Wedding Matilda (Redcakes Book 6) (14 page)

She didn’t respond.

He pulled the afghan off her lap, then put his hands on each wrist. “Come, we need to get you moving.”

She made a sound of inarticulate protest as he pulled her to her feet. Her knees buckled slightly, and he put one leg between hers, attempting to shore her up.

“Oh, sweetheart, this isn’t good. You need to stand up for yourself, refuse the medication. Did they dose you with laudanum?”

“Poppy s-s-syrup,” she slurred. “After I fainted.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

“Toast, yesterday. Toast after every dose.” She giggled.

He realized Gawain probably hadn’t been exaggerating about her hysteria the day before. She might be stronger than most women, but she wasn’t immune to the stresses she was under. And where had he been? At the hotel, sulking over old newspapers.

That thought reminded him of his purpose. He gave her a little shake. Her eyes opened, but her eyes didn’t seem to be focusing. He tugged her through the room to the window and pulled back the heavy curtains, then unlatched the window, letting in fresh air.

“Breathe deeply; it will help you come back to yourself. Do you know when that woman last dosed you?”

“She was trying to help.”

Ewan looked at his lover’s slowly blinking eyes and felt savage. “How dare she? I won’t have her or anyone else do this to you.”

“You aren’t in charge here.”

“Neither are you.”

She smiled sleepily. “Then who is? My father?”

“I’d say it’s Sir Gawain’s wife. And who is she?”

“A princess’s daughter. A healer to Queen Victoria herself.”

“The queen hasn’t done anything worth noting since Prince Albert died,” Ewan said with a sneer. “That doesn’t impress me. She might spend all day dosed with poppy syrup, for all I know.”

“Ewan.” Her tone was too soft, but he understood her censure.

“Yes, that’s my name, and thank you for remembering,” he snapped. “Look, I read that you’ve been buying up wheat fields. Is that true?”

“Land is still cheap,” she mumbled. “I bought a couple of farms. The owners had died and the children were looking to sell.”

“Are you going to buy up flour mills next?”

“I think there is a small one on one of the properties,” she said slowly. “Why?”

He gripped her upper arms, forcing her to look at him. A gust of cold air breezed between them, making them both blink. “Because that might be the motive we’ve been looking for. The adulterated flour, Jacob’s kidnapping. Maybe this is all about business, trying to destroy Redcake’s over the wheat farms.”

“What? Why?” Matilda’s head went loose on her neck again.

“Why not?” Ewan demanded. “I’m irritated, and I only just took over Douglas. Why would the Redcakes buy wheat farms if they weren’t looking to make their own flour? And London is buying elsewhere, at least experimentally.”

“I don’t know what I’m planning to do. I merely purchased the land at an excellent price. Greggory’s younger brother Dudley is writing me a report about what I really purchased. He is interested in farming.”

He turned her to the window and let her breathe in the crisp air with its hint of spring buds for a couple of moments. “You bought the farms to keep a cousin occupied?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “Dudley doesn’t like the factories. Why are you here in my bedroom?”

“The manager at Douglas’s local warehouse, Albert Pigge, knew Jacob was missing.”

That snapped her attention into focus. “We’ve kept it all quiet. With Izabela being involved, even the servants are too frightened to gossip. I’m sure of it.”

“Then how did Pigge know?”

Matilda breathed hard for a moment. Color swept over her cheeks, then faded again. “I’d like to know the answer to that.”

Then, as he held her arms, her knees buckled again. He caught her in his arms and carried her to the bed. When she was safe on her velvet coverlet, he found a bottle of eau de cologne on her dressing table and soaked a handkerchief in it, then pulled the bell pull in the corner.

He touched the handkerchief to her temples and wrists.

“I hate that scent,” she murmured.

Mrs. Miller came into the room.

“She nearly collapsed,” Ewan reported. “She needs proper food, and no more of that damned medicine.”

“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Miller said. “I quite agree.”

“I’m going to confront Sir Gawain and his wife now,” he said. “I trust you to take care of Miss Redcake.”

“I can’t follow your orders, sir,” she protested.

“You can soon enough. I’m going to marry your mistress.” Ewan fixed the housekeeper with a purposeful glare. “I’m going to be an earl someday. I’ll outrank them all in the end. It would be best to stay on my good side.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll do whatever you wish, as long as you bring Master Jacob back safely to us.” The housekeeper’s eyes glittered with tears.

