Dare it all for Love (Daring Daughters Book 5)

by Emma V. Leech

  Rachel shook her head, her throat working. “No, but I bet it’s that horrid Joe. I told her he was trouble. I don’t like the way he looks at me, nor her neither.”

  “Joe?” Henry said, before Gabriel could open his mouth.

  “Joe Foster, sir,” Nancy said. “Him what digs the graves at the church.”

  Henry felt his stomach drop as he remembered the gravedigger that same day, the way he had watched the girls as they walked off, the way he had watched Florence, and then turned and looked at Henry.

  “Oh, God,” he said. “We need to get to the church. Now.”

  Louis César was halfway down the stairs when he saw the men racing out the front door. What the devil was going on? He turned as he reached the bottom of the stairs to find Evie watching them go. Her sweet face was pale and anxious.

  “Evie, whatever is the matter?”

  “Florence is missing,” she said, her voice choked. “Henry is afraid she may have got mixed up in the business with the c-corn dolls.” She covered her mouth with her hand to smother a sob.

  “Chérie!” Louis exclaimed, his heart aching for her. Silently, he guided her back into the parlour before anyone saw her break down.

  “Oh, Louis, I’m so frightened.” She flung herself at him, burying her face in his chest and sobbing.

  “Er…” For a moment Louis froze, uncertain what to do. He could not be caught alone with her in such a compromising position but… but damn it, the poor child was distraught. Louis put his arms about her, rubbing slow circles on her back. “Voyons, Voyons, ma chérie. Calm yourself. Tell me what has happened?”

  Slowly Evie recovered her composure and Louis handed her his handkerchief.

  “I’m s-sorry I cried all over your waistcoat,” she said, diffident now, her cheeks pink with embarrassment and her nose red from blowing it with such vigour.

  Louis smiled at her. “It’s of no matter, I assure you.” Still, he moved back to the door, opened it so no one could accuse them of impropriety, and gestured for Evie to sit down.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  Haltingly at first, Evie told him of everything she had learned this morning.

  Louis swallowed a curse, wishing he’d known this earlier. “What did the maid look like? Susan, was it?”

  “Quite pretty, slender and blonde.”

  He nodded. “I believe I saw her.”

  Evie sat up straighter, her eyes growing wide. “Where?”

  He hesitated, unwilling to tell the truth. “I could not sleep last night so I came down to… find a book,” he improvised, deciding he’d rather not explain that he’d come down to find the brandy. “I must have fallen asleep—it was a dull book—and woke with a headache so I went for a walk to get some air. She was running. I thought at the time she looked rather upset, but she was too far ahead of me to call out to her, and it was none of my affair in any case.”

  She stared at him for a moment and then leapt to her feet and grasped hold of his hand.

  “Show me,” she demanded.

  Louis frowned, uncertain if this was a good idea or not but… Oh, he could not deny her when she was so obviously frantic. “Very well,” he said with a sigh, and led her out of the house.

  Well, this was a pickle and no mistake.

  You great ninny, Florence Knight! Florence cursed herself silently, though she might as well have shouted at the top of her lungs. No one would hear her. She muttered under her breath.

  “Come and see my, grandmother, Miss Knight. She’ll explain everything, Miss Knight.”

  Wherever the grandmother was, she was certainly not living in this hovel in the backend of beyond.

  Idiot!

  Though who would have thought such a slip of a girl as Susan Cooper could be so strong? Or perhaps so desperate. Florence had heard the alarm bells ringing with every step towards the dilapidated cottage, but she knew she was privileged beyond what most people could dream, and that others lived in conditions that she would never believe possible, so she’d said nothing, assuming the grandmother was dreadfully poor. She had not expected the push from behind, so forceful that she’d gone down without a struggle, hitting her head on the packed earth floor hard enough to make her ears ring. Too dazed and shocked to respond at once, it had been easy for Susan to overpower her and tie her hands behind her back. Her ankles were bound too, so tightly her feet were going numb.

