Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere

by Regina Jeffers

  “Might you be in need of a willing mount, Your Lordship?” Crowden mocked as he led Khan behind him.

  Marcus smiled, although he said, “You are a pompous prat, Crowden.” Marcus took the reins that the marquis offered.

  “What do we have?” Kerrington demanded as he turned his horse in a tight circle.

  “Charters attempted to take a drugged Satiné against her will,” Marcus reluctantly shared. “Miss Cashé and I stopped the Scot, but before we could return the lady to safety, Jamot appeared. The Baloch has taken the women prisoners, along with Charters.”

  Kerrington questioned, “Then it was you who was bound to the tree.”

  Marcus smiled deviously. “Did you expect otherwise?” However, he noticed that none of his friends asked how he and Cashémere had come to be riding together. No explanation would be necessary. If he had chosen Cashé as his own, his friends would not interfere in what might occur with Lexford.”

  Hill called from where he examined the wagon tracks. “Jamot has turned toward Leith.”

  “How far behind the Baloch are we?” Kerrington asked as Hill remounted.

  “Somewhere between three-quarters and an hour,” Marcus confirmed.

  Kerrington growled, “We are wasting time.”

  *

  Satiné awoke to find her head cradled in her twin’s lap. “Cashé,” she said softly.

  “I am here,” Cashé soothed. She moved strands of hair from Satiné’s face.

  “Do not speak,” Jamot ordered.

  Cashé flinched, but she laid her fingers on Satiné’s lips to secure her sister’s cooperation. Then she gingerly massaged her twin’s arms and hands, working the feeling into Satiné’s extremities. Throughout, they maintained eye contact, reestablishing their shared relationship. With her touch, Cashé spoke of regret and of an apology. Tears pooled in the corners of Satiné’s eyes.

  Jamot pointed to an unusual structure. “Over there.”

  “My God!” Cashé gasped, her eyes growing in size as Charters stopped the wagon outside a cone-shaped brick building.

  “Out!” Jamot ordered, flashing the gun in Cashé’s direction.

  Cashé eased her weight from the back of the wagon before turning to support her sister’s decent. Satiné stumbled, but she managed to right herself before accepting Cashé’s silent offer. Climbing down from the seat, Charters stayed several feet away from the sisters; his head remained lowered in complete defeat.

  Satiné finally raised her eyes to the structure. “What is it?” she breathed the words in Cashé’s direction.

  “A glass cone,” Cashé whispered.

  “This way.” Jamot gestured to the arched opening.

  Walking before Charters and the Baloch, Cashé considered making a run for safety, but she could not leave her sister behind; and Satiné was in no condition to sustain more than a short distance on her own. They entered the building unnoticed. Although not complete, the glass cone towered over other buildings in the area. Like a lonely lighthouse. But it was late in the day, and no workers could be found.

  Cashé knew little of the glass industry, but she had seen other examples of the glass cone springing up in the area over the last decade. Normally, the circular based building held a large central furnace surrounded by a circular platform on which the workers stood. Fritting floors, constructed of yellow refractory bricks, covered the area. Spaced at regular intervals, single thick brick walls offered protection from the heat and the hot glass.

  With a flick of his wrist, Jamot gestured the threesome toward another opening. Entering the tunnels, they began to climb steps and an incline, edging their way through what would eventually be a flue, one to carry the heat and the waste gas of the glass making process to the top of the structure and into the open air.

  As they climbed, Cashé noted pieces of clothing and scraps of food strewn about the area. Evidently, the Baloch had used the structure as his hiding place over the past few days. “What do you plan to do with us?” she demanded.

  “You will see, Miss Aldridge.”

  They continued to climb. Satiné, in the front, obediently leading the way, with Cashé behind. Charters resolutely followed. Finally, they had gone as far as the construction would allow. “Now what?” Cashé faced Jamot. “Do you plan to leave us here?”

  “Nothing so mundane.” Jamot smiled with satisfaction. “You will to go through there.”

