Clara’s head spun at the words, but before she could struggle further, she was bundled into a closed carriage, and the treacherous footman slammed the door behind them.
ΦΦΦ
Rook hastened to Hanover Square and Ralph Mayden’s house, in search of Clara. It was only a couple of streets over from his own abode in Grosvenor, and so he had decided to walk. He was carrying a bouquet of specially chosen lilies and roses. He felt rather ridiculous, as he had never in his life, personally, handled a bunch of flowers. Usually he had them delivered, but the miller’s son had been very eloquent and specific on ‘the apology scenario’.
It had to be done personally. It had to start with the apology (no small talk, or she will get annoyed). The apology must be pertinent (no hedging). The lady will probably refuse said flowers and the apology, but one must persevere. Finally, the lady will accept both offerings and blush prettily, confirmed the miller’s son. His girl, after an apology, had given him a ‘good smacker on the chops’; Rook had lowered his expectations in that regard.
He finally arrived at the house, only to discover that the door was wide open. He poked his head around the portal, but all was silent. No footman, maid or butler was to be found. What in the hell was going on?
He quietly placed the bouquet on the entrance table and made his way across the hall. A second door was open to the left, and Rook silently peered in. A fellow dressed in footman livery was kneeling over an unconscious man – he couldn’t see either face.It was clear, however, that the ‘footman’ was rummaging through the comatose man’s pockets and was currently stuffing a watch and stickpin into his own coat.
Rook stepped behind the man – noiselessly. The thief was too intent on his own gains to notice the intruder. He grabbed the villain from behind, an arm around his throat. “And what do you think you are doing?” Rook’s eyes alit on the unconscious man – Ralph Mayden! Christ, he thought, where was Clara?
“Gggoofmee!” the man shrieked under his arm. Rook relaxed his hold slightly – the man was no good to him, if he was as unconscious as Mayden.
“Who is responsible for this? Where is Miss Lockwood? If any harm has come to her, I’ll break your bloody neck?” The man garbled in response, and Rook was forced to break his hold a little more.
Suddenly, coming from the floor Rook heard a wheezed, “Taylor…”
“Mayden, what in the hell has gone on here?” He watched as the man struggled to sit up; blood streamed from his nose and Mayden’s eyes were glazed.
“T…Taylor came here. Demanded I s…sign the marriage contract. I refused – told him he was despicable – that I knew all about his attack on Clara. Then…he just struck out. That’s all I remember. I’m sorry, my lord…”
“No need for apologies, that took pluck, Mayden. So where did this vile rat come from?” he said, shaking the ‘footman’.
“Came from Taylor, said he was a good man, but that he had to let him go because of funds.”
“Well,” Rook surmised, “It looks like he was still in Taylor’s pocket.”
Rook pulled the man’s head back hard. “Where is Miss Lockwood? Have you seen her?”
“Haven’t seen her guv. Swear it. Still out with that old aunt,” the man stuttered. His eyes slid from Rook’s to the floor and then suddenly widened in terror. Rook followed the man’s horrified gaze and saw the reason for his panic. Lying on the Aubusson rug were three hairpins, strewn as though by a casual lover over the plush, red covering.
“You lying, little bugger.” Rook felt his temper explode at the sight of those lonesome hairpins and shook the man violently, tightening the hold around his neck.
“If you don’t tell me the truth, I will half-strangle you. Then, I have a friend who will carve up your body into tiny pieces whilst you are still alive, stuff them into a box and throw it into the river.” His voice fell to a deadly whisper. “No-one will ever find your rotten carcass.”
He heard the man whimper in fright and saw his eyes roll in pure terror – Rook relaxed his grip.
“He’s got a cottage on the edge of town,” the man snivelled. “Near the hamlet of Wesborn Green.”
“If you are lying…” Rook left the threat hanging – the man was terrified enough. “Mayden, can you manage to get to the curtains and bring me the cord. I’ll tie him up whilst you wait for the Runners. Where in the hell is your butler?”
“Locked them in the pantry,” the raspy, pained voice of the ‘footman’ proclaimed.
“Well, at least that explains something.” Rook tied the man’s wrists behind his back and then, for good measure, tied the entire man to a chair. Mayden was looking more alert and had started heading for the pantry to release the servants.
“Mayden, I’m going after Clara. She can’t be too far ahead in a carriage, and I know that village. Have you a decent horse?”
“Of course, Rookdean. Stabled in the mews – tell the boy to saddle, ‘Black Nick’ – he’s well-named, so take care. Oh, by the way, you don’t really know a man who can carve people up…do you?”
Rook smiled, although with his current temper, it obviously looked more like a snarl, as Mayden jumped back.
“N…n…no,” Mayden stuttered, “actually, don’t need to know. Find Clara.” And he stumbled away.
Rook smiled again. Sometimes, he loved being an earl. He rushed out of the house, grabbing the bouquet and praying to God that he would find her.
ΦΦΦ
