Finding Bliss (18 page)

The coin was the most disconnected piece of the puzzle. It
could be a loose minor detail that was affected only by chance. The water and
the cold feeling of death lingered just before the coin, though. Why would the
coin be important if she were already dead?

Bliss pondered this carefully. Perhaps it was to give her
hope? Then why would her survival still appear linked directly to how Eric
behaved? What about his demeanor in the face of adversity? Bliss was certain of
his loyalty to her, she could see the way she affected him in his actions even
when she only saw them in visions.

His discouraging Lord Westford against a marriage and even
lying about the possibility of a betrothal between her and Victor was the most
amusing. Bliss knew that Eric knew for a fact it was Maxwell her uncle had
indicated as a possible intended match for her!

Thoughts of how to orchestrate her kidnapping warred within
her. She decided to involve as few people as possible. Pauline would be the
only person in any immediate danger that she could see. But Bliss figured out
the solution before the Easter holidays were ended.

Now all that remained was for her to leave the necessary
clues for her aunt and uncle so that they wouldn’t try to find her too soon and
cause an unwanted shift in her future. She planned every known step like a well-choreographed
French ballet. Her execution of every malleable detail could leave no room for
doubt.

It wouldn’t be the first time she withheld information from
the people who loved her in order to get them to trust her with her decisions.
But it was the only time since she was very young that her certainty was being truly
tested.

On Tuesday morning, Bliss awoke and
carried out her business as usual, with a few minor tweaks. Following
breakfast, she wrote a few letters to her brothers and sisters, nothing cryptic
or final, just a little advice to each of them in case her future made it
impossible for her to share anything else they couldn’t live without.

None of their futures as she saw them would be the same if
her life ended. So the advice was given rather blindly upon faith in the hopes
that the soothing comfort of a last letter was there for each of them.

To her parents, she took a little less liberty. To them, she
merely asked if they were coming to the ball on the weekend. She reminded them
to pack extra clothing knowing that with any scenario except the one where she
survived they would not want to go home right away.

The closing farewell nearly made her weep. Saying anything
too pointedly sentimental might put her mother on her guard. The last letter
she wrote was to Eric. It was the shortest and simplest of all. A mere note,
really. She was planning to give it to Aunt Pen to hand over to him the minute
he arrived.

After lunch Bliss prepared for the museum walk. She put
money in her reticule, six shillings and a few pence, along with one of her
calling cards. Next she chose her outfit carefully. The dress needed to be very
ordinary and nondescript. It would be imperative that no one remember her or
what she wore.

She selected a drab light grey muslin afternoon dress with
very little adornment and a simple chemise, no corset. That part was not
negotiable. The absence of her corset might actually save her life. Her
stockings were deliberately thicker than usual for spring. Lastly she chose her
best wrap and selected her least favorite pair of shoes.

As soon as everything was decided, she dressed meticulously
before preparing herself to face Aunt Pen.

Penelope was in the office
discussing the details of the ball’s menu with the cook and the housekeeper. Bliss
knew her aunt would be embroiled in a dispute over the need for a seventh
course. It was the best time to tell her about the walk. She interrupted and
saw Penelope heave an uncomfortable stretch and excuse herself to speak with
Bliss.

“Aunt Pen, forgive me for interrupting your planning. I only
needed a moment to tell you that I am going for a walk with Pauline. We’re
planning to walk all the way to the museum in town. I’ve heard they are
featuring a bust of the First Duke of Suffolk that is the envy of the
collection,” Bliss explained before her aunt could get in a word.

“Did you want some company? I can continue this discussion
later if you like? I know exactly the statue you’re referring to. They say he
was a handsome fellow, you know!” Penelope said with a yawn. Bliss shook her
head eagerly.

“We’ll be fine. Besides, the ball is merely days away now! And
we’re likely to be later. We might even dine at one of the local restaurants if
Dr. Benchley is able to join us. Incidentally, if he should come here first,
would you give him a message from me?” Bliss handed her the insignificant piece
of folded and sealed parchment as if it wasn’t the last letter she might ever
give to her love. Then she swallowed carefully and continued her instructions.

