“He is, ma’am. All is in hand.”
Behind him, Arnold had straightened and was now watching her leave.
She no longer had to wonder whether he hated her. It was written in his face.
With a shiver, Portia hurried toward her coach.
“Sshh, ma’am, you’ll wake everyone up,” Mrs. Stroud’s maid whispered, one strong arm about the older lady as she helped her down the back stairs.
“But where are we going?” Mrs. Stroud wailed. “It’s dark, look, I can see the stars.”
“Well, you’re going on holiday, ma’am, aren’t you lucky? Mr. Deed has arranged for the coach to come and fetch you in the mews at the back. Won’t that be nice? And then you’re off.”
Mrs. Stroud thought about that. “I’ll miss my dinners with what’s-his-name,” she said. “And my daughter…is she coming, too?”
“Some of the way, I believe.”
“Can’t I say good-bye?”
“No. It’s a secret, you see. No one must know.”
“Ah.” Mrs. Stroud put a finger to her lips, her shawl slipping off her shoulder. She was still wearing her nightgown under a hastily donned dress, and her gray hair was plaited for bed, with a nightcap jammed on top. The maid had brought a rug for warmth and given her charge a dose of laudanum to “send her off” for the journey.
Lady Ellerslie wouldn’t approve of that, but Hettie had told her to do it all the same. They couldn’t risk her having one of her screaming fits, or running back into the house for some reason or other just because she’d got some mad notion into her head.
If Arnold caught them, they would all suffer. They were terrified of him, even Deed. There was something not right about his eyes. No, all in all, Mrs. Stroud was the lucky one.
Hettie had followed Portia outside to the Ellerslie coach, her voice breathless with fright and excitement.
“Mrs. Stroud be will waiting for us in the mews at the back. Her maid and I had to bundle her up and she’s still half asleep, but she’ll be there, lieben.”
“Then we must fetch her, and when you have set me down at the grand ball at St. James’s, you will take her on to Cambridge. I will ask to borrow one of Victoria’s coaches to return me home. With luck, Arnold will not find out she’s gone until tomorrow at dinner, and by then she will be safe. I don’t care what he says to me, I will not tell him, and I will insist it was all my idea—as indeed it was.”
“I wish you could go, too, my lady, and escape the Gillinghams. I don’t like to think of you facing Arnold alone. He will be very angry.”
Lord, yes. She hid her shudder, speaking calmly.
“If my mother is gone, Arnold and Lara will not be able to threaten me with locking her up. They will pack up and return to Curzon Street. The sooner they are out of my house, and my life, the better,” Portia added in a low, angry voice.
“I agree, ma’am.” Hettie’s reply was heartfelt.
“Once they are gone, Hettie, I swear to you I will never have them back! Never again will I harbor treachery in my own house.”
They fell silent, each thinking their own thoughts. The coach was traveling along the quiet street that ran out of the square and was moving slowly, ready to take the turning into the mews, when suddenly there was a clatter of horses’ hooves and a loud shout. The vehicle lurched and came to a stop. Outside there were voices, and movement on the box where the driver was seated.
“What is it? Have we had an accident?” Portia said, trying to see out of the window.
The door was flung open and a masked intruder climbed up into the coach. The door closed behind him with a sinister thud.
For a brief moment the lamp illuminated him.
He wore black, every inch of him, only his eyes showing through the small square between the scarf tied about his mouth and nose, and the hat jammed on his head. Even so, there was something familiar about him. And then he leaned over and blew out the lamp and it was pitch-dark.
“Out. You. Servant,” he growled.
“Good God!” Portia sounded more angry than afraid. He was ruining their plans. “Do you know who I am?”
“I won’t leave my mistress,” Hettie burst out.