Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

It had been a day and a night before Bill Seaver appeared before Henry in his cell. Henry was sure the man was allowing Henry to sweat. The confines of a jail cell were much different to the stateroom he was used to at Ethridge. He had a sudden resurgence of respect for Alice, after all, she had endured much more than thirty – six hours in prison.

The portly man stood before him with crossed arms. His cheek and right eye were dark purple with the bruise that had formed where Henry had hit him. It looked awfully painful. Henry still maintained he deserved it though he’d never solved his problems with violence. He was an educated man and should have solved any misunderstanding with words. Women turned sensible men into irrational beings. He didn’t mind it though, he’d spend many a night in prison if it meant defending her honour.

Bill cleared his throat, indicating his displeased mood. “Warwick said you had a little proposal,” he grunted.

Henry had since learned that the lawman’s name was Warwick Turner. He had been married for fifteen years and had seven children. He’d married a Scandinavian woman named Anna and she drove him completely insane. He’d learned many other little facts about Mr Turner’s life. He was quite the talker once he got going.

“Yes,” Henry replied emotionlessly. “Mr Turner,” he said, alerting the lawman at his desk. “My effects, if you please.”

Mr Turner sniffed and cleaned his face from the sandwich he’d brought for lunch from his face. “Yes, yes,” he mumbled before opening a drawer in his desk. He pulled out Henry’s money pouch and the contents from his pockets including his pocket watch. He carried them over to the cell and handed them to Henry.

Henry loosened the draw strings on his money pouch and pulled out five pounds from inside. “I am to understand that any disagreement we have had will be forgotten,” Henry said, holding out the money from between the bars.

Bill merely nodded before snatching the money from Henry’s hands. He pocketed it quickly and tapped it a few times as if to check that it was still there. “You said you were here on behalf of Ebony,” he murmured. “Was that true?”

“Yes,” Henry replied. “I’m to find Celeste for her. You are quite sure she is in the north?”

“I told you so, didn’t I?” Bill sneered. “Is she really singing?” he asked, getting back to his point. “She was quite good as a girl.” He sounded a little regretful. Perhaps Henry’s strike had knocked some sense into him. Henry would never believe him a fit parent, but he could hope that he might feel some sort of paternal love for his children.

‘Good’ was not an appropriate adjective. She was much more that ‘good’. “Yes,” he answered. “She is singing on stage in London. Her magnificent soprano is the talk of the town.” Her soprano and her beauty.

“I s’pose she got what she wanted then.” He sighed. “To get out of here. Her mother would have been proud.” There was a look of tenderness on his bruised face that let Henry know that Bill truly did care for his late wife. “Let him out, Warwick,” he instructed.

Mr Turner came over to the cell with a set of iron keys and unlocked the door, allowing Henry to exit.

“I hope you find Celeste. Ebony always loved her best.” With that Bill took his leave and exited the jail.

Mr Turner returned Henry’s belongings to him. Henry refilled his pockets. “I wish you luck, Mr Alcott, on your endeavour. I hope never to see you under these circumstances again.” The two men shook hands and Henry was free to go.

He appreciated the freedom incredibly as he walked back into the village so that he might collect his horse. He’d left him tied up outside the tavern but Mr Turner had informed him that the stallion had been boarded at the blacksmith’s and he would have to pay a fee come collection.

The blacksmith was outside his shop beating heavily at a piece of metal on an anvil. Henry was not yet sure of what it would become. The man looked to be about forty. His skin was blackened by the soot and smoke and his work clothes were incredibly dirty. Henry couldn’t exactly talk. His own clothes were crumpled and no doubt smelling of the cell he’d been residing in. What he would do for a bath.

“Good day, sir,” Henry said politely. “I believe my horse is here. A chestnut stallion. I do hope you know the one I am referring to.”

“Of course I do,” the blacksmith replied. “Finest specimen I’ve ever seen. A thoroughbred. Never see the likes of those creatures around here.” He disappeared from the front of the shop and returned a few minutes later, coming around the back leading the stallion on a rope. He looked freshly groomed. “I’ve replaced his shoes. You were lucky when I did. There was a stone. He would have gone lame.” He ran his hand down the horse’s nose. “What’s his name?”

Henry didn’t actually know. His family’s horses were used for leading carriages. They were not usually ridden. He was sure he had a name, given to him by the stable hand that Ethridge kept. He and the horse would be spending some time together so, it would be nice for him to have a name for the duration of the journey. “Prancer,” he replied, the name coming off of the top of his head. Horses could prance, couldn’t they?

“You’ll be a good boy, won’t you, Prancer?” the blacksmith said affectionately. He clearly had a soft spot for the creatures. “I think a shilling should fix the bill, sir.”

