The Kidnapped Bride

by Amanda Scott

  “Perfect. Shall we go, Penny?”

  Shaking out the skirt of her lavender silk dinner gown, Miss Penistone agreed that it was more than time. Sarah realized that, despite the rush, they were indeed a few minutes late, so it was no great surprise to her to discover, when they reached the top of the stairs, that Nicholas was on the point of entering the hall.

  “Good evening, my lord,” she greeted him, imitating Lady Hartley’s chilly hauture. “How kind of you to give us your escort.”

  XVII

  NICHOLAS’S EYES HELD A touch of mockery, but he made no comment upon her appearance, merely greeting both ladies amicably and holding the door open for them to pass through. They could not manage the pathway three abreast, so he stood politely aside, and Sarah passed him with her nose in the air. Miss Penistone shot her a look of reproach, but it was ignored, and if that lady wondered how long his lordship would tolerate such Turkish treatment, she kept the thought to herself.

  The pathway was dark and Sarah stumbled once, but she had to catch herself, for Nicholas made no move to come to her assistance, only stepping forward when they reached the flagstone terrace to open the doors. Lady Packwood and Sir Percival looked up as they entered.

  “My, how grand you look tonight, my dear,” Lady Packwood commented cheerfully. “Complete to a shade!”

  “Fine as fivepence,” agreed Sir Percival, flicking snuff from his sleeve. “Looks like a golden statue, don’t she, my sweet?”

  Sarah blushed, as Sir Percival’s words unleashed a spate of memories, and wished that she had worn something else. She glanced at Nicholas quickly enough to catch a sharp look before he turned away to the wine tray.

  “Anyone else?” he inquired smoothly.

  The others declining, he helped himself to a small glass of mountain, tossing it down rather quickly when Dasher entered to ask if they were now ready to dine.

  If anyone had asked Sarah three days later, or even the following morning, to repeat the gist of the table talk that evening, she would have been hard pressed to comply. She might have remembered making a lot of airy gestures, tossing out light, cheerful comments by the peck, or maintaining a chilly politeness whenever called upon to notice his lordship’s presence, and she would have been vaguely aware that Sir Percival had disapproved of their having fallen victim to a pair of nasty highwaymen, but she would never remember a single other topic or a specific phrase.

  Telling herself that she was delighted when Sir Percival suggested to Nicholas after dinner that the two of them take their port to the billiards room, she followed Lady Packwood back to the library, thinking they could enjoy a comfortable coze, uninterrupted by any of his lordship’s usual, fusty comments. However, less than a half hour later, Sarah stifled a yawn. She could not understand it, but the evening seemed to have turned sadly flat. Surely, Lady Packwood’s conversation was as amusing as ever, and Penny’s knitting needles clicked away with comforting familiarity, but she herself was having much difficulty sustaining her part of things. She half expected her ladyship to demand to know what was wrong with her and did not know whether to be grateful or indignant when she did not. A few moments and several yawns later, she could stand it no longer.

  “I don’t know how it is,” she said, not realizing she had interrupted Lady Packwood’s anecdote midsentence, “but I seem to be exceedingly fatigued this evening. I beg you will forgive me, ma’am, if I excuse myself.”

  “Of course, my dear,” replied her ladyship agreeably, while Penny obligingly bestowed her knitting. “I expect you are still recovering from this morning’s shocking incident. A good night’s rest will put you right again.” Since Sarah thought it would not be quite tactful to admit that she had not really thought once all evening about the highwaymen, she accepted the excuse and gratefully made her escape without noticing when Lady Packwood, exchanging a glance with Penny, shook her head in tolerant amusement.

  It was still only half past ten when Lizzie snuffed out the candles and bade Sarah a fond good night, and suddenly she was no longer sleepy at all. Try as she would to erase her mind of thought, the vision of a gentleman with fair curls and blue eyes that crinkled when he laughed kept intruding. How ridiculous to dwell upon that face, she scolded herself. Particularly when the laughter was so rare. He nearly always frowned, did he not? Was nearly always vexed or disapproving. Besides, she was a widow with most of her year’s mourning still ahead of her. Not that that made a difference where he was concerned, of course, except that it meant he would continue to carp and censure and make himself generally irritating, A whole year! No parties, no pleasures, no fun! It was too much. Entirely too much! Had she not made up her mind to ignore his moods and his notions of propriety as well? Why on earth could she not put his lordship out of her head entirely!

