Wedding Matilda (Redcakes Book 6) (20 page)

“Owe you money?” the man asked.

“Five thousand pounds,” Ewan said.

The coachman’s eyes widened. “Get in then, guv. I’ve driving to do.”

“Thank you,” Gawain said. The scars on his face seemed more evident than usual. He leaned back against the squabs, wincing, and massaged his hip.

The walking stick he’d borrowed from Hiram Bliven clattered to the ground. Ewan stepped on it to hold it in place.

“God, I’d kill for a drink right now,” Gawain said. “Or some pills.”

“At least we’re off the street,” Ewan said, not without sympathy. Gawain should be far more disabled than he was. He’d fought hard against his battle injuries and usually had them mastered. Marrying a healer had been one of his more intelligent strokes. Hiring Theodore Bliven to find him eye medicine from India had helped him restore his vision, as well. Another good move.

“Yes, I’m glad you thought of this. Those two blackguards can’t see us, and we can follow them in comfort.”

“I hope these are the men your sister saw outside the chapel. They seem to match both descriptions. Any thought as to where they were heading?”

“After a funeral? I expect they were going drinking somewhere. A public house if they are not gentlemen, a club if they are.”

Gawain was correct. The hansom had driven them less than two miles before pulling over in front of a hotel on Leicester Square. Ewan jumped down from the hansom and went to pay the coachman.

“They went in that door to the left, guv,” the coachman advised. “It belongs to the Blair Club, I believe.”

“Never heard of it. Can you advise me?”

“Young gentlemen. Heavy drinkers. Picked up a couple of fares outside that made a mess in my cab.” The coachman shrugged as Ewan tossed up his coins. The hansom rocked as Gawain exited.

Ewan came to his side as the coachman spoke to a potential fare. “The Blair Club,” he said.

“Think we can get inside?”

“I don’t know that we want to. We just want to know who the men are, right? It’s not as if Jacob is being held in a men’s club.”

Gawain rubbed his nose. “I’d have preferred if they’d gone to ground in a pub.”

Ewan patted his shoulder, for the first time feeling truly comfortable with his future brother-in-law. “I second that, but no luck. Let us talk to the doorman. Got any guineas on you?”

Gawain fished in his pocket, then poked through some small coins. “Ah, here’s one.”

“Let’s hope it’s enough.” Ewan pasted on a friendly smile as he approached the doorman.

The man bared rabbitty front teeth at him as they approached. “Gentlemen?”

Ewan put his hands to his lapels and struck a confiding pose. “A friend of mine just went into the club. I’ve forgotten the name of his companion, and I do not want to look a fool in front of my friend, as you can imagine. The short man. Bliven, is it? Or . . . ?”

The doorman tucked his lower lip underneath those alarming teeth. “Now, sir, you cannot expect me to reveal confidential information.”

Gawain tossed him the guinea. The gold coin flashed through the air, and the doorman had it hidden in a pocket before Ewan could blink.

“Such fine gentlemen as yourselves could certainly not be a threat to Mr. Wyld. His friend is Hulk. Augustus Hulk.”

“Mr. Wyld; that is, Mr. Richard Wyld?” Gawain said. “He still lives on Charles Street? We don’t want to interrupt him at his club.”

Ewan’s hearing sharpened. Clearly Gawain had recognized the name. Of course, Gawain had been a high-flying bachelor around town not too long ago. He’d even claimed one of the most notorious mistresses in the fast set for a short time.

“Yes, sir. I believe so.”

Gawain nodded. “Good man.” He turned away, tapping his cane on the pavement.

Ewan followed him back to the hotel’s entrance. “What was that about?”

“Richard Wyld was a tutor to Lord Murchie’s younger brother years ago. Oldest son but had no money.”

“How do you know him?”

“I can’t say I do, but Lord Murchie is a Redcake’s customer. I believe Wyld used to come in with the lad before he went to Eton. That was probably four years ago.”

“I fail to see the significance of any of this.”

Gawain leaned back against the stone edifice of the hotel. “Wyld is from a good family, obviously, to get such a post, also well educated. Familiar with Redcake’s. No idea what he’s been doing since.”

“Why would you?”

“Exactly. No reason.” Gawain grimaced.

“What about Charles Street? Where did that come from?”

“Lord Murchie’s address. I never expected to hear that Wyld still lived there, or nearby.”

“I see.”

