Amelia, fortunately, fell asleep, exhausted by her storm of weeping, and Joanna laid her down carefully so that she could investigate.
The door was too strong and firmly barred. There was no escape there. The walls were constructed of rough stones, but when she tried to prise one loose she found they were cemented, not laid in the dry stone manner, as many of the local walls were.
It had to be the roof. It was of thatch, heather, since that grew prolifically on the moorland. Luckily it was low, and she could reach it, just. Moving away from where Amelia slept, exhausted by her emotions, she reached up, scrabbled around amongst the mass of dry heather until she found what felt like a fairly thick branch, and tried a tentative pull at it. To her delight it moved, and a shower of dried heather twigs and flowers descended onto her. She brushed them off, and pulled again. The branch was moving more freely now, and she breathed a sigh of relief and began to think they might escape this way.
'Where are you? I can't see! What are you doing?' Amelia began to sob, panic stricken.
'It's all right, Amelia. I'm finding a way out.'
Joanna felt her way across to where Amelia was crouching, and pulled the child into her arms. She was shaking and grasped Joanna's arms convulsively, but her sobs diminished.
'Don't cry, love. You have to be brave. We can't get out through the door or the walls, so what's left?'
Amelia sniffed. 'I don't know!'
To her relief Amelia's shudders stopped. Joanna hugged her and Amelia hugged her back.
'I'm glad you're with me,' she whispered. 'I'm sorry I've been horrid to you.'
'Don't worry about that. For now we have to find a way out. There's the floor. If we had spades we could dig a tunnel.'
'That's silly!' Amelia gave a somewhat tearful giggle, but at least her panic had subsided.
'Yes, so we won't try to do that. It would take far too long, even with spades. So what else?'
'The roof?' Amelia asked. 'But it's much too high up, how can we reach it? And there aren't any holes in it.'
'There soon will be. I can reach it, just, and I'm pulling down the thatch. Soon there will be a hole big enough for me to lift you through, and if you can help me I hope I can climb through as well.'
'But won't the thatch just break when we're on it, and make us fall back in?'
'I hope not. There are beams of a sort, to hold it up, and they are far enough apart for us to squeeze through, so we can put our weight on them. Then we'll have to start walking home.'
Joanna prayed the beams were not rotten, were strong enough to take her weight.
'It's a long way home,' Amelia said doubtfully. 'And how can we see in the dark?'
At least she had stopped crying and was taking an intelligent interest, Joanna thought. She would not have to deal with an hysterical child any more.
'Yes, it's dark now, night time, and when we don't return home they'll send people out to look for us.' She pointed to the small hole she had made in the thatch. 'Look, I can see a star up there, and it's full moon. It's not totally dark, and we'll soon be able to see our way. Now what I want you to do is sit in this corner, and keep your eyes closed. The heather is very dusty and we mustn't let it get in our eyes. I'll pull down as much as I can, then we'll get out.'
*
Firbank was explaining he'd sent all the menservants in different directions, and even the maids had helped by going to ask at the farms and cottages whether anyone had seen Joanna and Amelia, and which way they had been going. All that had been discovered was they had been seen heading towards the moors, but once there they had a choice of direction.
Sir Kenelm was trying not to panic. He could not lose Joanna, or his daughter. The mare and the pony did not appear to have suffered any harm, there were no scratches, no sign of one of them having fallen, so there might not have been an accident. It was possible something had startled the horses, and they had bolted, but he could not see Amelia's placid pony doing that. Joanna, too, was skilled enough not to be easily thrown. So what had happened?
He was considering saddling Mephisto and going to look himself, when a young lad sidled into the stable yard. Sir Kenelm called him over, and the lad, no more than seven or eight years old, came slowly towards him and silently handed him a grubby piece of paper.
'What's this?' he asked as he rapidly unfolded it.
'Gennleman said ter bring it 'ere when you got 'ome. Not before.'
'When was this, young Sammy?' Firbank asked. 'Lives at cottage furthest along the road east, from the village,' he added to Sir Kenelm.