  Sarah punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape and plopped her head down again, determined to capture sleep. But it continued to elude her. It seemed that she no sooner found a comfortable position for her head than her back began to ache. But when she turned over, the back of her knee began to itch. She scratched it with a toenail and decided that the problem was actually that the bedclothes had become disarranged.

  Sitting up, Sarah yanked and straightened until she had pulled the patchwork coverlet loose from the foot of the bed. With à sigh, she threw off the covers and got up. First, she straightened the bed properly, but as she was about to climb in again, she decided against it. Admit it, she thought, you just are not ready to sleep.

  Perhaps, she could go downstairs and find something to read. There was, if she was not mistaken, a new issue of the Ladies’ Monthly Museum in the drawing room. She slipped her feet into a pair of soft slippers and found a silk dressing gown on a hook in her wardrobe. But as she wrapped it around herself, she changed her mind again. What she really needed was a hot posset or at least some warm milk. Either one ought to send her right off. Maybe someone was still up. But when she opened her door, only darkness greeted her. Darkness and silence.

  Sarah sighed and shut the door again. She really didn’t want to go downstairs by herself just to fix warm milk. She wasn’t even sure where Betsy kept the items necessary to prepare it. A hot posset was out of the question. And she didn’t really want to read either. Restlessly, she walked to the front window to adjust it, although no adjustment was necessary.

  It was a glorious night. A slender crescent moon hung over the dark shapes of the trees, and the stars were out in riotous profusion, dancing like silver glitter against the black, black sky. As she watched, a shooting star arched over the trees hiding the main house from view. She looked more closely. Not even a flicker of light shone through the thick foliage from the library window, so it was later than she had thought, and they had all gone to bed.

  Well, not all. As she formed the thought, a flash of light caught her attention amidst the trees below. Sarah chuckled. That boy! Up to his tricks again. Clearly, he had not learned his lesson the first time. But still, considering her present mood, he might at least provide diversion, so long as his lordship didn’t catch him at his nonsense again.

  Just then, she heard a tentative woof. Erebus! On the thought, she hurried to the door, down the dark stairs, and out onto the front veranda. The dog must not disturb Nicholas, or Colin would be in for it again. There was a second bark, louder, less tentative. She hurried toward the sound, not wanting to call out, wanting only to stifle the noise. She reached the path and stopped. It was very dark and very quiet.

  A third bark, then two more in quick succession. They came from her right, the thickest part of the wood. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but it was still difficult to find her way through the shrubbery, particularly with twigs and branches snatching at her dressing gown. Suddenly she came into a small clearing and saw the dog on the other side near a large boulder. He heard her and woofed a greeting, galumphing toward her, then turning back almost immediately to the rock. Looking back, he woofed again, then pawed at something on the ground t
hat produced a distinctly wooden sound.

  “Hush, Erebus.” Sarah went closer, and he moved aside, inviting her to inspect his discovery. “Merciful heavens!” she exclaimed. The dog had been pawing at a pair of wooden doors set at an angle into the ground behind the boulder. “Move over, dog.” She pushed him out of the way and, finding a metal handle on one of the doors, managed to pull it open. Yawning blackness met her gaze. Without a light it was impossible to tell how deep it was, but Sarah was certain she had found a secret entrance to the Dower House cellars.

  “That devil,” she breathed. Then she chuckled. Swift calculation told her that she was between fifty and seventy-five feet from the house, and she doubted that Colin, even with the aid of his light, would cover that distance through an unfamiliar tunnel very quickly. “Stay, Erebus,” she ordered sharply. “Guard!” The big dog plumped down with a long-suffering sigh that clearly expressed his opinion of human vagaries, but Sarah, her eyes alight with mischief, was already hastening back toward the house.

