My Fair Lily (30 page)

“Did he mention to your wife who these friends were?”

“No, m’lord. But that bit of nonsense about hunting struck me as
odd at the time. Lord Ashton’s no hunter. Never has been. I
suspected
he was planning something unsavory, the way he’s talked about Miss Farthingale recently. She’s a cheerful girl. Always had a kind word for me and my wife. I would never forgive myself if something
happened to her. I won’t have her murder on my soul.”

George turned pale.

Ewan caught his arm, understanding his despair. He was just as shaken. It was one thing to fear the worst, and quite another to have it spoken aloud. “Maidstone, you say?”

“Aye, I can’t think he’d be anyplace else. But there’s more. My wife found a box hidden beneath Lord Ashton’s bed. She opened it and saw a collection of feminine trinkets. Handkerchiefs with the
initials LF, hair ribbons, that sort of thing.”

Ewan exchanged another glance with George. Lily hadn’t been misplacing her belongings. Ashton had been stealing them.

“I thought it odd, but harmless,” Fields continued, “until that nasty business with the Duke of Lotheil and the Royal Society occurred. Lord
Ashton was quite distressed. Began talking about how Miss
Farthingale had betrayed him.”

After a few hasty questions to confirm Ashton’s movements over the past month, Ewan and George left. Homer was waiting for them
at the corner. “Maidstone, m’lord,” Homer said, confirming what they’d just learned. “That’s where he is. I’ll wager m’life on it. ’Tis a bit of good
news. The girl’s sure to be alive. He wouldn’t have bothered
replenishing the larder and gathering supplies if he only
meant to... you know.”

Ewan wasn’t familiar with England’s southern countryside. “How far is it from here?”

“Depends on how fast we ride, m’lord. Can’t ride too fast at
night. I’d say about four hours. Less on that stallion of yours,” he said. “But I wouldn’t advise taking off on yer own. It isn’t safe. The fancy lord surely had others helping him.”

Nor did Ewan know the way. He couldn’t afford to ride off on his own and get lost. Even if he did find his way, he wasn’t so foolish as to believe he could capture Ashton, defeat the rats he’d hired, and rescue Lily all on his own. He might be able to fight off four or five
of them with the element of surprise on his side, but it only took one of those rats to slip away and harm a defenseless Lily.

Damn. He figured they were almost an hour behind Ashton now, assuming he was the culprit, and assuming he’d taken Lily to Maidstone.

“We’ll need a couple more men to ride with us,” Homer said, “just to be safe. I know the men I want. M’pals, Mick and Bert, are experienced runners. They’ll be of help in these delicate situations.
Might I suggest
that I round ’em up and we regroup at the Farthingale home within the hour? M’lord, we’ll need horses. Ain’t much use for good ones here in London. The nags we usually ride won’t make it across the
Thames at a trot, much less at a gallop.”

“We have a supply of good horses,” George said.

More precious time lost. But Ewan knew Homer was right. He returned to Lotheil Court, immediately ordered Hades saddled, quickly changed out of his formal attire, and collected Jasper. The
hairy lump could track better than any dog he’d ever owned. He’d be of use in finding Lily, especially if Ashton held her in a hidden room. Or off the grounds of the Maidstone house. He packed weapons and filled a saddlebag with a few useful supplies.

When he arrived at the Farthingale residence, Dillie and her mother were seated on the settee in the parlor, their hands clasped
together in a
death grip. The mother, Sophie, was a beautiful woman for her age, dark hair sprinkled with strands of white, a soft, pink complexion, and blue eyes that at the moment held no sparkle. Lines of worry were
etched into a face that held such profound sadness, Ewan couldn’t bear
it.

Dillie glanced up at him. “What time is it? After midnight
already? Lily and I are scheduled to give a recital at Lady Finchley’s home this evening. In the excitement, I’d forgotten all about it.”

