by Jenna Jaxon
Shaking his head to clear it, Jemmy carefully unfolded the little square of paper. The dear handwriting—elegant loops swirling across the page—was tragically brief and spotted with watermarks where, it seemed, tears had dropped.
Dearest Jemmy,
Charlotte has informed me of your change in circumstances. I am bitterly heartbroken at the news of your betrothal to Lady Maude as well as your detention at Blackham Castle. If your father will have his way, with total disregard for our lives and feelings, then we must bow to the inevitable, much as it breaks my heart to do so.
By God, when this was over, he would beg Elizabeth on bended knee never to send him another letter as long as he lived. The ones she had sent him so far had borne nothing save bad news.
I hereby release you from your promise and pray you will do the same for me. My parents insist I marry to keep scandal from our door, else I would never betray my love and trust in you.
Farewell, my love.
Elizabeth
“I have to go.” Jemmy flung the letter to the floor, brushed past Georgie and into the secret passageway. He bumped into beams and stumbled over the clutter of plaster and lathing that littered the floor. Cursing himself for not grabbing Georgie’s candle, he pressed forward toward the light from Georgie’s room where she had left her panel ajar.
He shoved that panel aside and strode directly to the window. The drop from the second floor looked as daunting as ever, but he’d attempt it or die trying. No way in hell would he allow Elizabeth to marry someone else.
After pushing up the window, he peered down to check for activity below, then leaned out, assessing the height and possible softness of the ground. A cold breeze ruffled his hair as he estimated the drop. At least twenty-five feet, maybe thirty. Perspective could be devilishly deceptive. High enough to break his neck in any case. Or any other bone in his body, for that matter. The rough black stone that composed the castle wall was sheer, nothing even to grab hold of.
“What are you doing?”
A hand on his collar jerked him back, causing him to hit his head on the window frame and making the old glass chatter.
“Have you gone totally daft, jingle-brains?” Georgie scowled at him as he rubbed his head. That had smarted.
“I was checking the drop.”
“You were planning to jump.” Her green eyes filled with outrage.
“No, I was assessing—”
“You were getting ready to climb out that window, Jemmy. I saw it in your face when you read Elizabeth’s letter.” The fear in her eyes told him she had believed it. “Getting killed won’t stop her from marrying someone else. You must wait and stick to the plan.”
“How can I wait, Georgie? She’s getting married to someone—”
“Lord Robert Naylor. Charlotte’s letter said so. But not until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” God, he’d never get to London in time.
“They couldn’t marry today because of the funeral.”
“What funeral?” He stared wildly at her. Had his sister gone mad?
“Lord Robert. His brother died. So they had to wait. And so do you.” She waved a finger at him. “Just until dark. You must stick to the plan. If we had one more day before the wedding, we could just send to Charlotte, telling her to stop it, but of course, it could be intercepted.” Georgie frowned. “Father is so inconvenient.”
“You have a talent for understatement, bran face.” He tried to chuckle, but it hurt his throat. “What’s the current plan if not to leap out the window?”
“Twist your sheets and mine together and lower you out the window after dark this evening. Thank goodness, the light begins to go around three.” Shivering, she closed the window. “That only gives us a couple of hours. We must make haste.” She tugged at his arm, leading him back toward the secret passage. “Let’s start with your sheets, since you won’t be using them anymore after this.”
“Just how am I to get to London? The mail coach has already gone. I suppose I can overcome one of the grooms and steal a horse.” Jemmy lit the candle before entering the passageway once more.
“Or bribe them.” Georgie darted to her writing desk and produced her letterbox. “Charlotte’s letter contained yours and this.” She waved a sheaf of bills before his face. “Ten pounds. That will get you to London with change to spare,” she crowed gleefully.
“You do have the most delightful friends, Georgie.” He took the bills and shoved them into his pocket.
With a quick grin, she motioned him into the passageway once more. “Come on, chucklehead. We have work to do.”
