by Anne Herries
‘What shall I do?’
‘I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking what to do for the best. It may be expedient to stay hidden for a while.’
‘What about you? Are you afraid that I shall betray you to the authorities?’
Jane winced as she took a step forwards. George hesitated, then swept her up in his arms, carrying her to where his horse was tethered. He thrust her up into the saddle, then mounted behind her.
‘Press back against me and hang on to the saddle. I’m going to ride hard for a bit. Blake might get suspicious and come looking for us. If he finds us, it will not be just you he murders.’
Jane was silent as she obeyed, holding on tight as he put his horse to a canter, then urged the animal on faster as it gathered speed. George had not answered her question.
It was obviously her duty to tell someone all she knew as swiftly as she was able. Mariah was in terrible danger, because Jane was certain that Blake was a ruthless man. If he discovered that Mariah’s fortune was tied up in trust and could not be released, he might decide it was best to kill her.
She had to escape and get help for Mariah! Now that she was with George her own fears had become less acute and it was her friend’s safety that worried her.
Riding through the darkness, her body pressed close to that of the man who had rescued her and now held her in his arms, Jane thought hard.
Could she escape George—or would it be best to befriend him and ask for his help in tracing Mariah?
* * *
‘Thank God you are back!’ Justin, Duke of Avonlea, exclaimed as he was admitted to Andrew Lanchester’s parlour and found him still dressed in his travelling cape, his boots spattered with mud. ‘I thought you might still be in Paris.’
‘I have just this moment arrived,’ Andrew said and frowned. ‘Something is wrong—Lucinda has not disappeared again?’
‘My wife is at home and in good health,’ Avonlea said, a smile on his lips. Then the smile disappeared as he recalled his news. ‘I am very sorry, Lanchester, but the news I bring must distress you. Your sister and Mariah Fanshawe were abducted this morning on the road to London…’
‘Mariah—Jane! Good grief.’ Andrew looked thunderstruck. ‘Why? Where were they going?’
‘Mariah received an invitation from Sir Matthew Horne and his wife—she is the late Fanshawe’s sister, of course. Mariah did not wish to go for some reason and would only consent to it if Jane accompanied her. The two have become such good friends of late.’
‘Damn!’ Andrew smote his forehead with his fist. ‘Did Mariah not tell you she was afraid of fortune hunters when she came to stay with you some months back, Avonlea?’
‘You think she may have been abducted by a scorned suitor?’
‘That is possible,’ Andrew replied and looked thoughtful. ‘Mariah is something of a flirt, I imagine. She might have led someone to believe she was interested and then changed her mind.’
‘Desperate men will do anything for money.’ Avonlea looked at him enquiringly. ‘Why should they take Jane, too?’
‘If they were together and the abductor believed Mariah to be travelling alone he might have acted on impulse. Jane can be very rash at times. She might have tried to obstruct them.’
‘You think she may have been taken because of what she saw?’
‘I fear that may be the case. She would not let her friend be taken without putting up a fight.’
‘Brave but foolish.’
‘I have told her to be careful a hundred times, but she puts her heart over her fences. Jane ought truly to have been my brother rather than my sister—and in part that is my fault. After our parents’ death I treated Jane as an equal. We were inseparable until I joined up, and since then she has looked after the estate for me. I fear she is too independent and perhaps reckless—but I would trust her judgement above any agent.’
‘You have only just arrived, so you will not know if a ransom note has been received,’ Avonlea said. ‘Mariah’s coachman came to me at once, but nothing has been delivered to me. Of course, the note might be addressed to the trustees of her fortune.’
‘You are not her trustee?’
‘No. I believe they are Fanshawe’s sister—and a lawyer. No doubt they will be approached for the ransom if a demand is made.’
‘It must have been Mariah they were after. I know nothing of her fortune, but I imagine Fanshawe was a warm man. Jane has only a few thousand. I would pay for her return, of course—but I doubt she was the intended victim.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I must visit Mariah’s trustees and discover if they have been approached—and I shall instruct an agent to discover what they can. What will you do?’
