A Reformed Rake (31 page)

“I’m going to think. But first I’m going to put you with the others. Up the stairs.”

Hiding her relief the word “others” gave her—implying as it did that they were still alive and well—Harriet turned. He hadn’t killed Madame or her hostess. And Françoise was, very likely, with the others. At the comte’s insistence, she climbed. She didn’t drag her feet, but she didn’t hurry. At the top she saw the key in the door and turned to look at the man.

“Open it,” he ordered.

She did and looked around the small room. “Hello,” she said brightly.

“Oh, Harri, not you, too!” Frani turned into Madame’s shoulder and began to cry.

“Come, Françoise,” scolded Madame. “That is no way to greet a friend, is it now?”

Frani raised a tear-wet face, straightened her shoulders. “I’ll be good,” she said, setting her jaw.

“Excellent,” praised her grandmother, patting her granddaughter’s shoulder gently while her eyes exchanged silent messages with Harriet’s.

“
Fools
!” screamed the comte “Are you all fools that you don’t know what comes to you?”

“What comes to us comes,” said Madame quietly. “We will not rant and rave and cry and weep. We are not weak females,” she said ignoring the fact the old woman was quietly having still another fit of hysterics in her corner of the cot. “We are of the de Beaupre family, you see,” she finished in a kind voice as if that explained their behavior.

“
She
isn’t. She’s a doxy and a...” The comte slowly grinned, his stained and rotting teeth not a pleasant sight. “So, Mademoiselle Marplot! I have decided what I will do. What a revenge it will be! What sweet revenge!”

“I thought you said you would be leaving quite soon,” said Madame, thinking he meant to ravish Miss Cole and leave her debauched. Setting that notion against her granddaughter’s needs left her in a quandary indeed.

“I will leave once I’ve destroyed that woman who has destroyed my plans twice now,” he said and pointed a shaking finger at Harriet. “Destroying her, I will have revenge on the man who loves her, the man who has also foiled me more than once. They will soon see they cannot sneer at the Comte de Cheviot. They will see. All of the fools who pretend I am a no one will see.”

“What will you do?” asked Madame.

“You will not have heard the name Ma Cooper?” He looked at the bemused faces. “No? I will tell you. She owns a bordello. A very special bordello that caters to the very special tastes of men who have not quite the normal sorts of desires. She supplies what is needed—for a price, of course. Comprehend?”

Madame paled and reached for Harriet’s hand. Harriet tossed her head, pretending not to care. Françoise still looked confused which, thought Harriet, was just as well.

“I’ll return. Far too soon for your peace of mind, I’ll return. Think what comes to you, vixen. Dream nightmares, the very worst you can think up! But you are too innocent, and they will not come close to the fate which will be yours once I’ve sold you to Ma Cooper!”

His evil laugh was muffled as the door was once again slammed and locked. The sound of his steps disappeared.

Sixteen

Françoise clutched at her grandmother’s hand. “grand-mere, what did he mean?”

“What he meant will remain incomprehensible to you, child. One hopes
forever
incomprehensible. He is not a good man.”

“We
know
he’s an evil man, but what would he do with Harriet?” Françoise looked from her grandmother to her friend and then, puzzled, forgot her question—much to the relief of her grandmother who hadn’t a notion of how to explain the comte’s threats. “Harri, what
are
you doing?” asked Frani.

“You can’t think I wish to remain here to discover what plans our vicious comte has for me, do you?”

“No, of course not, but there is no way out. Truly.”

“We’ll see.” Harriet had tested the door and discovered as Madame had before her its quality. She, too, looked out the small window, and wondered if she could squeeze through if she were to break out the frame...

“It’s too small,” said Françoise. “Even I could not get out of it could we get it open,” added the girl, reading Harriet’s mind. “We talked about that earlier.” Her eyes followed Harriet’s as her companion studied the small room. A few moments later, she asked, sharply, “Why did you climb on that dresser? What are you doing?” asked Frani.

“What does it look like?”

“But there is nothing above the ceiling, surely ... Harriet, did that corner give a little?”

“I think it did. Climb up here and help me push.”

“But what good will it do?”

“I don’t know, but if you’ve another suggestion, make it!” said Harriet a trifle crossly.

Françoise climbed up beside Harriet on the wobbly chest of drawers. She put her back against her friend’s, and they pushed up, grunted, pushed again...

“Frani, I don’t think we’re working quite together. Now when I say three,
push,
all right?”

“
Oui
.”

“One ... two ...
three
...”

“I believe,” said Madame judiciously, “the edge bulged a trifle. Do try again.”

“One ... two ...
three
...”

This time they felt the corner of the thin ceiling give and lift away from the wall. Twice more, and they’d pushed it as high as they could, leaving a ragged opening into a dark cavity only a few feet high. Dirt sifted down and, when Harriet pushed her head up into the opening, she came back down swearing softly and brushing furiously at the cobwebs covering her face.

