Page 68 of The Damsel
ROBERT NARROWEDhis eyes at the house in Berkeley Square from where he hid in the gap between two townhouses. He’d kept watch from his hiding place for the almost two days. He had not seen Cassandra enter or leave the house all this time, yet knew she was inside.
It had taken him almost an hour to work his way free of the bed curtain ropes, contorting his body and working at the knots with his teeth. Once free, he’d wasted no time pulling on his clothes and going after Cassandra. After wandering Grosvenor Square and the surrounding area for another hour, he’d kept an eye out for a tall, slender figure in a black cloak. He found none, his worry mounting with every second that passed without any sign of her. Returning to her hotel suite, he had waited until the sun began to rise. She’d been gone the entire night and had not returned for her things, which were still strewn about the room.
That could mean only one thing. Something terrible had happened to Cassandra at the hands of Downing. There was no time to waste. If she hadn’t been killed, she would be soon. The time for waiting and worrying was over. He had to act.
Resolved, he’d left The Pulteney Hotel after sending a messenger to Felix and his driver to remain at the inn he’d put them up in, and await further instruction.
He’d first paid a visit to Millicent, who he hoped would have information on where Sir Downing lived. Worried for her friend and desperate to help, she’d given him the address and offered to send Peter along for help.
Robert had declined, informing her that he did not plan to confront the man yet. He needed to watch his movements and determine whether anything happened that might offer a clue to Cassandra’s whereabouts.
During the night the house remained quiet, and Robert had to fight against the urge to collapse onto the ground and fall asleep. At sunrise, he’d been joined by Peter, who had offered him a hunk of bread and a bit of cheese to help him keep his strength up.
“Anything?” the footman had asked, inclining his head toward the townhome.
“Nothing yet,” Robert had said with a sigh.
Just then, the front door had opened and a man who was not Downing emerged. Robert had perked up, mouth falling open as the man trotted down the front steps and set off for some destination or other.
“Is that him?” Peter had asked.
“No,” he’d replied. “That is the Earl of Stratford.”
What he been doing in Sir Downing’s home all night? As far as Robert knew the two men weren’t the best of friends, and for him to remain for an extended visit while Downing was supposed to be in mourning …
Then, he remembered Cassandra’s story about how she’d become the Masked Menace. One of the men who’d raped and murdered Randall’s wife had been an earl.
“I think he’s Downing’s accomplice.”
“I’ll follow him,” Peter said, turning to give chase without waiting for Robert to respond.
With the footman tracking Stratford’s movements, Robert remained at his post, nibbling his bread and cheese and watching the front door as well as the path leading from the mews behind Downing’s home. No one else came or went from the house for the rest of the day. By the time Peter returned with another bite to eat, the sun had set once more.
“Where did Stratford go?” he asked between bites of a meat pie that was still warm.
The twisting of his stomach eased only a bit. It would never be completely calm until Cassandra was safe again. She was inside that house … he knew it.
“To his own home across the city. I went around to the servant’s entrance and flirted with a scullion, and she agreed to gather information for me.”
“Right. So, what did you learn?”
“Servants say the man ordered his things readied for an extended stay in Devon. He’s to leave tomorrow night.”
“Devon? Sir Downing has a country residence there.”
Peter nodded, his expression grave. “They’re leaving the city and taking her with them … where no one will ever know what’s been done to her. With Downing supposedly grieving, the timing will not seem suspicious.”
“We cannot allow them to take her anywhere,” he declared, his appetite gone. “If they take her out of Town, she’s dead.”
“Well, what will we do? We could break in and attempt to rescue her tonight, but—”
“We risk walking into a trap,” he finished for the footman. “Besides, Downing has loyal servants who would probably harm us to protect him. If we are injured or dead we can be of no help to her. It is too great a risk.”
“Then what else can we do? Whatever you need, I’m your man. My lady told me to see this through to the end, so I don’t rest until she’s safe.”
A plan had sprung to his mind then, as if planted there by a divine source. Without question, he knew exactly what needed to be done.
“I have an idea,” he said. “I’ll need you to retrieve my carriage, driver, and valet from an inn and bring them here.”