“Let’s stop in at Ye Grapes, shall we?” Gawain asked. “Just a couple of minutes from here, and I could use a pint to wet my whistle.”

Ewan raised his eyebrows at the idea of visiting the racy pub, right in the middle of Shepherd Market, a hive of prostitution. “Really, Gawain, I’m about to marry your sister.”

“Did I mention women? No, I assure you I’m quite happy with my wife. I simply want a comfortable spot to sit before we venture off to Lord Murchie’s home.”

“Are we going there?”

“You know we have to.”

Ewan sighed. “Lead on. I wonder how long they will be at their club.”

“I don’t know if it’s them we want to speak to,” Gawain mused.

 

By the time they exited the pub, Gawain looked more relaxed. His hip seemed to have ceased troubling him. He led the way to Lord Murchie’s home, a warm yellow brick structure on the exclusive street. Gawain and Ewan both gave their cards to the footman who opened the door. They waited in the entrance hall for a few moments, then were led into a parlor.

Less than five minutes later, Lord Murchie entered, a slender figure of about thirty years. Ewan knew he was soon to be married.

“Sir Gawain,” the lord exclaimed. “And Mr. Hales; I believe I have heard your name at White’s recently.”

“He is Fitzwalter’s heir,” Gawain explained.

“Ah, yes, the secretary who will be earl someday,” Murchie said, only his lower lip showing beneath his bushy mustache, which looked distinctly oversized on his long face.

Ewan nodded, wondering if his future equals would be kinder if he’d been elevated to manager of Redcake’s Kensington before Fitzwalter had found him. Most likely not. It was still trade.

“I believe you know Richard Wyld,” Gawain said, as Lord Murchie gestured for them to be seated.

“Oh, yes, lived here for years.”

“I remember he tutored your brother.”

“All three of them,” Murchie said. “Children of Father’s second marriage, you know. Much younger than me. Youngest just went to Eton last fall. Not sure why Wyld is still here, but he’s an institution, you know, old thing. I believe he’s giving Millicent geography lessons.”

“Your half sister?”

“Yes; she’s twelve.” Lord Murchie made a face. “Impossible girl. Best to keep her busy. Africa fascinates her, what?”

“Still receiving a salary, then?” Ewan asked, thinking perhaps the tutor had entered into a kidnapping scheme for money.

“Oh, yes, but he’s in arrears. Always asking for an advance. Horse racing, you see. Likes to visit Newmarket, that sort of thing. Not enough to keep him busy here.”

Ewan and Gawain shared a glance.

“What’s this all about?” Lord Murchie asked. “If the man is involved in something truly unsavory, I’d best know about it. Child to protect and all. Innocent young bride about to live under my roof.”

“He was at Theodore Bliven’s funeral today, with an Augustus Hulk,” Gawain explained. “He made a remark that my sister overheard, sounding like he had a hand in my nephew’s kidnapping.”

“You have a kidnapped nephew?” Lord Murchie exclaimed. “Terrible business that must be.”

“Yes. He’s only two. We’ve paid a significant ransom. He was alive last week. My sister saw him, but they got him away again, and now, nothing.”

“Which sister?”

“Matilda.”

“Doesn’t live in London,” Murchie said, rubbing his fingers down his mustache.

“Bristol. Her nanny disappeared, too, presumably part of a plot. We think she had a follower. Maybe he talked her into it.”

“You think that’s my Mr. Wyld.”

Gawain shrugged. “It’s his own words that damn him. But curse it if I’ve any idea why. I know he admired Comtesse Valery, who I was once acquainted with, which is why I recognized his name at all.”

Lord Murchie licked his lower lip. “Ah, yes, the lovely Marie. Who could not admire her? You know, I think Wyld had prospects once upon a time, but I’ve heard nothing about it for years. Can’t remember what.”

“So he’s merely a tutor in debt due to a gambling addiction.”

Lord Murchie nodded. “I must suggest gently that he find a new post. Given his debt, it seemed easier to let him entertain Millicent. But now, given this troubling information, I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“We’d like to speak to him.”

“Of course, of course,” Lord Murchie said heartily. “But he ain’t here now, what?”

“Can we wait?” Ewan asked.

“He’s off duty this afternoon. Usually has Thursdays to himself, but he especially wanted to attend Bliven’s funeral. Old school fellow. Didn’t see the harm in it. Not much for him to do here.”

“Of course.” Matilda had been kidnapped on a Thursday.

