'One would have thought so, yes, but strangely enough this often isn't the case. When a villain thinks himself safe from retribution, that he's too clever to be caught, he often keeps things that a more cautious person would burn.'

  'I suppose he would have to keep the documentation relating to the stocks and shares that were transferred from Richard's business accounts. My lawyers have a list at their Chelmsford office, it would be easy enough to compare the two. Would that be enough to prove he was involved in something nefarious?'

  'It would prove fraud, that's an offence that will get him transported. I doubt we'll ever find evidence related to the murder – only a complete nincompoop would hang onto the letter that was taken from your husband's study.'

  'I wish we were in fact on our way to a social engagement. Apart from my brief Season I've been to no events at all.'

  He swore under his breath. 'Dammit to hell! You've led a miserable life up until now – Richard Stanton didn't physically abuse you but he kept you cloistered like a nun and that was unfair. I promise that things will be different once we're married – you may have as many callers as you want and go to as many parties as we have invitations to.'

  'It's strange, my love, but until I met you a short time ago I'd no idea that I was unhappy. My life at Whitford Hall was paradise compared to my life before I was married. Apart from the fact that I was never going to have children of my own, I thought myself reasonably content with my lot.'

  'I'm going to make you happy, darling girl, and I vow that you'll never regret your decision to become my wife.'

  *

  The carriage rocked to a standstill behind a queue of other vehicles and they were obliged to wait until it was their turn to descend.

  'Come, we'll put on a show and nobody will recognise us.'

  'Samuel, I know neither of us have seen Mr and Mrs Forsyth, but do you think it possible one of them might have seen us?'

  He linked her arm through his and patted her gloved hand. 'Not a chance, sweetheart, I doubt our own mothers would recognise us in our finery. Look, one of our men is taking the invitations at the door. That's a piece of luck and bodes well for tonight.'

  He guided her up the front steps and handed in his invitation restraining the impulse to wink at the young man who took it from him. He looked around with interest at the spacious entrance hall which led through an archway into an impressive reception room. Not quite big enough to be a ballroom, but a damn sight bigger than anything he'd ever been in as a guest.

  'We fit in perfectly, Samuel, elegant but not overdressed for the occasion. As there's no receiving line, I suppose we must wander about as we please. I think that fair-haired, self-satisfied looking gentleman smirking over there is our host. He looks sufficiently like Richard to be his half-brother. I've no wish to speak to him, but I need to attach myself to another party if I'm not to be conspicuous when you slip away to investigate.'

  'I can hear the sound of a piano being played, I'm sure you could find a seat in there without attracting unwanted attention.'

  'If I do that, I'll not be able to keep an eye on Mr Stanton for you.'

  'I don't think you need to, he looks settled for the evening and is enjoying the attention of his cronies. I'll be happier if I know you're safe, so indulge me, my love, and sit quietly and listen to the musical entertainment.'

  Once she had settled on a daft gilt chair, that would no doubt collapse if he tried to sit on one, he threaded his way back to the entrance hall, nodding and smiling at people as if he knew them, and unsurprisingly they responded, thus reinforcing his disguise.

  As he'd hoped, the second footman from Tavistock Place was lurking with a tray of champagne in his hand.

  He walked over and under the pretence of taking himself a glass he asked his question. 'Is the study unoccupied, do you know?'

  'I've not seen anyone go in, sir. You want to be careful, Forsyth is here and he looks a nasty piece of work. He's wearing a purple and gold waistcoat, of middling height and light brown hair. You'll recognise him by the waistcoat.'

  He picked up a glass and nodded his dismissal, the young man drifted away and was soon lost amongst the guests. Fortunately, his black evening clothes made him all but invisible in the shadows away from the light that flooded in from the long windows and open front door.

  When he was sure he was unobserved he slipped down the corridor and flattened himself against the door of the study. He listened carefully, heard nothing, and was as sure as he'd ever be that the room was empty. He reached behind him and turned the handle, the door opened silently behind him and he was inside.

  The room was much as he'd expected – book-lined walls, a bureau or two and a large leather-topped desk to the left of the empty fireplace. This was the best place to start his search. He had his lock picks in case any of the drawers needed opening. He dropped to his knees knowing that if anyone opened the door unexpectedly he would have time to duck out of sight.

  *

  After an excruciating few minutes Emma decided she could stand it no longer and, like many others, stood and moved away from the appalling pianist.

  She drifted back into the main reception area and accepted a glass of lemonade when it was offered. She moved easily between the chattering groups, her ears attuned for any mention of Stanton or Forsyth. She found a convenient alcove behind a pillar and a pedestal with hothouse flowers and moved into this temporary hiding place.

  Stanton was still surrounded by admiring guests. Then she saw a nondescript sort of gentleman, apart from his hideous purple and gold waistcoat, urgently making his way towards the group.

  Something had disturbed this person and she had a dreadful sinking feeling that this must be to do with Samuel. She slipped through the crowd until she was lurking behind another pillar hoping to hear what was said.

  'Mr Stanton, I've just had word that there's a Bow Street Runner pretending to be an ostler in your stable yard. I don't like this at all. What do you want me to do?'

