As she reached the turn of the stairway that swept down into the Great Hall, a sudden noise made her stop.
For some reason the noise seemed all wrong.
There were always plenty of odd sounds in very old castles of course – wood shifting, mice scrabbling behind panelling, draughts lifting the tapestries from the walls and then dropping them with gentle little thuds.
But this noise had been – different.
Then almost at once a dim light appeared from the direction of the Earl’s study.
Jasmina gasped and shrank back against the wall in the deep shadow. She could not bear to speak to the Earl again this evening.
Not until she had a chance to regain her composure and could pretend that he meant nothing at all to her.
She would die of embarrassment if he guessed she had any feelings for him.
As she watched her blood ran colder than the stone flags beneath her feet.
Three burly men came out of the Earl’s study – two of them were half carrying Richard between them!
The Earl seemed dazed and was stumbling, as if he had received a blow and was half unconscious.
Another tall man in a dark cloak was holding a thin black briefcase in his hand.
By the light from the small oil lamp on the table in the hall Jasmina could see that he had a small black beard and the thin lips behind it were smiling.
He moved swiftly to the heavy front door and slid back the bolt.
Then before Jasmina could even think, the door had swung open and the four figures had vanished out into the snowy night.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The main door to the castle had just closed behind the gang of men carrying the Earl away when Jasmina sped down the stairs and opened it again, just a crack, enough to look out.
To her horror she saw the Earl being lifted onto a horse held steady by one of the ruffians.
Another man was leading the animal away, cursing vilely as he slipped and slid on the icy ground beneath the freshly fallen snow.
Jasmina nearly cried out in astonishment.
The dark bearded man had mounted a large black stallion that was pulling at his tight reins, hooves trying to find a purchase on the ice.
She would have recognised that horse anywhere.
It was her Lightning!
And suddenly her memory came flooding back and she could remember it all –
The Earl almost running her over in his car, arguing with him, then riding hell for leather through the woods on the way to Debbingford –
Men leaping out at her from the trees and grabbing Lightning’s reins – being thrown –
And the man’s face who had stolen her horse!
“Oh, my goodness! Oh, Richard! I must get help. The Earl is being kidnapped!”
She fled back up the stairs gasping for breath, then up another flight until she reached the wooden stairs that led to the staff quarters.
In desperation she hammered on Mary’s bedroom door until it was flung open and Mary stood there, her hair tumbling over her shoulders looking alarmed and worried.
“Miss Winfield! Whatever can the matter be at this hour? Is it a fire?”
“No, raise the household, quickly, Mary. The Earl has been kidnapped!”
“Kidnapped?”
“Yes! Yes! Oh, do come. We must send for help. We must follow them. There is not a moment to lose!”
“What’s all the rush and bother? Waking a woman out of her sleep.”
It was Mrs. Rush coming down the corridor with a heavy tread, wrapped up in a vast grey woolly gown that gave her the look of a small cuddly elephant.
Other doors now opened and several maids, Henry and Fergus appeared.
Voices were raised and for a few moments all was confusion and noise.
Jasmina effortlessly took control and made herself heard over the babble.
“Mary – you must send for help from the village. The telephone line is down, I know, but we have to raise the alarm. The Constable must be informed at once and he will know what to do. I’ll go downstairs and check on the tracks. If we do not discover the direction they are headed, we will never find him!”
Knowing she could leave Mary in charge, Jasmina fled back to her room and dressed speedily into her leather riding trousers and oldest boots.
She barely had time to pick up a thick jacket to pull over her woollen top and then she was running downstairs, through the hall and out into the freezing night.
She stared down at where the snow had been kicked up and disturbed by men and horses.
The hoof marks were already vanishing under the fresh white blanket. Soon there would be no sign of which way the kidnappers had gone.
Jasmina looked around her in despair.
There was no one in sight and the falling snow cut her vision to only a few yards.
‘What can I do? Oh, Richard, Richard, surely they would not harm you? But such violent men? Anything could happen and I know I will die too if anything dreadful befalls you.’
Every emotion she was feeling came swirling to the surface and her heart felt as if it would break.
But now was not the time to give in to despair.
Jasmina had learnt from the farmers back home that tracking people through snow was a risky business as the wind could wipe out everything in seconds.
‘Every minute we lose is precious. There is no time to wait for help from the village,’ she thought desperately. ‘If Richard is to be saved, I must do all I can to help him.’
She fought back the tears that threatened to sweep down her cheeks.
It was only now when she was in danger of losing him that she finally admitted to herself how deeply she had fallen in love with Richard, the Earl of Somerton.
It was a love that would never be returned, Jasmina knew that. But that did not lessen its depth.
She had known from the very second Richard had caught her in his arms that fateful night she had nearly fallen to her death from the gallery that her heart belonged to him.
‘And now I must try and save him!’ she murmured. ‘But I must hurry! They have already a good start but, oh, Lord, I will never catch them on foot.’
