“Pie!” he bellowed, his eyes glued to the small black rook hanging from the rope that was swinging from a charred beam. Stalking forward, he paused at the barren frame and stared at the dead animal, his eyes glued to the small note nailed into the bird’s feathered chest.
“I’ll get it,” Pie murmured, vaulting through the window and snatching the note off the bird.
“If you want to see her alive again, bring the papers to Blackstone Escarpment now. You have until four o’clock.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Archie sighed, staring at the paper Pie was holding.
“The bastard has her,” Simon snarled, wondering where Bertie was.
“How, though? They left hours ago. It doesn’t take that long to get to Padstow,” Pie growled.
Simon realised he had walked right into Lindsay’s trap. “He was watching and waiting for us to send her away.”
“What?” Pie asked incredulously, wondering why they would go to so much trouble for a seemingly innocent woman. “Why would they want Francesca so badly?”
“I have no idea, but I do know that Madeline must be involved somehow,” Simon sighed.
“But she’s dead!” Archie argued. “How in the hell can she be involved in this?” He waved a hand toward the dead bird.
“She could have told Lindsay something that led him to believe that Francesca was valuable.”
“Or the knowledge that Francesca has of the house,” Pie replied, his thoughts racing with possibilities.
“The tunnel,” Archie sighed, shaking his head and wincing as a shard of pain immediately shot up the back of his head.
“Madeline may have looked for it while she was here but was unable to find it. She may have hinted to Lindsay that Francesca may know where it is.”
“Lindsay also wants the papers back,” Pie added, scrunching the note up and tossing it into the bushes.
Archie’s epithet told everyone where he thought Lindsay could stick them.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Simon whispered, staring at the ground beneath his feet. If he was honest, it was all that he could see with any clarity. “If he wants the papers, and Francesca, why not keep her here?”
“What?”
“Well, he wants to know how to find the tunnel. Wouldn’t he want Francesca here to show him, rather than out on a rugged escarpment somewhere?”
“We’re being set up again,” Archie spat, wiping his bloodied knuckles down his breeches.
“He’s already here,” Simon whispered, keeping his eyes on the ground and his pose as casual as he thoughtfully unmoving as he could make it.
“Where did you leave the Frenchman?”
Pie turned around. The Frenchman had vanished. While they had been retrieving the note and their attention was diverted, the Frenchman had made his escape.
“Oh, he’s good,” Simon whispered. “He’s very good.”
“We’re better,” Pie replied.
“Why send us to the escarpment though?” Archie frowned, wondering if he had missed something.
“Because he wants Francesca to show him where the tunnel is. He then plans to kill her and Bertie if he hasn’t already, and set up an ambush for our return to Thistledown. That way, none of us gets out alive, he finds the tunnel and gets the papers back,” Simon explained, thinking furiously. “Why do you think he had so many men ready and waiting in the house back in the village?”
“Because he knew we were going to attack?”
“I think we are being watched. He knew that we were going to attack, and made arrangements of his own in preparation for when we did.”
“But why not just shift his operation?”
“Because of the tunnels around here,” Simon replied. “They are a rabbit warren. You have seen the map. There are tunnels everywhere. If an escape route is cut off in one direction there are at least four others to use. It’s perfect for their purposes. Underground, out of sight, it is worth the effort.”
Digging deep into his last reserves, Simon turned toward the house. “Where do you think they are?”
“I’d like to say the cellars but I have the strange feeling that they aren’t inside at all.”
“If we are being watched, we could be picked off while we are approaching,” Archie announced, surreptitiously scouting the area while staring at his feet. “We need to wait for nightfall.”
Simon nodded, mentally calling out to Francesca that he was nearby and would find her. He couldn’t believe he had been played for a fool, again, so easily. Lindsay was starting to bug him and, if it was the very last thing he ever did, he would make sure the man was brought to justice. If that was at the end of his own knife, then so be it. At least Francesca would be able to live the rest of her days knowing she was safe.
