Chapter 29
It was close to ten o’clock as the Wycliffe carriage drove along the streets towards the building where Baron Ravenscroft held Georgiana.
Helena let out a shaky breath and held her cheeks with her hands.
She had not suggested she go in Tristan’s place because she was brave; she certainly wished she felt braver.
It was only because she thought it might be the only way to trap the baron.
As the carriage drew nearer to the docks, the streets became darker and less familiar.
The grand houses and well-kept shops gave way to warehouses, narrow buildings, and rows of carts waiting beside the road.
The air changed too. The clean scent of the city was replaced by the sharp smell of salt water, tar, and rotting timber, mingled with the smoke of coal fires and the sour odor of refuse left too close to the water.
Finally, the carriage came to a stop in a narrow street. The door was immediately opened, and a lantern was held inside, its sudden light making Helena blink.
“You are not the earl,” a gruff voice sounded.
“No,” Helena said, her voice trembling. She drew a breath and tried again. “No. My Lord refused to come. I stole away instead; I need to see Baron Ravenscroft.”
The lantern was withdrawn, and Helena heard the gruff voice speak to another man. When her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she saw a large figure standing beside the carriage, his hat pulled low over his face and a long, dark coat concealing most of him.
“Bad choice, love, but the baron will want to see you.” He gave a rough laugh before reaching into the carriage and grabbing her arm, yanking her down onto the street.
“I do say, unhand Her Ladyship,” one of the Wycliffe footmen protested.
“She made her choice in coming here. I’m taking her where she wants to go. Is that a problem?” the man snapped.
“It’s all right, Charles. I shall be down shortly. Keep the carriage here,” Helena said to the footman.
“Ye, Charlie. Stay with the carriage,” the rough voice sneered.
As Helena tried to arrange her cloak around her, she was shoved forward and taken by the arm by another man, who led her through an open doorway.
He held the lantern before them as he pulled her inside.
She stumbled as she went but quickly corrected her steps to keep pace with the large figure dragging her through the building.
They came to a staircase, and the pull on her arm was relentless as the man ascended.
At last, they turned onto the first floor, and Helena was thankful there was not another flight ahead of them, as she had barely managed to keep upright on the last. The man marched her to a door, opened it, and thrust her inside.
The room was sparsely lit, and Helena entered with such force that she stumbled several steps before managing to regain her balance.
Her hand instinctively rubbed her other wrist where his grip had been.
She knew she looked a fright, less composed than she had intended, but perhaps the askew cloak and strands of hair that had escaped her pins would serve her performance better than careful preparation ever could.
Lord Ravenscroft stood on the other side of the room, his back toward her as he did something at the table at the far end. He wore no coat, only a shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbow. When he turned, Helena saw that he had no cravat either, and his usually neat fair hair was disheveled.
There was something wild in his eyes as he raised a glass of amber liquid to his mouth. After taking a deep sip, he studied her for a moment. “And where is Blackmere?”
“He refused to come.” Helena’s voice escaped her.
The baron did not reply, but slowly stepped toward her. He came so close that she could smell the alcohol on his breath, overpowering the expensive scent of soap and cologne she was accustomed to smelling on him. He lifted her chin with one hand and turned her face to the side, studying her temple.
“He has a temper, it seems,” Lord Ravenscroft observed with a half laugh.
“Indeed,” Helena whispered, knowing he referred to the false bruise she had created using a little of Beatrice’s rouge and soot from the fireplace in her room.
She had used only enough to suggest the beginning of a bruise, the dim lighting helping to disguise the deception.
In broad daylight, Lord Ravenscroft would have seen through it.
“So, sweet Helena, why are you here?” He said softly. The tenderness in his voice, threaded with malice, sent chills down her spine.
“Because I care for Georgiana,” Helena replied. “I want her safe and returned.”
Ravenscroft tutted. “Surely you know that will not be possible.”
Helena met his gaze. “I know you need money, and Tristan has sworn her off. There will be nothing for you if you proceed with this. You will only have another expense to care for with her.”
