Mistress at Midnight (21 page)

The whole world slowed around Hawk, a gut-wrenching jerk making his world spin.

‘She went willingly?’

‘Her servant was found with a lump the
size of Africa on his head and he said she did not.’

Shock held Stephen still.

‘They have taken the Great North Road and my guess is they are headed to a manor house Delsarte inherited a year or so ago after winning a game of cards against the Earl of Kendrick. I want to see what Delsarte wants with Mrs St Harlow and what he does. When you know where they are, call in the local constabulary and have Delsarte and Kerslake thrown into gaol and then search the place. Take whomever you want with you.’

Hawk shook his head. ‘I’ll go alone, sir. It will be easier to remain hidden.’

‘Very well. A carriage will be readied. I have already sent people to go into the warehouse to see just what might be discovered there. The family of Mrs St Harlow will need to be told of our concerns, though we will put that off for as long as possible as I do not wish for society to be gossiping about the downfall of suspects we have not yet apprehended.’

Hawk dressed and gathered his coat and hat after Shavvon left and called for his own
horse to be brought around. If Delsarte or Kerslake had laid even a finger on Aurelia…

‘Focus,’ he whispered, ‘and help her.’

The building dread clutching at him made his body ache.

Chapter Fourteen

A
urelia’s cheek throbbed, the fear inside her making it pound even harder. Delsarte and Kerslake had been waiting for her at the warehouse when she had arrived with John at Park Street this morning and had insisted she accompany them in this carriage. When John had resisted Delsarte had called in other accomplices and they had dragged him away. Aurelia prayed that he had not been hurt too badly.

She had no idea where they were headed, but both men looked angry enough to hurt her if she were to put one foot wrong, and behind them in another coach were the three men she had seen at Park Street.

She prayed that her family would not be
worried out of their wits by her most uncharacteristic disappearance when she failed to arrive home. Her heart sank at the thought of it.

Straightening her back, she looked ahead, her bottom teeth grinding against her top ones. Would Hawkhurst know what had happened? Would he come after her or would he imagine her involvement to be voluntary and wash his hands of her altogether?

An inn ahead had Delsarte giving the driver orders after an hour of travelling. ‘Here,’ he shouted, the conveyance slowing to a halt as it pulled into an establishment that had seen better days. When it stopped he turned to Aurelia. ‘I hope an hour in our company has persuaded you to be reasonable?’

Waiting till she nodded, he opened the door and stepped out, making a great fuss of taking her hand and helping her down from the conveyance.

Inside was worse than out, the innkeeper unkempt and leering. Aurelia was glad of the thick coat she wore as his hand reached out towards her.

‘A beauty, this one, is she not, lads? With red hair that might burn a man soulless.’ A
slurred waft of strong liquor accompanied the insult.

When Delsarte gestured to a table on its own by the window, Aurelia slid into the back pew, her two travelling companions effectively blocking her exit. The others accompanying them sidled across to the bar and ordered a drink.

‘What does Hawkhurst know of our operation?’ Delsarte asked that question as he lit a cheroot, the smoke of the small thin cigarette dancing between them.

‘Nothing. It is me he imagines the traitor because of my mother’s nationality.’

‘Wrong answer.’ Delsarte’s voice was low and dangerous. ‘He has had us both followed.’

‘Then ask him yourself. He is hardly going to discuss his motives with me.’

‘You are his lover, Mrs St Harlow, and a woman of much persuasion. I think you could find out exactly what it is you wish to know.’

Aurelia made herself laugh. ‘My husband thought me lacking in all ways, sir. Why would his cousin, Lord Hawkhurst, think any differently?’

‘You sell yourself short, my dear, and you
always have. Sign the business over to me for the sum mentioned yesterday and I will send you home in the carriage to your family. It all comes down to money in the end, you see, a concept your husband would have entirely understood.’

He waited as the innkeeper deposited two glasses of beer before them and left. ‘If I had been called into the witness stand, John Samson would have been sent to gaol for the murder of Charles St Harlow and you, Aurelia St Harlow, for the way you allowed him to get away with it. I was there, you see, watching it all from the house. How easily I could have ruined you.’

