Chapter Twenty-One
Upon her return to Lady Vale’s, Elizabeth was whisked away to her chamber and tucked into a hot bath. Mr. Adler had been there as they arrived and had joined Benedict and Mr. Middlethorp as they headed out toward Lord Harrelson’s estate.
Lady Vale entered the chamber just after Elizabeth had emerged from the tub. She had only just donned the wrapper that had been borrowed from Lady Vale for her as her own was too dirty and damaged to be salvaged.
“I trust you were not injured?” Lady Vale asked, once they were alone.
They both knew that injured was merely a euphemism for raped. “I am uninjured,” Elizabeth answered as she took a seat on the edge of the bed. She was still unsteady, her nerves frayed and her emotions barely in check.
Lady Vale sighed with relief, tipping her head back and uttering a soft prayer. After a moment, she took the single chair in the room and settled herself into it.
“There is a conversation we must have, and I felt it best to do it with as few prying eyes and listening ears about as possible,” Lady Vale stated.
She was being sacked for her inappropriate behavior with Benedict. There was little question of it and, in truth, Elizabeth could not fault her for it. “I will pack my things as soon I have finished here.”
Lady Vale tilted her head to one side, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I see. And where is it that you will go, my dear?”
“I have an aged aunt in Derbyshire,” Elizabeth answered. “She is a most unpleasant woman, but as she has become increasingly infirmed in the last years, I think she would welcome me.” It was a lie, of course. There was an aunt and she would certainly be permitted to reside with her, but to state that she would be welcome was a gross exaggeration. Her Aunt Helene would remind her on an hourly basis of all the various ways in which she had disgraced the family.
“Is that what you wish to do, then?” Lady Vale pressed. “To care for your aged aunt in the wilds of Derbyshire?”
“If there are wilds in Derbyshire, my lady, I have yet to discover them,” Elizabeth evaded. “It is an expedient solution to the crossroads we find ourselves at. You do not wish, and rightly so, for me to remain in your employ. And I would not be able to maintain a genteel life in Bath on the meager savings that I possess.”
Lady Vale nodded sagely. “Yes. That is a conundrum… but there is one part of it all by which I am still puzzled.”
“And that is?”
“At what point, you darling but utterly daft girl, did I or anyone else state that you were no longer welcome in this house?”
Elizabeth gaped at her. “Surely, after my disclosure to you about the nature of my interactions with Mr. Mason—”
“Lord Vale,” she corrected. “He is my son. Whatever proof Branson still requires will be addresses to his satisfaction, no doubt. We shall all have to accustom ourselves to addressing him thusly. Perhaps Benedict most of all. As for your disclosure, my dear—we have all, at one time or another, been imprudent. And it was pointed out to me, to my great shame, that I was trying to force my dear son to make the very same mistake that I did.”
“I don’t understand.” Elizabeth was more confused than ever. She had no notion what Lady Vale’s current motivation was or what on earth she was getting at, but the entire conversation left her at a distinct disadvantage.
Lady Vale rose and began examining the small selection of gowns that hung on hooks behind the chamber door. “We must introduce some color to your wardrobe, my dear. Quite frankly, these drab browns are more depressing than the black and grey of widow’s weeds!”
“Lady Vale!” Elizabeth snapped. Remembering herself, she softened her tone, “Lady Vale, if you’d please explain whether or not I’m to be sacked, I would appreciate it most greatly.”
“Oh, you’re definitely sacked, my dear. But you’re not going anywhere. Not yet. When you and Benedict have decided what it is you wish to do about one another… and I might add that it should be matrimony of some sort, whether it’s the reading of the banns and a big ceremony, by special license or, heaven forbid, a common license… it should happen. It’s the only way.”
“I cannot marry your son,” Elizabeth protested. “It would ruin him.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because I am not a virgin!”
“I should say not,” Lady Vale said, even as she blushed. “He certainly saw to that.”
“I was not a virgin when I came into your home, Lady Vale,” Elizabeth said bluntly. “While I have tried to behave in the most proper manner since my arrival—until recently, at any rate—I have not always been cautious and circumspect. I have paid rather dearly for it, too. There is scandal attached to my name and I would not bring it to his door!”
Lady Vale was silent for a moment, and then asked, “Do you love him?”
Elizabeth dropped her head. “I do. Of course, I do. I think I have from the moment I first laid eyes upon him.”
