'You ain't having the girl until you disarm. Drop your weapons and we'll hand her over.'
Simon peered over their heads. Lydia was lying in a crumpled heap, apparently unconscious. Icy rage engulfed him. They would suffer for treating her this way. He removed the book from his pocket and waved it in the air above a flickering sconce. 'If you do not give me Miss Peterson, I shall drop the book in here.'
It was a risk. He would lay down his life for her but they must not know. Two villains picked her up between them. Her head flopped, blood trickling down the side of her face. The leader stepped in last, a wicked blade in his hand. He pressed it against her neck, drawing blood on the white skin.
'You have thirty seconds before I slit her throat.'
Simon didn't hesitate. Enough was enough. 'Put your weapons down, men. It's over. I cannot risk Miss Peterson.'
He dropped his pistol and the others followed suit. No sooner were the weapons on the ground than they were surrounded and bundled into the hall. The book was snatched from his fingers. The man gave it a cursory glance before ramming it in his waistcoat pocket. Simon was shoved into a chair and tied up by two of the men. The rest of the gang was sent to round up the others. God willing they would not bother to search out the ladies upstairs.
Five minutes later they were bundled in, trussed and dropped against the far wall. Simon held his breath. His subterfuge had worked. The leaders seemed more intent on getting away than murdering his captives. The door was locked from the outside and they took the candles with them, leaving the room in total darkness.
Simon waited until he was certain they had gone before he made a move. First he must attempt to spit out his gag so he could communicate with the others. It might be possible for one man to release his neighbour.
He must remain calm. There was no immediate urgency to escape from the hall; the danger was past. The traitors might well discover the stable hands when they went to make their escape. This would delay matters somewhat, but no one would suffer unduly whilst they waited for Dawkins to arrive and release them.
But how would the soldiers get in? The house was locked tight. Would they think to try the coal hatch? Had the gang the intelligence to bolt the trap door before they departed? All this could be left until later. He must deal with the situation here.
He'd memorized the room before it had been plunged into darkness. Sam and Jenkins were tied to chairs on the far side of the table. David and the other men were against the wall under the window. But far more important, Lydia was lying directly behind him. She was parallel to the table and the bureau with her head toward the centre of the room. How bad were her injuries? If anything were to happen to her, he would not wish to go on living.
He could not dislodge the gag and was not able to warn anyone what he intended to do. So be it. He dare not delay any longer.
He started to throw his weight from side to side until he had gained momentum and then toppled his chair backwards on to the flagstones with an almighty crash. The back splintered. His hands were free. It was the work of moments to remove the rope from his legs and tear off the disgusting rag which had served to keep him silent.
'I'm free. Everyone remain where you are. I'm going to release Miss Peterson first.'
A series of thumps and grunts told him he was understood. He dropped to his knees and began to edge forward until his fingers touched her. 'Sweetheart, lie still, I'll have you safe directly.' Her skin was warm to the touch, thank God; she could not be badly hurt. He had all but forgotten his own injuries. A dull ache behind his eyes was all that was left to remind him.
He ran his hands down her body and something sharp nicked his finger. He swore and lifted out the object that had injured him—the blade of a sharp knife. Excellent, this was going to make removing the ropes from her hands and feet far easier. By touch he gently pulled the gag over her head. He spoke to her again, more urgently. 'Lydia, can you hear me? I need to know that you're not badly hurt.'
A rush of relief poured through him as she stirred and mumbled something. 'I must undo the men, my love, but will be back to you as soon as I've done so.'
He stood up, keeping his eyes closed – it was far easier to negotiate in darkness when you weren't trying to see. He took one stride to the table. He would release Jenkins then his man could do the rest. This wasn't the first time they'd found themselves in such a predicament.
He groped his way along until he cracked his shins on the chair to which Jenkins was attached. 'I have a knife, Jenkins. When you're free, release the others.'
When he removed his gag Jenkins coughed and cleared his throat noisily. 'You take care of Miss Peterson, sir. Leave this to me.'
'I'm certain she's merely stunned. I wish we had some light, but I've no idea where to find candles or a tinderbox.'
Someone attempted to speak whilst kicking the floor. Her brother was trying to attract his attention. Of course! He'd know exactly where these things were kept. Leaving Jenkins to release Sam, he dropped to his knees and made his way carefully across the room. He'd no wish to tread on Lydia; she'd suffered enough indignities already.
'David, bang your feet so I can find you more easily.'
A series of thumps directed him to the left. With outstretched hands, he edged forward until his knees bumped into the person he was seeking. Immediately he snatched the gag from David's mouth. 'Young man, do you know where there's candles and a tinderbox?'
'They're stored in a cupboard next to the fireplace. Have you seen to Lydia yet?'
'He has no need do anything for me, David. I'm a trifle dizzy, but otherwise unhurt. I'm going to stand up and get out of everyone's way.'
Simon grasped the young man's hands. He knew David was equally relieved the young woman they both loved was conscious. She laughed softly in the darkness. 'From the noise over there I think it might be wise if you all remain where you are and let me find the candles. I'm almost there. I'll have the room lit in a few minutes.'
