Chapter 20
The following evening, taking Sarah’s warnings to heart, Charlotte dressed in one of her older gowns—a sombre black silk that concealed rather than flattered.
After enduring another tedious evening of drawing-room embroidery and lifeless conversation, she found herself once again trapped by the spinsters in yet another transparent attempt at matchmaking.
This time, the unfortunate victim was Mr Smythe. The widower possessed the extraordinary ability to make time itself appear motionless. At the first opportunity, she made her escape and fled upstairs earlier than usual.
Lord Stanley’s warning lingered unpleasantly in her mind as she walked the corridors alone.
Be careful.
Especially with the card party in full swing.
Charlotte found herself turning corners cautiously now, listening intently for approaching footsteps or raised voices. The distant roar of laughter and jeering from the card room echoed faintly through the mansion.
As she peeped around a corner, she saw the card-room door open.
A man emerged and strode towards the study.
Wolverton.
Her stomach tightened instantly.
Worried he might spot her, Charlotte darted behind a suit of armour positioned in the nearby alcove. Thankfully, her black gown blended neatly with the shadows.
A moment later, the card-room door opened again.
Another set of footsteps followed.
‘Well? Come along, Wolverton,’ came Lord Stanley’s voice.
Charlotte froze.
The two men passed directly before her hiding place. The corridor was dim enough that neither noticed her presence.
Then, apparently satisfied they were alone, they slowed.
Charlotte bit her lip hard.
Should she reveal herself?
Curiosity triumphed.
Holding her breath, she strained to hear.
Their voices were low, but distinct enough.
‘So,’ Wolverton murmured, ‘what exactly did you have in mind, Stanley?’
‘I want in.’ Lord Stanley’s reply was immediate. ‘No half-measures. Tell the Grand Fellows I wish to join.’
Charlotte suppressed a gasp.
‘I am not certain it is quite so simple, my friend,’ Wolverton replied. ‘They are a paranoid lot.’
‘I can be useful,’ Lord Stanley said coolly. ‘You know very well I can. The Bow Street Runners answer to me. At my instruction, your operations would attract no scrutiny whatsoever.’
‘I admit,’ Wolverton said slowly, ‘that would prove extremely valuable. And severing ties with that sanctimonious fool Wilberforce certainly improves your standing.’ Greed flashed openly across his face. ‘But what else can you offer us?’
‘Name your price.’
Charlotte felt the colour drain from her face.
Wolverton took a measured pinch of snuff before replying.
‘Your charitable interests place you in an advantageous position. You have access to precisely the sort of girls we require.’
Lord Stanley sounded intrigued.
‘In what way?’
‘We require virgins for the trade,’ Wolverton replied casually. ‘And you, conveniently enough, oversee institutions full of desperate young women seeking employment. We could offer positions abroad—or in another county entirely. They would disappear willingly, and no one would suspect anything.’
‘And if questions are asked?’
Wolverton gave a low laugh.
‘That is the beauty of it. We select only girls without family connections. No parents. No brothers. No one troublesome enough to inquire after them once they vanish.’
A terrible silence followed.
Then Lord Stanley spoke.
‘It seems you have considered this carefully, Wolverton.’
A pause.
‘I accept your proposal.’
Charlotte nearly reeled with horror.
The very man she had risked everything to save now stood calmly negotiating with monsters.
What a vile creature.
‘Give me a few days,’ Wolverton said. ‘I must persuade the others first. We shall meet once I have an answer.’ The sharp snap of his snuff box echoed through the hallway.
Moments later, their footsteps receded.
Charlotte remained motionless in her hiding place long after they had gone, trembling from shock.
At last, she forced herself upstairs to the sanctuary of her bedchamber.
Sarah, noting her distress, hurried after her at once.
Charlotte nearly burst into tears at the sight of someone familiar and safe.
She clung to her fiercely before recounting everything she had overheard.
By the time she finished, her maid looked just as horrified.
‘What will we do now?’ Sarah whispered. ‘The entire plan was to unmask the Odd Fellows and then tell Lord Stanley the truth. But now—’
‘We cannot trust anyone here,’ Charlotte finished bleakly. ‘There is no telling who is involved.’
She bit her lip, dread coiling heavily in her chest.
‘What if he is merely pretending?’ Sarah suggested. ‘Perhaps he means to infiltrate them.’
Charlotte closed her eyes briefly.
The truth was she knew almost nothing about Lord Stanley at all. His past remained shrouded in mystery. What if Mrs Dent had been right? What if he had acquired his riches through dealings every bit as depraved as the Odd Fellows themselves?
How could she trust him?
‘I know it is possible,’ she admitted. ‘But I cannot risk assuming the best. If I reveal who I am and he truly is one of them, we are finished.’
