CHAPTER 25
Michael quickly got off his dun Hunter and looked up at the stylish townhouse in Grosvenor Square from the pavement. He carefully observed his surroundings and the perimeter as he’d been trained to do. Row should be nearby to keep an eye on Tomkin’s movements.
He clinched his jaw when worry and anticipation won over. The thought of her inside with Tomkin made his blood boil, but once again, he cooled his nerves. I’m going to kill you if you hurt her.
Walking up the front steps, he stopped at the door and reached out to take the brass knocker but something caught his eye. He leaned in. Above the knocker was a small brass bird affixed to the door and there was something written on it. He bent in closer to investigate. There right on the bird’s chest was a capital letter N. Too small to notice if one wasn’t looking for it. He’d seen this familiar insignia before, he thought with dread; Napoleon Bonaparte’s insignia. His suspicion was right on the mark and a deep sense of betrayal gutted into his veins once more.
Knock, knock, knock.
He waited, but no answer came.
Bang, bang, bang.
A few seconds later, Johnson, the butler, slowly opened the door, his bushy brows rose. “What can I do for you, Mr. Whitfield?”
“I need to speak with Emma.”
Johnson’s brows flattened, his lips pulled. “Miss Willoughby, sir, is indisposed.”
“Allow me in, Johnson. This is an emergency,” Michael barked. He would push his way in if he had to.
“Sir, if you would like to leave a card, I will be sure Miss Willoughby receives it.” The butler gazed at an onlooker, then at the man in front of him again.
Michael’s jaw clenched, his fists balling. Michael took another step forward and looked down at the butler who was half a foot shorter. “We can be civil or not, it’s up to you. Either way, I am not leaving until I see her, is that clear?” It took several seconds before Johnson moved aside to allow him passage.
Once inside the house, he took two steps at a time up the main stairway. Calling her name, he checked each room. When he finally entered Emma’s room, the dresser drawers were wide open. He ran into the adjoining dressing room. Empty. Calling out her name again, he stormed out of her room and searched the house, every room, one by one. As each second ticked by, sickness showered over him. Damn it. He was too late.
Too late.
Johnson entered the room where Michael was. “Sir, if you’d allow me to explain. I could have saved you the trouble. Miss Willoughby and Lord Tomkin have left the country. I am afraid they won’t be back anytime soon.”
Good God. Had she been a willing participant all along? Had she betrayed him after all they’d been through together? No time to think. “Where to?”
“I believe his lordship said France, sir.”
“When did they leave?”
“They departed three hours ago.”
“Which port?”
“I am not privy to that information, sir,” he said. “In fact, we are about to close down the house. We must get on with our duties. Please, if you’ll allow me to show you out….” The butler stood there, his hand gesturing for Michael to follow him.
Michael hesitated. Something wasn’t right. He felt it in his bones. He could not completely discount the possibility she’d been a willing participant in Tomkin’s scheme. He made his way to her room again and looked around to see if he’d missed anything. Any hints Emma had left for him, but he saw nothing.
“Sir?”
Michael hesitantly followed the butler to the foyer.
The butler watched Michael for several seconds, observing him. “If you would like to leave your card, I would be happy to pass it on to Miss Willoughby.”
“A card?” Michael cocked a brow. “I thought you said they won’t be back for a while?”
“Yes, yes, of course. That is correct, sir,” the butler said. “What I meant was when they return from France, I would be very happy to pass on your card to her when she returns.”
Johnson suddenly seemed tense. But Michael couldn’t decipher whether his uneasiness was due to deceit or something more benign. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me, Johnson?”
The butler shook his head. “I was merely trying to do what I can to assist you, sir. You seem very eager to get in touch with her.”
“Are you certain that is all?”
“Yes, sir,” the butler said. “Did you want to leave a card, sir?”
“No. And I won’t be back.” With that Michael stepped out of the house and the butler quickly closed the door with a click and locked it.
Michael mounted his dun Hunter and looked up at Emma’s window again. There he saw the butler looking down at him between the curtains before quickly drawing them shut. He reached inside his coat pocket and felt the four letter’s he’d found inside Geoffrey’s wooden box that he had dug up the night before. He intended to find Hansford, but first things first; he needed to check the passenger manifest at the London Port. If there were ships departing from London to France, he’d find them.
