something. Whether Frazier’s fears were grounded or not, something was off.
“He promised to write, he did,” Charlotte confided, batting her thickened eyelashes. “His letters are a perfect treat. How he does go on in the most romantic fashion. But then, I expect you know that.” Bay had probably written hundreds of letters to Anne over the years.
Anne plucked at her skirt. “Perhaps he is just very busy.”
Charlotte shook her head, fringe flying at the corner of her eye. Really, she wanted to rip Mrs. Kelly’s concoction right off her head. “His manservant, Mr. Frazier, came to me yesterday. It’s most unlike Bay to travel anywhere without him. It’s his opinion Bay has met with foul play.”
Anne tittered. “How ridiculous. The man has just gone off on holiday. And,” Anne said, looking disdainfully at Charlotte, “before he left he told me he was quite committed to
Charlotte’s heart fell. The dismissive words of Bay’s letter came back to haunt her. But if she accepted Anne’s version of events, she would have no reason to stay here. “I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. He couldn’t be so cruel after all we’ve meant to each other.”
“I watched him write the letter himself! He has broken with you completely and wants you to go back to Little- Little, oh, it’s some sort of vegetable.” Anne’s eyes glittered in triumph.
If Anne was present when Bay wrote the letter, then he certainly was not in France. “But I never received a letter. I won’t leave until I read it from his own hand,” Charlotte said stubbornly.
“What if you heard it from his own lips?”
“I-I suppose.”
“Wait right here. I won’t be but a few minutes.”
Charlotte couldn’t give Anne the opportunity to warn those who were keeping Bay prisoner, for she was now fully convinced that’s exactly what the situation was. There was something entirely mad about Anne Whitley. She reached out a hand and Anne recoiled.
“What do you mean to do?”
“Why, send for Bay, of course! I do know where he is, actually. We’ve had a little interlude away from that interfering Frazier. And you. Bay will come here and tell you to go and leave us in peace.” She gave a ghastly smile and left Charlotte seated on her chair.
Oh, but she had muffed her mission. She looked around the room wildly, hoping to find a spare pistol or brass candlestick. Disappointed, she set to praying that Anne’s messenger would arrive once Bay was freed, tripping over the subdued bodies of the four guards. Bay would come here and straighten all this out. There was nothing to do but continue her conversation with God as she waited for Anne to return.
And when she did, Charlotte was dismayed to see that it was Anne who had discovered a spare pistol and had it pointing straight at her ill-clad head. Charlotte’s conversation with God took on more urgency.
“We’ll just see which one of us Bay chooses,” Anne said, smug. “This might help him make up his mind a little faster.”
Mrs. Kelly put the empty wine bottle down. Never had she enjoyed herself so much in any kitchen. An enormous spread of food covered the dinged table. Chairs were overturned, and three large men were trussed like chickens on a spit on the floor. The wine bottle had assisted one man into unconsciousness after he made an especially rude remark. The fourth man was currently being divested of his clothes upstairs so that Sir Michael would have something with which to cover his body when he returned home. There wasn’t time to search for his own things.
Angus and Mr. Mulgrew had been mercilessly efficient in dispatching the brutes as they sat at the table like slavering wolves. Mrs. Kelly liked to think that her rabbit pie had a hand in bespelling them into letting down their guard. They had dutifully helped her bring in the food from the carriage, allowing Frazier to disappear upstairs in all the confusion. She had their full and undivided attention as she had unpacked the victuals from their containers, chatting artlessly as Frazier let Mr. Mulgrew in. When they both returned to the kitchen, each was armed and definitely dangerous. Before any of the villains could think to move, Mr. Mulgrew had shot one in the foot and asked who would like to be shot next. There had been a scuffle anyway, several more shots, and quiet at last. Angus had packed lengths of rope in the boxes, which he used to lash the fellows together in a bloody heap, their own neckerchiefs serving as makeshift gags. Mr. Mulgrew had gone to fetch a constable. Mrs. Kelly surveyed all the wasted food, but she was not about to try to save any of it. She hoped the men had got their fill, for it would be a long while before any of them had a decent home-cooked dinner again.
She turned at the clunking and shuffling on the stairs. A pale Sir Michael came down, supported by Angus. He looked rather ridiculous in the shabby clothes that hung off him, and smelled worse, but she flew to him and gave him a kiss.
“Ah, Mrs. Kelly. You are a sight for sore eyes.” One of the men growled from the floor, but stopped when she gave him a dark look. “I say, is that your famous apple pie?”
“We havena time for you to eat, Major. The sooner we get out of this hellhole, the better.”
“Pish posh, Angus. We’ve got to wait for the constable anyway. Some cheese to go with it, Sir Michael?”
Mrs. Kelly watched as he forked a huge wedge into his mouth. “Heaven. These gentlemen were not very adept in the kitchen.”
Bay polished off the plate and was about to ask for another when there was a knock at the kitchen door.
“Blast. Mulgrew wouldn’t knock. It can’t be him. Hand me one of your guns, Frazier.”
Bay positioned himself against the wall. “Mrs. Kelly, you answer it. Don’t open the door too wide-we don’t want our guest to see the trash on the floor.”
Mrs. Kelly opened the door a crack. “Yes?”
“Message from Lady Whitley for a Mr. Smith.”
“And who might you be?”
“I’m James. The second footman at Whitley House.”
Bay leaped forward and dragged the young man in by his neckcloth. James’s white wig took a tumble, revealing soft yellow curls beneath.
“I say!” James sputtered. “Unhand me!” He caught sight of the gun and fainted dead away.
“All looks and no backbone,” Angus Frazier grumbled.
Bay eased him down. “Tie him up, too. He looks like an innocent lamb, but one never knows.” He scooped up the letter that had fluttered to the floor and broke the seal. “It seems I am to be temporarily released and escorted by Mr. Smith and his cronies to Whitley House. We’ve just anticipated the orders by a few minutes.”
He toed James with a borrowed cobbled boot. “Out like a light. I hope Anne’s carriage is waiting. I confess I’m rather anxious to see her again.”
“You’re not going alone!”
“Come now, Frazier. I don’t believe I’m in danger any longer. I doubt she’s enlisted the Whitley House staff in this farrago. You stay here to protect Mrs. Kelly. If any harm comes to her, I could never forgive myself. Not to mention I would waste away to nothing. My French chef cannot hold a candle to her in the kitchen. When Mulgrew returns, explain the situation.” Bay put the pistol into the pocket of the tattered jacket. Crime must not pay very well-there was a hole in the sole of each oversized boot as well.
Bay didn’t want Anne arrested, even if she was the mastermind of this kidnapping scheme. If he could persuade her to begin her travels on the Continent early-as in immediately-he would consider himself satisfied. For all that they had meant to each other once upon a time, he was willing to forget the past few days. Although he couldn’t chalk up her actions to an odd form of grief for her detested husband, he supposed she did grieve-grieved for what had been between them so long ago, when they were young and so besotted with each other. Well, Bay had been besotted anyway. But he was clearly over that now.
Anne’s driver cast him a skeptical glance as he strode toward the carriage parked on the street. James had been foolish enough to come in a crested conveyance. Every neighbor would soon be talking of the doings in the house. The driver snapped to when he heard Bay’s orders delivered in his impeccable upper-crust accent and recognized him as the gentleman his mistress had dallied with over the years. Clothes here did not make the man.
