Page 21 of To Claim the Long-Lost Lover
Nate sent his manservant out to buy them both something to eat, and sat down to write a letter to his father’s cousin, the one who had helped him arrange his wedding. Not that he expected a reply. Previous letters had gone unanswered. He’d have to find someone to make enquiries, but meanwhile it couldn’t hurt to write again—perhaps someone had been intercepting his letters to Arthur, as they must have done with those to Sarah.
The letter done and addressed, ready to be sent as soon as his manservant had time, he leant back in his chair to daydream about Sarah having his child.
* * *
Sarah stayed in her rooms when Nate came in the late afternoon to check on the boy Tony. Charlotte could attend the medical examination. Sarah was determined not to see Nate before the next day, as promised. Which meant a disturbed night, full of restless wondering, with steadily more unlikely scenarios floating in and out of her imagination and even more preposterous dreams when she managed to drift into a few minutes’ sleep.
As a result, she slept in, then ate her breakfast with her sister in their private sitting room. By ten minutes before the hour of her meeting with Nate, she was downstairs. She had chosen to wait, with Charlotte for company and as chaperone, in one of the reception rooms near the front door, the better to keep this meeting on a formal basis.
This part of the house was strangely quiet. Apart from a footman in the entrance hall, she and Charlotte seemed to be alone, and Charlotte was lost in her own thoughts. Given all her sister had had to say about the Marquis of Aldridge last night—some praise and quite a bit of criticism—Sarah was guessing the man was still very much on Charlotte’s mind.
Sarah’s thoughts wouldn’t settle. What could Nate—Lord Bentham—possibly have to say in his defence? Eleven o’clock came and went, with no Lord Bentham. He had let her down again. “He isn’t coming,” she said to Charlotte, after half an hour, then a commotion at the front door had her rising to her feet.
The door opened, and she braced herself to see him, but it was Drew who entered the room, and behind him she could see the entrance hall full of footmen and guards.
“What happened?” Charlotte asked. A good question. Drew, and the men behind him, looked as if they had been in a fight, or rolling in the mud, or... the reek of smoke gave her a clue... fighting a fire.
Sarah put her conclusion into words. “Where was the fire?”
“The Ashbury Clinic,” Drew replied. “Sarah, Bentham sends his apologies. He is helping Ruth and the resident doctor to settle the patients they had to move to the Ashbury townhouse, and is then going home to change and wash.”
“Was anyone hurt?” Charlotte asked.
Drew shook his head. “A few mild burns, some scratches. We got everyone out ahead of the fire. Put the fire out, too, though there’s extensive damage, especially in the ward upstairs. We still have a building, though.” He chuckled. “Aldridge caught some embers with his hair, and says his valet is probably going to resign.”
Charlotte paled. “But not... Just his hair, Drew? He is not otherwise hurt?”
Drew shrugged. “Nothing serious.”
“What were they all doing there?” Charlotte wondered. “Bentham and Ruth, I can understand, I suppose, though it seems an astonishing coincidence that they were available just when a fire started. But Aldridge?”
Drew shrugged. “Ruth was visiting, of course, as she does several times a week when she is in town. Just as well, too, for her guard were with her, and thought to send someone here for help. Ruth sent for Val, and Aldridge happened to be with him. Bentham turned up about the same time as I did. To check on a patient, he said.”
Val was the Earl of Ashbury, Ruth’s husband.
“I’m going to wash and change, cousins, if you will excuse me. There is more to the message from Bentham, Sarah. He apologises for missing his appointment. He says he will be here as soon as he can, and if you are not available this afternoon, he asks for a dance at the Farmington Ball this evening.”
“I have a meeting with the Theodora Foundation,” Sarah said. She checked the room’s clock. “And will need to leave here in an hour or so. I will send him a message.”
Drew rubbed a hand through his hair, looked at his hand, and shook his head. “My apologies, ladies, for coming to you in my dirt.” He bowed himself out, then put his head back around the door. “Take a double guard, Sarah. We think the clinic fire was arson.”
“My school!” Charlotte protested. “Excuse me, Sarah. I need to see if we can set a guard.”
10
Someone had attempted to torch the school, Charlotte told Sarah in the carriage that evening, but several of the resident boys caught the arsonist at it, and put out the fire before it could take hold. “I suspect they were skipping classes to smoke in the alley,” she said. “I would have asked, but I didn’t want to tempt them to lie.”
“So, who was it?” Sarah asked.
“That’s the bad news. They called the runners and they took him away. I sent one of our men to question him, and he was gone. A ‘gentleman’ came and vouched for him.”
“Bribes,” Sarah assumed.
“Probably. Yahzak says he will find out. And, he will find the ‘gentleman’. He has gone to talk to David Wakefield, Aldridge’s brother.”
“I spoke to Mrs Wakefield this afternoon,” Sarah commented. “You know the Theodora Foundation has safe houses in the slums? Alex Basingstoke tells me that three of them have been attacked. And Mrs Wakefield has heard of more, including two other ragged schools. That’s why I was late. We went to see the magistrates of all three London districts to warn them that someone is attacking charities that work with slum children and prostitutes.”
Charlotte asked the obvious question. “Is this revenge for taking Tony and the women out of the brothel?”
