Virginia Henley (36 page)

“Out of the way, man! Don’t you realize whose carriage this is?”

“I don’t care if it’s the Earl of Bath himself. No carriages allowed!” He shone his lantern inside the carriage and was taken aback. “Sorry, yer lordship, that were just a figure of speech, ye understand.”

“No, no, quite right. I’m most pleased you are doing such a diligent job.” He gave the watchman a sovereign and told his driver to carry on.

At Queen Square he hammered on the door, but no
light went on inside, and after about ten minutes, he reluctantly accepted that there was no one at home. He decided to return at dawn and question the neighbors. In the meantime he directed his driver to take him to Charles Wentworth’s residence.

Fortunately the good doctor was used to being roused at odd hours of the night. The gentry cared little about a doctor’s sleep, when gout or indigestion prevented their own. When Charles came downstairs and found Mark pacing up and down his entrance hall, he asked, “Is it Lady Diana?”

“She’s gone, Charles. I was hoping you had seen her.”

“Come into the library, Mark. The embers of the fire should still be giving off a little heat. Let me get you a brandy; you look as if you could use one.”

“You do know something!” Mark said with hope.

“Not really. Two days ago I was summoned to Queen Square and went immediately to see Diana. Richard Davenport and his wife met me in the drawing room and said they needed to understand more fully what had happened to Diana and if she would recover. I again explained that their niece believed she had been transported back in time. I advised them to encourage her to freely express herself and not suppress her memories. When I asked to see my patient, they said she was still at Hardwick Hall.”

“That’s all that was said; nothing else?”

“Well, Prudence asked me to keep everything completely confidential. I gather she’d rather be buried alive than be the butt of gossip.”

“They want the whole bloody business kept quiet because they’re up to something!” Mark cursed vilely.

You’re in love with her,
Charles thought.
It’s finally happened.

Mark drank off his brandy. “I’ll find her.” He said it with such determined conviction, Charles believed him.

“If I can help in any way, just ask.”

By five-thirty, Mark was knocking on the other doors
of Queen Square. All he found out was that the Davenports neither brought their own servants nor hired the staff that usually came with the rental property. No one had seen a young lady arrive or leave.

The earl’s next stop was the rental office. When they proved most reticent about answering any questions regarding their clients, he took another tack and rented the house for a month. With the keys firmly in hand, he returned to Queen Square and searched it from top to bottom, looking for some proof that Diana had been there.

He found nothing. There was, however, a peculiar odor in the downstairs rooms that he couldn’t immediately identify. He had encountered it before, but could not recall where. It was a medicinal smell, not exactly noxious but definitely unwholesome. With reluctance he locked up the house and slipped the key into his pocket.

When his hand touched Diana’s earrings, he closed his eyes, remembering the moment she had removed them. He wanted her back in his bed, back in his life. She had become a part of him. Deep down he was convinced she would not leave him of her own volition. If she had run away, it was not from him, it was to escape either her guardians or Peter.

Mark Hardwick decided to make the rounds of every coaching inn in Bath. Transportation to London, Bristol, and every other large city was available on a daily basis. If Diana had bought a ticket anywhere, he would find out. He began at the Christopher in High Street, then moved on to the Bear and the White Hart. By the time he questioned the coach drivers at the Saracen’s Head in Broad Street, he was beginning to think his quest was hopeless.

At the Angel in Westgate Street, where they had extensive facilities, he learned that the Davenports had stabled their own horses and coach there. No one, however, recalled seeing a young woman.

He ran a savage hand through his hair in frustration. Then suddenly it came to him. Opium! What he had smelled in Queen Square was similar to the cloying fumes of opium! God in Heaven, what had they done to her?

Diana spent the night huddled against the wall. By morning she had tremendous difficulty breathing. The straitjacket crossed her arms over her chest so tightly, she felt as if she were suffocating. She swore that if it was removed from her, she would not behave in a reckless manner that would give them an excuse to put it back on.

Finally, the same two women who had attended her the night before unlocked the door and brought her wash water. They removed the straitjacket and left her naked. Diana waited until they left before she gave herself a sponge bath. She remembered the advanced bathing facilities in Aquae Sulis, reliving the laughter and joy she and Marcus had enjoyed in his bathing pool. Compared with the Romans, the bathing facilities of the Georgians were almost squalid.

The women had taken the straitjacket with them and she prayed she had seen the last of it. She much preferred being naked. To most people that might be humiliating, but Diana had learned to accept her unclothed body as beautiful. Nudity of herself or others no longer intimidated her.

When the women returned, however, they brought a brown smock and a pair of canvas shoes.

“What is this place?” she ventured in a calm voice.

The women exchanged a cautious glance, then one of them said, “It’s a private asylum.”

Asylum? Dear God, they’ve put me in the madhouse!

“How many other patients are in here?”

“There are more than fifty inmates,” came the reply, “but you won’t be allowed to mix with the others until you learn to behave yourself. You are to be kept in solitary confinement for the first few weeks.”