  Think, Florence, think, she instructed herself. Her heart was beating too fast, in sharp erratic thuds that were making her feel giddy and nauseated, but that would not help her. Her father and Henry would be looking for her by now. A wealthy heiress and granddaughter of a duke could not disappear without anyone noticing. Susan had been foolish indeed and soon she would realise how much of a fool. The girl had seemed terrified in any case, but of whom?

  She had cried when she’d tied Florence up, apologising over and over and begging for forgiveness.

  “Never meant this to happen, for things to go this far. It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she’d sobbed. “He’s evil… the devil, he is. Oh, Lord, whatever shall I do? I won’t let him hurt you, though. I promise.”

  What it had supposed to have been like, Florence had no idea, but it was obvious that Susan had got in over her head. Hearing him—whoever he was—referred to as evil and the devil was far from reassuring, either. Susan’s assurance that she wouldn’t let him hurt her seemed a fragile hope too. The girl was clearly terrified. Now Susan had run off, which meant she’d left Florence in the hope her family would find her, or she’d gone to tell someone else about Florence… perhaps that evil someone who had meant things to go this far. All she knew was that she could not rely on Susan’s reassurances.

  She must escape.

  Florence looked about the filthy space. It was a single room with a soot blackened fireplace; the tiny window was broken but too small to crawl through, and there was no furniture, just the packed dirt floor and the cold wall at her back. An odd white fur, like salt, grew over the damp stone, and the place smelled musty and forgotten. She wriggled her hands, trying to find some give in the rope but it was too tight. Perhaps if she could get her hands in front of her. Florence wriggled and strained but her huge skirts and layers of petticoats were in the way and her corset hardly allowed for much movement. It was impossible.

  She muttered the rudest word she could think of, one that she’d overhead Papa say with some enthusiasm when he’d discovered his railway project would run thousands over budget. She said it again, louder, and then shouted it. For some reason it made her feel better, calmer, and so she took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. The cottage had not been that far from Holbrook, only a few miles, so it was likely still on the estate. This meant the earl probably knew about it, and they must be looking for her by now. All positive thoughts.

  If Susan had gone to speak to whoever else was involved, Florence was very certain she did not wish to meet the devil, whoever he might be. Briefly, Mr Oak’s stern countenance flickered into her mind, and she shivered. Could he be at the heart of this? His grandmother had been a witch by his own admission. Whoever he was, she needed to get out of here as soon as possible and for that she needed her hands free. If only there were something to cut the rope with. Florence stared around the barren room and sighed. She glanced up at the window, trying to judge what time it was by the sun, and cursed herself.

  “You little fool!”

  The window was broken.

  It took a lot more cursing, and she scraped her elbow badly, but eventually Florence got herself to her feet by pushing against the wall and levering herself up. The window was thankfully low, but she still had to bend forwards to get her wrists high enough behind her back, not easy when her corset was so tight. She held her breath, struggling to get her hands elevated so she could press the rope against the broken glass.

  It was impossible to see what she was doing, and Florence sucked in a breath as she cut her thumb. Her heart pounded in her ears as she fel
t the rope slide against the broken edge. Carefully she moved the cord up and down, her head spinning as the corset constricted her breathing. At last the rope frayed and broke and she gave a whimper of relief as she brought her arms forward. There was no time to celebrate her cleverness though and she sat down, working the knots that bound her ankles. It took too long, her fingers numb and her shoulders screaming with pain after being pulled back in such an awkward position, but finally she was free. Well, free of her bindings. She ran to the door and gave a frustrated shout as she discovered it wouldn’t budge. There was no lock she could see, but somehow, she had been trapped in here.

  She ran back to the window, wondering if there was any hope of squeezing through, but even if she stripped off her gown and petticoats her shoulders would never fit.

  She was a prisoner still.