“Come back tomorrow,” Lord Murchie suggested. “Can’t say when he’ll return. Hate Thursdays. Millicent always underfoot, you understand.”

They nodded and stood. When they left the house, Ewan hesitated on the street outside. “You’d think if he had an afternoon off he’d have gone to Bristol to check in there.”

“He probably has access to a telephone. Besides, his employer might have heard gossip if he hadn’t turned up at the funeral.”

“Maybe he ordered a new ransom? He could be too busy any other day.”

“We should check in at St. James’s Square soon,” Gawain agreed. “In case there is news.”

“We need to go to the train station so we can return to Bristol at a reasonable hour. It’s been a stressful day for Matilda.”

Gawain nodded assent, then clutched Ewan’s sleeve. Ewan looked at him curiously, thinking his hip had seized up again, then saw the direction of Gawain’s gaze. Wyld and Hulk were coming down the street, moving directly toward them. Wyld was tossing shillings in the air, juggling them with proficiency in one hand.

E
wan swore softly. Were they about to come face-to-face with Jacob’s kidnappers or, at the very least, part of the ring? What was the tie to Theodore Bliven? It made him sick to think Matilda had been correct all along.

Gawain’s face had transformed into a tight mask, a battle-hardened warrior’s expression. Ewan relaxed his shoulders and widened his stance, ready for whatever came.

The men walked forward, Hulk swinging his walking stick, chatting animatedly. He saw Hulk clap Wyld on the shoulder, for all the world like two sporting men coming home from a hot day at the races, rather than mourners returning from a funeral.

He smelled the heavy scent of an orange-flavored liquor before they reached conversation distance. At that instant, Wyld saw Gawain. His coins vanished into his fist.

“Blimey!” the man cried, grabbing the shorter Hulk by the shoulder.

“Eh?” Hulk said, clearly not the more intelligent of the duo. He stepped forward menacingly, brandishing his cane.

Gawain bared his teeth and tossed his own cane into the air. He caught it in the middle, then turned it across his midsection, making it a striking weapon with two points.

“Where is Jacob?” Ewan said, raising his fists. “We just want the boy.”

Wyld sneered and leaned toward a house. As Ewan watched, confused, the man turned and began to run. Hulk, equally baffled, brandished his cane for another moment, then ran after his friend, his coattails flapping.

Ewan took off, knowing he couldn’t wait for Gawain. He chased them through St. James’s Square, then lost them in the Piccadilly crowd. Half an hour later, he walked back to the Redcake house on the square, where he assumed Gawain had returned to wait for him.

He was correct. Gawain had a carriage standing by. They both climbed in, not speaking, defeated.

“Didn’t expect me to get them, did you?” Ewan said.

“No. Either they’d have lost you or beat you to a pulp, unless you had a crowd involved.”

“Wish I had your background. I’d have had them.”

“Found yourself dead or beaten, more like. But you’ve done well. Worthy of my sister.”

Ewan tossed his hat on the bench and tucked his head into his hands. “Thank you. Now what do we do?”

“Need to have them arrested,” Gawain said. “Luckily, we are on our way to a solicitor’s office. We’ll have them take care of it.”

 

The Bliven family solicitor’s office was a far cry from the dingy environs Ewan had told Matilda that his great-uncle’s solicitor operated under, so much so that she wondered if the Blivens overpaid for legal services. But the results of the will reading were what she expected. Not surprisingly, the deceased had left all his worldly goods to his son, Jacob, under the care of his mother. Additionally, she saw no sign of shock or distress in Hiram Bliven when she glanced at him.

“Luckily for you, there isn’t much in the way of material goods, because he didn’t reside in London. I believe he disposed of his Indian possessions, knowing he would never return. He’d led the life of an itinerant traveler these past few years.”

Matilda nodded.

The solicitor continued. “But his personal effects are your son’s now.”

Matilda glanced at Hiram again. “I think you should give his clothes and intimate items to your servants to do with as they please, in thanks for their service to him.”

Hiram nodded.

“I will take everything else as keepsakes for my son. Can you arrange to have the items sent to my family home in St. James’s Square?”

Hiram nodded. “Of course. He had some artwork, Indian in nature, books, cigar cases, that sort of thing.”

“I’m sure Jacob will eventually treasure those items.”

“I will transfer the bank accounts to your son’s name. There were two,” the solicitor said.

“Please forward the information to my family’s solicitor,” Matilda requested.

