In Pursuit Of Eliza Cynster

by Stephanie Laurens

  Crouching beside the bed — a typical iron-and-wire-framed bed, the base a foot and more off the ground — she peered underneath. It took her an instant to realize that the reason she could see anything at all was that faint light was glowing through the worn fabric of the runner.

  Grabbing the rug, she pulled it back, just as another rat-tat sounded.

  Thin slivers of light outlined the sides of a square set into the floor.

  For an instant, she stared at what her stunned brain informed her was a wooden trapdoor, then, hauling in a quick breath, she reached out and rapped her knuckles on the panel: rat-tat.

  For an instant, nothing happened, then the trapdoor jiggled and pushed up from underneath, but clearly it was fastened in some way.

  Her heart leapt, but she reminded herself that she had no idea who was on the other side. They might be burglars. Leaning close, putting her face near the edge, as loudly as she dared she asked, “Who is it?”

  A pause followed, then came, “Jeremy Carling. We’ve come to rescue you.”

  Sweeter words, she’d never heard. Relief, gratitude, and a curious, eager excitement surged through her. “Just a minute. I have to move the bed.”

  Scrambling to her feet, she pushed and lifted the end of the bed away from the wall until the space above the trapdoor was clear, then she fell on her knees and felt along the edge opposite where the panel appeared to be hinged.

  Her fingers fumbled along what seemed to be a simple bolt. “I have it.” Finding the bolt’s knob, she lifted it from its anchoring slot and drew the bolt back.

  “Thank God!” Relief surged anew as the bolt slid smoothly free.

  Using the knob as a handle, she tried to lift the trapdoor. The instant she did, hands beneath pushed it up. Sinking back on her heels, she watched as arms followed, swinging the trapdoor back until it came to rest against the wall.

  Lantern light welled out from the open space.

  Still on her knees, she leaned forward and looked down.

  Directly into Jeremy Carling’s upturned face.

  Beyond delighted to see him, she beamed.

  He stared rather blankly up at her for a moment, then blinked, frowned slightly, and quietly asked, “Is there anyone near who might hear?”

  “No.” She thought back, then decisively said, “After dinner, they brought me down here, locked me in and went back upstairs, and none of them have come down since.”

  “Good.” He looked at her face again, then moved his gaze to her shoulders, barely covered by her hideously crushed fichu. “Do you still have that cloak you had earlier? It’s chilly down here.”

  “Yes.” Reaching out, she dragged the cloak from the bed; she’d been using it as an extra blanket.

  Jeremy spied the edge of a thin blanket dangling from the bed. “Bring the blanket, too — it won’t hurt.”

  Having swung the cloak around her, she tied its ties at her throat, then reached for the blanket.

  “Is there anything else you need to bring?”

  Folding the blanket, she shook her head. “They didn’t even give me a comb.”

  “All right. Hand me the blanket.”

  She passed it to him; he took it and handed it down to Cobby, waiting at the base of the ladder.

  Looking up at Eliza, Jeremy made a circling gesture. “There’s a ladder here, but you’ll need to come down backward.” He retreated a few steps. “Take it slowly. I’ll catch you if you slip.”

  She moved quickly to do as he’d said, easing down through the trapdoor, carefully feeling with her feet for each rung.

  He continued to retreat as she descended. Eventually he stepped onto the rough stone floor of the tunnel; displacing Cobby at the ladder’s foot, he reached up to take Eliza’s elbow and steady her. “Almost there.”

  She stepped down to the tunnel’s floor, then turned to bestow another of her blindingly brilliant smiles on him; as before, when their eyes met, a wave of heat, both pleasurable and discomfiting at the same time, rolled through him.

  Reminding himself where they were, he turned to Cobby, who was hovering at his elbow. “Allow me to present Cobden Harris.”

  “Cobby, Miss Cynster.” Cobby reached out and shook Eliza’s hand. “Everyone calls me Cobby.”

  “And this”— Jeremy gestured to her other side —“is Hugo Weaver.”

  Hugo juggled the bag of tools he’d carried into his other hand, then took Eliza’s and bowed gallantly over it. “Enchanted, Miss Cynster.”