  She held her breath and waited to hear Stanton's reply. 'You're letting your guilty conscience run away with you, Forsyth. I expect the man's supplementing his meagre income doing an extra day's work for me. But if you're concerned, make a tour of the house and check that there are no uninvited guests lurking about in corners.'

  In her hurry to move away from Stanton's circle she collided with a footman carrying a tray laden with glasses of champagne. The tray flew into the air and the glasses with it and everyone in the vicinity was drenched, including Mr Forsyth, who had been about to go on his errand.

  Although her action had been unintentional, it had been the perfect distraction. Fortunately, she had been untouched by the accident and was able to slip away unnoticed during the squeals and complaints of the unfortunate ladies and gentlemen who hadn't been so lucky. She must warn Samuel that Forsyth was about to initiate a search of the house.

  The noise and excitement had attracted a deal of attention and guests were moving rapidly towards the incident allowing her to move in the opposite direction unnoticed. With luck the footman from home would still be on duty collecting invitations from the latecomers and would be able to direct her to the study.

  But he was no longer in position and the front doors were firmly closed. She looked around the space and decided to investigate a corridor in which there was a row of closed doors. She was about to open the first when someone spoke from right behind her.

  'Can I help you, madam?'

  She spun round and found herself face-to-face with the gentleman in the lurid waistcoat. 'I am looking for the ladies retiring room. For some reason there are no maids on duty to direct me.' Somehow she managed to speak in her most disdainful manner and immediately the man stepped away.

  'The chamber you are seeking is up the stairs. I beg your pardon for startling you.'

  'Up the stairs, you say, sir? That is hardly sufficient directions, and as you are obviously employed here I suggest that you escort me.' His startled expression at her raised voice would have made her smile if she wasn't so frightened. Hopefully Samuel was nearby and would have heard them talking. She prayed this would be sufficient to keep him out of danger.

  *

  Sam used his lock pick to good effect and was on his knees rummaging through the drawers of the desk when he heard Emma's voice outside. He froze. Whoever had accosted her had been persuaded to show her the retiring room – hopefully this would give him sufficient time to complete his search.

  He carefully closed the two drawers he'd searched and the locks clicked back into place. Three more to open and look into, but he doubted he'd have time to investigate them all. He selected the middle drawer on the right-hand side and eased it open.

  Fortune was smiling on them today as he immediately picked up the letter from the lawyers informing Richard Stanton that someone was selling his stocks and shares. This was enough to make an arrest – there was no need to skulk about any more for he had the evidence he needed.

  He slipped the incriminating paper into his pocket and was about to close the drawer when he decided to risk delaying his exit in order to examine the other documents. Good God! These were the letters from the lawyer who'd acted as intermediary for Benedict Stanton in the theft of the stocks and shares. These joined the other papers in the cleverly concealed pocket he had had constructed in his new evening coat.

  The drawer closed smoothly beneath his touch and he was on his feet when he caught his breath. The door to the study was slowly opening. As an official investigator for the magistrate at Bow Street he had every right to be there, but whoever was coming in would be desperate to save themselves from prosecution.

  Flee or fight? He must somehow get out of the room and then make enough racket to bring guests and his two footmen running. He wished he'd got his pistol with him. Faced with a loaded gun there were few men brave enough to attack.

  In one bound he placed himself behind the door so his presence would be concealed from whoever was coming in. The man stepped in and he shot forward hitting him squarely in the small of his back with his shoulder.

  This gave him a vital few seconds to step over the prostrate form and escape into the corridor. He raced into the hall determined to get out of the house with the evidence before he could be restrained. He had the front door open when he remembered that tonight he wasn't alone. He hesitated. Should he go, and trust Emma's good sense to keep her safe, or remain and risk capture and failing in his mission?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emma was escorted as far as the bottom of the stairs and then, unfortunately for her, a maid appeared and the gentleman dashed off to continue his search. She prayed that Samuel would have had time to rejoin the guests in the few minutes she had been able to delay matters.

  Having asked for the retiring room she had no option but to visit it, but was in and out in moments and on her way downstairs when Samuel hurtled across the vestibule, flung open the front door, but then hesitated. Without thought for her own safety she raced down the stairs and was at his side when a roar of rage echoed across the hall.

  'Quickly, we must make a run for it. I have what we need.' He grabbed her arm and pulled her through the doorway and then slammed it behind him. 'We can't run from Cavendish Square to Tavistock Place – we'll have to duck round to the stable yard and find Collins and my other constable.'

  Even with the demi-train of her dress held up by the band over her wrist and the front of her skirt clutched in her other hand, she couldn't keep pace with him. Instead of slowing down, he snatched her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of coal.

  Although undignified, carrying her like this was efficient. They were under the arch and out of sight before the man pursuing them had reached the pavement. He had the good sense to put her down before they became an object of curiosity.

  Collins, who must have been keeping watch, appeared immediately, and close behind him was an equally tough-looking individual. 'Trouble, Sergeant?'

  'You could say that. I've got the papers I wanted, more than enough to send Stanton and his henchmen to the gallows. Is there somewhere secure Mrs Ashfield can remain whilst we arrest Forsyth and his employer?'