Weeks? Dear God in Heaven, don’t let me be here weeks!
she cried silently. But Diana realized her chances for escape were very slim while they kept her isolated. They took her from the room and put her in another down a long passageway. It was furnished in a Spartan manner with a cot, a commode, a table, and a chair.

Diana’s knees went weak when she saw the tray on the table. It contained a jug of water, a bowl of gruel, and a thick slice of bread. She was ravenous and so thirsty her throat was sore. She heard the key turn in the lock when the women departed, but all Diana could think of was food.

After she ate the last mouthful of gruel and licked the spoon, a dull, lethargic feeling came over her. She found it difficult to think coherently and it gradually dawned upon her that they had drugged her food to keep her docile. She crawled onto the cot and lay staring at the ceiling. “Mark … please. You’re the only one who can help me,” she whispered. Sleep beckoned. She tried to keep her eyes open, tried to fight the sedation, but it was a losing battle.

Mark Hardwick was not about to squander valuable hours sleeping, as long as there were still avenues to investigate. Mr. Burke packed his valise while Mark changed his clothes. Within the hour he was on his way back to London. He took one of his coachmen along so they could share the driving on the hundred-mile journey from Bath.

In Grosvenor Square they pulled up before the Davenports’ elegant house, where the Earl of Bath ran up the steps and gave his calling card to the majordomo. His discerning eye noted the servant was not the same man who
had opened the door to him almost a year ago when he came to buy the library.

He was shown into that library now and the minutes stretched out while the servant went to inform the Davenports of their caller’s identity. Mark Hardwick relived the encounter with Diana when sparks had flown between them. Her presence was almost tangible in the room and his hope soared that she was close by.

The Davenports’ entrance broke through his reverie.

“May I be of service, your lordship?” Richard asked formally.

“I’ve come to see Lady Diana,” he stated bluntly, crushing the urge to take Davenport by the throat.

Richard caught his wife’s eye before he answered.

“I’m afraid she isn’t here. She didn’t return to London with us.”

“May I inquire where she is?” Mark Hardwick challenged in a tone that clearly said he would not be put off.

“Lord Bath,” Prudence said stiffly, “I don’t want this bruited about, so it is in the strictest confidence I tell you that she has gone again.”

“Gone where, madam?” he said implacably.

“Why, gone wherever it was she went to when she disappeared before, I presume.”

The woman was lying; Diana would never leave him of her own free will. He was not going to play cat and mouse with this pathetic pair. “I believe you are concealing her whereabouts,” he stated flatly.

“That is a lie!” Prudence cried. “The girl has been a sore trial to me since her father died. I am trying to live down the scandal of her first disappearance. Why would I stir it all up again?”

“If she is not here, you should not object to a search of the premises.”

Richard straightened his shoulders. “Lord Bath, my profession is the law. In this country a man’s home is sacrosanct!”

“But this is not your home, sir. This house is Lady Diana’s, and therein lies your motive!”

“Motive?” Richard looked affronted. “I could sue you for slander.”

“You do that. Perhaps you could explain to the judge why I smelled opium in the house in Queen Square.”

“Opium!” Prudence looked shocked enough to faint. “My good sir, I am a martyr to hip pain, which is the reason I went to your wretched town of Bath in the first place. What you smelled was laudanum. I cannot sleep without it.”

Laudanum! Christ, she has an answer for everything.

The Earl of Bath realized the futility of interrogating them further. He quit the house, but not the vicinity. He questioned the neighbors about Diana. All agreed they had not seen the young woman for almost a year. Mark Hardwick waited about most of the day hoping to question the servants who worked for the Davenports. Finally he spotted their coachman, James, and took him to a pub in Shepherd’s Market for a couple of pints of best bitter.

“My digs is over the coach ’ouse, ye understand, not in the ’ouse, so I rely on gossip from t’other servants. When young Peter come an’ told ’em Lady Diana had been found, I drove ’em to Bath. It rained cats ’n’ dogs, so we stopped at an inn in Chippenham about twenty miles away.”

“Did you drive them to Hardwick Hall the next day?” Mark inquired.

“I did, yer lordship. It was after they rented the ’ouse in Queen Square, and from the way they talked, they intended to take Lady Diana from yer place back to Queen Square. Mad as fire they were when they left without ’er.”

“When Lady Diana came to Queen Square two days later, did you drive them anywhere?”

“If she showed up, I never saw ’er.”

Mark was clearly disappointed. “She didn’t return to London with you?”

James shook his head.

“What about Lady Diana’s maid? Do you think she will be able to throw a light on her whereabouts?”

James bent toward Mark Hardwick confidentially. “Lady Muck give Biddy her walking papers when Lady Diana run away the first time. Biddy was thinking of coming to Bath to see if she could get ’er old job back.”

The earl clearly saw that it was fruitless to pursue the servants further. He slipped James a ten-pound note and headed off toward Allegra’s studio, which was close by.

After the earl departed, James wondered if he should have told him about taking Richard Davenport back to Chippenham in Wiltshire. He shrugged. The gov’nor had been alone, he certainly hadn’t taken his niece with him, so James decided the information would be no use to his nibs.

