Amelia followed. The breeze whipped past him making Amelia well aware for his need of a bath after riding for so many hours, but she loved him all the more for his unwillingness to put anything else before their sister. Cook is in for a bit of a surprise. Had her heart not been so broken over Grace’s disappearance, Amelia would have smiled with amusement over her brother’s state.
As they entered the kitchens, all activity ceased upon seeing them. The Viscount had strictly prohibited his children from becoming over friendly with the staff and had set rules against descending below stairs. Jonathan had obeyed these rules over the years to the letter. Amelia had not and had snuck down to the kitchens many times as a child for a sweet treat.
“My Lord. My Lady.” The cook curtsied in respect, her Irish accent lending the most beautiful lilt to her words. The rest of the servants followed suit.
“There is no time for that now, my dear Mrs. O’ Boyle.” Amelia rushed forward and grasped the old cook’s hands. “There is much we must discuss.” The cook nodded slowly and gestured for them to follow her into the privacy of the pantry.
Amelia had loved the pantry as a child, its shelves stocked with every treat imaginable. Cook had spoiled her as if she had been her own dear granddaughter. She had told Amelia fantastic stories of her childhood in Donegal, and of how her family was descended from the great Irish kings of old. Amelia had been spellbound by tales of banshees, haunted castles, and the little people. What I would not give for a pot of gold now to save Grace with.
“’Tis about our own darlin’ girl, is it now?” the cook asked, referring to Grace.
“Yes, Mrs. O’ Boyle. I am afraid it is.” Jonathan gestured for the cook to take a seat at the small table in the middle of the room.
“How can I be o’ aid?” the cook asked taking a seat.
Amelia and Jonathan joined her at the table. Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, a determined accusatory look on his face. Amelia laid her hand atop of his in a signal to proceed with caution. Mrs. O’ Boyle was a good woman and Amelia did not want her any more upset than she already was. It was clear that she had been crying by her red-rimmed eyes. Half of the staff had not stopped weeping since Grace’s disappearance.
Squeezing her hand in acknowledgement, Jonathan softened his expression and took a gentler approach than he had initially intended. “Mrs. O’Boyle, do you remember anything suspicious happening here recently, perhaps a stranger asking questions about the family, or one of the household staff disappearing for long periods of time?”
The cook frowned in thought. “The usual tradesmen and the like, but nothin’ that would raise suspicion. Do ye believe anyone here capable o’ takin’ our darlin’ girl?” The cook’s distress at such an idea was plain to see.
“We do not know, Mrs. O’Boyle, but the kidnappers knew things that would have taken some planning to know. I am sorry to disturb the sanctity of your kitchen, but we will need to speak with the entirety of the household staff.” Jonathan had been watching the cook’s expressions carefully during the entire exchange in order to gauge the truthfulness of her words. He must have been satisfied that she was telling the truth because his face softened, and he relaxed a bit into his chair.
“Ye may use the pantry if ye wish. ‘Twould offer ye a private place for yer questions.”
“Thank you, Mrs. O’ Boyle, for your assistance. Please do let us know if you remember anything at all out of the ordinary.”
“O’ course, My Lord.”
“Until we have had a chance to speak with all of the staff, I must ask that you keep this conversation among the three of us.”
“I will,” she promised. The cook arose and returned to the kitchen wringing her hands in worry. “I will send in the head housekeeper, Mrs. Crabtree, and the butler, Mr. Applegate. They will both wish to be made abreast of the situation.”
“Poor Mrs. O’ Boyle. She has always believed the best in people. It will be very difficult for her to carry on if our family was betrayed by one of our own servants. She will blame herself for not seeing it sooner.”
“As will we all,” Jonathan murmured.
“We had no way of knowing, Jonathan. Just as you do not wish for me to blame myself for not accompanying her sooner, you should not blame yourself for not noticing that something was perhaps amiss within our own household. I do not believe that any of us could have known, or even imagined such a thing happening.” Amelia attempted to soothe her brother, but she felt just as much guilt as he did about it all.
Mrs. Crabtree entered the pantry, then Mr. Applegate. They asked them the same questions they had asked the cook, but neither of them had noticed anything out of the ordinary either. They went through the list of maids and footmen, before they went out to the stables and spoke with the groomsmen. Still, no one knew of anything. “I will ride out to the tenants and see if any of them know anything,” Jonathan informed her. “It would be best if you went back to the house to see to Father and Henry.”
Amelia considered arguing with him, but decided against causing him any more distress than he was already in. Jonathan remounted his horse and headed out onto the estate grounds. Amelia stood watching him go. She had never felt more helpless in all of her life as she had since Grace had been taken. She felt as if she could scream from the fear and anger. All of the possible things that could happen to Grace flew through her mind sucking the air from her lungs. She bent over in pain sinking to the ground.
