Wynthall Manor- The Wynthall Manor Trilogy

by Brianne E Pryor

  Bondeville shook his head. “You are treading on very dangerous ground, James. I cannot pretend that your conduct does not make me question you.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I have long shunned man’s good opinion. If I have lost yours I am sorry, but I desire your help not your approval of what cannot be retracted.”

  Bondeville was silent for a moment before putting a question to Grey which he himself did wonder. “Do you wish you could retract it, James?”

  “If you mean to ask if I wish I had forced Her Grace to return with him, then no, I do not wish it. I know such a lie was not within my right, but there was no other way to protect both the duchess from her uncle and my own name from such slander as the aforementioned would have imposed on it.”

  Bondeville sighed, turning to seat himself again. “I suppose what’s done is done. I will do all I can to aid you, James, but you have put yourself in a terrible position.”

  “I know well my position, Bondeville, but believe it was righteously done when the alternative may result in Alexander Vastel becoming Duke of Dawcaster. Even you yourself wished to prevent this.”

  The earl nodded. “I did, but not at the cost of your father’s good name.”

  “And that, my lord, is why I told Alexander that I had married his niece, to protect the name of Nightten and that of the Dukedom of Dawcaster. Now, lest we discover the man who imprisoned the Lady Eva, then we shall be in quite the predicament.”

  “Indeed,” Bondeville huffed. “What have you done to discover this man? What do you know of him?”

  “Her Grace knew only that he was called Master Avery by the elderly servant who often brought her food. She said he was perhaps a gentleman or baronet. I searched in my own records and requested the same of the magistrate in Calgar. Unfortunately it was of no avail for neither I nor he found any record of a man called Avery within mine or surrounding regions.”

  A perplexed frown occupied the earl’s face. “That is very strange indeed. And the lady knew not from whence she came?”

  Grey shook his head. “No, she had not the slightest recollection of even the direction she journeyed in. Her mind was so overtaken by illness and exhaustion, I wonder how she made it very far. Surely the place she was held must not be many miles off.”

  “No, and that farmer who claimed to see her on the road must have been in the right after all. In which case, she must have come from the vicinity of Lochson.”

  Grey nodded. “Precisely the reason I sent for you, Bond. I hoped you might know of some man, noble or commoner, who might be called Avery.”

  Regretfully the earl shook his head. “I fear I have not. Of course I do not know all men living within my distance of my home, but I know all gentlemen and noblemen and they none of them are named Avery.”

  Grey sighed. “It is all very strange, Bond. The man who abducted Lady Eva no longer has her, but still we are trapped by the threats of Lord Alexander. We are caught in quite the stalemate.”

  “Indeed you are, James.” Bondeville stood from his seat once more. “But I will do everything in my power to help you. Allow me to return to Lochson where I might consult the magistrate there to see if he may know of someone by the name for which you seek. If we are lucky and find such a man, then all shall be well. If not then I know not what you will do.”

  “Nor I. Perhaps the only alternative then will be to confront Alexander Vastel with the accusations.”

  Bondeville shook his head. “You can hardly expect him to own to such a crime whether he is guilty or not.”

  “No, but perhaps with the right encouragement he will comply.”

  Bondeville frowned. “You are already ensnared, James. Don’t fall deeper still.”

  Grey chuckled dryly. “I know not how I could, Bond. For I fear we may already be too within the depths of this prison to ever recover.”

  ~ 27 ~

  Wind beat against the rock of the castle wall, howling a viscous wail as it crossed the open moors and struck the forest’s trees, swaying and bending at the mercy of the heightening storm. The night’s sky was soon overcome with black clouds, bold even against the darkest horizon. Bolts of dry lightning leaped from one cloud to the next and thunder rolled heavy in the distance, though not a cloud had yet broken to shed its rain on the awaiting earth.

