With Good Grace Page 19

  ‘Either that or he has no idea how to keep a child quiet.’

  ‘Be that as it may, I live in expectation of that warehouse throwing up clues as to his whereabouts.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. Mrs Grantley is at the end of her tether.’

  Jake felt a renewed sense of helplessness at Parker’s untimely reminder; at his inability to reassure the lady he adored. ‘That she is,’ he said, grinding his jaw.

  The cab reached the end of New Thames Street. Jake paid the jarvey and he and Parker were left in an area that was completely foreign them. Several dubious-looking characters appeared from out of nowhere, presumably looking for easy pickings. Parker’s tough stance discouraged them from approaching and they faded wordlessly back into the shadows. A dog barked in the distance, a clock chimed the half-hour. A man shouted at a lamppost, raising clenched fists at it as he conducted two sides of an argument simultaneously. Two small children ran barefoot down the centre of the road, one of them eating an apple. Everything appeared normal, but nothing was, and Jake’s senses were on high alert.

  ‘That’s the building,’ Parker said, pointing to a dilapidated wooden construction with peeling paint directly ahead of them.

  The two men strolled past it, alert for anyone watching them. The few people still in the street went about their business and paid them no attention. It was now almost completely dark and they could see no movement or light coming from within the warehouse.

  ‘There’s a side door,’ Parker said. ‘Looks like it would be easy enough to open it.’

  ‘We have to assume there’s a night watchman,’ Jake replied. ‘There has to be if there’s anything of the slightest value in that building.’

  ‘But not if Sir Hubert is in there with the child. How would he explain that one away?’

  Jake took a moment to think. ‘Very well then, Parker. The direct approach is called for. Go and knock on that door. If the night watchman answers, tell him you’ve been sent with a message for him from Sir Hubert. Then take the man to that tavern on the corner and pour brandy into him. I’m sure you will think of a convincing reason for distracting him from his duties. Give me half an hour and then meet me back here. If I am not here, needless to say, come looking.’

  ‘What if no one answers, or Sir Hubert does?’

  ‘I shall be right behind you, keeping out of sight. But if it is Sir Hubert, apprehend him. If no one answers, we go in together.’

  ‘Right you are then.’

  Parker strode towards the door to the warehouse, while Jake concealed himself behind a pile of stinking debris, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to wrap a kerchief around his mouth and nose. After two loud raps at the door, Jake heard the sound of shuffling feet on its other side. It was wrenched open by a man with a soldier’s upright stance but who walked with a limp, accounting for the shuffle; the sort of man customarily employed in such establishments to scare away opportunistic burglars. He and Parker had a brief conversation, after which the man nodded and followed Parker from the warehouse, locking the door behind him.

  Jake waited for them to disappear from view and then sprang into action. Opening the locked door was the work of a moment. The hinges creaked when it swung open but there was no one in the vicinity to hear the noise and come to investigate. If there was someone inside, waiting to greet him, Jake would soon know.

  There was one dim lantern burning inside a small office to the left of the door, the remains of the watchman’s supper spread across as table, along with some quite extraordinarily good sketches showing vivid battle scenes. This man had seen a lot of human misery, Jake thought, and expressed it through his art. He ought to be exhibiting in Bond Street; not standing watch over this dismal warehouse.

  Jake shook off thoughts of the unfortunate night watchman’s plight, stood still and listened. The absolute quiet convinced him there was no one else in the place. Even so, it paid to be cautious. He took the lantern, fingering the dagger in his pocket as he made his way stealthily through the cavernous but almost empty warehouse. There were a few chests of tea, but the layer of dust covering them suggested they had been there for a considerable amount of time. Some bolts of fabric spilled from an open case, the smell of spices pervaded and there were a few other cases stacked high. Jake couldn’t guess at their contents and did not have the time to investigate. The goods took up less than a quarter of the total space. Unless they were expecting a shipment, or had just distributed one—which Jake somehow doubted—it seemed that Sir Hubert’s partnership with Granville was not a success.