  She found candlestick and flint just inside the front door where they were always kept, and once the candle was lit, lost no time hurrying to the kitchen passage. Just as she had hoped, the bricks were gone, the doorway completely accessible. She would give Colin the shock of his young life!

  The door opened easily, showing that the workmen had even soaped the hinges, and a flight of stone steps presented itself. She had feared she might have to contend with a rickety, wooden staircase, but unless the stones were damp—and they did not seem so—she would be perfectly safe.

  She had half-expected to see the glow of a lantern or another candle, but the lower portion of the cellar was in total darkness. Delighted to have beaten him but rather hoping he would arrive soon, she slowly descended the stairs, ears pricked for any sound, half-fearing to hear the rustle and scuttle of rats. But there was only silence. She continued down the steps until she reached the bottom. Then, holding her candle high, she looked around, but the cellar seemed totally barren. She could see no sign of dampness and, though she wasn’t perfectly certain what it was, no sign of dry rot either.

  Frowning, she moved forward across the stone floor. Where was Colin? Surely, she hadn’t been wrong about the tunnel. Surely, it led straight to this cellar. A shadow of something solid caught her eye, when the candlelight reflected off a low, solid shape near the opposite wall. Sarah moved closer. It seemed to be some sort of trunk or chest. A chill shot up her spine, and she was aware of sudden gooseflesh as she remembered Colin’s suspicions of buried treasure. Could it truly be a treasure chest?

  She hurried forward, holding the candle ahead so that its light would give the answer as quickly as possible. There were two trunks! But they were not rounded, nor banded in shining brass, as one might properly expect a treasure chest to be. They were not even locked! Probably nothing more than forgotten storage chests, she told herself firmly.

  Kneeling beside the nearer of the two, Sarah brushed away a twig that had attached itself to her dressing gown and, with a shiver, noticed the chill in the cellar for the first time. Well, she would just peep inside the chest and then go back upstairs. If Erebus still waited by the entry she would know Colin had not returned, that something had happened to him. And, if she couldn’t find him herself, she would—God forbid—just have to fetch his lordship. It occurred to her that she had noticed no door that might be the cellar entrance to the tunnel. Maybe it, too, had been bricked up. At any rate, she hoped Colin was all right. She would rather not have another uncomfortable midnight scene, since, besides chastising Colin, Nicholas would most likely disapprove loudly and at length of her own visit to the cellar. But she tossed her head in defiance at the thought and reached to open the trunk.

  The heavy lid stuck, and she could not manage it one-handed, so she set her candlestick down carefully, then bent to her task with a will. There was a satisfying creak, and the lid came up. She couldn’t see the contents properly until she had retrieved her candle, but then she let her breath out in a long sigh of amazement. She had indeed discovered treasure!

  Diamonds reflected fire from the candle. Rubies glistened, emeralds sparkled; indeed, there seemed to be jewels of every color and hue! There were likewise two small strongboxes minus their locks, and both contained gold and silver coins as well as paper money. Sarah simply stared. The Ashton family treasure! But then, she looked more closely at one of the notes, and George III stared back at her. Family treasure or not, it had certainly not been resting here or anywhere else since Cromwell’s day!

  So intent was she upon her discovery that she didn’t hear the whispering hush of sound as a section of the wall on her left slid open. But a draft caught her candle, causing it to flicker. The brief, resulting dimness was offset by a stronger light penetrating the cellar, and it was this plus the draft that warned her. She turned with a cheerful grin.

  “I thought you’d never … good God! Beck!”

  “My lady.” Darcy’s erstwhile valet nodded with icy poise, his chilly gray eyes colder than ever. “May I ask how you come to be here?” Stepping into the cellar, he slid the panel nearly but not quite shut behind him and held his lantern high.

  “We’ve been refurbishing,” Sarah said quickly, watching him closely. “I ordered the cellars opened again.”

  “I see.” He glanced around as though to make sure she was unaccompanied, then hung the lantern from a jutting nail. Sarah stifled another shiver, this time caused by the chill of fear. “Is it not a trifle late to be exploring?” he asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted. “Of course it is, but I saw you from my window and thought you were Lord Moreland’s nephew, Colin.”