* * *
Two hours later, as the light was beginning to fade, Jemmy flexed his aching hands. They’d been twisting and knotting sheets nonstop until his fingers were almost numb. In order to make the makeshift rope sturdy enough to hold him, they’d had to twist the sheets over and over, then knot them at intervals while still twisting. Trial and error had finally yielded an efficient method that allowed them to generate sheet-rope at a cracking pace—until they ran out of sheets.
Jemmy cursed as he opened the window once more and was met with a blast of air even chillier than when last he’d checked. Ignoring it, he made a quick survey of the garden below. No one stirring. Good so far. “All right, Georgie. I’m lowering it now.”
“Wait.” She rushed to the mantelpiece and grabbed a tall, brass candlestick. “It’s very windy. Tie this to the end to make it hang properly.”
“Genius.” After a moment of awkwardly tying the tail of the sheet-rope around the candlestick, he opened the window once more.
“Shouldn’t you wait until it’s properly dark?”
Daylight still shone brightly, though the castle’s shadow had lengthened considerably, covering the garden, and spreading across the lawn beyond.
“I can’t wait any longer, Georgie.” The fear he’d been holding at bay crept up to whisper that if he didn’t leave this instant, he’d arrive in London to meet Elizabeth coming out of the church on the arm of her new husband. His fists clenched of their own accord. He wasn’t about to let that come to pass.
“Is there a moon tonight?” Georgie peered out the window, where a ghost of the moon already hung low in the sky.
“I think there will be some moonlight at least. And once I get to the post road, it will be much easier going. I can follow that all the way to London.” He lowered the candlestick out the window, feeding it briskly over the sill. The wind banged it against the wall, and Jemmy winced. Pray God no one heard that below.
“Try not to make any noise. We don’t want the servants to come out and investigate. My room is directly above the kitchen.” Georgie danced on her toes, trying to peer around him as he continued to lower the rope.
He shot her a grin. “You sound as if we’re both going down this rope.” He stopped, a crazy notion seizing him. “Come with me, Georgie.”
“What?”
“Come with me to London.” He leaned against the rope to stop its descent. The wind had picked up, and the temperature seemed to have dropped. It was deucedly cold all of a sudden. “You could stay with Elizabeth in London and with us after we are married.”
She reached up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek. “That is very sweet, brother. But no.” Georgie shook her head and motioned him to continue lowering the sheets. “I cannot ride as well as you. I’d only slow you down, and if you didn’t get to her in time because of me, I’d want to kill myself.” A shudder shook her. “No, I will stay here and pray for your safe arrival. As soon as you can, send word to Charlotte, who will send to me.”
“But, Georgie.” Stricken, he stopped again. “What will Father do to you when he discovers I’m gone?” Damn, but he should have thought of that before now. Father had always been fiendish in his machinations, but rarely had he resorted to physical punishment, save Georgie’s “beating.” However, when he found out he’d been thwarted with Jemmy’s escape, would he take more drastic measures in revenge? Might he ac
tually beat her?
“I don’t really want to think about that, but I have been.” She bit her lip but raised her chin. “It doesn’t matter. You have to go, and I have to stay. We’ll worry about it when it happens.”
“Georgie.” He couldn’t leave her here to face the tender mercies of Father’s wrath. “Then I’m not going.”
The set of her jaw as she planted her feet made granite look soft. She reared back to eye him with a coolness that did credit to their sire. “You are going to leave if I have to bash you over the head with the other candlestick and throw you out the window. I will be fine.”
“You can’t know that.” God, what was he to do?
“Yes, I do, because he won’t know I’ve helped you.” Pushing him aside, she continued feeding the sheets over the windowsill. “As soon as you’re down, I’ll pull the sheets back up, untwist them and put them back on your bed. I’ll smooth everything over, then come back through the passageway, do the same thing for my bed, and no one will be the wiser.”
“Except I will be gone. How will you explain that?” Perhaps it could work, but only if their secret passage remained secret.
