Holiday in Bath (28 page)

“And the stepbrother?”

“He ignored me when I arrived, but I saw him later in the stables, ordering his traveling carriage.”

“His traveling carriage?” Cranford’s voice was sharp. “Do you know where he was going?”

“I have no idea,” Mr. Laytham replied, surprised by the intensity of Cranford’s regard.

“Tell me precisely what you saw and heard.”

“I had left my horse there when I went in to see Mr. and Mrs. Rowle, and when I came to get it his horses were being put to the traveling carriage. Before he saw me I heard him insist on another rug and that the basket of food be put in the carriage rather than on the box with the coachman.”

“Did he make any reference to a traveling companion?” Cranford was on his feet now, quickly thrusting the purse and letter into the pocket of his greatcoat.

Confused, Laytham tried to recall anything which might have given an indication. “No. Wait a moment! When the coachman mentioned a stain on the squabs, Rowle said something like, ‘Don’t bother with it. She won’t notice in the dark.’ Does that mean something?”

“Does he have a mistress?”

“None that I ever heard of.”

“Oh, God. And there was no mention of where he was heading?” Cranford pulled on his gloves and headed for the door, pausing for the answer.

“Only a stop in the Crescent, not the destination.”

“Damn him! Now listen carefully, Laytham. I need your help.”

“I’m at your service.” The young man was immediately on his feet.

“Mr. Rowle has offered for Miss Storwood and been turned down, and not in a manner which was likely to conciliate him. He believes her to be a great deal more of an heiress than she is, and your return is likely to presage his fall from grace in Bath. This hotbed of rumors won’t spare him in any way. If the whole story isn’t known, it can be invented, and not to his credit. He’ll have no more foothold in society.

“What you’ve told me leads me to believe that he intends to abduct Miss Storwood from the Stanmore ball in the Crescent. I may be wrong but I don’t care to take a chance. I have to know where they’re going if I don’t get there before he makes off with her. Will you go to the Rowles’ stables and find out what you can? Then come directly to the Crescent.” He dug the purse out of his pocket again. “Here. Use what you have to get the information you need.” Before Laytham could agree, he was gone.

The Stanmores’ ball was in celebration of their daughter’s eighteenth birthday, and for this momentous occasion they had spared no expense. Every room glowed with candlelight, footmen appeared at one’s elbow the instant a glass needed refilling, the musicians were the finest Bath had to offer. Five rooms were entirely given over to the entertainment and several further ones as retiring rooms for the ladies and gentlemen. Trelenny had never seen so many jewels as flashed from ringed hands and encircled necks, sparkled amidst stylishly coiffured hair and on matronly bosoms. The fairy-tale scene was not, however, the reason she kept glancing about the room. Lady Jane was already here with the Earl, but there was no sign of Cranford. This was to be the last dancing party she would attend before she left for London with Mrs. Waplington and she had counted on Cranford to partner her for at least one waltz. She had planned to tease him about teaching her, had looked forward to being held in his arms.

The fact that Mr. Rowle had just arrived did not disturb her. She derived no further amusement from her escapade and only wished to forget the entire incident. As she joined another set she was aware of his gaze briefly on her but she pretended not to notice. When she chanced to look in his direction again, he was no longer there. A few minutes later a footman approached as she and Mr. Inglestone were about to go up the dance.

“Miss Storwood?”

“Yes.”

“There is a messenger from Westmorland at the back door asking for you. He says it’s urgent.”

“Asking for me?” Trelenny knew a moment’s panic— what could it be but a man sent from her father and directed on from Henrietta Street—and she tried to still the wild beating of her heart before she spoke. “Take me to him.” She excused herself to her partner and looked about the room for her mother, but could not see her. Was the news so desperate that her father (or someone else—awful thought) felt it must be broken more gently to her mother? Trelenny hastened down halls and stairways, past a multitude of busy servants all intent on their own occupations. The footman never  paused, though he occasionally glanced behind him to make sure that she followed. She could hear the clatter below in the kitchens and the aromas of a dozen different dishes assailed her nostrils, though she barely noticed. The rear door on the ground floor was open and she could see a youth in riding garb, a bundle under his arm, his cap pulled down over his forehead, stomping to warm himself in the chill night air. No torch was lit without to throw its illuminating light on his face.

