Prologue
London, 1796
The elegant townhouse in Grosvenor Square had recently been refurbished and expanded, the viscount having annexed the abode to its left through what was rumored to be less than pleasant persuasion. It was now the largest home on the square. The Georgian facade, precise and symmetrical, faced the street much like a haughty dowager, daring any and all to defy the propriety demanded by its esteemed location. From the outside, with its trappings of wealth and privilege, it was a thing of beauty. But it hid dark and ugly secrets within, much like the man who owned it.
“I ain’t never seen a ’ouse that big,” one of the men said. Large and rough spoken, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, his cockney heritage was evident in his speech. The man removed his hat and scratched his shaved head, courtesy of the prison he’d recently been discharged from. Shaving the heads of inmates was the best way to curb infestations of lice and other vermin.
“It ain’t so big, Henry,” Alfred, the smallest of their crew, said. Short, wiry and deceptively strong, there was a coldness in his eyes that was very different from his companions.
Fenton Hardwick cursed his luck to have joined up with two such dimwitted criminals. “Do not use names, you fools! Our goal is to get into that house, get what we’re looking for, and then be gone from it without anyone being the wiser.”
“You sure they’re gone from ’ere?” Henry asked. “Don’t seem right that a body with a warm hearth and a nice young family would be out and about, not on Christmas like!”
“I’m certain of it. I heard it from Lord Vale himself,” Fenton snapped. The man had told him where they’d be, where to find the item in question, though in somewhat vague terms. He owed Fenton and this was how the debt would be paid. Better spoken than his friends, from a far different background, they had little understanding of how the upper echelons of society worked. Though given his own poor dress at the moment, he would be hard pressed to convince anyone that he was more well-versed in the ways of that world. “I was standing in the mews right behind the house when he told the driver to have the carriage readied… that he and his lady would be attending the theater!”
“Toffs is strange,” Henry said, shaking his head.
“Don’t much matter. We’ll get in, get the goods and be gone,” Alfred said. “Then we’re all square like wiv’ the boss and can get on with honest work. Now ’ush up and let’s get on wiv’ it.”
In the darkness, with the mist and smog shrouding the muddy streets, they slipped toward the house and the back gate that Henry had disabled earlier. It hadn’t taken much effort to break the locking mechanism on his way out after he’d delivered a load of meat to the kitchens. Now, they’d slip inside, up the stairs, and directly into the lady’s chambers. They’d retrieve the item the “boss” wanted and, perhaps, help themselves to a few trinkets to ease their way into a life of, as Alfred had said, honest work. It was The Season, after all. She’d have all her best jewels and fripperies about. They could take what they liked and sell it to the highest bidder.
As they entered the garden, a loud chorus of singing erupted from the servants’ quarters on the lower floor. It was the perfect cover. With his hand wrapped in heavy cloth, Henry gave the glass farthest from the servants’ hall a tap. The pane fell inward, but the sound of it was muffled by the carpet and masked by the revelry inside.
“Check the corridor. Make sure no one is coming to investigate the noise,” Fenton urged. They had a sound plan, a free pass as it were, in and out of the house, yet he found himself unaccountably nervous.
Alfred rushed ahead to do his bidding, watching through the narrowest crack in the door. Several moments passed and no one appeared. “We got the all clear,” he said.
Opening the door fully, he stepped out into the hall and the other two followed suit. They made for the back stairs. Henry’s sister had worked as a maid there once, until Lord Vale tried to put his hand up her skirt. She’d only been too happy to give them the information they asked for about the layout of the house.
Once on the upper floors, the house was unnaturally quiet. With all the servants below, enjoying their Christmas feast, and the lord and lady of the manor out for the evening, the grand house was like a tomb.
“Gives me the shivers, it does,” Henry said crossly. He might have been the biggest of them, but he’d always been more heart than brains, not to mention the fact that he was often gutless. Were it not for his compatriots goading him on, he’d have been more than content to continue delivering luxurious cuts of meat to the wealthy toffs his butcher employer served.
“Only a ’ouse,” Alfred replied. “Tis the people inside it we’ve most to fear from. Let’s keep it moving. I don’t want to still be standing ’ere, yammering on about it, when the lord and lady decide to come back ’ome.”
