Chapter Twenty-Two
“Wait a minute.” Con was shocked that Jemmy could have discovered the information so quickly. “How do you know that?”
“Weren’t hard.” The lad shrugged. “I knocked on the doors, quiet-like, until a woman answered. Then I asked her name.”
He dragged his hand over his face. So much for not taking stupid risks. “What if one of the miscreants had answered the door or heard you?”
“They’re both down in the taproom.” Jemmy gave him a saucy grin.
“Very well.” Charlotte was right about the boy. “Now all we have to do is figure out a way to get her out of here.”
“Got all night for that. They ain’t”—he slid a glance at Charlotte—“I mean they aren’t coming for her till morning. I heard them say so.”
“I do not want to leave her here all night,” Charlotte said. “What if something happens and they come for her earlier? If he knows his accomplice was caught, he might have told Miss Betsy, and she will arrive as soon as she is able.”
Jemmy looked around Con to answer his mistress. “I don’t think that’ll happen, my lady. The landlady says they always get left overnight to think on their wickedness. I asked what that was, but she told me I was too young to know.”
“Wickedness!” Charlotte spat the word. “If Mrs. Crowe only knew how she was helping perpetuate wickedness.”
“There is no moon tonight. I doubt the woman would want to make a journey in the dark,” Con said, hoping to lessen Charlotte’s concerns.
“That may be true, but I shall not have Miss Cloverly frightened more than she is.” She glanced at Jemmy, her brows drawn together. “Go back downstairs and try to keep anyone from coming up. And if someone does get near the stairs, make a loud noise.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Oh, there is one more thing,” Charlotte said. “Maisy will be bringing up the tea and water. Perhaps you can tell her that I’m resting and do not wish to be disturbed.”
“I’ll do that, my lady.”
Con watched the lad grin before he scampered down the stairs. At least someone was having a good time.
When they reached Miss Cloverly’s door, Charlotte gave him two of her hair pins, and he began trying to pick the lock.
After what seemed like several minutes, but could really only have been a few moments, she asked, “Are you sure you do not want me to try?”
“You didn’t have much luck the last time.” He knew his answer sounded surly, but they didn’t have all day, and he would make it up to her later. Not only that, but he was more than a little embarrassed that it was taking him so long to accomplish what thieves seem to do so easily.
“I’ve been practicing. I think I know the trick now.” Her tone was sweet, but he thought he detected a thread of steel beneath the honey.
“I have too.” Bloody hell. “Why the deuce is this lock so hard?”
Charlotte leaned over his shoulder. “Most likely, they have not oiled the tumblers in a while.”
What in the devil had she been up to? He eyed her suspiciously. “How do you know that?”
She gave him an exasperated look, as if he’d accused her of doing something untoward. “From my housekeeper. She saw me practicing on one of the attic doors.”
That would teach him to question her. He sat back on his haunches. “So how do we solve the problem?”
Charlotte drew out a small copper bird from her pocket.
“I thought ladies didn’t have pockets anymore. Is that a peacock?”
“I had them made, and it is an oil horn in the shape of a peacock. I borrowed it from our housekeeper.” She stuck the long beak inside the lock. “Now try it.”
“No.” It was time he stopped acting like a stupid male, as his youngest sister would say. “Please.” Con stood and handed the pins to her. “You found the solution. You shall do the honors.”
She graced him with a smile so full of joy he blinked and vowed to find ways to make her smile more often. A moment later, the tumblers clicked, and Charlotte swung the door open.
“Oh, no!” She rushed over to the young woman who’d been gagged and tied to a chair. “However were you able to answer Jemmy?” A very feminine noise answered them. The child had gone on the tone of the sounds the young woman had made. “I understand.”
While they untied Miss Cloverly, Charlotte kept up a low, steady stream of talk. “I am Lady Charlotte Carpenter. My family’s home is a few houses down from where your aunt works. This is Lord Kenilworth, my betrothed. We’ve come to save you. Other than being abducted and tied up, have they harmed you?”
This last question came as the gag fell away. “No, my lady, but I’d like to do a deal of harm to them.”
“I do not blame you at all. We were able to capture one of the blackguards.”
“I’m glad to hear it. The other one thought he got away.”
That would give them some much needed time. “He would have if it hadn’t been for one of the Great Danes,” Con added. “The dog caught him and held him down until the rest of us could get there.”