“He did have savings,” the solicitor said. “He didn’t spend a great deal, or his expenses were covered by his business. There will be enough to send your son to school when the time comes.”

She would never send Jacob away to school, at least not until he was of age to attend university, nor did he need a penny of his father’s money, but it wasn’t important. Mr. Bliven had wanted to provide for his son and he had done so, quite admirably and correctly. She thanked the solicitor and exited his office as quickly as she could. It had still taken an hour to listen to the will, her head throbbing in tandem with each tap of the solicitor’s finger on the relevant documents.

Outside, Hiram and his brother took her hand briefly. The vicar seemed mournful. She wondered if he had expected something to go to the Church.

“I am glad you were there at the last,” was all he said.

“As am I.” She saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Gawain and Ewan entered the outer chamber of the office and came toward them. She saw her brother had acquired a walking stick somewhere along the way.

“In a way, I am glad you didn’t marry him,” Hiram said frankly. “I hate to see a pretty woman in dull black.”

Ewan took her arm, perhaps judging correctly the gleam of Blivenish female appreciation in the man’s eyes. Hiram lifted his eyebrows at the proprietary gesture, but Gawain appeared at her other elbow.

“We need to return to Bristol now,” Ewan said. “Jacob, you know.”

“Of course,” Hiram said. “I do hope you find our young cousin soon. If there is anything we can do to help, please let us know.”

“Thank you,” Matilda said.

“Actually,” Gawain said, “we need to have a couple of men arrested. They are involved in the kidnapping, though they obviously don’t have custody of Jacob. Think your lawyers can take care of it?”

Hiram frowned. “Of course. Young Jacob is our family.”

Matilda grabbed her brother’s arm. “What? Did you find those men?”

Gawain nodded. “Sort of. They are definitely involved. We just have to find out how, and that is going to be a job for the police.”

Matilda sat dumbfounded in the law office for another hour, while Gawain explained to the lawyer what they knew. She’d never heard of Richard Wyld or Augustus Hulk, though she now suspected they were part of the gang that had kidnapped her.

“Wyld made it sound like he was in charge,” she protested.

“I think he was boasting to Hulk,” Gawain said. “I know enough about him to think he couldn’t possibly be the master kidnapper. Not with just one day a week free. It makes no sense.”

“I question whether he really had only one day a week free,” Ewan said. “I didn’t get the sense Lord Murchie would know where Wyld was much of the time.”

“Either way,” the lawyer said, “we will speak to the superintendent of the St. James’s division on your behalf. Hopefully his men can run these criminals to ground.”

“Thank you. We need to return to Bristol,” Gawain said. “Still no word on a ransom and we need to continue our search.”

Her brother stood. Matilda noticed how heavily he was leaning on his walking stick. They were all suffering the effects of Jacob’s long disappearance. Ewan had a tear in the arm of his coat, and he’d lost his hat somewhere along the way. He noticed her perusal of him and smiled, but he looked exhausted.

How many men would chase two villains through the streets of London for her, risk their lives in a fight? She had chosen wisely in her future husband. If only she could tell him how much she appreciated him, but it would be hours before they had the opportunity to be alone.

Eventually, they made it into the Redcake’s carriage and were on their way to the train station. Ann glanced at Ewan, then frowned. “Is that blood on your sleeve?”

“It might be from my cheek. I caught a branch.”

“But your sleeve is torn. Did your stiches reopen?”

“I think it is just my jacket, not my shirtsleeve. I don’t think my arm is any worse.”

When the carriage stopped at an intersection, Ann changed seats so she could look. “No, you were cut all the way through.” She held his arm up to the light. “Minor wound, though; nothing like the first one. Should be fine. I’ll wash and bandage it on the train, if you will allow.”

Ewan tilted his head toward her. “I hope you don’t think I consider you to be a bad healer, Lady Redcake. I am sorry I was so harsh with you when I was concerned about Matilda.”

“She was hysterical.”

“That is not her normal state of being. She’s very levelheaded generally, and she did not seem to react well to the syrup.”

Ann nodded. “That I will agree with, and I should have kept a much closer eye on her while it left her system. I was worried about her, too.”

“We both want the same thing,” Ewan said. “Matilda’s well-being.”

Matilda smiled at them both. She had forgiven Ann, knowing enough about medicine to be aware that people reacted differently to treatments. She’d never had poppy syrup before, so how could anyone have known she would react so? But she’d never take it again. Ironically, she’d done better with the ether with which the kidnappers had assaulted her. “There now, is everyone friends again?”