‘But they tried to kill him,’ Sarah protested, twisting the blanket anxiously between her fingers. ‘Why would they do that if he already belonged to them?’
‘Then why has he not cleared my name?’ Charlotte countered sharply. ‘He knows about the Odd Fellows—clearly he does—and yet he continues to allow suspicion to fall upon me.’
She rose and began pacing restlessly before the hearth.
‘And how do you explain his behaviour since the party began? The drinking, the gambling, the libertine behaviour. No one attempting to infiltrate a deadly criminal organisation behaves so carelessly. It seems far more likely he has always wished to join them.’
‘What about the Duke of Armitage?’ Sarah asked.
Charlotte groaned aloud. ‘He will not return for months.’
‘Then perhaps we continue quietly gathering information until he arrives. Once he returns, we leave this place and seek out the Duke and Miss Grace. Or rather...’ she corrected herself, ‘the Duchess.’
‘I suppose we have little choice. Assuming we survive that long.’ She stared blindly into the fire for a moment.
A grim silence settled between them.
After all, they were precisely the sort of girls Wolverton had described.
No family. No protection.
Sarah had gone noticeably pale.
Charlotte seized her hands firmly.
‘We must be extra careful from now on. Do you understand? Never wander alone—not in the corridors, not on the grounds. And I think we ought to carry concealed weapons at all times.’
Sarah looked alarmed, but nodded. ‘I suppose I could sew hidden pockets into our gowns. Or perhaps into our corsets. Large enough for a small knife.’
‘That is a marvellous idea,’ Charlotte replied, genuinely impressed.
‘What I cannot understand is why Lord Stanley interfered with the Odd Fellows before. He was their enemy once, was he not?’
After several moments of thought, Charlotte spoke carefully.
‘Perhaps he interfered with their operation inadvertently—which would explain the attempt upon his life. As he said himself, he only financed Mr Wilberforce because they are related, not because he genuinely believed in the abolition cause.’ She tapped her lips absently as her thoughts returned to the terrace conversation she had overheard so long ago.
‘Wolverton did say it was merely business. Nothing personal.’
The memory sent a shuddering chill through her.
Exhausted, she sank down onto the bed.
‘It appears it is only the two of us for now,’ Sarah said quietly.
Charlotte nodded faintly before another thought struck her.
‘Did you manage to speak to that maid?’
‘I did.’ Sarah’s expression dimmed. ‘It is not good news, I’m afraid.’ She looked apologetically at Charlotte, clearly reluctant to burden her with further bad tidings.
Charlotte sat bolt upright.
‘At first I nearly dismissed the whole thing,’ Sarah continued. ‘She kept speaking of ghosts and other superstitious nonsense. But once she calmed herself...’ She swallowed nervously. ‘The truth sounded considerably worse.’
‘Tell me.’
Sarah glanced uneasily towards the bedchamber door. ‘She says maids have been vanishing from this estate.’
Charlotte went utterly still.
‘At least six, from what she has heard whispered about. And she believes Mrs Dent is involved.’
‘She also said the previous governess disappeared without a trace.’ Sarah was visibly shaken now. ‘Mrs Dent always gathers their belongings afterwards and claims they left of their own accord. Every single time.’
Charlotte stared at her in horror. ‘You think she is working with the Odd Fellows?’
Sarah shrugged uneasily. ‘If girls are truly being taken from this house, then it makes sense for them to have assistance from someone inside the estate.’
‘And the other governesses?’ Charlotte whispered. ‘Surely not—?’
‘I think so,’ Sarah admitted bleakly.
Matthew Stanley’s boasting returned to Charlotte with sickening clarity—the way the Odd Fellows had praised him for being... useful.
Suddenly, the meaning seemed disgustingly obvious.
‘Well,’ Charlotte said faintly, ‘that would explain how Matthew Stanley managed to abduct girls for the Odd Fellows...’
Her voice trailed away as another terrible possibility formed.
But Matthew Stanley was no longer alive, and yet girls were still vanishing from this estate. Lucy had disappeared well before the Odd Fellows arrived for the house party.
She leaned against the bedpost for support before speaking again.
‘Could it also mean Lord Stanley himself is directly involved?’
Charlotte looked instinctively around the room, suddenly feeling as though the very walls might be listening. The fire crackled softly beside them, far too loud in the silence that followed.
‘It is his mansion after all,’ she whispered. ‘Mrs Dent mentioned the maids were selected from the workhouse by him.’
The interaction in the corridor the other evening returned vividly to her mind. His hand at her waist. The way he had warned her to be careful.
At first she had thought perhaps he was trying to protect her—but what if he had merely been marking her as his next victim?
The thought was so monstrous that she physically recoiled from it.