His brows lifted. “Indeed?” He turned and walked back to the table, leaning against it as he continued, “Perhaps he is more of a man than I thought, using his head instead of his simpering heart.”
With effort, Helena bit back the retort that rose to her lips. She found it repulsive that Lord Ravenscroft thought more highly of Tristan because he believed her husband had disowned his sister.
“I had never seen him in such a rage before,” she falsely admitted. “He said that if Georgiana was to ruin her reputation for love, then so be it. He would have no part in it.”
The baron sneered a laugh. “Good for him.” He drained his glass. “Now, you are correct. I am in need of funds. So, how do we accomplish that, Helena? You must have some sort of plan if you wish to see Georgiana returned.”
“Well…” Helena drew a breath. “He would pay for me.”
“Would he?” Lord Ravenscroft glanced at the bruise on her cheek. “The mark on your cheek suggests otherwise.”
“He knows I carry his heir, though it is too soon to tell with certainty. The signs have begun.” Helena watched him carefully, hoping he would believe her.
“An heir?” Lord Ravenscroft looked her over, his gaze lingering upon her figure. “Yes, indeed. That is enticing leverage for an earl.”
“If I were to write to him, secure an arrangement for the money tonight, would you release Georgiana and myself?” Helena asked, taking a small step forward.
“Money is only part of the solution. I need his word that he will stop prying into my affairs. Georgiana alluded to some sort of justice against my supposed previous actions.” Lord Ravenscroft muttered the last part before adding, “I wish to be left well alone, and I will disappear to the continent.”
“The actions against Elinor and Frederick?” Helena asked, sensing her opportunity to bait him.
“Allegedly,” Lord Ravenscroft responded nonchalantly.
“Yes, I believe those terms would be met.” She paused. “Tristan was rather concerned about the scandal it would create around his family name.”
“Indeed, it would, especially as he has only just entered society again,” the baron said. “Come, let us start this letter. There is a seat for you here.” He gestured toward the chair behind the table.
Helena forced herself to move closer. She stepped toward the table and took her seat, careful not to let the entirety of her fear show.
There was little upon the table: a sheet of paper, an inkwell, a quill, and a small knife for cutting the paper.
It was clearly where Georgiana had been made to write.
Beside them stood a bottle of alcohol, nearly empty, and Lord Ravenscroft's glass.
He pushed himself away from the table and moved behind her, leaning over the chair and close to her shoulder. “Now,” he said. “Let us see how much the earl is willing to pay.”
After dictating the letter, and Helena having written it, the ink finally dried. Ravenscroft took the sheet from her and read over it.
“How did you become this man?” Helena asked. She drew upon her emotions, allowing tears to well in her eyes.
Lord Ravenscroft glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, dear. How could you expect to understand, even if I explained it to you? You have lived a sheltered little life beneath your beloved mama and papa.”
He smiled. “Although, perhaps your husband will show you more of the world, as he has already done so tonight.” He paused, then drew close to her, lowering his face toward hers.
In a quiet voice, he said, “I wonder what will await you when you are returned. If he struck you for Georgiana, how will he react to your behavior?”
It was clear Lord Ravenscroft took pleasure in believing Tristan had behaved violently toward her, and Helena shuddered at the thought of what it might have been like had she married the baron. Lord Ravenscroft mistook her reaction to him for fear of Tristan.
He straightened and folded the letter. “Perhaps Lord Blackmere and I have more in common with each other than I thought.”
“It seems so. Perhaps instead of killing Frederick for his silence, you would have had a partner in Tristan if you had approached him instead,” Helena replied, her voice was hollow with despair.
Lord Ravenscroft paused and glanced at her. “Good grief, perhaps!” He smiled. “It would have saved me the headache of that wretched boy investigating my business, as well as his stupid wife for writing to me.”
“Elinor wrote to you?” Helena asked innocently, furrowing her brow.
