He listened at the door and stepped inside, pausing to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He walked slowly, hand to the wall, no idea where he was going. Unwilling to tip his hand, he had not allowed himself to question too specifically about the underground passages themselves, lest it raise undue suspicion.
So he continued. At the fork he hesitated. He turned left, but the path stopped no more than a few yards ahead. Huge stones and rubble filled the tunnel with an impassable cave-in. Edmund turned and took the right fork. Each step was small and slow as he felt his way, his eyes no more accustomed to the dark than before. Several times he stumbled on the uneven path. He paused, and when he heard no sound, felt in his pocket for his phosphorous box. It was either risk the small light being seen or breaking his neck. Dipping a match into the phosphorous, he flicked it against the cork. With a hiss and sputter, the match flamed into life. Edmund lit a candle and followed the path, shielding the small flame from unexpected drafts. Finally, he heard the sound of water where the pathway ended in a T. As he debated turning left or right, he smelled the coppery stench of blood.
Carefully, he dripped wax onto the floor and stood the candle in it. He pulled the pistol out of his waistband and inched forward, bent nearly double in the short passage. Again he paused. Barely, below the sound of rushing water, he could make out the faint sound of breathing. He paused again to listen. His soldier’s instinct, honed sharp in the terrible war, told him no assailant waited. Still he paused. The sound of the water was louder now. Whoever breathed did so without the tense gasps from the fear of assault. With a yell, he charged into the chamber, wisely keeping his back to the stone wall.
No enemy answered his call to battle. Edmund paused, barely daring to breathe. He forced himself to wait, ears on the stretch; his knees bent slightly to run or absorb a blow. When none came, he took the chance to reach around the corner and grab the candle. Though no one surged forward to strike, it was clear someone already had, for in the corner near a huge rock was the sickening outline of two bodies, one on top of the other.
A man on top lay face up, eyes open sightlessly. Edmund bent closer, but he was beyond help. There was a gaping wound in his chest, wet with blood. Edmund touched the corpse’s face lightly. Still warm. He had probably died only within the last hour or thereabouts.
Swallowing his bile, Edmund focused on the sound of breathing coming from underneath the body.
Devil a bit! Edmund grabbed the corpse under the arms and dragged him away. Returning to help the man underneath, his jaw dropped as he realized it was Kate. She was coughing, her eyes unfocused in the candlelight. Then she saw the body. Her eyes widened in panicked revulsion. Before he could stop her she screamed.
Even as the sound bounced and echoed the rushing water below, she came to her senses, clapping a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Whoever had killed had heard, and was running down the tunnel in their direction.
Edmund stood, holding up a hand up as he strained to hear. Footsteps, ever closer, but only one set. Not a woman’s stride, definitely a man. Quickly he handed Kate the candle. With a grim set to his jaw, he positioned himself fully in the center of the balcony, right at the entrance to tunnel and braced himself.
The footsteps grew louder as the murderer rounded the corner. His either saw or sensed Edmund and tried to stop, but his momentum carried him forward and the two men went down with a whacking great thud.
Edmund damned his skin-tight jacket even as he struggled with his captive. Wildly, each man grappled to get a punch at the other. They rolled from side to side, bumping off the walls of the tunnel. Edmund heard Kate gasp. He reached out with his hand and felt nothing but air. With every ounce of strength he had, Edmund heaved himself away from the cliff edge. The faint, flickering light of the candle was little help, but finally, Edmund jabbed his knee into the man’s stomach. His assailant gagged for breath. Drawing back his fist, Edmund reached for the man’s collar, but with a desperate burst of strength, the man bashed his head into Edmund’s neck. Staggering, choking, Edmund fell sprawling to the stone floor. As he fought to his feet, he heard the man’s heavy breathing recede and footsteps echoing down the passageway. Edmund raced after him. In the dark, he stretched out his arm, put on a burst of speed. With a grunt, he grabbed the man’s jacket, jerked him back, and landed a wicked punch to the kidneys. The man howled and fell to his knees. Edmund braced himself against the damp stone wall and wrenched off his cravat. Panting, he turned back to tie the man up, only to feel the felt the cold barrel of a pistol at his neck.
