A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(44)
He would not even have to buy a horse and cart now. There was one elderly horse, and an even more modest carriage than Abernathy had used at the house. He could send for it now, if he chose, claiming he needed it to go to the funeral, and would keep it for his convenience. All perfectly proper, and it would allow Abernathy to dismiss the stablehand along with the rest of the servants, and would not leave him trying to be rid of a horse only useful for occasional service.
Perfect. It could not have been more perfect. All that was needed was for Alf to return with stabling arrangements, and everything would be set in motion. He went to the study to write out that note to Abernathy about the horse and carriage. Alf could take it over when he returned, get the stableman to drive it to the stabling, and with any luck the entire issue would be taken care of tonight.
An old coat, a coachman’s hat, and no one will look twice at me.
No, this could not possibly be coincidence. He repressed the urge to dance with glee. If this was how his life was going to be conducted from now on, well. . . .
. . . that thing in the basement can have anything it likes!
After consultation and scouting, Alexandre and Alf had decided on West Ham as their initial hunting grounds. At sundown, dusk, and twilight, the streets still had some people on them, but not many. It was a part of London where most people were prosperous enough to rent entire homes, but generally not prosperous enough to have servants. The folk who lived in West Ham were well off enough that they had the freedom to be concerned about their daughters’ virtue—rather than scolding her for losing her position because she wouldn’t let her master do as he pleased with her. And the area was well off enough that the streets were considered safe. Girls were not afraid when strangers spoke to them.
So it was trivial for Alexandre, in his disguise as an elderly coachman, to drive his old horse alongside a girl who looked to be about fourteen and call to her from the box, in an ingratiating voice, “Miss . . . could you tell me how to get to 124 Portway Road? This isn’t my part of London and I’m fair lost, I am.”
And despite the fact that in the gathering gloom between the streetlamps you couldn’t see across the street, the girl quite trustingly came right up to him to tell him the directions. Alexandre knew she would be perfect as soon as he laid eyes on her. She was a pretty little thing, in a black and white dress, white stockings, black boots, and a little black coat and wool hat with brown curls escaping out from underneath it. Just as neat and clean as you could wish. It was clear her parents thought a great deal of her. “I’d be happy to,” she said, smiling up at him. “It’s no trouble at all.”
Which was when Alf crept up to her from behind the coach, clapped that chloroform-laden sponge over her mouth and nose and had her inside the coach and on the floor before she even had an inkling there was a second person behind her.
Alexandre started the coach moving as soon as Alf got the door shut, to cover any sounds that might be coming from inside it, and any swaying the girl’s struggles might cause. But he really needn’t have worried. Alf, it seemed, was very good at this. I wonder if he did a bit of abduction for his previous master? It wouldn’t have surprised him. There had been rumors . . . and Alexandre never had found out why the police were interested in him.
The double thud on the coach roof that told him Alf had the girl secure, silent, and probably sleeping was the signal for him to take the next two turns to head back to Battersea. It had all gone so smoothly that he was very careful to keep the horse to an amble so as not to attract any interest. And he was careful not to tempt fate by thinking they had this job locked up and finished. It wouldn’t be finished until the entity in the basement said “offering acceptable” and turned one of the two girls they needed to snatch back over to them. Actually, it wouldn’t be finished until they figured out what to do with that second girl, and got her safely away from them.
And they would have called it a good night’s hunting, except that on the way home, they spotted a girl sitting on the curb beneath a streetlamp and crying. This one was dressed like a servant, in a plain, dark dress and white apron, with nothing but a shawl pinned around her shoulders for warmth, and had a tatty old carpetbag and a scarf done up around a bundle next to her. Her tale was as plain to read as if it had been written out; she was a servant who had done something wrong, or at least something her employer didn’t like. Hopefully, it wasn’t being caught in bed with another servant or the master’s son. She’d been turned out on the spot, with no references, and she was either afraid to go home and confess she’d lost her place, or she had no home to go to. If the first girl matched the description of someone who would be missed . . . well this one was clearly someone who wouldn’t be. At least, not for a good long while. And there was absolutely no one in sight, on either side of the street, for as far as Alexandre could see in either direction. Even the building she sat in front of was dark; either no one was home, they were early sleepers, or it was vacant. Alexandre gave the triple rap on the roof of the coach that signaled to Alf that he had spotted another target.
Alf must have been astonished, but Alf never stayed surprised for long. As Alexandre stopped the coach right at the girl’s feet, and she gaped up at him in shock and surprise, Alf already had the door open and was leaning out. She had no time to react before he had her. This time he clapped his hand around his victim’s mouth to prevent her screaming, and dragged her, kicking and thrashing inside. There was some bumping about until he overpowered her, then silence—presumably as he applied the chloroformed sponge. Meanwhile Alexandre had leapt down off the box, picked up the girl’s belongings, and tossed them inside the coach with Alf and his captives. Then he was back up on the box and urging the horse forward, taking a quick glance all around to make sure that no one had spotted them. The street was still deserted, and there was no sign of life in the house.