“The master’s chambers will be at the end of the corridor. You go there and get anything he might have of value. There will be coin, jewelry, gold buttons off his coats. Cut every last one of them off. I’ll head to her ladyship’s rooms and see what she might have laying about.” He hadn’t told the others about the book. That was an agreement between him and the “boss” only. Fenton turned to Henry and added, “And you stay here. If anyone comes up those stairs, you come find me. Understood?”
Henry nodded his understanding and Fenton continued. “And cover your faces. In the off chance someone returns, we can still make our escape if they cannot identify us!”
Dutifully, the other men pulled up the cloths tied around their necks so that the lower halves of their faces were covered and each one headed out in the direction they’d been given. Henry took up sentry in the hall, monitoring the stairs. Big as he was, he managed to blend his hulking shape with the shadows.
Shaking his head at the conundrum of his large but dimwitted companion who could seemingly vanish in plain sight, Fenton headed toward Lady Vale’s rooms and the riches that awaited him there.
*
“I don’t want to sleep in my room. I want to sleep in yours… there are beasties in my room.”
Sarah, Lady Vale, smiled down into the upturned and cherubic face of her son. In this one thing, she thought, she’d done something right. Her husband might find fault with her in every other regard as a wife and as a woman, but she’d provided him an heir and never had a more beautiful boy graced a family than her dear Benedict. Brushing the blond curls from his furrowed brow, she shook her head.
“There are no beasties, Benedict. There is nothing in this house that would harm you!”
“Maisy said there was,” he protested. “She said there were all sorts of nasty things going on in the corridors. Said it were nothing but evil.”
“It was nothing but evil,” she corrected automatically. “You mustn’t repeat things you hear from Maisy as the girl is full of superstitious nonsense and her grasp of the language is utterly atrocious.”
“What’s atrocious mean?” he asked, hugging the small, wooden horse that was his favorite toy.
“It means awful.” And there were awful, evil things occurring in the corridors. But she couldn’t possibly tell her son that his father was the perpetrator of them. James seemed to feel that any female servant was fair game for his unwanted advances. She’d made it a point to stop hiring pretty girls and, instead, only hired those who were significantly older or who would be willing to tolerate his advances for whatever reward it might bring them. It was a lowering thing for any woman to look at the servants in her own house and wonder which one was warming her husband’s bed for the night. Of course, she was relieved when anyone warmed it other than herself, so there was also a strange sort of consolation in it. “And Maisy didn’t mean evil like monsters or beasties. She was talking about people playing pranks on one another. You’ve nothing to worry about, darling. I promise.”
“Please, Mama?”
Her heart melted, as it always did. He was so sweet and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t find comfort in the weight of his little body snuggled against her own. Benedict was the only child she would ever have. His delivery had been a difficult one and she’d been told that more children would be impossible. James had raged against her, claiming she’d done it on purpose. Even the doctor, a long acquaintance of her husband, had been mortified.
Sarah looked down at her son and thought of another purely selfish reason to let him come with her to her bed. If he was sleeping beside her, no matter how drunk and ill-tempered James was upon returning home, he’d not disturb her or the boy. She’d avoided his advances on many a night by allowing her poor, dear child to be her shield. It wasn’t something she was proud of.
James was out with his mistress, but that meant nothing. He might still come home determined to prove the doctor wrong, to prove that he was virile enough to get her with child regardless of what all the best medical professionals had told them.
“Very well,” she agreed. “You may come with me and you may sleep in my room tonight, but only because I’ll be lonely for you if you’re not there. Not because there are any beasties!”
The smile that spread across his delighted face warmed her to her toes. She’d never thought it possible to love as strongly or as fiercely as she loved her child. Lifting his little body into her arms, she carried him much as she had when he was an infant. It was highly unfashionable for a woman of her standing to be so involved with the day to day care of her child. The standard, of course, was for the child to be turned over to nurses and nannies and for the mother to continue all the same amusements that had comprised her life before marriage and children. But she had no interest in balls or musicales. She had no interest in going about in society and pretending to be happy when married to a monster. Her happiness was found in moments like the present, with the weight of her sweet son resting against her, his head tucked beneath her chin.
