The Runaway Heiress (26 page)

'I suppose he can. After all, who can stop him?'

'When does Aldeborough return?'

'I don't know. We could be here for days. What an
awful prospect.' Frances surveyed the room bleakly. 'One thing is certain. We
have to escape.'

'Charles was right, I am afraid. The windows are
not an option.' Juliet tried unsuccessfully to push one open. 'And even if we
smashed one, it is a long way to the ground. I don't relish a broken leg.'

'And no one knows we are here because we
deliberately did not tell anyone.'

'And I suppose you have the letter with you? You
didn't by some chance leave it in the breakfast parlour for someone to find?'

'I am afraid it is in my reticule.' Frances
sighed. 'We have put ourselves in a very difficult position.'

'We need a strategy. What would Hugh do?' Juliet
seated herself and clasped her hands.

'Get over rough ground as lightly as possible. Is
that not a favourite military objective with Wellington? But I am not sure that
it helps us now.'

'Somehow we have to get Charles out of the
way and the door open.'

Silence hung in the room as they assessed the
hopelessnes of their situation.

Juliet, idly pulling at her gloves, suddenly turned
her head with an arrested expression. 'Do you remember the novel we read that
Mama was so sniffy about when she discovered behind the cushions in the morning
room? The one with the castle in the Alps and beautiful Marianne. And the Wicked
Baron Oliver who wanted to force his attentions on her.'

'Yes.
Raven's Castle.
What on earth has that to do with anything? Honestly, Juliet, here we
are imprisoned in this...
'

'But do you remember
how Marianne escaped from him?' Juliet interrupted.

Frances thought for
a moment. 'She pretended she was ill and took to her bed where she groaned a
good deal, then she hid behind the door when the Wicked Baron came to offer her
help and hit him with a candlestick, which laid him out on the floor. That was more
or less the story as I remember it. I thought it was a bit far-fetched at the
time.'

'Could we do that?'

Frances met Juliet's
quizzical expression and a smile began to curve her lips as the image developed
in her mind. She crossed to a sidetable, picked up an elegant bronze figurine
of a hunting dog and weighed it, somewhat thoughtfully, in her hand. If she was
to prevent Charles from blackmailing Aldeborough out of an extortionate amount
of money, she and Juliet must win their freedom. It seemed it would call for
some forceful and imaginative action.

'I cannot think of a
better idea. Which part would you like to play? The languishing invalid or the
intrepid attacker?'

Juliet giggled. 'Oh,
the invalid. I am sure I could do that. After all...' she suddenly became
serious '...we have nothing to lose, have we? I have decided that I do not care
for your Cousin Charles at all.'

'Neither do I! Let us discuss tactics.'

They set the scene
with great care and dramatic intent. The dust-laden curtains were loosened from
their ties to cast the room into suitable gloom, apart from one branch of
candles that Frances arranged on the small table beside the silk-covered sofa
on which Juliet would play out her major role. Meanwhile, that enthusiastic
young lady removed her bonnet and unpinned her hair so that it lay romantically
on her shoulders.

'What do I do with
this statue?' Frances lifted the bronze again. 'If I were Aunt May, I could
hide it in my skirts. There's not much hope with this dress, is there?' She
eyed her light muslins critically.

'Just put it behind the door until you need it,'
Juliet advised. 'It looks very heavy. Don't kill him, will you?'

'I will try not to!'

'What a pity we have no
blood.
That would look most realistic—and suitably
shocking! Charles would
have
to come to my aid.' Juliet eyed with interested speculation the knives
that had come with the cakes on the tea tray.

'I am not cutting my wrists—or yours, for that
matter—for you!' Frances was quick to see the direction of her thoughts.

'But think of the effect on Charles—he could not
possibly think it was a trick, that I was merely feigning illness if I was
covered with blood!'

Frances picked up a knife. 'It is not very sharp,'
she observed dubiously.