  Other than the littered office that the watchman had been using, there was no possible place for a person to live on the ground floor of the warehouse. Jake glanced at the ladder leading up to the loft space and knew he would have to climb it. If anyone was up there, watching for him, they would easily be able to knock him from the ladder. He should wait for Parker to return so that they could investigate together; the night watchman be damned.

  Jake thought of Olivia and the possibility that she had already heard from the abductors. If so, she would be champing at the bit, beyond anxious for his return and furious with Reed for preventing her from leaving the house. He would not put it past her to try, however, so he couldn’t afford to delay for a single moment.

  With that mantra in mind, he placed his foot on the first rung of the ladder.

  ҉

  Olivia continued to pace after Jake left, missing his reassuring presence and resenting the fact that she had not been permitted to accompany him. Knowing that he was right and she really had no choice but to remain in Grosvenor Square did nothing to quell her disgruntled state of mind. She alternately paced, threw herself into random chairs and stared at the flames leaping in the fireplace, brooding, feeling ill-used for all the travails she had been forced to endure over the past few years. Naked fear for her son’s welfare froze the tears that would otherwise be streaming down her face in rivers of despair as she drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair and stared vacantly into space.

  She had no idea how much time had passed since Jake left. It seemed like hours but was probably not more than thirty minutes. She refrained from looking at the clock. It hardly mattered. Besides, she was convinced that the wretched thing was working backwards. She clutched Mr Rabbit—the toy that she had made herself for Tom when he was a baby and which he still refused to sleep without, always asking for it when he was tired or upset. He would be missing it now and Olivia tried to console herself with the thought that she would soon be in a position to reunite Tom with his rabbit.

  But she did not feel consoled.

  The door flew open, interrupting her bout of self-pity. Reed stood there looking discomposed.

  ‘What is it, Reed?’ she asked, hoped flaring. ‘Is there news?’

  ‘Molly is back, ma’am.’

  ‘Molly?’ Relief washed through Olivia. ‘Tom is with her?’

  Reed’s mournful expression caused Olivia’s nascent hopes to evaporate. ‘No, ma’am,’ he replied with a gentle shake of his head.

  Olivia leapt to her feet. ‘Then where is he? What does Molly say? No matter, send her in here and I will speak with her myself.’

  Moments later, a bedraggled Molly with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders to cover her torn and damp clothing entered the room and burst into tears.

  ‘Bring some brandy, Reed,’ Olivia said sharply, steering Molly towards a chair next to the fire and crouching down in front of her.

  ‘I am that sorry, madam,’ she said contritely.

  ‘Hush, drink this. You are in shock.’

  Olivia held the glass Reed handed her to Molly’s lips and forced her to take a sip. Molly did so, surprising Olivia when she did not choke on the fiery liquid she was unaccustomed to, as Olivia had done earlier. A small amount of colour gradually appeared through the dirt on her pale cheeks.

  ‘Now, can you tell me what happened?’ she asked.

  Reed remained and Olivia did not ask him to leave. S
he suspected that Jake had given him instructions to stand guard over her and report any developments; not trusting Olivia to do so herself.

  ‘I still don’t rightly know. I got knocked down, you see.’

  ‘At the park? When there was a disturbance?’

  ‘Yes, I remember a child falling in and I was desperate to get Master Tom clear of the stampede when people rushed forward to offer help. But, like I say, I got knocked down and that’s the last I remember until I woke up about an hour ago with a headache.’

  ‘Where, Molly?’ Olivia resisted the urge to shake the girl. ‘Where were you when you woke up?’