They moved silently into the kitchens, watchful and alert.
“I’d say that I will search upstairs, but I don’t think I can make it that far,” Archie sighed, slumping into a chair before the empty hearth.
Simon sat at the table and dropped his head into his hands briefly. He ached to be able to lie down and rest for a while, but knew that wasn’t going to happen while Francesca’s life was at stake. “I can’t sit here all day and wait for dusk,” he announced after several moments of silence. “I can’t leave her in that bastard’s hands a second longer than I absolutely have to.”
“Do we really believe that he has her?” Pie asked, several long minutes later. Simon’s gaze lifted and he stared at his colleague as he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “I mean, we have no proof. There aren’t any clothing garments, no sign of the abandoned carriage, nothing. There is nothing to say that Lindsay isn’t playing us for a fool again and that Francesca isn’t already tucked up safe and sound where she should be.”
“But why would he want to keep us here?”
“We’re sitting ducks,” Simon growled, hating Lindsay more than ever.
“I am not going to just sit here and wait for another of his marauding army to invade again,” Archie snapped, shoving away from the table and immediately regretting the swift movement when pain exploded in his thigh.
“Then let’s go hunting,” Pie said softly. Someone had to be outside, not only to spirit the Frenchman away but also to keep watch on anyone of them leaving the house. It was about time they found out just who they were.
It didn’t take long. Simon used the burned out wing of the house to make his way to the copse of trees behind the stable block, and edged around to the back of the carriage store. From there he saw a man kneeling in the far corner of the building, watching the house through a small crack in the planks. He didn’t need to look to know that Pie was mimicking his actions on the other side of the stable yard.
The man before Simon didn’t know what hit him and he slumped on the floor without a murmur. A scuffle of feet behind him warned him before he turned of the impending attack, and he spun around just in time to see the wide, frightened eyes of the Frenchman lunge toward him. He too joined his companion without a fight. Simon appeared in the doorway of the carriage room and waited for Pie to appear across the yard. Unable to bend long enough to secure the ties on the men’s wrists, Simon stood back for Pie to do the necessary and secure them, one in each corner of the vast room.
Easing the door closed carefully, Pie slid the bolt across then followed Simon back to the house. “Lindsay is around here somewhere, I can just feel him.”
“I know,” Pie replied, taking a casual look around. “I think we need to search the house.”
Simon nodded slowly, praying to God Francesca really was that close. Both men dived for cover as several riders thundered into the stable yard.
“Clear!” Pie called softly, lunging to his feet and nodding toward the latest arrivals.
Simon had never been so pleased to see Hugo in all of his life. Climbing awkwardly to his feet, he waited while Hugo, Jamie and Rupert dismounted.
Hugo dropped his reins and stalked toward Simon, raking him from hea
d to toe. “Want to tell me what’s been going on? Where is she?”
Simon felt his stomach dip. “Francesca? She didn’t make it?”
“No,” Hugo snapped, “why the hell do you think I am here? When she didn’t arrive as you said she would, I realised something was wrong. It took me forever to arrange for these two to be released from their tasks and join me.”
“I sent her to you, but there is a problem,” Simon replied, feeling he had failed somehow.
“Let’s move away from here,” Pie suggested, ushering everyone to the middle of the stable yard where they could talk without being overheard. Together, Pie and Simon brought the newest arrivals from the Star Elite up to date with events.
“So that’s why the village is littered with heavily armed locals,” Rupert sighed. “We nearly got shot on our way through. It was only Hugo mentioning his name and giving them a description of you, Simon, that persuaded them to let us through.”
“They’re taking their village back,” Archie whispered proudly.
“Good for them,” Simon replied, bristling with impatience. “What do we do about Francesca? I don’t want her in that bastard’s clutches a moment longer.”
“You think he is in there?” Jamie asked, nodding surreptitiously toward the huge mansion behind them.
