Diana was ushered up to the parlor with Lady Wylde, and found that they were not the only people to break tradition by calling at Kelthorne Hall the day after the MacArran Masque--the Earl and Countess of Ravenwood were in the parlour with Lord Blackmoor. As everyone made their bows, Diana couldn't help but notice that Lady Ravenwood had a rather strained expression, although her manner was as cheerful as ever.

"I daresay my visit here has proven unnecessary. I confess I called in the hopes that Lord Blackmoor had news of Viscount Rayner," Diana tried to keep her tone light.

Lady Ravenwood was making the same effort, "I suppose I shall take that as your answer to my note, Lady Silverbridge. But should you hear from Henry--"

"You have my word that I shall alert you at once, Lady Ravenwood."

"Of course, 'tis nothing to worry about, truly," Lady Ravenwood said with a laugh that almost sounded natural. "If I recall correctly, my husband was known to disappear for a day or two before I managed to leg-shackle him."

Everyone laughed politely, as though the Countess' worry were not crystal clear.

"I confess I do not know Lord Rayner terribly well," Lady Wylde admitted. "But he does not strike me as the sort to be interested in kicking up the same larks as most of those young dandies--your fine self excepted, of course, Lord Blackmoor," she finished on a teasing note.

"My gratitude, Lady Wylde," Eric made her an elegant leg in the same manner.

"I daresay we keep forgetting that Henry has been in London--and a Viscount--for only a very short time," Lady Ravenwood said indulgently. "Perhaps he has decided to experience some other amusements. I am making him some allowances."

Diana listened to the conversation with half an ear and turned her attention towards the parlour's open door. Servants were constantly passing it as they went about their duties and Diana hoped to catch sight of Sheila, who, as a house maid, could very well be working on the first floor. Lady Wylde was so absorbed in talking to Lord and Lady Ravenwood that none of them noticed Diana's inattention, so the only one she had to concern herself with was Lord Blackmoor. Eric, however, seemed just as preoccupied as she was, making her wonder how worried about Hank he actually was.

So Diana made all the necessary replies to the others as she allowed her mind to drift, wondering if perhaps Hank had taken a daring step and eloped with the Irish maid. The idea certainly appealed to her sense of romance and adventure, and she vowed that if it were true, she would forgive both Hank and Sheila on the spot for coming up with such a clever plan. Her common sense was never far from the surface, however, and it told her that neither Hank nor Sheila was the sort to throw such caution to the wind. She realized with dismay that a far more likely scenario was that Sheila had been caught in the Masque costume Diana had foisted upon her and sacked for her utter presumption. Diana hoped that if that were the case Sheila would remember the promise of work, for Diana rather felt that she would like Sheila as a personal maid or even better--a companion with no actual duties.

The part of her mind that was occupied with social niceties snapped her back to the parlour as Lord and Lady Ravenwood took their leave amid promises by all that they would contact the others should Hank be located.

"May I inquire after your grandfather, Lord Blackmoor?" Lady Wylde turned to Eric. "Is he still resting after last night's great success?"

Eric seemed to choke. "It would take more that a ball to keep my grandfather from rising at his usual time. I believe he is in the library seeing to some business before he returns to the country."

"And dare I venture into the library to visit with him?" Lady Wylde asked.

"I believe that would please him greatly," Eric signalled to a passing footman. "James will take you."

"You are very kind," Lady Wylde nodded to Eric, then gave Diana a significant look before following the footman out.

Diana made a mental note to tease Lady Wylde about losing her touch for subtlety. "You've been rather quiet today, Lord Blackmoor. I daresay we should not have intruded the day after the Masque. Lady Wylde told me so, and I likely should have heeded her words."

"Not at all, my lady," Eric assured her with the proper courtesy that Diana knew had been bred into him. "Forgive me for being an inattentive host."

