‘Pray send your maid away, Miss Davenport. My manservant will escort you home after your visit.’ Mrs Bourne stood in the elegant hallway of her Circus home, smiling at Sarah.
‘If you are sure it is no trouble, ma’am. Very well, then, thank you.’ Sarah nodded at Prue, who curtsied and went out through the door that the manservant was holding open for her. Sarah knew that there was plenty to do at home with preparations for the assembly that evening.
She followed Mrs Bourne into the sitting-room, which overlooked the huge open space in the middle of the Circus. There were sedan chairs crossing it as invalids were brought back after their treatment in the hot bath. Mrs Bourne sat down in a rustle of expensive silken skirts. She smiled again at her visitor.
‘It is very good of you to come – and at such short notice. We will take our tea first, then I will bring you upstairs to my sister’s room.’
‘I had thought she would be able to sit with you in here,’ commented Sarah. ‘It must be more pleasant for her to have company through the day.’
The servant came in just then with the tea tray. While Mrs Bourne busied herself with the cups, Sarah glanced round the large and elegantly furnished room. Everything spoke of wealth and good taste. Everything except, in Sarah’s opinion, the sickly scent from the large arrangement of white lilies on a low table by the window.
Mrs Bourne rose to bring a cup of tea to her guest. ‘Yes, as you were saying,’ she said, ‘Henrietta does remain here when she is able, but some days, unfortunately, she suffers a lot of rheumatic pain and prefers to keep her room.’ She smiled, ‘Is this how you like your tea, Miss Davenport, or would you care for more cream?’
Sarah accepted her cup and made polite conversation. She wished again that she had not accepted this invitation. Since she had noticed Lizzie’s warm feelings for Richard, which seemed to be reciprocated, her mind was preoccupied with wild hopes alternating with the cold voice of reason warning her that she had no choice. She did not regret refusing to listen to John Keating’s offer. He was an excellent person, but she did not love him and without love, she would never marry.
With the knowledge of the bleak and empty future that awaited her, she found it hard to take her part in the polite nothings of Mrs Bourne’s chat. She was relieved when that lady stood up and said, as she smoothed her skirts down, ‘Well, Henrietta is probably getting impatient to see you. Let us go up to her chamber.’
She led the way up the wide staircase and along the landing. Everything was simply but tastefully furnished. The house was very quiet, Sarah noticed. Mrs Bourne went to the last door on the left and tapped on it.
‘Sister, may we come in?’ She did not wait for an answer but pushed the door open and stood back for Sarah to go in first. Summoning up a smile, Sarah walked into the bedchamber and stopped short in surprise.
‘But there is nobody here—’ she was saying, when she heard the door close softly behind her. She heard the click of the key in the lock. Immediately she ran to the door and seized the handle. She turned it but with no success. She tugged and pushed but the door did not move. Her heart was beating so fast she nearly choked.
‘Mrs Bourne,’ she called breathlessly, ‘the door has stuck. Pray let me out.’
There was no reply. Sarah swallowed down the fear. This must be a mistake. ‘Mrs Bourne,’ she called again, ‘what can you thinking of? Pray let me out.’
Silence. Sarah thumped on the door with both fists. ‘Let – me – out!’ she shouted. When she stopped pounding on the door, Mrs Bourne’s voice said coldly, ‘It is of no use to do that. There you are and there you stay.’
‘How dare you!’ choked Sarah. ‘What is the meaning of this? You cannot keep me here. Where is your sister?’
‘There is no sister,’ came the cold reply. ‘And do not think you will be missed. I shall send the servant to say you were persuaded to dine here.’
‘But … they will not believe you.’ Her clenched fists still pressed against the door, Sarah felt a cold chill run through her. This had been carefully planned. She must think. It was only on the first floor – perhaps she could escape through the window. She rushed over and flung up the sash. But the land behind the house fell away down the slope. It was by far too long a drop. She looked for a convenient drainpipe, but there was none within reach.
Could she call for help from someone in a neighbouring house? The buildings nearby were all closed and silent. She looked frantically for an open window or for any person in the gardens below. There was no sign of life anywhere. With a little sob she gave it up and drew her head back into the room to inspect her prison. It was a small, square chamber with no closets or any connecting doors. For furniture, there was a bed, a clothes chest and a rather fragile looking chair.
