They filed into the foyer. The door was pushed shut. Everyone faced Lundquist, who frowned at them with interest more than concern. Still dressed in his evening attire though with his cravat undone, he looked like he might have been relaxing a bit — perhaps with a night-cap — before retiring.
“I’m guessing you’re here because of what happened at Moorland House, though I’m not sure how I can help.” Lundquist crossed his arms and raised his chin a smidgen. It was clear he had no intention of inviting them farther into his home. “As you know from your interview, Kendrick, I wasn’t acquainted with Orwell’s son. Barely recall him being present this evening.”
“We’ve actually come for a different reason,” Kendrick said.
Lundquist arched a brow. “Oh?”
“My wife was taken this evening,” Adrian said, his voice like chipped ice. When Lundquist merely responded with a blank stare, Adrian described what had happened. “They abandoned my coachman here, so we thought to come and check the street for any potential clues as to where they might have gone or…something…”
“I saw a woman in one of your upstairs windows,” Kendrick said, taking over. “That’s why we knocked. In case she may have seen what transpired. It could be she noticed something the coachman missed.”
Lundquist’s expression remained neutral though he eventually nodded. “Wait here.”
Adrian watched him climb the stairs. He still didn’t comprehend why Lundquist hadn’t summoned a servant to do his bidding, as was commonly done in upper-class homes.
He caught Kendrick’s gaze, then looked to Jackson, and realized both men had made the same observation though neither one made a comment about it. Instead, they remained silent while they waited, which suited Adrian well. He had no wish for unnecessary conversation. The only matter of consequence to him right now was finding his wife.
When Lundquist returned, he was accompanied by a middle-aged woman whose position was underscored by the chatelaine pinned to her dark blue gown. The keys suspended from it jangled as she descended the stairs, her gaze fixed on Lundquist’s broad back.
The marquess made a swift introduction, then asked Mrs. Shelby if she’d seen a carriage parked in the street prior to his return from Moorland House.
“There were two,” she said, sharpening Adrian’s attention. “Along with a couple of carts. One of the carts blocked the flashy carriage’s onward progress. The other boxed it in.”
“A definite trap from the sounds of it.” Lundquist regarded Mrs. Shelby with a grave expression.
“Forgive me.” Contrition swept her features. “I was going to tell you as soon as you…um…sorry…I—”
“It’s all right,” Kendrick told her, his voice gentle. “We’re not here to judge you. Only to obtain whatever answers you may provide as a witness. Please, Mrs. Shelby, do go on.”
“I didn’t see the actual blockade happen,” Mrs. Shelby said, “but the shouts I heard afterward drew me to the window.”
“And what did you observe?” Adrian asked, doing his best to hold onto the thin thread of calm he needed in order to process what he learned with a rational mind.
“I counted seven men in total. All were armed and brandishing pistols. The fancy carriage’s coachman was forced from his block and sent off on foot. A few minutes after he left, another carriage arrived. Possibly a hackney or simply a cheaper vehicle.”
“And then?” Kendrick asked.
Mrs. Shelby shot a look toward the chief constable. “A lady was ordered out of the first carriage and into the second.”
“What about the man who escorted her?” Adrian asked.
Mrs. Shelby’s head swiveled back in his direction. “He confronted the attackers first, but without much success. Severely outnumbered as he was, I’m afraid they had him restrained and disarmed in a flash.”
“Did they put him in the other carriage as well?”
Mrs. Shelby shook her head. “He was taken away in one of the carts.”
Not good. They’d separated Murry from Samantha. He’d not be able to help her escape. Adrian tried not to let that stark realization consume him.
Forcing himself to focus, he asked Mrs. Shelby, “In which direction did the vehicles go?”
“Toward Oxford Street.”
“All of them?”
A curt nod confirmed this.
“Thank you for your time,” Adrian said, directing the words not only to Mrs. Shelby but also to Lundquist.