Henry fished a shilling from his pouch and paid the man. He accepted Prancer’s reins and then mounted him. “Good day, and thank you, sir,” Henry said gratefully before nudging at Prancer’s sides and moving him into a trot. Many London boys were not afforded the opportunity to master riding but he had been fortunate to have family with vast gardens. His aunt and uncle, and particularly Sabine, showed him how wonderful the animal was and he enjoyed many trail rides on extended holidays with his family during his childhood.

He would travel to Lord Pembroke’s residence on the hill. He would ask for Lord Pembroke’s assistance on tracking Celeste. In his letter he has mentioned not knowing Vernon Shaw but he might have noticed when Celeste had come back into town with a man. He needed a lead. He needed anything. He had been gone over a week which left less than three weeks before the opera moved on to Paris. He was running out of time and had achieved nothing more than his first prison experience.

The Tudor mansion grew more magnificent upon approach. It was twice as long as it was and stood three stories high. She loved the historical style of the building with the white exterior and dark wood decoration. Modern buildings were being erected in London and Tudor was a forgotten era.

He envied Lord Pembroke of one thing though. The space. Looking around he could see for miles. Several villages dotted the countryside which was no doubt all owned by Lord Pembroke. He loved Ethridge and London, but to raise children with such space would be truly incredible.

Attendants came out of Lord Pembroke’s residence before Henry had even arrived at the door. They did not rush to aid him though as his appearance did not tell them that he was a gentleman’s son.

“Can we help you, sir?” the man, who appeared to be the first footman, asked.

“Yes, I would like an audience with Lord Pembroke, if you please.”

“And who may we tell him is visiting?” the second footman asked.

“The Honourable Henry Alcott, second son of Lord Sebastian Alcott, Earl of Ethridge,” he replied, dismounting Prancer. He was used to giving that description of himself, as he so often had to at functions his family attended. He handed the reins to the second footman.

“Follow me, please, sir,” the first footman instructed.

Henry was led inside the Tudor manor. It was just as grand on the inside as it was on the outside. The floor was polished marble and the furnishings in the foyer oozed grandeur. Fancy paintings and sculptures littered the floor and walls but not so much that it looked crowded. A grand staircase dominated the centre of the foyer though, twisting up towards the top floors. Henry felt as though if he said anything it would echo.

And older man in crisp livery emerged from one of the rooms off the foyer. He reminded him immensely of Mr Carter.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said formally. “Forgive me, we are not expecting any visitors.”

“It was not planned, sir,” Henry replied. “But it is of the upmost importance that I have an audience with your master.”

“His name is Henry Alcott, Mr Wright,” the first footman said. “He’s the son of an Earl.”

“Very good, sir,” Mr Wright said. “I shall fetch the master for you immediately. Thomas, perhaps you’d like to show our guest to the drawing room and fetch him some tea?” he suggested.

“Right away, Mr Wright,” Thomas nodded. “This way, sir.” Thomas led Henry around the staircase to the long, dark corridor behind it. It was so dull as the walls were made of dark oak. There were candlesticks on the walls that would illuminate it at night but there was no such luck during the day.

He came to a door and opened it for Henry. His eyes widened. Their drawing room was twice the size of the drawing room at Ethridge. The first part of the room was the sitting area. There were three large settees that were upholstered in deep red velvet. A table sat in the middle which was dressed with simply a silver tray. Behind the sitting area was a large pianoforte that was highlighted by the light streaming in from the large windows. The pianoforte looked awfully expensive. He missed having music played in the house. His sisters could all play. Kitty and Annie were mediocre but Little J was very skilled. Now their own pianoforte stood idly and unplayed as neither Alice nor Emilia could play.

He took a seat on the first of the settees and checked the time on his pocket watch. It had just gone one o’clock. He rehearsed in his mind what he was going to ask Lord Pembroke.

Did he recall a young girl travelling with a man through town, one or two times annually? Did he recall which way they went after the left? Did he recall any towns or counties mentioned in regards to where they had come from?

He was the proprietor of the land so he had to have heard gossip over the years of strange visitors.

He was waiting for ten minutes before a footman entered with a tray of tea. Henry thanked him and poured himself a cup. Five minutes later a regally dressed man entered the drawing room.

He was about the age of his father, though his age was showing a little more on his skin and by the silver in his brown hair. His blue eyes, however seemed lively and his smile was warm and inviting. “I recognised the name instantly. You are Daniel’s nephew, are you not? The young man who wrote to me?”

“The very same,” Henry confirmed.

“Excellent, excellent,” Lord Pembroke said cheerfully.

“It is very good of you to see me, Lord Pembroke. I hope I am not detaining you from anything important.”

Lord Pembroke shook his head. “Absolutely not. I had just finished a meeting with my solicitor so I am free. I was not expecting your visit. You have come a long way from London.”

