Damsel in Distress Page 13

  Helen went out to the carriage on Newton’s arm. Not knowing the arrangements had been made by Dolmain, Newt was as pleased as punch that she chose to drive with him. Dolmain’s rig drew away first, with Newton’s following closely behind it.

  Newton shared a banquette with Caroline; Helen sat alone on the other side. He looked across the shadowy space and said, “I have begun research on my epic, Lady Helen. Daresay your library at Elmhurst has some books on the subject.”

  Helen said, “I don’t know. I only visit the French part of the library.” Then she yawned, shielding her lips with her gloved fingers. “Comme je suis fatigueé! I shall just curl up and try to sleep a little. Bonsoir.”

  Newton unfolded a rug he kept in the carriage and placed it tenderly over her. He then turned to Caro, touching his finger to his lips to signal that she was not to speak. Helen’s uncivil behavior did not endear her to Caro, but on the other hand, she wanted time to think, and had not anticipated much pleasure from three hours of stilted conversation with the girl.

  Caroline did not sleep, nor did Newton. She forced her thoughts from Dolmain to consider what they should do if they were stopped along the way. Both she and Newt were armed; they would just have to shoot their way free. When Newt was not gazing in a lover-like way across the shadows at the covered form on the other banquette, he was peering out the window for attackers. The trip was uneventful, however. There were few carriages on the road, and all appeared to be innocent. Shortly after midnight, they reached the White Hart in Reigate.

  “My head will not be sorry to find a pillow,” Newt said.

  As Lady Helen immediately sat up, it was hard to believe she had been sleeping. “Are we here?” she asked.

  A glance out the window showed no suspicious strangers lurking about. With four footmen and two grooms and Newton to guard them, the ladies made it safely into the inn and to their rooms. Helen was to share her chamber with her aunt; Caro and Georgie had the adjoining room, with Newton across the hall.

  The party stopped a moment in the hallway outside their chambers to discuss plans for the morning.

  Lady Milchamp said, “Dolmain was eager for us to start early. Is nine o’clock too early for you, Lady Georgiana?”

  “I thought we would leave at first light,” Caroline said. “Six-thirty or seven.”

  “Oh, not that early, surely!” Lady Milchamp exclaimed.

  “Split the difference, leave at eight,” Newton suggested.

  After much discussion, it was agreed they would meet in a private parlor for breakfast at eight. They all breathed a sigh of relief as they went to their various chambers.

  “Did you learn anything from Helen?” Georgie asked, as they prepared for bed.

  “Not a thing. She curled up and pretended to be asleep. It is pretty clear she doesn’t want to talk to me. I hope she opens up tomorrow. How did you get along with Lady Milchamp?”

  “She has not changed one iota in thirty years. She thinks of nothing but balls and routs and fashions. She is au courant with all the gossip. It seems I would not have missed anything except three hours of rattling in a carriage if I had stayed home.”

  “And thank goodness for it,” Caro replied.

  “Certainly! I did not mean I wish we had been attacked.”

  They both slept soundly. Next door, Lady Milchamp also slept through the excitement of Helen’s departure. They did not learn until morning that she was missing from her bed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lady Milchamp’s first fear when she saw the empty pillow was that she had slept in. She picked up her hunter’s watch from the bedside table, but her failing eyesight could not read the numbers by the faint light stealing through the curtained windows. When she lit the taper and saw the hour— seven o’clock—she knew she had not slept in, and she had a pretty good idea that Helen was not belowstairs having her breakfast.

  She struggled out of bed, her annoyance quickly escalating to fear. Thank heavens Dolmain had convinced Lady Winbourne to come along on this wretched trip. That saucy hoyden would know what to do. She grabbed up her dressing gown and tapped on the door between their rooms, then went in, half expecting to see Helen with Caroline.

  In Lady Milchamp’s view, those two ladies were cut from the same bolt. Wild and unmanageable, the pair of them. Helen acted nice as a nun in front of her papa, but there were odd twists in the girl. The dame disliked to say it of her own niece, but Helen was the slyest girl in the parish.