“I won’t need to. How could I know anything? I wouldn’t have had contact with you for four days.” In the waning light, he caught a flash of her teeth as she grinned. “I will, however, advance the possibility that the footman who has been bringing your meals must have forgotten to lock the door at some point.” She bent to tie the tail end of the sheets to the leg of her bed, then straightened. “Time to go, brother.”
Impossible situation. However, the tug of his heart to go to Elizabeth had to win out. Their future would be dashed to pieces if she married this Lord Robert. Georgie, on the other hand, might be able to play innocent and avoid the worst of their father’s wrath. An abominable risk, but one he had to take.
“Go immediately and take the linens back, then shut the panel and wedge something behind it so it won’t open from my side. If they don’t discover the passageway, you may be all right.” He pulled on the rope, but the bed outweighed him by a hundred stone at least.
Time to go.
The wind whistled through the open window, cutting through his coat and making him shiver. It would be a cold ride through the freezing temperatures of the night. At least the horse would be warm beneath him. “Wish me luck, bran face. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can.”
“Wait.” She scurried back into the passage.
Jemmy groaned. It would be midnight before he was away.
“Here.” Georgie had returned with the blue wool blanket from his bed. “So you don’t catch your death.”
With a grateful smile, he slung the blanket over his shoulder, its warmth immediately shielding him from the frigid air. “And you took it from my room, so nothing will be missing from yours. As I said, genius.”
Georgie smiled and hugged him. “Go save your damsel in distress. Just be careful!”
He nodded and grasped the rope. “I will.” Peering into her eyes, he said simply, “I love you, Georgie.”
“I love you too. Now go, before I freeze.”
Barking a laugh, he eased himself up onto the windowsill. The sensation of nothing beneath his feet was strange and disconcerting, not at all pleasant. Grasping the sheet-rope in a death grip, he wrapped it around his hand and lowered himself carefully below the sill.
The wind buffeted him immediately, blowing his blanket away. It sailed off like a kite without a tail. He paid it no mind, his sole focus was on not falling to his death. His arms strained to take his weight as he tried to stop himself from plummeting down the rope. Glancing up, he brushed his foot against the wall, finding a purchase in a small crevice that decades of wind had carved out. He leaned back and planted the other foot. Could he walk down like this?
Easing one foot down a few inches, he adjusted his grip on the rope and lowered himself slowly. The other foot slid down, and the ground came closer. Foot by foot, he descended as darkness fell. At last, he ran out of rope with about ten feet to go. Clinging to the knot tied to the candlestick, attempting to avoid bashing his head on it, Jemmy took a deep breath and released the rope. He dropped to the frozen ground, the shock reverberating up his legs in painful streaks. Pins and needles shot through his feet, and he dove forward but remained standing.
Immediately, he looked up to see the sheets and candlestick rising rapidly. At last they disappeared altogether, and his sister’s slender, white hand, stark against the dark stone, waved him away before she shut the window with a bang.
The light had gone to deep purple in the shadow of the castle, but he located the dark blue blanket quickly enough. Pulling it around his body, he savored its warmth and hurried to his left toward the stables.
Chapter 25
Deep twilight cloaked Jemmy by the time he reached the main stable block, where his own horse, Pharaoh, was kept. Gripping the blanket against the cold, he inched along the gray stone wall surrounding the stables, head cocked for voices from within. If he could catch one or two under grooms, he might be able to buy their cooperation and their silence.
Moving slowly, he raised his head to peer into one of the curious round windows cut into the stone. The only person in sight was a young groom, sitting astride a bench, polishing a harness. Perhaps good fortune would shine on him after all.
Inching toward the door, he listened but heard no conversations. He eased the door open and popped his head around the door frame.
The young groom, barely twelve years old if he was a day, glanced up, then jumped to his feet, his hat immediately in his hand. “Beg pardon, milord. What can I do for you?”
The lad’s flushed face with serious eyes gave Jemmy hope anew. “Where are the other grooms, lad?”
