The reason for Ferdie’s departure from normal behaviour was instantly apparent. Rapidly scanning the lines, he managed to control his expression so that those watching could tell nothing from it. The letter ran,
My dear Hazelmere,
Cecily has been abducted by Edward Buchanan. In a note he has demanded Dorothea’s attendance at some inn. After sending Ferdie to get me, Dorothea left for the inn. Ferdie suggests you may be able to help. We are at Merion House.
Yours, et cetera,
Hermione Merion.
Refolding the letter, Hazelmere stared pensively at the cards. Then, placing the letter in his coat pocket, he turned once more to the game. He rapidly brought this to a conclusion, refusing the opportunity to draw Markham further into the bidding. Pushing back his chair, he signalled to an attendant to remove the pile of rouleaus from in front of him. ‘I’m very much afraid, my friends, that you’ll have to continue without me,’ he said smoothly.
‘Trouble?’ asked Peterborough.
‘I trust not. Nevertheless, I’ll have to return to Cavendish Square. Will you take the bank, Gerry?’
While Hazelmere and Peterborough concluded their transaction for transfer of the bank, Fanshawe frowned at the table. He had also recognised Ferdie’s writing. Finally catching Hazelmere’s eye, he raised his brows questioningly. Receiving an almost imperceptible nod in return, he also withdrew from the game. Minutes later the two friends descended the steps of White’s. Once clear of the entrance, Fanshawe asked, ‘What is it? Not your mother?’
Hazelmere shook his head. ‘Wrong side of Cavendish Square.’ Without further comment he handed the letter over. They stopped under a street-lamp for Fanshawe to read it.
‘Good lord! Cecily!’
‘I’m afraid we protected Dorothea too well and so he changed his plans a trifle.’ Seeing Fanshawe still staring at the letter, Hazelmere removed this firmly from his grasp, saying, ‘I suspect we should hurry.’
They covered the distance to Cavendish Square in less than ten minutes. Admitted to Merion House by the thoroughly intrigued Mellow, Hazelmere did not wait to be announced but led the way into the drawing-room.
Lady Merion started up out of her chair. ‘Thank God you’re here!’ Despite her wish to appear calm, the unexpected worry was a taxing burden. She was no longer young.
Hazelmere smiled reassuringly and, after bowing over her hand, settled her once more. Hearing the increasing commotion from the other side of the room as Fanshawe tried to piece together what had happened, he intervened. ‘I think we should start at the beginning.’
His voice cut through the altercation with ease. Fanshawe and Ferdie looked at him, then his lordship abandoned his belligerent stance and Ferdie his defensive one. They seated themselves, Ferdie opposite Lady Merion and Fanshawe on a chair pulled over from the side of the room.
Hazelmere nodded his approval and perched on the arm of the chaise. ‘You start, Ferdie.’
‘Took Dorothea and Cecily to Lady Rothwell’s, as I’d said. We all thought it was to be a quiet little party. Turned out to be a visit to Vauxhall.’
‘Couldn’t you have stopped it?’ interposed Fanshawe.
Ferdie looked at Hazelmere and replied, ‘Knew you wouldn’t like it, but nothing to be done. Dorothea and Cecily wouldn’t have understood. Couldn’t simply refuse and come away.’
Hazelmere nodded. ‘Yes, I see. What then?’
‘At first all seemed fine. Nothing untoward. Young people only and no flash characters. Took Dorothea for a stroll.’ Nodding to Hazelmere, he explained, ‘Your message. When we got back to the booth Lady Rothwell told us Cecily had gone. A servant had come with a letter for her.’ Fishing in his coat pockets for the letter, Ferdie continued, ‘Fellow told Lady Rothwell he was your man, Tony. Here it is.’
He handed the crumpled note to Fanshawe. As he read it his lordship’s face grew unusually grim. Handing it on to Hazelmere, he looked at Ferdie. ‘And she went with him?’
‘Lady Rothwell tried to stop her, but you know what Cecily is. After that we came straight back here.’
‘One moment! Did anyone other than Lady Rothwell know what happened?’ asked Hazelmere.
‘No, luckily,’ replied Fanshawe. ‘And she’s promised to keep mum. Going to say Dorothea was unwell and Cecily and I escorted her home.’
‘She’s a good friend,’ put in Lady Merion. ‘She won’t say anything unhelpful.’