An idea flashed into her mind and she turned and sped along the terrace that surrounded the castle, her heart thumping, her mind consumed with terror for Richard.
Would they hurt him? Would they perhaps demand a ransom? Kidnappings were commonplace in America, but Jasmina had not realised they happened in England too.
But if they had taken the Earl to demand a ransom, who was there to ask? He had no immediate family.
Random thoughts scurried through her brain.
Was he badly injured? He seemed stunned when she had seen him and he needed to be carried and dragged outside.
‘But perhaps he was just pretending,’ she cried to herself, ‘to slow them down and give himself a chance of being rescued?’
She could only hope she was right.
And just who was the bearded man who had stolen Lightning and seemed to be in charge of these dire events?
The castle stables felt warm from drowsy horses and Jasmina knew full well that it was pointless taking one of the spirited thoroughbreds for a task like this.
She had seen earlier how difficult Lightning was to handle with the ice under his hooves.
No, she required something plainer and stronger – and there was George Radford’s stocky grey pony still in the Somerton stables, waiting to be taken back to the farm when the weather improved.
Swiftly she led him out.
Jasmina had learnt to ride bare-backed on the plains of Missouri and a small pony was no problem for her.
Even as a young groom stumbled out of his room, rubbing his eyes in amazement to find the American lady in the stables in the middle of the night, Jasmina acted.
Not bothering to call for a saddle she pulled on the pony’s bridle and in just a few seconds had vaulted onto his wide grey back and was urging him down the path.
Gathering all her strength she settled down to follow the kidnappers’ tracks and sent up a fervent prayer of thanks that she had regained all her strength following her last disastrous outing on horseback.
*
Back at the castle all was uproar in the kitchen.
At the calm centre of the storm stood Mary issuing orders in a low sensible voice that cut through the noise.
She sent Henry to the village to fetch the Constable.
Fergus had wanted to rush after the kidnappers, but Mary stopped him.
“Listen, Fergus, the Constable cannot possibly hunt these men down by himself. I need you to go to as many farms and cottages as you can reach and rouse the men. Tell them to meet up in the village and the Constable will know what they can do.”
She swayed a little and gave a little sob as George’s strong arm supported her.
“Hold up there, Mary love,” he urged. “We need you to be strong for us all.”
“I know and I will. But oh, George, I believe Miss Winfield has gone after them! I swear I did not know. I thought she was just going outside to see which direction they had taken, but she hasn’t come back!”
George gave her a hug.
“Now, now, that’s not our fault, Mary. She’s an ’eadstrong lass, we know that. And I reckon she’s well able to look after ’erself.”
“But George, she is only a girl and on her own. We must go after her. We can’t wait for the Constable and his men to get here from the village. We just can’t!”
She stared at him, suddenly wondering if dislike of the Earl and his world of wealth and privilege would stop him from helping the young American girl.
George frowned then he pulled her close, giving her a reassuring hug. He hated to see his sweetheart looking so upset.
“Now, Mary, you know me better than that. The Earl and me come from different walks of life, that’s true, but ’e’s a true Yorkshireman, the same as me, and no rotten criminal is going to ’old ’im to ransom while I have breath in my body!”
“Then what shall we do?”
George looked grim.
“I reckon you’re right – we must go after them! And fast.”
*
Half a mile away from the castle Jasmina was bent double across the pony’s mane, her teeth chattering in the cold as the snow blew into her face and settling thickly on her head, darkening her blonde curls to clinging amber strands.
The hoof prints of the horses in the snow ahead of her were rapidly vanishing and she urged the pony into a faster walk.
She realised that she must keep the marks in sight, otherwise the Earl could vanish into the wild moorlands surrounding Somerton. And perhaps never be seen again!
She felt they were making their way round the lake.
Occasionally when the wind blew the snow to one side, she caught a glimpse of the sullen ice to her left.
‘Oh, Richard, I would love to skate on the lake with you again. But together, not arguing about the rights and wrongs of my behaviour!’
Suddenly the marks forked – the way to the left continued round the lake, the right-hand track led up into the hills.
Jasmina could make out that the tracks led towards the lake, but the snow was falling so fast now that even her pony’s hoof prints would be covered up within minutes.
Thinking that she must let the rescue party know which way to go, she quickly pulled the pink velvet ribbon from her hair and leaning over tied it to a branch.
Then she urged George’s pony onwards along the kidnappers’ trail.
Glancing back only once before battling on, she could see the pink ribbon for a few seconds, waving valiantly in the wind before it was lost to view.
With a sob she turned her eyes forward once more.
Was it really only just a few hours ago that she had walked down the castle’s stairs to dine alone with the Earl, feeling so happy and pretty in her dark pink velvet dress?
She felt so cold now that she could hardly feel her hands and feet.
Then suddenly just as she thought she could ride no further, she saw a light ahead!
Surely it must be the kidnappers. No one else was likely to be abroad on such a wild night.
She slowed the pony and peered cautiously through the falling snow.
There seemed to be a large wooden building at the edge of the water and it was from a window that the light was shining dimly through the blizzard.