The sharp slice of shock had Aurelia’s blood pounding—however, she could not afford to just leave his attack there.

‘But you didn’t speak because you knew Charles was uncontrollable and dangerous and it was a relief that he had finally gone. You didn’t speak because the orgies at Medlands would have implicated you and society under the tutelage of Victoria would not have countenanced such depravation. You didn’t speak because there were things that had happened at the Yuletide parties at Medlands
that would ruin the reputation of any gentleman, yours included.’

‘Shut up.’ The veins on each side of his temple stood out in a knotted redness and she went quiet. As Delsarte took a good swallow of his drink, the day of Charles’s death came back full blown into Aurelia’s memory. The blood, the screams, the realisation and the final silence.

She had prayed for years that she might be free of her husband and as Charles had taken his last laboured breath the relief she had felt was indescribable. Murder with strings of temperance and justice attached and a lucky fall for all but Charles. Still the shame of it all made her weary.

‘And now with Hawkhurst’s untimely questions we have a further problem which is a dangerous thing for us all, Mrs St Harlow. We need cold hard cash to disappear and we are hoping that might come from the sale of your silk business.’

She shook her head. ‘There are legal documents to be witnessed and deeds of title to be signed. Such a thing cannot be done on an instant.’ She was clutching at straws, she knew, but anything to slow them down and give her time to think would be helpful.

Kerslake brought out a folder from his bag and unfurled all the papers she had just spoken of. ‘I have everything we need for the transaction right here, including the right person to buy it.’

And then she understood. They would keep her with them until she signed away her company. Their profit. Their price.

‘Do you have a “right person”?’

Delsarte laughed. ‘Always the clever one, Mrs St Harlow. Of course we do. A sign of the pen, a tidy profit and a place on the first ship to leave London on the outgoing tide. The simpler the plan, the greater the likelihood of success. Pity we could not have held on to it for longer with the rosy state of your rising sales.’

Everything she had ever worked for gone in the slash of a pen. Her sisters’ futures. Her father’s comfort. Sylvienne’s nurse. She would be thrown upon the debtor’s block with the rest of her family, helpless to fight it. Years of endeavour and finally all for nothing. The knife she saw in Delsarte’s fist beneath the table had her picking up the pen. While there was life there was hope. Stephen Hawkhurst had at least taught her that.

The inn came into view after about forty minutes of fast riding. Hawkhurst had checked every stopping place between London and here on the road north and had found no sign of those he sought. The carriage in the stables to one side of the rickety eating house was newly in, the horses being rubbed down by a lad who looked no older than ten.

He flipped the boy a coin. ‘Who arrived in this?’

‘Two men, sir, and a woman. They are eating inside.’

Another coin followed the first. ‘Feed and water my horse and find me another ride.’

‘There’s only Geordie left, sir.’ He pointed to a rundown hack waiting in one end of the barn.

‘Then he will have to do. I will be back for my own ride in a few days. Keep him safe.’ This time he made sure to offer gold and as the lad bit into it his eyes widened.

‘I’ll guard your horseflesh with me life, guv. I promise you that.’

Outside, Hawkhurst edged across the yard to look into a door where a number of men were gathered. His eyes searched the room for Delsarte and Aurelia and he saw them
almost instantly, an innkeeper leaning over her to look at a document unfurled across the table.

Swearing, he slipped into the shadow of a window that was open, thin and dirty torn lace moving in the rising breeze.

Three others who appeared to be of the same ilk were lined up at the bar. Five opponents. There had been many a time he had battled against more.

Aurelia’s back was ramrod straight, the bruise on her cheek today deeper. She had been boxed in against the wall; he saw that immediately and he could only thank God he had found her.

As if she had some premonition that he was somewhere near, her glance swept the room and when he allowed her to find him her mismatched eyes opened wider, both blue and brown not quite believing what they were seeing. He saw her face crumple into fear as he stepped out into the chamber.

