Once More, Miranda

by Jennifer Wilde

  Polly intercepted me on the stairs as I was going back up with boots in hand. Her eyes were wide with excitement as she breathlessly informed me that a dangerous criminal was on the loose and that Captain who was ’ere yesterday thought ’e might’ve snuck into the ’ouse last night durin’ th’ storm an’ all them soldiers were goin’ to search th’ ’ouse just as soon as Lord M. got back an’ gave ’em permission an’ it was so upsettin’ she just didn’t know what to do with ’erself.

  “They’re outside right now, waitin’ for Lord M., an’ a restless lot of brutes they are, too, ma’am. That captain’s pacin’ up an’ down, slappin’ th’ side of ’is boot with ’is ridin’ crop. I do wish Lord M.’d ’urry! A murderin’ smuggler might be lurkin’ in th’ attics this very minute!”

  “I seriously doubt that, Polly.”

  “Oh, Lady M., what’re we goin’ to do?”

  “We’re going to cooperate with the soldiers,” I informed her. “Tell Cook to make several pots of coffee, and when it’s ready I want you and Nan to take it out and serve it to the soldiers. It’s a chilly morning.”

  “Nan’d love that!” Polly exclaimed. “She’s been peekin’ out th’ windows all this time, sayin’ ’ow ’andsome some of them redcoats are. Me, now, I find all of ’em upsettin’, even that red’aired chap with th’ broad shoulders an’ wicked brown eyes, but if I ’ave to go out there an’ talk to ’em and serve ’em coffee an’ all I guess I will.”

  She scurried back down the stairs, more excited than ever, and I returned to the bedroom and found Cam fully dressed except for his boots, cool and wonderfully handsome in the maroon frock coat and breeches, the white satin waistcoat embroidered with black and maroon silk flowers and the creamy white silk neckcloth. The clothes fit remarkably well, although the coat was a bit loose. Silently, I handed him the boots. He sat down on the dressing stool and pulled them on, the heavy black wave spilling over his brow as he leaned down.

  “Do you have any money?” I asked quietly.

  “Not a cent.”

  “I’ll give you some.”

  “No, Miranda.”

  “Don’t be so goddamned stubborn!” I snapped.

  He stood up and shoved the wave from his brow. I stepped over to the bureau and took out the flat leather purse I kept in the top drawer, remembering the ginger jar we had kept on the mantel in the old days. The purse was thick with folded notes, at least a hundred pounds, probably more, I didn’t bother to look. Cam took it without a word and put it in his inside coat pocket. I could hear a horse galloping up the drive, the sound muted, barely audible. Several moments passed. Neither of us spoke, the invisible wall high between us.

  “I’ll return the money,” he said finally. His voice was clipped.

  “You needn’t bother.”

  “I’ll send it to Bancroft, he can forward it to you. I’ll send enough to pay your brother for these clothes as well.”

  “You are a cold son of a bitch, Cam Gordon.”

  “You made your decision, Miranda. I suppose you have your reasons for making the decision you did, but don’t expect me to reciprocate with tender avowals of eternal love. Don’t expect me to plead.”

  “I don’t expect a bloody thing from you.”

  “If you should happen to change your mind, I’ll be sailing from Cherbourg in two weeks on Le Dauphine, as I informed you last night. Passage has been booked for you already.”

  His voice was dry, indifferent. It might have been a knife blade, each word stabbing my heart, but I showed no reaction whatsoever. My expression was as icy as his own. We might have been strangers, cold and aloof, scarcely able to tolerate the other’s presence, and only last night we.… I mustn’t think about last night. There was a smudge of black boot polish on my thumb. I wiped it off, and Cam stepped over to the mirror to adjust the folds of the creamy white silk neckcloth. I was going to scream. I couldn’t help myself.

  There was an urgent knock on the door. I hurried to open it, and when I did I heard loud voices in the hall downstairs and the sound of many footsteps. The noise rose up the stairwell and reverberated against the walls. I could feel my cheeks turn pale. Ramsey was barking orders. I recognized his voice. The footsteps stamped and shuffled and banged. I was weak, dizzy. I was going to faint. Cam stepped behind me and gripped the back of my elbow tightly and looked over my head at Ned.

  “They’re in the house,” Ned said “We’ll have to hurry.”

