The House in Grosvenor Square (42 page)

This was disturbing, but she knew Mr. Mornay would do everything in his power to find her. She knew too that God was watching, that He would somehow keep her safe. This reminded her to keep on reciting the psalm, one of the portions of Scripture she had memorized successfully.

“He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most high shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”

Wingate looked at her.

“I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress; My God; in Him will I trust.”

“What—what are you saying?”

“The ninety-first Psalm.” Then looking away from him, she continued. “Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under His wings shalt thou trust.”

“Cannot you keep quiet?”

She ignored him, focusing on the psalm, being careful to say it correctly. “His truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the
terror by night, nor the arrow that flieth by day; nor the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor the destruction that wasteth at noonday.”

“Miss Forsythe! I can easily bind your mouth, so do not force me!”

“Why do you not go to collect your money? You shan't get a thing from Mr. Mornay by remaining here!”

“I'll go when I'm good and ready,” he returned. He took up a new post by a window, keeping carefully from sight behind ragged drapery.

“A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.”

He jumped toward her in anger. “I've given you fair warning! It's yourself alone to blame.” He hurriedly began to remove his neckcloth, moving closer to her.

“Lord Wingate!” she pronounced icily. “I am speaking only to myself and in a low voice. I suggest that if the words of Scripture are injurious to your hearing, it is because you are not right with God. You need a change in your religion, and rather than silencing me, you ought to give heed to the welfare of your soul!”

He stopped but continued to stare at her closely. She hoped that she might have given him good cause to consider his ways. But then he came closer still, unwinding the cloth about his neck, and then he stopped again, studying her features. “You are a prime article, aren't you? Let us hope Mornay fully values you.” He went back to his perch at the window. Although he had to keep his head out of sight, he kept an eye on the street below. After a few minutes, while Ariana continued her psalm to herself, he suddenly came to attention.

“It's Antoine! Devil take it! How did he get out of Newgate?”

Ariana's heart took a leap. If Holliwell was free, it stood to reason that Mr. Mornay would be with him—or not far behind!

Wingate turned suspicious eyes to her. “He's looking for you, no doubt. He could never have escaped from prison on his own, so it means Mornay must have effected his release. In exchange for his help. Blast brotherly affection! Dash it! I'll kill him, if it comes to it!”

She said nothing but thought,
Kill his own brother! Let it not come to that, O Lord!

Her thoughts must have been evident on her face because he saw her expression and added, “Antoine is here to do
me
in, I assure you!”

“His object is surely to secure Miss Herley from danger, my lord. You might consider abandoning the place while you can and leave us to be discovered.”

“If it weren't for Antoine,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “your discovery would have taken Mornay days or even weeks! No regular swell would have found me in this flea trap so quickly! Dash it! He's interfered with me once too often! And I might say the same for your betrothed!” He fell silent for a moment, while he furtively peeked out the window again. He saw the prince's men and let loose an awful string of oaths. “My brother has indeed ruined the business! And I'll hold him to account for it, dash it!” He turned to her with a new thought. “Does Mornay carry a decent amount of blunt on 'im?”

“I have no idea, sir! It was never a part of our conversation.”

He came at her, and she looked away frightened, but he turned her head to face him and said, “Do not trifle with me, Miss Forsythe. I remind you that you are entirely within my power.”

“Not so, sir.” Her steadiness of voice and look of conviction startled him.

“Eh? How is that?”

“I am always within God's power. Whatever you do to me or think you can, I assure you, you will answer to Him for it.”

He looked sufficiently daunted at the thought, but then a look of sheer impatience replaced his better sense. “No more of your fustian, if you please, Miss Forsythe. You know the man. Does he carry a good amount of money on him or not?”

“I would think he does, but I've never seen inside his pockets, sir!” He was thinking again, and she added, “If it is money you want in exchange for me, I warrant he will give you whatever you ask, if he can.”

“If?”
He studied her again, this time taking in her finely chiseled nose and mouth, the large pretty eyes, the shining hair.

