has Alastair, Breckenridge. She’s taken my son.
My wife is practically mad with grief and demands that I do whatever necessary to ensure his release.
She cannot rise from her bed because of that woman.
Do you think I would have debased myself by applying to you for the ring if not for the sake of my son and my wife? ”
“I know you wouldn’t have done it for your daughter.”
“You don’t know anything, except that you think you know it all.
Olivia lies, Breckenridge. She always has.
Embellishment. Exaggeration. Those are but the small ways she creates and re-creates her tales.
Fancies. Diversions. One might name them such if one is of a mind to be kind…
or forgiving. I am no longer of such a mind and have not been so for years.
She is jealous of my wife, of my son. Even as a young girl she tried to turn my wife against me. ”
Sir Hadrien drew himself up and gave Griffin a considering look.
“She reads people. Even someone like you who is remarkably good at schooling your features, Olivia is able to see something more. Have you never wondered why she is so good as a dealer? It is not only her expert handling of the cards. She watches the players, makes a game of supposing what they will do. She preys on them, not in an obvious way—not usually. I would venture to say that she’s preyed on you, saw something that would make you sympathetic to some of her most virulent lies, and those are the ones she told to bring you around. ”
He paused, eyes narrowed. “I’ll wager she crawled into your bed first.”
Griffin lowered the pistol. “What did Mrs. Christie ask you to do?”
Sir Hadrien blinked, stared. A deep flush stole over his sharp countenance as he realized he was being dismissed.
“That vile woman. She wants the ring, of course. She’d prefer the ring and marriage to my son, but as I would never give my blessing to the latter, and as Alastair cannot be compelled to enter into that arrangement, she seems to be willing to settle for the ring. ”
Griffin shook his head slowly. “There is more to it than that. The ring is valuable, to be sure, easily four or five times the debt that was owed me, but for her to risk so much to have it back seems out of character.”
“How can you know?” Sir Hadrien asked flatly.
“She has no character. No scruples. No morals.” He thrust his chin forward, challenging.
“Your association with women like her can be all that explains it. Mrs. Christie. My daughter. I did not know your wife, but she must have been so inclined. I understand that she presented you with a bastard before she died.”
“There is nothing that Mrs. Christie likes less than leaving London,” Griffin said just as if Sir Hadrien had never spoken. “A journey to Coleridge Park is a most unusual step for her when she might simply have written.”
“A letter as evidence that she is holding my son for ransom? She is too clever for that.”
Griffin conceded the point. “Still, she might have found another way to lure you into town. That she went to you speaks of some urgency on her part. Did she appear to be under duress?”
“She appeared to be quite mad.”
Griffin realized Sir Hadrien would apply that description to anyone opposing him. He was incapable of seeing beyond his own nose. “How much time has she allowed for you to get the ring back?”
“She didn’t say, although I had the impression that once I came to town she expected the thing to be done quickly.”
“And yet you never once offered to pay Alastair’s debt. Your reputation for being close-fisted is well deserved, it seems.”
“The ring belongs to me,” he said stubbornly. “To my family. I shouldn’t have to pay for what is mine.”
“That is between you and your conscience, in the event you have one, though it occurs to me that Alastair would have been better served if Mrs. Christie had negotiated with your wife.” Griffin used the pistol to point toward a three-story brownstone town house with a wide entrance flanked by stone lions.
“Ah, here we are. Before we go, let me explain the rules of engagement. You will follow my lead and do precisely as I say. The moment I determine you are a hindrance, I will shoot you. Whether or not I kill you depends on my mood of the moment. At the moment, I am feeling peckish, and that is not in any way good for you.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “Go on. I will follow directly.”