As the Earl of Bath walked along the iron railings in front of the tall house, Dame Lightfoot approached from the opposite direction. When they arrived at the front door together, the earl tipped his hat. “I’m here to see Allegra. Does she still reside here, ma’am?”

“I’m Dame Lightfoot. Pray come in, sir, and be seated. The lady you seek will be with you in a trice.”

Mark assumed the gray-haired dragon with the tall walking stick was a relative of Allegra’s, but thought what an odd pair they made. After ten minutes he became impatient that he had been left alone to cool his heels. Didn’t these damn women realize he had no time to waste?

Finally, Allegra sailed in, all jet curls, rouge, and décolletage. “Mark, darling,” she said huskily, “you haven’t been to London in eons.”

“Allegra, I’m at my wit’s end. I’m searching for Lady Diana Davenport. She’s disappeared.”

“At least ten months ago,” Allegra said dryly.

“No, no. I found her, but she’s gone again. Have you any idea where she might be?”

Allegra smiled at him. “What an utterly delightful creature I found her to be. Obviously I’m not the only one. Unpredictable, unconventional, and wholly spontaneous
… I can see you are smitten and I’m happy to hear she is giving you a run for your money!”

“Damn it, Allegra, I’m frantic. I fear something’s happened to her.”

Allegra’s eyebrows elevated. “I believe she is perfectly capable of looking after herself. She was a dancing pupil of Dame Lightfoot’s, you know. Even she couldn’t intimidate her.”

“Then perhaps I should talk with the old dame?”

Allegra began to laugh. The sound was throaty and not without an earthy allure. “Mark, don’t you know?”

“Know what?” he demanded impatiently.

“Dame Lightfoot and I are the same person.”

For a moment he stared at her blankly.

“As Dame Lightfoot, I have the entree to the homes of the ladies of the ton, and their innocent daughters. As Allegra, I have the gentlemen in my pocket.”

Mark Hardwick was not amused. His black eyes swept her from head to foot.
Just when you thought you knew everything there was to know about women, one of them makes a bloody laughingstock of you. Perhaps more than one of them.

Allegra took pity on him. “I’ll keep my ears and eyes open, darling. In fact, both of us will.”

The Earl of Bath had nowhere to go but Jermyn Street. He hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours and his frustration was taking its toll on his temper.

He used his own key to open the door of his town house and came face to face with the butler-cum-valet that he kept on staff, whether he was in residence or not.

“Good evening, your lordship.” The look he gave the earl was one of dismay mixed with relief.

“Is something the matter, Jefferson?” he asked irritably.

The servant hesitated, then informed him that his brother, Peter, was at home.

Mark was in no mood for a brotherly encounter. He was about to go through to the library when he heard what sounded like a whimper coming from upstairs.
Splendor of God, has the young swine abducted Diana to force her to marry him?
As he gazed up the staircase, he heard the unmistakable sobs of a woman. Mark’s fury exploded.
I’ll kill him!

He took the stairs three at a time and flung open the chamber door. What he saw sickened him. A young drab was tied to the bedpost, while Peter lashed her naked flesh with his riding crop. Peter’s rampant sex shriveled as the black eyes of his hated brother swept him with contempt. The earl did not need to speak; his look said it all. He stood there until Peter untied the prostitute and she began to dress.

Mark went to his own bedchamber and locked the door so that he would not unleash his full fury. He picked up a decanter of brandy and took it with him to a leather chair. He tipped the decanter and took a deep swallow. The brandy burned all the way down and blossomed in his chest. He’d always known Peter had a dark side. The young swine was addicted to bloodsport and apparently it didn’t stop with animals.

Cynical thoughts crowded in on Mark as he again raised the crystal decanter to his lips. Did everyone have a secret, shameful side to their nature? Peter, Allegra Diana?

He kicked off his boots and unfastened his waistcoat. The whole bloody world was a cesspool.
Fuck it and everybody in it!
he thought cynically. He had every intention of draining the decanter and proceeded to do so.

The next morning he had a brandy hangover. He decided to skip breakfast altogether and went into the library
to write some checks. When Peter strolled in, Mark grit his teeth. Nonchalance was an art with Peter.

“Don’t suppose you could spare me some blunt? The girl was well paid for her services.”

“When I burst in on you, I thought it was Diana.”

“Diana?” Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell me she’s taken off again? Wait a minute, do I detect another Hardwick casualty here?” He saw that Mark’s face was haggard. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Peter sat on the edge of the desk and swung a booted foot. “If it’s any consolation, I think you’ve had a lucky escape. Granted she has the beauty of a goddess, but she is completely cold. More than cold, she is a bloody ice queen. I’m not one to take no for an answer, but she always kept me at arm’s length with her touch-me-not virginity.”

In spite of the hangover, Mark suddenly felt better. He surveyed Peter with a speculative eye and changed the subject. “Did it ever occur to you to
earn
some money?”

“No, never,” Peter replied with utter candor.

“I’ll give you a job either at the stone quarry or on one of the barges I own.”