Prelude for a Lord (29 page)

B
ayard tried to convince himself that Lucy’s slipper did not necessarily indicate that Clare and Lucy were in danger, but as he headed into the bowels of the house, he knew he was lying to himself.

The two women had not been in any bedchamber. Raven and Ian searched among the guests, but Clare was not there, nor had anyone seen her.

Alethea trailed behind him. He had delivered her violin to Ord to hide it away. Bayard had trusted him with his life at Corunna and knew he could trust him now.

Bayard found the butler in the kitchen, about to oversee the laying out of the cold light supper in the dining room. “Chapman.” His voice was harsher than he intended.

The butler snapped to attention. “Yes, my lord?”

He was about to blurt out about Clare, but a small voice of caution made him amend his question to, “Have you seen Miss Terralton’s maid?”

“No, sir.”

“Have any of the servants seen her?”

Chapman clapped his hands and the kitchen noise dropped in volume. “Has anyone see Purcell?”

Silence. Bayard pressed his fists into his thighs, but they still shook. “Where else would the servants be?”

“They should be here or in the dining hall, but they could be where they should not.” Chapman’s mouth was grim.

Alethea said, “Are there any servants whom you have not seen within the past fifteen minutes?” It had been that long since they had discovered the women were missing.

A maid said, “George and Anna?”

Chapman shook his head. “I saw them a few minutes ago in the dining room.”

“Jack and Mays?” a footman said.

A hitch of silence, then Chapman barked, “Who saw them last?”

“I sent Mays to the storeroom for a platter,” the cook said, “but I don’t recall when that was.”

Chapman’s grey brows drew low. “I sent Jack to the storeroom for a different epergne for the dining room half an hour ago.”

Bayard, Alethea, and the housekeeper followed Chapman to the storeroom at the back of the house. The heavy wooden door was shut, but it opened when Chapman touched the latch.

Two young men lay on the stone floor, stripped of their livery, their hands and feet tied and gags stuffed into their mouths. As the door creaked open, one lifted his head and feebly tried to rise.

Alethea gasped. The housekeeper pushed past to bend over the man. “They’ve been knocked in the head.” She untied his gag.

“Send for a doctor,” Bayard said. Alethea turned to go, but Bayard grabbed her wrist. He would not allow her out of his sight. He sent the housekeeper upstairs, and she bustled away.

Chapman said, “With the marchioness’s new servants in the household, it has been difficult for all the staff to remember each other.”

Bayard ground his teeth. An under-servant might see two footmen in livery and not realize they were impostors. He knelt beside one of the men and untied his bindings while Chapman untied the other man. “Do not get up. What is your name?”

“Jack,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Milord, I didn’t expect—”

“I would be surprised if you did. Did you see them? Was there one man or more than one?”

“They hit me from behind. I woke up here, tied up, and two men was tying up Mays. I kept me peepers shut, so I didn’t see their faces, but I heard them. One was cursing fit to be tied ’cause they were late. He said they was supposed to be in position a’fore the concert started.”

“Did you recognize their voices?”

“No, milord. Sorry, milord.”

“Did you hear anything else?”

“I heard footsteps going out back toward the carriage house.” He nodded toward the back door of the house, which lay near the storeroom door.

“Good man. Thank you.” Bayard said to Alethea, “Follow me.”

But she stood her ground, her mouth in a mulish cast. “No.”

He frowned. “Alethea, I cannot be worrying for you—”

She lowered her voice so that only he could hear. “It is ridiculous for you to be concerned for me when your sister is missing.” She raised her voice. “Chapman and I shall find Lord Ian and Lord Ravenhurst and send them to the carriage house after you.” And with that, she spun around in a swirl of green skirts and hastened up the passage toward the upper levels of the house.

Chapman gave him a quick look, and at Bayard’s nod, rushed after her.