Simon nodded slowly.
“Then let’s go and find them,” Jamie said, turning toward the house and drawing his gun. He was followed by Pie, Simon, Hugo and Rupert.
Archie tried to clamber to his feet when the men entered the kitchen but immediately slumped back down again, clearly in some considerable pain from the wound in his thigh that was still bleeding profusely.
“Stay there and guard that bag, Archie,” Hugo ordered, cocking his gun and heading toward the cellar.
Simon followed Hugo down to the cellars, wincing as his sore legs protested at carrying his weight down the stairs so swiftly. He was beginning to hate the darkness, and felt it positively creep over his chilled flesh as he stood at the base of the steps. They couldn’t use a light because of alerting Lindsay to their presence, but it left them nothing to work with.
Apart from a few packing boxes, there was very little in the cellars and certainly no Francesca. Simon was about to turn back to the stairs when the vague and wonderfully familiar scent of lavender teased his nostrils. He held a hand up to Hugo and the others, who all immediately froze. Squatting down, he followed the scent this way and that, knowing with all of his soul that she was close. He could almost feel her presence.
A muffled sob and the gentle rustle of clothing told him what he needed to know. He instinctively went to move closer toward her and remove her bindings, but he couldn’t see far enough into the room to identify who else was there. He knew Lindsay was close.
Instead he stayed where he was, wondering how much Francesca could see. He knew just how terrified she must be feeling, and his heart ached for her. His thoughts turned once again to Bertie. Where was he? Was he dead?
“I knew you would show up eventually,” Lindsay announced from the depths of the cellars.
A soft scuffling sound coming from the floor behind him drew Simon’s gaze and he immediately saw the shadowy outline of a dishevelled Francesca, sitting bound and gagged a few feet away. In the far corner he could see the even darker outline of another figure slumped against the wall, and knew it was Bertie. Even through the darkness, Simon could see the fear in Francesca’s eyes and the dampness on her cheeks from her tears but dressed entirely in black as he was, he couldn’t tell if she was aware that he was there.
He had never loved her more, and ached to be able to go to her and release her from her misery, but had no way of knowing where Lindsay was. He couldn’t risk going deeper into the room and being shot in front of her. Knowing Lindsay, he had placed her there to lure Simon to his death.
“You very nearly fell for it,” Lindsay announced sadly, from somewhere to the right of him.
Simon’s senses weren’t working very well and he began to grow disorientated when, moments later, Lindsay’s voice came from the left.
“You should have just gone to the escarpment like you were told to.”
“This is over,” Simon declared flatly. “You won’t get out of here alive.”
“Oh, I think you will find I most definitely will. That tunnel is around here somewhere and she is going to tell me where.”
“There is no tunnel, Lindsay,” Simon sighed, wondering if it was possible to wager with a lunatic. “On this occasion you are the one who has been fooled.” On his way back to Thistledown, he had taken another look at the map of the tunnels and knew with certainty that none of them ventured anywhere near Thistledown. He wasn’t sure where the rumour had come from, but it was certainly time to put a stop to it.
Shaking his head, Simon leaned a nonchalant shoulder against the door jam. In reality his legs were beginning to tremble so badly that he wasn’t sure how much longer they would hold him upright.
“There is a tunnel, it is just hard to find,” Lindsay argued, his gun wavering as doubt began to set in.
“There never was a tunnel. Bertie has been working here half of his life and never stumbled across it. I have seen the plans of the house and no tunnels feature. Nobody in their right mind would build a house like this and then start to tunnel under its foundations. Even if you could persuade someone to undertake such a foolhardy task, why go to the expense? If you want tunnels, you only have to cross the valley to the tin mine and there are miles of them.” Simon felt his temper begin to fray and wondered why he was bothering with someone who didn’t even have the guts to meet him in daylight.
