Page 40 of A Landscape of Love

“Oh, Mr Fisher, well done!” Kathy said, beaming at him.

Mr Fischer flushed with pleasure, smiling at Kathy, and gave a modest shrug. “I am glad to be of assistance, my lady. I only hope it helps you.”

“It has,” Hart said firmly, willing to grasp at straws by this point, though the man’s words had given him hope. “You’ve given us somewhere to carry on our search, and I cannot thank you enough. You may rely on my generosity, as well as my sister’s, Mr Fisher.”

“Oh,” Mr Fisher said, brightening perceptibly. “Well, that is wonderful, and I wish you success in your search for the boy. It would be nice to think there was a happy ending for the child, there are far too few of them not to consider each one a precious thing.”

Kathy rose and Mr Fisher got up, moving around the desk to her as she went to him, holding out her hands. “I admit I did not know what to expect upon coming here,” she said, dropping all pretence of the icy Lady Vane persona she had adopted. “A place of misery, if I’m honest, I suppose. But if the children are cared for by people like you, Mr Fisher, perhaps this is not such a terrible place to be, after all.”

Mr Fisher took her hands and regarded her solemnly. “I cannot promise that it is always a joyous place, and I cannot speak for every member of staff here, my lady, but there are those of us who believe in what we do, and try our hardest to minimise the suffering of those poor innocents that find their way here. That, I promise you.”

“Thank you, Mr Fisher. We shan’t forget the help you’ve given us this day,” Hart said gravely, before escorting his sister from the building.

Though he was champing at the bit to begin his search at once, Hart could see his sister was flagging. Frustrated as he was by the delay, he could do no less than escort her home and see her properly settled before returning to Camden. Having procured a local map of the area, he first marked every tavern and boarding house, before crossing off any that looked like decent establishments. No respectable house would entertain the idea of taking in a single female with a babe in her arms, though perhaps on such a freezing night someone might have taken pity on her.

Deciding his best option was to begin with every low gin house and pub, Hart set off on his quest.

Chapter 11

My Lord Alex,

I hope this letter finds you well. I believe you know I was obliged to return to town to find a piece of statuary that was missing from the last delivery that arrived. I have not yet been able to track it down but hope to do so shortly.

With luck, I shall return to Hardacre within the next few days. I hope you will have completed the drawings we spoke of by then.

With regards to you and your sister.

―Excerpt of a letter to the Lord Rufus Alexander Ponsonby from Mr Hartley De Beauvoir (adopted son of Mr and Mrs Inigo and Minerva De Beauvoir).

5th March 1850, Old Mother Red Cap Tavern, Camden Town, London.

Hart woke with a start and sat up on the hard bed. A mistake on his part, as his head throbbed, and his bones ached from a night spent on a mattress that appeared to have been stuffed with rocks. Finding information about the night in question and the mysterious woman had not been easy. Though the patrons of the many, many establishments he had visited in his quest had been happy to talk—with the right inducements—they did not always have anything relevant to add. Of course, they did not like drinking alone either, and so Hart had been obliged to keep pace with them, hence the pain in his head.

Still, he knew more now that he had, though the information sat uneasily in his guts. Regretfully, he had to accept the fact his discovery might stir up a world of trouble, yet he could not leave Fidelia alone or the garden at Hardacre unattended any longer. He must return and tell Fidelia everything he had discovered. She would be worried sick at not having heard from him by now. He had sent a letter to Alex, hoping the information would be passed onto Fidelia and that she would understand what it was he’d been trying to convey to her. Subterfuge was not Hart’s strong point.

Muttering under his breath and cursing the gut rot served in the tavern he was inhabiting, Hart saw to his ablutions, dressed as neatly as he could in the circumstances, and made his way downstairs.

The Old Mother Red Cap tavern was an ancient one, reputed to have once been the home of a witch who had done away with several husbands. Hart thought it unlikely in the extreme. For one thing, some stories said she’d been found dead before the fireplace after inviting the devil into her home, and another said she was hanged alongside her husband at Tyburn for murdering a young woman. Either way, it was a rather grim place, and Hart could not wait to leave it.

As it was the supposed reason for his absence, Hart went first to his place of business to add several pieces of statuary to the original order, something he had planned to do in any case. On arrival there, he greeted his manager, who handed him a letter.

“This arrived for you this morning, sir.”

Hart glanced at the letter, noting the feminine handwriting that belonged neither to his sister nor his mother. The desire to open it at once was compelling, but he tucked it away until his business was concluded and sought the sanctuary of his office in which to open it.

As he had suspected, the letter was from Fidelia, but the contents were not at all what he’d expected. They made his blood run cold.

Dearest Hart,

I beg you will forgive me for troubling you with this, but I do not know who else to turn to. I pray that by now you have found my son and have taken him to the safe haven you spoke of, for I must join him at once and leave this place.

This morning Lord Malmsey arrived at Hardacre in company with my despicable brother, Richmond. He is, I am informed, to be my husband. I am left with no say in the decision. Malmsey is nigh on penniless, and my dowry is sufficient that any doubts that might arise over either my mental state, my health, or my virtue will be overlooked. The duke informs me this is my last chance. Either I marry or he will disown me and cease paying for any income he provides for me.

Once I would have doubted he would carry through such a threat, but since Ambrose was born, I am damaged goods in the duke’s eyes and have little value. Any plans to reintroduce me to society have been forgotten, and it appears I have Richmond to thank for this. I cannot credit it, but my father seems to have confided in him and told all. So, my darling brother Richmond came up with the scheme to save his friend and deal with the problem of what to do with me, a scheme which suits them all admirably. They don’t give a damn for my opinion—which I promise you I have given in no uncertain terms. I cannot, will not, marry such a man.

Lord Malmsey is a vain peacock and a mean-spirited, vile creature who I know for a fact beats and mistreats his dogs, his horses, and his servants. I have no reason to believe his wife would fare any better, likely worse. My father has decided we will be wed before the end of the month, here at Hardacre. I am a prisoner, Hart, but I must escape and be reunited with my son. I know I am putting you in an impossible situation, but I beg that you will help me. I give you my word I shall never ask you for anything ever again, nor by word or deed betray your part in my escape.

Hart stared at the piece of paper in his hand in horror. Surely not. He must have misread, misinterpreted…