  Releasing her, Hugo looked at Jeremy. “I suggest we get going before the natives grow restless.”

  Cobby stepped back and waved Eliza forward.

  “Wait.” Jeremy glanced up at the open trapdoor, then he looked at Eliza. “Did you say the bed was over the trapdoor?”

  She nodded. “There was a rug over it, and the bed stood over that. I had no idea the trapdoor was there — and clearly neither did Scrope or the other two. They’d never have left me there if they had.”

  Jeremy flicked a glance at Cobby, then Hugo, then turned back to the ladder. “It’s worth spending a few extra minutes to confound any pursuit.”

  He climbed quickly up, stuck his head into the basement room, and looked around. “Cobby — I’ll need some light.” Climbing up into the room, Jeremy waited until Cobby appeared on the ladder, holding up one of the lanterns so Jeremy could see, then he got to work setting their stage.

  Five minutes later, after fluffing up the pillows and stuffing them under the sheet, then positioning the rug back across the trapdoor so it would lie flat, hiding the panel again once it was fully lowered, then, standing on the ladder and reaching out around the edges of the partially lowered panel, tugging the bed back into place, he finally lowered the trapdoor fully, then retreated down into the tunnel.

  Resettling his coat sleeves, he grinned at Cobby and Hugo. “That’ll leave them wrestling with the classic riddle of how someone vanishes from a locked room.”

  Cobby chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to leave someone with that mystery to solve.”

  Hugo briefly smiled, then nodded along the tunnel. “We need to go.”

  They shuttered their lanterns so that the light shone in narrow beams ahead of them, enough to light their path but hopefully not enough to disturb any of the denizens through whose abodes, as it were, they would pass.

  Jeremy signaled Eliza to put up the hood of her cloak. Even in its presently disarranged state, the honey-gold of her hair gleamed in the light; far safer to keep it, and any suggestion of her quality, concealed.

  Through the cloak and the blanket she’d slung about her shoulders, he located her elbow, lightly grasped it. He nodded to Cobby and they started off; Jeremy walked by Eliza’s side, fractionally behind her, ready to steady her over the rough ground, or to protect her.

  Cobby walked ahead of them. Hugo strode just behind.

  The scabbard of the short sword Jeremy had strapped under his coat tapped his thigh with every step. Cobby, too, had a similar weapon; as they walked, his hand hovered over its hilt.

  Hugo, behind them, had a truncheon and a dirk.

  They weren’t looking for trouble, but none of them were foolish enough to come into this area without being prepared for it.

  Eliza recognized their protectiveness, guessed its cause. Even though she couldn’t see the danger, she could sense its nearness, the unseen, unvoiced menace. The damp chill of the sometimes narrow, sometimes cavernous, tunnels through which they passed was insidiously laced with the potential for violence.

  Clutching the blanket closer, she edged nearer Jeremy. “What is this place?” Her voice was the merest whisper.

  Ahead of their little group ranged three youths in rough clothing who’d been waiting a little way back along the tunnel from the ladder down which she’d come; the youths occasionally held up a hand to slow them down, as if checking the way ahead, then they would beckon and continue on.

  Leaning close so his words wafted across her ear, Jeremy seized
a moment when their guides had waved them to a halt to reply, “These are the vaults — the vaults between the bridges’ supports. When the elevated bridges leading north and south from High Street were built, those who later built houses against the bridges incorporated the spaces between the supports as multiple below-ground levels in the houses — second, third, and so on basements, one below the other.”

  He fell silent as they moved forward again, swiftly and silently crossing a large, much wider area.

  Eliza sensed movement in the impenetrable darkness of the unseen space. As their way once more narrowed, she whispered, “Why are there people hiding in the dark?”

  “Not hiding. They live here — we’re walking through their homes.”

  She couldn’t imagine it. “Why are they here?”

  “When the fire five years ago burned down the original houses, removing all the levels above ground, the builders who built on the foundations of the burned-out shells simply sealed off the lower levels. Those lower levels — these tunnels — became a warren for the homeless, the dispossessed, the poor of every kind. Some, like the canny builder who built the terrace of houses your captors chose, left exits in the house basements in case of another fire. Most locals know of the vaults.”