  “There is nothing through there,” Cashé protested. “It is an empty cavity.”

  Jamot’s steely stare told tales of danger. “Open your eyes, Miss Aldridge. There is room for those not faint of heart.” He caught Satiné by the arm and shoved her toward the opening. “The men who built this structure have provided a space in case of a fire or some other disaster. It is quite unique. Every three meters they have created a small ledge. See. Instead of mortaring the bricks end to end, they have laid them side-by-side. Although you will not be free to move about, you will have a place to stand against the wall.”

  “No!” Cashé charged. “I will not do it.”

  Jamot placed the gun to Satiné’s head. “You have a chance to live, or you may die now. You must place confidence in Lord Yardley. Do you not trust your lover, Miss Aldridge?”

  Cashé swallowed hard. “I will go first.”

  “As you wish.” Approval showed on the Baloch’s face.

  Cashé stuck her head through the opening to assess the situation. The supposed ledge could be no more than three to four inches wide. Below, some five and twenty meters straight down was the yellow-bricked floor. With her back to the hand-made red brick wall, Cashé edged out onto the jutting tips of the bricks. The curved nature of the structure created a pitched-forward stance. Catching her breath, she extended her hand to her sister. “Follow me, Satiné.”

  Her twin’s face appeared at the jagged opening. “I cannot, Cashémere.”

  “Satiné, Lord Yardley shall not let us die. Do as I do. You have only to stand against the wall and wait for His Lordship to come for us. We can do this together. I will protect you until Marcus arrives.” In the back of her mind, Cashé thanked her foresight in not redressing Satiné with the layers of chemises and under skirts. Her sister would need a flattened skirt line.

  Telling her that she possessed no choice, Jamot shoved the gun into Satiné’s side.

  Slowly, Satiné followed Cashé onto the narrow ledge. “I am frightened,” she said as Cashé reached for her.

  “Do not look down,” Cashé warned. “Where I should have been all along, I will be beside you.” Making room for her sister, she caught Satiné’s hand and stepped gingerly to the right.

  Finally, Charters’ bulky form appeared in the opening. He carefully worked his body through the breach, but his body mass worked against him in such a small space. The ledge could not support Charters with any security–his large boots finding no hold on the narrow strip. Scooting along the thin ledge, the Scot moved to the left.

  “Do not look at him,” Cashé hissed. “Look at me or look up at the beautiful sky. No matter what. You are not to look down.”

  Satiné gave a brief nod, staring intently at her sister.

  Jamot amusedly peered at his captives. “I will leave you to your own devices,” he boasted. “By the way, you will hear a small blast. But do not fear. I am simply providing His Lordship with a bit more of a challenge. Do not panic when you hear it.” Then the Baloch laughed, his voice ricocheting off the walls.

  In less than a minute, the walls shook. Powder and dust rained down on them, and Satiné shrieked; but Cashé demanded that her sister stand still. She squeezed Satiné’s hand. “Look at me!” she emphatically ordered over the noise. “No matter what, you are to look only at me.”

  *

  Marcus rode at the front with Kerrington. His anxiety grew with each thud of Khan’s hooves on the hardened ground. He could lose Cashé in a heartbeat, and the thought shook him to his core. Maggie had died because he was too late and too weak to sav
e her. Would God bring Cashémere to a similar fate?

  “Spread out,” Kerrington ordered as a flat bed wagon appeared beside a circular structure some two hundred meters ahead.

  Automatically, the men separated, planning to surround the building, but before they could secure the area, an explosion rocked the ground. As they scrambled to react, Jamot escaped from the arched opening and ran for the wooded hillside backing toward the brick cone.

  “Crowden, with me,” Kerrington ordered before he and the marquis gave chase.

  *

  Cashé felt the walls sway as the explosion settled. Thick dust and powered mortar belched through the small opening as it collapsed. A dust cloud hung briefly in the air before the particles rained down on the fritting floor below. Seeking a better grip, Cashé had dug her nails into the sandy mortar. And although her stomach did a complete somersault, she held her sister’s hand tightly to the wall, refusing to allow Satiné to teeter on the ledge. “Look at me!” she repeated to her sister’s distraction. Cashé willed Satiné not to perish. “I love you. I will protect you,” she said with confidence.