In that moment, Ewan lost his anger. But after the grief came wrath. He would fix this, fix Gawain and his bloody wife, and this entire damned mess. He’d beat the truth out of Pigge if he had to, but first he needed to see if the earl himself was involved. And he’d best tell the man he was getting married.

When he reached the parlor, he found Sir Bartley inside, along with Gawain and his wife. From Gawain’s wretched expression, he knew his former employer had just finished sharing the news about the farms.

“Would the earl truly be so vindictive?” Gawain turned to Ewan. “When did he learn that his heir was employed by the Redcake family?”

Ewan winced. He hadn’t thought of that angle. “I cannot say, but I do not find that relevant. Besides, I do not believe the earl is that involved in the day-to-day workings of one aspect of his empire.”

“So you think all of this has been concocted by some underling?”

“I aim to go to London and find out. I will telephone the earl’s solicitor and have an interview as soon as I arrive. Perhaps I can shake something loose.”

“An explanation,” Ann said.

“My grandson,” Sir Bartley added, his bushy eyebrows coalescing into one gingery unit.

“It isn’t going to be so simple,” Gawain said.

“What will be simple is aiding Matilda in returning to reason,” Ewan said. “I cannot understand why you are dosing her with poppy syrup, madam, but it must end.”

“It was a temporary measure, I assure you,” Gawain’s exotic wife said.

“See that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Who are you to order around my wife?” Gawain snapped. “You aren’t an earl yet.”

“I am going to marry your sister,” Ewan said. “It is clear that she needs my support.”

“I have a special license that says she is going to marry Bliven,” Gawain countered.

“Is it possible to change the name to mine?”

“Certainly not.”

“Fine. Then I shall acquire my own.” Ewan went to the table where the papers lay and snatched up the special license. “Bliven cannot help her now and Matilda knows that.”

“Do you think there is any chance poor little Jacob is still alive?” Ann asked.

Ewan pressed his lips together. When he caught Sir Bartley’s eye, he saw true pain in the face of his former employer. “I will be proud to marry Matilda under any eventuality.”

“She will keep her position?” Sir Bartley asked in a low voice.

“I will not have the time to assume her duties,” Ewan said. “But when I become earl, she will have to move on. You had best plan for a successor.”

“She might not want to marry you,” Ann said. “After what she has been through with men.”

“Just one man,” Ewan said. “Not me. You will see when she is restored. Do you have any medications to help her that will not put her into a stupor?”

“A pot of tea and a good meal is what she needs now. And her son back.”

Ewan closed his eyes for a moment. Her son back. Yes, Matilda certainly needed that. But while he could give her his name—and needed to, because he had bedded her—he could not give her the child back. If only it were that easy.

 

That evening, Ewan sat in Shadrach Norwich’s office. The earl had agreed to meet him there. He had dragged Norwich from his office to help him straighten out the mess with the special license and now had one with his name and Matilda’s, not Bliven’s. Norwich had taken a copious gulp from his brown bottle upon their return and now dozed in his chair. The earl was late.

As Ewan fingered the rustling papers in his coat, the door opened behind him and the earl appeared in the doorway. Norwich blinked and stood. Ewan followed his lead.

The earl gestured for them both to sit and took the chair next to Ewan. “Explain yourself, sir. I expected you to be taking up the reins of Douglas Industries, counter to my original plans, not gallivanting about in train stations, visiting the Redcakes.”

“I severed my employment with them, my lord, on schedule. I had my initial meetings here, but then discovered we had a warehouse in Bristol.”

“Why is that so important?”

Did the earl know nothing about his company? “Because we are having trouble with Redcake’s, which you must know is an important customer of Douglas Flour. There is a lot of money involved. And we are in danger of losing that business. I am unsure of the sequence of events.”

“What events?” the earl asked in a bored voice. He flicked a speck of ash off the checked sleeve of his coat.

“The London bakery is experimenting with new suppliers. We have sent adulterated goods to Redcake’s. I have also learned that the Redcakes have bought wheat farms. I do wonder if the flour was adulterated in retaliation for Redcake’s appearing to plan to cut us out of their supply chain.”

“Are they?”

“I do not know. Miss Redcake has been distraught over the kidnapping of her son.”

