Chapter Fifteen
Cassie, Millie knew, would do everything she could to keep Millie from pursuing her plan. Cassie was simply too cautious to take the kind of risk Millie had determined to take. And Cassie was not in love with Neville.
Millie begged Cassie’s maid to wait a quarter hour before announcing that Millie had gone.
Then, she had Gerard lead her quietly down the servants’ stair and out through the kitchens.
Once in the mews, she strode with purpose, pushing her way down toward Asquith House, as the wind whined blustery gusts through the midday cold.
In a sunnier, warmer season, someone might have noticed her as she passed. But on a gray winter day, no one paid her the least mind. Head down, cloak clutched, she had transformed into just another harried footman about his employer’s business.
A short while later, she reached the mews gate of Asquith House.
With a pang, she remembered how she and Eliza had studied the mechanism until they’d learned to silently release the latch from both inside and outside the gate, a talent as handy then as now.
Using a pin she’d secreted into her pocket, she made quick work of the lock and then slipped into the back garden.
She’d brought along some coin, but she hoped she would be able to convince the head groom to hand over Asquith’s handsome new horse without a bribe. He might. She and Asquith had gone riding in the park on any number of occasions; the groom could assume permission on Asquith’s part.
Then again, she’d never taken one of Asquith’s horses out on her own.
And, of course, there was a chance the groom had not yet forgiven any of the Wainwright girls for the time Eliza stole his greatcoat for her own solitary escape into the night last winter. For weeks after he’d mumbled about girl scent whenever he’d handed one of them into Lady Asquith’s carriage.
Hesitantly, Millie opened the door to the stables. Inside, the horses nickered and whinnied, acknowledging her presence, but she didn’t see a single stable hand. Odd.
“Jasper?” She called up the stairs to the area where the stable hands slept. “Is anyone here?”
A great thump followed, then whispered voices. Two voices.
One of them not male.
Well—she shrugged—if the groom was having an affair, at least she’d have a lever to pry him into cooperation.
“I’ll just wait down here,” she called. She turned on her heel and wandered over to the new horse’s stall. “Hey there,” she softened her voice as she slowly approached. “Remember me?”
The horse’s ears went back. She took that as permission to scratch the beast’s cheek. His calmly blinking eyes indicated a willingness to listen.
“I’m going to need your help, but things could get dangerous,” she said. “What do you say?”
The horse nuzzled her hand. As testament to the quick bond she’d made, the horse remained focused on Millie even as a thunder of footsteps sounded on the staircase.
“Ho there!” Asquith called out. “Step back from my—” He skidded to a stocking-footed stop. “Millie?”
“Manny,” Millie corrected, with a roughened, lowered voice. She bowed. “Newest under-groom in the Harbury household.”
Though Asquith remained frozen, another, lighter set of footsteps clattered toward the stairs but then stopped abruptly. All Millie could see was the swish of a dirty petticoat.
“For shame, Asquith.” Millie shook her head. “Lenora is going to be devastated.”
A squeak sounded from the petticoated mystery woman.
“This isn’t…” Asquith glanced over his shoulder. “I mean, I can explain—”
“Why your open waistcoat is on inside out?” Millie interrupted dryly.
Asquith cursed as he pulled off the garment.
“Fortunately for you, I neither need, nor have time for, an explanation—”
Asquith sighed in relief.
“—at present,” she added, with a menacing glance. She’d truly thought Asquith secretly cared for her sister! But confronting him would have to wait. “Neville has gone missing. Abducted, I believe. I’m going after him.”
“Devil you are!” Asquith replied. “What makes you think you can ride off willy-nilly in an attempt at a rescue?”
“I’m not riding off willy-nilly,” Millie replied curtly. “I’m on my way to solicit the help of a Bow Street Runner Neville hired.” And then she was going to attempt a rescue.
“If all you need to do is send a message to Bow Street, why attempt to steal my horse?”
“Borrow, not steal,” Millie corrected. “And the Runner isn’t in London. Mr. Dixon is staying a few miles outside Brighton. Or at least that’s what Gerard believes.”
“Gerard? Neville’s valet?”
Millie nodded.
“I think you had better explain,” Asquith replied.
She wasn’t sure how much Neville had told anyone about John, so she kept things simple. “Neville learned about disreputable parties being held at a hunting lodge, a lodge I believe belongs to Willard’s family.” She patted her greatcoat pocket. “I have the address here.”