“We’ll have to let Lady Finchley know as soon as possible,” Sophie said, casting him a pleading gaze. “I’ll tell her that Lily
suddenly fell ill.
She’ll suspect something is amiss. Soon, all of London will realize she’s missing. I don’t care what any of them think. I just want my
daughter back.” She took a deep, raspy breath. “I should have told her that I loved her.”

“You did,” Dillie insisted.

“Not often enough. I was always after her about one thing or another,
about her books and that stodgy Royal Society. I’m so sorry! And now it’s come to this!”

Dillie looked as lost and anguished as her mother, even as she
tried to comfort her. “Lily knows you love her. She’s smart. She
knows everything.”

Ewan knelt beside the ladies. “I’ll find her, Mrs. Farthingale. I promise you. Don’t send word to anyone just yet. No need to say
anything until the last possible moment.”

“The recital isn’t until eight o’clock tonight,” Dillie added, her lips quivering despite her best efforts to remain composed. “That gives Ewan almost twenty hours to get her back to us.” She turned to him and cast him a trembling smile. “She plays the harp. Surprisingly, not very well, but she tries hard, and I’m sure she’ll master it someday. I play the piano and sing. We haven’t rehearsed the pieces yet. Lily’s
always
finding excuses to avoid practice. She hates that harp.” She cast him another weak smile. “Please make this recital happen. We’ll stink
worse
than a basket of fish left sitting in the sun. The audience will cringe. Lily’s harp playing will offend their ears. I’ll consider it the best recital ever.”

“So will I. Can’t wait to have my ears assaulted.” Ewan rose and turned to the men. George had also changed into riding clothes, and he and Lily’s father were standing on the opposite side of the room speaking quietly, no doubt of the darker possibilities, of what to do if matters did not turn out as well as hoped. Ewan refused to lose faith. Lily was alive. He’d find her. All would be well.

George had his medical bag beside him. Ewan hoped they wouldn’t have need of it. Dillie had packed a change of clothes for Lily, handing the small bundle to him with a murmured, “I have
faith in you.” He hoped it wasn’t misplaced.

To Ewan’s surprise, the Duke of Edgeware strode in, appearing slightly out of breath. “The Bow Street man is awake. He identified Lord Mortimer’s son, Ashton, as the fiend who took Lily.”

“Now we know we’re on the right track.” Ewan quickly filled him in on all they had learned and then listened to the rest of Edgeware’s report.

“The runner says he counted four men with Ashton. Not gentlemen.
More like dockside ruffians. There could be others, but that’s all he saw.” Edgeware glanced at Dillie and her mother before turning back to
Ewan. “What can I do to help?”

Ewan also glanced at the pair. They looked pale and scared. They looked as though their hearts had been ripped from their
chests. “I
appreciate all you’re doing for Lily and her family. I don’t think they’ll hold up much longer. Will you stay here and take care of
things? They’re all about to fall apart.”

Edgeware nodded. “Of course. I’ll stay for as long as I’m needed. I have my own men making discreet inquiries throughout the
seedier
parts of London. I’ll let you know if they come up with any more
news. Who else has heard about Lily’s abduction?”

“Only a handful. If we find her in time, I think we can keep it quiet. My sister, Meggie, and my cousin, Evangeline, suspect
something is wrong, but they don’t yet know what’s happened. I’d rather keep it that way.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Eloise’s party will break up soon. They’ll expect me to escort them home.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Edgeware said, stepping away from the ladies to quietly explain. “A word to your grandfather that you and I
are off to Regent Street for another sort of party and would he mind escorting his granddaughters home should do it. Having a bad reputation has its advantages. Who else knows?”

Ewan nodded. “We questioned the coachmen outside of Eloise’s
home, but only asked if they’d seen a man. They don’t know we’re looking for Lily. However, the MacCorkindales know. Archie can be
trusted to keep his mouth shut. I don’t know about Callie. She’ll keep silent only if she thinks it will work to her benefit.”

Edgeware frowned. “Unfortunately, I’ve met too many such women.”

Ewan agreed.