  All she saw in the bed when she entered the chamber was one gray head wearing a muslin cap, and on the other pillow a tousle of black curls. She cleared her throat. When this brought no reaction, she gingerly shook Caroline’s shoulder.

  Caroline opened her eyes at once, looked in confusion at Lady Milchamp, then quickly sat up. “What is it?” she demanded.

  “She is gone! Kidnapped out from under our noses!” Lady Milchamp exclaimed, and broke into loud sobs. “They have stolen her away. I might have been killed in my bed.”

  Caroline was out of bed and rushing into the next room while Lady Milchamp still sobbed and complained. Caro noticed at once that the door from the common corridor had not been forced, and the window was locked. Lady Helen’s trunk was half-empty. It looked as if someone had rooted quickly through it. She saw a cup on the bedside table, bearing the dregs of cocoa.

  “Is this cup yours, Lady Milchamp?” she asked.

  “Yes, I had a few drops of laudanum to let me sleep. I never sleep in a strange place, and with all the responsibility ... Oh, whatever are we to do, Lady Winbourne? Poor little Helen has been kidnapped.”

  “She was not kidnapped. She slipped away on us.”

  Lady Milchamp stared, but she believed it. “You see what I have had to put up with!” she said, and fell to crying again.

  “I must speak to the proprietor. He may have seen something. You write a note to Dolmain while I dress and go below.”

  She returned to her room and outlined the situation to Georgie while scrambling into her traveling suit. “I believe the chit left of her own free will,” she said angrily.

  “Thank goodness for that!”

  “I am not so sure it is any better than being kidnapped. She is too young and foolish to realize the danger she has pitched herself into.” As she spoke, she ran a brush through her hair, saying, “Wake up Newt as soon as you are dressed, Georgie. See if he heard anything in the night.”

  Caroline hastened to the door. She gave a rueful look at her companion. “Is this enough excitement for you?” she asked.

  “More than enough,” Georgie replied in a weak voice.

  Belowstairs, the inn was already busy. Servants scuttled about with basins of hot water and trays of breakfast. The aroma of coffee was highly tempting. Caroline fought back the demons of fear that scratched at her mind. She went to the desk and said, “Lady Helen is missing from her room. Did you happen to see her leave?” She tried to keep her tone unemotional. If the clerk suspected there was blame to be placed, he might suddenly suffer an attack of forgetfulness.

  “Yes, milady,” he said, smiling. “She asked me to give you this when you came down for breakfast.” He handed her a note.

  Caroline’s heart was pounding violently against her chest as she opened the page and read: “Dear Lady Winbourne: Please do not be angry with me, but I had to go. I am with friends, perfectly safe. Do not tell Papa. Sincerely, Lady Helen.”

  Caroline swallowed down her anxiety and said, “Foolish girl. She has gone off with friends, but she forgot to tell me which friends. Did you happen to see who it was?”

  “Yes, your ladyship. When I asked her if her chaperon was not accompanying her—it seemed a trifle unusual for a young lady to be leaving with a gentleman at such an hour—Lady Helen told me the man was her uncle, Lord deVere. An older gentleman, tall, silver hair, distinguished. I am afraid that is all I can tell you, for they spoke French to each other.”

  Gone with a man, the worst possible news! “Lord de
Vere, of course. Thank you so much.” The description matched the man Newt had seen at the Pantheon. “At what time did they leave?”

  “It was pretty late, about two o’clock this morning.” Two o’clock! Good God, they had been gone for over five hours!

  “Did you happen to notice which way deVere’s carriage headed when they left?” she asked, in a nearly normal voice.

  “I am afraid not, milady.” He lowered his tone to a whisper. “We had a couple of gentlemen arrive at that time—foxed. I would have turned them off, but Sir Aubrey’s family have been coming to the White Hart forever. Had the deuce of a time getting them to bed.”

  “I see. Thank you, you have been very helpful.” She found a coin in her pocket and handed it to him.

  Her mind was seething with questions. Of course, Lord deVere was no uncle of Helen’s. That he was speaking French and had been at the Pantheon suggested he was involved in the theft of the necklace. He might even have killed Miss Blanchard—and now he had Helen.