Instinctively, he grabbed the man’s arm and brought it down hard over his knee. Bones cracked sickeningly. The man screamed in pain and fell to the ground. Edmund scrabbled for the gun. Whimpering, the man hauled himself to his knees. A sudden glow of light illuminated the passage.
“Kate, get away,” Edmund yelled.
“By your foot,” she screamed back
There was a pause. Both men spotted the gun at the same instant. As if one, they lunged for it. Edmund reached for it, but his assailant jerked it away. Sweat dripping down his face, Edmund kicked out, the blow hitting his attacker in the shin. The man grunted in pain and fell to his knees, and pointed the gun at Edmund’s chest.
Without a second’s hesitation, Edmund turned and raced back toward Kate. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her around the corner, back onto the balcony, stumbling over the corpse as they ran.
“Is there any way out but the passage?”
She shook her head. "No. There was rope swing, but it’s rotted away.”
There was no time to hesitate. Even now the gun might be pointed at them. Despite the cover of darkness, a bullet might hit its mark.
“Where does the river go?”
“It's Inswith, by the village. Why?”
“How far down?”
She pulled away. “Are you mad?”
“How far?” He shook her when she didn’t respond. “How far?”
Kate struggled against his hold. “I don’t know! Twenty feet. Fifty. We’d be killed.”
There was the sound of a trigger being cocked.
“It’s either that or be shot.”
"Then I’ll be shot!”
Edmund pulled her, struggling, to the edge of the balcony. “One, two, three--jump!” Her hand held his in a grip so tight he had to pry her fingers from his. He pulled her to him to break her grip, then pushed her out and over, trying to fling her as far from the wall of the cliff as possible. Her scream echoed weirdly about the cavern. Edmund waited to hear Kate hit the water, but it was a second too long. A split-second before he jumped, there was a flare of orange flame to his left and the white hot pain of a bullet seared through his body. He jumped.
***
Kate hit the water feet first, but the impact still knocked the wind out of her. Her skirts floated up over her head, wrapping about her arms as she descended to the depths of the river. She gasped and choked on the icy water, instinctively clawing upward, even as momentum continued carrying her further below the surface. Her clothing grew instantly heavy. Water filled her mouth. Her lungs hurt with lack of air. The pressure built, but she kicked and struggled, finally breaking the surface. It was so cold her lungs seemed paralyzed, but finally they worked and she took huge, gasping breaths.
She tried to look about for Mr. Dalrymple but it was impossible to see anything. The swift current of the river carried her away from the Great Cavern. Kate didn’t know whether it was minutes or hours that she kicked with her arms and legs to keep afloat. Her sodden clothes and shoes were lead-heavy with water. Finally, when she thought she could struggle no more, she saw a hint of lighter black which changed to grey. Her head hit the top of the stone tunnel. She held what breath she had and dived, staying below the water as long as she could though her lungs were bursting. Finally, she kicked to the surface, arms raised for protection. But her hands felt nothing, so she lifted her head, choking for air.
The air was fresh and cold, with no d
ankness of the cavern about it. With great relief, Kate looked about for shore, panting, arms ready to go limp with fatigue. In the glow of the moon she could just make out the great pile of crumbling stone which was the castle on the hill. With a sob of relief, she kicked hard for the riverbank. Finally, just when she thought her strength was spent, her flailing feet touched bottom. It took every ounce of will she possessed, but she waded to shore and collapsed on the ground.
Her muscles trembled weakly. Her head whirled. Her stomach roiled and she retched. Wiping her mouth, she forced herself to her feet and scanned the river for Mr. Dalrymple. On the far bank, she saw a figure pull himself up. For a moment she froze, the immediate memory of her assailant in the Cavern flooding back, but she recognized the tall length of her nemesis and relaxed.