*
Although Lydia had told Simon she was fine, her thoughts were jumbled, the pain in her head making it difficult to concentrate. But it was true, the candles would be easier for her to locate. She was closest. Once the room was lit, she'd take the opportunity to sit and rest until she felt more the thing. Crashing and swearing in the darkness indicated the other men were free and blundering about the pitch black room. She and David had the advantage. Although they didn't visit the servants' hall that often they knew its layout well enough. As she knelt by the cupboard, she hesitated. There was something she should be telling Simon but she couldn't recall what it was.
Her outstretched fingers found the door latch and she pulled it open. Reaching in, she soon located the tinderbox and two candles. Simon arrived at her side. She knew instinctively it was him without him having to speak. His arms slipped round her waist and he gathered her gently against his chest. She relaxed into his embrace, feeling safe for the first time that night.
'Do you have the candles, my love?' He didn't release her. No one could see he was doing anything improper.
'I do, but I have not yet discovered any candlesticks. Once we have some light no doubt we'll find some easily enough.'
Slowly she rotated within his grip, stepping away before placing the candles and tinderbox in his outstretched hands. To her surprise, he was able to turn and toss the objects onto the table. Could he see in the dark? Then his arms were around her once more. His voice was soft in her hair.
David spoke from the darkness. 'Have you found the candles, Lydia? We're standing around here afraid to move in case we trip over something.'
She stepped away from Simon and moved cautiously to the table before answering. 'I'm going to try and light one this very minute.' She picked up the tinderbox but had difficulty locating the aperture.
'Let me do it, Lydia. Your hands will not be steady enough strike a light.'
Simon was quite correct: he would be quicker by far. 'I believe there are more candles on the lower she
lf. I shall rummage for those whilst you light the first two.' She stilled. A chill ran down her back. There was something vital she had forgotten. What was it? Then she was distracted by his swearing.
Listening to him cursing under his breath because the spark was not sufficient, she came to a decision. If she was to become his wife she would insist that he desisted from using such bad language in her presence. She smiled at the thought of his reaction to her request. No doubt he was unaware that he larded his conversation with expletives so used was he to mixing with common soldiers. Her questing fingers finally grasped a bundle of beeswax candles. Tallow candles gave off such an unpleasant smell that when she'd taken over the reins of the household she'd dispensed with them.
Why was she bothered about such trivialities? Why could she not dispel this unease?
Eventually Simon succeeded and the first candles were alight. It was a relief to be able to see once more. She was about to pass him the bundle when her eyes widened, his shape became blurred and she feared she would swoon. She'd finally recalled what had been niggling at the back of the brain, the vital information she'd overheard.
Stumbling forward into his outstretched arms, she was hardly able to form the words. 'Simon, they have set fire to the house. They intend all of us to perish in the blaze. I'm so sorry, I should have told you immediately.'
'Are you sure? The air is clear enough in here. If they set it before they left I'm sure we would be aware of it by now.' Ignoring the other occupants of the room, he swept her up in his arms and carried her easily to the fireplace where he gently placed her in the rocking chair that Cook used each evening.
'It cannot have taken, my love. As soon as we have the door open, I'll go and investigate. Remain here; you're not as well as you believe. Leave matters to us.'
She'd had done her part. She would rest as he suggested. Although the blow to her temple was of no account, the headache it had left her with, combined with her fatigue, was making it difficult for her to stay awake. She closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the room drift away. She was roused when Simon knelt down beside her.
'Let me look at your injury, my love.' With gentle hands, he raised her head and with a soft, wet cloth wiped away the blood from her cheek. 'It's not a serious cut. You won't need stitches.'
'I know. I just felt a little faint. I expect it was the shock. I shall be quite well in a moment or two.'
'Good girl, I never doubted your resilience for a moment.' He sprang to his feet and moved to the centre of the room where David and the rest of the men were gathered.
Whilst she'd been recovering, the candles had been placed around the room. The men were subdued, no one talking over much. She smiled, apart from the three head injuries to herself, Sam and Simon, the rest of the intrepid band was unharmed. Suddenly her hands clenched. How could they be sitting around so casually when the very future of the country was at risk?
'Simon, they have the book.'
'They do not, my love. I gave them a facsimile. David scribbled nonsense in a similar volume. They've escaped with a useless copy.'
Relief almost overwhelmed her. She drew a deep breath to calm her nerves. Wait – was that smoke? She sniffed again, she was not mistaken. 'Simon, David. Smoke! I can smell smoke.'
They copied her example. 'You're right, Lydia. They must have started it upstairs. the smoke would have travelled up first.' Simon took command. 'This table is heavy, we can use it as a battering ram. If we do not release the ladies they will perish in the flames.'
Chapter Eleven
Lydia positioned herself in the far corner of the room, pressing her back against the wall whilst Simon organized his men.
'We need to get this table swung round so that it's end on to the doors. On my count, we'll smash it forwards.'