  ‘Outside a tavern in Whitechapel, I think.’ A look of confusion graced Molly’s features. ‘There was a group of men standing around, looking down at me and making lewd remarks.’ Tears poured down Molly’s face and Olivia felt very sorry for her, aware of just how morally inclined she was. She had tried to protect Tom and almost paid for her dedication with her virtue. Olivia had been quite wrong to doubt her, despite all the evidence to the contrary. No one could fake such a degree of contrition, could they? ‘I called for help and one of them pulled me to my feet. I was that wobbly. I think I must have hit my head somewhere along the way. Anyway, I got away from those men and walked back here. I had no money, you see, no way to let you know…’

  She broke down, sobbing, and Olivia ineffectually patted her shaking shoulders, desperate to know what had happened to Tom. But she could not ask until Molly had composed herself. She shared a helpless glance with Reed as she handed Molly her handkerchief. She mopped her eyes and looked up at Olivia with a helpless shrug. ‘I am that sorry, madam, but I have absolutely no idea what happened to Master Tom.’

  Olivia’s insides quailed. ‘You and he must have been taken together,’ she reasoned. ‘Otherwise how did you finish up in Whitechapel? Oh, dear lord!’

  Olivia sank into the nearest chair and rubbed her face in her hands. All this time she had supposed that Tom was safe, after a fashion, with his uncle, Sir Hubert, and that Molly would be there to care for him. That had seemed bad enough, but at least she was assured of his safety because the moment she handed Lady Marchant’s letters over, Tom would be restored to her. But what if he had been taken for other purposes? What if the fracas really had been random and Tom, a handsome child, just happened to be caught up in the middle of it? Some depraved person snatched him but had no need of Molly’s services; not for what they had in mind for Tom. What could be happening to her precious son at that precise moment made her heart tremble.

  She was in danger of falling apart but could not permit that to happen. Presumably, if Molly ended up in Whitechapel then Tom was in that area too. It was a rabbit warren of back streets and cheap housing, almost impossible to search, but Olivia was confident that Jake had the necessary authority to tear it apart, make life intolerable for the less respectable inhabitants, until someone told them where to find Tom. After all he had done for Thorndike and an ungrateful government, they owed him at least that much.

  ‘Come upstairs, Molly, and get clean and dry. Lord Torbay will be back soon and will want to speak with you himself.’

  Molly stood immediately and followed Olivia through the door that Reed opened for them. The compassion in his expression was almost Olivia’s undoing and she looked away quickly before what little composure she had managed to retain evaporated.

  ‘I will send Jane up to help you,’ Olivia said when she and Molly reached the first floor.

  ‘There is no need.’

  ‘There’s every need. You have had a terrible ordeal.’

  Olivia was grateful for Molly’s dedication, had clearly misread the girl, but desperately needed a little time to herself to mull over what she had just learned. But to her surprise, Molly grabbed her wrist with a surprisingly firm grasp for a woman who had been through so much, and pulled her into Olivia’s chamber, closing the door behind them.

  ‘Listen carefully,’ she said, all signs of distress magically leaving her visage. ‘If you want to see your son alive again, this is what you must do.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was hard climbing a steep ladder and holding a lantern at the same time, but Jake knew he must maintain a firm grasp on it or fumble about in the dark when he reached the loft; an easy target for anyone lying in wait above his head. Clouds covered the quarter moon, the street lighting did not reach this building, and he wouldn’t be able to see a thing through the small windows in that loft without his trusty lantern.

  Sighing, Jake climbed up another step, placing both feet on the rung and pausing to listen. He couldn’t sense any danger but if someone was up there, they were hardly likely to advertise the fact. He tested each rung before placing his full weight on it, wary of traps, but the ladder appeared sturdy. He climbed two thirds of the way up, his breathing slow and even, until the top of his head reached the edge of the loft. He paused, listening to deathly silence, then lifted the lantern and peered into the space that spanned the back half of the entire warehouse.

  Nothing moved.

  Even so, there were any number of places a person could be hiding, waiting to ambush him. They must have heard him coming, and had had plenty of time to prepare. In their position Jake would simply have thrown the ladder to the ground when Jake was halfway up it and he felt reassured that they had not done so. It was still eerily quiet and Jake was sure he would have heard breathing, or the slightest movement, if anyone was actually concealed behind the piles of empty crates and assorted debris. All he did hear was wind whistling around the eaves and the occasional voice drifting up from the river a few yards away.