As she traversed the corridor, a feeling came upon her. It was one of dread and fear, and one that she typically associated with the presence of her husband. But it was only past ten and she knew that he would not be home till the wee hours of the morning. Continuing on, her slippered feet moved silently over the rug that blanketed the parquet floor. Yet the feeling remained.
“Mama, I don’t feel good,” the boy complained.
“Benedict, I need you to be very quiet,” she said softly. The certainty that they were not alone in the hall had hit her forcefully. While her eyes could not penetrate the darkness, while there appeared to be no visible proof that they were not alone, she would not be foolish enough to ignore the feeling and place them both at risk.
Had he hired someone to kill her? It would not have surprised her. She was more surprised that he’d waited so long. A wife that could not produce children was not worth having. But annulling their marriage was not a possibility, not without rendering the heir he did have illegitimate. Stepping back, she retreated slowly toward Benedict’s room. If she could get inside it, she could duck through the adjoining nurse’s room and get to the servants’ stairs.
Before her hand closed over the knob, a great hulking shape emerged from the shadows. She screamed and Benedict followed suit. The man, for surely even gigantic as it was, it could be nothing else, clapped her on the head, sending her hurtling to the floor. Dazed as she was from the blow, she could see Benedict lashing out at him, kicking and wailing. The man closed his hand over her son’s mouth, his big hand covering almost the entirety of the boy’s face.
“Go quiet like an’ I won’t ’ave to ’urt ’im.”
She labored to decipher the cockney accent, but nodded just the same. She’d agree to anything to see Benedict spared.
“Get up and go to your room,” the man directed.
Sarah did as she’d been bid, struggling to her feet. Dizziness swamped her and she had to place her hand against the wall to remain upright as she followed his directive. She glanced back at Benedict who was wide eyed, kicking and struggling in the large man’s hold. He would injure himself or, perhaps far worse, anger his captor. In the hopes of appeasing him and sparing Benedict the man’s temper, Sarah rushed to comply with his edict. Once at her chamber door, she opened it and stepped inside. Another man awaited them within.
“Bloody hell! You weren’t supposed to be here!” he hissed. “You were supposed to be out with your husband.”
“Who would have you told you such a thing?” she asked. “I never attend balls, and most certainly not with my husband.”
“Seems I was misinformed,” he answered, before turning his gaze to his larger companion. “For pity’s sake, you’re suffocating the boy!”
The large man immediately removed his hand and Benedict gasped and coughed. Terrified, Sarah turned to him and took him from the large man, holding him close to her. The man had let him go without a protest. For the moment, she didn’t feel they were in immediate danger. Even the man’s rough treatment of Benedict seemed to be incidental to his size and not intended to do harm. Deciding to face the matter boldly, she offered, “If your intent is robbery then, by all means, take whatever you want. I will not stop you and I will not raise the alarm. So long as my son remains unharmed, you may do as you please. But touch him again and I will scream down the entire house.”
“We’re not here to harm anyone,” the more well-spoken of the two said. “By all rights, you should have been out and the boy should have been abed. We’re only here to take what’s owed us.”
“Then be done with it,” she snapped.
“It’ll be much faster with your help,” he said. “The sooner we’re out, the sooner you can feel safe again.” The last was said with a sneer, like he was aware of something she was not.
With Benedict still in her arms, clinging to her tightly with his tear-stained cheek pressed to her shoulder, Sarah walked to her dressing room, opened the secret panel in the wall and revealed her jewelry collection. “Take whatever you want and then leave.”
“We’ll take a few, just to tide us over,” the man said, reaching in and indiscriminately grabbing several pieces which he then shoved into his pockets. “But we’re looking for the book.”
“What book?” she shot back.
“The one your husband said was hidden in this house!” he snapped. “Don’t play stupid with me! Where else would he hide it but in this chamber?”
She laughed bitterly. “My husband never enters this chamber. I cannot tell you where he hid it!”
“He said it would be here!” the man snapped at her.
His tone was sharp, snappish, and yet there was fear buried within it. She knew what fear was. Her husband had done his best to acquaint her with it from the day of their wedding forward. To the burglar, she said, “Then he lied. If you are acquainted with my husband at all then surely that cannot be a surprise.”