“If I don't get money, he will not get you. In fact if he tries to cross me, I'll smuggle you to America with me.”

She heard him out bravely and might have collapsed into tears at such a nasty threat, but somehow Ariana had an assurance that no such thing would happen. “A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand, but it shall not come nigh thee…he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler.”

The Almighty was her refuge. Angels were her ministers. And God had given her Mr. Mornay, who was too strong and resourceful a person to ever allow this scurrilous man's evil plans to take place.

Wingate took his handkerchief and forced it into her mouth saying, “I
am afraid I must ensure your silence. Not very gentlemanly of me, is it?” Her muffled protests only seemed to amuse him. He took her reticule, searched it, and found more handkerchiefs—he smiled at finding three, for Ariana still carried one of her own in addition to two of Mr. Mornay's—and proceeded to tie her to the piece of furniture. “Never seen inside his pockets, eh? But you carry his handkerchiefs. How sentimental. I am going to see what's what. Pray that your betrothed has properly valued you, or I will come for you and keep you.”

He blew out the candle and left the room, leaving her completely in darkness. After a minute or two she could see a very faint light from the window, but the moon was evidently not full, for it was an unsatisfactory source of relief from the thick blackness that now surrounded her.

With his absence, worries assailed her.
What if Mr. Mornay fails to outwit Lord Wingate? Will Lord Wingate abuse me? Will he be able to steal me away, even out of the country?
At this thought, her eyes did fill with tears.
That would mean separation from Mr. Mornay!
Even as she thought it, however, she felt a check within her heart.
I need
not
dwell on such a possibility. It isn't going to happen. How can I be sure? How? How?

Trust.
The word floated to her mind.

It had bubbled up from an invisible place of blessed assurance. She returned her thoughts to Psalm ninety-one and began once again reciting it in her mind, since her mouth was bound.
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
With a start, she realized that Wingate had intended on this horrid dark room as being his secret place for her, when in reality she was in
God's
“secret place,” under His wings. Her heart lifted immeasurably.

“Keep your shadow over me, Lord!
” she prayed.
“Thank you for your protection! Lead Mr. Mornay to find me and Lavinia! Keep her from panic too, I pray, dear Lord!”

Amazing
. She really felt a great relief. No it was more—it was joy, a wonderful heart-satisfying joy.
No one can take me from God. No one.

J
ust as Lord Wingate left the window from where he had spotted his brother on the street below, Mornay exited a seedy building from across the road. He and Holliwell hailed each other.

“Anything?” Mornay asked.

“Nothing.”

Mr. Mornay looked at the typical flash house before them. “Is this place a likelihood?”

“Likely as twenty others! We have to check.”

“By all means. Let's begin.”

As they had done on their previous attempts to find the errant noble, they entered the premises separately, as though they were strangers. As Antoine entered the building, he was noticed immediately by Mr. Chesley who was holding two bottles in his hands and about to climb the stairs. Seeing Holliwell, his face lit up.

“I say, Antoine! Excellent! Well done! You're free!”

The young noble went up to his friend saying, “Mr. Mornay arranged it.”

Mr. Chesley's features dropped then turned to amazement. “Upon my soul! That's dashed peculiar! How do you account for it?”

“Another time, I'll tell you all,” Holliwell said, eyeing the bottles in his friend's hands. “Where are you going with those?”

Chesley had not yet seen Mornay, who instinctively stood back in the shadows listening. Before Chesley could answer, the sound of footsteps on the stairs above were heard, and someone coughed. He looked up a bit fear-fully, and Holliwell was instantly of the opinion that he was about to see his brother. Just at that moment, Chesley saw Mr. Mornay, however, and there was something in the man's face he did not like.

“You brought him with you? Antoine!”

