Chapter 19 #2
Lady Alcott frowned, her gaze flicking between them. “I worry for you both. You look like death, and I mean that in the kindest possible way.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at Alcott’s mouth. “Thank you, my dear, but I could not sleep now even if I tried.”
“At least come and have some breakfast,” she urged. “You need sustenance if you are to think clearly.”
“I could agree to that—”
Alcott’s words were interrupted by a brisk voice from the doorway. “Good morning, gentlemen. Lady Alcott.”
Luca turned sharply. “Rupert,” he breathed, striding forward. “Did you find Martha?”
A faintly smug smile touched Rupert’s lips. “I did. She’s in Newgate.”
“Newgate?” Luca repeated, incredulous. “For what purpose?”
Rupert sauntered towards the armchair and sat down as if he had all the time in the world. “I spoke to Lord Matthew’s housekeeper and discovered something interesting. Were you aware that Martha’s surname is Dawlish?”
“It is?” Alcott asked, clearly startled.
Rupert nodded. “The housekeeper at Lord Matthew’s residence mentioned it. Apparently, Martha has a grandmother living in Cheapside.”
“She did,” Luca said, “but Miss Dawlish fled after I questioned her.”
“Indeed,” Rupert replied. “That led me to Martha’s father’s residence, where I caught her returning home at dawn. I spoke to her—kindly.”
Luca crossed his arms. “You and I must have different definitions of ‘kindly.’”
Rupert’s smirk deepened. “I didn’t torture her, if that’s what you’re implying. I merely persuaded her that speaking with me would be in her best interests.”
Alcott’s voice was tight with impatience. “And what did you discover?”
The humor drained from Rupert’s face, replaced by something far more grave. “Martha was planted at Lord Matthew’s townhouse after Luca began asking questions about The Chelmsford Asylum.”
“Good gads,” Luca muttered. “We were tricked.”
“That you were,” Rupert said, “but there is more. Martha’s main objective was to lead Luca to his death. She was going to come to you and pretend she knew where Miss Winslow was being held, all in an attempt to have you ambushed and killed.”
“She admitted to that?” Luca asked.
“Yes, but she revealed something valuable in exchange for her life.” He paused, letting the moment stretch. “I know where Miss Winslow is being held.”
Luca’s heart lurched. “Where?” he demanded, barely managing to keep his composure.
Rupert grimaced. “The Chelmsford Asylum.”
Lady Alcott gasped, her hand flying to her throat.
Luca’s pulse thundered in his ears. “And how, precisely, did you get Martha to tell you that?”
“I convinced her it was in her best interests to speak the truth,” Rupert said. “I may have also implied that I’d ruin everyone and everything she loved if she didn’t.”
Luca didn’t waste another breath. He strode towards the door. “We go now.”
Alcott raised a hand. “Hold on. We need a plan before we storm an asylum full of guards and madmen.”
“I have a plan,” Luca snapped. “Save Charlotte and the rest be damned.”
“That is not a plan; that is suicide,” Alcott said sharply. “You’ll do her no good if you’re dead.”
Luca exhaled heavily, his hands curling into fists. He knew Alcott was right, but the thought of waiting another moment—another hour—was unbearable. “So what do you propose?”
“We gain access to the asylum,” Alcott said, his tone steadier now. “We’ll go through Lord Matthew. His wife is confined there. We can offer to accompany him on a visit.”
Luca frowned. “Matthew left his wife there to die.”
“He doesn’t know that we know that,” Alcott countered. “He’ll take us, if we phrase it properly. It’s less suspicious than sneaking in or bribing an employee.”
“I doubt the man will agree,” Luca muttered.
“Oh, he’ll agree,” Rupert said darkly. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Luca gave a single curt nod. “Then let’s not waste any further time.” He swept out of the study, his friends following.
Once they stepped outside, Rupert gestured towards the waiting coach. “I brought my carriage. I thought it would save us considerable time.”
“Good thinking,” Alcott said, climbing in after him.
The moment the coach pulled into the busy London street, silence fell among them. Luca sat forward, elbows braced on his knees, his leg bouncing uncontrollably. Every rattle of the wheels grated on his nerves.
He could picture Charlotte—terrified, alone, perhaps calling for him—and he cursed himself for not finding her sooner.
Rupert’s voice broke through the heavy quiet. “We’ll save her. Martha swore she was still alive.”
Luca lifted his gaze, skepticism shadowing his features. “And you believe her?”
“I do,” Rupert said simply. “She was broken by the time I delivered her to Newgate.”
The coach wheels rattled to a stop and Luca had no patience for the footman’s formalities. He stepped down before the step was lowered, and they headed towards Lord Matthew’s door. London air bit at his cheeks. The smell of coal and horse lingered in the close street as they crossed the threshold.
Luca reached the main door first and pounded on it. When the door swung open, a dark-haired butler bowed. “How may I help you?”
“We wish to speak to Lord Matthew,” Luca demanded.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but that is impossible,” the butler replied, apologetic and officious all at once. “Lord Matthew is at breakfast and does not wish to be disturbed.”
Luca did not have the time to placate the butler. “He will see us. Inform him that Lord Luca Dexter, Lord Alcott, and Lord Rupert need to speak to him at once.”
“Very well. Wait here.” The butler began to close the door, a small, polite motion of deflection.
Rupert planted his foot in the threshold and stopped it. “We would prefer to wait in the entry hall,” he said.
The butler’s face flushed. “My lord! This is most undignified,” he protested.
“I do not care a whit,” Rupert responded, shoving the door wide and brushing past him.
Luca followed, his long strides echoing on the marble floor. The entry hall smelled faintly of beeswax and roses, an incongruous scent given the tension thickening the air. A long clock ticked somewhere nearby, the steady rhythm gnawing at Luca’s already frayed nerves.