“They’re all gone in for their tea, milord, but I can run fetch ’em for you right quick.” He started to bolt toward a door along the wall to the right.
“No, no need, lad.” Jemmy eyed the door the boy had started for. “I’ve come to get my horse. Thought I’d ride down to the Whyte Harte for a pint or two.”
“Very good, milord. D’ye want me to fetch me da for ya?”
Jemmy had already sized the boy up as a sturdy, eager sort. “I’d wager you could saddle him for me, couldn’t you, lad?”
“Oh, yes, milord.” The boy’s brown eyes shone with pride. “I know how to do it right quick, I do. Which horse is yours?”
“Pharaoh. The roan stallion.” Jemmy could see the horse just two stalls down. “That one there, sticking his nose over the stall door.”
“Yes, milord, right away, milord.” The boy rushed down the aisle. “He’s a grand horse, he is.” He disappeared into the tack room and returned to sight a minute later laden with Jemmy’s saddle slung over one arm, bridle in hand. “Just two shakes of a lamb’s tail and I’ll have him ready for ye.” The boy trotted toward Pharaoh’s stall and ducked inside.
Jemmy eyed the door to the stable’s kitchen. If the boy was fast enough, he might just make it out of here. Fidgeting with the blanket, Jemmy tied the ends together, fashioning a cape of sorts around his shoulders. The boy hadn’t seemed to notice the odd article slung around him, thank goodness.
Time ticked away. If the boy didn’t hurry, the grooms and coachman would be out, and then he’d either have to run for it or try to bribe them all. While ten pounds might be a fortune for one man, it became less appealing when shared among ten, especially when it would likely mean getting the sack from the marquess.
The door to the kitchen opened, and Jemmy ducked back into the shadows. A middle-aged man, Mack, one of the grooms who had been here when Jemmy was a boy, ambled toward the outside. Probably to relieve himself. Damn it, where was that boy?
The slow clop-clop of shod horses’ hooves on stone began as the boy emerged from the stall, leading Pharaoh toward him. Thank God.
“Here he is, milord.” The boy looked around, face pinched into puzzlement.
Jemmy darted forward, grabbing the re
ins and vaulting into the saddle in one swift movement. He transferred the reins to one hand and dug into his pocket. “What’s your name, lad?”
“Tom Redman, milord.” The boy flashed a look up at him, worry in his eyes.
“Here you go, Tom. And many thanks for a brave night’s work.” Jemmy leaned over to hand the boy a one-pound note. “You earned it lad.”
“What the devil’s going on here?” The door to the kitchen opened, spilling grooms and coachmen into the aisle, blocking Jemmy’s path to freedom.
“A cold ride for a pint of ale, Harper,” Jemmy called to one of the grooms he knew. He gathered the reins and tensed his calf muscles, ready to dig into the horse’s flanks.
“Aye, you’ve a frosty one ahead of you if you’re for the Harte tonight, my lord.” Harper didn’t move, his gaze flicking from Jemmy to Tom. “What’ve you got there, Tom?”
“A small token for service rendered, Harper. Now if you don’t mind . . .” He urged the stallion forward. Only a few more yards, and he’d be through the door and out into the night.
“It’s a pound note, Mr. Harper.” Wonderingly, Tom held it up. The bill probably represented half a year’s wages.
“What?” Harper strode toward the boy. “A pound?” He looked suspiciously at Jemmy. “What’d you give him a pound for?”
“All right, lads, back to work now. Tea’s over.” Mack had returned from the yard. He stopped, taking in the scene, and his eyes narrowed. “His lordship gave instructions regarding you, Lord Brack. I’ll thank you to get down off that horse now.”
“Just going to the Whyte Harte for a pint, Mack. I’ll be back in time for dinner.” Jemmy smiled and dug his heels into Pharaoh’s sides.
The horse shot forward, scattering the men as he made for the open door. Mack made a grab for his reins as he sped by, but Jemmy kicked out, connecting with the groom’s stomach and tumbling him to the ground.