Truth was Mr. Mornay was exceedingly incensed. He'd been in hunting mode all day, trying to find Wingate and so far failing. But he could smell his prey, as it were. He knew they had to be close, in a relative sense. Holliwell had narrowed their searching down to a couple of streets of buildings, and this was one of them. Mr. Mornay had seen enough of the rented rooms in these places to last him a lifetime—the skin trade was more active than he'd thought! But they had to keep checking. When rooms could be had for mere shillings, Wingate might have rented one from any number of houses, particularly the flash houses most popular as criminal hang-outs like this one.

When Mornay's eyes alighted on Chesley, his features were set in a formidable mode. Mr. Chesley, moreover, was not innocent. He had not abducted anyone, of course, but he had been in favour of Wingate's revenge on Mornay. He detested the Paragon. When their eyes met, all the guilt in Mr. Chesley's thoughts was full on his face. Mr. Mornay's eyes narrowed as though he was about to move in on his kill.

To Mr. Chesley there was only one thing to do. He pushed the two bottles into Holliwell's hands and took off as fast as he could go. He should have known that if you run from a hunting animal, particularly a lion, and more particularly a lion that has been deprived of its prey for a very long time, it will dart after you with every fiber of its being. This is precisely what Mornay did.

Chesley bounded into the crowded roomful of culls, coves, and demireps, running blindly in a dead fright. He cared nothing for what havoc he created or who he blundered into or over. Mornay never let the young man leave his sight. The way he had taken off only strengthened his resolve to catch him at all costs, and so, brandishing his pistol, he got an instantly clearer path before him than Chesley had. The chase took a roundabout direction, and then Chesley gained the hall and the front door. Huzzah!

He felt much more confident now that he had more room, but wouldn't you know it, he could hear the heavy footsteps of Mornay's black boots behind him. They passed people, most of whom instantly took up the cause of the one being chased without knowing a thing about it. They fought like cats and dogs among themselves but would unite against the law in a second. Obstacles were pushed in Mornay's path. Then the night watchman saw the action, and he joined Mornay, so that two men now chased the young man.

A woman of leering countenance and ill-bred appearance jumped in front of the watchman and foiled his progress completely—as he had to move her aside and then get her arms off of him. She cackled wickedly when he finally got away, but now he was decidedly behind.

Mornay passed them without breaking stride. He'd seen his prey, no more than a dark figure at this distance, veering into an alley off the street. When he reached the alley, it was quiet and dead dark. He checked his grip on his pistol, held it carefully, ready to shoot, and walked into…darkness.

Back at the flash house, Holliwell put the bottles down quietly on the steps. He was astonished that his friend Chesley had run from Mr. Mornay. His recent help in getting Lavinia to safety had left no doubt in Antoine's mind that the man was a friend to be valued. But what on earth was between him and Mornay that had made him run like a scared rabbit?

He had no time to think about it. The sound of footsteps above were getting closer, and he suspected them to be his brother's. Thing was they might have belonged to a hundred different men, a thousand nameless underlings of London, but something in Holliwell's senses made him suspect it could be Julian. He waited, one hand on his weapon.

When his brother appeared, he was really not surprised. He had a feeling of inevitability, that this moment had long been coming. Now it had arrived, and there was nothing to prevent it. He felt sad for Julian despite everything.

Wingate spoke first. “So, Antoine, turned on your brother, now, did you?”

“Is that your greeting? Are you not surprised to see me?”

“My surprise is that you are willing to do me in.”

“You've got Miss Herley, Julian! Miss Forsythe! Dash it, you're determined to nip the heels of old Grim as if you can avoid his fingers forever! You'll find, sir, that the noose is not a respecter of persons!” Holliwell shook his head, his face filled with distaste. “Are you actually eager to end your life?”

“I am eager to supplement it for once with enough blunt to stop merely ekeing out a living!”

Holliwell tried to keep his temper in check. “There are men all over the East End at this very moment seeking you out! Soldiers from the Regent!”

Wingate had thought as much himself, from his glimpse of the colours at the window, but his face blanched, nevertheless. “From the Regent? My, but I am making waves, eh?” He paused. “It's Mornay's doing.”

