The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set

by Chasity Bowlin

  “I got ta say, m’lord, I don’t much care for this place. It don’t feel right,” John muttered.

  Spencer said nothing, but he was in silent agreement. The dungeons were dark, dank and filled with the scurrying of rats. More than that, there was the unwelcome and uncomfortable sensation of being watched. For once, he didn’t attribute that to his potential madness. Knowing that it was a drug and not something internal that had caused his symptoms was a tremendous relief, but more importantly, he noted John’s reaction to the underground chambers. The young man repeatedly looked over his shoulder, rubbed at his neck or switched positions with Colin who had been in the lead.

  “Tell me what you feel down here, John.” He needed to hear it said aloud by someone else before he could give voice to it.

  John looked around nervously before meeting Spencer’s gaze. “It don’t make sense, but I just can’t help believin’ we’re not alone down here. Do you feel that way, m’lord?”

  “I do,” he agreed. “But if that is the case, it stands to reason that Mary will either be held down here or we may find the person here who knows what’s become of her.”

  John nodded then puffed out his chest. “Right then. For poor Mary.”

  With that whispered battle cry, they forged ahead into the darkness. The hallway narrowed abruptly. There were no doors off of it and Spencer surmised, much to his disgust, that it had been for drainage or sewage. Near the end of the hall, the saw light coming in from outside. Moving ahead, Spencer peered through the heavy grate to the loch below.

  “This isn’t a hallway so much as a sewer,” he stated. “We’ll go back the other way.”

  John nodded, but then stilled. He cocked his head to one side and listened. “M’lord, can you hear that?”

  Spencer listened carefully for a long moment but heard nothing. He was just about to say so to John when the faint cry reached him. It seemed to be coming from outside, but that was impossible. Unless, Spencer thought, she was trapped in another tunnel like the one they currently occupied, one that had an opening to the outside. “Is that Mary do you think?”

  “I don’t rightly know of anyone else would be down here,” John answered.

  Spencer moved quickly back to the opening of the tunnel. The sound had been to their right, but there were no other tunnels or corridors in that direction. “I don’t understand it, John! We both heard her, but how do we get to her?”

  John looked around. “We could go back down there and try to bust through the wall?”

  Spencer shook his head. “This stone is too thick. I think we only heard her because she has an opening to the outside as well. Could we reach her from outside?”

  “Not with the snow and ice, m’lord. We’d never make it.”

  The dim glow of a lantern could be seen in the distance. They could hear the footman’s chatter and Seamus’ grumbling response.

  Spencer called out. “We’ve heard her! But we cannot find a way to reach her!”

  Seamus hurried up to them. “Where’d you hear her, m’lord?”

  Spencer indicated the tunnel they’d just left. “At the end, there’s a grate open to the outside, overlooking the loch. We heard a cry from what should have been on this side of the wall, but there’s no way to access it!”

  “There is, m’lord. But not from down here. We go back to the main floor and use the entrance from the tower… Though, I don’t know how she’d got down there!” Seamus said with a shake of his head. “Those rooms been locked up for a good fifty years!”

  “Lead the way, Seamus. She could be injured, and lying in this damp stone would surely be the end of her.”

  The men exited the dungeon, each one looking over their shoulder as they climbed the stairs toward the main floor of the house.

  From the shadows, a woman stepped forward and watched their retreat. “She was supposed to have been eliminated!”

  The cold fury that washed through her manifested almost like a dark cloud around her. Raising her arms, she lifted them high and began to chant. The ancient words flowed from her tongue with ease. The power rushed through her, filled her, and then flowed outward like a flood. Even when her body became weak from it, she continued.

  Chapter Eight

  Mary huddled on the floor of the small round chamber sobbing softly. Water dripped down on her from the stones above, soaking her clothes, and left her cold and shivering. Her shoulder was either out of joint or her arm was broken. She didn’t know which, only that it hurt. Huddled against the rock, she prayed not for help but for forgiveness.