Henry fished for a coin and handed it to the lad.
'What was the man like, Sammy?' he asked quietly.
Sammy shrugged. 'Big,' he said. 'He was on a grey 'orse. There was another man, bigger, on a big brown 'orse, waitin' along the road.'
The child was clearly more interested in the horses than the men riding them. But it showed there had been two involved.
'Which way did they go?' Henry asked. 'Away from the village? Away from your cottage?'
'Aye.'
There was nothing more to be got from him. Henry turned towards his brother as Sir Kenelm, looking grimmer than he had ever seen him, handed him the sheet of paper.
'What do you make of that?'
It began abruptly.
The kid and your woman are safe, for now. No one will go to them until you have sent a thousand pounds to the Cross Keys inn, on the road between Ilkley and Skipton. If you don't send it they'll die of hunger and thirst and cold, so make haste. Leave it for Miss B. and when we have it we'll let them go.
'A ransom? Do you believe it?'
Sir Kenelm looked round at the group of servants. It was, he supposed, convenient to have them all there.
'I cannot afford not to. It's the only clue we have. Let's go inside. Firbank, call everyone back. Potts, have Mephisto saddled. I'll be back in a few minutes. Venner, pack me a change of clothes in a saddle bag. Someone pack me food in a napkin, cheese and rolls will do, something I can eat as I ride.'
He led Henry to the library and poured them both glasses of brandy. Then he went to a cupboard and unlocked it, taking out a pair of duelling pistols. He carried on talking as he checked them and pushed a handful of bullets into the pocket of his cloak.
'Will you ride towards Skipton for me, and find out what this inn is like? But don't show yourself, or go inside. They may have someone there who would recognise you. See if it is isolated? Could we perhaps follow whoever collects the money from there, if it comes to that?'
'You'll send it? But it's a huge amount. Do you have so much here in the house?'
'No, I'll get it in Leeds, tonight if Mr Littlewood can be found, and can persuade the banks to open up for me. Then I'll be back as soon as maybe. But I have another purpose in going there. Does the name of the person who is to collect the money not strike you?'
'Miss B? Should it?'
'The governess I dismissed, just before Christmas. Miss Busby. She was very angry, and blamed Joanna. I suspect this is her notion of revenge. It wasn't very clever of her to use her own initial.'
'It was a man who gave young Sammy the note, and another one with him, from what he said. A woman wouldn't have been involved.'
Sir Kenelm nodded. 'Not directly. I recall, when I interviewed her, Miss Busby was living with a brother in Leeds. I can get the address from Littlewood and I mean to pay them a visit.'
'Will you go alone? If there are two ruffians it could be dangerous. Take a couple of grooms,' Henry urged.
Sir Kenelm shook his head.
'I don't want them involved. I'll have my pistols. It's inevitable news of this kidnap will get about, but I would prefer my own actions to be more discreet. Look after things for me while I am away.'
*
By the time Joanna had pulled enough of the thatch away for them to clamber through the hole her arms were aching badly, but she dared not pause. Their captors might return at any minute, and she wanted to be well
away from the hut before that happened.
Amelia was quiet, and Joanna thought she had gone to sleep again, but when she called to her to say she thought the hole was big enough now Amelia came quickly to her side. The moon had risen, clearly visible through the hole, and there were no clouds to obscure it.
Joanna lifted Amelia, and her muscles screamed with agony, but she forced herself to push the girl towards the hole she had made. Amelia, having kilted up her skirts, scrambled through.
'Don't get too near the edge and fall off,' Joanna warned, and wondered grimly whether she would have the strength to haul herself up through the hole.
She had to. She could not leave Amelia alone on the moors, probably not knowing where she was. She took off the skirt of her habit, for its fullness would hamper her, and passed it through to Amelia. Fortunately two of the beams were within reach, and Joanna grasped them, then swung herself up between them until she was able to get her feet out onto the roof itself. She made a supreme effort to pull herself higher, then rolled over, heaving herself onto it, praying the thatch at the side of the hole would hold her, and finally lay panting on the roof, breathing in the scent of dried heather and fresh night air, longing to just lie there and go to sleep.
