“I dunno about that. I nivver signed up fer no killin. But… if’n it’s his neck or mine…”
“Exactly Jobs, exactly. I’ll send a message ter Nobby first thing. Have him ready to cart off whatever might need to be… removed, if’n ye take me meaning.”
“Aye, that be best then. Nobby won’t be askin’ any questions, ‘n if’n he’s not needed, no-one’ll know.”
They talked for a while longer, about the best way to get from the top passages to the very bottom, without being seen, or making any noises in the wrong places.
Finally, satisfied that they’d done all they could to prepare, they disappeared back into the night.
~~~~~
Lord Geoffrey locked the maps away again, satisfied with the day’s work. There were only two areas of the upper floors hidden passages left to search – even allowing for possible extra bits that weren’t marked on the maps. Tomorrow Lady Harriet would take the top floor, just below the attics, and he would take the one below. Surely they would find the papers in one of those two places.
If not, they would move on to the cellars. Which would be more difficult, for access to those meant moving into the servant’s’ domain, and staying unnoticed would be nigh on impossible. He prayed that would not be necessary. Every day of this work was more fraught with the risk of discovery.
His admiration for Lady Harriet’s resourcefulness, determination and persistence had grown with every day of the search. Had she truly been still the tantrum prone child that Charlton had described to him so often, she would have long ago lost patience with the whole thing. But she had not. She had stayed true to her commitment to helping him, and applied her keen intelligence to searching, and to their efforts to update the maps as they did so.
And every day he spent in her company, especially when they had searched together in the tight confines of the passageways, it became harder and harder to convince himself that he should not be attracted to her.
She was like no other woman he had ever met. When she gathered up Miss Carpenter and went home at the end of each day, he found himself oddly bereft. The house felt infinitely emptier without her bright presence. He pushed those thoughts away, for the thousandth time, and went back to considering what he would do when they did, finally, find the damn papers.
It startled him to realise that he had no idea exactly what those papers would contain. No doubt Setford had a very clear idea. Which was all that mattered. Lord Geoffrey couldn’t wait to find the things, pass them to Setford, along with his traitorous employees, and be done with the mission.
He had come to like Witherwood Chase, to feel at home there, in a way that he had not felt at home anywhere since he was a boy of eight or ten, and his parents and grandmother had still been alive.
He wanted the dark stain of treason gone from the place, to make it completely his.
He wanted that done before the rest of the Hounds, and their families, came to stay at Eastertide, so that it might be a time of joyous celebration of the bonds they shared, with no shadow hanging over it.
Lady Harriet was determined. This was the day when she would find what they sought, and bring this tedious process to an end. ‘But’, whispered the stubborn small voice in her mind ‘how will you then find cause to see Lord Geoffrey?’ She ignored it. That was a problem for another day. For now, Lord Geoffrey desired to find those papers, so searching for them was her first priority.
She stood in a small parlour on the upper floor, with windows which overlooked the herb and scent garden in the rear courtyard area of the house. This wing was one of the oldest parts of the house, and, along this side of the floor, the rooms all opened into each other, in the manner of centuries past, with the doors close to the windows in each case. The centre of the floor contained servants’ corridors, but also secret passages, accessed through the apparently blank walls which faced the windows in each room. At the far end of the floor, there was an area which was not clearly explained by the maps.
Lady Harriet held high hopes for what that area might contain. Once certain that no-one was near, she stepped to the rear of the room and, with careful coordination, shoved hard on a carved leaf at the edge of the mantle above the fireplace, whilst also pulling on a shelf of the adjoining bookcase. The shelves pivoted out to her pull, and she stepped into the dark passageway revealed, partially unshuttered her small lantern, and pulled the door closed behind her, taking careful note of the placement of the lever which would allow her to open it later.
She worked her way down the passage, looking through peepholes, poking into crevices, seeking any evidence of other doors, of cabinets skilfully laid into the walls, or of any other possible hiding places. For a long distance, there was nothing of interest beyond the peepholes. Eventually, she reached what appeared to be an end to the passage. Frowning, she retraced her steps to the last peephole. Looking through it confirmed her suspicions – the passage should continue, for the room she saw was the second to last room on the floor, not the last.
Returning to the blank wall, she ran her fingers over its surface, and traced its edges, as well as the walls to either side. Finally, when she was beginning to think that she might be wrong, that the passage might simply end, her gloved fingers caught on an uneven area of the side wall. A few moments poking and pushing at it experimentally, and the blank end of the passage shifted slightly, with a soft click. She pulled it open and slipped through, impatiently pulling at an errant tendril of hair as it caught on the door frame.
~~~~~
Jobs had come into the kitchen for a quick bite of food, taking advantage of the left-overs from the nobility’s luncheon. He turned away, as if about to return to the stables, catching Ashley’s eye as he did so. At Ashley’s quick nod, Jobs stepped out of the kitchen, but, when sure that there were no eyes upon him, went quickly up the servants’ stairs, rather than out the side door to the stables. Not long after, Ashley also quit the kitchens and casually took the same path.