“Oh dear. You cannot go up there, Harri,” said Françoise with great seriousness.

“My child, of course I must go up there. I should have seen a wall within
arm’s reach
, you know. One built between this house and the next. But there was none. I can climb across to another house and come down into another room such as this and get help. Madame,” she said, turning to their hysterical hostess, “have you a friend along the row of houses here? Someone who would help us?”

But nothing could make Madame de Daunay speak sensibly. She wailed and moaned and cried that they would all be killed and how could she have known? The man was a gentleman. He was a comte. How could she have known he was a murderer and would leave them all to die here alone and afraid and...?

Harriet gave it up and turned back to the job at hand. “Frani, push up as hard as you can so that I may squeeze through more easily.”

“But, truly, you mustn’t.”

“Of course I must. It is our only hope, my dear.”

“No.” Frani eyes widened painfully. “Spiders, Harri. Great fat spiders.” She shuddered and actually looked ill.

Harriet put a hand on Françoise’s shoulder, squeezed gently. “I must chance them,” she said quietly. She’d forgotten Frani’s one fear, a fear no one who knew her took lightly. “I’m sorry, child, but what may come to us if I do
not
go would be even worse than spiders. Believe me.”

“Worse?”

“Far worse.” The two young women stared at each other for a moment.

Françoise gulped. “All right, Harri. I’ll be good.”

“Yes, of course you will. Now, push!”

Harriet took a deep breath and pulled herself up into the dark cavity, which stretched ahead of her into black nothingness. She wished there’d been a lantern or even a candle to light her way, but, after a soft word to the women below, she started crawling along from rafter to rafter, carefully feeling her way and, under her breath, swearing at the clinging cobwebs and dust and dirt.

A ghostly vision of a smiling Sir Frederick floated before her eyes encouraging her. For a long moment she stared at the vision, swearing an oath that if she managed to come out of this adventure with her honor intact, she would go gladly to her love in whatever capacity he wished of her ... She’d even marry him, no matter what pain might come of it, because there would also be joy ... great joy.

It seemed she’d moved slowly and carefully for hours, balancing from rafter to rafter, although it could not have been anything like so long. She put her hand out to find the next—and hit a brick wall, knocking herself off balance so that she fell against the thin ceiling of the house she was currently above. Her hand pushed right on down through the thin slats and plaster, her shoulder following.

A sudden shriek told her the room beneath her was not unoccupied. “Good,” she said softly and, turning, put her feet through the hole she’d made. She enlarged it, sending plaster and dirt down onto the frightened little maid’s bed, which only increased the child’s screams. Once the hole was enlarged Harriet dropped into the room below. She picked herself up, turned—and faced an old-fashioned blunderbuss held in the shaking hands of an elderly man.

“Don’t move an inch!” he ordered.

“I won’t,” she soothed. “But,” she added, “you must help us.”

The man wasn’t listening, was obviously very nearly as frightened as his maidservant. “Don’t move,” he repeated. “I’ve sent for a runner, I have. He’ll clap you in irons, housebreaking being an offense against the crown, it is. Don’t you move now. Dangerous, you are, but don’t you move, because I ... Why are you grinning like a fool?”

“You’ve already sent for a runner? Wonderful. You are just wonderful,” said Harriet, wishing she dared throw her arms around the man’s neck. Then, remembering how dirty she was, she reconsidered. Surely no one would appreciate a hug, given her present condition! “Thank you,” she said fervently.

“You think it a good thing? You’re crazy.” The old man set his jaw, scowled and resettled the gun, some of his fear fading. “Bedlam. You’ve escaped from Bedlam, ’tain’t no tother explanation. Good thing,” he muttered, “that I sent for a runner. A good thing, she says.” He shook his head. “What is the world a coming to, that’s what I want to know when a housebreaker wants the runners sent for! Says thank you and grins like a fool she does!”

He muttered some more while the poor maid cowered in a corner. Harriet lifted a hand to wipe away some of the cobwebs tickling her face, but thought better of it when the gun was raised an inch. She sighed. How long, she wondered, before the runner arrived? How long did they have before the comte returned and found her gone? What would he do?

Harriet had decided the Frenchman was not quite sane, that his long pursuit of Françoise had, at some point, turned an already weak mind. The insane did not behave as others, and she feared that if he returned before she could bring help, he might kill the others out of hand—except for poor Françoise, of course!

“How long will it take your runner to arrive?” she asked politely, her heart beating fiercely in anticipation.

“Too soon for you, you pretty felon. He’ll take you off in chains to Newgate, he will. You’ll like that?”

“He’ll listen to my story and help us.”

“Story! He’ll listen to my story. Just look at that ceiling. Look at the damage you’ve done to my ceiling. Oh, yes. He’ll listen, he will. He’ll listen to me lay charges!”