“There.” Miss Cloverly rubbed her arms, probably to get the feeling back in them. “I told my aunt they were useful. And sweet too.”
“Yes, they are,” Charlotte said with feeling. “Daisy, the female, will be having puppies soon. Perhaps you’d like one of them.”
“If they didn’t eat her out of house and home,” Con muttered to himself.
“Come. Let us take you to our room.” Charlotte helped the woman up and said to him, “Will you relock the door?”
“Certainly. I’ll join you soon.”
No sooner had the lock snicked closed, than the sounds of a coach coming into the yard reached him.
Doors opened and shut. Jemmy appeared at the top of the stairs and announced in a loud whisper, “Lord and Lady Merton are here.”
They might be of assistance in getting Miss Cloverly out of this place. It would be much easier to deal with the villains and the tavern keeper and his staff with more help. “Tell them to come up.”
Jemmy nodded and ran back down the stairs. Not more than a minute later, Merton and his lady were striding down the narrow corridor toward him.
“Is she safe?” Lady Merton asked, concern writ on her features.
“Yes. Charlotte is with her. We must decide how best to proceed.”
Her ladyship swept past him. “We shall, but in the chamber where we’ll not be overheard. It is at the end, correct?”
“Yes.” With his long strides Con managed to get to the door first. Why that was important, he didn’t know. Only that it was. “Charlotte.” He tapped on the door. “The Mertons are here.”
The bolt drew back, the door opened, and Charlotte and Lady Merton flew into each other’s arms.
“Dotty, I thought you were going to remain in Richmond.” Charlotte took her friend’s hand, leading her into the room.
For a second, Con felt forgotten, then she caught his gaze, her blue eyes sparkling with delight.
“We decided you might need us. There was no knowing how many scoundrels would be here.” Lady Merton grinned. “It could be helpful to have two marquises instead of just one.”
From the corridor, he heard a gruff laugh before Merton commented, “Intimidation and access are the only uses she has for my title.”
Con might say the same about Charlotte. His title meant nothing at all to her. Until he had admitted he’d been wrong about his mistress and had tried to make reparations, she’d had as little as possible to do with him.
He had never wanted a woman who would marry him only for his title, but, until he’d met her, he had considered it to be one of his more desirable attributes.
“Cousin, please come in.” She stood aside. “Kenilworth reserved a parlor downstairs, but I do not wish to leave Miss Cloverly alone.”
“Of course,” Merton said, entering the small chamber. “I suppose we must decide how we’re going to get her out of here.”
“Indeed.” His wife pulled a face. “I’ve looked at the windows, but there is no way for her to climb down without being seen.”
“I say we simply take her out,” Merton said. “Our outriders and I are armed.”
Con brightened. Simple and straightforward. It also might mean he would be able to hit someone, which, after seeing how they had tied Miss Cloverly up and distressed his betrothed, he desperately wanted to do.
“I suppose that would work, my love.” The lady glanced at her husband a bit dubiously.
“But, as with spiriting her out of here, that does not net us Miss Betsy,” Charlotte said, effectively quashing the idea.
“Or any of her tools,” Con said, trying to think of a way to accomplish all their goals even if it meant he wouldn’t get to fight anyone.
Charlotte began to pace from one end of the chamber to the other. After a few moments she stopped. “Jemmy.” The lad turned, giving her his complete attention. “Did the landlady appear to be concerned about Miss Cloverly’s behavior?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“They were most likely told the same type of story that was told about me.” Charlotte’s blue gaze once again held Con’s. “Why do we not try to make them our allies? We shall tell them what Miss Betsy is really up to, and recruit their help in arresting the men who brought Miss Cloverly here and capturing Miss Betsy when she arrives.”
“That might actually work,” he responded. They would require a backup plan. “And if they do not believe us?”
“In that event”—Charlotte gave him a wicked look—“you, Merton, and his servants will simply have to fight our way out.”
She was a minx when she wanted to be. Con’s life had definitely taken a turn for the better when he had met her. “Jemmy,” Con said to the boy, “please ask the landlord and his wife to attend us.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And Jemmy,” Charlotte said, “make sure Lord Kenilworth’s carriage is harnessed, and tell Lord Merton’s outriders to go into the taproom and prepare themselves for trouble.”
The lad grinned widely. Well, at that age, Con would have thought this was a great deal of fun as well.