She glanced about, but no one seemed to lurk in the shadows, so she waved to Mr. Dalrymple. He must have seen her, for he raised a hand in acknowledgment and began wading across. He pulled himself up on the bank and leaned over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. They stood there for a moment, each savoring the joy of simply being alive. Now that she was out of the freezing water, Kate’s skin burned hot from the inside, almost as though she were on fire. In the scant inches which separated them, she could feel an answering heat from Mr. Dalrymple.
Unbidden, a feeling of exhilaration welled up from the deepest core of her being. It was greater than any she’d had when acting as the Grey Cavalier, but wary of the danger which could still be lurking, she quelled the urge to throw back her head and laugh in exultation, to stand on the riverbank and shout her euphoria to the world.
Instead, she looked up at Mr. Dalrymple, a grin of joy spreading across her face. It was then that she realized she owed him thanks for saving her life and her smile faded with ludicrous swiftness.
"Thank you.” Kate wasn’t sure of the correct etiquette, so despite what her sisters might say about her lack of propriety, she bobbed an awkward curtsy.
This bow to the laws of propriety did not, unfortunately, impress Mr. Dalrymple. He stood scowling at her in the faint moonlight and her spirits took another plunge.
"This amateur bumbling of yours must cease immediately,” he growled. “You almost got us both killed.”
“If you must insist in interfering in my efforts to get that reward--I mean, save England from the counterfeiters, then you have to expect a bit danger every now and then,” Kate snapped. She looked him up and down with contempt. “But it’s nothing that you would understand, a prissy fop such as yourself.”
By this time they stood nose to nose, shouting at each other in whispers.
“You know very well this is only a disguise.”
“I know nothing of the sort. All I know is that you come around here, prancing about the village, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You blackmail me for help, and when I give it, you bully your way into my plans and ruin everything!”
“All I wanted from you, my lady, was information about the criminal element in this parish. You’re the one who almost got us both killed tonight, alerted the gang they’re being sought, and possibly caused the downfall of the country.” He breathed quickly. “As of this moment, you may consider yourself off the case.”
Kate was livid. “What are you going to do? Have me arrested? You can’t do that because if I were proved as the Cavalier, the village would shut down. If there aren’t any tourists, the counterfeiters will pack up and move to another place. Then you’ll have to start all over again, but without a handy blackmail victim to help!”
“An immense help you’ve been tonight!”
“I was doing just fine until you came along. And I’ll take myself off the case only when they pry the five thousand pounds from my cold dead hands.”
"That,” he ground out, “will be something to look forward to.”
They stood, glaring at each other, then turned and stomped off in opposite directions, Edmund up the hill to his stolen horse, Kate to the bottom for the ever patient Diana. Neither made any but the most cursory attempts to hide their whereabouts, Edmund because he rather hoped the murderer would come forward so he could beat him into a pulp, and Kate because she--well, Kate wanted to beat someone into a pulp, too. Preferably Mr. Dalrymple, but she’d settle for the murderer.
They met again on the path from the castle, the shortcut which led to the back of St. Agatha’s, and ignored each other with determination. They skirted the back of the church and graveyard, past Constable Mackey’s little cottage, circled around Brigands and Buns and ended up at the post road near the great oak Kate knew so well. Without a word, Kate and Diana clip-clopped over the ancient stone bridge leading to Bellevue. So far into her thoughts was she that she wasn’t instantly aware that Mr. Dalrymple had followed her.
She didn’t bother to stop Diana, but turned in the saddle. “I have no need of an escort, sir,” she said frigidly.
“As much as I would like to see you hanged, drawn, and quartered,” he snarled, "There are other dangers which I, as a gentleman, am duty bound not to see befall any female.” Kate opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “And furthermore, Lady Katherine, I refuse to allow your manners to affect mine.”
Kate acknowledged the hit to herself, tightened her jaw, and led the way to the enormous, Italianate-style stables. Mr. Dalrymple saw her safely inside, nodded curtly, and trotted away, sitting at a rather odd angle in the saddle.
