A Lord Undone: The Spinsters Guild (Book 5) Page 11

  “Lord Greaves!”

  Jerking in surprise, Frederick threw himself out of his chair, only for the study door to fly open and none other than Lady Beatrice to come rushing through it towards him. Her face was pale, her eyes fixed on his and her curls threatening to come loose from their confines.

  “Lady Beatrice,” he exclaimed, as his butler came rushing into the room, expression his deep apologies for Lady Beatrice’s unannounced entrance. “Whatever is the matter?” He shooed his butler out of the room with only a quick glance, before turning his attention back to Lady Beatrice. “You look quite done in. Might I be able to convince you to sit down and rest a moment?”

  “It is Lord Stratton!” Lady Beatrice exclaimed, reaching out and grasping his arm with both hands. “You must come at once, Lord Greaves! Lady Smithton and Lord Havisham are waiting in the carriage.”

  He stared at her, flummoxed. “In the carriage?” he repeated, as she nodded fervently, gasping for breath. “Why should they wait there?”

  “Because we must go to his townhouse at once,” Lady Beatrice said, beginning to tug him towards the door. “Please, Lord Greaves, do not delay.”

  He took a long breath, put his hand over hers and looked down into her eyes. “Lady Beatrice,” he said, firmly. “Might you explain? I will come with you, of course, but I must first put on my coat. I do not think it would be proper for me to leave the house in merely my shirtsleeves!” He saw her blink and turn her head away, dropping her hands from his arm as a slight heat climbed into her face.

  “No, of course not,” she agreed, quietly, although she immediately began to pace up and down the study. “But if you would hurry, Lord Greaves.”

  Making his way around to his chair, Frederick picked up his coat and thrust one arm through it and then the other, watching Lady Beatrice keenly as he did so. “Might you tell me what is wrong, Lady Beatrice?” he asked, wondering why she showed such agitation. “You spoke of Lord Stratton?”

  Lady Beatrice’s hazel eyes caught his as she stopped for a moment, chewing her lip before she answered. “He is unwell.”

  “Lord Stratton?” Frederick queried, as Lady Beatrice began to walk up and down the room once more. “He is unwell? Here in London?”

  “Yes, that is so,” Lady Beatrice answered, barely looking at him as she paced. “Lord Havisham discovered that Lord Stratton was taken unwell the very day he arrived in London and thus, he has been resting in his townhouse in the hope that he might recover before the end of the Season.”

  A sudden, sharp shock raced through Frederick, pinning him to the floor for a moment. “But if he is resting and hopes to return, why is his house shut up in darkness, with the rooms covered in dust sheets?”

  Lady Beatrice stopped pacing and turned slowly to face him. “Precisely,” she said, quietly. “And why would his blind servant state such a thing when he knew it was not so?”

  Frederick swallowed hard, his brow knotting as a fresh tension began to run through his veins. There was no simple answer to anything he had just asked, no easy explanation as to what was going on. Question upon question began to burn through his mind and he leaned on his desk for a long moment, trying to force his mind to quieten just a little.

  “There is also the question about this supposed friend of Lord Stratton, who gave him the note so that you might then receive it when you called upon him,” Lady Beatrice added, coming towards him. “If Lord Stratton was taken ill upon his arrival to London, then he has had no time to greet any particular friend.”

  Frederick swallowed again and closed his eyes. “Something is wrong.”

  “There are a good many things wrong,” Lady Beatrice countered, firmly. “There are a good many questions already about what has been happening but now, I confess, I have many more that are added to the first. There is something odd about Lord Stratton and this illness, for I cannot understand why his servant would claim that he was returned to his estate if, in fact, he was resting above stairs in his own bedchamber.”

  Frederick opened his eyes as a new sense of urgency swept over him. “We must depart at once.”

  Despite the situation, Frederick saw the corner of Lady Beatrice’s mouth curl as a small sparkle of amusement flickered in the depths of her eyes. “Lord Havisham and Lady Smithton are waiting for us both,” she reminded him, as he shot her a rueful look. “Are you quite ready to depart?”