Bayard opened the backdoor, whose hinges had been recently oiled. He dashed across the backyard of the house, a long, narrow strip of gardens and walks, to the carriage house that formed the back wall of the garden. His evening shoes slipped on the grass, and he felt the bite of the evening frost through the superfine of his coat, but he ran on. Surely the coachman in the carriage house saw something. But if he had seen Clare, wouldn’t he have gone to the house to inform someone?

The door to the carriage house lay in the right corner of the garden wall and opened into a narrow corridor that ran through the structure to the street behind, with a door into the space where the carriages were kept. Bayard hurried into the large room, calling for the coachman.

The old man came down the narrow stairs from his quarters above. He was dressed in his working garb and not his nightshirt, so he had been awake in the past hour.

“Did you see anyone? Two footmen in livery?” Bayard demanded.

After a moment of confusion, the coachman shook his head. “I’ve been upstairs, milord.”

“Were any other grooms here tonight?”

“They’re all helping at the house, on account o’ the concert.” The staff at the house would have depended on all hands to help with the event. “I was out front directing the carriages and holding horses earlier, when the guests was arriving, but I returned here during the concert until I might be needed again.”

“You heard nothing? Miss Terralton’s maid has disappeared and two footmen were attacked and stripped of their livery.”

“I did hear a carriage on the street, and a few minutes later I thot I heard someone in the passageway. Then the carriage moved off. I’m sorry, milord, I had s’posed it to be the neighbors.”

“When did you hear this?”

“No more’n fifteen minutes ago.”

They were not so far ahead of him. “Lend me your cloak, man. I shall run to the stables to procure a horse.”

“We’ll both ride.” Ian walked into the room, his greatcoat swirling about his shoulders. “Raven’s with Lady Alethea.”

The news eased some of the constriction in his chest. “Let’s go.” The Ravenhurst horses were not stabled far from the carriage house, but he and Ian dashed down the street and were heaving when they arrived.

Bayard had not ridden a horse since returning from war. He had not replaced Champion despite the suggestions put forth by Raven and Bayard’s own head groom. He simply could not bear it. He could not bear the thought of touching a horse, as if the contamination of what had happened in Corunna would infect it.

But now he saddled the fastest horse with a quickness honed from years of war. The movements came to him without thought. The animal caught his desperation and leapt forward as soon as he had mounted. He and Ian galloped out, following the likely path of the mysterious carriage.

Bayard rode and knew a sense of hopelessness. How could they catch up with a carriage for which they had no description? He could only guess on where the carriage would take Clare—out of Bath, where the villain could have time and space and few neighbors. Why had he taken her? Could Bayard expect a ransom note on the morrow? Wouldn’t it have been more effective to steal away Margaret or Mrs. Garen, to force Alethea to turn over her violin?

Lord, help me! I have no one else to guide me in this
. The prayer came up as a despairing cry from the depths of his soul.

They passed the carriage house and rode down the street to the end. Bayard caught sight of a familiar figure—Mr. Oakridge, his horse-mad schoolfellow.

And he suddenly knew the Lord God had answered his prayer.

He pulled up beside Oakridge, walking along the road in
evening clothes, apparently headed to some event. “Oakridge, well met.”

Ian pulled up beside him, his face tense with confusion. “Bay?”

Bayard ignored him and addressed Oakridge. “This is of utmost urgency. Were you in position to see a carriage come from this lane in the past twenty minutes?”

“This lane? No, I’ve just come from your concert, my lord—”

“Did you see a carriage pass you, going quickly, which may have come from this direction?”

“I saw two,” Oakridge said, and Bayard’s stomach dropped. But Oakridge continued, “One was old Mrs. Ramsland’s carriage, going at barely a jogg-trot with a tired old queer prancer that the most bungling thief’d be able to bite. The other carriage had the nicest pair of matched dappled greys I ever saw. Didn’t see the vehicle, it was going too fast and I was distracted by those gallopers, but it was low-slung, I believe.”

