Page 60 of With Good Grace
As though Olivia could forget. A slow, burning anger replaced her anxiety for Tom as she sent Molly a censorious look of disappointment and unmitigated dislike. Jake would insist upon tracking Hubert down but when this was over Molly would be Olivia’s exclusive property; on that point she was fiercely determined. She rummaged around in the drawers of Jake’s desk, feeling like a trespasser, and came up with a thin file of correspondence that related to crop rotation on his country estate. She tucked it under her arm, hoping Molly would not ask to see it. The girl could read and, as she kept pointing out, was not stupid.
‘I’ll take them,’ she said, stretching out a hand.
‘I don’t think so,’ Olivia replied, emphasising her upper class accent. ‘I will hand them to Hubert only when he returns my son to me.’
Something in the set to Olivia’s features, together with the sound of approaching footsteps, prevented Molly from arguing, or at least asking to see proof that they were the letters in question. Perhaps she was not quite so clever after all. Molly had not, Olivia realised, shown any surprise at the mention of Hubert’s name, clarifying beyond further doubt that it was he who had Tom and had indeed planted a besotted Molly in her household as his spy.
‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Back up the stairs before we are seen.’
Olivia tried to make as much noise as she could but the two housemaids whose footsteps had disturbed them were deep in conversation. The bustled through the vestibule, heads together, and their laughter masked all sound.
Resigned, Olivia returned to her room and changed out of her gown, careful to keep the file of supposed letters out of Molly’s reach. Her treacherous maid watched her with an amused glint in her eye, but made no effort to help her. She picked up one or two of Olivia’s possessions and pocketed something. Olivia did not see what; nor did she much care. She slid into her fencing clothing; breeches a loose shirt and jerkin, and pulled a cloak on over it all. The files of letters she slid securely inside the jerkin. Molly didn’t notice her slip a hatpin into the folds of her cloak; the only weapon at her disposal but one, she had good reason to know, that could be very effective when strategically deployed.
‘I am ready,’ Olivia said haughtily. ‘Take me to my son.’
Molly led the way along the silent corridor and opened the door to the servants’ staircase, hidden in the wainscoting at the end of a second passageway. She listened for a moment and then beckoned Olivia forward, forcing her to lead the way. To Olivia’s intense disappointment they met no one on the stairs, and when they reached the bottom of them they managed to slip through the side door without being accosted.
‘It’s easy to get out of this house undetected,’ Molly boasted as they made their way through the grounds and out through the pedestrian gate that was kept locked from the inside with the key in place. ‘I’ve done it more than once while you were busy giving yourself to his lordship like a common trollop.’ Molly shook her head, seeming to enjoy occupying the moral high ground even though there was nothing the least bit moral about her own behaviour. ‘You should have held out. He’ll never marry you now he’s got what he wanted.’
Olivia pretended not to hear and made no response.
They reached the street, Molly hailed a cab and gave the jarvey an address in Whitechapel, not seeming to care that Olivia heard it, and committed it to memory. Well, why would she? Whom could Olivia tell? Besides, she would know for herself where they were going soon enough.
Once inside the cab, Olivia spent the journey looking out of the window, thinking hard, blocking out Molly’s boastful tirades about her acting skills. That was what this entire business was about, Olivia thought. At every turn it came back to the theatre. Hubert had probably offered Molly the opportunity to actually tread the boards and the gullible creature believed he could make it happen. Her whole moral charade had probably been practise for a role.
Whatever it was that had turned Molly into a willing accomplice to child abduction, Olivia had no wish to be reminded how foolish she had been to place her trust in the girl. It was obvious that Hubert had flattered her, turned her head, and promised her God only knew what. Almost certainly a career as an actress, she decided, returning to her earlier thought. Molly did seem to enjoy pretending to be someone else. After all, she had spent the last two years in Olivia’s service perfecting her act and Olivia had not seen through her.
Hubert went into partnership with Granville at about the time he planned to go to Italy and lay off all his staff, which is when he would have encountered Molly for the first time. It would be the work of a moment to make her believe that he had genuine feelings for her and planned to make her his personal protégé—just as soon as she had helped him to obtain those letters. And when he had them, Molly’s usefulness would have run its course, but Olivia knew it would be a waste of time to point out that very real possibility to a girl who was flattered by the attentions of a baronet.
But still, one question remained. Why had they waited for so long to try and get the letters?
The cab rattled to a halt outside a narrow row of workers’ cottages in a drab Whitechapel back street. The outside of the buildings was caked in a thick layer of soot belching out from the chimneys of nearby factories. What few people there were in the street walked briskly about their business. They seemed worn down by a harsh working life and took no interest in Olivia’s cab as the two women climbed out of it. Molly looked pointedly at Olivia, expecting her to pay the fare. There seemed little point in arguing about something so inconsequential and so she produced the correct and amount and handed it to the jarvey.
‘This way, madam,’ Molly said, a sarcastic edge to her voice as she pointed to the cottage in question.
Olivia saw the curtains flick as they walked towards the door; a door that opened to admit them before they reached it. Hubert’s attractive features, so similar to Marcus’s that Olivia felt the nausea of unpleasant recollections sweep through her, appeared around the side of that door.
‘Hello, Olivia,’ he said, sending her a charming smile as Molly prodded her back, forcing her into the room. ‘How kind of you to join us.’
Us?Molly glanced around the small, dank room and saw the last person she had expected to be there, elegantly draped in an uncomfortable-looking chair.
‘Lady Marchant!’ Olivia’s mind reeled as her gaze flitted between Hubert and that lady. ‘You are in this together? Where is my son?’
Chapter Sixteen
Jake knew the moment he set foot inside his house that something was seriously amiss. His heart quailed because he also knew it had to be somehow connected to Olivia.
‘What is it, Reed?’ he asked curtly, conscious of several of his servants lurking in the vestibule instead of going about their normal duties.
‘It’s Mrs Grantley, my lord.’
Jake’s lingering hope that she would come bustling into the hall, desperate for any news he brought of Tom, withered at the sight of Reed’s sombre expression. ‘What has she done?’ he asked. ‘Where is she?’
‘Molly came back not long after you went out, my lord. She was in a dreadful state. Claims she tried to shield Master Tom from the fracas in the park and the next thing she remembers is waking up with a headache outside a tavern in Whitechapel.’
‘Where is she now?’ Jake barked.
‘That’s just it, my lord. Mrs Grantley went up with her to help her get warm and dry; insisted upon doing so in person.’ Jake rolled his eyes, perfectly sure that she had. ‘Jane became concerned when Molly didn’t appear up on the servants’ floor, so went down to Mrs Grantley’s chamber to see if she needed any help.’ Reed spread his hands. ‘But the room was empty.’