  Chapter 15

  Raphe,

  What are you playing at, you pillock? You’re all over the damned scandal sheets again. I think you’d best come and rusticate with me for a few weeks. At least give your liver a day or two to recover. It’s really not so bad out here you know and the chances of being killed by falling plaster have significantly diminished of late. We even have a cook and a full staff, so you’ll not starve like last time you were here.

  Do come, old man. Bainbridge is just up the road. Perhaps we can pry August away from those dreadful females who claw at his peace of mind when he’s home and it will be like old times?

  What do you say?

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Daire ‘Dare’ Kelburn, Viscount Roxborough to Raphe Coote, Baron de Ligne.

  18th August 1839, Holbrook House Estate, Sussex.

  “You’re certain she went this way?” Evie demanded for the fifth time.

  Louis gave her a look which suggested she did not ask him again.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m just so afraid something has happened to her.”

  Silently he reached out and took her hand, curling his long, strong fingers about hers. Though she knew it was dreadfully inappropriate, she took it for the kind gesture it was. His touch gave her courage and they trudged on, following the path which was becoming muddy and overgrown.

  “Look.”

  Louis’ voice was pitched low, and she followed where he pointed to see footprints in the damp earth. They were indistinct, but it looked like two people had come this way. Going on the small size, they surely must be women or boys. Louis pressed a finger to his lips and Evie nodded.

  “I ought not have brought you,” he whispered as they moved forward. He turned back to her, and Evie knew he was going to send her back to the house. She gave a vigorous shake of her head, glaring at him.

  “Evie,” he began.

  “She is my sister.”

  Louis stared at her, frowning, and then sighed. “You do as I say, and if I say run, you run.”

  She nodded, anything to keep going if there was a chance of finding Florence.

  “Swear it,” he demanded.

  Evie rolled her eyes but made the sign of a cross over her heart. Louis’ lips twitched but he seemed to accept that, and they carried on.

  “The footsteps go that way now,” he said, pointing into a thicket of scrubby trees after another ten minutes of stepping around muddy puddles and untangling Evie’s skirts from brambles. Though the path carried on, there were no more footprints following it. Louis hesitated.

  “Evie….”

  “No!” Evie pushed past him before he could insist she go back.

  She understood his concern, she felt it too, the sense there was something wrong, but if Florence was here there was no way on earth she was leaving without her. Brambles snagged at her skirts, but she did not stop to untangle herself now, forcing her way on, heedless of the rips and tears in the fine fabric of her gown.

  “Wait,” Louis hissed, moving past her. “You stay behind me or go home, your choice.”

  Evie gave him an exasperated glare but let him take the lead, and nearly ploughed into the back of him as he stopped in his tracks.

  “Do you hear that?” he asked.

  There was a dull thudding sound, like someone hitting something over and over. Evie’s heart was crashing at twice the rate of whatever was making the ominous sound as they carried on, walking as silently as they could. Finally the path opened out and the remnants of what must once have been rather a sweet if tiny cottage came into view. The thatch was rotten and had collapsed in places, and the walls were thick with ivy. The banging stopped abruptly as something clattered to the floor and there was a muttered curse. Wait. Evie recognised that voice.

  “Florence!”

  She ran forward, cursing Louis as he grabbed hold of her waist, keeping her still.

  “Evie?” replied the voice from inside the building, fear and hope and surprise all audible in that one word. “Evie, is that you?”

  “Oh, Florence!” Evie ran forward with Louis at her heels. Whoever had trapped her inside had barred the door with a strong length of wood that Louis lifted free and tossed to one side. They pushed the door open, and Florence flew out, straight into Evie’s arms.

  “Oh, Evie, Evie! Thank God, I was so frightened I would never see you again.”

  Evie wept, too overcome to reply that she had feared the same thing. They held on to each other, crying and laughing with relief.

  “You have Louis César to thank for bringing us here,” Evie explained, once her tears had subsided enough to speak. “He saw Susan running in this direction early this morning and we found the stile that led to this path. We just kept walking until your footsteps ran out.”