Looking up at the sky, dark clouds rolled in again. He kicked his horse into motion and trotted toward the port, quickly picking up speed.
* * *
Emma was strapped to a chair in the servant’s bedroom in the attic. Tomkin was standing by the door with a pistol, his ear pressed against it listening and waiting for Johnson’s return.
“Emma!”
With the faint sound of Michael’s voice below, excitement, hope and joy all melded together tightly in her chest. She wanted to scream, to alert him, but it was useless with a gag in her mouth.
“Premature, my dear girl.”
Not much later, she heard Johnson’s voice but she could not make out the words. Soon, the voices faded. Stairs creaked. Someone was coming. With each step, the wooden stairs squeaked on, until the footfalls ceased at the door. Her breath hitched, waiting, hoping it was Michael.
Disappointment ensued when Johnson’s voice alerted them to unlock the door. She pinched her eyes shut, held still by the utter disappointment. The old butler informed his lordship that Michael departed and didn’t plan to return.
Tomkin said, “Good. So Michael believed you when you told him we left for France?”
“Yes, my lord,” Johnson said.
No, no, no. The final blow of disappointment shook her.
She’d been naive. Too trusting.
Perhaps if she’d been more jaded and questioned her beliefs about the world around her, she wouldn’t be in this predicament. One thing was certain, Michael was right; there wasn’t anyone she could wholeheartedly trust in this world anymore. The one person she had trusted had betrayed her. And why shouldn’t Michael believe Johnson? From the start he’d been suspicious of her, questioning her motives. How could he so easily believe that she had betrayed him, her own country, and denied her own principles?
“Watch for Michael, he may be back,” Tomkin said to his butler. When the butler submissively nodded, he continued, “You have been loyal to me all these years, Johnson. I will make certain you are well taken care of once I am gone.”
“I am grateful for your generosity.” Johnson dutifully departed.
Tomkin plucked the rag out of her mouth. “Now that Michel is gone, we can get on with the plan. It will be a lot easier if you stop fighting me, my dear girl.”
“I will never accept this. I’d rather die than help you,” her voice trembled as she spoke.
“You may not understand now,” he said. “But I am doing this for us.”
She glared at him. “You are delusional.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk…,” Lord Tomkin said, shaking his head. “Just like your stubborn mother. She fought me too. And look where it got her.”
Emma was horrified. “She was beautiful and you killed her because of your jealousy and greed. Because she saw you for what you are. A murderer. You deserve to rot in hell.” She glared at him. For a moment she thought he would hit her again, but she held his gaze in defiance. By God, how did she not see the evil in him?
Tomkin untied her and forced her up and out of the attic. She nearly fell down the narrow wooden stairs when he shoved her forward. He pushed her again and she missed the last step, landing hard on her knees and hands. He yanked her up as if she were no better than an animal and forced her to follow him.
As soon as they entered his study, he clicked the door shut and locked it. Then he instructed her to stand in the corner of the room. “Where are you taking me?”
“You will get your answer soon enough.” He pointed the pistol at her. “Don’t move.”
She watched as Tomkin strategically placed his hand on the top right-hand corner of the wooden panel on the wall. With a quick push, it clicked open to reveal a hidden door. He pulled the door wide open to reveal a dark tunnel.
Tomkin opened the door wide. “After you, my dear.”
Quiet horror filled her belly. She looked in the dark corridor, the stench of sewer and stale air working its way to her. He waved his hand gesturing for her to step inside. She didn’t budge. If she went in there, all her hopes of being discovered would vanish. “Where does it lead?”
“No need to concern yourself with that,” he said. “I won’t keep you in here for long. But we must be cautious where Michael is concerned.”
She didn’t budge.
He wedged the barrel of his pistol on her back. “I don’t have all day.”
She hesitated, but stepped forward and looked into the tunnel again. The sound of little critters skittering across the floor caught her attention. She looked back at Tomkin and saw the pistol he was holding. From the look in his eyes, he wouldn’t think twice about dragging her in there if it meant accomplishing his mission. Ducking low, she stepped into the dark corridor, her captor tailing close behind her.
Then, all of a sudden, her world went completely dark.