“Yes.” Henry nodded. “I am not here for mere pleasure though, unfortunately I am here on a rather morbid matter.”

“Good heavens, boy, what is it?” Lord Pembroke asked.

“Do you remember the two girls I mentioned in my letter?” he asked. “Ebony and Celeste Seaver?” he prompted.

“Of course.” Lord Pembroke nodded.

“Upon receiving your letter I investigated further and I have discovered serious wrongdoings. When they left here, their father was paid for the girls so that they were put into the hands of a Vernon Shaw – I mentioned him. Since learning this I have discovered the hideous nature of Mr Shaw. He is a violent and cruel man who manipulates those around him. In order to free Ebony from him, I must find Celeste, though Mr Shaw is keeping her hidden.”

“My boy, that is positively awful,” Lord Pembroke remarked. “I am terribly sorry to hear this but I am unsure I what I could do to help you.”

“I learned from Mr Seaver that Mr Shaw has brought Celeste back into town several times. Did you know of this?” Henry asked.

The Earl shook his head. “I’m sorry, no,” he replied. “I do not converse much with the villagers.” That was obvious due to the state of some of the businesses. Perhaps Henry was foolish to have expected anything useful from the Earl. “Do you know of where he is keeping young Celeste?”

“All I know is that he is keeping her at a brothel he owns. That is part of the threat he holds over Ebony’s head. If she disobeys him, Celeste is put to work.” The thought continually haunted Henry. A man ought to be sick in the head to ever pay for a child.

Lord Pembroke looked utterly shocked. “That is disgusting.” He grimaced. “I am sorry I have nothing to offer you in the way of finding Celeste. It seems to me, however, that you are going about this search the wrong way.”

“How so?”

“You are searching for this Mr Shaw, correct?” Lord Pembroke checked.

Henry nodded.

“Then why are you tracking Celeste? Surely you would have better luck tracking the man himself. There has to be records of his property deeds somewhere. Even his family, you might be able to learn where he comes from and start there.”

Henry’s stupidity dawned on him. He was in Suffolk chasing the trail of an eight year old girl when he had a source on the fiend himself right in his own home. His mother had grown up with Vernon. She would know his mother and father and the town in which they grew up. He would find information there. “Thank you, Lord Pembroke,” Henry said gratefully. “That is a brilliant idea. I shall return to London directly.” He immediately stood and bowed his head to the Earl.

“Hold on, young man,” Lord Pembroke said firmly. “I shall insist upon you staying the night. “You only have a few hours of good light left before you will need to find lodgings for the night. I insist upon you staying the night here. Dine with my family and we shall provide you with fresh clothes and a bath. I told you that your uncle is a dear friend of mine which in turn makes you a friend.”

Henry knew he was right. It would be dark out before he knew it. The sensible thing would be to start out in the morning. “I would appreciate that, Lord Pembroke,” he said sincerely.

“Marvellous,” he replied happily. “We shall have a stateroom made up immediately. Hello there!” he called out. The door opened immediately and Thomas walked in.

“Yes, milord.”

“Mr Alcott is dining with us tonight, and he will need a stateroom and a bath immediately. And please provide him with one of Master George’s suits,” he instructed. “My son is away at school so he won’t mind at all. I’m afraid you will dine with a house full of women this evening. My wife, Frances, and I have five daughters after George.”

“It is quite alright, Lord Pembroke. I have three sisters and a sister – in – law, I am used to a houseful of women.”

An hour later Henry was freshly bathed and dressed in a fine suit that belonged to Lord Pembroke’s eldest son. The coat was a little snug around Henry’s shoulders which showed that his son was still a teenager. Henry’s shoulders had broadened in adulthood. It was no matter, he had a coat in the satchel he had brought so just as soon as he was leaving he would change it.

Before he did anything else, Henry decided he would write to Ebony, allowing her to know his next move. He sat down at the desk provided for him in the room and found parchment and ink in a drawer. Dipping his quill, he began to write.

Dear Ebony,

I am writing to you from Suffolk, at the residence of Lord Pembroke. I came here to speak to your step-father to see if he knew anything about where Celeste had gone. From him I learned that she has returned a few times with Mr Shaw. I then learned that whenever they arrived they came from the north. Celeste is being kept somewhere in the north of England. This may not seem like useful information but it narrows down the buildings I have to find.

I am returning to London to learn of where Mr Shaw was raised so that I might speak to his family. I will be looking for property deeds. From these I will find the places he owns in the north and I shall search each one until I find Celeste.

I know I promised that I would have her before you left for Paris but if I do not then I shall try my hardest to find her in the shortest amount of time after that.

In this letter I am inclosing money just in case you move onto Paris before I find Celeste. It is for ship passage. Keep it safe, do not let Mr Shaw find it.