‘And then?’ prompted Hazelmere.
‘We found the letter from Buchanan waiting when we got here.’
‘Where’s this letter?’ asked Fanshawe.
Lady Merion and Ferdie tried to remember where they had put it. Then her ladyship realised it was on the escritoire. Hazelmere retrieved it and remained standing while he read the single sheet, Fanshawe looking over his shoulder.
‘Is the writing the same as the others?’ asked Fanshawe.
Hazelmere nodded. ‘Yes, all the same. So it was Edward Buchanan all the time.’ He folded the letter and returned to the chaise. ‘What happened next?’
‘I suggested we send for you. Seemed the best idea. Dorothea didn’t agree. Insisted there was no need. Couldn’t see it, myself. Then she suggested I fetch Lady Merion. Meek and mild as anything! Thought that was a good idea, so I did. Didn’t know she’d go haring off as soon as my back was turned! Didn’t let on at all!’ Ferdie’s anger returned in full force.
Hazelmere smiled.
Lady Merion frowned. ‘Well? Aren’t you going after her?’
The black brows rose, a touch arrogantly. ‘Of course. While I dare say Dorothea may manage Buchanan well enough, like you, I would feel a great deal happier if I knew exactly what was going on. However,’ he paused, hazel eyes fixed on an aspidistra in the corner, ‘it occurs to me that flying off in a rush might land us in a worse tangle.’
‘How so?’ asked Fanshawe, seating himself again.
‘At the moment Cecily is presumably at the Castle Inn at Tadworth, in the company of Edward Buchanan and associates. Dorothea must have left before midnight and it’ll take her close to three hours to make the journey. It’s now after twelve-thirty. We can probably make the distance in two hours, so we should reach the inn not far behind her.’ He paused for breath. ‘However, if we go flying down there we end with both Darent sisters mysteriously disappearing from London, and on the same night you and I, Tony, also mysteriously disappear. And what do we do when we catch up with them? Bring them back to London? But we wouldn’t reach here until morning. The gossips would have a field-day.’
As the truth of his words sank in, Lady Merion grimaced.
Ferdie’s pale face went blank. ‘Oh.’
‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Fanshawe.
Hazelmere grinned. ‘The problem is not insurmountable.’ Glancing at Lady Merion’s worried face, he added with a smile, ‘It’s a pity your inventive elder granddaughter isn’t here to help, but I think I can contrive a suitable tale. Ring for Mellow, Ferdie.’
Hazelmere asked for his groom to be summoned from Hazelmere House. While they waited he was silent, an odd smile touching the corners of his mouth. At one point he roused himself to ask whether Dorothea had gone alone.
Lady Merion answered. ‘Her note said she was taking their maid, Betsy, and of course Lang, her coachman, will be driving.’
Hazelmere nodded as if satisfied and relapsed into silence.
Jim entered the room, cap in hand. Hazelmere studied him for a moment and then, smiling, began in a soft voice that Jim knew well. ‘Jim, I have a number of orders which it’s vital you carry out to the letter and with all possible speed. The first thing you’ll do is fig out the greys.’
‘What?’ This exclamation broke from both Ferdie and Fanshawe simultaneously.
‘No! Really, Marc! Can’t have thought! The greys on bad roads at night!’ blustered Ferdie.
Jim, watching his master, merely blinked. Fanshawe opened his mouth to protest, then caught his friend’s eye
and subsided.
‘There’s no point in having the fastest pair in the realm if one cannot use them when needed,’ remarked Hazelmere. Turning back to Jim, he continued, ‘After you’ve seen the greys put to, get a stable-boy to walk them in the square. Saddle the fastest horse in the stables—Lightning, I think. And then ride first to Eglemont.’ Turning to Fanshawe, he asked, ‘Your parents are at home, aren’t they?’
‘Yes,’ replied his lordship, mystified.
‘Good. You, Jim, will demand to see Lord Eglemont, or, failing him, her ladyship. You’ll tell them Lord Fanshawe will arrive before morning with Cecily Darent. He’ll explain when he arrives. You’re then to ride to Hazelmere and speak to the Dowager. You’ll tell her that I’ll arrive before morning with Miss Darent. Again, I’ll explain when I arrive.’ Suddenly grinning, he added, ‘It’s probably just as well you won’t know the whole story, so you can deny knowledge with a clear conscience.’