The Bow Street runners arrived, three of them including Homer Barrow. “M’best men,” he assured Lily’s father, who wanted to join them but had been convinced by Ewan to remain behind. He had no doubt that Lily’s father was clever and competent, but this was his daughter at risk. Lily was his little girl. Any father would be beyond mad with worry, and a crazed man couldn’t be counted on to remain calm during their search... or afterward, if things didn’t work out as well as hoped.

In truth, Ewan was in no better shape than Lily’s father. Though he’d tried his best to appear calm, he was filled with dread and anger. Scots had tempers, and Highlanders had the worst tempers of
all. Rage
would get him nowhere, probably get him and his companions
killed. He had to keep his wits about him. For Lily’s sake.

His gut was now twisted in a Gordian knot. Almost two hours
had passed since her abduction. Another four hours to reach Maidstone, possibly longer. They’d be riding the entire time in darkness, an ink-black darkness that matched the raging darkness within his heart.

***

Lily wasn’t certain how much time had elapsed since the blackguard drugged her that second time. However, this time she awoke hungry. Cold and hungry. No one had bothered to provide
her a cloak or
blanket for protection against the night’s chill. The room was still
dark, though rays of gray light appeared to stream in between the cracks of a shuttered window above her on the right.

Of course, it could be mere illusion. Her head was still in a foggy
spin and she’d lost all sense of place and time. However, she hadn’t forgotten that disembodied voice she’d heard earlier. It was Ashton’s. He’d tried to disguise it, but she knew him too well to be
fooled. She
recalled what had struck her as odd in the garden. While she’d struggled and tried to scream, he’d just been standing there. He wasn’t a victim. He was the mastermind behind her abduction. But
why?

His actions didn’t make any sense, but she wasn’t going to sit quietly and wait to find out. She had to escape. Her hands were still
tied to the chair. First order of business was to slip out of her bindings. How to do it was the problem.

She was good at solving problems.

As her eyes adjusted to the unrelenting dark, she began to make out shadows. Large squares that resembled crates were piled against one of the walls, but otherwise the room was bare of furniture save her chair and a small table underneath the window. The crates likely contained food supplies. She caught the slightly pungent scent of
onions and the rank scent of raw meat. No wonder her stomach had been growling. Even stale bread would taste heavenly just now.

She also caught the scent of gunpowder, and realized some of those crates must contain weapons. Was she locked in an armory? She didn’t think so, for the door appeared to be made of wood, not
iron, and this
store room was small. She didn’t have much experience with gunpowder, but knew enough to understand the damage it would
cause if it went off. She needed to get out of here. Fast.

As her eyes continued to adjust to her dark surroundings, she
noticed something odd about the shuttered window. It was situated just beneath the ceiling, unusually high for any ordinary window. This store room was a cellar. That would explain the crates and the numbing cold. Likely the cellar in someone’s house. Would the
window have iron bars on it? There was no way to tell while it remained shuttered.

One problem at a time. She had to slip out of her bindings first. After that she’d worry about any iron bars. She’d find a way out, no matter the obstacles.

She wiggled her chair, trying to break its spindled back. If she broke it apart, her wrists might slip out of their bindings. She tried. It was too sturdy. She’d have to slam it against something hard to
crack it apart. Her captors would hear and come running in.
That won’t work.

Were they stupid enough to leave tools lying about? She scanned the room again. Unfortunately, no. She looked for a sharp piece of metal or rock jutting out from the walls. Nothing.

Rubbing her bindings against the side of one of those wood crates might work, she decided. She managed to quietly move herself to the crates and began to run the taut ropes at her wrists up
and down, then side to side, in a sawing motion. The scratch of the ropes against the
crates sounded deafening to her ears, but logically she knew it
wasn’t.
No one on the other side of the closed door would hear what she
was doing unless they had the sensitive ears of a bat.

After what felt like an eternity, she managed to free one of her hands. It took another few moments to untie the other. Her arms were numb and she had nasty scrapes along both wrists. She tested her legs. Stiff and wobbling, but she was able to walk. She hurried to
the table,
climbed on it to reach the window, and quickly drew the shutters
aside.