Now he thought of it, she was traveling with an entire household, staying at major inns, hiring carriages and private parlors-and she hadn’t even paused to consider the cost of putting up at Grillon’s. He’d be picking up the bill there, but she hadn’t known that, and still didn’t.
She was wealthy. But how?
“Did you and the others catch any of those men?”
Her question shook him out of his abstraction. “Yes.” They’d reached Berkeley Square. Halting, he glanced around, one comprehensive survey, then turned to her. “And as there appear to be no more following us, we’re going to take a detour.”
“Oh? To where?”
“The Bastion Club.”
Four
December 13
The Bastion Club, Montrose Street, London
The club wasn’t far. The hackney Del had hired halted outside a house in a street south of Hyde Park.
Standing on the pavement beside Del while he paid off the jarvey, Deliah owned to considerable curiosity over the strange “private gentlemen’s-cum-family” club she’d heard so much about. Number 12 Montrose Street was a solid house, not dissimilar to those flanking it. As they walked up the neatly paved path to the front porch, she could see nothing to distinguish it from any other gentleman’s residence.
The front door opened as they ascended the porch steps. A neat, rotund individual in the garb of a majordomo-somewhere between a butler’s regulation black tails and a gentleman’s gentleman’s less formal attire-stood waiting to greet them, a delighted smile on his kindly face.
“Colonel Delborough?”
“Indeed. And this is Miss Duncannon. I believe Torrington and Crowhurst are already here?”
“Indeed, sir. I am Gasthorpe.” He bowed them in, then took Del’s greatcoat. “If we may be of assistance at any time, sir, please do not hesitate to call upon me and the staff here.”
Deliah elected to keep her pelisse on. “Torrington and Crowhurst told us of this place.” While the underlying ambiance of the house was sparse and rather plainly severe, a vase of hothouse blooms rioted on the hall table, their color and freshness drawing the eye, softening the décor. There was a lace doily beneath the vase, and numerous other little touches that spoke of female, rather than only male. “I understand it was originally just for the gentlemen, but clearly that has changed.”
“Oh, yes, miss-we often have the ladies to stay these days. Once the gentlemen wed-indeed, even before, during their various adventures-we were called upon to accommodate their ladies.”
She was curious. “You don’t seem to mind.”
“I will admit I was initially trepidatious, but now we look forward to the families descending-quite keeps us on our toes.”
Deliah smiled. “I can imagine.”
“Torrington and Crowhurst?” Del inquired.
“Yes, sir. They’re awaiting you downstairs with the captured miscreants.” Beaming at Deliah, Gasthorpe gestured to the room to the right of the front door. “If you would care to wait in comfort in the parlor, miss, I will bring up a tea tray directly.”
Deliah glanced, once, at the room beyond the open door, then, brows rising, looked at Del. “I’m not in the mood for tea, but I do want to see these men. I’ll come with you.”
Del had hoped that Gasthorpe might manage to deflect her, but wasn’t truly surprised that he’d failed. Stifling a resigned sigh, he nodded. “Very well.” He’d long ago learned not to fight unnecessary skirmishes but to save his powder for the important battles. He looked at Gasthorpe. “Lead on.”
Gasthorpe looked uncertain, but he took his lead from Del and, without argument, turned and led them to a set of stairs at the back of the front hall.
Waving Deliah ahead of him, Del followed her down. The stairs led to spacious kitchens. Gasthorpe led them through and into a narrow corridor, off which several storerooms lay. He paused outside one. With his hand on the latch, he turned to them. “This is one of our holding rooms.”
As Gasthorpe opened the door, Del drew Deliah back and entered first. He halted just inside, then moved further in, allowing her to follow.
Deliah took in the occupants of the small room in one glance. Tony and Gervase sat with their backs to the door, on straight-backed chairs before a plain wooden table. On the other side of the table, three ruffians slouched on a bench. Hands tied before them, they propped against each other, shoulder to shoulder.
All three looked rather the worse for wear. Two sported blackening eyes. The other had a nasty bruise on his chin. All three looked uneasy, restless and uncertain.
Tony and Gervase glanced at Del and her as they entered; both started to rise, but she waved them back to their seats. She and Del remained standing behind them.
Subsiding and turning back to the table, Tony gestured to their captives. “We’ve been chatting with these gentlemen.” Despite the easy tenor of his words, there was a definite suggestion of steel beneath. “They don’t seem to know very much about anything, but we thought we’d wait for you before getting to specifics.”
Standing inside the now closed door, Deliah viewed the three ruffians and was glad of the three gentlemen between her and them. For all they were tied and clearly off-balance, they were hulking brutes with rough menace in their beady eyes-all of which had fixed on her.
Regardless, she felt perfectly safe. The three gentlemen were more than a counter to the louts; the menace that rolled off their elegant selves was of an infinitely more lethal variety.
And the louts knew it.
That the pecking order was established and recognized was immediately made clear. When Del asked who had hired them, the louts answered readily.
“Geezer came to our tavern-it’s in the East End. Said he were looking for men to grab a woman as was giving him trouble. He’d make it worth our while. All we had to do was grab her, and bring her to him tonight, and we’d get ten sovereigns.”
“Ten sovereigns?” Deliah was incensed. “That’s insulting!”
Del sent her a quelling look.
“How did you know which lady to grab?” Gervase asked.
The lout in the middle looked at Deliah. “He said she were tall, with dark red hair, a real looker-and she was staying at Grillon’s.”
Deliah crossed her arms. “What, exactly, were you supposed to do with me after you seized me?”
“He made it sound easy.” The lout on the left sniffed. “Didn’t say nuffin ’bout you havin’ guards. All we had to do was snatch you off the street, and being careful not to damage the goods, bring you to the tavern tonight. He said to sit in a corner, an’ keep you quiet ’til he arrived.”
Deliah was tempted to ask how they’d thought to keep her quiet.
“Describe this man,” Del said.
The louts grimaced, looked at each other. Then the one in the middle shrugged. “Nothing special about him. Could be anyone.”
“Not helpful,” Tony murmured, and the louts paled.
“How tall was he?” Deliah asked.
The louts looked at her. “Maybe an inch or so taller’n you, miss. Ma’am.” The middle lout glanced at Del. “Not so tall as the gentl’man.”
Deliah nodded. “What about his clothes?”
The lout grimaced. “Middling. Not one thing nor another.”
“He wasn’t a toff, that’s certain,” one of the others put in.
“Nay-he weren’ even a gentl’man, though he spoke well enough.”
“Describe the man’s hair,” Deliah said. “What color, and how was it cut?”
The louts looked at her, then one answered, “Brown hair, longish.”
Deliah glanced at Del. “Not the man in Southampton.”
“Nor the two at Windlesham.” Del looked at the ruffians. “Where’s this tavern?”