Jasmina realised it must be the lake’s boatshed, a place used to store not only boats but oars, sails and fishing equipment.
There was one just like it on the Duke of Harley’s lake on the other side of the valley.
‘They have taken Richard there! Perhaps they have decided to shelter in the boatshed until dawn before they make their escape.”
Wincing at the stiffness in her limbs Jasmina slid off the pony’s back, tied him to a tree and crept forward.
The snowstorm had stopped by now and the air felt clear and frosty.
She knew deep in her very being that she was close to Richard.
She could sense him.
She believed that her heart would never lie to her and that whenever they were near to each other, she would always know.
She eased her way carefully along the side of the boatshed until she reached the window and peered in.
Jasmina could see the three men!
Two of them were sitting under the wooden canopy by the lakeside with blankets draped across their shoulders, tearing chunks of meat off a roast chicken.
There were several bottles of beer in front of them and they were laughing loudly.
The third man – the bearded one that Jasmina now knew had stolen Lightning – was sitting silently a little apart just inside the opening of the boatshed, wrapped in his cloak and sipping from a silver brandy flask.
But she could not see Richard! What had they done with him?
Had they hurt the man she loved so much?
Then she noticed that at the very back of the shed, a pair of wide wooden doors stood open to the weather.
There on the muddy ground, half sitting, half lying, his hands bound behind his back, was Richard, the Earl of Somerton!
Jasmina stared in horror. There was blood on his forehead and dark bruises marked his face. Was he alive?
Then she saw a movement and heard a low groan.
Gasping with relief Jasmina hurried to the doorway and bending down slid inside, hidden from the men’s gaze by a large motorboat that was raised up on a wooden frame ready for its winter overhaul.
“Richard! My Lord!” she whispered.
For a moment there was no reply, the whistling of the wind blowing against the wood of the boatshed masking the sounds of the three men. Frustrated, but certain she had seen his dark head move slightly, Jasmina tried again to attract the Earl’s attention.
“Richard! Oh, please answer me.”
“Jasmina?”
His voice was heavy with amazement and disbelief.
“Oh, you are alive. Oh, thank you, God. I was so scared.”
“My dear girl, have you taken leave of your senses? What are you doing here?”
The Earl glanced along the boat shed to where the three men were sitting in the shelter of the far end.
Wincing with pain from his tightly bound wrists he rolled over so that his back was resting against the wooden frame where Jasmina was crouching.
“I followed you, Richard,” she whispered, motioning him to speak as quietly as possible.
The Earl closed his eyes for a second. He could not believe what he was hearing.
Surely Jasmina was the bravest, most wonderful girl in the whole world?
But he had to tell her,
“That is the maddest, craziest, most ridiculous – ”
“Hush! They will hear you! It might be mad, but it certainly is not ridiculous. I have sent the servants for help from the village. The Constable will surely find us soon.”
“Listen, Jasmina
– ”
“Richard, push your hands backwards a little and I will try to free you. I cannot come any closer or they will see me.”
“No, dear girl. You must not put yourself into any more danger. Listen, Jasmina – ”
She felt her blood race at the warm feelings in his voice.
“Can you see the tall bearded man?”
“Yes,” Jasmina whispered.
“Does he have a black briefcase near to him?”
Jasmina craned forward then squeaked as her foot slipped and a piece of loose metal crashed to the floor.
The men looked up, but the Earl rolled on his side, groaning to hide the noise and they relaxed again.
“Keep quiet, your Lordship,” one of them sneered. “Or I’ll come over there and make you silent for ever!”
“Yes, I can see it,” Jasmina murmured as the men turned back to their meal. “He has put it on a box next to him.”
The Earl moaned, but this time it was not because of the pain in his head where he had been hit.
It was appalling to think that the documents inside that briefcase were headed for a foreign power.
It could mean war.
“Is it the briefcase they came for?” asked Jasmina.
She could just about reach the Earl’s wrists and her fingers were pulling helplessly at the tight knots.
“Yes, they don’t want me at all. The kidnapping is a smokescreen. They think people will wait for a ransom demand, not realising that their target has always been the papers in my briefcase. There are notes, ideas and plans of an extremely sensitive nature and I cannot begin to tell you how important they are to the future of Europe.”
“But, Richard, how do they hope to get them out of the valley? The pass is still closed and all this fresh snow will make it doubly difficult to travel.”
“Yes, that is what I thought at first, then I realised there is a river that runs from the lake. It is rarely frozen. I think they must have a boat moored nearby and will use it to escape.”
“What shall I do?” sighed Jasmina.
In utter despair she tugged fiercely at the knots, but without a knife she doubted she would ever free him.
The Earl glanced over to where she was crouching in the dark, his brown eyes full of alarm.
“Nothing at all!” he hissed. “Listen, Jasmina, you must not stay here and place yourself in any more danger. If, as you say, you have already raised the alarm, then hopefully I will be found very soon.
This Way to Heaven Page 10