'We don't need much. Just a little cut and you
could dabble the blood on my bodice. It will not hurt. Just think of it as part
of the adventure.'

'Why are
you
not volunteering?'

'I need all my strength and concentration to act.'

'And I suppose I don't to hit him on the head.'

'He is your cousin. Come here and I will do it for
you.'

'I cannot argue against that.' Frances held out the
knife reluctantly.

Frances closed her eyes as Juliet applied the knife
as gently but effectively as possible to her bared forearm. There was
a
sharp stinging pain, which made her draw in her
breath on gasp, and she tried not to look at the blood that immediately, seeped
from her torn flesh.

'There. That wasn't
too bad, was it? Now, if you let blood drip on to my dress. Yes. That's very
good. I never liked this pale green anyway—far too insipid. Are you feel' quite
well, Frances? You do look a little pale. It is amazing how much such a little
cut will bleed.'

Frances, swallowing hard, tried not to think of her
blood being smeared over Juliet's bodice and skirt and was relieved when
Juliet, satisfied at last, tied her handkerchief around the wound to staunch
any further bleeding.

'Are we ready? Let
us start before my nerves fail me.' Frances rubbed her arms to dispel the
shivering and positioned herself between the sofa and the door. Juliet stood
beside the sofa, hands already clutching her throat in dramatic mode. She
grinned encouragingly at Frances and the play began.

Juliet began to
cough. She bent over, choking and retching, one hand pressed to her stomach,
the other clawing at her throat. Her eyes were closed, her face contorted into
a mask, her clothing spattered artistically with Frances's blood. The coughs
were punctuated with cries of anguish. Nodding in satisfaction, Frances turned
and hammered on the door for attention.

The door opened
precipitately to admit the footman. His eyes grew round in shock and his face
visibly paled as he took in the horrific picture, Juliet gasping and choking
with blood on her gown, Frances in hysterics.

'My lady! What's
happened? What can...?' he gabbled, falling into silence.

'My sister,'
shrieked Frances. 'She is in such distress. What can I do to help her?' She ran
to the footman to clutch his arm convulsively. 'Please! You must tell Mr
Hanwell. We need his help.'

'Mr Hanwell is about
to go out.' The footman could not take his eyes off Juliet, who continued to
cough and moan.

'Fetch him.' Frances
shook his arm violently. 'It is a matter of life and death.'

The footman turned
on his heel and all but ran from the room. Juliet raised her head to grin at
Frances. 'Well done!' she whispered.

'Don't stop now,'
Frances murmured back. 'Charles must be in no doubt that this is genuine if I
am to take him by surprise.'

Charles arrived in
the doorway, taking in the scene at once. 'What's wrong with her?' he demanded
in a voice harsh with latent panic. Frances simply stood, wringing her hands
and sobbing loudly. 'She seemed perfectly well an hour ago.' His tone was cold,
but even he appeared shaken by the tragic figure before him.

Juliet collapsed limply on to the sofa, head flung
back, gasping for breath. Then once more she doubled up in painful retching,
which soon developed into harsh coughing. One trembling hand was stretched out
blindly for help. Only the most heartless creature could ignore such suffering.

'She needs help!' Frances managed to cry. 'She had
eaten one of the cakes—and then she began to choke. All this blood! And she can
hardly breathe. Please help her.' She looked at Charles with piteous,
tear-filled eyes. 'I do not know what to do for her.'

Charles considered the heartfelt appeal for a
moment and then approached the sofa, kneeling to take a closer look at the
sufferer, thus turning his back on Frances.
Now
, she told herself,
do it now!
She pushed the door gently closed, picked up
the bronze hunting dog and advanced silently to where he knelt. Charles moved
as if to rise to his feet.
Don't move
, she prayed.
Just stay there for
one more minute!
Juliet's coughing reached a violent paroxysm that caused Charles to
bend over her once more.

'She is choking. She simply needs to—'

As he took hold of Juliet's hand to pull her to her
feet, Frances lifted her arm and struck her cousin a firm blow on his head.