  However, before Cashé could settle her own nerves and secure her sister’s safety, a defeated groan announced Charters’ despondency. The man purposely pitched forward and, unceremoniously, followed the dust particles to the ground. A sickening thud heralded his impact. No other sound followed. Cashé wanted to see if Charters had survived the fall, but she had her own dilemma as Satiné leaned forward in a swoon.

  “Satiné!” she called in a panic. “Stay with me!” Cashé gave her sister’s arm a quick jerk backwards, demanding Satiné’s attention. “You are not to leave me!” she ordered. “We are twins! I cannot survive without you! Satiné, look at me!” She knew that she said the words before, but it was all Cashé could think to do to settle her sister’s stance.

  Slowly, Satiné turned her head in Cashé’s direction and pressed her back to the wall.

  Cashé breathed a bit easier. “I love you, Satiné,” she whispered. “Please do not leave me. Everyone else has abandoned me.”

  “I will stay with you,” Satiné responded weakly.

  *

  The explosion had rocked the very ground upon which they rode, and Marcus’s heart plummeted. As Kerrington and Crowden chased a retreating Jamot, Marcus raced to the glass cone, a familiar structure in Northumberland. His heart told him Cashé was in trouble. “Please God,” he pleaded as he hit the ground at a run. Bursting through the arched opening, he yelled “Cashé! Cashé! Where are you?”

  Breathing heavily, his own heartbeat pounded in his head. At first, he did not hear her. “Marcus!” She sounded so far away.

  His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then he saw Charters’ body spread out on the brick floor. Blood and grey matter flowed from a cracked skull. Even without checking, Marcus knew the man had breathed his last.

  Swenton and Lucifer now stood behind him. Marcus motioned for Lucifer to check the body while he tried to figure out from where Cashé’s voice came. Looking down at Charters’ broken body, Marcus’s eyes began to imagine the man’s brief flight, and then he saw her. Cashé and Satiné were perched on a narrow ledge some twenty or more meters above him. “My God!” he gasped in a panic.

  “Marcus!” Cashé’s voice stayed him. “Jamot blocked the only way up.” Her words echoed from the walls, repeating her dooming proclamation.

  “Damn!” he sent Swenton to look at a gaping hole on the left as Marcus searched frantically for other openings. He realized that normally a glass cone had several flues, but this building was under construction, and the flues had yet to be installed. The tunnels went nowhere.

  Swenton returned to the circle. “Rocks and debris everywhere. We could dig it out, but it would take hours,” he whispered to Marcus.

  “They cannot wait that long.” Marcus’s urgency spurred them on. “I have got to find a way to reach them.”

  Hill joined them. “Come down from the top,” he suggested.

  Marcus looked questioningly at Swenton. “It is your call,” the baron answered. “Lucifer and I will handle the ropes.”

  Marcus turned back to the circle. “Cashé, I am coming for you!”

  *

  Kerrington and Crowden had chased the Baloch along Leith’s shoreline and toward Edinburgh. Jamot had hidden a horse in the wooded area, and the Realm now chased a well-trained warrior.

  Finally, the Baloch had alighted and had entered the ruins of an old abbey. Kerrington and Crowden, only seconds behind, had dismounted cautiously, before following. “Keep your eyes open,” Kerrington warned. Dusk approached, and soon Jamot would have the cover of darkness to his advantage.

  “I will take the left,” Crowden whispered as they separated and began meticulously to search the remains of a once-magnificent religious house.

  “Jamot!” Kerrington called, advancing through the narrow space. “Give yourself up!”

  Kerrington motioned for Crowden to check behind some tumbled stones before they crept further into the shadows. Kerrington wove his way in and out of the still standing alcoves. The painted glass windows cast odd lines across the stone arches and floor. Swirls of red, yellow, and brown streaked the area.