“I see.” The earl tapped his chin with a long bony finger.

“I have a plan,” Ewan said.

“You do?” Norwich leaned forward, almost knocking over his bottle.

“Yes. I’m going to marry Matilda Redcake,” Ewan announced. He thought to appeal to the earl’s self-interest. He could secure his own heir and marry a wealthy woman. “That will keep our most valuable customer in line. We’ll have to fix the problems that led to the adulteration, whatever that might be, of course.”

The earl sat upright, his voice rising in a thunderous roar. “You will not marry that . . . that loose daughter of a tradesman!”

“I
will not see you sullying the line of the Fitzwalters with such a woman. Why, we are descended from Charles II,” the earl snapped.

“One of the bastards,” Norwich said, the contents of the brown bottle clearly warring with his common sense.

The earl snarled. Norwich giggled once, sharply, then subsided.

Ewan ignored the comments and the absurdity. “I need to marry her.”

“Why?” the earl asked, nearly as loudly as before.

“I have compromised her.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

The earl snorted, then coughed for a minute before he recovered. “You, sir, are a fool, as was your father before you. She was already compromised. You can’t compromise a woman twice.”

That made no sense to him. “She could be carrying my child.”

“Then she’s carrying your bastard, just like the bastard she carried before. Not my concern.” The earl licked a trace of spittle from his lips.

“Her sister is a marchioness,” Ewan said. “She has good connections. Her father and brother have been knighted. Her sister-in-law is descended from Indian royalty and her youngest sister just married Rupert Courtnay, the dye manufacturer whose daughter married the inventor Lewis Noble.”

The earl sniffed. “The Redcakes have done well for themselves on the marriage mart, I’ll give you that. But I won’t have you marrying a whore.”

Ewan stiffened. “I assure you she is not that. She’s a good woman, and I take full responsibility for compromising her when she was distraught.”

“She should marry the father of her child.”

“She had planned to. She even had the special license, but I had it changed to my name. I’m going back to Bristol in the morning to marry her.”

“If you do so, I will cut you off,” the earl said. “I will not allow it.”

He changed tactics, preferring the offensive. “Did you tell the flour factory to give the Redcakes an adulterated product?”

“Of course not. I’m not that involved. I didn’t even know the Redcakes were buying land. Even so, they might want to use our mills. We might still do business with them.” The earl ground his teeth. “I understand that much.”

Ewan appraised him. His great-uncle had a temper. Was he liable to act on it, or just use words? “What about little Jacob? Did you have anything to do with the kidnapping?”

“Certainly not.” The earl drew himself up. “I could have assumed a Walter would be the sentimental sort. The last thing I would have done was create unnecessary romance in the Redcake family just as I was moving you into position as my heir.”

He ignored the insult. “So their misfortune has nothing to do with you.”

The earl shook his head.

He attempted to assess the man’s innocence. “That doesn’t mean that the business has nothing to do with it, however. If you aren’t particularly engaged, others are taking all the responsibility.”

The earl stood. “That’s your responsibility now. You asked for it.”

“I’m going back to Bristol to marry Miss Redcake.”

The earl puffed out his chest and stared across the desk. “Norwich, take a memo.”

The solicitor blinked. “I’ll get a clerk.”

“No, you do it.”

Norwich sighed and pulled a piece of paper and a pencil from his desk. “Yes, my lord?”

“To the managers of Douglas Industries: Ewan Hales is no longer the managing director. Return to your previous chain of command. That is all.” The earl put one ankle across the other and neatly pivoted, then walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Ewan leaned back in his chair, stunned. Of course he should have seen the threat coming, but he’d thought the earl, as a gentleman, would have understood that he’d compromised a vulnerable woman and owed her marriage.

Now, he was unemployed. And he’d used up much of his savings bribing the clerk to alter the special license. What was he going to live on?

 

The next morning, Daisy trotted into the parlor, looking quite flushed. “A note for you, Miss Redcake.”

Matilda had been dozing in an armchair by the fire with Ann at her side. Gawain’s wife was taking her pulse and muttering to herself, something about adverse reactions.

“Give it here,” Gawain said, snatching the note from the maid.

Matilda wanted to snap at him but couldn’t find the energy. Ann released her hand and poured yet another cup of tea. She’d sworn tea would counteract the poppy syrup eventually.