  “More than ready,” he answered, coming out from behind his desk and walking towards the door, with Lady Beatrice in his wake.

  “There appears to be no-one at home.”

  Frederick frowned, looking up at the front door as though he might see some way to force it to open. “I do not understand,” he said, as Lord Havisham knocked again. “This house was open only a few days ago and, if Lord Stratton is in town, then why should his staff not answer the door?”

  “I could not say,” Lord Havisham muttered, taking a few steps back and looking up at the house. Suddenly, he caught his breath, grasping Frederick’s arm hard and pointing up to the window. “Look! There!”

  Frederick could see nothing but a slight flicker of movement, which betrayed the fact that someone had been present at the window only a moment before.

  “Did you see him?”

  Lady Beatrice was rushing up the stairs towards them, with Lady Smithton only a step or two behind. “Did you see him?” she asked again, her hand on his arm and her eyes blazing with a furious excitement. “The man. The blind servant. He was at the window!”

  Lord Havisham let out a sudden bellow, catching them all by surprise. “The servant's entrance!” he shouted, making Frederick jerk with the sudden understanding that caught him. “We must not let him escape!”

  Lady Beatrice stepped back, her hands dropping to her sides. “We will remain here,” she said, as Frederick began to rush down after Lord Havisham. “Go, Lord Greaves. Find that man!”

  Frederick had no time to wonder as to why the blind servant had been looking out of the window, no time to question what had been true and what had been a pretense the first time he had come here. The only thing he had to fix his mind upon was gaining entrance to the house and, in doing so, finding the only man who might be able to give him some answers.

  Lord Havisham, however, had already managed to make his way into the house, the servant's’ door swinging closed behind him just as Frederick reached it. Stopping for a moment, Frederick looked all about him, wanting to make certain that the man in question had not managed to escape already.

  There was no movement.

  Shaking his head, Frederick allowed himself a quiet moment as he dropped his head into his hands, rubbing at his forehead and trying to quieten his confusing thoughts. Lifting his head, he set his shoulders and made to reach for the door – only for it to swing open in his face. On instinct, Frederick reached out, his hands grasping onto clothing, his head knocking hard into something of equal weight and sending a rush of dizziness all through him.

  The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, his hands still tight on the man, his feet kicking out in an attempt to gain purchase.

  “You have him, Lord Greaves!” he heard Lord Havisham shout, even though the sound seemed to come from very far away indeed. “Well done.” The weight was suddenly doubled, the air flying from Frederick’s chest as the blind servant fell heavily atop of him, sent to the ground by a swift and hard punch to the nose by Lord Havisham.

  Lord Havisham winced and shook his hand out in front of him, whilst Frederick attempted to get his breath. The servant was lying across him, his eyes closed and his nose covered in blood.

  “You stopped him, at least,” Frederick managed to say, pushing the fellow away from him and attempting to sit up. “Was he within?”

  Lord Havisham grimaced, reached down and tugged the unconscious man out of Frederick’s way. “He slammed a door into my face just as I made to open it,” he said, making Frederick look up to see a red, angry mark running down one side of Lord Havisham’s f
ace. “It was just as well you managed to catch him, Greaves. I do not think I would have been able to do so otherwise. I was a little dazed.”

  Frederick managed to stand up, his head swimming for a moment or two but, after a few breaths, regaining himself a little.

  “I should fetch Lady Smithton and Lady Beatrice,” Lord Havisham said, stepping away from Frederick. “I will not be a moment.”

  “Do you think that wise?” Frederick asked, a sudden fear tightening his stomach, but Lord Havisham only chuckled.

  “Do you think it would be wise for us to leave them both standing at the front door whilst we explored within?” he asked, making Frederick wince. “Yes, I can see from your expression that you realize just how foolish that would be.” His eyes drifted to the prone figure at Frederick’s feet. “I do not think he will waken for some time, but I know that Lady Smithton, at least, would like to be present when he awakens.”

