Corey McFadden (31 page)

“Eleanor, you must promise me—talk to no one if you have been drinking. The brandy will make it harder for you to keep the story in your head. Stay in your room and plead hysteria. Can you do this?” Now he was rattling himself, cursing his luck that his partner in crime was a lush.

“Of course I can do it, Hawton,” she retorted, a touch of the old hauteur back in her voice. “I am perfectly capable of sticking to a simple story about a quarrel. And what little I drink has no effect on my ability to remember things.”

He let it pass while he got out his writing things and bent over in the dim light to craft his note. Her part was simple. If worse came to worst, he would try to blame her for everything and set himself up as the innocent dupe. But, God, let her get it right!

They both started as they heard a sound outside the door. Hawton leaped to his feet and pulled back the curtain a crack, peering out. For a moment he could make out nothing in the dark, then he heard the unmistakable sound of a horse stamping its hooves.

“It’s the carriage!” he stated, the tension back in his voice. “I did not expect them quite so soon.” He raced to the door and opened it to admit two burly, dark shapes. The men wore caps pulled down low and black cloaks. They had city faces, mean and white and pinched.

“Is the cargo ready?” asked one, not bothering with a greeting.

“Here they are.” Hawton gestured to the girls on the floor. The men’s eyes narrowed as they took in the whole scene.

“Whut’r these doin?” asked the other. “Ye’ve two ’ere ’oo are gagged, and one’s a boy at that. An idiot, by the looks of ’im.” Anger was plain in the man’s tone. He was not going to stand for complications.

Hawton took a deep breath. “One of the Irish girls was not properly sedated. She got out of the boat and screamed and ran down the beach. We managed to catch her, but not before she had awakened these two children and their governess from the house. We’ll have to take them with us,” Hawton finished defiantly. None of this was his fault, damn it! Nor would he tell them that Joanna was actually the wife of a knight.

“Oh, no, we won’t,” growled the first man, his tone surly. “There’s nowt in our instructions about takin’ extra passengers, unwillin’ ones at that. It’s dangerous enough, whut we’re doin’ without addin’ kidnappin’ to it.” He set his legs and glared at Hawton, his expression angry and mulish.

“Well, naturally we did not expect you to run extra risk without extra pay, man. You’ll be amply compensated when we arrive in London,” Hawton said, trying to keep the desperation from his voice. If they refused to transport Joanna and the children, he would be forced to dispose of them himself, a thought he could not stomach.

“We’ll be paid, now, and ’andsomely, too, sir, or we take the girls and leave ye to yer own mess.” The two men now stood side by side, glaring at Hawton.

“One sovereign to split between the two of you,” stated Hawton with as much arrogance as he could muster. He had no idea what these men were being paid to take these Irish girls, and at least they had been sold willingly by their parents.

A look passed between the two men. Hawton felt some relief that now they were haggling over price. That meant they would eventually agree to take the extra passengers, however dearly he must pay them to do it.

“We’ll take ten sovereigns, gov, not tuppence less. If not, we’ll take the Irish girls like we was paid for, and be on our way.”

“Ten sovereigns! That’s outrageous! Why, that’s nearly all we’re being paid for this whole operation!” Hawton sputtered. It wasn’t true, of course, but he was counting on Lord Beeson having kept the financial arrangements confidential.

The men shrugged and moved over to where the Irish girls lay huddled and sleeping soundly on the floor. Each man lifted one up, none too gently, and hefted her to his shoulders. Without another word they turned and left by the open door.

“Do something!” hissed Eleanor. “Unless you have a foolproof plan for getting rid of three extra bodies tonight!”

Hawton shot her a venomous look. “I am trying to preserve some of your profits, Eleanor. Give me some credit. We are not through negotiating. Hsst!” he gestured for her to be quiet as the men approached the door again.

“I’ll give you six sovereigns, total. That’s more than fair. You’ll be running no more risk than you are already, and neither of you will be inconvenienced in the slightest.” Hawton was speaking to their backs as each had crossed without so much as a look in his direction and picked up another girl.

