Chapter 17 #3
By the time they reached the street, a footman was waiting beside Alcott’s coach, his expression solemn. “My lord,” he said, addressing Alcott with a quick bow, “Malone spoke to all the servants, as you requested, and there is one who wishes to confess their involvement.”
Alcott’s head snapped towards him. “Very well. We will go speak to that servant at once. The duke can wait.”
Luca nodded in agreement, though impatience burned beneath his calm exterior. He needed answers, and he needed them now.
They climbed into the coach, and the door shut with a heavy thud. The carriage lurched into motion, merging into the clamor of London’s traffic. The rhythmic clatter of hooves against the cobblestones filled the silence between them.
Alcott stared out the window, his features tight with worry. Luca sat opposite, his hands braced on his knees, every nerve stretched taut.
He had never felt more powerless. Each turn of the wheels brought them closer to the truth—or perhaps further from Charlotte. And for the first time in years, Luca hoped that his instincts were wrong.
Alcott reached beneath his seat and drew out a small wooden chest. The latch clicked as he opened it, revealing two gleaming pistols nestled inside. He removed one and extended it towards Luca.
“Just in case we need these,” Alcott said, his expression grim.
Luca accepted the pistol, its cold metal weight settling heavily into his palm. He turned it over, testing the balance. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But if it did… he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d do whatever was necessary, even if it meant risking his own life, to bring Charlotte back.
“How certain are we that the duke is behind Charlotte’s abduction?” Alcott asked.
Luca exhaled, the breath leaving him in a weary sigh. “I’m not certain at all,” he admitted. “It could have been Miss Dawlish, her son, or someone they hired. The entire family is mired in secrets.”
“But the Duke of Brackenford owns the Ravenhurst Trading Company,” Alcott pressed. “Which means he’s ultimately responsible.”
“In theory, yes,” Luca said, glancing out the window.
London’s gray streets blurred past, his mind whirring faster than the wheels beneath them.
“But we’ve seen before how the duke distances himself from the filth he breeds.
If he’s involved, he’ll have layers of protection between himself and the crime. ”
“That’s enough for me,” Alcott said.
The coach slowed and then came to a halt before Alcott’s townhouse.
They stepped down from the carriage, the air biting with a sharp chill.
Luca followed Alcott up the steps, his boots echoing faintly against the stone.
The front door swung open before they reached it, the butler waiting stiffly in the entry hall.
“Martha is in the drawing room,” the man announced.
Alcott frowned. “Who the blazes is Martha?”
Luca interjected before tempers could flare further. “The maid from Lord Matthew’s household,” he explained. “She’s the one who retrieved the letter that proved Lady Matthew is being kept at The Chelmsford Asylum.”
“Ah,” Alcott muttered, his expression darkening as understanding dawned. Without another word, he strode towards the drawing room.
Luca followed. His pulse pounded harder with every step. Inside, the maid—Martha—sat perched on the edge of a chair, her blonde hair disheveled and her hands twisting nervously in her lap. The moment she saw them, her face drained of color.
Alcott stopped before her, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Where is Charlotte?” he demanded.
“I… I don’t know, my lord,” Martha stammered, her voice shaking.
“Then what do you know?” Alcott snapped.
Tears welled in her eyes. “A man approached me a few days ago and demanded that I deliver a letter to Miss Winslow. He said if I didn’t, he would kill me—and my whole family.”
“So you willingly put my sister in danger?” Alcott roared.
Martha flinched as if struck. “I didn’t know she would be abducted—”
“What did you think would happen?” Alcott demanded, cutting her off. “Surely you couldn’t have been that na?ve?”
“My lord, I’m sorry,” Martha sobbed, her voice breaking.
Alcott slashed his hand through the air. “Get out of my sight. You are dismissed. If I ever see you again, I’ll call the constable and have you arrested.”
Her face fell. “But, my lord… I have nowhere to go.”
“You should have thought of that before you betrayed me,” Alcott said, his voice hard, unyielding.
Luca stepped forward, unwilling to let her flee just yet. “What did the man look like?” he asked, keeping his tone steady.
Martha rose slowly, swiping at the tears streaking down her cheeks. “He was tall,” she revealed. “But I didn’t get a good look at him. He wore a cloak and a hat pulled low over his brow.”
Luca’s hand tightened around the pistol at his side. He could picture it too easily—a faceless man, standing in the shadows, manipulating everything from behind the scenes.
As she stood trembling before them, Luca’s resolve hardened. Whoever had done this—whoever had dared to touch Charlotte—would pay dearly for it.