One floor up, they took separate ways, Jobs slipping into the walls as soon as possible, but Ashley continuing in the servants’ corridors, looking for all the world just like any footman might, going about his appointed business. Closer to the end of the old wing, he also slipped into the walls, finding Jobs waiting. In careful silence, they climbed up another two floors of narrow hidden stairs.
They emerged into a dusty room, tucked right at the end of the wing, close below the attics. Unlike most of the hidden spaces, this had a tiny amount of natural light from a narrow strip of dusty window.
From outside the house, it seemed just another window in the row along that floor, a bit smaller for being right at the end, but nothing unusual. From the inside, it let in just enough light, past the aged velvet drape that hung over it, to show a tiny table, a single chair, a rough pallet on the floor and a small crate in one corner. On the crate stood a pitcher of water, and some battered cups, just below an odd looking tap on the wall.
The room was just below the rainwater cistern – as a bolt hole, it had the superior advantage of a water supply. Incongruously, beside the crate stood a largish basket full of dirty looking dust sheets, topped by a tangle of old ropes or curtain pulls.
“Right then, let’s be about it.” Ashley strode across the room and lifted the rough timber tray with the pitcher and cups. Setting it on the small table, he turned back to the crate. A few minutes work, and the apparently nailed together crate was in two pieces, revealing a smallish strongbox nestled at its core. The box was old, of ebony or some similar wood, banded in iron. It was locked, and heavy.
Jobs had pulled half the dust sheets from the basket, and Ashley carefully settled the box in amongst the remaining ones, and set to reassembling the crate, whilst Jobs reached for the dust sheets to cover the box. A sound shocked them to stillness. Their eyes met, with fear their uppermost emotion.
The other entry to the room – a secret door, behind a secret door, at the far end of a hidden passage, a door that no-one else
should be able to find, opened, and Lady Harriet stepped through. The dim light from the window was enough to momentarily blind her after the deep darkness of the passageway, and she stood, blinking in confusion at the sight of the two men before her.
Ashley recovered from his shock first, and, just as Lady Harriet’s eyes fell upon the box, and lit with startled comprehension of its importance, Ashley grabbed her, clamping one hand across her mouth, and the other around her body, trapping her arms against her sides. He hauled her back against him.
“Jobs!” Ashley’s voice broke Jobs from his shock, and he leapt forward to grab Lady Harriet’s legs before she could try to get away. Five minutes later, Ashley and Jobs bore bruises and scratches from Lady Harriet’s failed attempts to escape.
They stood back, breathing hard from the effort, whilst Lady Harriet lay on the pallet, bound and gagged, her dress a little torn, and her eyes blazing her anger at them as clearly as if she could speak. If looks were daggers, they would both have been dead.
“Guess we’ll be needin’ Nobby then.” Ashley’s voice was flat, but not displeased. Rather be found by this little piece than by his Lordship with his bloody swords or a pistol. This way, they’d turn a nice profit too. Nobby had contacts. There’d be a few competing to buy something this pretty, if he wasn’t mistaken. The high class houses of pleasure had a taste for quality fresh goods like her. They’d just have to be sure they got her out and gone tonight, and kept it so no-one suspected them.
But who would? She must have found the entry to this room by blind luck – and if she was alone, that meant no-one else knew where she was. For now, she could stay right there on the pallet, while they got the other valuables stowed away in the deep.
“Let’s be getting this down t’ the deep then. Once tis stored away with t’other, we c’n worrit about mileddy here.”
Jobs piled the scattered dust sheets over the box, throwing aside the few pieces of old rope which had not been used in binding Lady Harriet, and Ashley lifted the basket. He looked at Lady Harriet, a touch regretfully.
“We’ll be a seein’ you later mileddy. Tis a pity we’ll get a better price for ye untouched, or I’d be a tastin’ the wares before we ship em, if’n ye understands me.”
~~~~~
Lady Harriet watched as they exited the room, through a tiny door near the window. She’d think about the meaning of those words later. For now, once she was sure that they were gone, she would concentrate on trying to escape.
Lying still, she listened carefully. Their steps receded – it sounded as if there were stairs beyond that door. And then there was silence. Drifts of disturbed dust floated in the air, turned to sparkling gold by the faint rays of afternoon sun coming through the tiny window. She would have thought it pretty, were her situation not so dire.
Once their footsteps faded into the silence, she let herself move. She pulled and twisted her hands and feet, but only succeeded in abrading her wrists and ankles on the rough bits of rope that they had bound her with. She panted for breath, revolted by the taste of the dusty cloth that filled her mouth. She refused to think about what that taste might be caused by. She would especially not contemplate any thought whatsoever of mouse droppings. Definitely not.
Shouting was impossible, and anyway, it was extremely unlikely that anyone would be near enough to hear – for this was the furthest end of the least used wing of the house, and behind three layers of secret doors as well.
She could but hope that Lord Geoffrey would become alarmed when she did not return for their late afternoon discussion of the day’s achievements, and would come seeking her. The hours between now and then loomed ahead of her, an interminable opportunity for despair.
Resting before another attempt at loosening the ropes, she finally allowed herself to consider the import of the footman’s parting words. Try as she might to discover another, she could only find one possible meaning in what he’d said.