“Ten it is, no less, guv’nor” said one matter-of-factly. “These girls is all bought and paid for. There’ll be no hue and cry after the likes of them. But unless I miss my guess, this girl is gentry.” He gestured in Emma’s direction. “And we don’t fancy riskin’ the stretchin’ of our necks for less’n ten sovereigns.” Out they went again, each burdened with an Irish girl. Only the smallest one now remained, the one who had run away. She had not stirred, and Hawton hoped she would not regain consciousness until they were well away in the carriage.

Eleanor was glaring at him in the firelight. It was just as well she was holding her tongue or perhaps he’d decide to get rid of four corpses tonight.

“All right,” he said, not bothering to mask the rage in his voice, when the men returned. “I’ll give you the ten sovereigns, but don’t think I won’t mention to Lord Beeson how you’ve cheated us on this.”

Without so much as a flicker of an eye to acknowledge victory, the larger of the two men stopped and held out his hand silently.

“I’ll have to get the money in the next room,” muttered Hawton angrily, unwilling to allow the men to see how heavy his purse was. He went into his bedroom while the other man hefted the last Irish girl and strode with her through the front door.

Once in the bedroom, Hawton cast a glance in Joanna’s direction. She did not appear to have stirred, but he made sure her chest was still moving up and down. He fumbled in the purse and pulled out ten sovereigns, trying to soothe himself with the knowledge that he would have paid more if he’d had to and that he was likely to be paid further for Joanna and Emma. Emma, in fact, would be a plum. A gentried, innocent schoolgirl was likely to fetch a pretty penny. And Joanna, for all that she was no longer a virgin, was sweet and succulent, with an innocent air about her. Surely Lord Beeson could find a brothel that would be glad of her charms. Mollified by that thought and by the weight of the purse he shoved deep into his pocket, he passed back into the main room. The men stood by the door mutely. He noted they had made no move to lift Emma or Tom. Eleanor said nothing, her face white and strained in the dim firelight.

Hawton counted out ten sovereigns into the open palm of the larger man. Pocketing the lot and nodding to the other, the man moved over to Emma while his confederate walked over to Tom. Emma lay limp in the man’s arms, her eyes wide with terror. Tom struggled and grunted, and did not quiet down until his captor slapped him hard in the face. Then both men left with their burdens.

“I must go now, my dear. There’s the note for you to leave,” said Hawton smoothly. He needed to get away with no fussing from Eleanor. He also did not want her to remember that he was holding the purse. While he wasn’t sure there was much point in cheating her, he knew he would need some money while on the journey and once they arrived in London. And he felt he was entitled to withhold a few sovereigns from her share because it was he who’d be taking all the risk from this point on.

“When will I hear from you, Hawton? I tell you, it will be maddening to know nothing while you are gone.” Eleanor’s eyes looked confused and uncertain, and Hawton hoped fervently she wasn’t going to go to pieces on him now.

“We will drive nearly straight through, Eleanor,” he said, crossing to her and taking her in his arms, anxious to calm her. “We cannot risk stopping for the night anywhere, and Lord Beeson has mapped out which inns can provide us with food and fresh horses with a minimum of questions asked. Nevertheless, it will be a very long ride. More than two days, at least. The drivers have an address for the delivery of the girls, and I shall find out there how to get in touch with Lord Beeson.”

“He lives in Hanover Square, number thirty-four, as I recall,” she said thoughtfully. “But he won’t be pleased to see you. You’d better think of how best to approach him without him feeling that you are putting him to any risk. I imagine he is considered a good customer of the house you are taking the girls to. Perhaps you could arrange to meet him there as if he were merely looking for entertainment. More than that I cannot suggest.”

“That’s enough,” Hawton said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. Bless her at least for coming up with an address. He would not have relished inquiring after Lord Beeson in the House of Lords. “I’ll get word to you as soon as I can, but I will likely turn around and come back the very instant I resolve everything. I’ll be most anxious to aid you with matters here. Remember what you are supposed to do tonight, and to stay prostrate and hysterical while I’m gone. I hope to see you in a week.”

Putting Eleanor aside, he strode into the bedroom and lifted Joanna’s form from the bed. She was nearly limp in his arms but she had been breathing a moment ago so he was sure she had not smothered. It was likely she had fainted from the stress and lack of air. Just as well. He walked back through the main room carrying her in his arms.

