A Crimson Warning

28

Ivy had gone home to Robert. I had Davis bring me a cold supper in the library, so I could read The Aeneid while I ate, as had become my habit that summer when Colin went out for the evening. Ordinarily I loved a measure of solitude, but I was feeling little peace tonight. I knew Colin would be careful, but Mr. Foster was quickly beginning to loom ominous and frightening in my mind, and I was worried about Lady Glover. I did not like sitting idle when someone was in danger. I nibbled on some cold ham and tried to distract myself with Virgil’s poetry. Sed famam extendere factis, hoc virtutis opus: To extend one’s fame by deeds, this is the work of courage.

Darkness had fallen by the time I’d finished eating and had poured a glass of port. I wasn’t quite sure where the evening had gone, but was well aware of how easily hours could slip away when I was absorbed in a book. I was pondering the late hour when my butler announced Jeremy, who nearly tripped over himself coming into the room.

“Em, where’s Hargreaves?” he asked. “I need his help.”

“What’s happened?”

He pulled a letter out of the pocket of his frock coat. The paper was crumpled. He smoothed it as best he could and handed it to me.

My darling Bainbridge, I fear the end is nearing for me. Can you please help? I’m so close to home—I could be there in a matter of moments if only someone would unlock this door. I see trees out all the windows of my room, but can hear the sounds of the city. Today I stood on a table to get a better look and am certain I am in a building in Hyde Park. Can you not come and fetch me? You mustn’t bring the police—he’s convinced Cordelia’s parents contacted them and says that’s why he killed her. I don’t know that I’ll be able to write again. Come to me. I’m desperate. I used my wedding ring to bribe the woman who brings my food to deliver this. I pray she does as she promised.

“She must be in the park,” he said. “There are all kinds of buildings there: gardeners’ and caretakers’ lodges. They could be holding her in one of them. I wanted to get Hargreaves’s advice.”

“The park seems reasonable,” I said. “It’s where they found her sleeve. But Scotland Yard searched everywhere.”

“They could have missed something. Please, Em, where’s your husband?”

The fact that he referred to Colin without making any dig at him brought home to me the seriousness of the situation. “He’s at Mr. Foster’s. I’ll go with you.”

Davis called for the carriage and within minutes we’d reached Mr. Foster’s house in Belgravia. I banged on the door. After what seemed an interminable delay, it opened to reveal an ancient butler.

“The Duke of Bainbridge and Lady Emily Hargreaves to see Mr. Foster, please,” Jeremy said.

“I’m afraid he isn’t available, sir,” the butler said.

“Is my husband here?” I asked.

“Mr. Hargreaves is inside, yes.”

“Will you please admit me?”

“I cannot do that, madam. I’m under strict orders.”

“It’s urgent. There’s an emergency.”

He was unmoved. “Strict orders.”

“Could you check with Mr. Foster, please?” I asked.

“I’m not to disturb him.”

“Would you deliver a message to my husband?”

“The moment he leaves Mr. Foster’s company.”

My frustration had reached from my toes to midway up my torso. Much more of this and I might do something I’d regret. I decided, in the circumstances, it was best to waste no further time and cut directly to potentially regrettable action. We didn’t have time to squander. I thanked the butler and told him I wouldn’t leave a message. Then, once he’d closed the door, I pulled Jeremy around the house to the mews.

“We’re going in through the servants’ entrance,” I said. “We’ll find where they are and interrupt their meeting.”

We didn’t knock. Instead, we marched in with purpose and conviction. Two maids pressed themselves up against the narrow corridor’s wall to keep out of our way, but neither of them questioned us. We oozed authority. We went up the back stairs to the first floor, but kept to the servants’ hallways rather than risk being seen in the main part of the house. Even these passages, though spare in terms of furniture and finishing, were not without a dash of luxury—paintings hung from the walls. Not so fine, perhaps, as those in the family’s rooms, but better than I’d seen in many country estates.

“Mr. Foster must be an avid collector of art,” I said.

“Either that or he has more money than sense,” Jeremy said.

There were no carpets in the hallway, and the heels of my shoes clacked loudly enough on the stone floor to draw unwanted attention, so I removed mine; Jeremy followed suit. We crept along in our stockings, listening for any signs of conversation, and wound our way halfway around the house before hearing any. I came to a stop when I recognized Colin’s voice and pressed my ear against the door from whence it came.

“We can’t do that now, don’t you see?” he was saying. “It’s gone too far.”

“We’re not going back,” Mr. Foster said. “That would be untenable.”

