As the door shut behind the retreating innkeeper, Gervase turned to see her wiping her fingers on her napkin. “No need to rush—we’ll be on our way soon enough.”
Laying the napkin aside, she frowned. “How will we proceed when we reach London?” Her head felt clearer—clear enough to ask a question she hadn’t, until then, spared much thought for; she’d been focused on catching up with the carriage and Ben before town.
Gervase had given the matter long and considerable thought. “We’ll go to the Bastion Club.”
She frowned. “I thought it was a gentlemen’s club.”
“It is—or was. But of our seven members, five are now wed, and other than me, no one actually stays there anymore. Christian Allardyce, the other yet to marry, has his own house in town. He only uses the club as a bolt-hole—a place to hide from his female relatives and others who want to hound him.”
“Oh.” Her expression suggested she was intrigued—intrigued enough to fall in with his plan. “So we can go there, and…?”
“Using the club as a base, I’ll organize a search for Ben. I’ll call on whoever’s in London—Christian’s there, I know. I’m not sure about Trentham—or Dalziel.”
“Your ex-commander?”
He nodded. “He has…abilities, facilities, minions we can only guess at that he can mobilize.” Pushing back his chair, he rose.
She frowned; giving him her hand, she let him draw her to her feet. “But will he? Dalziel, I mean. After all, he doesn’t know me or Ben from Adam.”
“That won’t matter to him. It’s the need he’ll respond to—a young boy abducted in these circumstances, then abandoned in London.” He felt his jaw, his face, start to set in stony lines; he tried for impassive instead. “He’ll help—he won’t need to be asked twice.”
She seemed to accept that. He led her to the door. Pausing before it, he met her eyes. “Ready to go on?”
Lifting her chin, she nodded, every inch his Valkyrie. “Let’s get back on the road.”
They rolled into London in the predawn. The sky had barely lightened from the night’s black velvet, the eastern horizon a pale stripe of dark gray pearl. They hadn’t pressed the horses but had made good time; it was between three and four o’clock, the hour in which no one stirred, honest man or villain. The streets were silent as their horses, tired but still game, plodded on.
Madeline sat forward looking out at the sky. Gervase studied her profile, knew she was thinking of Ben, wondering where he was, how he was, whether he was well. Finding Ben; his entire personal focus had drawn in to just that—nothing else rated, not until he had Ben back in Madeline’s arms.
He’d given the coachman directions several times. When the carriage turned into Montrose Place, he leaned out and called softly, “Number twelve—the green gate ahead on the left.”
The coachman drew rein; the carriage slowed, then rocked to a halt immediately before the gate.
Opening the carriage door, Gervase stepped down to the pavement. The house, like all the other houses in the street, stood in darkness. He turned back to Madeline, leaning forward to peer through the door at the shadowy outline beyond the stone wall. “Wait here. I’ll go and rouse them.”
He’d arrived at the club in the dead of night on a number of occasions, so it was no surprise to find his confident knock answered within minutes by a sleep-rumpled Gasthorpe dragging on his coat. What always amused Gervase was that the portly ex-sergeant-major, now majordomo, seemed able to scramble into his clothes and look passably neat in just those few minutes.
“My lord!” A smile lighting his face, Gasthorpe beamed and swung the door wide. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you back.”
“Thank you, Gasthorpe, but I’m not alone. I have a lady with me—the Honorable Miss Madeline Gascoigne—and we’ll need to use the club as our base.” Gervase met Gasthorpe’s widening eyes. “Miss Gascoigne’s young brother has been kidnapped. We chased the blackguard’s carriage to London, but couldn’t catch it—we’ll need to organize a search come first light.”
At the first sign of trouble, Gasthorpe’s eyes had lit. “Naturally, my lord.” Glancing out into the night, noting the carriage at the curb, he drew himself up. “If you’ll conduct the lady indoors, I’ll have a chamber—the larger one to the left of the stairs—ready momentarily.”
Gervase nodded, relieved he could rely on Gasthorpe’s abilities and his discretion. He turned to the street, then recalled…and turned back to Gasthorpe. “We had to set out on our chase unexpectedly from Helston. We’ve no luggage, no clothes bar those on our backs.” He grimaced. “And we’ve been on the road more or less continuously since the evening of the day before yesterday. We’ll also need to house the coachmen—there’s two of them—for as long as we stay. I suspect we’ll need to race back to Cornwall at some point, and they’re excellent whips.”
Gasthorpe drew himself up. “Leave everything to me, my lord. We’ve been rather quiet of late—it’s a pleasure to see action again.”
In spite of the hour, despite the situation, Gervase grinned; he knew what Gasthorpe meant. Stepping off the porch, he said, “Incidentally, Lostwithiel sends his regards. I’ve left him and his lady holding the fort at Crowhurst.”
“Very kind of the earl—I hope we’ll see him, and his lady, here one day soon.”
Gervase’s grin grew wider. “I’ll tell him.” They truly would have to rethink their use of the club, or Gasthorpe and his helpers would run mad. None were the usual sort of staff; inactivity didn’t suit them.
Returning to the carriage, he helped Madeline to the pavement; she glanced around while he gave the tired coachmen directions to the mews behind the house, then she let him twine her arm in his and lead her up the path to the door.
“Your butler’s going to be shocked to his back teeth.”
He chuckled. “We don’t have a regular staff. Gasthorpe acts as majordomo. He was a sergeant-major during the wars, and you may believe me when I say that I’ve yet to see him at a loss regardless of the many and varied—and sometimes quite startling—demands we’ve all at one time or another made of him.” He looked ahead to where the hall was now aglow with warm candlelight; beyond he could hear the rapid-fire thump of feet as footmen ran up the stairs, rushing to do Gasthorpe’s bidding. “If you doubt me, just watch how he handles this.”