He decided to avoid announcing himself for he was certain his name alone made him persona non-grata at Easton House. Then it dawned on him. Thorpe had mentioned the Duchess, Thornmouth’s mother. He was not certain if the woman was still alive, but if she was, it might be his way in.
“I am a friend of Lord Portsmouth, here to deliver a message for Her Grace. It is rather urgent.”
“Her Grace is not available at present. If you would like to leave your calling card Lord…” he tilted his head to one side and looked him up and down.
“Totham. Lord Totham. And I am all out of calling cards, I’m afraid.”
“In that case, Lord Totham, I apologize, but Her Grace is unavailable. You may consider calling again at a later time. With a calling card.” The man went to shut the door when another thought came to Christopher.
“It is in regards to the young lady that is currently…visiting. Lord Portsmouth sent me with a message regarding a change in circumstance.”
This caught the butler’s attention, for he frowned and stopped his attempt at closing the door.
“Lord Portsmouth sent you?”
Christopher nodded eagerly. “He has.” Then he added, “He sent a messenger alerting me to the urgency of the issue.”
Gadzooks. I ought not have mentioned a messenger.
Indeed, the butler expression changed once more, growing suspicious. He looked past Christopher and his eyes settled on the carriage which sat across the street. He narrowed his eyes.
“You are Nestor Hicks, Lord Totham, you said?
Christopher swallowed hard. “Indeed. Now, Her Grace?”
“I am familiar with Lady Totham. She used to play whist with Her Grace. And you are not her husband. I do not know who you are, but I will not have some blunderbuss disturb Her Grace.” With that, he turned back and went to push the door shut.
Desperate, Christopher lunged forward and pushed against the door.
“Rowena!” he called out as loudly as he could. “Rowena, are you here?”
“Get out of here,” the butler huffed and pushed him back, using the heavy oak door as leverage. The door shut in Christopher’s face before he could get a good look inside and he found himself standing on the doorstep. Utterly helpless.
He rushed down the steps and stood in the street, assorted carriages and riders yelling at him to make room as he looked up. The building was four stories tall. If she was indeed held here, there was no way he would know where she might be. He signaled for Thorpe to wait and rushed around the back.
He’d hoped for an open window or door that might have allowed him access but found nothing. The back of the house was as quiet as the front.
He glanced at a large linden tree which grew in the alley and wondered if he could scale it in order to reach one of the upper windows. Perhaps he could push it open, or even break the glass the get inside.
Yes, he decided that was his only recourse. He was about to step on the narrow stone wall to grab a hold of a branch when the back door opened, and a young girl poked her head out.
“Are you here for Lady Rowena?” Her voice was shaky, her hands shook as she wrapped her fingers around the door frame.
“I am,” he replied and stepped closer toward the girl.
“They brought her here yesterday evening, bundled up in the back of His Grace’s carriage. She’s unharmed, but they shan’t want to let her go without a fight. For that, I’m sure.”
He rushed to the door. He towered over the girl who looked impossibly young and terrified.
“Can you tell me where they are keeping her?”
She glanced inside, the fear evident in her eyes. Then he saw a look of determination replacing it.
“They were keeping her in the Duchess’s old chamber, but she’s been in the Duchess’s drawing room upstairs for the past hour. There are footmen guarding her.”
“Upstairs, you said?”
“Aye, if we rush through the parlor, we can take the servant’s stairs. But we must hurry. I am certain His Grace will be here very soon.”
