Chapter Fifteen
It was hard climbing a steep ladder and holding a lantern at the same time, but Jake knew he must maintain a firm grasp on it or fumble about in the dark when he reached the loft; an easy target for anyone lying in wait above his head. Clouds covered the quarter moon, the street lighting did not reach this building, and he wouldn’t be able to see a thing through the small windows in that loft without his trusty lantern.
Sighing, Jake climbed up another step, placing both feet on the rung and pausing to listen. He couldn’t sense any danger but if someone was up there, they were hardly likely to advertise the fact. He tested each rung before placing his full weight on it, wary of traps, but the ladder appeared sturdy. He climbed two thirds of the way up, his breathing slow and even, until the top of his head reached the edge of the loft. He paused, listening to deathly silence, then lifted the lantern and peered into the space that spanned the back half of the entire warehouse.
Nothing moved.
Even so, there were any number of places a person could be hiding, waiting to ambush him. They must have heard him coming, and had had plenty of time to prepare. In their position Jake would simply have thrown the ladder to the ground when Jake was halfway up it and he felt reassured that they had not done so. It was still eerily quiet and Jake was sure he would have heard breathing, or the slightest movement, if anyone was actually concealed behind the piles of empty crates and assorted debris. All he did hear was wind whistling around the eaves and the occasional voice drifting up from the river a few yards away.
He pulled himself into the loft and lifted the lantern high, finding what he expected to find on one corner. A truckle bed and evidence that someone had been sleeping in that space; quite recently too since there was no sign of rodents having moved in.
‘What do we have here?’ he asked aloud, even though it was blatantly obvious.
He pulled the bedding aside, disappointed to find nothing that implied Sir Hubert had definitely been the bed’s occupant. For all he knew, the lame night watchman might live there; expect Jake thought he would have trouble climbing a ladder with his disability. Jake scratched his head, a feeling of unease gripping him when he realised there was nothing at all of a personal nature in that space; not even any clothing. Sir Hubert had not left home with a change of clothing; Lady Grantley would have mentioned the fact if he had. Even so, no man could live for over two weeks without even a change of linen, could he? Certainly not a man of Sir Hubert’s ilk who maintained high standards despite his inability to pay for them.
A thorough search produced no papers, books, or clues of any kind as to Sir Hubert’s whereabouts. If he had been living here, it was obvious that he no longer was. This expedition had been a massive waste of time.
Jake was back outside, the door to the warehouse one again locked, when Parker came into view, walking slowly beside the night watchman. The two men shook hands and parted company at the door to the warehouse. Parker waited until his new friend had disappeared inside before joining Jake.
‘Anything?’ he asked.
‘Someone has been living in the loft of that warehouse,’ Jake replied, ‘but is no longer there. It must have been Sir Hubert because your lame friend wouldn’t be able to climb that steep ladder.’
Parker grunted as the two of them made their way back to the main thoroughfare, where they were more likely to find a cab.
‘Norris, the watchman, had never met Granville until he returned from Italy,’ he told Jake. ‘He doesn’t have a good word to say for Sir Hubert or Grenville’s business practises. Reckons they’re living on borrowed time and, in his words, are tighter than a duck’s arse.’
Jake chuckled. ‘That place is almost empty, so what you say does not surprise me. You don’t need to be a genius to see that they lack orders.’
‘Norris was employed by Sir Hubert about a year ago as night watchman. Then, get this, a little over two weeks ago, Sir Hubert told him he wanted him working the day shift, even though he’s got a twisted leg and can’t do any heavy lifting.’
‘That would be when Sir Hubert started living there, I imagine. Your friend Norris might not be able to climb ladders, but he would know if someone was up there right enough and would want to know why. Grantley, on the other hand, doesn’t want anyone to know his business. When did he ask Norris to resume the night shift?’
‘A week ago.’
‘About the time Granville returned from Italy?’
‘Precisely. If Sir Hubert was living there he wouldn’t want his partner to know it, any more than he wanted Norris to be aware of his activities.’
‘Norris has actually seen Grantley?’ Jake asked, aware it would be the first actual sighting of the rogue since his magical disappearance.
‘Yeah, that’s what he said.’
