My Fair Lily(81)
After a few hasty questions to confirm Ashton’s movements over the past month, Ewan and George left. Homer was waiting for them at the corner. “Maidstone, m’lord,” Homer said, confirming what they’d just learned. “That’s where he is. I’ll wager m’life on it. ’Tis a bit of good news. The girl’s sure to be alive. He wouldn’t have bothered replenishing the larder and gathering supplies if he only meant to... you know.”
Ewan wasn’t familiar with England’s southern countryside. “How far is it from here?”
“Depends on how fast we ride, m’lord. Can’t ride too fast at night. I’d say about four hours. Less on that stallion of yours,” he said. “But I wouldn’t advise taking off on yer own. It isn’t safe. The fancy lord surely had others helping him.”
Nor did Ewan know the way. He couldn’t afford to ride off on his own and get lost. Even if he did find his way, he wasn’t so foolish as to believe he could capture Ashton, defeat the rats he’d hired, and rescue Lily all on his own. He might be able to fight off four or five of them with the element of surprise on his side, but it only took one of those rats to slip away and harm a defenseless Lily.
Damn. He figured they were almost an hour behind Ashton now, assuming he was the culprit, and assuming he’d taken Lily to Maidstone.
“We’ll need a couple more men to ride with us,” Homer said, “just to be safe. I know the men I want. M’pals, Mick and Bert, are experienced runners. They’ll be of help in these delicate situations. Might I suggest that I round ’em up and we regroup at the Farthingale home within the hour? M’lord, we’ll need horses. Ain’t much use for good ones here in London. The nags we usually ride won’t make it across the Thames at a trot, much less at a gallop.”
“We have a supply of good horses,” George said.
More precious time lost. But Ewan knew Homer was right. He returned to Lotheil Court, immediately ordered Hades saddled, quickly changed out of his formal attire, and collected Jasper. The hairy lump could track better than any dog he’d ever owned. He’d be of use in finding Lily, especially if Ashton held her in a hidden room. Or off the grounds of the Maidstone house. He packed weapons and filled a saddlebag with a few useful supplies.
When he arrived at the Farthingale residence, Dillie and her mother were seated on the settee in the parlor, their hands clasped together in a death grip. The mother, Sophie, was a beautiful woman for her age, dark hair sprinkled with strands of white, a soft, pink complexion, and blue eyes that at the moment held no sparkle. Lines of worry were etched into a face that held such profound sadness, Ewan couldn’t bear it.
Dillie glanced up at him. “What time is it? After midnight already? Lily and I are scheduled to give a recital at Lady Finchley’s home this evening. In the excitement, I’d forgotten all about it.”
“We’ll have to let Lady Finchley know as soon as possible,” Sophie said, casting him a pleading gaze. “I’ll tell her that Lily suddenly fell ill. She’ll suspect something is amiss. Soon, all of London will realize she’s missing. I don’t care what any of them think. I just want my daughter back.” She took a deep, raspy breath. “I should have told her that I loved her.”
“You did,” Dillie insisted.
“Not often enough. I was always after her about one thing or another, about her books and that stodgy Royal Society. I’m so sorry! And now it’s come to this!”
Dillie looked as lost and anguished as her mother, even as she tried to comfort her. “Lily knows you love her. She’s smart. She knows everything.”
Ewan knelt beside the ladies. “I’ll find her, Mrs. Farthingale. I promise you. Don’t send word to anyone just yet. No need to say anything until the last possible moment.”
“The recital isn’t until eight o’clock tonight,” Dillie added, her lips quivering despite her best efforts to remain composed. “That gives Ewan almost twenty hours to get her back to us.” She turned to him and cast him a trembling smile. “She plays the harp. Surprisingly, not very well, but she tries hard, and I’m sure she’ll master it someday. I play the piano and sing. We haven’t rehearsed the pieces yet. Lily’s always finding excuses to avoid practice. She hates that harp.” She cast him another weak smile. “Please make this recital happen. We’ll stink worse than a basket of fish left sitting in the sun. The audience will cringe. Lily’s harp playing will offend their ears. I’ll consider it the best recital ever.”