‘A Bow Street man? Good idea,’ Avonlea agreed. ‘In your situation I think it the best solution. I think you should leave Mariah’s trustees to me, Andrew. Instruct your agent by all means. I will talk to Sir Matthew and see what I can discover—then I’ll report to you.’
‘Yes, I dare say you are anxious for Mariah’s sake. She is like a sister to you, I believe?’
‘She was my father’s ward until he died, and of course Lucinda has become very fond of her,’ Justin said. ‘I know Mariah intended to ask my advice about some fortune hunter, but perhaps because of various problems it never happened. I feel responsible and must certainly do what I can to help recover her.’
‘Then we shall work together.’
‘Of course. You know I was grateful for your help with my problems.’ Avonlea smiled. ‘We may not always have seen eye to eye over the methods you employed, Andrew—but we are friends, and in this we are united.’
‘Yes. Good grief, I need all the help I can get,’ Andrew said and frowned. ‘I suppose the ladies’ abduction is for a ransom? Only I’ve been involved in a bit of business—secret stuff for the regiment that I cannot reveal even to you—but it might have a bearing.’
‘Well, you know your own business best—but I shall do what I can to recover them both.’
‘I pray to God that they are both still alive.’
‘Yes.’ Justin looked grim. ‘I can imagine how you feel. I suffered enough when my wife disappeared—but she was found unharmed and I believe we shall come through this in good order, Andrew.’
‘I can only pray that your instincts are correct.’
Chapter Two
They seemed to have been riding for hours. Jane was beginning to think she was in some kind of mad dream that would never end when George at last brought his horse to a standstill and helped her to dismount.
‘Where are we?’ she asked, glancing towards the house, which looked silent and dark in the gloom of night. ‘Who lives here?’
‘No one at present,’ George replied. ‘It belonged to a relative of mine and has recently been left to me in a will. I have been meaning to visit and have it set in order.’
‘Are there any servants?’ she enquired in a dubious tone that made her companion look at her.
‘No, I fear not,’ George answered. ‘I know it is asking a great deal—but you have to trust me, Jane.’
‘You do realise that if I stay in an empty house with you for even an hour or so my reputation could be ruined?’
‘Yes, I know that it is a risk, but I really think we both need some rest. I have food. I dare say I can get a fire going and we shall find somewhere to curl up and sleep. I promise you are quite safe with me, Miss Blair—and no one need know the details. In the morning I shall take you somewhere more suitable—at least, to a place where you can be chaperoned.’
‘I really have no choice,’ Jane admitted ruefully. When she reflected on her capture, she realised that she had been compromised from the beginning. While most would sympathise, others would think her at fault for her reckless behaviour. ‘My ankle is throbbing and I shall fall asleep in the saddle if we go any farther tonight.’
‘Exactly.’ George smiled at her in a way that calmed her fears. ‘Truly, I mean you no harm, Miss Bla
ir—and I shall endeavour to get us both out of this mess.’
‘I prefer it when you call me Jane,’ she said.
‘Our situation makes formality ridiculous. I have no choice but to call you by your name or sir. In the circumstances I think we should forget convention. Since we are forced into each other’s company, I suppose we must make the best of things.’
‘How sensible you are. I have seldom met a lady with your strength of character, Jane. Most of the ladies I know would have screamed or fainted given the situation you found yourself in.’
‘You need not tell me that I am too independent for modesty’s sake. It has been said before and not so politely.’ Jane laughed softly. ‘Had I been so faint-hearted I might never have been abducted. I dare say my brother will scold me for being reckless and thoughtless—and I believe I may owe you my life. The loss of my reputation can be nothing compared to what might have been.’