He crumpled soundlessly to the floor.

Juliet sat up and applauded. 'I never thought that
I should be so grateful for cake crumbs!'

'Don't rejoice yet!' Frances warned her, eyeing the
inert figure before her with some trepidation. 'We still have to escape from
this house!'

Chapter Thirteen

After an uncomfortable,
but rapid, journey from Newmarket, Aldeborough and Matthew arrived in
Cavendish Square in the late afternoon. Aldeborough had deliberately cut short
his stay, waiting only to see one of his promising young horses win a valuable
race. He found, to his discomfort, that his thoughts returned again and again
to Frances: the exploits of his horses came a far distant second. He remembered
her distress when he left her, her pride when she had witnessed him in what
appeared to be an intimate discussion with his mistress, her stubborn but
intrinsically loving spirit. He longed to feel her body shiver under the touch
of his hands. He longed to press his lips to her silken skin, to that exact
place at the base of her throat where her pulse quickened when he excited her.
He longed to possess her and feel her body, soft and responsive to his every
move, under his. And beneath it all ran the faint undercurrent of unease that
he should not have left her alone. If she had suffered any harm... He would
never forgive himself, and rightly so, knowing the dangers, he had been selfish
enough to deliberately leave her for his own pleasure. As Matthew observed, he
was anything but a sociable companion on the journey home—he wished he had
stayed in Newmarket for the rest of the racing.

'Good afternoon, my
lord. We did not expect you back quite so soon.' For once, Watkins appeared
more than a little ruffled. 'I think your presence is required in the
withdrawing room. At once, my lord.'

Aldeborough, abandoning his enticing daydreams and
self flagellation and shrugging off Matthew's uncomfortable comments on his
character, entered to find Aunt May, Miss Vowchurch and the Dowager Lady
Aldeborough in various stages of complaint and unease.

'Aldeborough! At last!' Aunt May accosted him
immediately. 'There isn't the faintest chance that Frances returns with you, is
there? And Juliet?'

'Why, no. We have just this moment arrived back from
Newmarket.'

'They should have been back by now. I am most concerned.'
Even the Dowager showed less than her usual icy composure.

'I agreed to meet them this afternoon,' added Miss
Vowchurch gently, 'but they did not keep our engagement.'

Aldeborough stiffened. 'Tell me what you know,' he demanded
of Lady Cotherstone. 'Why was she allowed to go out unaccompanied?'

'She received a
letter this morning delivered by a man in livery. But Watkins can tell us no
more.' Aunt May handed Aldeborough the empty cover on which was inscribed
Frances's name and title in firm black strokes. It told him nothing.

'Frances and Juliet went out together just before two
o'clock,' she continued. 'They did not take a carriage and they did not say
where they were going. It seems that there was an element of secrecy in their
departure.'

'And it is now—almost six o'clock.' Aldeborough consulted
his fob watch with fingers that were not quite steady.

'Did
she have any invitations for this afternoon?' he was holding his emotions on a
firm rein. 'A balloon ascension or something as nonsensical, which could have
gone on later than expected?'

'She did not say
so.' Aunt May shook her head. 'I thought they had gone for a turn round the
gardens here in the square. Nothing other than that.'

'Who would write her a personal letter? Viscount
Torrington? Wigmore? Does she know anyone else?'

'Perhaps you should consider that she has gone to
see her cousin, Mr Hanwell.' Miss Vowchurch dropped her observation into the
strained conversation with deliberate calm. 'They have always seemed very
close. And I know they had some communication at Almack's. Perhaps they
arranged to meet.'

'Are you suggesting an assignation?' Lady
Cotherstone asked.

'Of course not! That would be most improper of me!
You know Lady Aldeborough far better than I do. I am sure it is something quite
innocent. I do not think Frances would consider an elopement, do you?'