“It’s nothing personal just a few details about our walk
that might make it easier for him to find us. Now remember! Don’t over-work
yourself, Aunt Pen. Dr. Benchley said for you to rest and recuperate. The more
you do that, the easier the ball will be.”

Bliss arched a brow at Penelope, and, to her credit, the
older woman blushed at the reprimand.

“Perhaps I will just finish up here and take a nap? I’ve
rested more than usual every day, and yet I still feel completely worn out!”
Penelope sighed. Bliss patted the woman’s shoulder in farewell, rather than hugging
her and therefore completely breaking down.

Pauline grumbled about the later
hour of departure, complaining that the weather was too damp and chilly in the
afternoons and evenings. She even worried aloud that the humidity might give
them a cold. Bliss told her that was nonsense and had her put on sturdy shoes
for walking so she wouldn’t get blisters.

Pauline agreed to the sturdy shoes and carried her reticule and
Bliss’s. It made her curious that they walked slower than normal. Pauline was
kind enough not to point it out, though. Bliss figured her maid wouldn’t really
mind the leisurely pace.

When they reached the edge of the town square, Bliss noted
that in order to reach the museum you had to bisect a large botanical garden park.
Several stone benches lined the straight, long pedestrian walkway, which split
into two separate paths as soon as it reached the building.

The western path went along the Avon River and circled back
to the main street near the bridge. It made an odd path around a heavily wooded
section. The trees in that section cut off the view from the park. You could
only see the river if you were on the main street or standing on the steps of
the museum.

The crowd was thinner than Bliss expected. There were
several couples and a few smaller curricles traveling along the walkway as they
approached.

Bliss noticed her face beginning to feel flushed with the
warmth of the thicker stockings and the extended walk. Pauline noticed and began
searching for a fan in her own reticule. It was exactly what Bliss hoped for. The
clock struck half past four.

“Dear me, it’s a lot hotter than I expected given the month.
I didn’t realize I might get so over heated! Pauline, could I please trouble
you to catch one of the street carts? I would absolutely love a dram of lemon
water or perhaps an ice if you can find one? And get one for yourself as well. I
have some spare pence in my bag. Take it along in case you need more money. I
confess I have no idea of the economy of Bristol!” Bliss informed her
bewildered maid.

Bliss pointed to a bench several yards ahead in the walk, “I’ll
wait right over there for you.”

“Yes, Lady Bliss. I’ll hurry as much as I can. I wonder if
anyone would be upset if I cut across this little stretch of lawn? I don’t see
anyone else doing it, but it might not be forbidden. Oh, never mind. I see a
sign over there to mind the grasses. Okay, well, I will return as soon as I
can. Have a rest, you do look rather flushed. Do you want my fan?” Pauline
continued to ramble.

“No, just be careful and hurry back. And watch out for
cutpurses! I hear they love to take reticules from unsuspecting maids. Pay
attention to your surroundings and keep them close to your middle and you won’t
have any problems,” Bliss warned.

Pauline nodded and was suddenly intent on hurrying away. As
if she expected to witness someone committing the act of cutting a purse, she
clutched the reticules tightly to her abdomen as she moved through the walkway.

Bliss watched her scurrying up the path without a backward
glance and walked resolutely over to a bench to the left of the walkway backed
against a curious line of thick vegetation.

Bliss spread her shawl over the dirty seat and sat lightly
on the edge. She waited just a few heartbeats before a figure cast a long
shadow over her.

“Lady Bliss, fancy that we should meet,” Lord Westford said
smoothly. Bliss didn’t raise her eyes.

Don’t waste a minute, do you?
She thought bitterly.

Her answer was void of emotion.

“Hello, Lord Westford. I’m waiting for my maid to return
with some refreshments. Pity you didn’t arrive sooner! I could have directed
her to fetch you an ice as well,” Bliss replied with what she hoped was a
normal voice.

“I don’t think you really want to play this game with me,
Lady Bliss. Why don’t you and I take a turn in the trees over there? I think you
know what is coming. I’d rather not have witnesses to the event.” Lord
Westford’s civil tone was gone.