  “That is unfortunate.” Beck stepped forward into the full light of the lantern, and his long, thin face and prominent, square jaw were thrown into strong relief. Sarah gasped, gazing with dismay now at the neatly tied neckcloth and paradoxical duffel coat.

  “It was you!”

  Beck sighed. “I was afraid of that. I had no notion, you see, until Jerry had already stopped the coach. Wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Surprised his bloody lordship didn’t recognize me, for that matter, but sure you would, my lady. ’Tis a pity, still and all.”

  Sarah caught her breath again at the look in his eye. “What do you mean?”

  “You or me,” he replied simply. “Got to be one or the other. Surely, you can see my side of it. Much rather it be you.”

  “I don’t understand you! You talk gibberish!”

  “They would hang me.”

  She stared at him, swallowing with difficulty. “It might only be transportation, unless you’ve robbed the Mail, of course.”

  Beck shrugged. “All the same, no sense in taking the risk, my lady, when it’s such a simple thing to avoid it. Shame to waste such a delicious bit o’ skirt though,” he added, reverting to the dialect of his associates. “His lordship always showed excellent taste.” He moved slowly toward her.

  Sarah backed away, still holding her candle. “Why, Beck? You could have made an excellent wage as a gentleman’s valet.”

  “No wage can equal them boxes, my pretty one.” He leered. “What a body you’ve got! To think he never had the proper use of it. Told me himself. Said he was going to make up for it though, that you had gone too far at last. Shouldn’t have knocked him down, my lady. Made him mad as fire.” He continued steadily toward her, purpose strong in his eye.

  Sarah gasped. “You were in London! How could you possibly know about that?”

  Beck allowed himself a sardonic smile. “Now you understand why there would be no question of transportation. I’ve nothing to lose, my lady, and all to gain. It will do you no good to keep backing away, you know. The wall is but two feet behind you.”

  “You killed him,” Sarah whispered. “Why?”

  Beck gestured toward the trunks. “That’s why. Whole business was my notion from start to finish. Not that he didn’t go along willingly enough at the beginning, mind you. But t
hen, he got cold feet. He was of a mind to turn respectable, thanks to your damned fortune, but I wasn’t to get any of that. He wanted out, and when I suggested that I could make trouble for him, he threatened to turn me in if I didn’t keep a still tongue in my head. Said the busies would be more like to listen to him than to me. Right about that, I expect.”

  Sarah grasped his meaning with difficulty. “Then Darcy … he was … and you said ‘Jerry’ … that would be Jeremy Oakes, I expect. But you and Darcy must have tried to double-cross him, for he doesn’t seem to have known where you hid the booty.” Evidently her surmises were correct, for he did not deny them. Indeed, he seemed only amused, laughing softly as he closed the distance between them.

  “Enough of this. Think of me as a romantic knight of the road. Everyone knows what great lovers highwaymen are, how daring we are. Think of yourself as the heroine of a romantic tale with but a few moments of life yet to cherish. You nearly drove me mad when I lived in the same house with you, wench. Now it can’t make any difference. Come here.” Smiling wickedly, he reached toward her.

  “No!” And with a lunge, Sarah threw her candle full in his face and darted past him toward the stone steps, screaming, hoping Penny or someone might hear her. But Beck was too quick. Dodging the flying candle easily, he stretched out his hand and grabbed her by the arm, whirling her around, pulling her to him. Desperately, Sarah tried to wrench away from him and kicked angrily at his shin, but her slippers were little protection, and she only bruised her toes. Meanwhile, her struggles resulted in very little advantage to herself. If anything, they aided Beck as he attempted to tear her dressing gown from her body.

  Despite her initial lack of success, Sarah continued to struggle madly, but she managed to keep sheer panic at bay, and somehow a small part of her mind managed to take in the fact that they had turned so that Beck now had his back to the treasure trunks. She had been trying desperately to pull away from him, so that when she suddenly propelled herself forward with all her might, she caught him completely off guard and off balance. Catching his heel on one of the trunks, he went crashing backward, his hands involuntarily releasing Sarah as he made a futile attempt to save himself.