  Grey turned over in his bed, his slumbering mind at ease and his body likewise resting comfortably, feeling relaxed as the slightest bit of wind blew through the small crack that he had left in his window. No memory haunted him; no image once faded recalled itself in a dream. In the midst of his rumpled sheets and blankets, he slept without a disturbance, not even the roll of the thunderstorm threatened to awaken him as the baron’s tired mind took its nourishment. The thunder cracked once more, offset by the distant chime of the grandfather clock in the gallery signaling the fourth hour of the morning. A moment later it chimed again, its reverberating dong echoing throughout the upper east wing of Wynthall Manor. The wind roared through the out of doors and fluttered the window shades and shutters, causing Grey to turn again in his sleep, his mind somewhat aroused by the muffled sounds of the upcoming storm. A third chime traveled throughout the gallery and bedchambers accompanied by a clap of thunder, whose sound seemed to split the manor open, arousing its master all the more. As the fourth chime sounded, thunder cracked over the rooftop and a moment later a shrill scream split the night in two! Traveling with great ferocity through what seemed every corner of the castle!

  In a moment Grey threw open his eyes and sat, his mind jumbled from the nightmare and loss of any image that would accompany it. Confused as to what had caused him to dream so strangely and without any memory of such a dream, Grey sat in the sudden silence as the clock struck no more and the thunder lay at bay. Only the fluttering of the drapes could be heard and the beating of Grey’s own heart met his ears until the all too real scream struck him once more! Shattering the peacefulness of the manor and piercing his heart so that it began to speed for he knew now he could not have been dreaming! The call was not Dahlia’s haunting his slumber but that of a very different source—Eva!

  Clad only in his wrinkled trousers and loose, white shirt Grey leaped from his bed without a thought for his robe or shoes and threw open his chamber door. The corridor was damp and dark so that Grey could see only the wall before him and no more. The darkness repressed him not however as the baron hurried from his room, his hand traveling along the tapestries and bare wall so that he might feel his way about the twists and corners. Grey reached only the end of the corridor, however, before he saw a lamp coming toward him, a small glow bobbing up and down until it revealed the face of Byrum in whose hand the lantern swayed and whose eyes were wide with anxiousness.

  “My lord, she is gone!” he exclaimed.

  “Who is gone?”

  “The lady, my lord. Lady Eva! I heard the screams, and when I reached her chamber, the door was ajar and the lady no longer there! She must have been taken, my lord!”

  Grey’s heart began to fall and he realized what must have occurred. “Search every inch of this manor!” he commanded. “We must stop whoever it is before they get away with her! Hurry, man!”

  Byrum turned and ran down the hall, his robe flying behind him and the light of the lamp flickering as it traveled on the walls. Grey turned back to his room, throwing himself to a chair where his riding boots sat and he began to pull them on. Standing to rein in his loose shirttails Grey went to his wardrobe and threw open the doors, pushing pieces of clothing aside, his hands fumbling in the darkness until he found that which he searched—his sword and its sheath! Pulling them from where the dust had settled in the wardrobe, Grey paused as he looked upon them. The gilded brass of the handle, shadowed with collected dust, the smooth steel snuggled safely within the sheath. Memories of the night he had hidden the saber deep within the wardrobe began to recall themselves to him. Images his mind had not portrayed in years. What do you intend to with it now? You vowed you would not see it agai
n, James! Will you truly use it? Grey nodded stiffly as he strapped the saber to him. “To save Lady Eva I shall!” he whispered aloud with great determination before running out the door and down the hall.

  As he reached the staircase into the great hall, Grey could hear the voices of his staff below him. In a moment he was hurrying down the stairs where Byrum and three housemen where just coming inside, their breath nearly gone from them. “She—she is not here, my lord,” Byrum panted.

  “Are you certain? Have you searched everywhere?”

  “No need, my lord. Whoever it was who stole her away broke out the back gate through the servants quarters. They were in a wagon, my lord, it left tracks down the road to the south.”

  “Toward Covingdell,” Grey spat the words angrily. “Then we’ve no time to loose. Saddle my horse at once! I shall ride through the fields and overtake them.”

  As one of the housemen ran to obey his master’s orders Byrum began to protest. “My lord, you do not intend to—”

  “I intend to do whatever need be done to stop this madness!” Grey barked. “Even if that means ending the life of Alexander Vastel!”

  “But, my lord, he is the duke’s brother!”

  “Yes, and my greatest foe whom I have wished to run through for twelve years! You shall keep the house in order while I am gone and find out how they got in to steal the lady away!”

  “Y-yes, my lord.”