  “I think Scrope is English, and the nurse and the coachman definitely are.”

  “Just so. They either rented a house or commandeered a house whose owner is away.”

  They reached a set of crude steps cut into the stone. Cobby and Hugo hovered, alert and on guard, while Jeremy helped her down.

  “It’s not far now,” he whispered as they started off again. “We’re descending the slope under the bridge — we’re not far from the end.”

  Recalling just how long the bridge they’d walked up from the coaching inn to the High Street had been, Eliza thought of how many rooms must be hidden away, tucked underneath. How many people, families, groups. “At least they’re out of the weather.”

  Jeremy didn’t reply. Ahead of them Cobby had come to a halt at a wide opening beyond which stars appeared like pinpricks in the black fabric of the sky.

  Halting, Jeremy murmured to Eliza, “Go on with Hugo. I’ll join you in a moment.”

  She hesitated, clearly reluctant, but then Hugo stepped forward and touched her arm, and she allowed him to steer her on through the opening and out into the relative safety of the night.

  Cobby waited just beyond the exit, glancing back as Jeremy pulled a small purse from his pocket. The three youths who’d hovered in the darker shadows instantly drew nearer.

  “Here.” Upending the purse in his palm, Jeremy showed them the coins he’d promised in return for their help navigating the vaults safely. “Your due, plus a tip.”

  The oldest youth glanced at the other two, then looked back at Jeremy. “Can you divide it for us?”

  Jeremy obliged.

  More than happy, the youths took the coins, saluted, and melted away.

  Jeremy joined Cobby; a few steps more brought them to where Hugo waited with Eliza in the shelter of a doorway.

  As soon as Jeremy neared, she retrieved her hand from Hugo’s sleeve and grasped Jeremy’s arm. She looked at Cobby, Hugo, then up at Jeremy. “I can’t thank you enough. Scrope said he expects the laird tomorrow morning. I wasn’t looking forward to meeting him.”

  Hugo smiled and swept her a bow. “Delighted to be of service.”

  Cobby grinned. “Truth to tell, we haven’t had an adventure for far too long — it’s we who are in your debt. Now!” Face alight, he swung around. “Let’s leave this place for fairer climes.”

  Once more, Cobby led the way, and Hugo brought up the rear.

  “Where are we going?” Eliza asked.

  Jeremy glanced down at her through the dense shadows; she felt more than saw his gaze as it moved briefly over her features. “To Cobby’s town house. It’s not far.”

  Cobby patently knew his way; he led them unerringly through passages and tiny courtyards, through narrow alleys, and across larger lanes. Eliza kept up as best she could, but in ballroom slippers she had to be careful where she placed her feet.

  Jeremy was unwavering in his solicitousness, in being ready with a hand, or his arm, to steady her. She would normally have found such constant attention irritating, yet tonight she was nothing but grateful. And surprised.

  Surprised by just how aware she was of the man by her side.

  He might be a scholar, as absentminded as they came, but he was also very tall, and quite … manly was the word that sprang to mind.

  He possessed a great deal more physical presence than she’d recalled, an aura she found distracting. That made her senses skitter and her nerves tighten, that made her awareness focus on him, rather than on her surroundings.

  Yet even distracted as she was, she didn’t need to be told that they’d entered, and were pushing further into, the better part of Auld Town. The houses changed; many were older, predating the fire; ornamentation on their stonework became increasingly more visible as the moon rose.

  It cast more than enough light for her to appreciate the solid gentility that permeated the houses in the street they eventually turned into. The city’s bells chimed and clanged twice each as they strode up the slumbering street. Fishing in his pocket, Cobby halted before a three-story town house, then, latchkey in hand, he ascended the three steps, unlocked the door, set it wide, and with a smile to match, waved them in. “Welcome to my humble abode, Miss Cynster.”

  Guided by Jeremy up the steps, she passed Cobby to step over the threshold, and he added, “Although your stay will be short, Meggin and I hope it will be comfortable.”

  Crossing into the front hall, into welcoming warmth and soft candlelight, Eliza found a lady much her own age, with lustrous black curls and laughing blue eyes, waiting to greet her.