"You are very worried about Lord Rayner, aren't you?" When Eric's startled look answered her question, Diana continued, "I realize this is most unlike Rayner, but this is only the next day. Surely you know of the things youngbloods do..."

"Whether I do or not, I could hardly discuss such things with a lady," Eric seemed amused rather than censorious. "What's more, Rayner never showed the slightest interest in such things."

Diana studied Eric's expression as he fell silent again. "Do forgive me for prying, my lord, but it seems there is still more disturbing you."

"Your perception can be rather unnerving at times, Lady Silverbridge," Eric said with a wry smile. "But you are quite correct. I confess to having a trouble conscience."

Intuition told Diana it would be better not to prod at this point, so she waited silently for him to continue.

He glanced at her briefly before turning to gaze out the window. "I have not told Lord and Lady Ravenwood the circumstances of my last conversation with Rayner. What's more, the only reason I have for not doing so is that my behaviour...is not something I am proud of."

Diana realized she has let her mouth fall open in astonishment and snapped it shut. "Are...may I know what happened?"

"We quarreled and--" Eric sighed and shook his head. "No, that is not true. I met up with Rayner in the garden and heaped insults upon him until he grew angry enough to respond."

"What on earth brought you to such actions?" Diana could hardly believe what she was hearing.

Eric kept his head bowed as he spoke, which told Diana far more than his words did. "The short of it is that I made some accusations about something that was none of my concern and when he refused to answer either way I began insulting his manners, his parents and his homeland."

"Good heavens, Blackmoor, what had you to accuse him of that would prompt such an argument?" Diana demanded. "Never say you suspected Rayner of some sort of wrongdoing."

"Nothing of the sort," Eric ran a hand through his hair. "What I accused him of is of no importance--"

"No importance? But--"

"It had nothing to do with the ensuing quarrel," Eric kept his eye averted. "Indeed, Rayner himself had little to do with it--he only became angry after I'd made some deplorable remarks about his parents."

Diana longed to know what had prompted Blackmoor to verbally attack his friend, but it was obvious he was not about to tell her. "You believe that your words sent Lord Rayner to a gaming hell or a house of ill-repute?"

Eric blinked, then smiled slightly. "I forget, at time, how plain-speaking you can be, my lady. But no, I don't believe that. I have wondered, though, if it may have sent him to book passage."

"Book passage?" Diana frowned. "Whe--back to America? Oh, surely not."

"He still suffers from homesickness now and again. What's more, I know London still intimidates and even frightens him, although he has never spoken of it. It was very badly done on my part."

Diana could see Eric felt terribly guilty for Hank's absence. "Truly, Lord Blackmoor, I believe you are feeling badly because of your quarrel and are imagining things to be much worse than they are."

"Do you think so?" Eric asked politely.

Diana knew by his tone that he was not taking her seriously. "Consider, sir," she said crisply. "Although Rayner might have gone gaming without telling his cousins, he would never travel back to America and not leave word with the Countess. And even if he did not concern himself with anyone's feelings, do you truly believe he would board a ship dressed as Sir Galahad?"

"You...that's..." Eric laughed slightly, then made another attempt. "You make me feel quite foolish, Lady Silverbridge."

Diana barely stifled a smile. "Forgive me, Lord Blackmoor, that was not my intention."

"Have you any other thoughts on this subject?" Eric asked in a respectful tone that pleased Diana.

"I suppose it is possible that if Rayner was angry with you he may have taken himself off with some of the other young men--perhaps gaming or to kick up some larks...or perhaps even to a house party." She hesitated, but decided to reveal her worries as well, "If he did visit some...less savory places, there is always the chance harm befell him. Truly, if nothing is heard from him by tomorrow I believe you must speak to Lord and Lady Ravenwood about your quarrel. I vow I shall be quite as worried as Lady Ravenwood by then."

When she finished speaking, Eric took her hand and lifted it to his lips. "You have my deepest admiration, my lady. And my deepest gratitude."