  The rock above her trembled, and Mary sobbed louder. For the last five minutes the walls had taken to shaking and trembling. It was her punishment, she thought bitterly. She’d allowed them to sway her with the promise of coin and done something she knew was wrong. They’d sworn to her that the tonic she put in the tea was to keep him calm, but he’d been calm enough when she’d seen the earl in his study. She’d wondered then if they spoke the truth, but then he’d drunk it and it had been too late.

  Afterward, when he’d attacked Miss Walters, she’d been unable to deny the truth any longer. They’d played her for a fool; she’d poisoned her employer and was responsible for him near murdering another person. She’d burn for it for certain.

  Another sob wracked her and she buried her face against her knees just as one of the stones from overhead shifted and fell. It crashed to the floor beside her, shattering. Bits of stone flew at her, pricking her skin. She wiped her hand over her face and it came away wet with blood. It would just be added to the list of her injuries, assuming anyone ever found her to see them.

  More stones fell. The tiny chamber rattled with the sound and reverberation of it. She screamed in spite of herself as they crashed to the floor and huddled closer to the wall. There was no door within her reach, only the one that she’d been pushed through several feet above her. The small opening in the wall was covered with a heavy metal grate and too small for her to crawl through, and having looked through it, she knew there was nothing but the sheer drop to the loch below anyway. Unable to climb with her injured arm, it was clear to her that she would die down there.

  Other noises, beyond the falling of rock intruded. Voices from above teased her with hope. She dared not glance up. Instead, she kept her head down but began to call out. “Help! I’m down here! Please help me!”

  From above, she heard the heavy groan of the door. “Mary? Are you hurt?”

  She recognized the earl’s voice. Guilt clawed at her. “My arm, m’lord. I fear ’tis broken or my shoulder is out of joint.”

  “I’ll climb down and get you,” he said.

  “No!” she protested. “It’s not safe, m’lord. The whole place is about to come down around me!”

  As if to punctuate the statement, a large stone fell from just beneath the door, crashing to the floor with such force that the whole room shook. She cried out and covered her head with her good arm. She would die down there and she wouldn’t do it with her conscience so plagued. “M’lord… It were Fergus that had me put the herbs in your tea! I didn’t know what they’d do… He said they were to keep you calm, but you was calm enough when I got there. Wasn’t till afterward when you had the spell! I didn’t know, m’lord! I swear I didn’t know,” she wailed.

  “Calm yourself, Mary! We’re going to get you out of there!”

  She knew that voice. It was John. “No! John, you mustn’t climb down! It’s too dangerous.” Even as she uttered the warning, she knew he was not listening. She could hear them moving about above her, preparing to do something reckless.

  “I’ll go drop down and then lift her up to you,” Spencer said, eyeing the distance.

  “How will you get back up then, m’lord? None of us would be able to lift you!” John protested.

  “You won’t. Get a rope.”

  “From where, m’lord? There’s none down here and that room is gonna fall in on itself!” John continued. “You need to let me down there, m’l
ord. You’d be able to lift me up where I could never hope to lift you.”

  “Can you lift Mary? Not to carry her, but to hand her up to me? Think carefully about this, John!” Spencer cautioned him.

  “I have to… I mean to marry her.”

  Spencer shook his head. “And does she know this?”

  John blushed again and looked down at his feet. “Not yet, m’lord. Hadn’t rightly thought to speak of it yet, but seems to me, I ought to now … when I get the chance.”

  Spencer looked at the young man and wondered if he’d ever been so young. “Don’t wait, John. If you love her, do not hesitate. Like fortune, fate favors the bold.”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  Spencer moved back to the doorway and peered down at the terrified maid below. “Go and get her,” he said, and took John’s hands to lower him down to her.

  When the besotted footman reached the girl, Spencer could not overhear their words, but then, he supposed he was not meant to. After a moment, John managed to pull her to her feet and guide her over to stand below the doorway. Mary stepped up into his cupped hands, using her uninjured hand for balance against the wall. He lifted her as far as he could and Spencer reached down for her, but they were still a few inches short. Stones crashed around them, once glancing off Spencer’s arm as he reached out for her.