He inclined his head to her, applauding her courage. ‘Just so—now we should turn our minds to gaining entrance. I think I may have to break a window and climb through. You must wait here. I shall open a door and save you the indignity of clambering over the sill.’
Jane studied the small leaded windows. ‘Are there no French windows? I fear these windows would scarcely open wide enough for a man of your size.’
‘Yes, there is such a window at the rear. That is an excellent notion, Jane. Much better than a window, through which I might find it difficult to fit.’
‘I do not think you would make a competent burglar,’ Jane said, her humour asserting itself as she followed him to the rear of the house. There was no use in repining or complaining. They found the glass doors, which led out to the pretty and secluded garden. George stood looking at it for a moment, seemingly in deep thought. ‘What will you use to break the window? Or had you not thought so far?’
‘There you wrong me. I was merely remembering some good times I had here as a boy. It seems sacrilege to disturb the place, but it must be done.’ George took a pistol from his coat pocket, and turning the handle against the glass, gave it a sharp rap. It shattered at once. He pushed the jagged glass in and put his hand through the opening. Finding the catch which secured it, he was able to open the door.
‘I shall go first and light a candle,’ George said. ‘Be careful for there is broken glass. I do not wish you to stumble in the dark and hurt yourself.’
Jane hesitated just inside the door, allowing him time to explore. A few seconds passed and she heard him strike a tinder and then light flared in the darkness. He lit a branch of wax candles, the yellow glow illuminating the pretty if neglected parlour in which she now stood. She looked about her with interest, noting the delicate furniture, workbasket, spinet and the French cabinets filled with porcelain figurines.
‘This parlour must have belonged to a lady.’
‘Yes, it did—an elderly lady. She was my great-aunt and more than ninety years of age when she died.’
‘I hope she would not mind us breaking in?’
‘I should imagine she might find it exciting. I believe she was rather a dashing lady in her youth. She took a shine to me because I was considered a bruising rider to hounds as a youngster—and she was fond of hunting herself.’
‘A lady after my own heart, though it is the thrill of the chase I love. I usually leave the field before the kill.’
‘Aunt Augusta would not have approved of that,’ he said and smiled. ‘However, I seldom hunt these days. I saw enough death and killing in the army. I have no desire for more.’
‘Yet you joined forces with a dangerous man to help abduct an innocent young woman.’ Her tone was accusing and made him look at her.
‘I have no excuse I may give other than that I have already offered. I believed I was helping to provide the illusion of an abduction. Until she struggled so desperately I hoped the lady was willing, as I had been led to believe.’
‘Yes, so you told me.’ Jane frowned as he led the way from the small parlour into another larger one, then into a hall, through several more reception rooms and finally a large kitchen at the rear. It was still painful for her to walk, though a little easier than it had been when he found her in the hut. ‘I find it hard to believe that you were duped, sir. I would not take you for a fool.’
‘I had my reasons.’
Jane glanced at the grim set of his mouth and said no more on the subject. It would not do to antagonise him at this point. She must never forget that Mariah was in danger and this man was perhaps her only chance of finding her friend.
‘I think the fireplace in the larger parlour was set with wood and paper,’ she said. ‘It would be more relaxing than the kitchen for there are some comfortable chairs.’
‘I thought we might find some wine here…’ George disappeared into what looked like a storeroom. Jane heard him rummaging around for a moment or two. He emerged triumphant with a bottle of red wine. ‘There are several bottles here, though most must be in the cellar, but I have no intention of going there at this hour.’
Jane found another branch of candles and lit them from his. Her ankle was throbbing and she sat down at the table, trying not to show how weary she felt.
‘Shall we explore further or settle on the parlour?’
‘I think the beds must need airing. It is more than a year since the house was closed. My lawyers thought it best while I was in the army. I believe a caretaker comes in now and then, but I doubt the bedding is fit to use.’
‘We shall do better in a comfortable chair,’ Jane said. ‘If you are agreeable, I shall light the fire in the parlour.’