He pressed her fingers to his lips and Diana was startled by the tingle that travelled up her arm. She was saved from trying to think of something to say by the return of Lady Wylde. Although Diana was not eager to leave, she was grateful for the chance to collect her suddenly muddled thoughts.

As she and Eric bowed to one another, Diana spoke in a low voice. "Will you call tomorrow and tell me anything you've learned?"

"You have my word," Eric promised.

Sheila unfolded her legs and stretched them out in front of her. She never would have imagined that simply sitting would prove more tiring than the constant work at Kelthorne Hall, but her legs were cramped from being in one position for hours at a time. She hadn't left Bobby's side since her arrival just after dawn, and it was nearly time for the sun to set again. Bobby hadn't come around fully, but was still as active as ever. It had taken Sheila and Preston both to get the doses of medicine down his throat, only now was he finally sleeping soundly.

Smoothing back his hair for the thousandth time, Sheila let her palm rest against Bobby's forehead to assure herself that his fever was nearly gone. His breathing was deep and even and for the first time all day, he wasn't writhing or muttering in his sleep. He had mentioned the "divil man" several more times, and from some of his other disjointed words, she and Preston concluded he was speaking of the man that had tried to abduct him nights before. Sheila was surprised and concerned that it still weighed so heavily on his young mind, and when Preston had mentioned that perhaps the injuries were the result of another encounter, she'd felt her insides turn to ice. Preston had taken one look at her expression and began rambling on for several minutes as to why he was likely wrong. Then he had excused himself to go back to his duties for Kell.

Sheila couldn't help but smile when she thought of what a proper host Preston was being. His mother had obviously been gently-bred despite their poverty and had taught her son excellent manners along with his letter. At the moment, Preston was in the kitchen preparing dinner for them. He refused her offer of help partly, he said, because she was a guest, but mostly because although Kell never entered Preston's room, he did come down to the kitchen at times.

No sooner had Sheila reflected on this than she heard the rickety stairs creaking under far heavier footsteps than Preston was capable of.

"So yer back, are ye?"

Sheila went still at the sound of the belligerent voice. After checking that Bobby was quiet, she strained her ears to hear the conversation on the other side of the wall.

"Aye, sir," came Preston's quiet reply. "Dinner will be ready soon, sir."

"And yesterday's dinner?" Kell demanded. "What of that? Vanishin' like an ingrate! What 'ave you to show for it?"

Preston was silent and Sheila could easily picture him trying to form a reply.

"By rights I should give you a sound thrashing."

Sheila started up, then forced herself to sit again. Revealing her presence could cause more trouble for Preston and would send her and Bobby out onto the street. Biting her lip and twisting her hands into the folds of her skirt, Sheila tried to think of something she could do to help Preston should he need it.

"I feed an' clothe ye an' what do I get out of it? Loafin' about for a whole day when y'should be 'ere..."

It didn't take long for Sheila to realize that Kell didn't expect any answers from his apprentice, and merely wanted to heap abuse on the youth while dinner was being prepared. Preston, for his part, did not seem terribly concerned with Kell's anger and made the appropriate apologies when necessary.

Kell's noisy vitriol was having an effect on Bobby, however. As the angry voice in the kitchen rose, Bobby began to twist and twitch and within minutes, small sounds of distress began to escape him. Sheila leaned down as close as possible so she could keep her voice to the barest whisper. "Hush, acushla, hush. All is well." She kept crooning reassurances to him until he began to quiet again, and was so focused on keeping him that way that she barely noticed when Kell stomped back up the stairs. When Preston stuck his head in and whispered her name, her heart skittered in fear until she realized silence reigned in the kitchen again. "Faith, Preston, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said with a reassuring grin, although he kept his voice pitched low. "Kell isn't about to do anything to me while I'm making his dinner."

"And afterwards?"