  “Mary, you must reach! Up on your toes, girl! Come!” he shouted.

  With a determined cry, Mary reached up, her fingers clasping Spencer’s. With his other hand, Spencer clasped her wrist and began the difficult task of hauling her up. She was not so heavy, but he was weaker than he wished to admit. Also, with only one good arm, she could provide little help. Finally, when he managed to tug her entirely through the doorway and onto solid ground, he heaved a sigh of relief. He reached in again for John, but it was too late. One of the larger stones fell, striking the young man and sending him sprawling to the floor below. He lay unmoving.

  “Seamus, get a sturdy rope,” he instructed. “Colin, take Mary to Miss Finella…nay, take her to Miss Walters, and be quick about it. Rouse the other servants and get any able bodied men down here.”

  Seamus looked down into the room and shook his head. “It’s too late, m’lord. I fear he’s dead. Struck a blow like that, I don’t see how he could be otherwise.”

  “Dear or alive, I’ll not leave him down there to rot. Get a rope,” Spencer replied coolly. He’d save the young man or reclaim his body, but no one would simply be abandoned that way, not while he had breath in his body. Colin led the weeping Mary away and Spencer waited in the damp tunnel while Seamus went to fetch the rope to haul John up from the pit.

  As he waited, Spencer became acutely aware of being alone in the space. Whispers reached his ears, a low voice and a repetitive chant. He was reminded of the stone circle in the woods near Blagdon Hall. He’d felt power there, something ancient and elemental. This was eerily similar. The hair raised on his neck and his skin prickled with goose flesh; no hallucination had ever triggered that response.

  The darkness whispered around him, growing heavy and thick. The presence he felt there was not a spirit and not a man. It was something infinitely more. Whatever he was feeling was not human. Evil hovered there, it filled the air around him and coalesced about him in a dark, shrouded mist.

  Prompted by something in the deep recesses of his mind, Spencer began to pray. He wasn’t even certain where the words came from but somehow, he recalled enough of them to manage some vaguely coherent appeal to the Heavenly Father. The darkness didn’t dissipate, but it was held at bay. He didn’t stop praying, but continued, reciting the seldom used words over and over.

  It wasn’t until the doors opened in the distance and Seamus was returning with the ropes that the sense of heaviness, the oppressive air in the tunnels began to lift.

  As Seamus approached him, something of Spencer’s fear must have been visible on his face, or perhaps Seamus wasn’t immune to whatever presence had filled the dark chamber only moments earlier. He met Spencer’s gaze and said briskly, “Let’s get the lad up from there and get the bloody hell out of here.”

  “Agreed.”

  Though she had been abed only a short while, Larissa found herself unable to sleep. She was fearful for Spencer, and fearful for poor Mary. Cursing her fickle gift, she rose from the bed and paced the room. Dorcas snored on, oblivious.

  She was still pacing when a loud knock at the door halted her mid-stride. Dorcas sat up in bed with a startled cry. Larissa ignored her and reached for her wrapper. She donned it hastily as she moved toward the door. Upon opening it, she gasped at the sight of the poor maid, bloodied and bruised, just barely conscious.

  “She was in the dungeon, miss,” the footman said. “His lordship is still down there, and John is trapped! They bade me bring Mary to you to be cared for. I need to return and help ‘em if I can.”

  “Put her on the bed!” Larissa directed and for once, Dorcas simply got up from the bed and vacated her spot for the injured girl. She still batted her eyes at the footman which prompted Larissa to roll hers. “This is not the time for flirtation!”

  “When is?” Dorcas hissed back. “You bring me to a spook house in the middle of nowhere, what else have I got to do?”

  “Help me with her!” Larissa said firmly, ignoring Dorcas’ inappropriate behavior and speech. While the footman left, they managed to cut away the girl’s gown and then the ties of her stays. Clad only in her chemise, the multitude of bumps and bruises was shocking. She roused and began to sob.

  Larissa spoke soothingly to her. “Mary, tell me where you are injured!”

  “My arm, but what about John?” she wailed.

