Chapter Sixteen
Marianne suspected something was wrong as soon as they arrived at Fencham House. It wasn’t the fact that the front door stood open, nor was it the wary expression of the usually emotionless butler. It was something in the very air.
Voices came from the drawing room, but she wasted no time in pausing to greet Aunt Clementine. Ignoring all the rules of etiquette, she rushed straight up to the nursery, leaving Benedict standing awkwardly in the marbled entrance hall.
Marianne was out of breath by the time she reached the second floor, and she all but tripped over a rug on the gallery, but her pace never slowed.
She threw open the nursery door and burst into the familiar room, gazing about in desperate hope that she might find her beloved son playing with his toys.
But the nursery was defiantly empty. Toby’s toys were neatly stacked on the shelves. His small bed had been neatly made. The silence made her flesh crawl.
“Toby?” she called.
Andrews rushed through the doorway. “Milady. You have returned.”
“Where is Toby?” Marianne rounded on her maid as if she was personally responsible for his disappearance. “Tell me he is safe, please?” She put her hands to her cheeks, embarrassed by her outburst but still almost frantic with worry.
Andrews’s blue eyes were glassy with tears. “We’ve been looking for him all morning.”
Marianne felt her strength drain away and sat heavily down on the settee before she fell. “What do you mean?”
Andrews shook her head. Her usually tidy hair was coming out of its pins, as if she had dressed hurriedly. “Lady Sedgewick should be the one to tell you.”
Nausea twisted in Marianne’s stomach, reminding her of the breakfast she had so eagerly devoured. Her hands began to tremble. She folded them on her lap, summoning all the dignity she could muster.
“Lady Sedgewick is not here,” she quavered.
“Oh, but I am.” Clementine Sedgewick swept into the nursery. “And I have never been more relieved to see anyone. Marianne, we have all been very worried about you.”
Marianne thought she might faint away if she had to ask once more about Toby’s whereabouts. Mercifully, Benedict came to her rescue. He had followed her aunt into the nursery, looking tall and out of place in the domestic setting.
“It is an eventful tale, Lady Sedgewick, and one I should be glad to share at the appropriate time. But first, Lady Brewood needs to be assured of her son’s safety.”
Taffeta skirts rustling, Clementine sat down on the settee next to Marianne and took her hand.
Marianne looked down at her aunt’s perfectly manicured nails next to her dirty and ragged ones.
At any other time, she would have winced with shame.
But right now, she did not care. She did not even care that her skirts had tracked dust into the immaculate rooms of Fencham House.
Nor that she had arrived on the doorstep in crumpled clothing and with Benedict in tow, like some kind of debauched milk maid.
“Where is Toby?” she asked quietly.
“He’s gone, Marianne.” Clementine’s beautiful pace was pale, her eyes ringed with dark circles. “He was taken right from under our noses.”
The words hung heavily in the quiet nursery. Marianne felt the world stop turning.
“But how can that be?” Her voice came out in a whimper.
“We have the best men in London looking for him.” Clementine’s manner was typically brisk, but her words faltered as she reached the end of her statement and she squeezed Marianne’s hand tighter. “They will find him. They must.”
Marianne told herself to breathe. In a moment, surely all of this would start to make sense. She looked to Benedict for help.
As soon as their eyes met across the carpeted floor, he began to pace. “I will join the search,” he announced, decisively. “You have checked the gardens, yes?”
“Everywhere.” Clementine sat back on the sofa, looking exhausted. “The house, the gardens, the parks.” Her shoulders heaved. “Marianne, my dear, I’m so sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault,” Marianne answered automatically, but in truth she wanted to shriek and howl and blame someone—anyone—for this calamity.
“What about the nanny?” Benedict’s sharp eyes roved back and forth, as if searching every corner of the room.
“She has gone too,” Andrews answered when Clementine stayed silent.
“Poor woman,” whispered Clementine, as if to herself.
But Benedict was frowning. He paused by the window, his hands on his narrow hips. “Has she been with you long?”
Clementine waved a hand as if the question wearied her. “As long as Master Toby has been in residence here.”
“And she had references?”
“Of course.” Clementine arched an eyebrow.
“Forgive me.” Benedict offered a short bow of apology. “We should consider every angle.”
“Lord Benedict, I assure you, we already have considered every angle,” Clementine began. She took a breath as if to say more but was interrupted by a knock at the open door. “What is it?” she asked irritably.