Luckily for Harriet, one of the more intelligent of the Bow Street Runners arrived. He looked at Harriet, obviously a young woman with money behind her, if the value of her clothing and her poise meant anything, and he looked at the ceiling about which the irate homeowner continued to rant.

“Now,” he said, in a slow country voice, “we’ll just sort this all out. You’ve a story, you say?”

“I was held with three other women in a room much like this by an evil man who would marry one of us. We managed to push up the ceiling, and I crawled through under the roof. I came this far before I came down through that hole. Send to Lord Halford’s residence if you require proof of what I say and who we are, but hurry. The man will return and when he does—well, I fear he may kill the others if he finds me gone. Won’t you please help us?”

“Well, now. Evil abductors and heroines. Good as a play this is,” said the runner, his gaze speculative.

“You must believe me.” Harriet thought furiously, trying to come up with a means of convincing him. “I know. Come back with me to where they are held. Madame la Comtesse and Mademoiselle Françoise and the house owner, Madame de Daunay are locked in that room. That would be proof, would it not?”

The runner pursed his lips. “I think maybe it would,” he agreed, ignoring the old man’s pleas.

“Here now, ain’t you going to arrest the jade? Ain’t you going to carry her off in chains to Newgate?”

“Not until I find out the truth of her tale. Don’t worry, she won’t escape me,” the runner soothed the old man. “Now, miss, up with you. Can you make it?”

Scratching her arms rather badly, and almost sick with fear for the safety of those she’d left behind for what seemed far too long a time, Harriet, helped by the runner, forced a way back up under the roof. She made her way carefully along the rafters, but this time had, so faint it was barely visible, a triangle of dim light ahead of her where the ceiling had been forced up. Keeping her eyes on it, she made better time and soon looked down into the room.

“Has he come back?” she whispered.

“Harriet!
Mon Dieu,
we thought you’d never come,” said Françoise fervently. “Did you bring help?”

“Yes. A runner. Sir, if you’ll back up a bit, I’ll turn and get back down with my friends.” Again it took careful maneuvering, but Harriet managed to lower herself to the chest and from there to the floor. “Sir?” she called.

“I see you. Look out below,” he said and, making far less work of it than Harriet had done, soon stood before them. His first action was to try the door and discover that it was, indeed, locked. His next was to bow to Madame who nodded her head in such a regal manner he’d not have been surprised to discover she were royalty rather than mere aristocracy—and French at that! He soon had the whole story of the comte’s persecution of Françoise, of how he had been foiled in the past and how, this time, he’d so very nearly succeeded.

“So he’s gone to collect Ma Cooper, has he? Maybe he doesn’t know this is her day for driving in the park. That’s why he’s not back yet, you see. I wonder if he’ll wait for her. We’ve been looking for a way of shutting up that house of hers for a long time now. If she’s really coming to buy you, miss, then you’ll have done a prime service to your countrymen—or rather to the women she uses—if you’ll just cooperate with me. Ah, but we must be sure she actually pays your comte to take you away or we’ve got no case, you see.” He grinned. “Course, what might make you happy, if you think on it, if we get a case against Ma that way, we got a case against your comte, too, you know—because if she’s a buying, then he must be a selling...” He eyed Harriet. “Can you trust me to see you safe? You’ll have to play a part, you see, and you’ll have to wait for the very last minute before rescue.”

“But what of Madame? What if he...” Harriet couldn’t finish.

“You fear he may come up here and put a bullet through the old women before taking you down to Ma Cooper?” The runner rubbed his chin. “I guess I’d better call for help. Someone can wait up in that space with a gun.” He gestured to the ceiling. “We won’t let your villain harm any one of you. So,
can
you play the part?” he asked sternly, staring at Harriet.

She bit her lip, looking at Madame for advice. Madame said, “I think you must, Harriet. Do not worry for us. The man says we will be safe.”

Harriet shook her head. “I cannot help but worry, Madame, but I’ll do my part,” she said.

“Then I’d best go arrange things. Now, you all don’t worry. I won’t be gone from the street. If the villain arrives, and I’m not ready, I won’t try to play the game all by myself.” He smiled at the women, swung up on the chest, and moments later, disappeared into the dark.

“Well,” said Madame.

“Is it well? I can’t believe he’ll have time to arrange what must be arranged.”

“He said he’d not let any of us be hurt,” said Françoise, hesitantly. “Does that mean I won’t have to go with the comte?”

“Yes. You’ve been saved again, Frani. I think you must have a guardian angel who works all the hours there are in order to protect you.” Harriet chuckled, the relief of it all making her a trifle light-headed.

“It is not to be laughed about, that guardian angel,” said Madame fiercely. “I have often prayed to that angel that it come to Françoise’s aid, and I have always been answered. Today I have been answered still again, although not in the way I had thought to ask! It was not
you
who were to come to our rescue, Harriet, but Sir Frederick and his friends. I cannot think how my prayers could have been misheard this way,” she said a trifle peevishly. “They never have in the past.”