The smile wavered a bit. "Sometimes. But not often. Not nearly as often as some others I've seen." When Sheila still looked skeptical, he added, "Truly, Sheila. He's far too lazy to do much. But the food is ready if you want some, and there's broth for you to try feeding Bobby."

"Will you be after havin' t'go back upstairs again tonight?" she asked.

Preston hesitated, then sighed. "I will. I still have more cleaning to do in the shop."

"Wait." Sheila reached for the bag containing her belongings. She rummaged through until she found a tattered, old-fashioned reticule. She fumbled inside for a moment, then pulled out several coins. "Take this."

"I won't," Preston put his hands behind his back.

"Faith, lad, 'tis the best way."

"The best way for what?" Preston's expression went from stubborn to puzzled.

"T'keep Mr. Kell from gettin' underfoot," Sheila thrust the coins into his hand. "Mother Mary knows I don't approve of drinkin', but if gin will do the trick, then gin he shall have."

Preston looked down at the coins. "This is too much. Half a crown would do it."

"Then only lay out as much as you need and keep the rest for another time," Sheila said.

"We'll be keeping him gin-soaked until Bobby is well, then?" A smile tugged at Preston's lips.

"We will that," Sheila nodded. "Seems to me yer happier with him that way as well."

"I'll run down to the Hound's Hide now, then." Preston flipped one of the coins up and caught it, then gave the rest back to Sheila. "Best leave the rest here, to be safe." He found his discarded coat and pulled it on. "And it would be better if you get your dinner at once. Kell may come back down for more."

"I will that. Off with ye now, and the sooner ye'll be back."

Eric leaned back against the seat cushions of the brougham as Tam drove along Marylebone Road. There were also two powerfully-built footmen perched on the back of the carriage. Normally two footmen were an extravagance reserved for the most formal occasions attended in the glass-quartered coach, but with the recent penchant for youngbloods to go to the worst hells in the most dubious parts of London, Eric wasn't about to take any chances with either his person or his property while he conducted a search for his missing friend.

They rolled to a halt in front of Faro's Tomb, on of the most notorious and popular gaming hells in London. When one of the footmen opened the door, Eric stepped down and eyed the dingy brick building with distaste.

"Will ye want one of us t'gae in wi'ye, m'lord?"

Eric considered this for the briefest moment before shaking his head. "No, Lachlan. Best stay out here with the carriage. Keep your eyes and ears open, however."

"Aye, m'lord," Lachlan took a position in front of the carriage door.

Eric nodded, then walked into the dimly-lit club. Two brawny men stood just inside the door, but since Eric fairly exuded wealth and consequence, they made no move to prevent him from going where he liked. Eric took his time, strolling along the perimeter of the main room, peering through the smoky haze in an attempt to see someone he knew well enough to speak to.

He was hard-pressed to keep the look of disgust off his face as he observed the low company his peers were rubbing elbows with. Although the encroaching mushrooms that were often in his company were of low origins, they at least had pretensions to dignity. These men and women made it obvious that if they could get away with slitting a throat for money, they would just as soon do that as play cards.

Finally spotting Baron Middleton at the ecarte table, Eric made his way through the crowd to tap him on the shoulder. "A word if you don't mind, Middleton."

The Baron's eyes widened in surprise when he saw Eric, but he nodded in agreement. "Be with you soon as I've finished this hand, Blackmoor."

Eric stepped back towards the wall as the play went on.

When the hand ended, Middleton rose and bowed to the table, despite grumbling from his opponent and the spectators betting on the game. He stepped over to Eric. "I'm in your debt, Blackmoor. These creatures get notoriously troublesome when one tries to leave the game. I've known some kept at the tables until they were well into Dun territory."

Eric didn't say so, but he felt that if one sat at the tables with such company, one deserved to have their pockets cleaned out. "I'm glad to be of assistance. Perhaps you could return the favor by giving me some information?"

"If I can."

"Did you, by any chance, see Viscount Rayner at our Masque?"

