To Release an Earl

by Ilene Withers

  Willa laughed. "I have grown up around horses, and I think I know the details of what will happen on the wedding night, at least as much as any paralyzed woman can know." She was quiet, wondering if she should confess the real reason behind her mood.

  Claire reached ahead to grasp her cousin's and best friend's hand. "Then what is it, Willa? You know you can tell me anything."

  Willa sighed and looked out the window she was sitting near. "It's my legs," she whispered. "They have been tingling, and last night I know I was able to move my big toe on my right foot. It wasn't much, more or less a twitch, but usually I try and I can't. This time I tried and I could. Just a bit."

  Claire broke into a smile. "That is surely great news," she said.

  "Maybe, but please don't say anything to John or my parents. I don't want them to get their hopes up only to have them dashed."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Stealthy footsteps crept through the kitchen. He had been happy to know the kitchen door had been easy to unlock with the stolen key Nancy had given him shortly before her arrest. The floor was flagstone on the lower level, making little sound as he made his way through the darkness, dragging his hand along the wall until he reached the bottom of the servants’ stairs. The steps were stone, which allowed him to access the main floor of the house without incident. From here, his task would become more dangerous. Adjusting the knapsack on his back, he took a deep breath when he reached the landing of the servants’ stairs between floors.

  Nancy had been detailed, he'd give her that. She had told him to count the steps – one, two, step over three. On the fourth, he was to step to the far right to avoid the squeaky board. Then five, six, seven were fine. On eight he needed to step to the far left and then step over both the ninth and tenth. He was thankful for the solid hand rail as he made the maneuver. Eleven and twelve presented no difficulty. Stepping over thirteen, he made it to the upper landing. There he paused momentarily to get his bearings, for he didn't dare open the wrong door as he had no desire to swing at the end of a rope.

  Slowly, as quietly as possible in his stocking feet, for he carried his shoes in the knapsack, he counted the doors on his left. Miss Willa Dutton supposedly slept behind either door number seven or door number eight. This was where the plan was vague. Her original room was eight, but then after the fire had been put out, she had moved to seven with her cousin. The wedding was scheduled for the next day, and the boss lady had assured him she would have moved back into her own room in preparation for her nuptials. If not, however, it might have guests in it. His nerves were making him edgy.

  He carefully turned the knob of the door for room number eight, hoping she no longer locked it since he had disappeared from the estate and poor Nancy was locked up awaiting her trial. Yes, he was in luck! The door knob turned and the well-oiled hinges worked, swinging the door wide. Shutting it after himself, he squatted to rummage through the knapsack, digging out the mask and canister he had stolen from a physician. Then he stood, peered through the dark and let his eyes rest on the single form in the bed.

  Sliding on his stocking feet, as he felt sure this movement made less noise than a footstep, he made his way to the bed. She lay on her back, brunette hair spread across the pillow, a trapezoid-type lift hanging overhead. Hello, Miss Willa Dutton, he said silently to himself. With the speed of a cat entrapping a mouse he pressed the mask over her nose and mouth, quickly turning on the canister of nitrous oxide with his other hand. Her eyes flew open as she struggled, pushing at the mask. Her strong arms fought, and her hands pulled at his, but he was ready for her. He had pressed the mask to her face with his left hand, leaving his right to capture her small wrists and push her arms down against her midriff. It didn't take long, until her eyes drifted close and her body relaxed. He held the mask down long enough for him to be sure he was safe in removing it, and then he placed it and the canister back in his knapsack, digging out torn strips of cloth that he used to gag her, a piece of rope to bind her wrists. At last, he lifted her upper body and bound her wrists behind her back just to be safe. And then he put the knapsack back on, lifted her body over one shoulder and left the room, being sure to shut the door behind him once again. No reason to offer anyone any clues that she was not in her room.