After a few moments she sat up and looked around her. Amelia silently handed her the skirt of her habit, but Joanna shook her head.
'Not yet. We have to get off this roof first. It's not very far, but if we jump we could twist our ankles. Can you hang onto the skirt, like a rope, if I lower you down with it?'
Amelia giggled, but nodded. 'It's not very far.'
'Then when you are down wait for me. I shall take off my petticoat and tie that to a beam, and use it as a rope. I'll need my skirt after I get down, it's cold. And I would not like to be seen in just a petticoat!'
It was another agonising strain on her weary arms, but they managed it. Amelia slid down the improvised rope, then caught Joanna's skirt tossed down to her. Joanna dispensed with her petticoat, twisted it into a rope, and slid down to the ground. She put back her skirt, looped the tail of it over her arm, and they began to walk away from their prison. She didn't know how far it was to Rock Castle, but she thought she knew the right direction. She had ridden this way with Sir Kenelm once, and had recognised other landmarks as their captors had brought them here. It might take all night, but they would get home eventually.
*
Potts wanted to ride with him, but Sir Kenelm shook his head.
'No other horse in the stables can keep pace with Mephisto. I need you here. Tomorrow, as soon as it's light, organise everyone you can find to scour the moorland. They have to be hidden somewhere, and I doubt whoever took them would want to carry them far. It was still daylight, and if they'd been seen it could have been disastrous for them. We may be able to find them before I need to pay the ransom. Ask the men if they know of any places where they could be held.'
'They could have been tied up and left anywhere, hid under bushes,' Potts said gloomily.
'Not if they wanted them alive,' Sir Kenelm snapped. 'It's cold at night still, and outside any late traveller might stumble across them.'
He had to believe that. Once they had the ransom, it wouldn't matter to the kidnappers whether the captives were dead or alive. Yet if they were caught they could face a charge of murder instead of kidnap. Both could mean transportation, but murder would almost certainly mean the gallows. He swallowed, and mounted Mephisto. Venner had packed a few necessities into saddle bags, and Brigid came out of the kitchen carrying a napkin with the food he had requested. He tried to smile at her, but it was a feeble grimace.
'Joanna's strong, now don't you be worrying,' Brigid said as she handed him the food. 'And she'll look after Amelia, to be sure. She knows how much the children mean to you.'
He stuffed the food into his pocket.
'Thank you. Do George and Nanny know?'
'We've managed to keep it from them. Sally's on guard.' She chuckled. 'She won't let any silly maids get past her that might gabble.'
Sir Kenelm nodded, swung the fretting Mephisto round and let him have his head. He still had an hour or two of daylight, and while it lasted he could take short cuts across the fields. Mephisto was well able to clear any of the fences and dry stone walls he would have to cross, and it could save him an hour on the journey. Afterwards he would need to follow tracks until he came to the road into Leeds, and he hoped concentrating on this might prevent him from thinking too much about what Joanna and Amelia might be suffering.
Riding did not take up much of his attention, he found. Were they tied up? Gagged? Had they been fed? From the note he had received he concluded their captors did not care about providing any comfort. They must be frightened. Did they know what it was all about? He tried to tell himself that if they did Joanna would realise he would provide whatever ransom was demanded. He gritted his teeth and had to restrain Mephisto from too heedless a pace. If he were injured all would be lost.
*
Joanna was so weary she wanted to lie down and sleep, but she knew she dared not rest. Amelia had had some sleep, and not been working strenuously to make that hole in the thatch. Entranced by being out on the moors at night she was excited by everything they saw, whether it was an owl swooping quietly across the sky, or a startled deer leaping away as they approached.
After what she judged was an hour they found their way back to the copse of trees where they had been ambushed. Amelia, recognising the place, grew quieter and clasped Joanna's hand.
'They won't still be here, waiting for us, will they?' she whispered.