  “As would Lady Beatrice,” Frederick acknowledged, realizing that he had been attempting to protect Lady Beatrice without truly considering what she might want or what she was due. “Yes, I shall wait here.” He looked down at the prone man as Lord Havisham hurried away, feeling his anger begin to swell within him. This man was not blind, then, as he had pretended. There was nothing wrong with him at all, given that he had looked out of the window, had seen their presence at the door and then had attempted to scurry away. No, there was something more to this fellow and Frederick was determined to find out what it might be.

  He prodded the man gently with his foot, but there was no response. A little impatient, Frederick prodded him again, harder this time, but the man’s eyes remained closed. Frederick narrowed his gaze suspiciously, fearing as though the man might only be pretending to be unconscious and might then throw himself to his feet and race away at any given moment.

  “Lord Greaves!”

  He looked up, seeing Lady Beatrice come hurrying towards him, her eyes wide. “I am quite all right, Lady Beatrice,” he promised, as she came to stand beside him, one hand at her mouth to cover her gasp as she caught sight of the man on the ground.

  “That is Lord Havisham’s handiwork,” he told her, as Lord Havisham and Lady Smithton joined them. “But what are we to do with him next?”

  Lord Havisham gave a small shrug. “I have a good many questions that I must have answered,” he said, lifting one eyebrow towards Frederick. “As do you, I am sure.”

  Frederick nodded.

  “Then we should take him inside and bind his hands until he awakens,” Lady Beatrice said firmly, surprising Frederick with her vehemence. “And in the interim, I suggest that we look about the house. I would not like to find Lord Stratton upstairs and alone.”

  Frederick’s breath caught suddenly as he realized that Lady Beatrice might well be correct. This was Lord Stratton’s home – of that, there could be no doubt – and yet when he and Lord Havisham had arrived, the rooms were in darkness, covered with dust sheets and seemingly unoccupied.

  “We should certainly go inside,” Lady Smithton said, briskly. “Havisham, you will see to this fellow, will you not?”

  Lord Havisham shot her a grin. “I shall see to him, of course, my lady,” he said with a slight bow that made Lady Havisham blush furiously. “And then I shall join you inside.”

  * * *

  A few minutes later and both Lord Havisham and Frederick were satisfied with the bonds that now tied the supposedly blind servant. He could not move from his chair even if he wished to, which meant that, should he awaken, there would be nothing he could do but sit and wait for them to return.

  “I will go to the second floor,” Frederick muttered, as Lady Smithton and Lady Beatrice waited for both himself and Lord Havisham to finish their task. “Might you look at each room here?”

  Lord Havisham nodded. “Of course.”

  “I will attend with you, if that is quite all right,” Lady Beatrice said, taking a few steps towards Frederick and looking up into his face. “I do not intend to remain here and wait, of course.”

  Lady Smithton laughed, making Lady Beatrice blush furiously. “When I first met you, Lady Beatrice, you were as timid and as quiet as a field mouse,” she said, making Frederick smile at the comparison. “And now you are determined, strong and quite fearless!”

  Lady Beatrice glanced up at Frederick, but he only smiled at her, not wanting her to feel any sort of embarrassment. “I have you to thank for that, Lady Smithton,” Lady Beatrice answered, as Frederick held out his arm to her. “But I am glad not to be as I once was.” Her eyes lit up as she saw Frederick’s smile, making him practically glow with a sudden, fresh warmth. “And I am grateful for those who have encouraged such resolve within me.” Her hand looped under his arm and Frederick smiled into her eyes, barely able to lift his gaze from hers. She was all the more lovely to him every time he saw her.

  “Come then,” he said, beginning to make their way towards the staircase. “Let us see if we can find any threads that might help us untangle this mystery.”

  Unfortunately for Frederick, the more they looked, the less they discovered. Each room appeared to be the same as the ones below stairs, with the curtains drawn and dust covers over each and every piece of furniture and the like. There was a darkness and a stillness that covered the hallway as they walked that had even Frederick feeling a little on edge, as though he expected someone to jump out to attack them at any moment. Had he not seen a candle and a match in one of the very first rooms they had looked into, they might now be walking in near pitch darkness. With the doors all closed tight, he drew Lady Beatrice a little closer to him, not wanting to admit that he felt a spiraling tension deep within him.