  He wanted to run down the stairs, but he refrained. Again, he carefully counted out the squeaks and steps. Once he arrived at the lowest level of the house, however, he picked up his speed and hurried outside, locking the kitchen door behind himself. Despite the cold dirt and the damp grass, he did not stop to put on his shoes. Instead, he hurried toward the wooded area to the north of the house where he found his horse still patiently waiting and tied up to a tree branch. Throwing Willa’s body over the saddle, he did stop long enough to brush off his socks and pull on his shoes. Then swinging up behind Willa’s limp form, he directed his horse deeper into the woods.

  The boss lady had been worried about the hiding place he had chosen, but he assured her it was the best he could find, that only a few people would even notice it as long as she was properly gagged and chained. She could stay there until she died a slow death from lack of food and water, aided by the falling temperatures at night. He had ridden this way many times, committing the location to memory without ever going in the same direction so as to leave no trail. This night, that was the most important.

  His trip took him over a small wooden bridge. Here, he turned his horse to leap the short distance into the stream bed so no hoof prints were noticeable on the far side of the bridge. He smiled as the horse took the jump with nary a hesitation. It had taken him a while to train the beast to perform that. They traversed a good half mile downstream before he tugged the reins, directing his horse to step out of the cold stream and into a marshy area, then eventually onto the grass and toward a copse of trees. There he reined in the horse and got down, tethering the animal to a nearby tree. Picking up Willa’s lax body and the knapsack, he carried her into the center of the sheltered area.

  The gag was replaced now with a stronger one, one that was tightened so snugly across her face that it would be painful, cutting into the edges of her pretty smile. Then he replaced the ropes that bound her wrists with iron shackles in the front of her body, the kind they used in countries where people were kept in slavery. Kneeling before the hiding place, he rolled her small body down into the hole. Peering in, he saw she had landed on her back. That was good. While her legs might not work, her arms did and he wanted her to have no leverage. Finally, he grabbed the iron stake he had brought. It was a foot and a half long and thick, a good inch to an inch and a half across. He slid it through the ring connecting the wrist shackles to the rusty chain and then pushed it into the ground. Grabbing his hammer, he placed a piece of leather over the end of the stake and then pounded it, over and over, the leather dimming the sound. Even then, each strike of the iron made him grimace, for it seemed the muted sound carried too far in the clear night air.

  Satisfied she could not move her upper body, he rose. Using the small spade he had left behind, he filled in the dirt he had previously removed from the bottom side of the fallen tree. There was still a hole there, the size of a badger hole. In fact, he suspected that was the type of animal which had previously lived in the den. She would be able to see a bit of light, enough to fill her heart with both terror and hope. With the den in the close copse and the gag firmly on her mouth, she would not be heard or seen. As her legs did not work, thanks to his somewhat bungled attempt on her life, she could not move them, and her arms were firmly chained down. His work here was clearly done. He left the copse, mounted his horse and rode away.

  ****

  John awoke with the first signs of the morning dawn. Lying in bed, he smiled and then stretched. Today, he would make Willa his wife. It was what he had been waiting for his entire life. His love, his other half, his future. Martin, with the intuition of an excellent valet, slipped into the room with a cup of coffee. Upon ascertaining that his employer was awake, he walk
ed silently to the bed side, where he fluffed the pillows so John could sit up before wrapping his hands around the warm mug.

  "I have ordered hot water, my lord. I thought, perhaps, you would appreciate a bath this morning."

  "Remind me to give you a raise, Martin. You are the best valet a man could possibly have."

  The other man preened. "Thank you, my lord. It is always my pleasure to serve you."

  "Have you already determined what the weather will be today?" John asked his man.

  "I took the liberty of stepping outside while waiting for Cook to prepare your morning coffee, and I determined it will be a bright and clear day with a slight chill to the air."

  "Excellent. It will give me an excuse to wrap my arms around my bride as we ride in the pony trap to the house for the wedding breakfast."

  "She will have to drive, then, my lord."

  John chuckled. "To tell you the truth, Martin, she is a better driver than I am. And she loves the pony trap — it seems to offer her an independence she relishes."