But more importantly keep yourself safe. It sickens me to think of what he is doing to you. I wish I could stop it. Believe me I would but the threat of Celeste hangs over both our heads. Just as soon as she is found you shall be free and he nor anyone will ever harm you again. You have my word on that.

Your faithful friend,

Henry Alcott.

Henry sealed the letter in an envelope and enclosed enough money for passage to England. He then addressed the letter to Ellen, and signed it from Peter as not to alarm Vernon when he received the opera house’s mail. How he longed to see her, to know if she was alright. The thought of Vernon violating her over and over made him so incredibly angry. Given the opportunity Henry had no idea what he would do. He felt an overwhelming urge to protect Ebony. To hold her, comfort her and care for her. He knew that was what happened when one fell for a woman.

He decided then to write another letter, this time to his mother, alerting her of his impending return. With both letters in hand, he exited the fine stateroom and found a maid in the halls.

“Excuse me,” he said, stopping her.

The young maid stopped in her tracks and looked at him. “Yes, sir?”

He held out the two letters. “Could you possibly see that these get mailed?” he asked politely.

The maid took the letters and nodded. “Of course, sir. Will there be anything else?”

“No, no, thank you,” he said gratefully. The maid curtseyed and continued on her way.

Before Henry could do anything else, a sweet voice sounded. “Hello,” she said.

The voice was behind him. He turned around to see a pretty, young woman standing before him in a stunningly expensive blue, silk gown. She could not have been older than sixteen, seventeen at most. Her hair was golden, a similar colour to his mother’s and her eyes were the same happy blue as her father’s. She was obviously one of his five daughters.

“Hello,” he replied. What astounded him was that his nervous apprehensions were nowhere to be felt as he spoke. Ordinarily when talking to a woman his stomach would be in knots and he would have sweat beads running down his forehead but with her, nothing. “I’m Henry Alcott,” he introduced himself.

“Rosamund Dagwood,” she replied with a smile. “I’m to understand you’re the son of an Earl, Mr Alcott?”

“Yes, Lady Rosamund.” He nodded. “The Earl of Ethridge.”

“And where does he sit?”

“London.”

“How wonderful.” She smiled. “I have never been. I am excited though, as I shall have my first season there this summer. Is the city as marvellous as everyone says?”

Henry deduced that she was seventeen. “The city is home to me, so I know all her secrets. But to visitors she holds a remarkable amount of wonder. May I suggest a turn about Hyde Park when you are there? It is a recreational favourite of my family’s.” His speech came fluently with no stammering whatsoever. Perhaps it was because, though he could appreciate Rosamund was very pretty, he did not feel any romantic attraction to her. He could still feel his stomach knotting when he thought of Ebony though. It was true. Women ceased to be attractive when one had a certain lady in their hearts. He liked it. He liked knowing that Ebony could well be the right one for him.

“Perhaps you could show me it when I am there, Mr Alcott. It will be good going into my season having already made an acquaintance.” Rosamund flashed him a smile, one that he supposed she often used to get her way. She struck him as a very confident, self-assured girl – a less boisterous version of Kitty, perhaps.

“Forgive me, Lady Rosamund, but I am …” What was he indeed? He wasn’t attached exactly, but he wanted to be. Ebony had said ‘yes’ to his awkward question, giving him the impression that there would one day be an understanding between them.

“Otherwise engaged?” Rosamund asked, raising her eyebrows. “That’s alright. I should expect a handsome man like you to have the young ladies trailing after him.”

Henry’s eyebrows rose for two reasons. The first being that did her parents realise she spoke so brazenly. And the second being that he’d never actually been called handsome to his face by a woman other than his mother. James was the handsome one. Henry was the awkward, quiet one.

But he liked how Rosamund put it. He was otherwise engaged. Or at least he wanted be.

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Sorry about the wait, guys! I have been crazy busy this week. I've been doing all the paper work for buying a car. You'd think you'd just be able to hand over the money and go but noooooo, so much stuff. I think I signed my name 2000 times :P But I oficially own a car now and I brought her home today :) Her name is Bluebell because she's blue. My mum's care is called Daisy so I think we have a flower theme going :P I also had NO idea how much insurance cost for a P plater. In Australia when you get your licence it's called a 'probationary licence' so you have to have a red 'P' in your windows for a year and then a green 'P' for two years after that to let people know you're a new driver. After that you have a full licence but insurance companies are mean to young people. Stupid people :P

I was going to write this tomorrow but I was watching Pride & Prejudice which is my favourite movie and I just got the writing bug so I got this written. Gosh, Jane Austen just knew how to speak to women in a way that men will never understand. I will forever regard her as my favourite author and the inspiration for this series :)

Anyways, vote and comment!