"Rayner? 'Course I did. Dressed as Galahad, I believe."

"Did you have occasion to speak to him?"

Middleton frowned in bemusement. "Briefly. He came into the card room and I asked if he cared for a game of Commerce, but he declined and went on his way. Why do you ask?"

"He didn't go out with your set after the Masque, then?"

"Rayner?" Middleton began to laugh. "Lawks, Blackmoor! Rayner go out gaming?! Bloody hell, the colonial is more strait-laced than an Evangelical's grandmother! What would he be doing touring the stews?"

Eric hid his disappointment and annoyance as best he could. "Thank you, Middleton."

As he turned to go, the young Baron stopped him. "I say, Blackmoor, aren't you going to play a hand or two?" Middleton smirked, "Or have you grown as old-maidish as your new friend Rayner?"

"When I do choose to gamble, Middleton," Eric's lip curled in distaste. "You may be sure it is in far better surroundings than this." He touched the brim of his hat--which he had not bothered to remove--and stalked back out of the hell.

Tam was down from the driver's box and waiting beside the brougham door with Lachlan. "Any word, m'lord?"

"None." Eric paused even though Lachlan had opened the door for him. "I'm not entirely certain there is any point in continuing in this area. If Rayner did decide to take up gaming, he would not do it in this style." He glanced at Tam, "We will check along St. James next."

"Aye, m'lord," Tam nodded and vaulted back up to the driver's box.

Back in the carriage, Eric could not help but wonder what he hoped to accomplish with his journey through the best and worst gaming houses of London. His instincts told him that Hank would not suddenly indulge in activities of which he had previously disapproved and common sense told him that if Hank had put in an appearance at a club or hell it would have been unusual enough for word of it to be circulated among the ton.

Still, searching was preferable to being at Kelthorne and allowing his guilt and worry to keep him from concentrating on anything else. Rejoining his old set of social-climbers was no longer an option, as their regard meant less now than it did before. After the company of Hank and Lady Silverbridge, false fawning no longer held any appeal.

Eric sighed, wishing he could find something blameworthy in Hank's behaviour so that he would not have to feel so bad about his own. However, the fact remained that even if Hank had been meeting Lady Silverbridge in the garden, he had not wronged Eric in any way. That he had not been meeting her only made Eric feel worse, and Eric was not accustomed to feeling shame or guilt for his actions. As the Marquis of Blackmoor and heir to a duchy, he rarely had occasion to feel anything other than smugly satisfied with himself and the world around him or to put much effort into being admirable. His grandfather's disapproval was merely irritating, but Hank's surprise and anger made his stomach clench uncomfortably. Eric could never be bothered to try meeting his grandfather's standards, but he longed to discover Lady Silverbridge's standards so he could not only meet but surpass them.

With another sigh, Eric glanced out the window at the foggy streets. Damned troublesome business, this matter of sincere regard.

Hank sputtered into wakefulness just in time to hear the door shut behind his captor. There was the barest hint of light in the room, but by the time Hank got his eyes fully opened and blinked away the water that had splashed across his face, he was in pitch black darkness again.

He lifted his head, trying to catch the water that ran down his face and grateful for the few drops he managed to get. He wasn't painfully thirsty as yet, but he suspected that would begin before long. Hunger still was not a concern, but undoubtedly would be in another day. Even the worst winter in New Hampshire wasn't going to be comparable to this, Hank knew.

Succumbing to sheer frustration for several minutes, Hank raged against his bonds, shaking the table slightly. He finally stopped, panting, and wondered if it were possible for him to make enough noise to alert the servants to his presence. He quickly decided against trying, because there was no telling what his captor would do if angered.

Closing his eyes somehow made the darkness less intimidating, so Hank kept them shut as he tried to think sensibly about what was happening to him. There simply had to be a way out of this insane situation, and Hank was determined to find it.

On to Part X
Back to Bard's Cavern