She might be physically an innocent, but she was certainly not ignorant about what men did with women, or of the existence of places expressly for allowing men to satisfy those needs. Her deceased elder brother, terrible man that he had been, had made quite certain of that by his actions. When her mother had, after his death, rescued the girls that he had abused and left with child, Lady Harriet had discovered many things that she might have wished not to know.
She loved Mary, Polly and Sally, and their children, just as much as she would have had they been legitimate, and so did her mother, for her brother’s behaviour had certainly not been the fault of the girls. But, being of curious mind, she had asked them, once they trusted her, about their experiences. Their answers had been quite an education.
And, applying the understanding gained from those conversations to the footman’s words, she was left with a single stark conclusion. Those men were going to take her somewhere, and sell her to a house of pleasure, to be used by men, against her will. The thought terrified her.
She well knew that, if there was love, or even respect, between a man and woman, as was the case with Charlton and Odette, and had been the case with her mother and father, when he still lived, then the physical activities carried out between men and women could be acceptable, or even pleasant.
But she also knew, from what her terrible brother had done to the girls, that it could be very unpleasant indeed.
She lay there shaking, exhausted by her struggles and close to tears. But she refused to give up hope. After all, this room was at the top of the house. They still had to get her out unseen – which would mean late at night.
So, there was time. Time for her to think, time for her to keep working at the ropes, and, she fervently prayed, time for Lord Geoffrey to find her. He was a hero. He was the most capable man she knew. Surely he would save her. She had to believe, and to keep trying to escape her bonds.
~~~~~
Lord Geoffrey was irritated and dispirited. It was late afternoon when he slipped carefully from the hidden passages into his dressing room, and allowed Hurst to assist him with a change from clothing which was much the worse for wear from his explorations, for the last passages on this floor had been, it turned out, quite the filthiest of all of the areas that he had yet explored. Thank God that Hurst was one of the men provided by Setford, and knew of the mission.
The mission. The mission that was still incomplete. For he had found nothing but filth this afternoon. Exploring the hidden parts of the cellars was looking inevitable. Cleaner, but no happier, he went down to his study to await Lady Harriet’s return, praying that her search had been more fruitful, and less filth-encrusted than his.
Settled into his favourite chair, with a warming glass of brandy in hand, he wondered what his days would be like, once this mission was finally done with. What would he do with his time, when the search was complete? ‘What would he do, when he no longer had a reason to see Lady Harriet every day…?’
He would wait until she was here to pull out the maps, for them to update any of the detail of the passages they had explored today. For now, he would simply rest, and try to improve his mood.
He took down the beautiful old swords from the wall, and ran his fingers along the blade. It was now not only clean and polished, but sharp, as it should be. The balance was wonderful, and, had he not been waiting for Lady Harriet, he would have been tempted to take the blades straight to the drawing room which he had cleared of furniture to use as a salle. A little sword work always cleared his thoughts of any frustration – weapons required a clear and focused mind.
An hour later, he began to be concerned. Surely she should have returned by now? Even if she had found another unmapped section, surely it would not have taken this long? Generally, she and Miss Carpenter departed by dusk at the latest, and it was past that hour now. The darkness was closing in.
What if something had happened to her? He would never forgive himself should she be hurt. It was one thing to talk of the risk involved in this mission, and to speak of accepting it �
�� it was quite another to meet that danger head on.
In that instant, he saw his own feelings for her clearly. No matter how much he might have been denying it, he did care for her, with an intensity that was almost frightening. The thought of any harm coming to her was like a blade to his heart. How could he have allowed her to place herself at risk? How could he have been so selfish, wanting her company and the success of his mission above her safety?
At that moment, there was a tap on his door. He breathed a sigh of relief – but his relief was short-lived. The door opened to admit Miss Carpenter and Mr Featherstonehaugh – who looked surprised, and then concerned, when it became apparent that Lady Harriet was not in the room.
“She hasn’t returned.” Lord Geoffrey broke the silence.
“What shall we do?” Miss Carpenter’s voice was soft, and she twisted her hands together as she spoke.
“I am going to look for her. Miss Carpenter, please get Walters to take a message to Pendholm Hall – tell them that I have invited you, and Lady Harriet to stay for dinner. Let us not concern her family unduly. Should I not return by the time dinner is called, please, eat, and assure the staff that I am simply busy.”
He strode out the door, and, seeing Peterson on duty in the hallway, called him to follow.
It was only when Peterson looked enquiringly at the sword in his hand that he realised he still held it. Well and good then. A weapon in hand was not a bad thing, should there be trouble.
They began on the top floor, searching through each room, then moving into the hidden passages.
Some hours later, they had covered every inch of the place twice over, and found nothing. Outside the walls, dinner had come and gone.
The candle in their lantern was burnt down to a nub, casting little effective light, and Lord Geoffrey had reached a state of internal turmoil unlike anything he had ever felt before. The fear of losing Lady Harriet forever ate at him. Not knowing where she was, or what she might be suffering was torture of the worst kind.
Being Lady Harriet's Hero: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 4) Page 7