  Lady Beatrice walked in silence for a few minutes, her hand tight on his arm. There was nothing but the sound of their footsteps and the occasional creak of the floor to betray their presence here.

  “I can see a small light,” she breathed, pointing a little further ahead. “One of the rooms must be open.”

  He nodded, only for Lady Beatrice to let go of his arm and step away, gesturing for him to follow “Here!” Lady Beatrice whispered, as though she did not want to give their presence away and so needed to remain quiet. “If you would, Lord Greaves, I think this must be the room where the man was, when he first looked out of the window at you and Lord Havisham.”

  Frederick followed Lady Beatrice into a small room, seeing how the heavy drapes were pulled back from the window. In one corner was a rickety looking bed, and on the opposite side, a chest of drawers. Whoever he was, the supposedly blind servant clearly resided here and had not been working for Lord Stratton. Although where Lord Stratton was, Frederick had very little idea.

  “I do not understand,” Lady Beatrice murmured, turning around to face Frederick as he drew near the window. “Why did this man have a note from a friend of Lord Stratton’s to give to you, if he was not truly in the employ of Lord Stratton himself?”

  “I do not think that there ever was an acquaintance of Lord Stratton’s,” Frederick said, seeing her eyes flare for a moment. “The man, whoever he is, had the note in his possession already and was to simply pretend that he had received it from elsewhere.”

  “But why?” Lady Beatrice asked, lines marring her forehead as she struggled with the very same questions he had done. “What would be the reason for such a person to do this?”

  Frederick spread his hands wide. “To ensure that I was thoroughly confused,” he said, plainly, thinking that this was surely the correct explanation. “To make quite certain that I had no understanding whatsoever about who has my brother. If I discover them, then I might discover Adlington and, thus, their reasons for demanding money are gone.”

  Lady Beatrice sighed, looked about her and began to shake her head. “Then they have succeeded,” she said, miserably. “I do not think I understand anything at all.”

  “But we have hope now,” he told her, seeing the frustration on her face and finding himself reaching for her hands, tuggi
ng her a little closer. “We have this so-called servant and we can ensure that he gives us the answers we seek.” He squeezed her hands tightly and saw a little light come back into her face. “I am sure that, with a little encouragement – monetary or otherwise – he will be inclined to tell us what he knows.” Letting go of one of her hands, Frederick reached up to brush his thumb across her cheek, his hand cradling the side of her face for just a moment. He could not explain what had encouraged him to do so, what desire rose within him to be as intimate with her in such a fashion, but as he dropped his hand to his side again, he saw a rosy flush burn in her cheeks, saw the darkening of her eyes and felt his own heart burst into a furious, desperate rhythm.

  The awareness that they were entirely alone rose up within him. Had he been in his previous state of mind, he would never have even considered walking through a townhouse alone with Lady Beatrice, but for whatever reason, it now felt quite natural a thing to do. Lady Beatrice had not made any sort of complaint and was, in fact, still standing directly in front of him with a flicker of excitement burning in her eyes.

  And suddenly, everything he had been thinking of as regarded his brother, the money, the notes and now the play-acting servant seemed to disappear from his thoughts. There was only one person he was considering, one person that flooded his mind and that was Lady Beatrice. She was standing so near to him now, so close to him that he could barely take a breath. His body was buzzing with tension as Frederick felt a building excitement deep within him, aware that their hands were still joined, their fingers twined together.

  “Lady Beatrice,” he breathed, moving a fraction closer and lifting his hand to place it against her cheek, as it had been before. “I –”

  “Lord Greaves?”

  Both he and Lady Beatrice stumbled away from each other at once, the moment gone in an instant, thrown apart by the sound of Lady Smithton’s urgent tones.

  “Beatrice? Might you come below stairs?”