Still scarcely able to believe what was happening, she ran back to the door and tried the handle. It did not budge. She paced across the room and back, panting with the effort to keep calm. What could she do to help herself? Another examination of the room showed that it was quite bare. She ran her hand round the walls, feeling in vain for a concealed door. Even the bed was not made up. There was just a Holland sheet spread across it.
She turned swiftly to the clothes chest, pulling open the drawers and the cupboard section. All completely bare! Sarah gave a sigh of disappointment. She glanced at the spindle legged chair and turned back to look out of the window again.
No, it was really much too far above the ground. There was no hope of escaping that way. What a fool she was! This was Lord Percival’s house. The lilies should have been warning enough. So Mrs Bourne was in league with him. He was obviously prepared to go to any lengths to get her in his power. But there was no way she would submit to his evil plans without putting up a fight.
And even if in Milsom Street they believed she had stayed with Mrs Bourne for dinner, they would certainly come looking for her before too long. She glanced over her shoulder at the chair. How rickety was it? She crossed the room again and gave the chair a shake. It was not at all solid. She knelt down and set to work to loosen one of the legs.
Greg strolled into the Assembly Rooms in company with Richard. His lean face was stern, causing Richard to glance at him once or twice and finally to ask him outright what was wrong.
‘Nothing is wrong,’ said Greg, schooling his features into a bland look, ‘allow me to feel a mite fatigued still.’ He raised an eyebrow at Richard’s look of incredulity. ‘If I do appear somewhat preoccupied, it is with the prospect of dancing the night through. Really, Brother, you have been zealous in promising Miss Keating that you would find her a partner for every dance.’
Richard grinned his lopsided grin. ‘Always ready to help the ladies,’ he said. ‘Besides, when I realized I was getting better, I swore I would take every opportunity to enjoy life.’
Greg shot him a piercing look. Richard stopped abruptly. ‘Gad, you look just like our father. But, seriously, old fellow, I made a few decisions during those days when I was lying there with my insides on fire.’
Greg gave him a brotherly pat on the shoulders. ‘Does one of those decisions involve Lizzie?’
Richard’s mouth dropped open. ‘How could you guess that?’
‘I am your brother and I was not born yesterday. And I can see that Lizzie likes you a lot.’
Richard heaved a huge sigh and gave his brother a shy smile. ‘I certainly hope she does. I mean to talk to her before I leave for London.’
Greg raised his brows. ‘You are not wasting any time then.’
‘That is what I mean, old man. If you want something, what is the point in waiting?’
‘Precisely,’ said Greg. His eyes glinted as he gave Richard an assessing look. ‘It seems my little brother is growing up fast.’
Richard looked as if he would like to retaliate but Greg was distracted by the sight of a pair of dandies on their languid way to the card room. Richard followed his gaze.
‘Gad! Is that the infamous Lord Percival? He and his friend make a showy pair.’
Greg silenced him with a movement of his hand. ‘Brother, I regret that I cannot join you in the ballroom at present. Perhaps later.’ He moved towards the card room but remembered something and came back. ‘Will you check that James Davenport is safely in the ballroom and try to keep him there?’
Richard frowned. ‘I do not care for him above half.’
‘No matter. He is definitely in danger. He must not go anywhere alone.’
‘You mean he is the next one on the list for—?’
Greg’s brows snapped down and Richard turned his comment into a cough.
‘How Lord Liverpool thinks you will make a diplomat, I cannot guess.’ Greg softened his reproof with a slight lift of one brow and strolled away. In the card room he wandered around, inspecting the play at different tables. He stopped just out of sight when he heard the drawling voice of his enemy. The man was seated facing Lord Montallan at a small table a little apart. They appeared to be playing piquet.
Greg could not see where Preston was but he had given him precise orders about engaging Lord Percival in play during the course of the evening. It should be easy enough to needle him by winning, then see what tricks he would employ to win his money back.
‘… Davenport is in the sullens. Knows that with no fortune any more he has no chance of getting her,’ Lord Montallan was saying in a low voice, ‘so I told him I would get her, even marry her if need be, what!’ He gave a snort of` laughter and refilled his glass from the bottle of port on the table between the two of them. ‘After all, she is a considerable heiress.’