Jim, knowing the Marquis’s mother well, grinned back. Hazelmere nodded a dismissal.
Fanshawe had worked out some of the plan in his friend’s head and was grinning. Hazelmere refused to meet his eye, and instead turned back to Lady Merion and Ferdie. ‘I’ll only go through this once. We don’t have time for repeat performances. Listen well and, if you see any points I’ve missed, say so. We have to ensure the story is watertight.’
Satisfied he had their attention, he started, ‘Some time much earlier in the Season I unwisely described to Dorothea the beauties of seeing Hazelmere Water at sunrise. Dorothea told Cecily, and between them they made my life and yours, Tony, unbearable until we agreed to organise an excursion to see this wonder. With the aid of our respective parents, a plan was hatched. It’s best to see this spectacle on a clear morning, and because none of us wished to spend a week or more in the country waiting for such an opportunity it was agreed that on the first clear moonlit night we would drive down in the carriage, view the Water at dawn, visit Hazelmere and Eglemont and return to town later.’ With a nod at Lady Merion he added, ‘The party was to include your ladyship. Tonight is a clear moonlit night with the promise of a fine morning to follow. Perfect for our projected expedition. Did you say something, Tony?’
Fanshawe had put his head on his arms with an audible groan. Looking up, he said, ‘All very well to save their reputations, but what about ours?’
Hazelmere grinned. ‘I don’t expect this story to fool our friends. It’s the rest of the ton I’m concerned about.’ He paused. ‘Console yourself with imagining how grateful Cecily is bound to be when you tell her of your sacrifice to preserve her reputation.’
Lady Merion snorted. She wondered if Hazelmere expected Dorothea to be grateful. Then he was speaking again.
‘To continue. It was arranged that Lady Merion and the Misses Darent would decide on the most appropriate night and then contact the two of us. At the Rothwells’ party the girls realised tonight was the most suitable in weeks. So they excused themselves from the party on the pretext that Dorothea was ill and returned to Merion House. They sent a message to us at White’s. Ferdie helped with that. And all the gaming-room saw me get the letter, and then we both left to return to Cavendish Square. So far, all’s well. Then, after we arrived and agreed tonight was suitable, Ferdie went to fetch Lady Merion. What excuse did you give for summoning her ladyship, Ferdie?’
‘That Dorothea was ill.’
‘So that fits too. However, when you arrived home, Lady Merion, it was you who felt truly unwell. Sufficiently unwell, at least, to baulk at a night drive down to Hazelmere. But rather than postpone the outing, and seeing that as of this afternoon Dorothea and I are betrothed…’
Hazelmere broke off, seeing the sensation this announcement had caused. ‘No,’ he continued in a weary tone, ‘I haven’t asked her yet, but I do have horrible Herbert’s blessing and she’s not going to get the chance to refuse, so we will be by the time we return to London.’
He paused but, when no one made any comment, continued, ‘Where was I? Oh, yes! In these circumstances, you suggested the maid Betsy could go in your stead. We left immediately. Dorothea and I went down in the curricle with Jim and Tony, and Cecily followed in the carriage with Betsy. We had decided that, as the Season is somewhat flat at the moment, we would all spend a few days in the country. So that is exactly what has happened and is going to happen.’
A pause ensued while they considered the tale. Lady Merion’s mind was reeling as she considered the possible outcomes when Hazelmere calmly informed Dorothea that she was to marry him. She wished she could be there to see it. But it would do Marc Henry the world of good to meet some opposition for a change. She had little doubt he would succeed in overcoming it. So, an expectant smile curving her lips, she remained silent.
Then Hazelmere spoke again. ‘Now for the loose ends. You and I, Tony, are shortly to leave for Tadworth to remove the young ladies from Buchanan’s hands and from there we’ll proceed to Hazelmere and Eglemont. Lady Merion, you remain here and ensure we have no more rumours. Ferdie, you are the final player and you’ve probably got the most vital role.’
At these words Ferdie looked highly suspicious. Long acquaintance with his cousin made him wary of such pronouncements. ‘What am I to do?’
‘First, I want you to place a notice of my betrothal to Dorothea in tomorrow’s Gazette. There should be time. Then you must very subtly ensure the story of our romantic escapade is broadcast throughout the ton.’
‘No!’ groaned Fanshawe, pain writ large on his countenance. ‘We’ll never be able to show our faces at White’s again!’