'Well, she would not take Juliet with her if she
was. A ridiculous suggestion!' Aunt May's acerbic comment put paid to that
direction of speculation.

'How do you know what she was thinking, Lady Cotherstone?'
Penelope looked round at her audience. 'I understand that she has also had a
long conversation with Mrs Winters. Perhaps that has something to do with her
disappearance.'

'What?' Aldeborough had difficulty in preserving a
calm exterior.

'They drove round Hyde Park together, so I am
told.'

'Your suggestion is most indelicate, Miss
Vowchurch. Presumably you were not told that I was present with Frances on
that occasion. It was an unexceptionable conversation. There is nothing to be
concerned about there, Hugh.' Lady Cotherstone frowned at Miss Vowchurch, who
ignored the displeasure but gazed at Aldeborough with innocently open eyes.

'Of
course not. I am sure there is a perfectly innocent explanation and they will
soon return home.' She smiled at the Dowager.
'I
am sure that dear
Frances would never do anything detrimental to the family name, would she,
Lady Aldeborough?

Aunt May caught up with Aldeborough in the hall
where he retrieved his greatcoat and pulled on his gloves once more.

She clasped his arm
with surprising strength despite her arthritic fingers, fixing him with an
unblinking stare.

'I should never have
left her here alone.' Tension was clear in the lines of strain around his
mouth, but he had himself well in control.
'I
knew of the dangers
and chose to ignore them. I must find her.'

'Of course you must.
Bring her back safely, Hugh. Do not blame yourself too much.'

'Has she left me,
Aunt May? Does Charles Hanwell still hold a place in her heart after all?' The
words were wrung out of him. 'I did not think so, but perhaps I was wrong.'

'Of course not. What can you be thinking of! Where
is your good sense? I do assure you she has not left you. You would do well not
to listen to anything that scheming little hussy in there has to say. I have
never heard such trouble-making. She's like a vixen in a chicken run.' She gave
his arm a final shake. 'Bring them both home.'

'Where do we go
first?' Matthew asked as they descended the steps.

'Wigmore
first—Portland Place. I suppose it is just possible that she went to see the
Earl and Countess. I know she spoke to them at Almack's.'

They had no luck
there. The Countess had not seen Frances since Almack's, although they had made
an arrangement to take tea together.

'Torrington?' They stood
on the steps of the Wigmore
town house.

'It is the only
other possibility I can think of. But I cannot for the life of me think why she
would go there.'

St James's Square
was already steeped in deep shadow by the time they arrived. Some of the houses
showed lights burning in the windows of the first floor, but Torrington's address
appeared to be in darkness and the knocker was off the door.

'It looks as if they
are all out of town. What we need is little local information.' With calm
efficiency, his anxiety buried deep under the need for instant action,
Aldeborough retraced his steps to the entrance to the Square where
he
accosted a scruffy urchin who was loitering in the
gutter.
'Here, lad. Has there been any activity around
here recently? Is the gentleman who lives there—' he pointed at
Torring
ton's house
'
—at home?' In one
hand he tossed a coin
that
gleamed persuasively
in the remaining light.

The lad eyed Aldeborough speculatively and wiped
his
grimy face on his sleeve. 'Yes, yer honour.
There's
been
comings and goings all day. The old
geezer ain't 'ere.
But
the young 'un is.' He kept
his eyes on the glint of gold
as if
it might
disappear at any moment. A second coin joined
the
first.
'Saw a carriage at the door earlier today. Don't
know
if
there's anyone here now, though.' He snatched and
ran as
the coins were tossed in his direction with a grin of thanks,
Aldeborough returned to where Matthew's dark figure
was
partially
hidden by the shrubbery in the Square's central
gar
den.

'What are you thinking, Hugh? Kidnap? Abduction?
But
why?'