  John sipped his coffee; it was strong, just as he liked it. He had been at the Amhearst's so long the cook had learned his likes and dislikes, just as his own cook knew them. "You will attend the wedding, won't you, Martin?"

  "I wouldn't miss it for the world, my lord. It isn't every day a man gets to watch his employer marry such a delightful young lady."

  "She is delightful, isn't she?"

  "Yes, my lord. All of the servants are fond of her. Most have known her since she was a wee girl, but I have grown as fond of her as they all have. It is my belief you could not have chosen a more perfect woman to wed."

  The hot water soon arrived, carried in by brawny footmen, and John sank into the tub, letting himself linger until it grew too cold. Meanwhile, Martin aided him in bathing and shaving. At last John rose, towel dried, and then slipped on his dressing gown as Martin reached for the earl’s new suit of clothes – his wedding suit.

  John dressed with care, working his way through four neck cloths before he got the perfect knot. At last, he stepped into the hallway where he looked toward Willa's room, imagining the flurry of activity that was taking place within. He knew little about a bride's preparation but assumed it, too, started with a bath. Unlike his, however, hers would include scented bath oils which would drive him crazy that night. Molly, Willa's maid, came hurrying up the stairs looking unusually harried. She glanced at him, somewhat wild eyed. John's heart began to beat erratically and his mouth grew dry. Something was wrong.

  He stepped closer to her. "What is it, Molly?"

  "Miss Willa! I cannot find her."

  "What do you mean you cannot find her?" She was restricted to her bed or a wheelchair and could not have gone far.

  "When I went into her room, her bed was empty this morning. And her Bath chair is still there beside the bed where she left it last night. I went downstairs to see if she had one of the footmen carry her down, but she is nowhere to be found, and her main floor Bath chair is still sitting in the entry hall."

  A feeling of doom settled over him. They had become lax since the disappearance of Jenkins and the arrest of the nurse. "Go find the viscount," he instructed the maid. He turned to a footman who was coming out of another room, "Wake up the Duke of Lamberton," he told him. "Have both of them meet me in the library."

  With that, he bounded the stairs and cornered Abbott. "I need to send someone to London posthaste," he told the older man. "Miss Willa is missing, and we must alert Mr. Samuel Parker to return to the estate immediately."

  "I will talk to Ward and have him send Brooks. He is a fast rider and can be completely trusted."

  Footsteps sounded from above and John looked up to see the viscount and Noel hurrying toward him. He stepped to the library door and swung it open for them to enter.

  "What is it?" the viscount inquired. Then, with one look at his future son-in-law's face, he seemed to crumple. "It's Willa isn't it?"

  John nodded. "Molly cannot locate her. When the maid went in to wake her, her bed was empty, the chair still beside it. She is not downstairs, nor has the chair here been moved since yesterday evening."

  "We must find her," her father said. "Lamberton, would you mind gathering the family and guests?"

  "I will do so immediately," the duke replied.

  "John, the stable hands trust you. Can you interview them, look around the yard for tracks, and such things? And I'll gather the household servants. Someone must know something."

  "I have sent for Mr. Parker, Yale," John spoke. "Abbott said he will send Brooks to town immediately. He said Brooks is fast and trustworthy."

  "He is. Brooks would be my choice. Even then, it will take a good day and a half each direction, so we cannot wait for the investigator to arrive."

  The men went their separate ways. On the way to the stables, John met Willa's groom, mounted and already headed away at a gallop. The man reined in his horse as he met the earl. "If I see anything along the way which is suspicious, my lord, I will stop at an inn and send word back."

  "Please do, Brooks. And ride as fast as you can."

  "I will. Ward gave me a fire arm and a generous bag of coins and told me to change horses often and not to delay under any circumstances. I will take the time only for enough sustenance to get me by."

  Brooks did not wait for a reply but urged his horse forward and was soon only a small figure on the horizon.