Hazelmere’s smile broadened. ‘Even so. If everyone is exclaiming over our idiotic behaviour they’re unlikely to go looking for other explanations of tonight’s doings.’ Turning back to Ferdie, he asked, ‘Have I missed anything vital?’
Ferdie was running the whole tale over in his mind. He brought his gaze back to his cousin’s face, his eyes alight. ‘It’s good. No gaps. I think I’ll drop in on Ginger Gordon tomorrow. Haven’t seen him in ages.’
This was greeted by another moan from Fanshawe. Sir ‘Ginger’ Gordon was an inveterate gossip, Sir Barnaby Ruscombe’s chief rival. Even a few words in his ear could be counted on to go a very long way.
‘Good! That’s settled.’ Hazelmere glanced at the clock and rose. ‘Come on, Tony. We’d better go.’ Taking Lady Merion’s hand, he smiled confidently down at her. ‘Don’t fret. We’ll bring them off without harm.’
Turning to Ferdie, Hazelmere noted the smile of pleasant anticipation on his face. ‘Don’t get too carried away, Ferdie. I do wish to live in London, you know.’
Startled out of his reverie, Ferdie hastened to reassure his cousin that everything would be most subtly handled. As Fanshawe had finished taking his leave, Hazelmere merely threw him a sceptical glance as he moved to the door.
The friends strode rapidly across Cavendish Square. As they reached Hazelmere House Fanshawe said, ‘I’ll go and get changed. Pick me up when you’re ready?’
Hazelmere nodded and entered his house. Moments later his servants were flying to do his bidding, and inside ten minutes, attired more suitably for driving about the country at night, he mounted his curricle behind the restive greys and swept out of the square. Taking Fanshawe up at his lodgings, they made good time through the deserted city streets. Once clear of the suburbs, Hazelmere allowed the horses their heads and the curricle bounded forward.
* * *
Edward Buchanan’s master plan began to hiccup from the start. The first phase was the abduction of Cecily Darent from Vauxhall Gardens. Having assumed that she was no different from the usual débutante, he was unprepared for the spirited resistance she put up when he grabbed her on one of the shadowy paths. Assisted by his valet, he had secured her hands and gagged her, but she had managed to kick him on the shin before they had bundled her into the carriage. Thus warned, he had kept her bound and gagged until he had been able to release her into the parlour, the only one in the Cas
tle Inn, and lock the stout oak door on her.
The Castle Inn was a small hostelry. Not far from the major roads, it was sufficiently removed to make interruption by unexpected guests unlikely. The front door gave directly on to the taproom. Edward Buchanan stayed by the fire in the low-ceilinged room, sipping a mug of ale and smugly considering the future. It had finally dawned on him that the desirable Miss Darent, she of the Grange, Hampshire, as nice a little property as any he had seen, had ripened like a plum and was about to fall into the hand of the Marquis of Hazelmere. And his lordship didn’t even need the money. It was grossly unfair. So he had set about rectifying the error of fate. But Miss Darent seemed possessed of an uncanny ability to side-step his snares. His attempts at the masquerade and the picnic had both come to naught. This time, however, he prided himself he had her measure. To save her young sister, she would, he was certain, deliver herself, and her tidy little fortune, into his hands. Her fight with Hazelmere and his lordship’s absence from town had relieved his horizon of its only cloud. He smiled into the flames. Then, bored with his own company, he rose and stretched. Miss Cecily had been alone for nearly an hour. It should, therefore, be safe to venture in and discuss the beauties of the future with his prospective sister-in-law.
Opening the door of the parlour, he sauntered in. A vase of flowers flew at his head. He ducked just in time and the vase crashed against the door.
‘Get out!’ said Cecily in tones reminiscent of Lady Merion. ‘How dare you come in here?’
He had expected to find her weeping in distress and fear, totally submissive and entirely incapable of accurately throwing objects about the room. Instead she stood at the other end of the heavy deal table that squatted squarely in the middle of the chamber. On its surface, close to her hand, were ranged all the potential missiles the room had held. Eyeing these, he assumed an authoritative manner.
Waving his hand at her ammunition, he said in a confident tone, ‘My dear child! There’s no cause for such actions, I assure you!’
‘Gammon!’ she said, picking up a small salt cellar. ‘I think you’re mad.’