“My Lord! You gave me a fright!” the man said before recovering himself. He jumped to his feet and said, “That is, I meant to say, how can I be of service, My Lord?”
“Remain calm, it’s no important matter,” Callum assured him. “But if the woman is awake, I must speak with her.”
“I doubt that she would be, My Lord. It’s nearly first bell and she accepted the offer of a blanket and a gunnysack of hay for her head several hours ago.”
Callum winced at the description of the woman’s bedding. He shook his head slightly. “You’re most likely right. But it would ease my conscience greatly if I might look in at her.”
The guard stepped back, but his expression was still wary. Callum noticed, and he wondered if the man thought he might cause the woman harm. Instead of staring him down, Callum was grateful for the additional witness.
“Please remain right here,” he said. “I only intend to open the door, and I should think she may be relieved to know that she is not left alone with her captor.”
“Very good, My Lord,” the guard said more amiably.
Callum opened the door only enough to peer inside. The small window set high in the wall allowed the moonlight to brighten the room significantly, and he could see that the woman was prone on the bare floor beneath the thin blanket. She did not stir or make a sound, and Callum soon closed the door.
“If the creature has managed to sleep, I won’t be the one to disturb her. My issue can wait until morning, but I wish to know as soon as she is awake and has had her breakfast,” he said, closing the door softly and turning the key in the lock once again.
“Certainly, My Lord. But will we ride for the constable in the morning?”
“Yes, of course,” Callum reassured him, having forgotten that detail. “But I must speak with her first. I fear that I’m mistaken in my assessment of her situation, and as such I must be certain before turning her over to the authorities.”
Callum bade the man goodnight and returned upstairs as carefully as he’d descended. It would be better if none were aware he’d ventured into their space downstairs, as some did not take pleasure in having the line between these worlds become so blurred.
He bypassed his study and instead retired to his quarters, his thoughts churning with questions about the woman. There was no doubt she was in some way complicit with the gang’s crimes, but he could believe there was a motive that he knew not of. It at least gave him hope that he might see his property again, even if he now worried about the creature he had locked away.
Chapter 7
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Beatrix heard the key turn in the lock to her cell. The door opened only a hair’s breadth, but it was enough for her to see someone look in at her. Were they intent on doing her harm? She could not be certain in the dimness of the empty room.
The door opened a bit more and she could make out her captor’s face. What was he playing at, invading this space at such an hour? His esteem dropped impossibly lower in her eyes, and the sooner she found a means of escape, the better of she’d be.
“He’s lucky I didn’t claw his lovely face,” Beatrix muttered, still indignant at being gawked at in the night.
It mattered not that he’d closed the door as quietly as he’d opened it. Perhaps he had only been looking in on her. More likely, she surmised angrily, he was ensuring that she hadn’t managed to get free. Men like that tended to be overly concerned with conquest and victory, and she knew he would not take it well if he’d opened the door to find an empty room.
Beatrix grinned in spite of herself, imagining the tantrum a pampered, spoiled boy like that would have once she managed to outwit him. He’d likely kick his feet against the floor and bang his fists, whining for his toy until some governess boxed his ears and sent him to the nursery!
“Perhaps they’d bring his whipping boy to take his punishment while he nibbled at some chocolates!” she said, imagining the man as a slovenly child who grinned like an imp while the innocent boy cried out in pain.
To alleviate the boredom—and to bring some warmth back into her bones from sleeping on the stone floor—Beatrix rose before the sun and paced the perimeter of the tiny room. She made a game of it, counting the laps at the corner beside the door, turning and striding in the other direction, walking backwards now and then. She kept moving, knowing that curling up on the floor and having a good cry was the first stage of succumbing to sadness.
The pacing calmed her slightly and a new thought intruded. The image of her captor’s face when he appeared in the dark swam in her mind. Beatrix refused to think of him as handsome, angry as she was at him, but she knew that in different circumstances he would have struck her as breathtakingly good-looking.
But it was his expression that now stood out to her. Beatrix remembered the look of… was it regret? His usual scowl had been replaced by something unexpected, something softer somehow.
She shook her head angrily. “What care have I that he may rue his terrible actions?” she thought, storming around the room even faster now.
Instead, Beatrix allowed the robust exercise to increase her anger. How dare she be held captive this way! When her father learned of it, there would be a mound of broken bones piled behind them!
Not too long after the sun rose, the key turned in the lock again. Beatrix hurried to the corner where the door swung up, grabbing up the makeshift pillow and threadbare blanket to give the appearance that the room was empty. The guard entered the room carrying a meal on a tray, but Beatrix kicked his backside smartly and sent him sprawling forward to the floor, the dishes clattering against the stones.