“It’s another ransom note,” Gawain reported.

Sir Bartley rose from the sofa and went to the window with Gawain. As Matilda struggled to alertness, he bent over the note. “Any smell of chalk this time?”

Gawain sniffed, then frowned. “No. Here, I’ll read it aloud. ‘you must want yer baby something bad. He crying for you. You goin to pay for the littl one. 5000 pounds in the park at dusk. Come alone, Matilda Redcake.’ ”

“Tonight?” Sir Bartley frowned. “Good thing we have the money sorted.”

“I don’t like this,” Ann said. “There’s nothing about where to put the money. Or what to put it in. She’s meant to meet someone.”

“I’m not sending my daughter into that park in the dark to meet some blackguard,” Sir Bartley said stoutly.

“Of course not,” Matilda’s mother said. She went to her husband and patted his arm, looking frail and stooped. She’d aged a year for every one of the nine days Jacob had been missing.

Matilda tried to push the gray fog, the torpor, out of the forefront of her brain and into some dusty back corner. She needed to focus. “We know it is a note from the same person, at least. Some of the same wording. The same amount, the same park where Sir Barks was found.”

Gawain nodded. “Good points, Matilda.”

The door opened, and Matilda saw Ewan enter the room. He looked exhausted, too, careworn. His shoes were scuffed and his coat had dark stains. Why hadn’t Mrs. Miller removed his coat? He still wore his hat as well. He needed a woman’s care, and far fewer trips on the train. She wanted to smooth that hair off his brow, force it back into the tidy slickness, and return him to his office at Redcake’s Tea Shop. Turn back time, basically, to the moment they had kissed and none of this had happened yet.

She rose, trying to ignore her weak limbs. The maid was still standing just inside the door, riveted by the new ransom note. “Daisy, please take Mr. Hales’s things and fetch us some sandwiches and fresh water for the tea.”

The maid bobbed a curtsy and helped him with his coat. Ewan frowned at the girl as he handed her his hat, then stared at Matilda. She felt the force of his gaze.

“What took you to London? I didn’t hear the details.”

“I wanted to speak to the earl. The end result, before you have to ask, is that I am no longer regional director of Douglas Industries.”

“He’s going to send you to manage one of the farms after all?” Matilda put her hand to her stomach. Why had he returned, instead of fighting for his position? What did he want from her? Couldn’t he understand she had nothing to offer him?

“No, he’s cut me off.” Ewan shrugged. “No position at all.”

“You’re his heir,” Gawain said. “That’s outrageous. Whatever for?”

“It’s all right, my boy,” Sir Bartley said, coming to stand next to Ewan. “We’ve plenty of land for you to practice managing.”

Matilda winced as she thought of the wheat farms. She’d forgotten entirely about that project. It had been an idea of Greggory’s, to use up some excess capital and interest his younger brother in the family business. She’d agreed with alacrity, knowing how her father liked to own land, but she’d never even taken a look at what she’d bought.

“Thank you, Sir Bartley. I appreciate that.” His grin was too practiced for her taste. “What else is going on?”

Gawain held out the note. “No chalk smell this time, just a new demand.”

Ewan took the paper and read it. “You aren’t going to go through with this.”

Matilda straightened. “You know I have to.”

“They might kidnap you, too, or kill you,” he said. “I cannot allow that.”

Matilda ignored her brother’s look of significance. “I can allow exactly that. I need to take any chance possible to ensure my son’s safety. What if it is Izabela waiting for me in the park? I might be able to reason with her. I thought she genuinely cared for Jacob.”

“We could say you are indisposed. Send Mrs. Miller,” Ewan suggested. “She knows Izabela.”

“The two women together?” Gawain said. “Mrs. Miller wouldn’t be seen as a threat.”

“The kidnapper might not even enter the park if he sees two figures in the dusk,” Ewan said. “It’s gated. They can survey the entire place before coming in.”

“I’m going alone,” Matilda said. “We’ll have men from the factory come into the area around teatime, walk the entire area, keep an eye on the square. If they are there for hours, the kidnapper might not spot them.”

“We’ll be there,” Gawain said. “I won’t let them take you, too.”

His grim cast reminded Matilda of Gawain’s military experience. She wished she’d had the same, instead of years in a finishing school.