“That book was promised to someone… and if we don’t deliver, it’ll go badly for us all. Very badly, indeed. That includes you and your husband. If you’ve any inkling where it might be,” Fenton said softly, “then you need to tell us now.”
“I know nothing of the book you speak of. My husband rarely visits my chambers and I rarely leave them,” she insisted. “We may be wed but, in truth, we live very separate lives. If he told you it was here, then you, like so many, have been misled by him.”
He looked at her, his gaze raking over her figure. “I find that difficult to believe.”
Sarah blushed. “The birth of my son was difficult. I can bear him no more children, thus I no longer serve a purpose for him. Perhaps this book you speak of is hidden in his mistress’ rooms instead of mine. You should look there, though given the vast number of them, it could take you the better part of the night.”
*
Fenton eyed the viscountess coolly. There was something about her that sparked his pity and, yet, he tamped it down. A man in his position could not afford any emotion so soft as pity. It would only be his downfall. “If I understand correctly, then you are of no value to him?” When she remained silent, he snapped, reached out and grabbed her arm, twisting it painfully until she cried out and sank to her knees, still holding the boy tightly to her. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he would if it came to it. Whatever sadness might lurk in her pretty eyes, it was her life or his. “Answer me!”
“No,” she replied softly. “I hold no value for my husband!”
“But the boy does,” he mused. “He’s the heir after all.”
“No! No!” she shouted. “I won’t let you do anything to him!”
“Subdue her,” Fenton snapped at Henry as he shoved her away and grabbed up the crying child.
She fought like a demon. Kicking, clawing, scratching. There were moments when, as Fenton watched, the small, struggling child in his arms, he thought she might very well best Henry. At one point, she did escape the larger man and dragged herself over to him. She clawed at him as he made his way toward the door, ripping at his clothes and very nearly pulling the child from his arms. Whatever else could be said for Lord Vale, when he’d chosen the mother of his child, he’d chosen well. Her devotion to her son was surely without equal. But devoted or not, Henry was a beast of a man, large and strong. He claimed her once more, picking her up easily and carting her back toward the bed. When attempts to simply hold her failed, the giant of a man cuffed her ear and sent her sprawling to the floor. Before her head could have even stopped spinning, she was back on her feet.
“Bind her. Use the ties from the bed curtains and get her under control,” Fenton hissed. “We haven’t time for this nonsense!” She shrieked again like a banshee. Even with the commotion of the servants celebrating below stairs, it was unlikely that such commotion would go unnoticed for long. Removing his neckcloth, a garment curiously fine for the rest of his tattered clothing, Fenton approached her and shoved it into her mouth. He tugged at the sash of her wrapper until it came free and tossed it at Henry. “Use that to finish gagging her. Now, Lady Vale—Sarah, I’ll promise you this, so long as you cooperate, and so long as your husband sees the book delivered into our hands, no harm will fall on this boy. It’s not my wish to harm women and children, but my life is on the line, and I’ll not sacrifice it for the lot of you. Do you hear me?”
She nodded, her face pale in the moonlight and her wide eyes brimming with tears, as Henry finished securing her hands. “Don’t like this none,” Henry groused. “Don’t seem right, it don’t! I don’t ’old wiv’ roughin’ up women and babes!”
“Shut up. Get Al—get your partner and let’s be gone before we’re discovered,” Fenton said, barely catching his slip in time. He looked back at Lady Sarah, Viscountess Vale. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. You do not deserve any of this, but your husband is at fault, madame. We are but the instruments of the downfall he has wrought.” To the boy, he whispered, “If you’re not quiet, if you let out a single peep as we leave this house, I will come back here and I will do far worse than just tie your pretty mother up? Nod if you understand me, boy!”
The little boy’s soft curls bobbed as he stared up at Fenton and nodded his head. Lady Vale turned her face away, weeping silently. Fenton continued, “We’re going on an adventure. You keep quiet, your mother remains unharmed and you’ll have lots to tell her when you return home. Yes?” The boy nodded again and Fenton gave one last look at the slumped and shaking shoulders of the viscountess sobbing in the darkness as he slipped from her chambers and into the shadow-shrouded hall.
He didn’t notice the absence of his pocket watch, that it lay on the carpet of the chamber he’d just exited, engraved with his damning initials.