‘Well, at least now we know why we couldn’t find him. No one would look for a gentleman of Grantley’s ilk in this place,’ Jake said, nodding towards the warehouse.
‘Norris didn’t take kindly to be dragged to that tavern under false pretences,’ Parker said. ‘He takes his duties seriously. Says he needs the employment and although he don’t like his masters, he’s loyal to a fault. I tried to ask Norris a few oblique questions about where his masters lived but he knew nothing; or if he does, he ain’t saying. He’s an old soldier, but got his leg caught in a tiger trap in India helping to put down a revolt, and no one wants to employ a lame man.’
‘Except people who don’t want him asking too many questions. I mean, I’m the first to sympathise with his situation but how can a one-legged man chase intruders? Makes you wonder.’ Jake hailed a cab and it rattled to a halt. He gave the Grosvenor Square address, the two men climbed inside and the conveyance moved off with a sharp crack of the jarvey’s whip.
‘I could only get him to have one drink,’ Parker said. ‘Once he realised it was a ruse he got annoyed and said he had to get back. If he could have walked any faster he’d have caught you in there.’
‘An honest man, eh? Well, there’s a turn up, especially since Grantley has done nothing to earn his loyalty. He probably pays him a pittance and expects him to be grateful. How did you explain Grantley’s non-appearance?’
‘I played dumb.’
Jake chuckled. ‘That shouldn’t have been too hard for you.’
Parker sent Jake a scathing look. ‘Told him I worked with a maid in a big house who asked me to deliver a message from Sir Hubert to the man guarding his warehouse. I described Molly and Norris nodded.’
‘Not so dumb then.’ Jake clapped Parker’s shoulder. ‘Did he know her?’
‘He must do. He said that would be Molly, but when I asked him where he’d seen her, he downed his drink and said he had to be getting back to his duties.’
‘So, we now know for sure that Molly’s up to her grubby little neck in this and we also know that Grantley’s still in England.’ Jake rubbed his chin between his gloved fingers. ‘The question is, where is he now?’
‘I honestly don’t think Norris knows. Sir Hubert is cunning as a fox. Well, he has to be, I suppose, given his circumstances. He must know that half the world’s looking for him; most of whom he owes money to.’
‘We shall just have to hope that Olivia has heard something. It goes against the grain to do business with blackmailers but a child’s life is at stake. So, we will just have to give Lady Marchant’s letter to Grantley, get Tom safely restored to his mother, and then ensure that Sir Hubert pays for his misdeeds.’
Parker nodded. ‘I had a feeling you might take that attitude,’ he said.
҉
Olivia stared at Molly; or at least a young woman who looked facially identical to the prim miss who took care of Olivia’s clothing and needs, maintaining an air of Christian martyrdom, silently disapproving of everything Olivia did. But this Molly was transformed into a confidant female in her own right; one who fixed Olivia with a look of searing contempt, her features rendered ugly by a combination of envy and spite. How had Olivia not noticed that the girl was a hollow sham who resented having a sought-after position as a lady’s maid and hankered for something more, not caring how she went about getting it? She had been with Olivia for two whole years and it was only recently that she had started to have doubts about Molly’s integrity, which gave Olivia a whole host of reasons to doubt her own judgement.
‘Come along then, madam. We ain’t got all day.’
‘I am not going anywhere with you until you assure me that Tom is all right.’
‘He’s fine.’ She paused, her expression vindictive. ‘For now.’
Olivia shuddered at her steely tone; convinced now that Molly would harm Tom out of spite if Olivia tried to get the better of her. She could easily do so, of course. Molly did not know everything about Olivia and was unaware of her skill at hand to hand combat. All she knew was that her mistress was proficient with a rapier; one of her many sources of disapproval. However, overpowering Molly was out of the question; at least until Tom was safely restored to her.
‘I cannot leave the house,’ she said. ‘One of Lord Torbay’s servants will prevent me if I attempt it.’
‘You are the mistress here. Exert your authority.’
‘I am a guest.’
Molly sent Olivia a scathing look. ‘Is that what they’re calling it this week?’
Olivia was now well aware that Molly was in no position to cast aspersions upon Olivia’s character but refrained from saying so. ‘It is obvious that you timed your return to coincide with Lord Torbay’s absence,’ she said instead, ‘but you have overlooked the possibility that someone from his household will follow us if I insist upon going out. I feel sure he has left strict instructions to that effect.’