Ewan spoke up. “They might recognize you, but probably not me.”

“I’ll stay closer to the house,” Gawain said, agreeing easily. “You are in residence at that hotel on the other side of the park, so you have every right to be walking by.”

“Frequently,” Ewan agreed. “I like the idea of the factory men, Matilda, if you are sure they aren’t involved in any way.”

How could she be certain of anything? But she had to press on, for Jacob’s sake. “If you think the adulterated flour and Jacob’s kidnapping are related, we’ve proven the flour came from Douglas in London. Therefore, my men ought to be innocent.”

“Oh, they could be involved with Douglas in some fashion,” Gawain said. “I wish we knew who Izabela’s mystery follower was. Has Mrs. Miller had any luck with that?”

“I am sorry I have not had more time to learn about Douglas’s companies,” Ewan said. “I don’t know if it employs spies or believes in information gathering. Redcake’s is far more moral than many concerns.”

“It doesn’t matter now, my boy; you are with us,” Sir Bartley said.

“Until the earl dies,” Gawain added.

“That will be years from now,” Ewan said. “Meanwhile, we need to get word to the factory men you trust, Matilda, and put them in place in a few hours.”

She sighed. “I’m going to go over there myself and walk the factory floor.”

“Wouldn’t it be best to speak to the managers about who can be trusted?” Ewan asked.

She straightened her shoulders. “I care more about who I can trust, which isn’t many. I want to see faces, expressions. Are they concerned about me? Condescending? Will they mention their own children and shudder? Those are the men I want. Family men.”

Ewan nodded. “Who do you want to go with you?”

Matilda glanced around the room, then smiled tentatively at her father. “You, Papa. Will you come?”

Sir Bartley smiled. “Of course, my dear. I will remember some of the men. Has it really been six years since we left Bristol?”

Her mother came to her father and rubbed his arm. “I’m glad we didn’t leave Bristol behind entirely. I’ve missed the old house. So many memories here. It brings Arthur back to me.”

Matilda’s brother had died here, in a bedroom down the hallway from the nursery. No one had slept there since. She sent a prayer up to her brother, hoping he didn’t have Jacob in his trust quite yet, up in heaven, but was keeping an eye on him here.

A cloud moved away from the face of the sun, and a ray of light burst through the window sharply, illuminating the parlor. Matilda felt the heat on her face and smiled. Perhaps Arthur had sent her a sign. She gathered hope’s strength into herself.

“It brings Arthur back to me, too, to have you both here in this house with me,” Matilda said, taking her mother’s arm. “He was a brave lad. Papa, we should go now, so the men can move into the area slowly.”

“I’ll check back into my hotel,” Ewan said. “I wonder if I should return to the Douglas warehouse, before they discover I’ve been sacked.”

“Does the earl know you were inclined to return to Bristol?” Sir Bartley asked.

Ewan nodded.

“Then don’t do it,” her father advised. “You don’t want them to think we’re focusing in on them until we have more information.”

“We need to learn more about Izabela’s follower,” Gawain said. “Have we talked to the mother again?”

“Mrs. Miller has added visiting the woman to her daily duties,” Matilda explained. “There’s nothing.”

“We should put men on that house,” her brother muttered. “This is where Dougal Alexander, the private inquiry agent, would come in handy.”

“Let’s just get through tonight,” Matilda said. “I’ve given up on the Gipsies and Izabela’s family. I don’t think we’ll find Jacob through them.”

“What’s left?” Gawain asked.

“This ransom note,” Matilda said. “Following the money.”

“There is no way to do that,” Sir Bartley said.

“You must follow whoever meets me,” she said.

“I will,” Ewan said.

Gawain swore. “It will be every man for himself at the opportune moment.”

“We have good men at the factory. Someone will get them,” Matilda said. “We’ll find my son.”

Ewan gave her a sympathetic smile. She turned away, not wanting to feel soft or enamored.

 

It rained. And rained, the sky a puddle of dark clouds and moisture. Dusk came early, about three
P.M.
, thanks to the weather. Wind gusted lustily through the trees. Everyone scrambled, grateful that they couldn’t be seen any better than the kidnappers. Six men from the factory were in the streets. Gawain and Sir Bartley walked on a wide circuit along with their wives. Even Mrs. Miller went to the main road to see if anyone she recognized climbed down from the bus.