Ewan and Ann nodded as Gawain rolled his eyes. The carriage stopped. “Here we are. We’re going to have to run.”

“As if we ladies can run,” Ann said with a glare at her husband.

As it was, they were not even seated by the time the train pulled out of the station. The first-class car was full of cigar-smoking businessmen, two to a seat. Ann made a face and they went into the corridor.

“It’s funny. Having been out of the inn business for a while, I can no longer tolerate cigar smoke.”

“Is that new?” Matilda asked.

Ann smiled. “Afraid I’m expecting another little one? I don’t think so. Perhaps.”

Gawain put his arm around his wife and kissed her on the temple. “Noel would like that.”

“A tentative congratulations to you both, then,” Ewan said, nodding his head at the beaming couple. “I wonder if we can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I noticed a couple of private cars attached to the train.” Gawain gestured over his shoulder.

“That won’t do us any good unless we know the owners,” Matilda pointed out.

“Let’s go and see.”

They discovered the first private car was inhabited by Lord and Lady Burnham, longtime patrons of Redcake’s who were also in business with Lord Judah. The couple invited the foursome in, and they spent an hour chattering while Ann cleaned and bandaged Ewan’s arm. Eventually, Lord Burnham suggested they repair to the dining car because they hadn’t laid in supplies.

Ann and Gawain agreed readily. Ewan, with a glance at Matilda, declined.

“Stay here, then, Miss Redcake,” Lord Burnham said. “Might as well rest in comfort. Understandable why you don’t want to be out in public with such goings-on. Have a bit of quiet with your young man.”

Matilda smiled and rested her head against the back of the gilded settee facing one set of carriage windows. As the compartment door closed, she said, “Heaven. Peace and quiet.”

“We don’t get much of that,” Ewan said, settling next to her.

She opened her eyes lazily. “I never did. Ewan, you’ve lived alone for years. How are you going to cope with a household? A wife, servants?”

“And a son,” he said. “A busy boy running through the house.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Yes. I cannot believe we identified some of the kidnappers, and at Mr. Bliven’s funeral no less. I don’t know what it means, but I’m so glad. I feel Jacob will be home very soon.”

“I think so, too,” Ewan said, pressing up against her. He winced as his arm met hers. Standing, he took off his overcoat, exposing the smaller rip in his coat.

“Let’s remove this as well, so I can see the extent of the damage. I couldn’t ask to take a look with everyone else here,” Matilda said, unbuttoning his coat. Gently, she helped him take it off, then took a critical look at his arm. “You’ve taken a beating for me, haven’t you? Eight stitches and now this, plus your knee.”

“The latest is just a deep scratch. I slid against a potato seller’s cart when Hulk took a sharp turn to the right.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t burned.” She kissed the bandages with a featherlight brush of her lips. How brave he had been.

He shrugged, putting on a heroic pose. “All in a day’s work for a secretary.”

She chuckled and kissed an unblemished spot on his forearm. “My hero.”

“I would have liked to slam my fist into Richard Wyld’s self-satisfied face,” Ewan reflected. “I’m not usually a violent man, but under these circumstances I feel quite elemental.”

She ran her hand over his ripped sleeve, feeling the same way. “Can we bend your lust for violence into some other kind of passion?”

He blinked, staring at her, then his lips curved. “Why, Miss Redcake, I do believe you just made an improper suggestion.”

She smiled back and unpinned her hat. Her hair had been done in a rush, and some of the strands came down with her hat, tumbling around her face. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and pulled her close, angling his face for a kiss.

She met him openmouthed and heated, suddenly burning for his touch. Pulling at his tie, ripping at his shirt, grabbing for his suspenders, she had his trousers open before he’d even finished unbuttoning the frogs closing her black velvet coat.

“Tiny buttons,” he said.

“Not trying hard enough,” she said against his mouth. “How much time do we have?”

“It’s never enough, but it will have to be.” He pulled her coat from her body and turned her to tackle her blouse next, then her corset, after he took her skirt down.

“You are smiling like you managed something miraculous,” she observed.

He went to the door and locked it, then stalked back to her, his wild black curls making him look dangerous. His trousers hung low on his hips without the support of suspenders. He looked mouthwateringly delicious like this. She felt her breasts swell, her nipples harden, the heat surge between her legs.