  The viscount took several more tentative steps before Jamot appeared on an upper archway. “Jamot!” Kerrington called. “Move and I will shoot,” he ordered.

  Jamot laughed sarcastically. “You sound exactly like Lady Worthing right before I took the gun from her. She died with your name on her lips, Your Lordship.”

  Kerrington’s vision blurred. “You lie!” he accused.

  Jamot looked about, obviously, searching for the marquis. “Do I?” he taunted. “Less than a week ago, I found my way into Ashton’s home. Lady Worthing interrupted my dispensing with Lord Lexford. Unfortunately, the lady insisted. I had no choice.” Jamot snarled. “You lost a wife and a child, Lord Worthing.”

  Kerrington could not breathe. A sickening feeling turned his stomach. Could it be? Ella would fight Jamot.

  “Do not trust him, Captain,” Crowden called from some place behind him. “If Lady Worthing was no more, you would know. Your heart would know.”

  Kerrington swallowed his fear. “I plan to kill you, Jamot.”

  “You plan to try, Worthing.”

  The bullet whizzed by Kerrington’s head as he dove out of the way. He heard Crowden return fire and Jamot running again. “Damn!” Kerrington followed the sound of fear.

  Murhad Jamot ran for his life; the Realm would chase him relentlessly. But as he ran, he had one way to slow them down. He reached in his pocket and dropped the papers that he had stolen from Ashton’s household.

  *

  Morton dismounted in Aldridge’s drive. He had slept little over the last three days, and his body ached with exhaustion, and also with apprehension. Where was Satiné? Where was Cashémere? Were they safe? He handed the reigns to a waiting footman. “Is Lord Averette within?”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  Morton nodded his thanks before mounting the entrance steps. Releasing the knocker, the baron waited impatiently for the door to open. Finally, he was able to say, “Baron Ashton for the viscount.”

  “If you will wait here, Sir, I will see if His Lordship is receiving.”

  From behind them came Aldridge’s voice. “Morton, what brings you to Scotland? If you came to claim another niece, I am afraid that I am fresh out of young ladies.”

  Morton’s countenance fell. “Then neither Cashémere nor Satiné are here?”

  “I have seen neither since I left Derbyshire. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to which to attend.” Aldridge turned toward the back of the house.

  Morton took several steps forward. In supplication, he said, “Do you not understand, Man. The twins are missing, and they are in trouble.”

  Aldridge turned slowly, a smile of triumph on his face. “You accepted the care of my brother’s children against my will. If they now suffer, it is on your head. Bla
ne, show His Lordship out.”

  “But wait!” Morton called. “You are telling me that you will not assist me in finding Cashémere and Satiné?”

  “I am telling you exactly that, Morton.” With those words, Aldridge turned and walked away.

  “You will pay, Aldridge! If it is the last thing I do, I will see that you pay for this insolence!” Morton grabbed his gloves from the butler’s hands and stormed from the house.

  “Yer horse, M’ Lord,” the footman bowed.

  Morton prepared to mount. “Would you tell me where Lachlan Charters lives?”

  “Take the main road, M’ Lord. When it forks, bear left. Another mile. There be a big tree in the middle of the road. The entrance to Mr. Charters’ house be on the right.”

  Morton tossed the man a coin. “Thank you.” He reined the horse in a tight circle before continuing his search.

  *

  Marcus, Swenton, and Hill climbed the narrow outside steps circling the brick cone. Marcus ignored the danger, but his companions took it more carefully. Reaching the top, he looked down into the cavity. Cashé and Satiné clung precariously to the “smooth” wall of the cone’s interior. “There is no place to tie off the rope,” he announced.

  “I can hold it,” Lucifer spoke seriously. “I can be your anchor, Your Lordship.”

  “Let us lace the rope through the small opening,” Swenton suggested.

  Marcus peered over the edge again. “Is the rope long enough?” He quickly counted the rows of bricks. “Three to four meters.”