  She ran upstairs to find the rest of her party assembled in Lady Milchamp’s room. Three anxious faces turned to her with hopeful eagerness. It was clear they all looked to her to guide them. She already knew Lady Milchamp for a peagoose; Georgie had little experience of life. Newt would be some help, but it would be for her to direct him. From some deep well of fortitude, she must find the resources to handle the situation until Dolmain could come. He would leave the Horse Guards now, whether York gave permission or not. Necessity compelled her to damp down her own fear and confusion and take the reins.

  “It is as I suspected. She left of her own accord,” she said with a calmness she was far from feeling. She gave the details she had learned from the clerk. “This Lord deVere would not be an uncle on her mama’s side, Lady Milchamp?”

  “No, Marie was an only child.”

  “I see. Have you written to Dolmain?”

  The lady handed her a note. “May I?” Caro asked, and glanced quickly through it. Lady Milchamp had written that dear little Helen had been stolen from her bed by the Frenchies, and was probably dead in a ditch by now. “Perhaps I should write a different note, now that we have learned a little more,” Caro said, and threw Lady Milchamp’s note into the grate.

  “What can I do?” Newt asked.

  “DeVere must have had a carriage. You could drive around—toward London is our best bet—and question the toll gate keepers. The clerk says there is a Sir Aubrey someone or other who arrived here at the inn as Helen was leaving. Find out his room and talk to him. He may remember something.”

  “What can we do?” Lady Milchamp asked.

  “Try to stay calm. Have some breakfast,” Caroline said.

  Lady Milchamp was happy to dump the matter in Caro’s dish.

  “I shall order a private parlor. Come down as soon as you are dressed,” Caroline said, and left with Newton.

  In the parlor, Caroline wrote to Dolmain, and Newton went off to rouse Sir Aubrey and his friend while waiting for the coffee to arrive. When he returned, the coffee had come and Caroline had finished her note.

  “Did you learn anything?” she asked eagerly.

  “I couldn’t rouse Sir Aubrey, but t’other fellow— his name is Giles something—saw Lady Helen leave right enough, and not in a carriage. There were two mounts waiting outside. He says they were good tits. Bays, he thinks.”

  “If they were riding, they have gotten even farther away from us! And they can avoid the toll stations by running across country. I hate to write this news, but I must tell Dolmain.”

  “Giles heard the word ‘Brighton.’ Speaks a bit of French. He thinks Helen asked how long it would take to get to Brighton.”

  “Brighton? That is excellent! It is much smaller than London. Looking for her in London would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “No, a diamond in a haystack,” Newt said, and sighed.

  While Caroline added the necessary items to her note, Newt sat, his protuberant eyes diminished to slits and his face clenched in wrinkles. When she put down her pen, he spoke.

  “Thing to do, go to Brighton,” he said.

  “I have asked Dolmain to meet us at the Royal Crescent on Marine Parade. We’ll be there by noon if we leave soon.”

  “If we can get a burr under the old girls’ saddles.”

  “We cannot wait for them, Newt. We shall leave at once, and let them follow or go back to London if they prefer. I should have insisted on sharing Helen’s room. Lady Milchamp is useless. She quacked herself with laudanum, imagine!”

  Caroline ran upstairs to speak to Georgiana, who stood waiting while Lady Milchamp fiddled with her coiffure.

  “So difficult, coming without a dresser,” the dame complained. “Oh, there you are, Lady Winbourne,” she said in a plaintive voice. “Have you found Helen?”

  The inanity of the question was enough to show the nature of the lady’s mind. Caroline outlined briefly what Newton had learned, and what she intended to do.

  “What, leave without breakfast?” Lady Milchamp exclaimed.

  “You and Lady Georgiana eat here and follow us at your leisure later, or return to London if you like.”

  “We will follow you,” Georgie said, before Lady Milchamp could choose the less exciting course. “I will pack your trunk for you, Caro. You and Newt will not want to waste a minute.”

  “Why go to a hotel?” was Lady Milchamp’s next objection. “Dolmain has a house on the Marine Parade.”

