Saving Persephone (The Haberdashers Book 4) Page 11

  “What if there are more men here?” the duchess asked. “Where would we go as we left? How would we travel? Do you have a plan for all those things?”

  “I’ll tell you what I don’t have a plan for, and that’s staying at their mercy.”

  “We are at no one's mercy,” Sabre insisted. “We are biding our time.”

  There was a knock at the carriage door and the duchess pushed it open, stepping out without assistance.

  “See to your man,” she said breezily, as though handing her wrap to a footman. “He seems to have fallen on his knife.”

  Imogen darted out of the carriage, trying not to touch him, and fell to her knees beside the carriage wheel, retching. All of this was outside of her experience. What world did these women live in? What had Robert Bittlesworth involved her in? When she had sensed death on him she should have broken their acquaintance. She should have left for Scotland early, not dallied in England with a dangerous man. She heard shouting in French, anger and commotion. The maelstrom of it all was too much, and she clung to the side of the carriage, wishing to be elsewhere. After a time she felt comforting hands on her shoulders and knew that it was the countess. How did a woman of such apparent compassion survive in this hellish place?

  “Come, Miss Grant.”

  Imogen stumbled to catch up to the rest of her party as they ascended stone steps in the misty, early morning light.

  * * *

  Encouraged by the additional information from John, the men pressed on to the dock. A tavern stood nearby, dim candlelight still burning even in these wee hours of the morning. Robert had the men wait in the stable yard as he and John went inside seeking information. He hoped that John might recognize anyone who had been near the ship when it had sailed.

  “Master Robert,” John whispered tensely shortly after they entered. “That man in the corner. He was one of the brigands that ambushed us!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stay here.”

  While John loitered in the shadows of the entryway, Robert strolled over to the barkeep and chatted for a few moments. Ale in hand, he moved on to the man John had indicated.

  “Heard you were looking for someone.”

  The man looked up, a bit bleary. “Oui, but the dog is doubtless long gone by now.”

  “Is there a reward?”

  “Non. If there was, I would have looked harder!” He chuckled, well entertained by his own joke.

  “Perhaps you will be interested in a reward, then.”

  The man tried to focus. “Reward?” he asked.

  “Yes, if you tell me where the ship was going.”

  “The ship?” He had the befuddlement of a man not sure how the conversation had veered into new territory.

  “The one carrying those girls you kidnapped earlier.”

  The man's eyes widened as his foggy brain began to comprehend what he was being asked. “I don't know what you mean, monsieur.”

  “I'm sure you do. The first reward on the table is your miserable life. Certainly that is a reward you would like to earn?”

  The man stood, a bit too suddenly for the amount of spirits he had consumed this evening. It was clear he was trying to decide whether to fight or run.

  “My men are outside,” Robert cautioned. “Although I can assure you that if you don't give me what I want, you will never make it far enough to meet them.”

  The threat proved too much for the man, who reached for his sword. Or tried to, with limited success. Robert sighed and spun him into the wall, stunning him. The drunk was docile enough that Robert was able to push him, stumbling, towards the door. Tossing a few coins to the proprietor, Robert said, “For your trouble.”

  John skittered out of the way and Robert steered the man towards the stable yard.

  “What have we here?” Casimir greeted them.

  “One of the men who abducted the girls.”

  Unsurprisingly, the earl was the first to react, planting the brigand a facer. The drunk went down in the stable yard muck like a sack of grain.

  “Bloody hell, Gideon,” Robert said, “I don't know where they've been taken yet.”

  “I didn't kill him,” the earl said resentfully.

  Robert reached down to haul the man back to his feet, who was surprisingly scrambling up on his own. The Frenchman was tougher than he looked.

  “You said there would be a reward.” He swiped at the blood and muck on his face, surly and sobering quickly.

  “What do you want?” the duke asked.

  Looking around at the men surrounding him, it was clear he was calculating their worth. “A hundred pounds,” he finally announced.

  “Fine,” the duke said. “Now where is my wife?”

  Although surprised at the quick acquiescence, the brigand insisted, “I want to see it.”

  The earl was the one to withdraw a leather purse from his jacket and count out the requested bills. The brigand looked wistful it seemed far from depleting the earl's supply. “Now talk,” Gideon insisted. “It would be cheaper for me to buy you a pauper’s grave.”

  The man folded the bills and tucked them under his shirt. “They sailed to the chateau past the needle.”

  “What the-” Gideon looked ready to strike the man again, but Robert stayed his hand.

  “The needle?” Robert said. “You mean the cliffs near Étretat?”

  “Oui,” the man said.

  “Where is the chateau?” Robert pressed.

  The man gave a Gallic shrug. “Some minutes past there, oui? Not long enough for a smoke.”

  “You're going with us,” Robert said.

  “Monsieur, I do not wish-”

  “You were just given a year's wages. I don't recommend you incline us to take it back.”

  He looked around the group of stern men. “Oui, monsieur.”

  “Gideon,” Robert said, “it will be dawn soon. See if you can find a captain who would sail us to Normandy today.”

  The earl nodded and set off toward the docks.