“It is! Just as my freedom is!” He looked gravely at his brother. “He's a reasonable man, Julian. He said I might bring you to your bearings and yet spare you the gibbet.”

“Bring me to my bearings?” He had slowly come down the stairs so that the brothers finally faced each other on the same level ground. “What does that mean, Antoine? That I come out from my dark corner holding out my hands for cuffs?”

“Give us the women! It is that simple.”

“And then I may go as free as a bird? Is that it?”

“Not exactly. You'll still have to leave the country. But you'll be free, Julian! You'll have a chance at a new life!”

“Not on
your
life, little brother! I haven't got a chance in a million—I'd be as poor as a pauper!”

“I'll help you!” He sounded desperate. His brother should have been the one to sound desperate, but instead he seemed too buffle-headed to understand his own peril.

Wingate grimaced in contempt. “You'll help me? That's ripe! With what?”

“I will have the means,” he said with difficulty, emphasizing each word, “to offer you help.”

Their eyes met.

“That's a clanker! You think me a fool?”

“I'm telling you the truth! Miss Herley will have a stipend.” He could not, for anything, tell his brother that he would be living off of Mr. Mornay.

“Ha! Miss Herley? If there is a Miss Herley!”

Antoine's face froze. “Tell me you didn't mean that!”

Julian said nothing, only looked away. Antoine was suddenly beside himself, and he pulled his pistol from his waistcoat and pointed it at his brother.

“Take me to her. Now!”

“But where is she?” Wingate asked, feigning ignorance.

“Take me to her. I won't go after you. You can do as you please!”

“I want a sum of money from Mornay. If he can produce it, I'll turn over the ladies.”

“The game's up, Julian! They are here or nearby. We shall find them, with your help or not.”

“Are you familiar with all the secret rooms on this street then?”

Antoine's eyes narrowed. It was well-known among criminals that certain houses contained secret doors that led to anything from small cubicles to entire rooms, which were used to “fence” stolen goods until they were sold. Some of these rooms were so craftily hidden that only the mistress or master of the house knew of their existence. If his brother had used such rooms for the women, it could indeed take a long time to find them—if they could be found.

“If you put us to that, the lords will hang you.”

“It's Hobson's choice, sir. That or nothing. If they prefer to hang me right now and let the morts starve to death, that is
their
choice.” He looked away, as if thinking of it. “Or die of thirst, more like.”

“You blackguard!” Lord Holliwell had put his pistol away, but he balled up his fist as though he might use it instead on his brother.

Julian ignored his threat. “Tell Mornay what I want, and I'll meet you back here in, say, two hours.”

“You haven't said what you want!”

“I'll settle for twenty thousand pounds. Ten for each of 'em.”

“Why not ask for the crown jewels? He is just as likely to be able to come up with them as twenty thousand pounds in two hours!”

“He'll manage.” Wingate snickered and disappeared back up the stairs.

Mr. Mornay had slowed to a cautious walk before entering the dark alley. It was strewn with filth and waste, garbage and darting rodents. He cocked his pistol, kept it close, and then stopped moving to listen. He heard a sound ahead.

“Chesley, there's no way out of here except by me.” This was a guess, of course, but he hoped it was true.

No answer.

“If I have to search you out, I'll come with my pistol ready to shoot.”

Again there was no answer. The stench of the place was unbearable, and nothing other than the gravity of the present situation would have made Mr. Mornay endure it for another second.

“Mr. Chesley, I'll offer you one more chance. You're not wanted for murder, so what have you to fear? I need to talk to you, that's all.”

A faint sound came from the end of the alley, and Mr. Mornay inched
forward. He had to go slowly for the darkness was that thick. “Come, I know you're there. The longer you wait, the more of my time you waste!”At first he heard only the sounds of other voices; angry shouting from far away, raucous laughter closer by, then a woman's voice in St. Giles' Greek so thick it was unintelligible. He took another step forward but heard, “I'm coming! Don't shoot me!”