  “I did not know where his house was situated. Why do you not go there, ma’am? We can join you there later,” Caro said.

  “That will be best,” Georgie said. She could see Caro was on thorns to be off. “Run along, dear. Godspeed.”

  Caro gave her a quick hug and ran off.

  Lady Milchamp said crossly, “I thought we might count on Lady Winbourne to prevent this sort of thing. This will do Helen’s reputation no good. I had hoped to nab the Duke of Clive for her. Forty thousand a year and three estates. Dolmain must not blame me if the girl has disgraced herself.”

  Newton had his carriage waiting when Caroline joined him. “We are one footman short as you sent one to London with your note,” he said. “I am taking two with me. The old girls can make do with one, eh? Not likely anyone will molest them.”

  “If I had known Lady Milchamp was a fool, I would have asked Dolmain to leave her at home.”

  “I have had a thermos of coffee put in the carriage. You’d best have a cup. Your nerves are in tatters, Caro.”

  They entered the carriage and Ankel sprang the horses.

  “Try if you can rest now,” Caro said.

  “Couldn’t sleep if my life depended on it. And neither could you.” He felt tears stinging his eyes, as if he had been eating green gooseberries, to think of poor little Helen at the mercy of DeVere.

  “No, I couldn’t,” she said, and poured a cup of coffee.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Even with a team of four good nags, the trip took four hours. Four hours was a long time to be rattled about in a confined space, worrying. Once through Tilgate Forest, they stopped from time to time to inquire at the toll gates, but heard nothing of their quarry. Their spirits were low and their stomachs hollow by the time they reached Hayward’s Heath, a little past the midway point of their trip.

  “My stomach has begun asking my throat if it’s been cut,” Newt said. “Time for fork work, Caro. If I don’t sink a bicuspid into a beefsteak, I will be no good to man or beast.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. She needed a respite from the jostling of a carriage going full tilt, and perhaps a cup of tea.

  The hamlet boasted no major hostelry. They stopped at a small inn. The servant was a bright-eyed young girl who looked as if not much would escape her.

  “I don’t suppose a young lady and her uncle stopped here last night around three o’clock?” Caroline asked.

  To her astonishment, the girl said, “Indeed they did. I didn’t serve them myself; Meg told
me about them. The lady was ever so pretty. The gentleman tipped Meg a golden boy.”

  “A blond lady, wearing a green traveling suit?” Caro asked, naming the outfit missing from Helen’s trunk.

  “That’s her.”

  Having finally received confirmation of her theory, Caro hardly knew what else to ask.

  “Friends of ours,” Newton said. “Set out on horseback. Still riding, were they? Or did they switch to a carriage?”

  “They changed nags, but went on their way on horseback,” the servant replied.

  “Hired the nags here, did they?” Newt asked.

  “Oh no, sir. We have nothing good enough for the likes of Lord deVere. He brought four mounts here in the afternoon. He rode off on one late last night, leading t’other behind him, then come back with the young lady riding it. They had a bite and a drink, and left straightaway on the fresh mounts. Early this morning his lordship’s groom took away the ones him and his niece had been riding last night.

  “I expect Lord deVere and his niece were in a hurry to get to Brighton?” Caroline asked, adopting a conversational tone.

  “They never spoke a word of English, according to Meg. Meg did hear the young lady say something about her mama and papa. She figured the lady was going home, wherever home might be for a French lady nowadays. She seemed eager to be getting on.”

  “Yes, very eager,” Caroline said in a thin voice. She thanked the servant, who then left.

  “Crafty devil,” Newt grumbled. “If he’d hired a rig or even nags, we might have found out where he was going. The stable would have wanted an address.”

  “That is precisely why he brought his own. We are not dealing with an amateur, Newt. This was all planned in advance. Helen got a note to her cohorts before we left London, letting them know we would be stopping at Reigate.”

  “The thing took time to set up. She must have used a servant she trusts to send her message.”

  “I wish I had known this. Dolmain might have questioned his staff and discovered something. I shall tell him as soon as we meet in Brighton. Are you finished breakfast?”