“That is infatuation, my dear. Love is something else,” Lady Vale insisted. “Love means that you want him beside you even when he’s so infuriating that you want to throttle him. Love means that you trust him to be there for you and to take care of you regardless of what comes, and the knowledge that you would do the same.”
“I do trust him, and I would certainly do anything I could for him… that includes removing myself from his life before I can damage it further!”
Lady Vale sighed heavily. “Do not be so self-sacrificing that you do a disservice to you both. He’s been missing for two decades. Half of society will not even accept that he is who we claim him to be. The other half will only want to get a look at him so that they can further aggrandize their on dits at other parties. His father died in the arms of his married lover while embroiled in the lengthy process of attempting to annul our marriage. If you think the scandal you bring to him is any more salacious than that which is already attached to his name—let them think what they will and let them say what they will. Live happily enough together for nothing else to matter.”
Was it truly that simple? Could she just be with him, assuming he wanted her and damn what the world thought of them? “What if it becomes too much? What if he hates me for it later?”
“And what if his past is too much for you… I believe him to be an honorable man but there is much we do not know of where he’s been and what he may have done in his life. Why do you assume your own sins are so great and insurmountable?”
Because they had been to everyone else, Elizabeth thought bitterly. Because her own father had disowned her, because only a handful of relatives on her mother’s side even continued to acknowledge her existence and, even then, it was only in letters filled with pious recrimination. There were no invitations to visit, no suggestions of how she might improve her lot in life, not even a letter of recommendation when she’d been searching for a position.
“He hasn’t asked me to marry him. I have the distinct impression that marriage is not something he has envisioned for himself… you may very well be pleading his case when that is the last thing he would wish you to do.” It was a reasonable argument and one that, if true, would surely break her heart.
Lady Vale nodded. “That is true enough. I am assuming his intentions are honorable. If they are not… then perhaps you are better off not to marry him. All I ask is that you do not run away… that you allow the necessary time to determine what your future with him might be before any decisions are made. Please, just remain here for now.”
Elizabeth considered her answer carefully. “I will remain for a while… but I cannot simply stay here indefinitely, especially as you will no longer need my services as a companion… and whether you choose to have a companion or not, I could not remain here after all is said and done. It would be very painful I think to be reminded on a daily basis of both my folly and my dashed hopes.”
“If it comes to it, and he is not the man I believe him to be,” Lady Vale vowed, “arrangements will be made for you. I will not simply see you tossed into the street or left at the mercy of relatives who, had they possessed mercy at all, would never have seen you here to begin with! Rest assured, Miss Masters, that one way or another, your future will be secured.”
*
Benedict was sweating again, profusely. His shoulder no longer simply ached but blazed as if on fire. No doubt the wound had become fevered. Ripping the stitches out and then taxing those healing muscles as he had would have resulted in significant damage.
The path they followed through the woods on Harrelson’s estate was narrow and overgrown, at times disappearing altogether. As he wound his way through the trees, he finally caught sight of what they’d been looking for. He whistled for Middlethorp’s attention rather than calling out, the sound mimicking the call of a bird.
The entrance to the abandoned mine was a heavy, wooden door with rusted iron hardware upon it—save for the lock. It had been replaced and was shiny and new. Even more curious, it was unlocked and the door itself was ajar.
As Middlethorp stepped closer, Benedict asked in a low voice, “Why would you go to all the trouble of installing a new lock on an old door if you mean to leave it standing open?”
Middlethorp shrugged. “Perhaps there is someone inside who can answer our questions, then?”
Benedict moved ahead first, pushing the door open cautiously. It was dark inside, cold and damp. No lamps burned and, for all intents and purposes, it appeared to be exactly as reported—abandoned.
Middlethorp entered the chamber behind him, and his booted feet struck an object and sent it skittering over the floor. It rolled to a stop after bouncing off Benedict’s own boot heel. Stooping to pick it up, he held it up to the light coming in from the open door. It was a delicately carved wooden button, something that would be sewn onto a woman’s pelisse or spencer. In short, it was an item that had no place in their current environment unless Madame Zula’s letter had been truthful.
Reaching for his neckcloth, Benedict tugged it loose and draped, then retrieved, one of the torches tucked into a bracket on the wall. He wrapped the cloth around it and Middlethorp produced a small flask from his waistcoat to douse it with, as well as a tinder box to strike the flame.
