2. An Abduction Gone Awry

Meanwhile, in Cheapside

"What the hell do you mean you lost him?" Baron Abraham Kravets asked, pacing before the desk in his study. "He drank the punch, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir, he did."

"And?"

Elias Turnbridge winced. "I got him out of there, mostly unseen."

"What do you mean, mostly?" Kravets asked, his annoyance evident. He had stopped in his tracks, the worn carpet beneath his feet no longer able to swallow the sound of a creaking floorboard.

"I think there might have been too much of that sleeping powder in the glass of punch, and he drank it all in a single gulp," Elias explained. "It took effect right quick, and, well, I had to get him up the stairs and out of there by way of the front door."

The baron gave a start. "You were supposed to go through the gardens," Kravets said, resuming his pacing. The floorboard once again creaked in protest. "What were you thinking?"

Displaying a wince, Elias seemed unsure of how to respond. "The ballroom was a crush, sir," he replied. "Always is, from what I heard some people say. There was no way to get him past so many guests without drawing notice of his condition."

"So… what happened then?"

Elias rolled his eyes. "A footman helped me get him out the door. Gave me a hat..." He paused, a grimace forming when he wondered if the hat had indeed been the earl's. "So I put that on him," he explained. Another wince crossed his face when he realized his final departure from the manor house by way of the gardens, about an hour later, meant his own hat was still at Weatherstone Manor. He would have to make a trip back to Park Lane to retrieve it. "Once we were out of doors, I turned him over to the two you hired to watch for us. They held him in the dark next to some bushes until I got back to the front door. Before I stepped back into the house, I saw 'em put Wilmington into the coach. By then, he was completely out, sir."

Kravets stomped a booted foot on the Turkish carpet, which had Elias jerking in response. From the awful sound the floorboard made, it might have cracked in protest. "Well, he wasn't in the coach that arrived here at eleven o'clock now, was he?"

Sighing, Elias rubbed a hand over one side of his face. He didn't know if Wilmington was or wasn't in the coach. He had still been in the ballroom at Weatherstone Manor at that time. "I don't see how he could have regained consciousness and escaped the coach, sir, which means..." His eyes widened and he swallowed. "They must have put him in the wrong coach," he whispered.

Kravets jerked back as if he'd been punched in the jaw. "What the hell did you say?"

Elias swallowed again. "Well, there was a whole line of carriages pulled up along Park Lane this evening," he said. "Most of them bearing their owners' coat of arms. They must have misread the Kravets family crest and put him into the wrong coach," he reasoned.

Kravets brows had furrowed into one long graying brow, and beneath it, his eyes blazed with fury. "Idiots," he hissed. "Did you see the driver?"

"Sir?"

"The driver of the coach you saw them putting him into... did you see the driver?"

Furrowing his brows, Elias struggled to remember everything he could about the coach. About the horses. Although it was a fairly dark night—he didn't recall seeing the moon—there had been a string of Japanese lanterns lining the pavement up to the manor. The light they gave off didn't do much to illuminate the space beyond the pavers, though. The scent of rain had hung in the air due to the low layer of gray clouds that were slowly clearing to reveal a sky full of stars, so everything not lit by the lanterns had appeared in shades of black and gray.

"There was no driver on the bench, sir," Elias murmured. "The four horses were all black... or a very dark gray," he added. "The crest was in gold, but it was too far away for me to make out the details."

"Shite," Kravets cursed. "My driver was specifically told not to leave his post and to be ready to depart no later than half-past-ten."

"I had Wilmington out there at quarter past the hour. I know because I checked my chronometer when I returned to the ballroom, and it wasn't even half-past," Elias explained. He grimaced before asking, "Was anyone in the coach, sir?"

Kravets' face once again reddened with rage. "Of course not."

Elias scoffed. "Your driver didn't check to see that he had a passenger before he left?" From the tone of his voice, it was obvious he thought the driver was at fault.

"He was told not to leave his post. Not even to take a piss," Kravets countered. He inhaled as his gaze went to the coffered ceiling above. "Coach-and-four, black horses, no driver," he murmured. "With a crest similar to mine."

Unfamiliar with most of the crests of the aristocratic families, Elias knew he would be of no help in identifying the coach holding Jack Kirkpatrick, Earl of Wilmington. "I rather doubt the earl will regain consciousness before the morning," he said.

"Which means someone will discover him in their coach. A few will have left the ball by now. Surely they raised an alarm," Kravets said, his eyes suddenly widening. "The Weatherstone footmen will be the first to know." He pulled out his chronometer and checked the time. "Oh. It's barely two o'clock. If you leave now, you can be there before most of the guests have even departed," he said with some excitement. "The orchestra is probably still playing, and the card room will no doubt be occupied until the sun comes up."

"Yes, sir," Elias replied. "Should I go in your coach?"

Kravets sighed. "It's parked out front. Renner knew enough not to put it away for the night," he said, referring to his driver. The poor man had looked as if he might die of fright when his master had cursed and kicked the coach wheel upon discovering there was no passenger inside.

"Very good, sir," Elias replied. He gave a slight bow and hurried out of Kravets' office, obviously relieved to be out of the baron's sight.