A gangly hall boy came forward, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. “Beg pardon, milady. This came for you.” He held out a note.
“Bring it here.” Clementine took the folded paper and straightened it out with a flick of her wrist.
“What does it say?” Marianne strained for a better look, but Clementine angled her body away from her while she perused the contents.
“I’m afraid it is just as we feared.” Clementine’s voice was calm, but her hands trembled. “This is a ransom demand.”
Marianne’s stomach lurched. “For Toby?” she whispered.
“For Toby.” Her aunt gave a curt nod.
“Which means that he is safe,” Benedict interjected.
Marianne couldn’t sit still for a moment longer.
She rose to her feet and wrung her hands.
“We must pay it. We must get him back.” Unable to bear the considered expression of her aunt, she crossed to the window and looked out at the sun-drenched square and the well-dressed inhabitants going about their day as if nothing untoward had happened.
How could they stroll and smile when Toby was missing?
Marianne clutched her hands to her cheeks and turned to face the room. Benedict stood beside her aunt and was carefully reading the note. Clementine looked grave.
“We must pay their demands,” she repeated, aware that a note of hysteria had crept into her voice.
“That is one possibility, yes.” Clementine nodded.
“It is the only possibility.” Marianne was dangerously close to shrieking. “He is my son.”
Benedict closed the distance between them and took her hands in his warm ones. Until then, she had not been aware of how cold she had become. He chafed her chilled fingers and gazed meaningfully down at her. “Do you trust me?”
She blinked, bewildered by the question.
Benedict raised her fingers to his lips and asked again. “Do you trust me?”
Her gaze darted to her aunt, who was watching curiously from the sofa. Then to Andrews and the hall boy, both wide-eyed near the door. Dimly, she recognized that this public display of affection was something of a surprise to them all.
“Do you trust me with Toby?” Benedict clarified.
Tears brimmed in her eyes. Ever since Toby’s birth, she had borne the burden—and blessing—of responsibility for him. Victor had never been concerned by the fretting or fever of a squalling infant. Toby was hers and hers alone, and so too were the myriad joys and worries of parenting.
Was Benedict asking to take some of that load from her shoulders?
Her legs wobbled. “I think so,” she managed to say.
Benedict’s gaze never left her face. “Good, because I recognize this notepaper.” He held up the ransom demand.
Marianne frowned. “But there is nothing distinctive.”
“Here.” He pointed to the bottom corner, where faint lines formed a scrolling pattern that Marianne could not properly make out. “It is an emblem,” he explained.
She put a hand to her forehead and forced her voice to be steady. “The emblem is not upon this paper.”
“I know. But this paper has been pressed down over it. Perhaps when the kidnapper was writing the note.” Benedict’s gaze was determined. “Can you see the glove outline?”
She looked closer. “I guess.”
“It is the emblem of Fenwick’s Gymnasium.”
The name meant nothing to Marianne, but Clementine audibly tutted.
“You know it?” she asked her aunt.
“I know of it.” Clementine pursed her lips. “It is a place of fighting, gambling, and violence. No person of repute would cross the threshold.”
“On the contrary, madam, I promise that on any occasion, several men of great standing in the ton will be found lounging on the benches surrounding the boxing ring. But that is of no consequence.” Benedict paused.
“The proprietor also has private rooms upstairs which are rented out. I believe Toby may be held there.”
There was a dreadful pause while everyone considered this.
“But who would be behind such a plan?” Marianne whispered.
“I can answer that.” Clementine rose to her feet and came to stand by Marianne. For a brief moment, she looked toward the window as if wishing to remind herself that somewhere, normal life continued. “I believe it will be your brother-in-law, Edgar Chawton. He must have had this planned all along.”
Benedict spoke up, his voice loud and forceful in the nursery setting. “I thought the Bow Street Runners would have had him in check by now.”
“Apparently, he gave them the slip,” Clemetine quavered. “I’m so sorry, Marianne.”
Marianne’s mouth was dry. “How?”
“They had men inside and men watching the front of Medstead Hall. Nonetheless, he somehow managed to escape from the back.”
Hysteria swelled in Marianne’s chest. “He followed me through the hole in the hedge.”
“Sit down.” Strong arms guided her back to the sofa. Benedict hovered above her, concern writ large on his handsome features. “Can we get her something for shock?” he murmured to Andrews.
“Very good, milord.”