She rocked back and forth sobbing. It was as if everything had hit her all at once. She had been walking around in a state of shock, holding on to the hope that Jonathan would have found Grace and brought her home. It had been a foolish hope, but it had been that thread of hope that had been holding her together. Now, without it she fell apart, unable to bear the possibility of her sister’s death. She sobbed so hard that she vomited in the grass, unable to catch her breath.
When she had wept all that she could weep, she stood, walked over to the water pump, and cleaned herself up. She leaned back against the side of the pumphouse wall and breathed in deeply attempting to settle her nerves. She looked around her and was glad that no one had seen her outburst. Her father would have been most disagreeable in his chastisement of her behavior had he witnessed it. Taking another deep breath, she steadied herself to reenter the house.
She found her father and the Duke in the library. “Amelia,” Henry came forward and escorted her to a chair. “We were just discussing how we might gather the ransom. An unpleasant topic of discussion I know, but necessary.” Amelia could tell that Henry was barely holding himself together. The muscles in his jaw were taut, his neck strained. He blinked a bit more than was usual, in an effort to hold back the tears.
He loves her so very much. Amelia sat down in the chair that Henry had vacated and studied her father’s face for a moment. He did not look up from his papers to acknowledge his daughter’s presence. Amelia turned back toward Henry. “Will you both be able to gather the funds in time?”
“We will find a way. I have never heard of such a high ransom for a woman who was not of the highest royal blood. Whomever has done this would have to know our combined worth to rest in any surety that they would be paid such a sum.”
“That is our observation as well. We have begun questioning the staff and tenants for any sign of unusual behavior by anyone. It is clear that someone has divulged information pertaining to Grace’s visit to Slantonshire and we wish to know who.”
“It is not your place to get involved, Amelia,” her father chastised. “You are nothing, but a weak female given to whims of rebellious behavior. Leave matters of import and intellect such as this to the men.”
Amelia bit down hard to keep from saying how she felt about his assessment of the female sex. Henry came over to stand beside her. “I will have similar inquires performed at Slantonshire immediately upon my return. As much as I wish to remain here with my beloved Grace’s family, I am better served gathering the funds for her ransom. I will, h
owever, return as soon as I am able.”
Amelia stood. “I will see you to the door.”
Henry nodded. “William,” he bid the Viscount farewell, then left the library. “I am sorry for what your father said. I do not share his views. I am most grateful to you for all you have done to care for Grace. She would not be the glorious creature that she is without your influence. I can only pray that she will be returned to us safely.” The Duke’s eyes filled with tears as he clenched his jaw. Amelia had never seen him so upset, and rightly so. The woman he loved was in the hands of ruthless brigands.
“I thank you for your kindness, Henry. I look forward to the day that you become my brother.”
“As do I.”
Amelia watched Henry ride away, then reentered the house. She climbed the stairs to her bedchamber and stood staring out of the window. She was not certain how long she had stood there, but by the time that she had finally stirred she had come up with a plan.
She slipped into Jonathan’s room and rummaged through his wardrobe. She selected the smallest clothing she could find and carried them back to her room. She disrobed and put on her brother’s clothing. Every piece of clothing hung from her body, engulfing her small form. She took a sash from one of her dresses and tied it around her middle to hold the clothing together. Jonathan was a tall, broad-shouldered man. When compared to Amelia’s feminine frame, he was a giant.
She moved as quietly as she could through the house and out of the back door. How she managed to leave the house without being spotted she had no idea, but she was greatly relieved. Sneaking into the stables, she saddled a horse and led it quietly out of the back. “And where are ye off tae, lass?” the stablemaster’s voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Fergus,” she turned around and faced him. “Please do not stop me.”
“I would nae dream o’ it, lass, but I dinnae believe it tae be safe for ye tae go a lookin’ for Lady Grace on yer own.”
“Father would not allow me to go with or without a companion. Nor would Jonathan for that matter. I must go and look for her. I cannot simply stand around waiting in the hopes that Father and the Duke will be able to come up with the money in time. If it is at all possible to find her before then we must do all within our power to make it so.”
“Aye, that we must,” the stablemaster nodded in agreement. “But I cannae allow ye tae go alone, unarmed.”
“Fergus…” she began but was interrupted by a raising of his hand.
“There will be nae more talk about it. I will be goin’ with ye and that is that.”
“But what if Father needs you and you are not here? He will let you go from his service.”
“Och, there will be other jobs, lass, but there is only one Lady Amelia and Lady Grace.”
Amelia smiled. “You are a good man, Fergus.”
“Och, away with ye,” he smiled and moved to saddle his own horse. Fergus got the directions to the place where Grace had been taken from the carriage driver and they set out together. “Ye ken that it will be most unlikely for ye tae find anythin’ that yer faither and brother could nae?”
“Yes, I am well aware, but my father and brother returned home without inquiring at all of the neighboring estates and crofts.”
“Do ye ken how long such a task will take, lass? Yer faither would ne’er allow ye tae be gone for so long.”
“I have left a letter stating that I decided to accompany the Duke back to Slantonshire to assist in his inquiries. As I have every intention of doing so, it is not a lie. It will simply take me longer than is customary to arrive.”