‘I shall do that for you. We should eat and then I will look at your ankle. I think cold water and a bandage—which should be in the dresser if all is as it was.’ He went to the dresser and took out a tin, opening it to extract a roll of linen. ‘My aunt was always prepared. I think I must fetch water from the well.’
‘I will wait for you in the parlour.’
‘Forgive me, your ankle still pains you. Go and sit down. I will bring food and the bandage in a moment or two.’
Jane took the candles she had lit and retraced her steps to the large parlour. She lit several more and then touched a flame to the fire. It flared almost at once, which meant the wood and paper had kept dry despite the house being closed for so long. The house was clearly not damp and must be well built.
Her situation was improved despite the impropriety of it all. George seemed to mean her no harm and for the moment she must trust him, though it irked her to be at the mercy of a rogue. She was used to being independent and using her own judgement, and this need of a stranger’s help was both uncomfortable and annoying.
Seeing the elegant day bed, Jane settled back on the cushions and rested her foot in front of her. With the candles and the fire, which was now burning strongly, it was pleasant and comfortable. She put her head back and closed her eyes, quickly falling asleep.
* * *
Returning to the parlour some minutes later, George stood looking at Jane, feeling disinclined to disturb her. Yet the bread and cheese he had brought with him was on the plates he had found in the kitchen, the wine poured into glasses—and her ankle would do better if he bound it.
‘Forgive me, Miss…Jane,’ he said and touched her shoulder.
Jane woke with a little start, giving a cry of alarm. Then, seeing him standing there, a tray of food placed carefully on the occasional table by her side, and the linen bandaging in his hand, she smiled. The smile came from within and lit up her eyes. She had such calm grey eyes and her dark, almost ebony hair had fallen into tangles where it had escaped from the knot at the nape of her neck. She was not beautiful in a conventional sense, but had a face filled with character and warmth.
‘It is you,’ she said. ‘For a moment I Thought…How thoughtless of me to fall asleep. You must be wanting your supper.’
George’s heart caught when she smiled. She was an attractive girl, but he had not thought her more un
til that moment. He wondered that she wore such dull colours and scraped her hair back in an unflattering style when she could make so much more of herself if she chose.
‘I was thinking of you, Jane. Your ankle needs a cold compress and ought to be bound tightly to take down the swelling.’
‘Yes, I am sure that would help. I feared it might be broken, but the pain has eased a little, which means, I think, that it is merely a sprain.’
He knelt on the floor beside her and ran gentle, sensitive fingers over her ankle, then inclined his head.
‘I believe it is as you say, Jane. Nevertheless, it will help to have a cold compress and bandaging for a while. We shall not stay here long tomorrow, so it will be better for you if your ankle is easier.’
George worked steadily, applying the cold pack he had prepared with water drawn from the deep well. He bound her ankle tightly, knowing that it would strengthen it for her, making it easier to walk. She drew a sharp breath once and he apologised for hurting her, but she shook her head. He finished his work as quickly as possible.
‘If you are still in pain, I will bind the ankle again in the morning,’ he said. ‘Can you eat something? The wine is soft and fruity, not too strong—will you try a little before I leave you to sleep?’
‘Where will you go? The room is warm now and you could stretch out in two chairs.’
‘Are you sure you wish for that? I thought you might prefer to be alone?’
‘We broke in here and the door is vulnerable. If Blake were to discover this house I would rather not face him alone.’
‘I doubt he would think of coming here.’ George frowned. ‘Though it is possible that he might know it was left to me, I suppose. Someone may have told him.’
‘Then please remain here. I prefer your presence to Captain Blake’s.’
‘Yes, I think I shall. You may rest assured that if he attacked you I should shoot him.’
‘Is that why you have brought the pistol?’
‘Like most military men I am accustomed to travelling with a loaded pistol. I know others do it, too, but I am a keen shot. Believe me—my hand would not tremble if the need arose.’