“And what am I to tell everyone? Scotland Yard? My wife?”

“That can’t be my problem right now, Hargreaves. You know that.”

I did not like what I was hearing.

“What’s your devoted husband hiding from you?” Jeremy asked.

“Quiet,” I said. “Someone’s coming.”

Footsteps echoed down the hall. We couldn’t stay where we were. I grabbed Jeremy’s arm and we tiptoed to the next turn in the passage. There was no obvious place to hide. Voices came from the other direction, and I did the only thing I could think of—duck into the next door we saw. My heart was pounding, not because I was afraid of being caught, but because of the words we’d overheard. I wanted to know what was going on.

We’d stepped into a sitting room, furnished in an impersonal yet fashionable style, the sort of uninspired décor with which one could neither find fault nor much to admire.

“What is your plan now?” Jeremy asked. “I thought we were going to burst in on their conversation.”

“So did I,” I said. “But it didn’t seem the thing to do in the moment, did it?”

“Then let’s go listen to the rest.”

We waited, ears pricked, while the voices that had sent us scurrying faded in the distance. Then, with caution, we returned to the corridor and crept back to our illicit écoute.

“And thereafter?” Mr. Foster said.

“It’s impossible to predict. Things are so volatile right now.” Colin’s voice was calm. “We need to wait to see what sort of situation we’re in after things have settled.”

“Sit back down. We need to run through it all again. I’ll call for some food. We never did get around to eating.”

Jeremy tugged at my sleeve. “We can’t stay here all night,” he said. “Lady Glover could be in terrible danger. If we’re not going to interrupt them, there’s no point hanging on when we could be trying to help her.”

“You’re right.” We retraced our steps, pausing to put on our shoes at the top of the stairs that led down to the kitchen. Once we’d made our way halfway down, the butler appeared at the bottom. When he did, he nearly lost his balance.

“Sir! Madam!” To say he was aghast would have been something of an understatement. “I … I—”

“Delightful to see you again,” I said, neatly stepping around him. “I’m sure we’ll meet again before too long. Do enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Jeremy and I tumbled out of the house, nearly doubled over with laughter by the time we’d emerged back in the mews.

“I’m beginning to have a vague notion why you like all this intrigue,” Jeremy said.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it? Terrifying, but exciting.” I was breathless with mirth. “Come, though, we’ve no time to waste. Lady Glover is in danger.”

We leapt back into the carriage and fairly flew to Hyde Park, crossing through Apsley Gate at Hyde Park Corner. I directed the driver to the first lodge I could remember. We couldn’t have him take us all the way—the clatter of wheels might alert our friend’s captors. Jeremy and I skulked towards the building.

“You should let me take over from here,” Jeremy said. “It would be safer.”

“I’ll stay back,” I said. “But I’m keeping you in sight.”

“I suppose I can’t just knock on the door?” he asked.

“No.” Moving as quietly as he could, he methodically made his way to each set of windows on the building and then returned to me.

“Nothing to see there but a gardener and his contented-looking wife,” he said. “Or his dissatisfied mistress. I consider the two interchangeable.”

“What would be the wifely equivalent of an extremely pleased mistress?” I asked.

“A widow.”

We repeated our pattern at three more buildings.

“I must say I had no idea how pleasant some of these lodges are,” Jeremy said. “How exactly does one go about arranging to live in them? I’m ready to give up my house.”

As we approached the fourth lodge, a small building in the northern section of the park, I followed Jeremy to the windows. I bunched up my skirts to step over the iron fence—it wasn’t particularly high—and then ducked down when I got close to the windows. Inside, two men were sitting, fierce looks on their faces, their attention fixed on the other side of the room. The upholstery on the chairs, which looked velvet, was worn and threadbare. A bookshelf at the far end was empty save for a pile of neatly stacked newspapers. But it was the object in the center of a rough-hewn table that sent the strongest message to me. The side we couldn’t see. Stepping with care, we moved farther along the outside wall of the house, hoping for a better view. We still couldn’t make out much, but I did manage to catch a glimpse of turquoise satin fabric encrusted with golden-colored crystal beads. Then, one of the men moved, revealing a revolver under his jacket.

Excitement and fear coursed through me. Wanting to operate with extreme caution, we made our way back to the pavement to discuss our options.

“We need a plan,” I said. “I think she’s in there.”

“I agree,” he said. “I think I can—” He stopped talking and lunged towards me. Before he reached me, I felt a sharp blow, and everything went black.