What happened next was so sudden that she could never afterwards recall in precisely what order events occurred. She was about to invite the lad into the warm hallway when the footman, who had stepped back to let her speak with the messenger, firmly thrust her out the door. A hand was clasped over her mouth, a voluminous, hooded cape thrown about her, and she was bundled into a waiting carriage while murmurs of doctors and ladies being ill seemed to pass illusorily through the darkness outside. The carriage door had scarcely closed when the vehicle lurched forward and gained momentum even as they rounded a corner, swaying dizzily. A hand remained over her mouth, muffling her cries, until it was replaced by a scarf tied behind her head.

With glowering eyes she recognized Mr. Rowle seated opposite to her but he paid little heed until he had concluded his instructions to the two other occupants of the carriage, who were set down several blocks further on to return to his house in Lower Borough Walls.

Now he turned to her and asked with exaggerated politeness, “Will you promise not to call for help if I remove the scarf?” When she did not nod, he shrugged. “Have your own way. It’s a small matter and I would rather not trust to your word in any case. I wouldn’t do that!” He clamped a hand tightly onto her wrist as she raised it to untie the scarf herself. “Let us understand each other from the start, Miss Storwood. From now on you will do exactly as I tell you if you wish to remain comfortable.”

The measured, menacing tones had a certain effect. Trelenny did not doubt that he was capable of any villainy, but she could not resist a touch of bravado. Sitting up straight against the squabs, she folded her hands in her lap and twiddled her thumbs. Her initial impulse—to kick him—she restrained.

“I have always found,” he mused, “that the lengthy process of laying plans and expanding them is fraught with danger. The chance of their being detected is magnified with each passing day. On the other hand, an idea brilliantly conceived and quickly executed seldom fails. See how smoothly my simple maneuver has gone. A ball night— dozens of unfamiliar servants about the house, hundreds of guests each intent on their own enjoyment—what could be better? I had only to see that your mother was not close by, introduce my footman, and the rest followed as night the day. I shall feel truly put out with your mother if she raises an outcry, but I think it unlikely. And even if she does, it will be only a matter of time before the whole of town realizes that you have run away with me. No one will be surprised, Miss Storwood. People have seen you welcome my attentions at a dozen assemblies and parties; Lady Babthorpe will recall your kissing me in the Sydney Gardens. And no one doubts that you’re a romp, prime for a bit of mischief.”

Trelenny’s hands clenched tightly in her lap but she did no more than level a cold stare at him.

“You think you won’t marry me?” He laughed. “You will. You have no choice, my dear. From all your mother has said, I gather that any shock is likely to aggravate your father’s condition. And I think certainly the shock of knowing his daughter has spent a night in a man’s. . . company would sadly discompose him, were there not the mitigating effects of a marriage performed soon afterwards—in your mother’s presence, of course. That will make it all right and tight with society.”

He glanced out the window where the ghostly shapes of lone trees dotted the countryside. “I am going to remove the scarves now and you may make as much uproar as you wish, but it will do you no good. There is no one to hear you but my coachman and myself and I promise you we are not the least likely to be moved.”

Her mouth felt dry and swollen when the scarf was removed. For some time she sat saying nothing, battling a desire to put her head down and cry. “Where are you taking me?”

“It is not necessary that you should know, but disillusion yourself of the idea that anyone will find you. We are not taking the road to Bristol or London, which would seem the logical routes of a runaway couple. This is my part of the country, Miss Storwood, and I know a half dozen villages off the main road where there are inns.”

“I doubt an honest landlord would welcome an unwilling guest.”

“For the right price, there are few who wouldn’t accept one,” he retorted cynically. “However, it won’t be necessary for us to search one out. There is a fellow who would be more than willing to settle his obligation to me for so small a price.”

Trelenny turned her head to the window and considered whether she had any avenues of escape.