‘Because he adores you.’ Molly rolled her eyes. ‘Every male on the planet is entranced by the beauty and fragility of Mrs Olivia Grantley, falsely accused of murder and rescued at the eleventh hour by a dashing earl.’ Molly sniffed disdainfully. ‘If you looked like a battle axe everyone would have assumed you were guilty and left you to your fate.’ Molly subjected Olivia’s person to an insolent perusal. ‘Ask me, your hands ain’t completely clean and your conscience ain’t clear neither. You might not have done the deed but what’s to say that desperation didn’t put Mr Grantley in danger’s path in order to keep you in the manner he thought you deserved.’
Which, Olivia thought, was a telling statement and went to show just how little Molly actually knew about the real situation at the time of Marcus’s murder. What she did know—half-truths and outright lies—had obviously been fed to her by Hubert, and the silly girl had accepted it all as gospel.
‘If you say so,’ Olivia replied.
‘Don’t treat me like a simpleton!’ Olivia’s refusal to show fear or anger, or to enter into discussion of any sort with Molly, preferring to maintain a dignified distance between them, infuriated the girl. ‘Of course your husband wanted to live up to your expectations, just as your lover is trying to protect you now. Don’t imagine we didn’t anticipate that he would.’ Molly tossed her head and smirked at Olivia. ‘But we won’t allow that to keep you from Master Tom, will we now? We shall just have to sneak down the servants’ stairs and out the back door. Don’t worry, I am familiar with the route. Now go and put those damned breeches on. Oh,’ she added casually, ‘and collect Lady Marchant’s letters, too.’
Olivia could not, she realised, but it was probably not a good idea to tell Molly they were locked in Jake’s safe.
‘They are downstairs, in Lord Torbay’s library. I will go and fetch them.’
Molly laughed. ‘I already told you not to treat me like a fool. You’d love the opportunity to warn them downstairs that I’ve pulled the wool over the eyes of the lot of you and, in truth, I’d like to see their prim faces when you do.’ Molly puffed out her chest. ‘But, that’s not possible so we’ll go down together and get those letters.’
That would have to do, Olivia decided. Reed was bound to be hovering; if not he then someone else. Olivia would give them a sign, somehow. It would seem odd that she and Molly had ventured downstairs again so quickly, and that would put Reed on high alert.
Infuriatingly, the ground floor was deserted. Presumably Molly’s return was remarkable enough to require discussion in the servants’ hall. Molly grinned at Olivia, but there was spite rather than humour in the gesture.
‘Seems I’m quite a sensation, don’t it. I’d love to be a fly on the wall in that kitchen right now.’ Molly’s grin faded as quickly as it had arrived. ‘Quick now, get those letters and don’t try anything stupid. Just remember what’s at stake here.’
As though Olivia could forget. A slow, burning anger replaced her anxiety for Tom as she sent Molly a censorious look of disappointment and unmitigated dislike. Jake would insist upon tracking Hubert down but when this was over Molly would be Olivia’s exclusive property; on that point she was fiercely determined. She rummaged around in the drawers of Jake’s desk, feeling like a trespasser, and came up with a thin file of correspondence that related to crop rotation on his country estate. She tucked it under her arm, hoping Molly would not ask to see it. The girl could read and, as she kept pointing out, was not stupid.
‘I’ll take them,’ she said, stretching out a hand.
‘I don’t think so,’ Olivia replied, emphasising her upper class accent. ‘I will hand them to Hubert only when he returns my son to me.’
Something in the set to Olivia’s features, together with the sound of approaching footsteps, prevented Molly from arguing, or at least asking to see proof that they were the letters in question. Perhaps she was not quite so clever after all. Molly had not, Olivia realised, shown any surprise at the mention of Hubert’s name, clarifying beyond further doubt that it was he who had Tom and had indeed planted a besotted Molly in her household as his spy.
‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Back up the stairs before we are seen.’
Olivia tried to make as much noise as she could but the two housemaids whose footsteps had disturbed them were deep in conversation. The bustled through the vestibule, heads together, and their laughter masked all sound.