A crude laugh escaped Lord Ravenscroft. “She did! Frederick had discovered my smuggling operations, and what his money had gone to, and confided in her, a woman!” He laughed again. “And she had the audacity to write to me, behind her husband's name, insisting I return his money to him.”
“It was not her place to do so,” Helena remarked, shaking her head.
“Exactly. Then the boy showed up at my townhouse and confronted me. As though he were anything to fear!” Lord Ravenscroft sighed.
“If they knew, after all their earnest endeavors, that all it took was one or two conversations, while my valet attended to me or while I walked to my carriage, to determine their fates.”
Helena looked up at him with wide eyes. “A few words was all it took?” She adjusted her tone to sound as though she was morbidly in awe of his power.
It worked; Lord Ravenscroft stood taller and poured more of the amber liquid into his glass.
A satisfied smile played upon his lips. “Indeed. Mrs. Fenwick was easy to control once I had her husband taken care of, and her daughter was at hand. And I had a rather good bookkeeper who proved spineless once I sent him a warning by removing his wife as a distraction.” He sighed.
“It was all too easy. Poison Elinor and arrange an accident for Frederick. Quick and simple.”
Horror rose within Helena, but she forced it down, reminding herself that every word he spoke was another piece of evidence against him.
Lord Ravenscroft called for a man to enter, but no one came. He looked toward the door and called again.
When the door opened and Tristan entered, his dark eyes fixed upon Ravenscroft with cold fury, Ravenscroft reached for the knife upon the table. He seized Helena and pulled her against him, pressing the blade to her throat.
“Where are my men, Blackmere?” Lord Ravenscroft hissed.
Tristan took a step toward them, but froze when the knife pressed into Helena's skin. A thin red line appeared at her throat, a single bead of blood forming where the blade had broken the skin.
Lord Ravenscroft leaned toward Helena, his mouth close to her ear. “I see this must have been a clever little ruse.” His breath was hot, tinged with alcohol, and the smell made Helena feel sick. “I find you rather surprising.” The knife’s tip had lifted slightly from her throat as he spoke.
A mix of disgust and anger rose within her. Using all her force, she drove her elbow backward into the soft flesh beneath his ribs. The blow caught him by surprise, forcing him to release her as he struggled to regain his breath.
Helena dropped from his grasp, twisting away as she used her momentum to break free. She dashed across the room just as Mr. Markham and two of his men burst through the door.
Tristan caught Helena and held her in his arms as Mr. Markham and his men descended upon Lord Ravenscroft. He whispered soothing words into her ear, but she heard more footsteps behind him and immediately turned in fright to see who was there.
Nathaniel held Georgiana in his arms, her hands and feet bound with rope. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and her eyes were red around the rims.
“She was upstairs, locked in a room,” Nathaniel breathed, his eyes fixed upon Lord Ravenscroft as Mr. Markham's men placed him under arrest.
“He… he broke the door down for me!” Georgiana whispered as fresh tears of relief welled in her eyes. She hid her face against Nathaniel's shoulder.
Tristan moved quickly toward his sister and began untying the ropes. Once she was free, Nathaniel lowered her carefully to the floor, and she regained her balance.
Helena embraced her sister-in-law, holding her tightly. “Poor girl. How awful it must have been!”
“Come, we must leave. Mr. Markham will meet us at the house,” Tristan said firmly.
“Wait!” Georgiana said suddenly, grabbing Nathaniel's hand and hurrying from the room. Helena and Tristan followed, watching as they ascended the staircase. A moment later, they returned, and Georgiana had a small, dirty cat in her arms.
“We were both prisoners in this house, but she kept me calm,” Georgiana said softly.
The building was alive with the sounds of the Bow Street officers, who had, effectively and silently, subdued Ravenscroft’s guards while Helena had faced the baron. Once outside, they found the men seated against the building, their hands bound and under guard.
The Wycliffe carriage waited for them, and Helena noticed the relief on Charles’ face when he saw that she had returned safely.