  “John?” Larissa asked as she examined the girl’s shoulder. The deformity clearly showed that it was dislocated, but it would take more strength than either she or Dorcas possessed to put it right.

  “He’s a footman, miss. He was so brave! He climbed down in that horrible pit to help me, but then the rocks struck him… His lordship will save him, won’t he?”

  Larissa was hesitant to make a promise when she wasn’t sure it could be kept. “Spencer will do everything possible. If your young man can be saved, he will be!”

  Mary sobbed piteously. “’Tis all my fault, miss! I let him convince me to put the herbs in the tea! I didn’t know that was the cause of his spells till afterward, I swear! I’d have never done it otherwise!”

  Larissa poured water into a bowl. “Dorcas, fetch some linens for bandages!” She turned back to Mary as she bathed the blood from the cuts on the girl’s face. “Of course, you didn’t. What I want you to do right now, Mary, is just try to calm down, dear. Who told you to put the herbs in his lordship’s tea?”

  “He approached me in the hallway and handed me a small bottle. He said it was medicine to keep the earl calm but that he wouldn’t take it less he thought it was from you… I was to take him a tea tray and put in three drops. He never told me to put three drops in the pot of tea, and not the cup! Said I gave him too much and nearly killed him!”

  The girl was becoming distraught again, her voice raised and sharp as the sound of her wailing filled the room. She wasn’t answering Larissa’s question as much as making a confession to ease her own conscience. It would wait, Larissa decided. The girl would live and they would question her when she was in a better frame of mind. “It’s all right, Mary,” Larissa whispered. “I understand and so does Spencer! You thought you were helping!”

  “I did, miss! I did! Now poor John is paying the price for it!”

  Dorcas had left the room at some point and now returned with a small bottle. “Here, miss, this will calm her.”

  “What is it?” Larissa asked suspiciously. She doubted Dorcas would be so free with her gin, but the woman continued to surprise her.

  “It’s laudanum, miss. I got it from Miss Finella. I figured she could use a nip of it… That arm looks bad.”

  Larissa nodded and accepted the bottle before she poured a small am
ount into a cup and diluted it with fresh water. “Here, Mary, just a small sip.”

  The maid drank the cloudy liquid, wincing at the bitter taste. When she had finished, Larissa took the cup from her and set it aside before continuing to clean the blood and dirt from the girl’s face. All the while Mary wept softly.

  “He’ll be fine,” Larissa said. “I’m certain of it.” She wasn’t, but the poor girl was so distraught she was at a loss as to what else to say.

  Dorcas made a sound of disbelief behind her and Larissa gave her a warning look. For once, the tiny woman did not offer her unsolicited opinion but instead clamped her lips tightly shut. She did however raise her eyebrows in challenge. Larissa ignored it. It seemed to be the most effective way of dealing with Dorcas without going utterly mad herself.

  Once the worst of Mary’s cuts and scrapes were dealt with, Larissa smoothed the covers over her and tucked the girl in. They would need to wait for a male servant or two that would be able to hold her down and set her shoulder back in place. The very thought of it made her ill. The pain would be excruciating. Their best hope would be that the laudanum was in full effect by that time.

  “That shoulder is going to be the very devil.” For once, Dorcas actually managed a whisper.

  “I know,” Larissa agreed. “If need be, we’ll give her a bit more of the laudanum just before, though I fear giving her too much.”

  “Seems to be a common occurrence in this house… Everyone’s dosing someone with something!”

  A truer statement had never been made, but Larissa did not want to encourage her with agreement. “I’ll go see what’s happening with Spencer… if they’ve managed to retrieve John and if—.” She stopped, unable to complete the statement.

  Dorcas nodded. “I’ll sit with her… and before you say anythin’, I’ll hold me tongue and not say nothin’ to upset her. Poor thing’s been through enough already!”

  “Help me to dress,” Larissa said and reached for her simplest of garments. She forwent her stays out of deference to the urgency of the situation. Clad in her chemise, a single petticoat and her gown, she left the room and moved quickly down the stairs. As she neared the bottom, she could hear frantic voices. Needing no further inducement, she moved toward them.