Asquith’s face darkened. “If Willard is involved, Neville wouldn’t want you anywhere near him.” He held out his hand. “I’ll go. Give me the address.”
Another squeak sounded from the stairs.
“You can come if you wish, though it sounds like your ladybird objects. But”—she increased her volume to cover his protestation—“if you think I’m going to stay behind, you’re mad.”
“Not my ladybird,” Asquith said under his breath.
“Right now, Neville is all that matters,” Mille replied.
“Right.” Asquith frowned. “You said Dixon was somewhere outside Brighton. Even forgoing a carriage, the ride there will take hours.”
“Five, if I’m lucky.”
“You’re not going.”
“Why shouldn’t I be the one? I can outride you any day—”
“Devil you can!”
“—And I’m a better shot.”
Millie heard a feminine gasp from the top of the stairs.
“If needed,” Millie added. Murder was not on her preferred plan. Or at least that’s what she wanted that stranger to think!
“Asquith,” she kept her tone reasonable, “you can keep me from borrowing your horse, but you cannot stop me from renting one.”
“I can march you straight into my mother.”
“And I can tell her you’ve been cavorting with staff in the stables!”
Asquith glanced over his shoulder. “What is it with you Wainwrights and blackmail?”
Millie frowned. “What do you mean?”
Asquith buried his fingers in his hair, scowling furiously. He looked as if he were one step away from implosion, and Millie didn’t think she was the only cause.
“One way or another, I’m going to that lodge.” Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. Angry tears. Heartbroken tears. Tears of determination. “I will not lose him. Do you understand?”
“I do, actually.” Asquith let his hand fall. “I will come with you.”
“No!”
The single, pained word had come from the woman on the stairs. Whoever the woman was, she had fallen for Asquith as hard as Lenora had.
Asquith winced. “Millie, would you…ah…”
“Be quick,” Millie replied.
She let herself into the stall and began brushing down the horse. She listened hard, but, at first, could not understand any of the furious, whispered exchange.
Then, Asquith said, “You will—or the deal is over.”
The woman growled in response.
Millie frowned. That growl had been familiar. Lenora wouldn’t. She couldn’t! She glanced up the stairs, but the petticoat had disappeared.
Asquith returned, looking furiously harassed. “Don’t ask.”
“Oh,” she widened her eyes, “I will be asking. But first, we save Neville. We’re running out of time.”
“Right,” he replied, grimly pursing his lips. “Let’s go.”
Working quickly, silently, and in tandem, they packed saddle bags with firearms and other supplies. Millie tracked each breath—slowly in, slowly out—attempting to preserve a hunter’s calm. Willard had tried to damage John. Willard had tried to take her virtue.
Willard would not take her husband.
She, Asquith and Mr. Dixon would thwart Willard’s plans. If there were truth to the rumors about other young women, she would make sure they, too, were rescued. Most importantly, she would then tell her husband she loved him.
Only after, would she hold Asquith’s feet to the fire.
She’d been sure, so sure, Asquith returned her sister’s affection and was only holding back because he was her guardian. She’d never been so disappointed to learn she was wrong.
*
Neville listened, but all he could hear in the growing gloom was the slight whistle of wind through some unseen gap somewhere along the barn wall. Mark had driven the cart directly into this putrid-scented building, lifted him from the bales and then tied him to an iron ring set into the wall.
A ring meant to tether an animal.
Surprisingly, the worst part of being bound in a dark, cold barn without any idea what horrible fate was to come was not the discomfort, nor the recrimination, nor even the fear. What made the whole thing unbearable was the endless waiting.
The mind, Neville supposed, could only tolerate a fixed amount of panic before ennui dulled the senses. Given the circumstances, Neville’s increasing boredom made him feel disconnected from reality. Death might be imminent. He cared, of course.
Then again, some part of him did not.
He’d long wearied of wondering what he would have done differently.
Wearied, too, of trying to devise a way out of his situation.
The ties were secure. No one came when he called.
And those people he had seen since that cursed footman chained him here had been disinclined to help.
There was little hope where his flitting mind could land.
Earlier in the afternoon, a series of young women had passed through the barn. One had brought his food, another had come to clear it away, and a third had changed the bucket they’d brought for him to relieve himself.
The final young woman had even adjusted his clothing so he could tend his unmentionable needs—a humiliating experience. More disturbing still, she’d done so quite as if this was not the first time she’d taken on the task.