“Stop her! She’s getting away!” he managed to shout, turning just in time to see Beatrix slide around the door and run from the room.
She sprinted down the hallway and was surprised to find herself in an enormous kitchen filled with people. They turned to stare at her open-mouthed when she burst in, and the shock of seeing her emerge left them speechless. Beatrix looked about wildly for an exit, and seeing one across the room that led outside, she nearly vaulted over the table and scrambled for the door.
Two sets of hands grabbed her arms and pulled her back. Screaming every obscenity she’d chanced to learn from her father’s men—purely by mistake, as they tried to guard their tongues in her presence—Beatrix was half-carried, half-dragged back to her cell.
“Your food’s still in there!” her guard said angrily as he moved to close the door behind her. “Hope you enjoy the specks of dirt and dust in it, seeing as how it’s your fault it’s on the floor!”
The door slammed behind her and Beatrix fumed, sitting down near the scattered remnants of a bowl of oats, several pieces of toast, and a piece of ham. She was surprised at the fare, but for a moment she was too proud to eat such a meal from the floor. The small tin teapot had mercifully landed with its right side up, and only a little had sloshed from its spout. She moved across the floor to retrieve the small mug that accompanied it and poured herself something to drink.
Taking up the spoon from where it had slid close to the window, she ate the hot oats that were on top of the pile, taking care to avoid scraping the floor beneath. Brushing off the toast and ham with the edge of her skirt, she nibbled at those last.
The entire event would have made a lesser woman miserable, she was sure of it. Instead, Beatrix was fueled by the anger that welled up in her as she ate her food from the very floor. That, coupled with visions of her father’s wrath, even made her smile inwardly.
Several hours later, the door opened again to the same guard, this time bearing a small tray for tea. He cast a look towards the scattered mess on the floor and grimaced at the obvious signs that Beatrix had eaten her food anyway. He looked over his shoulder to ensure that the second man was still waiting outside in case anything was amiss.
“So they sent you with reinforcements this time?” Beatrix said, taunting him. “And here I thought the prissy well-to-do class were stupid.”
“I’ve brought some tea,” the man explained patiently. “If your breakfast was… unsatisfactory, I can request something else.”
“Oh no, it was the best meal I’ve eaten in ages,” she drawled, still mocking him. “Besides, I’d hate to tear you from your important duties of enabling a man who’s kidnapped me.”
The guard ignored her insult and cleared his throat, then asked, “The Marchess of Bellton wishes to inquire as to your name, miss.”
“My name? You mean, I’m held captive here and the man does not even know the identity of his victim?” Beatrix asked, pretending to be alarmed. “How very… well, I was going to say odd, but no, it fits. These toffs do as they please because they know there shall be no consequences. It’s those around them who have to suffer them as fools.”
“Miss, if you please… your name?” the guard pressed, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.
“You may report back to your master that I have been referred to as Lady Beatrix my entire life, and that I am steadfastly intent on remaining so.” She turned her attention away from the man, ignoring him by looking to the wall, until he set down the tray with tea and left.
The key turning in the lock rang in her ears for several moments.
“What did you say?” Callum demanded, rising from his chair and crossing the room. The butler cast a reassuring look to the man who’d come to share the unwelcome news.
He stammered slightly and looked down, then said again, “L-l-lady Beatrix. She said that’s her name.”
“Lady Beatrix… of what?” Callum demanded. “I don’t know anyone by that name!”
“I know not, My Lord,” the servant replied. “Only that she stated her name and title.”
“Lloyd, what have I done? It’s as I feared, perhaps she was in the company of those bandits against her will!” Callum cried. “I knew there was some air about her that demonstrated she was their better!”
“You had no way of knowing, My Lord,” Lloyd explained. “Apart from the faint insult, remember that you very well may have saved her life.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Well, if you stole her from them, even under coarse circumstances and under the shroud of accusation such as it was, you still managed to remove her from their company. Who knows how long she might have remained with them, and what brutal treatment she may have continued to endure?” The butler’s attempt at reassuring him brightened Callum’s mood considerably.
“Yes, that’s quite right,” he mumbled, thinking it through as he walked the length of the room and back. “She may very well have been rescued from further harm by my misstep. But that still doesn’t explain her title. Surely if she’d been stolen by rascals such as those, word would have spread among the ton?”
“Perhaps she’s from another region or even another country, My Lord? And only educated here?” Lloyd suggested. The guard only shrugged. “There’s no way to know where this band of ruffians absconded with her. They may have traveled quite a distance with her before arriving in these parts.”
“You may be right, Lloyd. In any event, she cannot remain downstairs!” Callum rushed from the room to rescue the person he’d treated so boorishly, his butler and servant following a few paces behind.
