Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Hertfordshire was not far from London. It was the country directly above it so Henry made it to his destination in less than a day. It was late afternoon when he arrived in his mother’s little village of Yearling. It was a quaint town with a single lane of shops and businesses with several narrow lanes leading off to the cottages occupied by Yearling’s residents. He wondered which one his mother had occupied when she was a girl.

Emilia had given him directions to follow so that he could find his way to what had been Vernon’s mother’s house. Margaret Shaw had been a dressmaker. She’d fitted and made Emilia’s first gown, the gown she wore to her first London ball as Miss Emilia Wentworth.

She lived in the first cottage on the left of the second lane. He kept repeating those instructions in his head. He rode past the shops and stores, he passed several curious villagers to come to the set of grassy roads that led up into the hills. Taking the second, he moved Prancer into a canter and rode him until he came to a series of little cottages. They were all the same in size and length with little stone retaining walls keeping their little vegetable gardens safe from the rabbits.

He dismounted Prancer at the first and tied his reins to the gate post. Henry took a deep breath before approaching what could be Margaret Shaw’s home. This time he knew what he was looking for. He could practically touch Celeste, he was that close. Mrs Shaw would have the information he needed, she just had to.

Three quick strides took him to Mrs Shaw’s door. He knocked twice and waited patiently for her to answer the door. A few minutes later, a woman of about sixty – five years old appeared before him. Her hair was completely silver and she was very small and plump. She wore spectacles on the end of her nose and a white, patched apron over the top of her checked, blue dress.

“Can I help you?” she asked, looking Henry up and down with a distasteful look on her face. “I’ve not the interest in donating any money to your cause, child.”

“I’m not here on behalf of a charity, ma’am,” Henry replied. “Do you perhaps remember a young girl who used to reside in this village – Emilia Wentworth?” He thought if he could invoke any fond memories, Mrs Shaw was more likely to allow him to attain the information he wanted.

Mrs Shaw’s cool, green eyes softened a little. “Yes, I do.” She nodded. “What about her? It’s been some years since I’ve seen her so I couldn’t tell you where she was.”

“She’s my mother,” Henry continued.

“Oh.” Mrs Shaw frowned. “I’d not heard that she had children. I’d only heard she’d been married off to an old Duke or Lord or something.”

“She was married to an Earl,” Henry confirmed. “But he passed away five years later. She remarried to my father, the current Earl of Ethridge, and has since had my elder four siblings and me.”

A small smile appeared on Mrs Shaw’s weathered face. “Oh, well I’m happy for her. She was a pretty, young thing. We all thought she could not be so attractive to marry into this community. She was meant for better things. Why do you come here, child?”

“Forgive me, my name is Henry Alcott. My mother gave me your address as I was hoping you could be of some assistance to me.”

“What do you want?” she asked. She had not offered to let him inside so Henry didn’t know if the story about his mother worked. She seemed quite suspicious for an old woman.

“I want some information regarding property your son, Vernon Shaw, owns.”

Mrs Shaw chuckled. Henry didn’t find anything amusing. “Vernon is not my son,” she said. “He was Margaret’s son.”

Henry paused. “You’re not Mrs Shaw?”

“Oh, no. Margaret died a decade ago.”

Henry’s hopes plummeted. Vernon’s mother was dead. How could that be? How could he have absolutely nothing now? Did Celeste not deserve to be rescued? “I needed to ask her something, to see if she had any records or deeds belonging to Vernon.”

“I’ve got several trunks of Margaret’s things upstairs if you wanted to look. I’ve just never gotten around to sorting through it. I’m Adelaide Green, Mrs Green. She was a friend of mine. Never much liked her boy, mind you, so you’d do best to steer clear of him. The only thing he seemed concerned about when she died was selling this house. My husband bought it from him so that our grandchildren would have somewhere to sleep when they came to visit. You can come in and look if you like.” Mrs Green opened the door wider so Henry could enter.

His hope was restored. There were trunks that hadn’t been touched. If Vernon had only been concerned with selling his mother’s house and hadn’t bothered to sort through her things there might be something he could have overlooked. He prayed there was something there to give him a lead.

The inside of Mrs Green’s house was quite neat and tidy. To his right was a small sitting room with two mismatching settees. He could smell Mr and Mrs Green’s dinner simmering away in a kitchen that was not visible to him. Directly in front of him was a narrow staircase.