“Your reign of terror in the village is over Lindsay. The villagers have decided to reclaim control of their lives and are more than willing to scout the tin mine and moors for any stragglers you may have left behind. Everyone is on the hunt for Frenchies,” Simon sighed, running a weary hand through his hair, hoping this would be over soon.
He really needed to rescue Francesca and get this over with before humiliated himself and fell flat on his face at her feet.
“The villagers don’t know what they are up against,” Lindsay snarled from Simon’s right.
“Your work here is done, Lindsay. It’s time to accept defeat,” Hugo announced from the darkest depths of the cellar. Simon didn’t know when Hugo had moved from behind him, he hadn’t heard a thing, but it was clearly time to create a little disorientation of their own.
“Your men have all been captured. The papers you used to create the false identities have been confiscated and your small army of associates are on their way to the interrogators. You have nothing,” Rupert announced from his position closer to the stairs. The pride in his voice was clearly audible.
“Back away all of you, or she dies.”
Simon straightened and watched as the faint outline of a dark shadow appeared before him, and moved to stand behind Francesca. The gun held to her head made his blood run cold. He tried to remain professionally dispassionate as Lindsay yanked Francesca to her feet by her hair. Her soft cry of pain through the gag was accompanied by the shuffling of feet on the floor as she tried to move toward Simon, only to be dragged back to stand closer to Lindsay.
“Hiding behind women now, Lindsay? God, you really do dredge the bottom of the barrel, don’t you?” Simon snapped, disappearing into the shadows.
He had spent his life in the shadows. It was where he belonged and it was about time that he used his familiarity with it to the best of his abilities.
“Get back here,” Lindsay demanded when he lost sight of Simon’s shadow. “You’ll show yourself or she dies.”
“But you need her to show you where your tunnel is, don’t you, Lindsay?” Simon growled from his position on the floor. He saw Lindsay spin around in his direction, trying to peer through the gloom. Francesca struggled to gain purchase with her feet as she was swung around in front of her captor.
“If you kill her, you will never know,”
Simon sing-songed from Lindsay’s left, pleased when Lindsay swung around in a frantic circle once more, dragging Francesca with him.
Simon itched to poke the man in the back and really turned the torment up a notch, but couldn’t run the risk that Lindsay would pull the trigger of the gun he still held far too close to Francesca’s head.
“Don’t think I won’t shoot her. I’ve killed before and I’ll kill again.” The bravado in the words was diminished by the trembling in Lindsay’s voice.
“Killing defenceless females seems all you are capable of, Lindsay,” Simon chided from the corridor. “First Madeline, who died for no other reason than she made the mistake of running up debts she couldn’t pay.”
“The stupid woman was useless. All she had to do was find the bloody tunnel.”
“But when she couldn’t, she had to die, didn’t she, Lindsay? Especially when she wanted out of your brutal control and threatened to tell Francesca everything,” Simon whispered straight behind Lindsay. He dodged back when Lindsay ducked in panic, dragging Francesca with him.
Francesca’s head whirled. She had long since given up trying to see anything through the impenetrable blackness. It was the blessed sound of Simon’s deep tones that soothed her battered senses like nothing else could. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back and tried to block out everything but his voice. She knew he was using the darkness against Lindsay, trying to make the man disorientated and confused, but she wished he wouldn’t keep moving around because the constant movement kept making her feel sick. She had no idea who the other people were with Simon, but was glad he had reinforcements. For the first time in that horrifying day, she felt a small ray of hope that she just might get out of this awful situation alive.
She knew that the man behind her was starting to panic, by the increasingly tight hold he had on her waist and the fine trembling of the gun against her temple. She could only hope that Simon wouldn’t agitate him too much and make Lindsay inadvertently shoot her. The past few hours had brought forth so many emotions that she was struggling to keep up with them. She felt sick, sad, worried, confused, hurt, anxious, and so many more that she couldn’t put a name to. It was all so confusing that she simply wanted to lay her head down and rest for a while, preferably with Simon beside her.
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