Page 69

Chapter 22

Alexander was numb. When he’d left Charwell Park, he’d guided his horse onto Bloxley land and had just kept riding. Across the fields, along the lanes, up and down the rolling hills, he’d passed the familiar and unfamiliar without seeing anything at all. Jane loved him. She had admitted it. And yet she would not agree to being courted, would not consider marriage. Why? Was it something he had done or not done? Or was she waging another fight that meant more to her?

Anger had accompanied his stallion’s gallop; confusion and bitter disappointment had clouded his walk. And now, having returned his mount to his groom over three hours after taking him out, Alexander felt empty, and he had no idea how to fill the void.

“Welcome home, my lord.” Fink opened the door to him. Alexander acknowledged the butler with a brief nod and kept walking toward the study. Fink cleared his throat slightly. “There was a special delivery, my lord. It arrived about an hour ago. I set it on your desk.”

Alexander paused his march across the hall. Special deliveries rarely omened well. “Any idea who it is from, Fink?”

“No, my lord. The messenger was unfamiliar to me. But he was most anxious that you receive the letter right away.”

“Very well. I shall see to it immediately.”

Glad to have something else to consider beyond Jane’s refusal, Alexander entered the study and walked directly to the desk, where he picked up the letter. The handwriting was unfamiliar. Breaking the seal, he opened the envelope and withdrew a single piece of paper. A glance at the bottom of the page told him all he needed to know. Hugh Toole. The Bow Street Runner had sent news.

Moving to a chair beside the fireplace, Alexander dropped into the seat and began to read.

Norton Ripley

10 May 1788

Dear Lord Bloxley,

Upon receipt of your recent letter, I met with three of London’s most well-informed chimney sweeps and made inquiries regarding a Jasper Stanley. One of them had heard of the man and directed me to Norton Ripley, a village just north of Guildford in Surrey and not more than twenty-five miles from London. I took myself there that same day and discovered the man you are seeking with very little difficulty.

Jasper Stanley lives in a large brick house on the outskirts of the village. By all accounts, he services most of the chimneys north of Guildford and prides himself on completing the job faster than his competitors.

“I’m sure he does,” Alexander muttered.

He employs a crew of three apprentice sweeps. The innkeeper’s wife identified one of the boys as David but was unable to supply me with any other names.

I intend to remain in Norton Ripley until Sunday afternoon. Should you require me to discover anything more about Stanley or his business, please respond by special delivery. A letter will reach me at The Horse and Cart Inn.

Sincerely,

Hugh Toole

Alexander read the letter a second time, and by the time he’d finished it, his mind was made up. Toole had located the place where the Foundling Hospital boys had been taken. He would join him in Norton Ripley, and together they would discover what had become of Daniel, David, and Elijah.

With the letter in hand, Alexander exited the study. “Fink!” he called.

The butler appeared in the hall. “Yes, my lord.”

“Have my carriage made ready,” he said. “I will be leaving within the hour.”

“Right away, my lord.”

Fink set off to do his bidding, and Alexander started up the stairs. He would apprise his valet and his mother of the unexpected trip. Peters would not need long to pack clothing to last four or five days, and his mother would understand if he was called away on business now that her picnic was over. A dull ache throbbed where his heart should be. Only yesterday, he would have taken the time to write to Jane before leaving, but now he brushed the familiar desire to share with her aside. He would inform her about his efforts once the deed was done.

Dusk was falling when the Bloxley carriage approached Norton Ripley. An occasional break in the hedgerows afforded Alexander a view of an isolated farmhouse or two sitting amidst green fields. Herds of cows watched the carriage pass by with lazy indifference, their languid state a reflection of the sleepy village itself. A row of tidy cottages lined the road, and at the far end of the village, a tall spire marked the location of the church. Across from it stood The Horse and Cart Inn.

The carriage rolled into the inn’s courtyard, and a groom stepped out of the stables to help with the horses. Alexander exited the carriage, and leaving the care of it to his driver and his luggage to his valet, he entered the inn in search of a room and a Bow Street Runner.

A fire burned in a large fireplace, and several round tables dotted the room, most of them occupied. A pleasant woman with gray hair showing beneath her mobcap and a white apron covering her blue gown greeted him from behind a counter.

“Good evening, my lord. How may I help you?”

“I am in need of a room for the night,” Alexander said.