Hawkhurst was here, in this very room, and he no longer looked like the man all of society knew, with his careful charm and lofty title. Gone was the lord of manners and means and in his place stood another, the
dangerous edge of him magnified by a pure and utter menace, the knife fitting his fist as if he had been born with it and a stillness that was wild and fierce. She couldn’t take her eyes from the mesmerising transformation and she knew instinctively he had been in situations where he had not only saved lives, but taken them.

He was over at their table before she had blinked, his fists downing the first man who tried to stop him in one blow. The second man was more difficult and he gave fight, the knife in his hand drawn. Hawkhurst circled around, crouched, his own weapon held in a downward fashion, complete concentration marking every movement. The grace of a big man who was neither clumsy nor awkward, his actions measured in the sort of purpose only few might achieve. The shadows in him even at this distance were marked and she wondered how life had made a lord born to every luxury such a warrior. When Hawkhurst arched his knife straight into the neck of her hapless kidnapper she looked away.

Death had a face that was all of its own making and the blank visage of her husband as he took his final breath came to mind.
Charles had cursed her with the venom she was so used to in his life, but as the blood slowed in his veins she had felt…nothing.

Unlike now, when the quick edge of living had her heart beating with abandon. There were still at least four opponents left. She had no idea how he might stop that many.

Henry Kerslake pulled out a pistol, but Hawkhurst was too quick, the weapon snatched out of his opponent’s hand with barely a movement and the butt cracking down upon him. He lay as still as death. Delsarte simply ran, disappearing through the door like a rat down a hole, though the innkeeper looked incensed, the lethal sharpness of a poker from the fire in hand as he advanced upon Hawkhurst.

Scrambling from her seat, Aurelia grabbed the only thing she could find: a large wooden bellows hanging on the wall behind her, its shape edged in steel. she had absolutely no practice in such a defence, but with Hawkhurst’s life on the line she was willing to try. The wood crunched down on the skull of the man nearest her.

And then it was over as quickly as it had begun, bodies groaning all over the room as Hawkhurst turned the innkeeper and
Kerslake over to bind them with rope from his pocket. Any sign of the knife was gone, wiped off and secreted away, but as he stood she caught a small grimace of pain. She hoped he was not hurt and her eyes scoured his clothes for a wound, glad when she saw nothing untoward. He had made victory look so very easy she could barely believe any of it had happened, the work of a man who had long been trained in the art of warfare.

Gathering up the papers, Hawkhurst crossed to open the door where a group had formed in the corridor. Other guests, she supposed by their attire, their eyes widened. She heard the whispers of shock as Hawkhurst took the heavy bellows from her and ordered an older man to get a constable.

With her legs wobbling, she sat down upon the nearest seat, fingers threading through the fabric of a cushion. An ancient organza-wrap thread from Italy, she reasoned, given its sheen, and as out of place here as she was. Already she could see questions in Lord Hawkhurst’s eyes.

She wanted to get away, wanted to be out into the open and far from a place Delsarte used as a stop-off point. If she had guessed right, there would be some sort of sentry stationed.
The innkeeper was one such suspect, his belligerence inciting other questions. The danger of it all was overwhelming.

Forty minutes later they were well on the road, the horse that carried them as run-down as the inn itself.

‘We’ll need to find some shelter before the storm comes.’ Hawkhurst tucked a scratchy grey blanket borrowed from the stables around them both in an effort to generate some warmth as he made this observation, though now that they were out of the range of others Aurelia felt worried for different reasons. He had not spoken at all and she knew that when they stopped there would be things he wished to ask.

The first spots of rain had him pulling the horse off the pathway to gain the cover of heavy bushes and immediately a small open barn not visible from the road could be seen.

He did not push through the shrubs, however, but circled the horse around the edge of them so that twigs were not broken within sight of the highway. Nothing left to chance, no easy clue of their whereabouts. In silence he dismounted and placed his palm flat against the dust of the earth, listening.
To vibration, she supposed, the wind lifting his hair away from the tanned nape at his neck, a man completely in his element amidst nature.

‘Do you think anyone will follow?’ She kept her voice soft just in case.