'No, they'll be gone a long way off,' Joanna reassured her.
'I'm sorry I've been horrid to you,' Amelia said again.
Joanna squeezed the small hand she still held.
'I can understand. It's quite natural you don't want anyone to take your mama's place, do you?'
'But I never knew her,' Amelia said, and she sounded puzzled.
'Was it because you thought your papa might love you less?'
Amelia sighed. 'I suppose so.'
'I have a suggestion. Amelia, I'm only ten years older than you are. Well, eleven, but let's call it ten. Your father and your Uncle Matthew are ten years apart, and they are brothers. When you are twenty I will be thirty. Women of those ages can be friends. When I am seventy you will be sixty, no difference at all.'
Amelia started to giggle. 'I can't imagine being that old!'
'No, neither can I. But we will be. Now, if we are to be friends, you could call me Joanna, not step-mother. Could you do that?'
Amelia took a deep sigh. 'Do you mean it? I never call any grown up by their names. It's not polite.'
'You call the maids by their names, don't you. Sally, and Margaret.'
'But – but they are not much older than I am, and – well, maids are different! I don't call Nanny or Mrs Aston by their names.'
'The footmen too? Benjamin is quite old. Can't you think of me as a maid?'
'Or a footman!' Amelia giggled again. 'I'll try to remember. If you really mean it.'
'I do. Now, shall we have a little rest? Not too long, we mustn't get cold.'
*
Miss Busby glared at Captain Thomas. She was pacing about the small parlour in her brother's house, while Enoch and the Captain sat either side of the fireplace drinking ale.
'How could you be so stupid! You should have invented a name! When they see that they will immediately think of me.'
'I don't see why! It could be anyone. It wouldn't have done to say leave the money for Captain Thomas, or Captain anyone. Then they'd have known for certain who did it. This way they can't.'
She closed her eyes. Why were men so stupid? If only she could have gone with them, but she didn't ride, she'd had to leave it to them, and look what had come of it. Perhaps it might be retrieved. Would Sir Kenelm imagine she, a woman he despised, could have planned anything so daring?
She began to think how to contrive, and went to sit
on the other chair between the two men, facing the fire. If the Captain could collect the money the moment it was delivered, he might be able to ride away before anyone could capture him. She had no doubt the alehouse would be watched, but how many men could Sir Kenelm depend on?
'Tell me about this inn,' she said suddenly. 'You say it's isolated. Are there any trees where Sir Kenelm might place watchers? Or buildings, even walls they might hide behind?'
He shook his head. 'It's open fields and a bit of moorland, and unless they hide in the heather or behind turnips, no one can watch.'
'There's no call for sarcasm! So if you get there first, wait for Sir Kenelm to bring the money, you could get away the moment he's out of sight?'
'Aye, maybe.'
'Then that's what we'll do. Afterwards, ride to Skipton, then to Bradford. I'll meet you there, then I can take the stage to London. I'm leaving Yorkshire, I've had quite enough of it.'
He sighed but nodded, and she turned to other considerations.
'So your share of it will be two hundred, a half.'
'And what about me?' Enoch demanded. 'I'm tekin' a risk, too, lettin' yer stay 'ere, and meet in my parlour! And if yer's off ter London, and the Captain 'ere off ter God knows where, 'ow do I get my cut?'
'Dickon wants a share too,' the Captain reminded her.
'You're all like a lot of vultures! Who thought of the plan? You'd have nothing without me. I'll send you some when I get to London,' she told her brother. 'As for Dickon, you can pay him out of your share,' she told the Captain. 'Half is far too much for you.'
He laughed. 'You had to agree or I wouldn't have done it. I'm a law-abiding fellow, I don't break the law, and I've no wish ter be sent on a voyage to New South Wales!'
'Will you pay Dickon?'
He shrugged, and she saw a satisfied gleam in his eye. What had he concealed from her?
'I suppose I must. I've no doubt Sir Kenelm will deliver the money tomorrow, though he might have some problem raising so much – '
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