Greg dug his fists into his pockets but he remained still and silent, unnoticed by the two men as they kept their eyes on their cards.
Lord Montallan set his empty glass down, selected another card and added, ‘He looked very cast down at that. Pretty little filly, ain’t she? Lively, what!’ He waited for his friend to agree, then went on, ‘Told him we could share her, though – as usual. Gad, George, you should have seen his face.’ He gave a coarse laugh. ‘I swear he had never thought of such a thing. Looked ready to call me out.’
‘You were a fool, Monty,’ came the reply. ‘We have never initiated him into that side of our affairs. We must keep him sweet, while he can still be of use.’
There was the sound of more wine being poured. ‘And then…?’
‘And then,’ said Lord Percival in a voice of venom, ‘he has to … er, disappear. Herring has his orders.’ He set out his cards. ‘My trick, I believe.’
Lord Montallan grunted assent. Picking up another card, he remarked, ‘That fellow is a clumsy brute, but he will do anything you tell him. Er … how much longer is Davenport going to be useful?’
Lord Percival’s voice sank. ‘Tonight. Maybe tomorrow.’
Greg listened, tight jawed. As he suspected, now they had their share of the money from the transport ship, they were going to finish their business in Bath. Before Josiah Whitby arrived to arrest them, Greg wanted his chance to solve the mystery of his brother’s debt and his fatal accident. It was time for Preston to engage Lord Percival in a game of cards to provoke the villain into cheating. Then Greg could force a quarrel on him.
Taking care to keep out of the candlelight as much as possible, Greg moved away looking for Preston. He found him at last, engaged in a game of whist. The players were so absorbed that they were not aware of his presence. Greg could only stand and wait.
Someone came and stood beside him. It was Lord Montallan, who seemed to be looking for a chance to join the game. With an inward curse, Greg turned away and glanced back at the table in the corner. Lord Percival had gone. Keeping his pace leisurely, Greg left the room and headed for the ballroom. He would check on his brother and the girls. His quarry would not get far. The Riding Officers must have reached the town by now.
As soon as he entered the ballroom, Mrs Keating and her son came up to him.
‘Oh, Mr Thatcham, how delightful that you have returned to Bath,’ beamed the kind little lady. ‘We were afraid we would miss seeing you to say goodbye. We leave for London in a very few days.’
Greg bowed over her hand. ‘I shall be in Town again soon, ma’am, never fear.’ He gave her his charming smile. ‘And I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you all again at another ball.’
‘It has been a very pleasant six weeks here,’ she said. ‘Such a delightful group of young people. Lavinia has become quite accustomed to being in Society. But what a pity that Miss Davenport is not able to be here this evening.’
Greg felt a tingle of alarm. Instinct warned him that something was wrong. ‘Is she indisposed?’ he enquired smoothly.
‘Oh no! She very kindly went to see a sick friend of her mama’s and has stayed longer than was planned. Miss Gardiner is expecting to see her at any moment.’
Greg inclined his head. ‘Excuse me, ma’am.’ He hastened to where Lizzie was dancing with Lucas Wilden and unceremoniously hauled her out of the set.
‘Where is Sarah?’
‘Really, Greg, could you not have waited until the end of the dance?’
‘Not one second!’ His voice was urgent. ‘Where has she gone?’
Lizzie gave him a cross look. ‘She met an old schoolfriend of her mother’s, whose sister is an invalid. She went for tea and they sent a message that she would stay to dine.’
Unconsciously, Greg tightened his grip on her arm. She gasped. ‘You are hurting me. Let go.’
He relaxed his hold slightly but shook her arm. ‘Can you describe this friend?’
As Lizzie did so, he groaned. It was certainly the woman he had seen talking to Lord Percival at the concert. Sarah was in danger. ‘The address?’ he snapped, but he knew already. It was Lord Percival’s house. Leaving Lizzie bewildered and alarmed he whirled away towards the door. But before he reached it, James Davenport appeared in front of him.
‘Must speak with you,’ he said.
‘Not now,’ snapped Greg, ‘I have not a moment to lose.’
‘Come with you, then,’ said James, striding alongside him as Greg rushed through the entrance hall and out into the street, coatless and hatless.
‘Time to tell you the full story about that week at Hazelwick’s hunting lodge….’