Bayard inhaled sharply, and Ian straightened in his saddle. They remembered the matched dappled grey horses pulling the landau—a low-slung vehicle—which stopped at that inn outside of Bath the day they followed the footman. “Which direction did the greys go?”

“Turned there.” Oakridge pointed. “Wouldn’t be surprised if it were headed out of Bath. Fine horses,” he said on a longing sigh.

“Much obliged to you, Oakridge.” Bayard kicked at his horse’s sides and took off.

They galloped out of Bath. Bayard knew the Lord had heard his prayer and was leading them to Clare. He had to believe it. He had no other clue to follow.

They followed the same road they had taken in the decrepit gig, but this time they flew over the earth. Moonlight lit the ruts so they could avoid them.

As they clattered into the yard of the inn, Bayard realized they
should have ridden in stealth, for the men who stole Clare and Lucy would surely know they had arrived. Just being led away by a groom were the matched dappled grey horses and the landau. A thunderbolt of relief and elation sent him hurdling from his saddle and into the inn.

“Where is she?” he demanded of the innkeeper, a round man with a filthy apron and blackened fingernails.

“I’m sure I don’t know—”

“Whatever they promised to pay you, I shall pay double.” Bayard slammed his purse upon the pitted wooden counter.

His bloodshot eyes grew round, and without taking his gaze from the money, he jerked a fat thumb toward the stairs. “First door on the right.”

Bayard and Ian bounded up the stairs two at a time. The door was locked, but several solid blows by their shoulders made the rickety wood give way.

They were in time to see the bottom of a shoe as a man tumbled out of the open window to the ground below.

“Bay!” Clare and Lucy sat on the bed, hands tied but otherwise unharmed. When Bayard turned to Clare, she threw him a fierce look. “Never mind us, go get him!”

Ian rushed back down the stairs to head the men off in the inn yard. Bayard hurried to the window, which was only ten feet from the ground. The man had landed without injury, for two figures darted away toward the back of the inn. Without hesitating, Bayard leapt over the windowsill and dropped to the ground.

The landing jolted through his feet, clad only in evening shoes, but he quickly gave chase. As he circled round to the back of the inn, Ian came hurtling from the other side, and the two of them raced over weed-choked ground to the forested area behind the building.

They wove in and out of the trees, guided by the darting shadows of the two men ahead of them. Then Ian fell with a muffled
“Oof!” Bayard slowed, but Ian waved him on, his face crumpled in pain. “Go!”

Bayard ran on, bushes catching in the cloak flying around him, low-hanging branches slapping at his face. His lungs heaved, but still he ran. He stumbled once, but righted himself. Then he stumbled a second time and pitched forward, hands outstretched to break his fall. The sticks from a bush splintered in his face, and his palms slid through mouldy leaves and freezing mud.

He was up before he drew another breath. He staggered a step or two, then continued running.

Except he could no longer see the figures ahead of him.

He searched the dark and light between the trees for movement, the flap of a coat, a wildly swinging arm. He saw nothing.

He paused and heard nothing. An owl hooted and then was silent.

The cold bit at his neck and jaw, and bitterness lingered on his tongue. He’d lost them.

“This will not happen again,” Bayard ground out.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself, Bay.” Clare wore a long-sleeved morning gown, but he could see the redness of her wrists from the rope that had bound her last night. “They were after Alethea, just as you had intended. They simply made a mistake.”

Alethea sat on a chair, her sister sitting beside her. In the light streaming from the music room windows, the two looked remarkably alike. Lucy had lighter eyes and a softer face than Alethea’s determined one.

“It was clever of Clare to step on my slipper so that I could slip my foot out and rip the ribbons off,” Lucy said.

“If anything, it is my fault,” Clare said. “It was I who insisted
Lucy wear a more elegant gown and dress up her hair for last night’s event. If I had not, the two men would not have mistaken her for Alethea, and they would not have taken me simply because I was with her.”