  'If you go through the yard, madam, you'll see a narrow pathway – follow that and you'll come to an exit onto a busy thoroughfare. You'll be safe there.'

  She wrenched open her reticule and removed the small pistol. 'Here, Samuel, you might find this useful. I certainly don't wish to have it in my possession any longer. I'll find myself somewhere to wait – hopefully there will be an emporium of some sort I can browse in.'

  He nodded but his attention was no longer on her and she had no wish to distract him from what could be a dangerous task. She was halfway along the path when she realised this was a ridiculous suggestion. Most of the shops would be closing, if not already shut, and she was not in a promenade gown but her evening dress. She would look ridiculous.

  So far she had managed to keep her gown out of the dust but her slippers were already ruined. She walked as briskly as she dared and emerged into the stable yard to find it deserted. Where on earth could she wait until he returned for her?

  She was about to investigate a closed door hoping it might be a fodder or tack room when she was suddenly seized in a cruel grip from behind.

  'Well, well, what have we here? I reckon the master will be right pleased with me for catching you.' The man twisted her arm so violently that an excruciating pain made her cry out. 'There'll be more of the same if you struggle or make a sound.'

  *

  Sam and his two assistants made their way to the arch and he gestured for them to remain concealed behind the brickwork.

  'Forsyth will have realised I'm not alone, he'll have found others to help him.' As he waited, listening, he noted a loose brick in the wall above him. He pulled out the documents and jammed them into the space behind the brick and then replaced it. Better to have these vital documents safe and secure just in case things didn't go his way.

  His men had cudgels, he had only his knife and the little gun meant to be used by a lady. He closed his eyes for a second and steadied his breathing as he had always done before a battle. His nerves settled and he focused on the sound of cautious footsteps approaching their hiding place.

  He glanced across and Collins nodded – he'd heard them coming too. Then there was no time for further thought as Forsyth and two other rough individuals burst through the archway. Samuel's fist connected with the leader's jaw and the man folded like a marionette with broken strings.

  The other two were dealt with in similar fashion. The entire process had taken less than a minute and, thank God, attracted no unwanted attention from any other ne'er-do-wells who might be working in the stables.

  'We'll truss them up and toss them in the tack room. Bolt the door and secure it with whatever you can find. He addressed the constable directly. 'Smith, when we're done, borrow a horse and get to Bow Street – we need reinforcements and a cart to remove the prisoners.'

  The man touched his cap. 'Righto, Sergeant.'

  It took them longer than it should have to gag, tie and incarcerate the three they'd captured. Smith selected a handsome bay mare and moments later clattered out of the yard. As Sam brushed the dirt from his once immaculate evening rig he heard a clock in a local church strike eight. As the last note died away, he swore.

  'God's teeth! We've sent my wife on a fool's errand. The shops will be closed and she'll be horribly conspicuous in her evening gown. What was I thinking of?'

  Collins' colour faded to a pasty white. 'Buggeration! I'll get down there now and bring her back.'

  'There's no need to do that, I have her safe inside.'

  Sam turned to find himself facing two men, one scruffy, the other he recognised as Benedict Stanton. Somehow, they'd captured Emma, if they harmed a hair on her head, they'd live to regret it. If he could delay matters for an hour or so then reinforcements would arrive and this situation could be turned to his advantage.

  Although he had the papers safely hidden, now that Stanton had involved himself personally in the matter his days of freedom were numbered. Kidnapping was a capital offence. The man was obviously deranged, hadn't thought this through, unless he was prepared to murder all three of them, he couldn't escape justice.

  He moved smoothly away from the tack room door praying that Stanton wouldn't realise his other three henchmen were tied up inside. He was fairly sure they would remain unconscious for a while longer, so even if they were released they wouldn't be much use to their employer.

  'Stanton, I presume. I'm Sergeant Ross of Bow Street and you're under arrest for theft, murder and kidnapping.' He maintained eye contact as he spoke, knowing that he looked a formidable and dangerous opponent. Would it be enough to bluff his way out of this?

  Stanton's triumphant sneer slipped and the gun in his hand wavered. Sam launched himself, and his head connected with the man's throat sending him reeling backwards. The gun went off harmlessly, but the noise of the retort almost deafened him.

  After that it was easy. Stanton and the other individual were hogtied and dumped in with their companions in crime. 'Collins, reload the pistol if you can find powder and shot, and stand guard.'

  'Won't you want to take it, Sergeant?'

  'No, I've got this, it wouldn't hit a barn door from further than a yard but it's better than nothing.'

  He showed him the small gun and then straightened his jacket, checked his cravat was relatively unscathed by his fisticuffs and entered the house at a run. He needed to collect the two footmen before he searched for Emma – it was unlikely there was more than one person guarding her – but he wasn't going to take any chances.

  Inside the party was continuing and laughter and loud voices filled the passageways. He forced himself to stroll and not march, he must remain in his assumed persona as a gentleman if he wasn't to attract unwanted attention.

  He paused for a moment to get his bearings, imagining the layout of the building which he'd learned from the blueprints. She wouldn't be put anywhere near the main reception areas just in case a guest blundered into the chamber in which she was held.