“Second room on the right,” Mrs Green instructed. “I’ll be up in a few minutes to check on you.” She looked at him, again, quite suspiciously like she presumed he’d steal something. Had he not just told her he was the son of an Earl? He had no need to steal. He took the stairs two at a time and then came to a small landing that housed a few bedrooms. He opened the second door on the right and entered into a small bedroom. A little bed and wash table were the only furniture in the room. The rest of the floor space was taken up by neatly stacked trunks. The tatty cases were ancient and no doubt about to crumble. Henry had to start somewhere. Lifting the first trunk, he place it on the bed and opened it up. His heart sank a little when the contents were revealed to be tatty gowns. He’d opened two other trunks, each containing sewing supplies and a collection of books before Mrs Green entered the room carrying a tray with a steaming teapot, no doubt a ruse to keep an eye on him.

“Any luck?” she asked as she poured him a cup.

“No,” he replied, sounding quite frustrated. “Thank you,” he added, nodding towards the tea she’d placed on the wash table. He fished another trunk off the pile and then proceeded to open it. Inside was piles and piles of faded documents. “Wait.” He grabbed a selection at random and began sifting through them, tossing away letters and drawings, looking for anything that had Vernon’s name on it.

“What exactly do you want the deed for?” Mrs Green asked.

“I don’t want the deed, I just want a location and the deed can tell me that. Vernon has been holding an eight year old girl hostage for two years and I’m going to find her,” he said with determination.

“What?” Mrs Green gasped.

“Yes,” Henry confirmed as he grabbed another stack of papers. “The man is twisted. He uses the loved ones of his employees as motivation and takes their wages and their free will.” The memory of Vernon kissing Ebony filled his mind as he said that. The look on her face, the one that told him she could no longer fight, would be forever etched into his mind.

Mrs Green said nothing further. Henry presumed she was too shocked to speak.

He sifted through three more piles of papers before he finally found anything useful. It wasn’t a deed, but a purchase agreement. He’d drafted several of them himself whenever his father had decided to sell land or property he owned to new proprietors. It was a preliminary contract. “Here,” he said under his breath. There were three purchase agreements in the pile. One for a four hundred pound property in Norfolk. Another for a five hundred pound property in Lincolnshire and a three hundred pound property in Yorkshire. He had been told Celeste was always brought from the north and those three properties were north. He’d made a breakthrough. “I’ve found something. Do you mind if I keep these?” he asked Mrs Green, who sat motionlessly on the bed. He folded the three purchase agreements in half.

Mrs Green nodded. “If you put everything away,” she said quietly.

Henry tucked the papers inside his jacket and put the trunks back where he found them. He was beyond exited. He had three destinations. Celeste had to be at one of them. He hadn’t found any other records in the trunk regarding other properties. If she wasn’t there, and she was at a place he’d purchased since he’d kept his things at his mother’s house then he was lost. He couldn’t do anything further. He had to have faith that Celeste was close.

Henry sent immediate word to his mother about what he had learned. He also asked her to send word to whatever Paris opera house Ebony was in. He wasn’t sure of the name of it and if Vernon had come by to bid Emilia farewell then he’d most likely informed her. She also told her to alter her penmanship and address the letter to ‘Ellen Winterberry’. She wouldn’t question him. She knew how dire the situation was.

Henry set off immediately for Norfolk. He’d bought a carriage and a horse from the blacksmith so that Prancer could share the load. If he found Celeste he would much rather have her inside a carriage than riding on horseback with him. The carriage wasn’t anything special, just a simple, small four person one. He was driving for the first time though, something that he picked up quite quickly.

Several days later, after purposefully travelling around Suffolk, Henry arrived in Norfolk. Asking for directions, he travelled through many villages before he found the village in which Vernon’s building resided. He was utterly disappointed when he saw it. It was nothing but a one roomed tavern. There wasn’t even any room for an inn. He could not believe that Vernon had paid four hundred pounds for it! He didn’t even bother going in. Knowing his luck he’d wind up in another fight and in a cell for the night. So instead, he climbed back atop the carriage and set off in the direction of Vernon’s property in Lincolnshire.

After another few days of travelling Lincolnshire was upon him. But again the trip was a waste of time. Though he thought the textile factory might have been a front for a brothel but he was wrong. It was simply a textile factory and the workers were older women, not prostitutes.