“I’ll put her in the carriage and come back and lock up here, Eleanor,” he said, striding out.

Outside, he noted with approval that the coach bore no lanterns. Even the four horses were black as night. The coach itself was unmarked and plain, not the sort of vehicle to attract attention. It was built to hold six in relative comfort. Well, for the next few nights and days it would seem like a prison with the nine of them crammed in. If he kept the boy and one of the girls on the floor for the whole trip, they would have some minimum degree of comfort.

“I’ll be just another five minutes,” he said in hushed tones to the man who stood guard by the open coach door. “Do you have the medicine the girls are supposed to take to keep them from getting sick from the rocking of the coach?” A look passed between them. Hawton knew the man had a good-sized bottle of laudanum packed away, enough to keep all the girls sedated throughout most of the trip. Although their stops would be brief, it would not do to risk any repeat of tonight’s outburst.

The man gave a short nod and stepped to the rear of the coach where he fumbled among the baggage tied there. He returned seconds later and handed Hawton a dark brown bottle which appeared to be full.

“One sip fer each o’them every few hours, no more. I was told too much would disagree with their stomachs, if you take my meaning, sir.”

“Indeed I do, sir. I’ll be very careful.” As Hawton shut the carriage door he caught a glint from within. It was the boy’s eyes, murderous with impotent rage. Dismissing Tom instantly from his mind, he turned and strode back into his cabin.

Eleanor had not moved since he had left. “Be a dear and put away the teacups, Eleanor. Everything should look absolutely normal and orderly,” he said with as much nonchalance as he could muster, striding back into his bedroom. He threw a few things into a bag—it would not do to take too much, since according to their story, he would not have expected to be gone long. Still, if all went well, no one would see him return, and they needn’t know he had taken anything at all with him. Nevertheless, he’d be gone at least a week, most of it in cramped quarters and he was fastidious enough to require a few changes of clothing.

“Well, that’s it then,” he said coming back into the main room, trying to sound more confident than he was feeling. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you to be as quiet as you can possibly be when you return to the house. It’s still a good number of hours until the servants awaken, so I do not think you’ll run into anyone. If you do, just make it seem that you’ve heard a noise or come down for a drink or a book or something. Are you all right?”

He waited while she gave him a slow nod. She seemed uncertain, an unusual trait for her, and he wished he could put aside the nagging fear that she would foul everything up with ill-thought-out remarks and reactions. He noted with some surprise that the tea things had been washed up and put away. He had half expected her to refuse to perform such a menial task, and his lips curved in his first grin for many hours. It boded well for the future of their marriage if she would fetch and carry for him without argument. Indeed, if he could just get them through the next week without getting them all hanged, he could look forward to a far more comfortable future than he had ever dared contemplate before.

“Come here and give me a kiss, my girl,” he said, smiling broadly at her and opening his arms. She smiled back, still looking like a frightened doe, and came to him. He wrapped her in his arms and gave her a hard, swift embrace, then set her away from him.

“Off you go, my dear. I’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry at all. Go back up to Queen’s Hall, leave the note, rifle the office, get the clothing, go to bed, and I think you’ll hear the tragic news about your stepbrother sometime tomorrow.” He watched as her eyes lit up, then he turned her around and pushed her toward the door with a pat on the rear end. Amazing how far he had come with her over the last few days. He rarely saw the haughty Lady Eleanor anymore. Yes indeed, things could be looking up. Once they were both outside, he shut and locked the door behind him and stepped into the waiting dark.

Chapter Sixteen

Joanna’s head ached with a dull thud but she was barely aware of the physical pain. Giles dead. She had heard those words as Eleanor had spoken them on the beach, and they had been driven like lead shot into her heart.

There was so little air inside the blanket, and the gag further hampered her ability to breathe. As she had digested the muffled words of Lady Eleanor and Hawton, she had almost wished she would just suffocate—slip away to Papa—and Giles. But the children were prisoners as well, held by these vicious people, and Joanna knew that as long as she could force some small breath of stale air into her starved lungs, she would fight to stay alive for their sakes.