Page 13 of Set in Stone

After a further searching look, Mills finally let go of her wrists and stood up, turning away to rebutton the flap of his breeches. “I’ll need some way to guarantee she doesn’t set me up,” he was murmuring to himself. “Now. What to do?”

Eight

The knock on the door proved to be a servant from the inn and Miss Westbrook’s maid. “Miss Brownlee,” Thom said, “how may I be of service?”

“Mr. Medlock, Mrs. Westbrook has locked the young miss in her room, and Mr. Mills is riding to Norwich for a bishop’s license. Miss Westbrook refused to marry Mr. Mills, but the mistress intends to compel her. And sir? She locked Mr. Mills and Miss Westbrook in the parlor. Together. Alone. She is telling everyone that the young miss is ruined.”

Thom turned to collect his coat. “We’ll see about that. How is Miss Westbrook holding up?”

Brownlee frowned, looking puzzled. “She does not seem worried,” she admitted. “Sir, she told me to come and tell you what was happening, and to give you this.”

She handed over a crumpled note. It looked as if it had been written on a piece of torn off brown paper, of the type used by shopkeepers for wrapping purchases.

Miss Westbrook had made full use of every inch of space.

“Dear sir. Be on your guard. He of whom we spoke still has his eye on his first goal. He has not gone far. Respectfully, AW.” And then, in tiny print across the bottom of the other side of the paper, “A trap might catch a rat.”

Interesting. “Miss Brownlee,” he said. “Is Miss Westbrook in immediate danger, or will she be safe if I take fifteen minutes to reach her?”

“She is safe for the moment, sir. Mr. Mills will not be back from Norwich until tomorrow night. He is a wicked man, Mr. Medlock, and I cannot reconcile it with my conscience to support this marriage. Even if my Miss Arianna is ruined.”

“Which she is not. For I shall wed her if she will have me. Would you please find Mr. Brewster? I need him to ask my friend, Mr. Benniston, to step up here. I need a word with my friend before I go, Miss Brownlee.”

The maid bobbed a curtsey and hurried off.

Thom arrived at Mrs. Peabody’s within the fifteen minutes he had mentioned, and demanded to see Miss Westbrook. Mrs. Peabody, the landlady, was flustered by the request.

“Mr. Medlock, Miss Westbrook has gone up to bed,” she said.

“I have reason to believe that Miss Westbrook has been locked in her room against her wishes,” said Thom sternly. “I also understand that she was subject to insult this afternoon from a man I can only describe as a villain. As her betrothed, I wish to see for myself that she is safe and unharmed.”

Mrs. Peabody frowned, clearly disturbed by Thom’s claims. “Sir, is Mr. Mills not her betrothed?”

“Mills is taking advantage of Mrs. Westbrook’s credibility,” Thom insisted. “Miss Westbrook sees right through the man. Mrs. Peabody, please allow me to see my betrothed, or, at the very least, her mother.”

“Bother Mrs. Westbrook,” muttered the landlady, under her breath. She opened the door to the parlor. “Please wait here, Mr. Medlock.”

And wait he did, for a good fifteen minutes. After that, he’d had enough. He mounted the stairs to the next floor and shouted, “Miss Westbrook! It is Medlock! Where are you?”

Two doors opened along the passage that led from the stairwell, and two elderly ladies peeped around their edges, both wearing the kind of lacy mobcap his grandmother put on to sleep in. “Young man,” said the eldest, “what are you doing here at this time of night?”

“I am looking for my betrothed, ma’am,” Thom told her. “I have reason to believe she is being confined against her will. Can you tell me where to find Miss Westbrook?”

Slightly more of the lady emerged into view. “Miss Westbrook is betrothed to that scoundrel Mr. Mills, who arrived here in Fenwick with a completely different woman,” she declared. “She thought he was her betrothed, too. But in the end, he ran away and she married someone else.”

Interesting. But Thom did not have time to be diverted. “Miss Westbrook is of age and knows her own mind, and if her mother is fooled by Mills, she is not. I am here to rescue her.”

“How exciting,” murmured the other woman.

The first woman narrowed her eyes at him, as if trying to stare into his soul. After a moment, she told him, “The Westbrooks have rooms on the next floor. The first two doors on the left from the stairwell. Connecting rooms. Miss Westbrook is in the second.”

Thom tossed a quick “Thank you” in the lady’s direction as he hurried back to the stairs. He didn’t have to go looking for Mrs. Westbrook. She must have heard him calling, for she was waiting for him, her hands stretched to bar his entry through the door from the stairwell.

“Leave immediately,” she said, “or I shall call the constable.”

“Do so, and I shall tell him you are imprisoning your adult daughter against her will, and threatening to marry her to a villain for your own financial advantage,” said Thom. The second part was a guess, based on what little Miss Westbrook had said, but the change in Mrs. Westbrook’s expression hinted that it had hit home.

Her uncertainty was momentary. “You have no right to question how I discipline my daughter,” she declared. “You cannot see her. Leave immediately.”