Merton lounged against the wall on one side of the door, and Con took the other side. Miss Cloverly was seated on the bed. Lady Merton and Charlotte sat in chairs pulled next to the bed, flanking Miss Cloverly. Both ladies drew out their pistols, placing them in their laps under their reticules.
A few moments later, a knock came on the door. “My lord,” the landlord called. “Your lad said you wished to see me and my wife.”
He nodded to Merton, who opened the door. Once the innkeeper and his wife were in the room, Con closed it.
“How did she—” The man started, his eyes round as saucers.
Charlotte cut him off. “She was abducted from the park in front of the house where her aunt is employed. I shall tell you everything, but first we must introduce ourselves.”
Before she could say another word, such as tell them she was unwed and in a bedchamber with an equally unwed gentleman, Con said, “Mr. and Mrs. Crowe, I am the Marquis of Kenilworth. This”—he pointed to Merton—“is the Marquis of Merton. These”—he motioned to Lady Merton and Charlotte—“are our ladies,” he said, carefully skirting Charlotte’s marital status. Other than closing her eyes for a moment, she didn’t make any indication that he was playing fast and loose with the truth. “As you were told, this young woman was kidnapped. We happened to be in the square with my wife’s brothers and sisters when we saw the commotion. Naturally, we followed the coach in the hope that we could rescue her.”
Con glanced at Charlotte and she continued the tale. “Our understanding is that a person by the name of Miss Betsy may have told you that Miss Cloverly was running away from either her parents or her husband.”
The landlady nodded. “We was told she didn’t like the man her parents wanted her to wed.”
“That is not true. In fact, she was visiting her aunt.”
Miss Cloverly nodded in confirmation. “I’m getting married in two weeks to the son of the man who owns the largest haberdashery in Luton. My family owns the best fabric warehouse in the town, and our parents have planned for us to marry since we were children.” A blush rose from her neck to her cheeks. “My Ben is also the handsomest man around. I wouldn’t have any reason not to marry him.”
The landlord’s wife opened and closed her mouth a few times, yet seemed unable to speak.
Lady Merton glanced at Charlotte and shook her head. “My husband and I, as well as Lady Kenilworth’s brother”—that threw them from the frying pan into the fire. But Charlotte hadn’t even blinked—“destroyed Miss Betsy’s brothel in London. Somehow, she escaped the law before reaching Newgate.”
By this point, Mrs. Crowe looked close to having apoplexy. She plopped onto the end of the bed, fanning herself with her apron. “I never thought . . . She looks and acts like such a lady, such a good person.”
Leaning over, Charlotte patted the woman’s hand. “You are not the only one she has deceived. We need to get this young woman to safety and call the magistrate to arrest the men who brought her here. We must also capture Miss Betsy so that she can no longer prey on other innocents.”
Mr. Crowe, who had been silent, finally said, “Just tell us what we can do, me lords. Can’t have my inn get a bad reputation.”
“The first thing,” Con said, “is to contact the magistrate. If you tell us where we may locate him, one of Lord Merton’s servants will fetch him. If you have a cellar or if there is a gaol nearby, we can detain the blackguards until then.”
“Nearest gaol is Richmond. That’s where Sir John, the magistrate, is too. I got a cellar we can lock them in until he gets here.”
Charlotte exchanged glances with Dotty before looking at Con. She had been a bit worried that the Crowes would either not believe their tale, or not want to become involved.
This was going much better than expected. Then again, not everything in life should be difficult. “It is a shame we do not know where Miss Betsy lives or her real name.”
The landlady cleared her throat. “I might be able to help with that.”
All of them turned their eyes to her. This was almost too much to hope for. “How?”
Mrs. Crowe ran a hand over her apron, smoothing it. “Most of the time, one of the men can read and write, and I just give his letter to our stable boy to post. This time, the man who brought—brought . . .” She glanced at Miss Cloverly.
“Miss Cloverly,” she supplied.
Mrs. Crowe nodded her thanks. “Who brought Miss Cloverly handed me a letter to be sent to Miss Betsy.” By this time they were all, even her husband, leaning toward Mrs. Crowe as if she was telling the most interesting story they’d ever heard. “The name on the letter was Mrs. E. Bottoms, and it was addressed in care of the White Swan in Twickenham.”
“Twickenham isn’t far at all,” Merton said. “Just a few miles.” He looked at Con. “We could be there and back in under two hours.”
“And have Miss Betsy under lock and key,” Con mused.