  John stepped into the interior of the stable and saw the stable master sitting at his small desk in the office. The man looked up as John approached. He rose from his chair. "Lord Roydon," he greeted John rather glumly. "I hear we have more troubles up at the house."

  "Unfortunately, we do. Miss Willa has gone missing. I appreciate you being able to spare Brooks to ride to London,"

  "I could not have stopped him. That groom is about as loyal to our Miss Willa as our stable cat is to her newborn kittens."

  "I do hope he doesn't run his horse to death in his urgency."

  "He won't, but he will change often, and he may run himself to death."

  "I was wondering if I could speak to all of the stable hands."

  "I thought you might want to. I have already asked Jem to round everyone up and to have them meet us in about a quarter hour in the main stables."

  "Thank you, Ward. Have you seen Jenkins anywhere around since he left?"

  "Nay, my lord, and if I had, I would have notified the viscount. Although we have no proof he is the one who tampered with the tack and Pirate, we must assume he is, due to his timely disappearance."

  Jem appeared in the doorway. "I have everyone gathered a bit early," he announced.

  John stood up and flipped the boy a coin, ruffling his hair after the youngster caught it. "Thank ye, me lord," he grinned before running off to sit on the floor of the stable with the grouped men. John walked up to them.

  "You may have already heard, but Miss Willa was not in her room when her maid went in to help her prepare for our wedding." There were mumbles and nods of agreement. "I wanted to speak to you to find out if any of you saw or heard anything suspicious. Molly left Miss Willa's bed chamber at about ten in the evening so we can assume someone abducted her after that time."

  No one spoke up, they just shook their heads from side to side and looked at each other waiting for any response. One man said "I wish I had." Another said, "I wish I'd been sittin' up with a rifle. Whoever did this deserves to be shot."

  John waited for what seemed like an appropriate amount of time and then spoke again. "As Ward stated earlier, we cannot assume Jenkins is the man responsible for the accidents and attempted murders. However, his disappearance, at the same time as the nurse whom we know to be guilty, does seem quite suspicious. Has anyone seen him or heard of him since he left the estate?"

  Jem spoke up almost immediately, squirming a bit. "Last Sunday, my uncle over at the next village brought his wagon to pick up ma and my brothers and sisters and me for a rare visit. I swear I saw Jenkins in
the inn yard, but I guess I can't be sure. He had his hat pulled low and was facin' the other way. But he stood like Jenkins and he walked like Jenkins."

  "That was over in Hedgewater?" John asked.

  "Yes, me lord, over at the Cock and Hen."

  John offered him a smile. "Thank you, young Jem. That is the only lead we have so far." The boy beamed at him.

  It was Ford who said, "If I might make a suggestion, my lord, I think we should divide up and scour the grounds. If she was taken from the house there has to be some footprints or hoof prints in the yard. Jenkins, or whichever scoundrel did this, could nary fly in like a bird."

  John heaved a sigh of relief. A loyal staff was worth more than its weight in gold. "We would all appreciate that," he admitted. He turned to the stable master, "Can we use your slate and chalk?" he asked.

  "Of course, my lord. I know the estate well. If you don't mind, I'll sketch us out a map and then we can assign men to each section. Jem, you can come with me. Your eyes are much sharper than mine."

  John watched as the men gathered around their foreman and then each claimed their plots of land to search. There was much talking about looking for hoof prints, footprints, signs of dragging, marks from wheels, or any signs at all. "Even a wheelbarrow," one man reminded them all.

  "I want you all to go in pairs," Ward instructed. "If you find anything which might be a clue, one of you stay with it, the other run up to the house. Where should they go, my lord?"

  "To the front door," John answered. "As soon as I return, I will make sure Abbott is posted at the door at all times. The information should be given to me, Lord Amhearst, or my good friend Duke Lamberton."

  "Aye, my lord," they all agreed.

  At last, John thanked them all and then turned to walk out, pausing at Pirate's stall. He leaned his head against the horses’. "We'll find her, Pirate," he told the steed. "We have to find her."