  “Casimir, keep our friend here while I speak to Charlie.”

  “My pleasure,” the Polishman said with a devilish grin.

  Robert took his brother's arm and steered him away from the group until sure that the Frenchman couldn't overhear them. “I want you to stay here.”

  “Why,” his brother countered immediately. Robert could sense that Charlie was nearing the sort of mulish ill temper that he displayed when upset.

  “First, I need you and John to be prepared for our return, with enough carriages to convey our party.”

  Charlie snorted and crossed his arms.

  “And be prepared with a physician to attend injuries,” Robert continued. “But more so,” he paused for a moment, “I need you to be prepared to go to the Home Secretary if we don't return within three days.”

  “What would I tell him?”

  “Everything. Everything you know.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. If I want it otherwise, I will find a way to send a messenger to you in that time.”

  “I don't like the idea of you going without me at your back.”

  Robert held his brother's shoulder. “I know, Charlie. But I have Lucifer and his Angel. And remember, the Pole took down Bobbins by himself. For dandies, they are all fine fighters.”

  Charlie's jaw was still tense, but he nodded. “True enough.”

  Robert knew that ultimately Charlie wouldn't go against his orders. It was part of what he appreciated about his brother, unwavering loyalty even when they didn't agree. And regardless how this all turned out, he couldn't risk his brother coming to harm. Now all that remained was securing Sabre.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Imogen felt odd. She had stopped crying as they entered the keep. Now she felt, well, numb. As though she was no longer entirely of this world. She hated it. It made her feel passive and weak, both things that she refused to be. Fighting against it, however, felt like fi
ghting through spiderwebs in a dream.

  She realized the duchess was talking and tried to focus.

  “We warned you not to intrude in our affairs.”

  The man she addressed was of middling height and plain to the point of being utterly nondescript, but his expression was nothing short of reptilian. Imogen was too numb to feel anything but malice radiating off the man. “If your brother had been more cooperative, all of this could have been avoided.”

  The duchess was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was harsh. “What does my brother have to do with this?”

  “Foolish, pretty child.” He turned to his men. “Take them down.”

  Imogen felt strong hands close around her arms.

  “Sabre?” The blonde's voice again. George.

  “Not now.” The duchess, always so confident, sounded a bit rattled.

  Imogen allowed herself to be herded down long steps, deeper and deeper into the keep.

  * * *

  Robert had been correct that Gideon was ideally suited to bribing and bullying their way onto a ship in the early morning hours. It was only midmorning and they had already sailed past the needle, an arc of stone jutting out from the cliffs along this portion of the coast of France.

  “How much further?” Robert asked.

  “A bit,” the Frenchman, who they now knew as Bernard, said. ”It is maybe,” that Gallic shrug again, “an hour? Less? More?”

  “You’d best not be leading me on a merry chase, or you’ll never have a chance to spend those British pounds.”

  “Who says you will give me that chance anyway?” Upon sobering up, Bernard had proven to be as wily as Robert had come to expect of men in his profession. He constantly tested, by either word or deed, looking for weaknesses in their group.

  “No one says so,” Robert replied. “I suppose you will have to rely upon your luck. It’s taken you this far.”

  Bernard smirked and looked out toward the cliffs again. “Perhaps I have more information worth more reward.”

  “Perhaps you do.”

  “If it is of no interest to you...”

  “A word of advice, sir. Don't think to toy with me. I've known men twice, thrice, as tough as you and have beaten them to death by my own hand. Today would not be a good day to test the limits of my patience.”

  Robert would give that Sims could take a beating. The secrets of the Empire had obviously been safe with him so long as he had wanted to keep them. But the information that he withheld from Robert now was more for spite. He owed Otto no allegiance.

  Robert doused Sims with filthy water to stir him from his stupor. The brass bucket hit the stone flooring with a hollow clang.

  “One more time,” Robert said.

  “Fuck you,” Sims said, shaking water from his ruined face. The swelling and cuts marred him to the point of unrecognizable.

  “The names of the men in Otto's office.”

  “I hope that fucking little cunt gets her throat slit the next time you send her out. I hope that she gets raped by some horny fucking bastard who fucks her until she's glad to die. I hope-”

  Sims' next words were cut off as Robert's fists flew. It was some time before Bobbins was able to pull him off.

  “I didn't know what to do, sir,” Bobbins said by way of apology. “I never-”

  Robert knew what Bobbins had left unsaid. He had never expected to see such a loss of control. Even now Robert was shaking with fury, consumed with a storm of grief and rage. He had arranged for the Rokiczanas to travel to Austria and entrap Otto. He had counted on being able to supply them with enough information to keep them safe. He needed to get that information from Sims. But now Sims lay dead on a cellar floor, sprawled over the splinters of the chair that had broken apart under Robert's onslaught. Robert had killed before, but never from rage. Never as punishment. He hadn't broken Sims, but it was possible that Sims had broken him.

  “Are we close?” Gideon's voice roused Robert from his memories.

  Robert turned to their captive. “Well, Bernard? Are we close?”