With torch in hand, they moved deeper into the cavernous space. In the distance, a very small and dim light glowed. As they neared it, it was easily identifiable as a lamp that had nearly burned out. It sat on the floor next to an abandoned tray that had been scavenged by rats. Cursing, Benedict passed the torch to the other man and then lifted the heavy bar that crossed the door.
It opened slowly, grudgingly, the wood scraping over the uneven floor. Inside the chamber a man lay on a small cot. An empty flask was on the floor next to his hand, and he appeared to be passed out in a drunken stupor.
Crossing to him, Benedict slapped him hard. The man sat up sputtering. “What? What? Why’d you do such a thing?”
Speech slurred and nearly incomprehensible, he was obviously not the man in charge of the operation.
“Where is the woman you were holding here?” Benedict demanded.
“She escaped… go ahead and kill me. Best to put a bullet in me now than wait for him to find out I let her get away!” the man groused.
“Your employer is the least of your concerns. Where is she?” Benedict demanded again.
“She hit me on the head with a rock and ran away. Locked me in here and left me for dead,” he complained.
Benedict closed his eyes and prayed for the strength not to simply end the worthless bastard right there on the spot. Explaining to him that he had done precisely the same to her was pointless. “What did she look like?”
The man smiled then, grinning toothlessly. “Oh she were a pretty piece! Tiny, little thing with blond curls… I’da liked to teach her a thing or two—”
Benedict hit him then, his fist connecting with the man’s nose. The crunching sound of bone on bone echoed throughout the small chamber. The man screamed and cupped his bleeding nose.
“What’d you do ’at for?” he squalled.
“How long ago?” Benedict asked, ignoring his question.
“It was breakfast time! Just ’afore daybreak. I brung her some porridge!”
Benedict looked back at Middlethorp. “That was hours ago. She could be anywhere by now!”
“Would she have gone back to Bath, to Mrs. Simms? Or would she try to return home to London?”
Benedict shook his head. “I’ve no idea. Who can say what’s in her mind after what she has been through?”
“What to do with him?” Middlethorp asked “Should we kill him?”
The man screamed again and Benedict shook his head. “We can’t prove he’s done anything wrong. There are no other women here.”
“Don’t kill me!” He dropped to his knees and continued his pleading. “I can tell you who he’s sold ’em to. At least some of ’em. I can tell you which abbesses handle the auctions!”
Middlethorp frowned. “Auctions?”
“Yes!” The man rose to his feet, clearly seeing that his information had perhaps spared his life and made him useful. “Some he sells direct to men what ask for certain types or certain girls! But others, he has auctioned off at bawdy houses in London and gives the abbesses a portion of the sale price!”
Benedict swallowed the bile rising in his throat. It wasn’t an unheard of practice. But when coupled with the hundreds of dates and locations that Madame Zula had recorded in her ledger, the amount of suffering that he so casually spoke of, as if the women bought and sold like cattle were not even human, turned his stomach.
“We need to get him back to town… I’ll not take him to Sarah’s. But with a hefty payment to the jailor, I can see to it that our friend is well secured,” Middlethorp offered.
“Do that. I’ll make my own way back to town. I mean to search the woods in case she’s lying injured somewhere,” Benedict insisted.
“I’ll send men to help, and send a carriage back for your use. You’ll need it by the time you’re done.”
As Middlethorp left, the dirty, drunken sot walking before him, Middlethorp’s gun pointed at his back, Benedict left the mine and began traversing the same path they’d taken to get there. He stepped off it frequently, following every offshoot, and examining every potential hiding place, looking for any sign or indication that she’d come that direction. Hours passed and a group of men arrived, servants sent by Middlethorp to assist in the search.
He’d backtracked all the way to the road before he found it. There was a small bit of cloth, dirty and frayed, clinging to a low thicket. The cloth was embroidered with a delicate Greek key pattern that was one of Mary’s favorites.
“Mary!” he called out again and again, until his voice was hoarse. Stepping deeper into the woods there, he saw the dark stain on the white bark of an oak. Kneeling beside it, he touched the spot and his fingertips came away red with blood.
Fear churned in his gut. The other men convened on that area, each of them looking for any sign. One found hoof prints beneath a tree not far from there, indicating that a horse had grazed there for some time. But that was it. Mary was gone once more and with only faint traces left behind. He didn’t know if the blood was hers. He didn’t know if she was injured or even dead. He only knew that his sister was still missing and he wouldn’t rest until he found her.