  “Right,” Cam said.

  “Oh, God,” I whispered. “Oh, God.”

  “Pull yourself together, Miranda!”

  “No need for alarm, Lady M. We’ll take the back stairs.”

  Cam pulled me aside and stepped into the hall with Ned. “Stay here in your room,” he said curtly, “and try not to give us away. One look at your face—” He cut himself short as heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

  “I’m afraid she’ll have to come with us to the wine cellar,” Ned told him. “Someone will have to swing the wine rack back into place after we’ve gone into the tunnel.”

  Cam seized my hand. “Come along, then, and be quick about it!”

  My heart was beating rapidly and I was dizzier than ever as Cam squeezed my hand and jerked it and we hurried down the hall with Ned leading the way. Footsteps grew louder, louder, banging on the stairs. There must be at least three soldiers. They would burst into the hall any second now. They would see us! I gasped, stumbled, almost lost my footing. Cam jerked my hand again, pulling me along behind him. My bronze skirt swirled, rustling with a noisy crackle. The back stairs were at the very end of the hall, to the left, wide stone steps that led down into the enormous back hall below. We’d never make it! I heard their voices now, the gruff, excited voices of hunters eager for prey. Ned darted to the left and Cam gave my wrist a mighty tug and we were standing in the shadows at the top of the stairs and the soldiers were tromping down the hall.

  “Stay here,” Ned whispered. “Stay quiet.”

  Cam flattened himself against the far wall and pulled me beside him as Ned ambled casually back into the hall to intercept the soldiers who were moving in our direction, footsteps tromping heavily. My breath came in short gasps. My bosom rose and fell. I was shivering. Cam scowled and curled an arm around my shoulder, holding me firmly. He might have been made of stone.

  “You there!” a voice barked. It was frightfully near.

  “I’m the butler, sir, Brown’s my name. I’ve just come up the back stairs. Lord Mowrey has asked me to assist you gentlemen any way I can. I imagine you’re looking for the staircase leading to the attics.”

  “Skulking around, appearing out of nowhere, I don’t like the looks of him one bit!” another voice boomed. “Looks like he’s hiding something!”

  “Oh, no, sir,” Ned protested. His voice was exceedingly servile, full of injured innocence. “I’ve just been comforting one of the maids. Scared out of her wits, she is, said she heard something in the attics as she was bringing up the linen. I told her there was nothing to worry about now that you gentlemen were here.”

  “Heard something in the attic, did she?” the first voice inquired.

  “Claims she did, but the girl’s a nonsensical sort, always seeing ghosts on the staircase, hearing chains rattling. Me, I’m certain no one could be in the attics, no way he could have gotten up there without someone—”

  “He’s hiding something!” the second voice roared.

  “Come off it, Kemp,” a third soldier said. “Chap’s just a butler. You’re as bloody-minded as Ramsey, wasting our time like this. Gordon’s probably halfway to France by now.”

  Gordon was no more than ten yards away, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs, stony-faced, tense. My heart was pounding, pounding so loudly I felt sure they would hear. I caught my breath, and Cam’s arm tightened brutally around my shoulder. He clamped a hand over my mouth. I couldn’t breathe at all then. Panic possessed me. Everything began to grow black.

  “Where are the
se famous attics?” the first soldier asked. “How do we get up to ’em?”

  “The staircase is at the other end of the hall, a narrow wooden staircase, you can’t miss it. I’d be happy to go up with you, sir. Make me something of a hero to the maids, it would, if someone was up there and I was with—”

  “That won’t be necessary!” he snapped. “Come on, Rogers. Come on, Kemp. Let’s get on with it. Ramsey says we’re to go over every bleeding inch of the place. We’ll probably be here all day!”

  “I still think he’s—”

  “Come along, Kemp! That’s an order!”

  The hand clamped relentlessly against my mouth, the edge of the index finger blocking my nostrils, cutting off air, the ball of the thumb pressing painfully against the side of my nose. A black fog enveloped me, growing denser and darker, swallowing me up. My limbs were numb. My lungs were afire. I was going to die here and now if he didn’t remove his hand. I tried to struggle, but I couldn’t move. I was becoming part of the fog now, drifting, drifting off into blackness, and far, far away, as in the haziest dream, I heard footsteps receding and saw a misty black shape moving toward me.