  The ruffian looked itchy to get away, which told Robert that some of the emotion from his ruminations must have shown on his face. “We are close, oui oui. Only a little while now to the docking, then a short ride up to the chateau.”

  Robert turned his attention to the earl. “Bernard says he might have more information for us.”

  “Does he now? What information is that?”

  “He seems hesitant to share. I assume as insurance.”

  Bernard looked back and forth between the two of them as Robert and Gideon bantered. Something in their tension appeared to worry him. “Oui! Insurance. How do I know you won't just kill me and take these monies back?”

  “I wouldn't,” Gideon said. “But the rest of them?” The earl looked over to where Casimir and the duke were chatting. “I'm not sure you should take your chances.”

  “Then I will tell you when the time is right.” The Frenchman nodded to himself. “Insurance. Oui, oui.” He muttered to himself after that until finally calling out. “The dock, we are almost there!”

  Robert hoped they were in time. That his sister and her friends would be found safe.

  * * *

  Imogen watched Sabre pace in the large stone room. They had been locked in, by her estimation, a dungeon. Dungeons sounded romantic when read about in Gothic novels. In reality they were cold, damp, and smelt overwhelmingly of mildew. There was only one window, set so high up the near the towering ceiling that there was no way they could reach it. They had all insisted on using their wraps to make a slightly more comfortable place for the countess to sit, but as a consequence Imogen was nearly shivering in her filmy day dress. She had been the one to warn them, however, to keep Jack warm and calm. She had seen far too many pregnancies take a turn for the worse at a late stage. Having revealed that she was present for births before, the other women were now reliant on her advice.

  “You're going to wear a hole in the floor,” George complained as her friend continued her pacing.

  Jack smiled. “Then that could be our escape tunnel.”

  Sabre finally spoke. “I'm so mad at Robert I could spit.”

  “We don't know-” George ventured.

  “Don't try to defend him!” Sabre poked a finger into the taller girl's chest. “His manipulations nearly killed my husband, before Quince was even my husband. And now?” She spread her arms out, gesturing to all of them. “Here we all are. Locked in the cellar of a madman. Don't defend Robert to me.”

  “All I'm saying is that we don't know the whole story.”

  “And I will know the whole story before this is over. Mark my words.”

  Imogen watched the kaleidoscope of colors washing over the duchess. Underneath all the bravado, there was a great deal of fear. But not, she sensed, of the man here. Imogen probed deeper. “Why does Robert frighten you so?”

  All the women looked at her again. It felt like attracting the attention of Cerberus, the three-headed dog. Three heads, but all united in some way. The duchess spoke again, “What makes you think he frightens me?” That bravado again.

  “He frightens me,” Imogen said. “You all frighten me, and I wish to God I'd never met you. But certainly you must know that he would never hurt you.”

  George snorted, Sabre chuckled, and Jack let out a gusty sigh.

  “Never hurt me?” Sabre asked. “Would you like to see the scar from the first time he was teaching me to fence?”

  “When he said he would teach me to box, he started by hitting me right in the face,” George said. “I'm lucky he didn't break my nose.”

  Imogen looked from one woman to another, trying to puzzle together the pieces. “Why were you fencing and boxing?”

  “We're a boys club,” Sabre said with a shrug.

  “A what?”

  “The Haberdashers, we're a boys club.”

  “And you're all women?”

  “Yes, that's the point.”
>
  “I'm sorry, what's the point?”

  George rolled her eyes. “It's simple, really. We decided boys had more fun, so we started a boys club for girls. Well, for us.”

  “And that's why Robert started teaching you fencing and boxing?”

  “Yes. I suppose you could say that Robert and Charlie were our sponsors.”

  “Does Charlie cut and punch you?”

  The Haberdashers looked stricken and started talking over one another. “No. Oh, no. Never Charlie.”

  “He would fence with us and such, but never like Robert.”

  Imogen looked at Sabre. “I have no desire to defend your brother. Believe me that if he were here I would want to punch him myself. However,” she was quiet for a moment, pondering their predicament. Would they survive this trial? Nothing seemed certain and Imogen wanted to provide what succor she could. The truth could be a wound, but at other times it was a balm. “I want you to know that he loves you very much.”

  “But-”

  “I suspect,” Imogen interrupted, reading the conflicting emotions and fragments of memories that her statement caused, “that he hurt you a little so that you would learn, in the hopes of protecting you from the day when someone might try to hurt you a lot.”

  Sabre opened her mouth to retort, but after a moment closed it again.

  “It's likely that Baron Granby will hurt us a lot,” George pointed out.

  “Baron Granby?” Imogen asked.

  “The bastard upstairs who issued the invitation we couldn't refuse,” George said.

  Imogen made a helpless gesture with her hands. “I have no idea what sort of world you all live in. Why is a baron threatening you?”

  “We have evidence against him and his cronies,” Sabre said, “who include my father. What I don't know is what they are hoping to get from Robert.”

  “What sort of evidence?”

  “Do you know what a hellfire club is, Miss Grant?” Sabre asked.

  “Well, I, that is to say, I've always assumed it was a gentleman's club, but with Cyprians and such.”