  The lady smiled and offered her hands. “I’m Margaret — Meggin to all. Welcome to our home.”

  Eliza found herself smiling broadly back. She put her hands in Meggin’s, without hesitation leaned close to touch cheeks, and for the first time in days, relaxed.

  The door shut and bolted, they repaired to the drawing room where a tray with tea, small honey cakes, and a plate of more robust sandwiches was waiting. While Meggin and Eliza sipped tea from china cups and nibbled the delicious honey cakes, the men sipped from glasses of whisky and made short work of the sandwiches.

  “It all went exactly as we’d planned.” Cobby waved a sandwich as he brought Meggin up to date. “We went straight to the High Street end, then counted back to find the right basement.”

  “We were lucky that the same builder built that terrace all the way from the corner,” Hugo said.

  “And that you found those youths to act as guides.” Jeremy set down his empty glass. “We could have found our way without them, but we’d have attracted far too much interest along the way. Having them with us allowed us to go in and come out without hindrance.”

  Comfortably seated on the damask-covered chaise alongside Meggin, in a room whose amenity made her feel at home, for the first time since she’d walked into the back parlor of St. Ives House, Eliza felt her sartorial shortcomings. And the need of a hot bath. She glanced at Meggin, smiled rather wanly. “I wonder if I might trouble you for a change of attire?” Meggin was nearly a head shorter than she. “Perhaps you have a maid more my size …?”

  Meggin laughed and patted her hand. “Actually, we’re going to do rather better than that. Water’s already being heated for a bath — we weren’t sure exactly when you would reach here, or it would have been ready sooner. However”— she glanced at Jeremy —“I suspect that you’d better hear the rest of the plan these gentlemen have concocted before you indulge.” Meggin briefly met Eliza’s eyes. “It’s they who have arranged your wardrobe for today.”

  Puzzled, Eliza looked at Jeremy.

  He met her gaze. “We need to get you away from Edinburgh to some safe house as soon as possible, and unless you can tell us of a near
er place, Wolverstone Castle is the closest I know.”

  She blinked, thought. “I’ve visited Edinburgh twice before, but we have no family or close connections here.” After another moment considering, she nodded. “Yes, it would be Wolverstone. There’s the Vale, of course, Richard and Catriona’s home where Heather and Breckenridge sought refuge, but it’s all the way across the country, and some way south — not as close as the border south of here.”

  “And Wolverstone’s not far beyond the border, so that’s where we need to go. Royce and Minerva are in residence, an added bonus.”

  She nodded again. “So how are we going to get there?”

  Jeremy glanced at Cobby. “Do you have that map?”

  “Left it in the dining room — I’ll fetch it.”

  While Cobby went to get the map, Jeremy went on, “Before I forget, I sent word to Royce by courier yesterday, telling him I’d found you and that we would make for Wolverstone with all speed, and asking him to send word to your parents. Of course, by the time they receive any missive, we should already be safe with Royce. However, in order to reach him, we have to take into account that it’s highly likely that Scrope will give chase.”

  “Once he realizes I’m gone.”

  “Precisely. Unfortunately, it isn’t sensible to leave before dawn, and he may realize you’ve gone shortly after, so we thought it best to have some strategy to slow him down.” Jeremy paused as Cobby came back in, carrying a large map, already unfolded.

  Cobby laid it on a small table, then pulled the table between the chaise and Jeremy’s chair. Hugo pulled his chair closer. Cobby followed suit, saying, “It won’t hurt to go over it one more time.”

  “Right.” Jeremy glanced at Eliza. “The plan we’ve come up with has two arms. The actual escape — you and me racing back across the border to Wolverstone — and the decoy.”

  “That’s me and Hugo,” Cobby informed her.

  “The four of us will leave here a little before dawn,” Jeremy went on. “We’ll split up immediately. Cobby and Hugo will go down to the smaller inn on South Bridge Street near the coaching inn where Scrope left the coach. My curricle and horse are at that smaller inn. Cobby and Hugo, pretending to be me and you, will take my bag, collect my horse and curricle, then drive out along the Great North Road, heading at speed for the border — exactly as anyone would expect us to.”