  “Pardon, sir, but I believe you’re suffocating her,” Ned observed.

  “Oh?” Cam said.

  He removed his hand from my mouth. I gulped precious air and my knees gave way and I slumped forward and he caught me and held me as my head whirled and the fog still swirled black around me. Several moments passed as I gulped and panted, limp in his arms, unable to stand. My head gradually cleared and blood began to course through my veins and the numbness wore off. I pulled myself away from him, stumbling. Ned gripped my arm, supporting me. We could hear the redcoats tromping off down the hall, footsteps far away now.

  “Careless of me,” Cam remarked.

  “You’re bleedin’ right it was!” I hissed viciously. “I’ve ’alf a mind to turn you over to ’em, you wretched sod!”

  Ned arched his brow, surprised by my language and startled by the St. Giles accent to which I had unconsciously reverted. Cam’s face was as stony as it had been before, and I longed to cover it with bloody claw marks. I panted, regaining my strength little by little as air filled my lungs. I finally pulled free of Ned’s grip and shoved a heavy wave from my temple.

  “I’m all right now,” I said in patrician tones. “I suggest we move on. I want to get this son of a bitch out of the house as soon as possible.”

  “Very well, milady.”

  Ned led the way down the wide stone steps. The staircase was enclosed, and there was very little light, dark gray shadows filling the well, a dim square of light at the bottom. We descended slowly, cautiously, Cam at my side, Ned moving in front of us. The house was full of soldiers. I could hear them calling to one another, opening doors, moving from room to room. The narrow door leading to the front hall was opened. Ned threw up his arm. We froze, perhaps ten steps from the bottom. Footsteps crunched on the rush matting below, and I could see three pair of legs, all that was visible from this angle, two clad in white breeches, boots gleaming, the other in blue breeches, white silk stockings, and elegant black pumps.

  “Just a big, empty hall,” my brother said. “Couldn’t see anyone trying to hide back here, but you’re free to search.”

  “We intend to!”

  “I say, do you really think this chap might be in the house? Hope my sister’s not too upset. I imagine she’s still in her room—it’s frightfully early.”

  “Ain’t no one back here, Peters.”

  “Look behind that big chest over there, Barnes. A man could easily crouch back there.”

  “Disconcerting, this, arriving home to find a troop of soldiers camping on my front steps, hearing a dangerous criminal might be lurking inside. Gave me quite a turn.”

  “He ain’t behind th’ chest, Peters.”

  “Look inside it!” Peters ordered.

  “Sure, Andy, I’ll do that. Maybe he’s a bloomin’ midget.”

  “Well, you mates search to your heart’s content,” Douglas said. “I’ll go back to the drawing room and see if I can charm your Captain Ramsey. Uncommunicative chap, that one, just said he needed permission to search the house and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Why should I refuse him permission? If a dangerous criminal’s crouching in the cupboard, I’d want you to find him.”

  “Ain’t in the chest either, Andy.”

  Douglas sauntered back into the front hall and the two soldiers continued to prowl around the hall and we stood on the steps, half hidden in the shadows. Cam and Ned were both tense, prepared to fight it out if necessary. An eternity seemed to pass before the legs were visible again at the foot of the stairs. Ned and Cam exchanged glances. Cam hooked his arm in front of him and drew it back sharply, silently suggesting a possible maneuver. Ned hesitated, then nodded, and they prepared to creep down and take the soldiers by surprise.

  “You stand guard here, Barnes,” Peters ordered. “He might try to slip out this way. I’ll go back up front and see if they need any help searching the pantries.”

  “Sure, Andy, you do that, and give that plump little brunette a kiss for me, you hear?”

  “None of your lip, Barnes! I’m your senior, and don’t you forget it!”

  “One bloody stripe and he’s a bleedin’ tyrant. Shove it, mate.”

  Peters stalked out, slamming the narrow door behind him, and Barnes stood at the foot of the stairs with his back to us, humming to himself and tapping a toe restlessly. Ned started to move down. I grabbed his arm, restraining him. Cam shot me a furious look.

  “I’ll distract him,” I whispered. “When I have his attention, you two can slip on down to the wine cellar. I’ll join you there.”