The icy edge of his words was nothing to the steel muzzle of
the gun he now had pointed at her from beneath a riding cloak folded over his
right hand. Bliss noticed the Blunderbuss gun and matched it to the scene from
her vision. She stood carefully and left her shawl behind as Lord Westford
hurried her to stand to his left.

He kept the gun hidden as he offered her his opposite arm. Bliss
forced herself to loop her hand through his elbow and walk with him. His grip was
firm and his breathing slightly forceful even though they hadn’t accelerated
their walking pace.

Once they cleared the edge of the woods, Lord Westford threw
off the cloak and showed her the weapon menacingly.

“Make any sudden movements and you know I’ll put a bullet in
your heart. No doubt you’ve seen it already, so you wouldn’t dream of doubting
it. Now I want you to walk ahead of me, very slowly. Stay beyond sight of the walk
until I tell you to stop!”

His tone was sharp as he nudged the small of her back with
the flintlock pistol. Bliss began to walk in her usual gait, watching her step
to keep from falling and startling him. One false step and her fate would be
altered in seconds.

They reached an area where the trees
began to thin. Lord Westford told her to stop and stand aside. Bliss could see
the darkened hallway vision in her head. Lord Westford reached down into the
leaves.

At first Bliss was thinking he was about to drown her in a
well. The idea that killing her was his only intention nearly made her give way
with her panic, but she forced her eyes to stay focused as Westford lifted what
appeared to be a trap door into a dirt cellar, the dusty room.

“This is a secret storage room. Climb down the stairs and
sit in the corner. If you attempt to run or to escape before I get down the
stairs I’ll make you sorry you were ever born,” growled Lord Westford.

Bliss felt slightly ill at going into the darkened space in
the ground, but when she reached the bottom step she found the darkened hallway
leading to the dusty room. In the distance, she could make out the flicker of a
candelabrum.

“What do you want from me, sir?” Bliss asked calmly as soon
as Lord Westford joined her in the darkened passage. He was gripping her left
shoulder and pressing the gun flush with her spine as he steered her. Bliss
didn’t put up an ounce of resistance. She stepped up to a chair in the room and
waited.

The room was crowded with crates of artwork. Bliss noted
several other things that didn’t fit with the storage of artwork. She saw
trunks overflowing with expensive looking decorations, fabrics and jewels. Rolled
Turkish carpets leaned in each of the corners. She noted a small sarcophagus
filled with golden doubloons on one of the far shelves.

Additional weapons, swords and knives were displayed like a
macabre arsenal around the shelves and on the table. If she was skilled at
defensive battle, she might have considered going for one of the swords or
knives. Lord Westford must have seen her gaze.

“Don’t even think about it, girlie! I have a loaded gun. You
wouldn’t even get a finger on those swords before I split your pretty skull in
half! Sit in that chair!” he growled as he pointed the gun directly at her face
and then at the chair. Bliss sat carefully down, staying forward on the hard
wooden seat.

“Let’s tie those hands up to keep you from thinking anymore
stupid thoughts about the swords.”

Westford yanked her arms back around the chair’s back. He
tied her wrists with very thin, coarse rope. He pulled several sharp yanks in
the knots to set them. Then he walked around to face her, making a point of
gazing at her breasts with lewdness in his eyes and a smirk showing his vulgar
appreciation of her form. Bliss fought back a shudder of revulsion.

“Now, pretty one, let me tell you what you can do for me. Tell
me enough, and I’ll promise not to lay a finger on you until you’re ready,”
Lord Westford whispered in throaty, honeyed tones that suggested his intent
more clearly than words. Bliss looked at him squarely and waited.

“I want to know about futures, you see. And I believe you
are the one to give me what I want. Investment futures, product futures,
scientific futures, anything that will get me the most money! I expect a grand
windfall for all this trouble, too! I’ve kidnapped an heiress, not a penny
dove! So I need to insure that my efforts and the risks were not taken in vain.
So you tell me what you know and we’ll bargain afterward.” With his words the
ultimatum was clear.