‘Forgive me, sir. I did not know that we had company.’
‘Then you are not Mrs Perkins?’
‘She is my mother. I am Miss Perkins.’ The young woman held out her left hand, showing a slim gold band around her third finger. ‘But I will be Mrs Wallace in a year or two. Once my fiancé has his own living.’
Wick could not care less about the woman, or her fiancé. ‘I wish to speak to your mother about a serious matter. The man known to your village as Mr Brecks is truly Lord Barnabas Bracken, and he has abducted his cousin, Lady Louisa.’
She dropped the book in her hands. ‘Good saints!’
An older woman stepped through the open door. ‘What is this about Mr Brecks?’
The woman had the same brown hair, and a matching pair of spectacles, but there were lines around her eyes and mouth. She had to be Mrs Perkins.
‘I believe that a man named Mr Brecks keeps a cottage near Cookham for a...’could he say mistress in front of a vicar’s wife?‘...a kept woman. I also believe that it is where he has taken his cousin, Lady Louisa, after abducting her in a London park.’
Mrs Perkins gasped and brought her hands to her chin. ‘I always knew there was evil in that young man.’ She curtsied to Wick. ‘It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Cheswick.’
Wick didn’t have time to be toad-eaten. He cleared his throat. ‘Do you know where the cottage is?’
The vicar’s wife moved her hand from her chin to her neck. ‘Cross the bridge and head west for a mile. You’ll see a road. No, it is barely more than a path... The path will lead you another two miles until you reach a whitewashed cottage.’
Miss Perkins pushed her spectacles up her nose. ‘I had better come with you. It is already getting dark. You’ll never find the path on your own.’
Mrs Perkins nodded. ‘Yes, daughter.’
Wick thanked them both profusely, wishing that they could leave that very second.
The sound of horses caused him to look out through the front window. By some miracle, Mantheria’s carriage was in front of the vicarage.
‘I’ll grab my bonnet,’ Miss Perkins said, dashing from the room.
Wick walked out of the house and opened the door to see the carriage was being drawn by a fresh team of horses. He opened the carriage door and saw Mantheria, sitting in the middle of the seat, eating a sprig of grapes.
‘Would you like one? The innkeeper said I was looking peaky.’
Wick could only shake his head and turn back to the house as he heard Miss Perkins’s footsteps. Her bonnet was already tied securely around her neck and there was a shawl around her shoulders. The young woman was certainly efficient.
‘I shall ride with the driver,’ she informed him. ‘It will be impossible for me to see the way from inside the carriage.’
‘Very well.’
Wick helped Miss Perkins up to the driver’s perch and climbed into the carriage next to his sister. He opened the window so that he could hear the young woman’s brisk voice, giving instructions to the driver.
Somehow it seemed that the last couple of miles of their trip were taking as long as their entire journey to Cookham.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Belinda giggled loudly and Louisa stood up, covering her ears with her hands. She’d heard quite enough, and she had no intention of sitting in the cellar and waiting for Barnabas to fetch her in the morning. None of the Stringhams would sit and accept their fate. They would fight for what they wanted. And Louisa would too!
She’d found the stairs again. Once it was quiet above her, and she could be reasonably sure that it was night-time—it was impossible to tell in the dark—she would escape the cellar and make a run for it. Neither Barnabas, her aunt, nor her Uncle Rockingham were going to get another penny of her money. She was going to return to London. To her season. To the courtship she’d waited for her entire life. She wasn’t going to let her aunt, her uncle or her cousin take another dream from her.
Never again.
Listening to her cousin and Belinda eat was making her stomach grumble. Louisa ate two more carrots, but they did not taste as nice. Delicious smells were wafting from the kitchen. Trust her cousin to choose a mistress who was as good in the kitchen as in the bedroom. She heard the scraping of forks and knives, but not their conversation. She did not think it was a great loss.
Leaning her head against a stair, she waited until there were no more sounds in the house. Then, crawling up the wooden stairs, she held a hand in front of her face so that she wouldn’t hit her head on the cellar door. One more step up and she felt wood above her. Taking a deep breath, she pushed against the door. It didn’t move at all. It must be locked.
Louisa used both hands to feel around the door for a lock. The wood was rough, and she felt more than one splinter enter her fingertips, but she did not stop until she felt metal. Touching it with her sore fingers, she found the keyhole. Obviously she didn’t have a key. Or a weapon of any kind.