Page 79 of Defending the Duke (The St. Clairs 4)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Anthony finally rose.Staying in bed would be a waste of time. He’d only dozed a bit, not truly getting any real sleep. Hopefully, he would be able to sleep after all the arrangements had been finalized with Waxby later today. He needed his mind to be sharp and clear by tomorrow morning at this time.

He shaved and dressed on his own and slipped down the stairs, knowing at some point today he would have to tell Aunt Constance something. What, he hadn’t the foggiest notion. He cut through the kitchen and left the townhouse using a rear door. Waxby had scheduled a meeting of all the men at Everton’s residence for six this morning. The Bow Street Runner thought it wise for them to meet somewhere different in case Anthony’s house was being watched. The less Farmon knew of their activities, the better.

He set out for his brother-in-law’s on foot, walking for less than five minutes before arriving. He entered by a back gate and froze in his tracks.

His carriage sat in the yard behind the house.

Anthony ran to it and flung open the door. No one was inside the vehicle. The slim ray of hope vanished. It had been foolish to believe Laurel and Hannah would be inside. Grimly, he went to the back entrance and stepped inside, moving through the kitchen and heading straight to the library. Though he was still half an hour early, the entire room was already filled with family members and Waxby. Another man, unknown to him, stood in a far corner, warily watching the group.

Everyone greeted him with firm handshakes and reassuring grips to his shoulder. Anthony took a seat, looking to Waxby.

“I have much to report, Your Grace,” the man in charge began. “First, your abandoned coach was found in Hampstead Heath yesterday. I had it brought here. Inside it were your driver and a footman.”

“Alive?” he asked.

“Yes. They were brought to headquarters and questioned. The footman remembers nothing. He was struck on the head from behind and knocked unconscious. The driver was ordered down from his seat at gunpoint. He gave a good description of the two men involved in the kidnapping. One is Braxton, who serves as Julius Farmon’s right-hand man. He’s known to be savvy—and brutal. The other one is Sims. He’s used strictly for his muscle. Not a brain in his head. Both servants were bound hand and foot and left in the coach the entire time. The driver was able to tell us that both Her Grace and Lady Hannah had been placed in the vehicle once they left the orphanage, and the coach only traveled a short distance. Your driver thought they parked in an alley since the brick building was so close to the carriage that it was hard to get the door open the entire way. The women were removed and taken inside.”

“Where are my servants now?” Anthony asked.

“They are at one of the safe houses we use from time to time,” Waxby said. “I thought it best not to return them to your household. Too many questions. We don’t want word of the ladies’ abduction to get out and cause a fly in the ointment.”

“What about Rotten Row?” Hudson asked. “You said you would look it over and decide where to station your agents.”

“I did that personally,” Waxby confirmed. “We will have two Runners there and another three on horseback at a greater distance. They will move into position at midnight tonight, so they’ll be there well before the five o’clock exchange. We also sent two men into Farmon’s saloon last night.”

Anthony’s gut tightened.

“One was able to slip downstairs into the basement and found nothing. He did, however, meet Mr. Johnson.” Waxby turned and motioned over the stranger.

He saw the man was younger than he’d first thought, probably not even twenty years of age. He had brown hair and a lean, wiry frame.

“This is Mr. Johnson,” the Runner said. “He works for Farmon.”

A wave of rage surged through Anthony. It took him a moment to control it. He wanted to jerk the man off his feet and throttle him simply for being associated with Julius Farmon.

Johnson looked at Anthony. “I’m a good man, Your Grace. I took the only job I could find as a barkeep for Farmon. I seen too many things I don’t like the six months I’ve been employed there but I have a younger sister I need to feed.”

“Mr. Johnson has cooperated with the Runners, Your Grace, in the hopes that you will find him and his sister employment elsewhere. I told him we couldn’t guarantee it but that you owned many properties and would be grateful for his assistance in getting your wife and sister back.”

“Whatever you want,” Anthony promised. “You may stay in London at my townhouse. Go to one of many country estates. Work in any capacity you choose. Just tell us what you know.”

Waxby nodded and Johnson said, “I seen your wife and sister when they were brought in yesterday afternoon. I’d just come on duty and was out dumping rubbish. Sims drove the carriage away while Braxton took the women inside to Farmon’s office. I followed at a distance. I knew something wasn’t right. The way they were dressed. They weren’t sporting girls for upstairs.”

Johnson paused and took a deep breath. “I waited down the corridor until Braxton brought them out. Their wrists were tied. He led them upstairs.”

“Do you know where they are? What room?”

“No, Your Grace. I returned to the bar and went back to work. It weren’t right, though. They were ladies. I felt bad for them. So when the Runner came around, asking a few questions, I knew I had to help. Farmon’ll slice my throat, though, if’n he figures out I’ve talked.”

“Mr. Johnson has already provided us with a diagram of the entire layout of the building,” continued Waxby. “If we attempt to rescue the ladies, we wouldn’t be going in blind.”

“Is that a possibility?” Everton asked. “Or too great a risk?”

“It will be up to His Grace to decide what action we take,” the Runner said. “I believe we need to prepare as if the ransom is to be paid. Have the four of you go to the bank and withdraw the funds. Have my men in place at Rotten Row.”

“How many do you think Farmon might bring tomorrow morning?” Anthony asked. “If several men accompany him, it might be a good time to strike at the brothel. Especially at that time of the morning, the clients will have gone home. The whores would have gone to bed. There’d be no customers in the saloon. It would be the perfect time to attempt a rescue.”

---