  “I met her at the stile. She told me she was taking me to her grandmother,” Florence said in disgust.

  “Ladies, forgive me, but there is no time for this, we must get you back to the house. Your parents are worried sick.”

  Florence nodded, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I don’t think Susan is working alone. She spoke about a man, an evil man who had gone too far. Oh, Evie, I’m very afraid it might be Mr Oak.”

  “Mr Oak?” Louis repeated, his scepticism obvious. Evie had to admit she hadn’t warmed to Mr Oak either, but to think of him as evil?

  Florence nodded, fear glittering in her eyes. “We must warn Henry. I don’t know why Susan started this, or what she or Mr Oak believe him guilty of, but I think he’s in real danger.”

  Louis and Evie exchanged a glance, but silently agreed not to tell Florence that Henry had already left in pursuit of her just yet. Evie did not know if Mr Oak or Joe Foster had been involved in this, but either or both of them could be on their way here now. They needed to leave.

  The church was empty, as far as the men could tell, and there was no sign of anyone in the graveyard.

  “Damnation.” Gabriel ran a hand through his hair. The poor man was clearly on the edge, terror for his daughter making him sharp with everyone. “Where is she?”

  “We’ll try the vicarage,” Jasper said. “Come on, Gabe. The vicar will know where Foster lives, or where his usual haunts are. We’ll track him down, don’t you fret.”

  Gabriel nodded, his expression grim. “The bastard will wish he was dead when I get my hands on him. Heaven help him if he’s laid a finger on Florence.”

  Not if I get to him first, Henry swore silently. His body ached and his head was splitting and none of it registered. There was nothing else, no thought in his mind past finding Florence and getting her to safety. “I’ll stay here and keep an eye out, just in case,” he said.

  Gabriel sent him a look of disgust but did not disagree. Henry wasn’t about to make excuses or beg forgiveness. If anything happened to Florence, he would hate himself far more than Gabriel could ever manage. Damn it, but Florence had known, she had warned him from the very beginning that he was not taking the threat seriously enough and he’d dismissed her. Worse, he’d belittled her in front of everyone, and no matter that he’d apologised for it the knowledge made his throat ache with regret.

  Please God,
let her be safe.

  He had been much struck by Helena too, who would be with them now if Gabriel hadn’t put his foot down. It was clear to see where her daughters got their spirit from. She’d demanded the earl’s duelling pistol and told them in no uncertain terms that Joe Foster would speak to her if it was the last thing he did. Gabriel had not bothered to calm her down, but had sworn to her that Florence would be back safe and sound before lunchtime, and with such certainty even Henry had believed it. When Gabriel Knight said something was going to happen, it was impossible to believe it wouldn’t be just as he said.

  Henry walked the edges of the graveyard that surrounded the ancient church, keeping to the shadows as far as he could. The scent of freshly turned earth reached him and he paused as he looked past a large, crumbling statue of an angel to see a newly dug grave. The spade was stuck in the loose earth. So, Joe Foster had been here today, was still here, for a fellow didn’t leave his tools lying about if he wasn’t coming back. Henry darted behind the gnarled trunk of an ancient yew tree, watching for movement. Nothing moved. There was no sign of anyone, but there was something, a sound. It was distant, as if it were far off or… or below ground. Like someone pushing something heavy against a stone floor.

  Henry crept forward.

  “Oh, my darling, my darling, thank God!” Lady Helena cried, holding Florence tightly against her.

  “Thank Louis… I mean Monsieur le Comte. He saw Susan running away from the house this morning and took us straight to where Florence was being held,” Evie said, as their mother wept and covered Florence’s face with kisses.

  It made her feel as if she was six years old all over again and was very welcome. She hugged her mother tightly for a moment before pushing away.

  “Mama, where is Henry?” she asked. For as much as she was relieved to be back to the safety of Holbrook House, this was not yet over. “I must speak to him.”