'It is a long story, Matthew, and there is no time
to tell
it
now. Just trust me. It is imperative
that we get in there.'
He
studied the house with
care from their leafy refuge, eyes
nar
rowed,
assessing the possibilities for forcing an entry
if it
became
necessary. 'The blinds are drawn upstairs. I think I would like a closer look.
Let's try round the back.
The
kitchen or a cellar
might allow us a safer opportunity.'

'No! Wait!' Matthew grabbed his arm, pulling him
ur
gently back behind the iron railings. 'The front
door is
open
ing. It could be Torrington now.'

They stepped back silently to merge with the
shadows. There was no light cast on the doorway and as the
door
opened, no light shone from the hall inside. All
was
cast in
deepest shadow.

'What's happening?' Matthew whispered. 'Is there
some
one in the doorway?'

'No one that I can see. Let us just—
'

Two shadowy figures detached themselves from the
gloom
and appeared on the top step, moving nervously,
cautiously, as if conscious of surrounding danger in every sound, in every
shadow. Then hand in hand, they scurried down the steps and hurried along the
pavement as fast as their little kid shoes could carry them.

'Frances!' Aldeborough,
closely followed by Matthew, leapt from their concealment and raced across the
street towards them. A shriek from Juliet startled everyone as Aldeborough's
hand closed round her wrist and Frances turned, her hands curling amazingly
into fists to face their attackers.

'Hugh! Thank God!'
Frances could find no other words to express her relief, but buried her face in
her husband's shoulder as his arms clasped round her. She could feel his heart
beating as rapidly as her own and simply held on to his sheltering arms.

'Are you hurt?
Where's Torrington?' His keen eyes swept over them, searching for signs of
harm, fortunately unable to make out the bloodstains on Juliet's gown in the
darkness.

'It is not
Torrington. It is Charles.' Juliet supplied the in' formation as she recovered
from her fright in Matthew's brotherly embrace. 'He...he is on the floor in the
upstairs drawing room.'

'Matthew. Take the
girls home and get Aunt May to look after them. Say as little as possible about
tonight's events,
'
Aldeborough issued rapid orders. 'Don't stop for anything. I'll join you as
quickly as I can.'

With a fleeting kiss against Frances's temple and a
quick hug for his sister, Aldeborough turned and swiftly merged with the
shadows in the direction of Torrington's house.

By the time
Aldeborough arrived back at Cavendish Square, Matthew had turned the girls over
to Aunt May with sufficient explanation to satisfy her momentarily, and was about
to return to his brother's aid in St James's Square. Aldeborough shook his head
to deflect any questions, merely informing Matthew that Hanwell was unable to
shed any light on the events of the night, but would surely do so at some
future occasion. Looking at Aldeborough's face, Matthew had no doubts and was
glad that he was not in Hanwell's shoes. He had rarely seen his brother look so
grim.

Earlier Aunt May had swept the ladies upstairs
before the Dowager could emerge from her room to investigate, leaving Frances
to the care of her maid until Aldeborough returned. It would be good to leave
them alone together, she surmised. Meanwhile she discarded Juliet's
bloodstained apparel and encouraged the child to chatter on, marvelling at the
fortitude of youth.

Thus Aldeborough discovered his wife sitting
comfortably before the fire in her bedchamber, a cup of hot chocolate in her
hands and her maid hovering solicitously round her. She appeared, to
Aldeborough's careful scrutiny, quite relaxed. She had come a long way from the
tense, anxious girl whom he had rescued from Torrington Hall.

She turned her head as he entered, a smile
illuminating her features, her eyes glowing with gold reflection from the candles.
All the anger and hurt of their previous meeting appeared to have been swept
away and he was content to let it be so. He walked towards her, signalling for
the maid to leave, and skimmed his fingers down her cheek. She put up her hand
to imprison his, pressing it against her, her eyes locked on his. He felt the
beat of his heart falter and then restart, slow and sure and it struck him how
much she meant to him. If she had been killed... He could not think of it.

He sat beside her, lifting her fingers to his lips,
unable to take his eyes from her expressive face. She smiled at him and his
mouth went dry.