Kate slid from her mare. Her feet hit the ground, but her legs, jelly from the physical exertion of the evening, refused to hold her and she crumbled to the stable floor. Dragging herself to her feet, she managed brush down Diana and lead her into her stall. Holding her heavy, sodden skirts in one hand, she almost crawled up the kitchen stairs. At the landing, she knocked twice, twice more, then two more times. But tonight there were no answering three knocks; only the snores of a butler deep in the arms of Morpheus. With a start, Kate realized she’d forgotten to tell anyone where she was going. If she’d been killed, her body could have lain in the caverns until it was nothing more than a pile of bones picked clean by rats or bats or whatever unpleasant creature was down below the castle. She shivered, and not with cold.
Back in her room, she managed to peel off her layers of wet clothing, roll them up in a ball, and hide them in the bottom of the wardrobe. The inner heat which had burned through her after she’d left the river was long gone. She shivered violently from cold and shock as she dried her hair as best she could, pulled on a threadbare, patched nightgown and burrowed under the bedclothes. The hot brick was long since cold, but she didn’t care. Right now, this bed, this room, this nest of worn blankets and patched coverlet was the most perfect haven she could imagine.
Then her eyes popped open in horror when she realized she’d lost her pistol.
The End of Volume Three
The Counterfeit Cavalier, Volume Four:
The Prince in the Tower
Crash! The door slammed against the wall.
“Daylight in the swamp!” shrieked one merry voice.
“Stand and deliver!” shouted the other.
Bang! The door slammed shut. Two pairs of footsteps raced each other down the hall. There was a pause, then far below two muffled thuds as Meg and Simon slid down the banister to the entry hall.
Purely as reflex, Kate mumbled, “How many times have I told you not to slide down the banister?” before she slid back to sleep. It could have been minutes or hours later when she awoke to brilliant autumn sunshine streaming into her eyes. Outside her window, trees blazed crimson and gold, their leaves fluttering gaily in the autumn breeze. With a wince and a groan, she pulled the bedclothes over her face and rolled over, but a lump on the other side of the bed was in her way.
“Go away,” Kate ordered groggily.
“Oh, good, you’re awake.”
“Go away,” Kate pleaded groggily.
Carolyn tossed aside her well-thumbed copy of The Thespian Mirror and bounced to her knees. With the ruthlessness
of one who had never been ripped from sleep after two consecutive evenings of being battered, beaten, almost drowned, and unconscious under a corpse, she ripped the covers from her sister’s grasp. Kate grabbed them and pulled them back over her head. But Carolyn was strong, determined, and a morning person. Kate turned her face to her pillow and groaned.
“Leave. Please. I implore you,” she begged, in a futile attempt to hold onto the remnants of sleep before she had to rise and deal with a pounding headache, scratches from head to toe, and bits of gravel imbedded in her palms. Oh, heavens, and the pistol! She’d lost the pistol.
This was so extraordinarily bad that Kate was unable, in her distressed state, to comprehend how bad it really was, so she shelved it in the back of her mind until such time as she was able to come to terms with the situation.
“Wasn’t last night wonderful?” Carolyn fell back on the bed in ecstasy over her first grownup ball, completely oblivious to her sister’s plea. “I know what you’re thinking, but until you meet Berkly, I mean, Mr. Busby, you shouldn’t judge him. He dances divinely, and he’s soooo handsome. Besides, I’m almost sixteen now and Belinda Dogget says--”
As Carolyn chattered on, Kate wondered blearily what her sister was up to now. To admit she had been so preoccupied the evening before that she had failed to notice Caro’s transgressions, of which she was sure had been many, would seriously dent her reputation for omniscience.
Kate took a stab in the dark. “Does Aunt Alice know about this?” she asked, her voice muffled by the pillow.
“No, I was hoping you’d talk to her first--”
The Counterfeit Cavalier, Volumes One Through Four: The Complete Edition Page 8