Callum need not have hurried. Behind the locked door, Beatrix still waited. She looked up only once all three of them had entered the room, barely turning her head to acknowledge them.
“I should rather have thought my name might bring you slumming down here in the bowels of the house,” she said slowly.
“Lady Beatrix?” Callum began, “I wish to extend my most sincere apologies to you for—”
“For what? For binding me like a pig headed to market and throwing me across your horse? Ordering me to be treated like a common criminal? Allowing me to sleep on the cold floor here as though I belonged in the Tower? Which offense is it exactly?” She still made no move to get up, instead allowing Callum to view her lowest state on the floor.
“I am heartily sorry, My Lady,” he said, but was interrupted by the sound of her scornful laughter.
“Your Lady? I’m nothing of the sort,” Beatrix answered, rolling her eyes. “Your buffoon there asked my name and I simply told him what I’ve been called all my life. I’m no simpering noble such as the likes of you. But it is rather amusing how fast you ran to my aid once you’d been told you had a fine lady locked in your cellar. I’m sure you had visions of being shunned throughout the ton floating before your dainty little eyes.”
Callum stared in consternation. Not a lady? What was she playing at? This was all some sort of diversion to her?
“Tell me, good sir,” Beatrix said, leaning up until she propped on her elbow and stared at him with a haughty expression, “did you ever exert yourself so dearly for any commoner? Or do you reserve all your strength on the off-chance that it’s one of your kind in trouble?”
“I… I don’t know what you mean,” Callum said, defending himself from what he felt sure was an accusation wrapped in her rude jest.
“What I mean is, you would never have hurried on my account had you known that I was… a nobody.” She glared at him and turned away to face the fall.
“Madam, I have spoken rather plainly,” he said, struggling to control his temper. “You and your kind have stolen something very important from me, and you may walk out the door within a minute’s time if you’d only return it to me.”
“Oh, would that be the servants’ entrance again, or does my ‘title’ allow me to use the fancy door?” she asked gayly, reminding Callum of his arrogance from the previous night. “As for your property, I have spoken rather plainly to you as well. I don’t have your precious bauble and even if I did, I’d chuck it in the nearest river before giving it to you. The very last thing on this earth I desire is for you to feel happiness.”
“Then you’ll rot here until such time as I can bring the authorities to arrest you!” Callum bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls in the empty room. Beatrix offered no discernable reaction. He fought to resume control of himself and added, “If you state the name of your fellow thieves so that I might have my property back, however, I will speak to the magistrate personally about offering you lenience.”
“Lenience? For stealing? You seemed to be fully aware only yesterday that theft—especially from someone of your mighty station by someone of my disgustingly low class—is a hanging offense. Tell me, how does one offer lenience during a hanging? Do they use a better grade of rope for the noose, perhaps, or tie it in a darling bow instead of the usual coiled knot?” she asked, feigning innocence. “Oh, maybe it is that they offer pastries at your last meal instead of merely gruel?”
“My Lord, this is a waste of your time,” Lloyd said quietly. “Let us call the constable and allow him to handle it.”
“No,” Callum said defiantly. “That is obviously what this insolent creature desires. I’ll call no one. You, madam, can stay precisely where you are without a word to anyone. Your friends can wonder where you are and what’s become of you. It certainly won’t be the most important matter which they are ignorant of!”
He turned on his heel and stormed from the room, striding down the hallway so forcefully that his steps thundered throughout the length of the passageway. He heard the door shut firmly behind him as his guard locked the door once again.
Chapter 8
By midday, the pain in Aaron’s head had gone from an agonizing roar to a dull ache. Compared with worry for his daughter’s whereabouts, the pain that frequently tormented him was but a minor nuisance. He limped across the room to the table where Beatrix frequently concocted her remedies, looking for the dainty white yarrow flowers that she would apply to wounds.
Rifling through her jars of remedies, he came across the one he sought and worked to crush a small handful of the leaves and flowers into a pile. Wetting the crumbs, he applied them to the wound on his leg before binding it with a fresh cloth from her basket. Then he sought another of her jars, t
he one which contained the valerian she always brewed into a tea when his head pained him as it did now.
Aaron went through his own ministrations numbly, his thoughts on his beautiful daughter. She had been the only source of constant joy in his life, his reward for surviving the loss of his wonderful wife, Tilly. When she breathed her last, Aaron would have willingly dug a second grave beside hers and cast himself down into the dirt, if not for Beatrix.
“Ah, Tilly. You were always the one to take care of me. Have I become such an invalid old man that I now make our daughter play nursemaid when my health fails me? Where is that damned jar?” he cried out, still looking at all of the medicines.
The Stolen Diadem of a Castaway Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 5