“And wearin’ yer brother’s clothes?”
“I had not planned on being accompanied by anyone who could report my activities back to my father. If he believes me to have left with the Duke, as my future brother, I would have been sufficiently looked after with no need for concern on Father’s part. Jonathan’s clothing would have allowed me to roam about the countryside unmolested, leaving my reputation intact.”
“I did nae believe ye tae be a lad, lass. What makes ye think that ye could have made anyone else believe it?”
“You have known me since birth, others have not.” Amelia lowered her voice in order to mimic the deeper tones of a man.
Fergus chuckled. “Aye, ‘tis true at that. Ye have always been me favorite. We Scots like our lassies tae have spirit. Ye, lass, have plenty o’ that.”
Amelia smiled fondly at the stablemaster. His graying hair shined in the sunlight like a silver beacon. The wrinkles and scars upon his face telling tales of times past. Fergus had been more of a loving father to her than the Viscount ever had. Amelia was certain that her father loved her, as all parents did, but she had only ever known his disapproval for her independent spirit. It was that same spirit that her mother had adored, and that had created within Fergus MacDonald a lasting friend.
“I am grateful to you, Fergus, for coming with me. It will certainly make the journey easier. I realize that our quest holds very little chance of success, but if we can discover even the smallest detail more about Grace’s captors then it will be worth it.”
“Aye, lass.” Fergus nodded. “That it would.”
They rode through the remainder of the day, then stopped at the same inn Jonathan and the Viscount had stayed in. Fergus slept in the stable with the horses and asked among the workers if any of them had seen anything unusual in the days leading up to Grace’s kidnapping. Amelia did the same inside of the inn, doing her best to hide her true identity. Fergus had helped her to appear more boyish by adding padding in the right places and a bit of coal dust along the jaw and lip line.
Amelia had brought one of her sketches of Grace and showed it cautiously about being sure not to mention their family’s name. She knew it was taking a great risk, but she felt that she had no other choice. There was no guarantee that even if her father and the Duke were able to produce the ransom that the brigands would return Grace alive and unharmed. They had demanded that no form of law enforcement could be notified, but they had neglected to say anything about the family seeking them out on their own.
A technicality I know, but it is a risk I am willing to take.
Amelia moved through the tables man to man, silently begging each one to know something, anything that would help her to find her sister. Not a one of them knew anything, or if they did, they were not telling her. Frustrated, she retired to her room and attempted to sleep. They had another day’s ride ahead of them and she did not wish to be delayed by a lack of sufficient rest. She found that the closer that they grew to where Grace was taken, the more certain she became of her quest.
When morning dawned, Amelia and Fergus set off once more. They stopped at various estates along the way, where Fergus would speak with the stablemen and Amelia would converse with the crofters along the roadway. At each house she prayed for answers, and at each house she was denied. It was slow moving and by the time that they reached the place where Grace had been taken, night had fallen. The night was moonless, and all was pitch black darkness. Fergus’ horse began to limp, and he was forced to stop.
“The place is just ahead, lass, but it is tae dark tae see anythin’ now. We must make camp and wait until the morn.”
“As you wish,” Amelia agreed. She knew that he was right, but she chafed at the delay.
They set up camp together doing the best that they could without the light of a fire. “I apologize for the lack o’ accommodation, lass, but ‘tis the best that can be done under the circumstances.”
“Do not fret on my account, Fergus. I came prepared for just such an eventuality.”
Fergus took the saddles from both horses and laid them on the ground at the edge of a wooded area not far from the road. “As long as we are nae set upon by highwaymen, we will be fine, but if we are…” he patted the pistol in his belt.
Amelia smiled. She could barely make out the motion in the darkness but the sound of his hand slapping wood and metal made it clear. “Surely an entire
band of highwaymen are no match for you, dear Fergus.”
Fergus chuckled. “Aye.”
They lay down and in very little time Fergus was snoring. He snored so loudly that there was no way for Amelia to sleep. Rising, she decided to go for a walk. She knew it was unwise to do so unarmed so made sure to carry the pistol she had brought with her in her hand, ready for use. She walked toward the place where Grace had been taken. With every step it became harder to breath, her chest tightening with the pain of such a loss.
I pray to God that you are safe and unharmed.
Sinking to her knees, she gasped for breath. The pain in her chest was searing in its intensity. The sound of a cocking pistol to the back of her head caused her to cease from breathing entirely. A deep masculine voice growled from behind her. “Do not move.”
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Also by Patricia Haverton
Thank you for reading A Game of Chess with the Marquess!
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Patricia Haverton
About the Author
Born the oldest of three children, Patricia Haverton grew up believing that she’d follow in her father’s footsteps and pursue a career in science. However, her worldview changed when she decided to explore her British mother’s roots. The trip to her ancestral lands solidified her conviction that she had found her true calling in the romanticism of the Era of Kings and Queens.
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