Mason grimaced as he propped himself on his elbow. “Shall I send Foster to Bow Street, sir?”
“If I haven’t returned in…” He considered the likelihood that things could be resolved quickly. “Let us say, two hours. Send for the runners and tell them to begin with Mrs. Christie.”
“But you said she was gone from town.”
“She has returned, I think.” He turned dark, predator eyes on Sir Hadrien. “Isn’t that right?”
Guided by Alastair’s somewhat slurred and haltingly given directions, Olivia explored the confines of their prison. “Is this Mrs. Christie’s cellar?” she asked as she paced off the length of the wall lined with wine bottles.
“Think so. Las’ thing I recall before waking here was havin’ dinner with her, so s’possible.”
“She drugged you?”
“S’pose she did.”
Olivia absently rubbed the back of her head where she’d been struck. She thought she might have preferred a sleeping powder to being clobbered. “Have you seen her since you’ve been here?”
“No. She ain’t come around.”
“What about the villain? Does he come around?”
“Now and again, just to take a poke at me with his stick.”
“Who brings you food, takes the slop bucket?” When there was no answer, Olivia asked, “Are you shrugging, Alastair? Shaking your head? I can’t see either.”
“Shruggin’,” he said. “Don’ know who it is. Servant, I ’spect. S’not the one you call the villain. Seen him before, though. Not here. Somewhere else. Can’t remember where.”
Olivia sighed. “Tell me about who comes here. Same person or different?”
“Same.”
That made sense, Olivia thought. Wherever they were, the fewer people who knew about it, the better. She turned the corner, ran her hand along the cool and damp stone wall. “Did you ever try to escape?” There was silence again, and Olivia had to remind her brother she couldn’t see his reply.
“No,” he said. “The villain tol’ me you’d be hurt if I conceived any notions of bravery. Got drunk instead, but here you are so I s’pose I should’ve done something.”
She came abreast of her brother and reached down to touch his shoulder. “You’ll have to do something now, Alastair, no matter what he says will happen to me. He wants to hurt me.” She paused. “He’ll try.”
Alastair drew in his legs as Olivia moved carefully around him and continued her search. “Won’t let him touch you.”
“I know.” She bumped something with her toe, heard the slush of liquid, and grimaced as she stepped around the slop bucket. Her nose had gradually become numb to the worst of the odor, but tipping the bucket would have tested her resolve to keep down her breakfast. “We can also depend on Breckenridge to find us. If not today, then tomorrow, or the next day, but he’ll come. I am not of a mind to wait for him, though, and he will not expect that I should.”
“I fear you are being optimish…op-ti-mish-tic…op-ti…hopeful.”
“It is not hope, but confidence.”
“We do not know where we are. How will he?”
“He already suspects a connection between Mrs. Christie and the gentleman villain. Since none of us knows the identity of the villain, he must begin with Mrs. Christie, and I believe our father will know where to find her.”
Griffin gave Sir Hadrien’s driver Mrs. Christie’s address, but as soon as the carriage began to roll, he set his eyes hard upon Olivia’s father and pressed for information. “Will we find her at the residence?”
“I couldn’t possibly—”
Griffin raised the pistol. “Iwillshoot. You’ve spoken to her. Your son would not have returned the ring to me, then run to you with news of it. He’s shown some backbone of late, but not so much as that, I’m sure. If he didn’t tell you what he did, then you came by the news in the only other way possible: Mrs. Christie told you. She must have been very angry with Alastair to take the matter up with you. So I will ask you again, will we find her at the residence now that you are also in town?”
“I cannot know.” He thrust his hands forward as though his palms could ward off a pistol ball. “She might be gone shopping. Paying a social call. How can you expect that I will know if—” He stopped when the pistol jerked in Griffin’s hand and sat back hard against the plump leather squabs. He could not quite contain the rise of panic. It edged his voice, lending it the slightest quiver. “She has Alastair, Breckenridge. She’s taken my son. My wife is practically mad with grief and demands that I do whatever necessary to ensure his release. She cannot rise from her bed because of that woman. Do you think I would have debased myself by applying to you for the ring if not for the sake of my son and my wife?”
“I know you wouldn’t have done it for your daughter.”