Resigned, Olivia returned to her room and changed out of her gown, careful to keep the file of supposed letters out of Molly’s reach. Her treacherous maid watched her with an amused glint in her eye, but made no effort to help her. She picked up one or two of Olivia’s possessions and pocketed something. Olivia did not see what; nor did she much care. She slid into her fencing clothing; breeches a loose shirt and jerkin, and pulled a cloak on over it all. The files of letters she slid securely inside the jerkin. Molly didn’t notice her slip a hatpin into the folds of her cloak; the only weapon at her disposal but one, she had good reason to know, that could be very effective when strategically deployed.
‘I am ready,’ Olivia said haughtily. ‘Take me to my son.’
Molly led the way along the silent corridor and opened the door to the servants’ staircase, hidden in the wainscoting at the end of a second passageway. She listened for a moment and then beckoned Olivia forward, forcing her to lead the way. To Olivia’s intense disappointment they met no one on the stairs, and when they reached the bottom of them they managed to slip through the side door without being accosted.
‘It’s easy to get out of this house undetected,’ Molly boasted as they made their way through the grounds and out through the pedestrian gate that was kept locked from the inside with the key in place. ‘I’ve done it more than once while you were busy giving yourself to his lordship like a common trollop.’ Molly shook her head, seeming to enjoy occupying the moral high ground even though there was nothing the least bit moral about her own behaviour. ‘You should have held out. He’ll never marry you now he’s got what he wanted.’
Olivia pretended not to hear and made no response.
They reached the street, Molly hailed a cab and gave the jarvey an address in Whitechapel, not seeming to care that Olivia heard it, and committed it to memory. Well, why would she? Whom could Olivia tell? Besides, she would know for herself where they were going soon enough.
Once inside the cab, Olivia spent the journey looking out of the window, thinking hard, blocking out Molly’s boastful tirades about her acting skills. That was what this entire business was about, Olivia thought. At every turn it came back to the theatre. Hubert had probably offered Molly the opportunity to actually tread the boards and the gullible creature believed he could make it happen. Her whole moral charade had probably been practise for a role.
Whatever it was that had turned Molly into a willing accomplice to child abduction, Olivia had no wish to be reminded how foolish she had been to place her trust in the girl. It was obvious that Hubert had flattered her, turned her head, and promised her God only knew what. Almost certainly a career as an actress, she decided, returning to her earlier thought. Molly did seem to enjoy pretending to be someone else. After all, she had spent the last two years in Olivia’s service perfecting her act and Olivia had not seen through her.
Hubert went into partnership with Granville at about the time he planned to go to Italy and lay off all his staff, which is when he would have encountered Molly for the first time. It would be the work of a moment to make her believe that he had genuine feelings for her and planned to make her his personal protégé—just as soon as she had helped him to obtain those letters. And when he had them, Molly’s usefulness would have run its course, but Olivia knew it would be a waste of time to point out that very real possibility to a girl who was flattered by the attentions of a baronet.
But still, one question remained. Why had they waited for so long to try and get the letters?
The cab rattled to a halt outside a narrow row of workers’ cottages in a drab Whitechapel back street. The outside of the buildings was caked in a thick layer of soot belching out from the chimneys of nearby factories. What few people there were in the street walked briskly about their business. They seemed worn down by a harsh working life and took no interest in Olivia’s cab as the two women climbed out of it. Molly looked pointedly at Olivia, expecting her to pay the fare. There seemed little point in arguing about something so inconsequential and so she produced the correct and amount and handed it to the jarvey.
‘This way, madam,’ Molly said, a sarcastic edge to her voice as she pointed to the cottage in question.
Olivia saw the curtains flick as they walked towards the door; a door that opened to admit them before they reached it. Hubert’s attractive features, so similar to Marcus’s that Olivia felt the nausea of unpleasant recollections sweep through her, appeared around the side of that door.
‘Hello, Olivia,’ he said, sending her a charming smile as Molly prodded her back, forcing her into the room. ‘How kind of you to join us.’
Us? Molly glanced around the small, dank room and saw the last person she had expected to be there, elegantly draped in an uncomfortable-looking chair.
‘Lady Marchant!’ Olivia’s mind reeled as her gaze flitted between Hubert and that lady. ‘You are in this together? Where is my son?’