  “Don’t be a fool!” Cam hissed.

  “Sod you,” I retorted.

  I marched noisily on down the steps, and the poor soldier was so startled he dropped his rifle. He fumbled to retrieve it, terrified, certain his throat was going to be slit. I stepped into the hall and gave him a questioning look as he pointed the rifle at me. He had very broad shoulders, bright red hair and brown eyes that were wide with alarm and not at all wicked. Barnes was obviously the soldier who had caught Polly’s fancy when she and Nan had been tittering behind the window curtains.

  “Surely you’re not going to shoot me?” I said.

  “Uh—Jesus! No—no, ma’am, I wouldn’t think of it, it’s just you gave me a terrible fright. You—you must be—”

  “I’m Lady Miranda.”

  “Beg your pardon, I’m sure,” he said, lowering his rifle. “There’s nothing to worry about, ma’am. We have everything under control. If he’s here, we’ll flush him out for sure.”

  He couldn’t be more than twenty-one or -two, I thought, and he clearly had no idea I was supposed to be in league with the wanted man. He tried to look stern and reassuring as I glanced apprehensively around the hall. I told him I thought I had heard the back door banging last night during the storm and asked him if he would help me check the lock. He leaped at the chance, following me as I led the way to the other end of the hall. Leaning over the lock, he tested the doorknob and made a great show of male efficiency, and I saw Cam and Ned slip down the remaining stairs and disappear around a distant corner.

  “Looks all right to me,” Barnes said, giving the knob a tug. “Lock’s a bit loose, but it’s holding.”

  Playing the vulnerable female, I managed to look both confused and relieved, and Barnes grinned, extremely pleased with himself. I gave him a gracious smile and thanked him profusely and then looked helpless and disturbed and said I had left my book on the seat under the far trellis yesterday afternoon and hoped it hadn’t been ruined in the storm and, oh, dear, I’d like to go fetch it but I was afraid the ground might be muddy and ruin my shoes. Barnes responded promptly, predictably, gallantly offering to retrieve the book, and I was overwhelmed and thanked him again, even more profusely, and he opened the door and headed toward the trellis I had pointed out to him.
<
br />   Hurrying down the hall, I felt a great relief. Barnes wouldn’t find a book, of course, and he was likely to find himself in trouble for leaving his post, but my little ruse had probably saved his life. Cam and Ned had been fully prepared to kill him and hide the body, and I shuddered at the thought as I turned a corner and started down the steep, narrow flight of steps that led to the wine cellar. It was separate from the basements, with separate access, and I prayed Ramsey and his men would search the basements before they came here. The steps led down deeper, deeper, the stone walls on either side damp and clammy. The air was clammy, too, and icy cold. A torch was burning in a wall bracket at the bottom. The flickering orange glow washed over the gray stone walls and a heavy oak door blackened with age. It creaked loudly as I pushed it open.

  Cam and Ned were waiting just inside. Ned held a pewter candlestick in his hand. The thin flame of the candle revealed their faces and cast dancing shadows over the labyrinth of tall racks filled with dusty bottles. Cobwebs waved in the icy air. Cam’s face was still stony, but I could sense the tension that crackled beneath the surface. Ned greeted me with his usual polite nod.

  “Everything all right, Lady M.?”

  I nodded, shivering in the cold air.

  “He see you come down here?” Cam asked.

  “Credit me with some sense, at least,” I retorted. “I sent him out to the garden to look for a book. No one saw me come down here.”

  “We’d best hurry,” Ned said.

  Our footsteps rang loudly on the cold stone floor as we wound our way through the labyrinth of racks. I hadn’t realized the cellar was so extensive, thousands of bottles resting on the racks with the corks tilting upward, several huge wooden kegs standing against the walls. Ned led us to a rack against the west wall and, setting the candlestick down, removed a dusty brown bottle and thrust his arm into the opening. There was a soft click. The rack swung outward, rusty hinges creaking with a shrill, metallic noise that echoed eerily in the close confines of the cellar. The gray stone wall behind it was moist, streaked brown with mildew, and the stone door was so cleverly concealed as to be barely visible to the naked eye. Ned leaned his shoulder against it and pushed. Currents of icy air swept over us as the door swung inward and revealed the tunnel beyond.