It was a great shame the windows in this room had not been replaced when her father had renovated the building. These still had small leaded panes. It would be impossible to knock them out and affect an escape that way. With much grunting and effort, the table was eventually in position. She sniffed the air; the smell of smoke was still not overwhelming. The fire had not reached this part of the house.
'Right. Ready, men…one…two…three.' The men ran forward, hurling the heavy piece of furniture at the locked doors. The impact caused the men behind to cannon into those in the front. If the matter had not been so serious, she would have found it funny. They sorted themselves out and prepared to have a second attempt.
On the fourth assault, the door splintered and gave way. Once again Simon was obliged to restore order. 'Moderate your language; ladies present. Get this object back into the hall at once.'
As the door swung open, the aroma of smoke was more evident. 'David, escort your sister from the premises immediately. Jenkins and Sam – come with me, we must recover the book. Billy and Fred – go up and fetch the ladies.' Not waiting to see if his orders would be carried out, he vanished into the passageway.
'David, I'm not leaving without the staff. There's no point in Billy and Fred being sent up to find them; they don't know the inside of the property like I do.'
'I shall go; you have done enough for tonight. Lydia. I insist that you get yourself to safety, leave matters to me.'
She ignored him. 'Billy, we don't know how bad the fire is. Maybe we can put it out. Take Fred and the other two and find the stable hands. Get pails of water and see what you can do between you to douse the flames.' Dodging around her brother, who was attempting to block her passage, she dashed across the passageway and into the back staircase. He could follow her or not; she knew where her duty lay just as Simon did.
She was barely halfway up when she became aware that the hand resting on the wall was hot. The panels were creaking and crackling as if alive. She put her ear to the wall and could hear the hideous sound of flames devouring the interior of her home. She feared it was far too late to save the building, but if all of them escaped unharmed that would be enough for her.
Why hadn't Dorcas led the women to safety? Surely the smell of smoke must have reached the first floor by now? She could hear footsteps right behind her and knew her brother was following. Excellent. His strength might well be needed before this night was over.
*
Simon reached the head of the servants' stairs. The smoke was thick here, not enough to suffocate but sufficient to give him pause. He removed his neckcloth and hastily tied it around his nose and mouth, indicating to his men that they do the same. He wished he'd had the sense to douse his clothes with water before attempting to recover the book. Should he waste precious time and do so now? Jenkins decided the matter for him.
'We'll not get through that lot safely, sir, not unless we're wet.'
'Back to the kitchen. Let's do it, but we must be fast. From the sound of it, the fire has taken a real hold upstairs.'
There was sufficient water in the scullery for his purpose. Snatching up a basin, he scooped it in the bucket and tipped it over his head. He did it a second time and ran out, leaving his men to follow when they were ready. He grabbed a blanket from the back of the chair.
'Here, Jenkins. Soak this and any other similar items you can find. But be quick, man. We're running out of time.'
Pounding back up the short flight of steps leading to the main part of the house, he stopped at the top. What he heard sent chills down his spine. He'd had dealings with house fires in the past. They were unpredictable, but one thing he did know: when anyone opened a door the rush of fresh air seemed to fan the flames.
The door was too hot to touch. He wrapped a cloth around his hands and gripped the latch. He was about to put his shoulder against it when he hesitated. Should he go through first and leave his men to follow, or would it be safer if they went together? They thundered up behind him.
'Here, take this, Colonel. Drape it over your head. It sounds mighty fierce out there.'
Seconds later, they were all three cocooned in dripping material and ready to brave the fire. He thanked God
that Lydia was safe and already outside and in no danger.
*
Lydia could find her way through these narrow passageways blindfolded, unlike the ones leading to where Simon had been sleeping. She'd been taking this route to the stable yard for many years. She doubted that her brother would have been able to lead them directly to her bedchamber. The smoke was thicker up there and the heat was becoming unbearable.
Arriving at the entrance to her dressing room, she hammered on the door shouting as she did so. There was no sign of movement, no response. Surely the women were not already overcome by the smoke? David arrived, panting, at her side.
'Out of the way. Let me see if I can push it open.'
He threw himself at the door and it opened a fraction. Lydia added her weight and together they charged the door shouting for someone to come and assist them.
'The house is on fire! Get up – you must get up or will you'll perish in the flames! Dorcas, Martha, where are you?'
'If they're all in your sitting room they won't hear us banging.'
'But I would think they must smell the smoke? It's suffocating in here. If they don't come soon we must try and get in another way.'
It was impossible to shift the heavy piece of furniture the women had moved across the entrance. After a few more futile efforts, Lydia said, 'David, let's try the door in one of the guest rooms. Did Simon get the men to block all the entrances up here?'
'No, there was no time. But he did tell Dorcas to block all the doors. She might have interpreted that as meaning everything on this floor.'
She led the way at a run, not needing the flickering candle to guide her. She turned the last corner and rushed at the door, expecting it to be shut in the same way as the other had been. This door swung open and she tumbled headlong into the dressing room. David was too close behind her and tripped over her. They wasted valuable seconds while they untangled themselves and scrambled up.
'I can't believe they haven't smelt the smoke; it's becoming more pungent by the minute.'
Miss Peterson & The Colonel Page 9