“Damnation,” he cursed beneath his breath. An argument with the moral police was the last thing he needed at present. “Miss Trimble, I haven’t time to—”
The woman cut him off by grabbing his coat sleeve and shaking his arm. “You must hurry, Mr Trent. I fear something dreadful has happened to Miss Vale. Something utterly dreadful.” She lowered her voice. “I fear someone kidnapped her.”
Kidnapped?
Shock rendered him speechless.
Sheer terror gripped his insides and squeezed.
“She climbed into a carriage, though from the pained look on her face, I suspect she was most unwilling.” Miss Trimble could barely catch her breath. “I commanded use of a hackney waiting in the square and followed as far as Drury Lane, but that’s where I lost her.”
“Drury Lane?” Clement’s Lane was but one street away. Bloody Layton! “Did you see who occupied the vehicle?” How he formed the words when plagued by panic, he would never know.
Miss Trimble shook her head. “I know you accused me of prying into people’s affairs, but every instinct tells me something is terribly amiss.”
“When was this?”
The lady glanced at the longcase clock in the lobby. “Thirty minutes ago. I have only just returned.”
With no time to waste, Lawrence grabbed Miss Trimble’s hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “Thank you. I think I know where Miss Vale is,” he said, trying to sound optimistic, “and will send her to see you upon our return.”
Without further ado, he dashed back to the hackney and barked instructions to take them to Clement’s Lane.
“Clement’s Lane?” Cavanagh frowned. “You think Layton or Bradley went there?” Surprise flashed in his eyes when Lawrence slammed the door, and the hackney jerked forward. “Where is Miss Vale?” His grave tone echoed Wycliff’s heavy frown and Lawrence’s own crippling trepidation.
He recounted his brief conversation with Miss Trimble. “I have every reason to believe Layton or Bradley lured her into the carriage.” The heavy weight of inadequacy hung in his chest. He should never have left her.
What good is the useless bastard?
His father’s cruel words rang in his ears.
“Failure to leave me a note at the hotel tells me his interest lies with Miss Vale, not me.”
But why?
Was it just a means to throw him off Layton’s trail?
A morbid silence clawed at the insides of the hackney as they hastened along the Strand. Each passing second felt like a day. But what if he was on a fool’s errand? What if he lost his only love, his one chance of happiness?
Fate was cruel, he knew.
“We need a plan.” Wycliff was just as logical in times of catastrophe. “If someone is holding Miss Vale in that house, you cannot kick down the door. Desperate men are even more unpredictable than crazed ones.”
Lawrence agreed. “At this time of day, the lane will be bustling.” Grocers and barrow boys, wild dogs and equally feral children, mingled with pickpockets and drunken sots. “Perhaps I might scale the wall into the yard, force the back door while you create a distraction.”
Wycliff pursed his lips, then nodded. “Cavanagh knows the house. He’ll come with me. We’ll send for a constable from the Holborn offices. Then I’ll pay the urchins to fight and cause a disturbance outside. You’ll know the best time to strike.”
“One of us shall wait in Clement’s Lane to ensure Layton doesn’t leave by the front door,” Cavanagh added. “Once the ruckus starts, one of us will follow you over the wall and into the yard.”
For a moment, Lawrence stared at his friends. Few men could boast of having such loyal companions. “I don’t think I have ever thanked you for your friendship. The last thirteen years would have been rather uneventful without you.”
Cavanagh chuckled. “Lord, you’ll have us blubbering like bluestockings at a book bonfire.”
Wycliff arched a brow in amusement. “The feeling is mutual, Trent, though I can only presume Miss Vale has played a part in softening your heart.”
He would have agreed, had the hackney not rattled to a halt for the umpteenth time in a matter of hours.
They alighted near St Clement’s Inn, hastened past the alms houses and along the grimy lane besieged by rats and flies and the foul stench of death. Lawrence ignored the sickening roil in his stomach. If he failed Verity now, he would throw himself in the blasted Thames.