After two disappointing trips, the trek to Yorkshire was rather grey. In the back of his mind was a comfortable bed and a generous meal at his grandmother’s if he failed yet again in Yorkshire. Yorkshire was a county he knew his way around as he’d spent each winter there since infancy. Travelling through every year he’d gotten to know the names of the villages, though without a layer of snow they looked very different. He did like the snow, in particular on the small English villages. It was quite picturesque.

The last of Vernon’s properties resided off the beaten track in a town just outside York in and amongst a collection of little factories. The seclusion of the place gave Henry a little more hope than the last two places he’d travelled to.

It was a plain, bricked building with few windows that were blacked out. There was no sign on the building indicating what was inside so he could only inquire.

He stepped off of the carriage and placed two pieces of wood behind the front wheel, stopping it from going anywhere should the horses spook. Henry hoped he would have luck. He needed some good news. The sooner he’d found little Celeste the sooner he could snatch Ebony from Vernon’s vile hands.

He knocked on the door of the building but nobody came. He tried his luck with it, and it was unlocked. The inside was dark and dreary – the blacked out windows saw to that. The doorways and arches were covered by thick, red curtains and the whole room was permeated with the scent of pipe smoke.

“Can I help you, handsome?” a Yorkshire accented female voice sounded behind him.

Henry spun around to see a scantily clad woman standing before him. She’d pulled aside one of the red curtains to reveal a staircase from where she’d come down, a staircase that no doubt led to rooms filled with many more girls just like her. She was a young girl, a pretty one. Her hair was very long, down to her hips, and the colour of fire. She wore a black corset and white petticoats but nothing else. To look at her made him wonder. She was a daughter and a sister and a friend. She was cared about at some point or another, what had happened to bring her here?

“Yes,” Henry replied. “But not in the way you might think.” He would never have a woman like this. He would feel as though it were utterly disrespectful. Though James had always teased him for his inexperience, James had always shared Henry’s opinion on paid women.

“We cater to all, sir,” the red haired woman said seductively. “Nothing is impossible.” She crossed the short distance between them and placed a pale hand on his arm.

Henry took a step back and the young woman seemed quite surprised. “Forgive me, Miss, but I come here asking for the whereabouts of a young girl. Her name is Miss Celeste Seaver. She is eight years old with blonde hair and blue eyes. She is small and she is being held by Mr Vernon Shaw.” He recounted Ebony’s description of her as best he could. And apparently it was good enough.

Her face dropped instantly. She knew her! “I’m afraid I can’t help you, sir,” she said formally, her seductive tone disappearing. “You should leave now.”

“No,” Henry said firmly. “You know her. I demand her whereabouts this instant. She is but a frightened child and she is to be put into my charge immediately.” His tone was like ice. He was not in the mood to be turned out, not now that he’d found her.

His tone seemed to unnerve the woman. She looked anxious. She looked about and then came as close as she could to Henry without the possibility of anyone hearing. “She’s upstairs in the attic,” she whispered, almost inaudibly. “We’re not to speak to her, or feed her or care for her in any way. Mrs Young, our mistress, has the key. She sweeps the floors when all the men have gone. She’s ill, sir, and frail. There’s nothing to her and Mrs Young makes sure she only has scraps because that’s what Mr Shaw demands. Mrs Young does whatever Mr Shaw tells her, whatever! You won’t get past Mrs Young, not on your lonesome.”

She was sick. She was frail. She did not eat. It seemed that he had arrived just in time. “Why should I not get past her?”

“Because she has men up there, men that guard all of us. Men that guard Celeste. Not on your own, you can’t.” She was distressed, she was genuinely afraid.

“I know just what to do,” Henry declared. “It is at times like these that one must call for the cavalry.”

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The cavalry meaning the hoard of big men in his family :D They'll fight their way through, don't you worry!

I got in the shower today and it was all good until I saw I still had my socks on. And I was like 'SERIOUSLY!?' :PPP And then, as I'm the only pale Australian you'll ever meet, I was fake tanning myself and forgot to wash my hands after so now they're all orange hahaha, hopefully they'll be less orange by the time I have to work. On the bright side I'm nice and brown now :)

Anyways, hope you liked it! Vote and comment :)