  He pulled himself into the loft and lifted the lantern high, finding what he expected to find on one corner. A truckle bed and evidence that someone had been sleeping in that space; quite recently too since there was no sign of rodents having moved in.

  ‘What do we have here?’ he asked aloud, even though it was blatantly obvious.

  He pulled the bedding aside, disappointed to find nothing that implied Sir Hubert had definitely been the bed’s occupant. For all he knew, the lame night watchman might live there; expect Jake thought he would have trouble climbing a ladder with his disability. Jake scratched his head, a feeling of unease gripping him when he realised there was nothing at all of a personal nature in that space; not even any clothing. Sir Hubert had not left home with a change of clothing; Lady Grantley would have mentioned the fact if he had. Even so, no man could live for over two weeks without even a change of linen, could he? Certainly not a man of Sir Hubert’s ilk who maintained high standards despite his inability to pay for them.

  A thorough search produced no papers, books, or clues of any kind as to Sir Hubert’s whereabouts. If he had been living here, it was obvious that he no longer was. This expedition had been a massive waste of time.

  Jake was back outside, the door to the warehouse one again locked, when Parker came into view, walking slowly beside the night watchman. The two men shook hands and parted company at the door to the warehouse. Parker waited until his new friend had disappeared inside before joining Jake.

  ‘Anything?’ he asked.

  ‘Someone has been living in the loft of that warehouse,’ Jake replied, ‘but is no longer there. It must have been Sir Hubert because your lame friend wouldn’t be able to climb that steep ladder.’

  Parker grunted as the two of them made their way back to the main thoroughfare, where they were more likely to find a cab.

  ‘Norris, the watchman, had never met Granville until he returned from Italy,’ he told Jake. ‘He doesn’t have a good word to say for Sir Hubert or Grenville’s business practises. Reckons they’re living on borrowed time and, in his words, are tighter than a duck’s arse.’

  Jake chuckled. ‘That place is almost empty, so what you say does not surprise me. You don’t need to be a genius to see that they lack orders.’

  ‘Norris was employed by Sir Hubert about a year ago as night watchman. Then, get this, a lit
tle over two weeks ago, Sir Hubert told him he wanted him working the day shift, even though he’s got a twisted leg and can’t do any heavy lifting.’

  ‘That would be when Sir Hubert started living there, I imagine. Your friend Norris might not be able to climb ladders, but he would know if someone was up there right enough and would want to know why. Grantley, on the other hand, doesn’t want anyone to know his business. When did he ask Norris to resume the night shift?’

  ‘A week ago.’

  ‘About the time Granville returned from Italy?’

  ‘Precisely. If Sir Hubert was living there he wouldn’t want his partner to know it, any more than he wanted Norris to be aware of his activities.’

  ‘Norris has actually seen Grantley?’ Jake asked, aware it would be the first actual sighting of the rogue since his magical disappearance.

  ‘Yeah, that’s what he said.’

  ‘Well, at least now we know why we couldn’t find him. No one would look for a gentleman of Grantley’s ilk in this place,’ Jake said, nodding towards the warehouse.

  ‘Norris didn’t take kindly to be dragged to that tavern under false pretences,’ Parker said. ‘He takes his duties seriously. Says he needs the employment and although he don’t like his masters, he’s loyal to a fault. I tried to ask Norris a few oblique questions about where his masters lived but he knew nothing; or if he does, he ain’t saying. He’s an old soldier, but got his leg caught in a tiger trap in India helping to put down a revolt, and no one wants to employ a lame man.’

  ‘Except people who don’t want him asking too many questions. I mean, I’m the first to sympathise with his situation but how can a one-legged man chase intruders? Makes you wonder.’ Jake hailed a cab and it rattled to a halt. He gave the Grosvenor Square address, the two men climbed inside and the conveyance moved off with a sharp crack of the jarvey’s whip.