When Cranford entered the Stanmore ballroom, his eyes quickly surveyed the company in hopes that Trelenny would still be there. He was reassured for a moment by the sight of Mrs. Storwood chatting comfortably with a matronly lady in one of the little chairs provided off to the side of the dancing. As he made to approach her, he caught sight of Lady Jane just leaving the dance floor and encountered her instead. “Have you seen Trelenny?”

“Yes, a short while ago.” She turned her head to survey the shifting masses of people, but without success. “I don’t see her now."

“When did you last see her?”

“The set before last, I believe, with young Inglestone.”

Cranford placed an urgent hand on her arm. “Jane, there may be trouble afoot. I’ve learned that Rowle was having his traveling carriage stop here tonight. We must find out immediately if she’s still here. I’ll speak to Mrs. Storwood; bring Inglestone over if you would.”

Lady Jane was not deficient in understanding. Her face paled and she murmured, “Dear God! I’ll be right with you.”

It seemed imperative to Cranford that no commotion be caused by their search. He therefore approached Mrs. Storwood and her companion with a smiling countenance, bowed gallantly, and asked if Mrs. Storwood would honor him with the next set. Ever aware of her obligation to him, she consented, though she was not particularly in the mood for the rigors of the
Boulangère
. To her surprise he began to lead her around the dance floor toward the doors.

“Is something the matter, Cranford?” she asked hesitantly when they arrived in the hall.

“Have you seen Trelenny recently?”

“No, not for half an hour or so. She doesn’t come to me after each set anymore since she is always promised several dances ahead.”

“I must find her immediately. Would you check the ladies’ retiring room?”

Surprised but willing, Mrs. Storwood departed and returned just as Lady Jane arrived with Mr. Inglestone. “She isn’t in the retiring room. I wonder where she can have gone."

Lady Jane shook her head unhappily as she drew her companion forward. “Please tell Mr. Ashwicke what happened.”

Embarrassed by the attention of three pairs of eyes, Mr. Inglestone nervously stroked his cravat. “Miss Storwood was approached by a footman while we were in the set and told that a messenger from Westmorland was waiting for her at the rear door. She asked to be taken to him.”

“And you haven’t seen her since?” Cranford demanded.

“No. Sorry, sir.”

“Westmorland?” Mrs. Storwood looked faint, and Lady Jane encircled her waist with a comforting arm as she and Cranford shared a despairing glance.

“Thank you, Mr. Inglestone. Forgive me for interrupting your evening.” Cranford’s dismissal of the young man was hastily acknowledged and he beat a relieved retreat. “Mrs. Storwood, I have every reason to believe that no messenger from Westmorland but an agent of Mr. Rowle’s was awaiting Trelenny outside. Have courage, ma’am. You must not let on that anything is amiss. Jane will see you home.” He received a confirming nod and continued. “Should anyone ask, say Trelenny has just been put in a chair—some indisposition— and you are following immediately. I’ll find out what I can here and Mr. Laytham will hopefully bring me some word of their possible destination. Are you all right?”

Mrs. Storwood, ghostly pale and with trembling hands, drew a long breath. “Don’t concern yourself with me, I beg you. Just find her, Cranford, and bring her back to me.”

“I will do everything in my power.” He turned away abruptly but stopped to say, “Thank you, Jane. I know I can depend on you."

At the rear of the house the torch had been replaced and the area was bathed in a flickering light where several chairmen and coachmen stood about blowing a cloud and discussing their betters with evident relish. Laytham had not appeared as yet and Cranford was able to gain only the information that a young lady, taken sick, had been hurried into a carriage and driven off. No one had taken much notice, and Cranford did not wish to make the incident seem any more significant than it did to them, so he stifled his desire to drain every detail and went round to find the lad who was holding his hired mount. From a distance he saw Mrs. Storwood and Lady Jane, Mr. Wheldrake and Mrs. Waplington descend the front stairs and depart. In a frenzy of impatience he mounted his horse but, having no direction to take, merely sat it uneasily, trying to rationally consider Mr. Rowle’s nefarious design and not Trelenny’s desperate situation.

Quarter of an hour passed before Laytham’s horse came clattering up the street, but nothing could have been more welcome to Cranford than the wide, triumphant grin he wore. “You know where they’re headed?”