  “I shall return shortly.” Without another word, the baron ran out the doors toward the stables. Soon he was met by the stable boy leading his broad steed who tossed his head as Grey took hold of the reins and leaped upon him. Without a moment wasted, the baron dug his heels into the horse’s side and they were off in a run, through the front gate and down the road toward Covingdell where Grey was certain the lady must have been taken. The lightning flashed as its bolt leaped from cloud to cloud and then from sky to ground in a second’s time, lighting the forest’s trees and the road on which Grey traveled for only a moment before again they were plunged into darkness. With heavy breath the stallion ran, his long strides and heavy hooves pounding against the road, Grey’s sword beating against his side with every gallop, his mind thinking not of the danger that might wait him but of his own fears that he would arrive too late to save Eva from her captor. Not again! You mustn’t fail!

  With every beat of his stallion’s hooves, Grey grew closer to the fields over which he might cross to intercept the wagon carrying Eva away to Covingdell, its castle nearer to Wynthall than all nobility who resided in the area. Grey knew the road by heart, seeing its twists and turns in his mind’s eye as he guided his horse off the path to Calgar and down the hill away from his own region to where he and Alexander had often met as children. Through the open field he traveled, urging his stallion forward as though he could build no speed that might suit his anxious rider whose heart pounded harder than even the black steed’s. Lightning cracked overhead, casting but a moment’s light on the road in the distance where Grey was certain the wagon must emerge from the trees. Urging his stallion forward though his legs could move no faster, Grey and his mount sailed across the dark, wet fields expecting to lay eyes on the escaping wagon at any time.

  The distance grew smaller and the sight of the road greater as Grey approached it and saw not a single being emerge from within the forest. His heart began to sink as he reached the road to Covingdell, barren of any travelers and too overcome with darkness to see any tracks that might have been left. They must have turned off the road elsewhere. Grey looked down the road into the darkness of the forest, wondering whether to pursue them into the night with hopes he would discover the way in which they went or to continue on to Covingdell where perhaps he could confront Lord Alex and force him to tell where the lady had been taken.

  But you can have no way of knowing it was he who abducted her from her home much less your own, he reminded himself as his conflicted mind strained with the weight of the decision, knowing that if he continued on to the castle he may lose all hope of finding them. And yet what hope do you have of finding a trail in the night? If indeed Lord Alex is at his home, then you must intercept him before he too disappears!

  Seeing no other alternative but to continue on to Covingdell Castle, Grey turned his horse away from the forest and dug his heels into the stallion’s side, holding tightly to the reins as he was carried down the muddy road toward the home of the Duke of Dawcaster. Thunder cracked over Grey’s head and he felt his frightened steed shudder beneath him. No longer shielded by the trees, Grey began to feel bits of rain sting his face and brow, seeing the clouds begin to open as lighting lit the night once more. “Almost there,” he encouraged the stallion as they climbed another hillside, Grey leading him onward, leaving behind all fears that in going forward to face Lord Alex he had decided wrongly. Grey’s horse kicked up the dirt of the road behind him as he ran, reaching the top of the hill where the sight of Covingdell Castle came into view. Grey reined in the stallion, causing him to rear and throw his head at the sudden halt. Across the pasture, where not a tree could be seen, picturesque against the bold storm and flashing bolts of lightning beyond was the home of John Vastel the Duke of Dawcaster. Its rock walls and towers loomed over the surrounding fields and stretched for several hundred yards across the clearing and down the back of the mountain, their rustic gray standing out against the stormy night’s sky.

  Urging his mount forward once more, Grey crossed the clearing in a moment seeing first the light from the small gatehouse, and then the gatekeeper come to confront the visitor, his lantern held high. Grey reined in his stallion just outside the iron fence, which ran the length of the castle grounds and then bent westward to round the outbuildings, stables, and gardens. Grey’s exhausted steed halted with a throw of his head, perspiration collecting on his hips and shoulders where mud had been splattered from their violent ride. Grey, too, wore the marks of his journey; his trousers and boots muddied and his white shirt clinging to him, dampened by his own sweat as if he had been caught in the midst of his nightmares. “I am Lord de Grey from Calgar and I must see Alexander Vastel this moment,” he presented himself and his intentions to the gatekeeper who only shook his head, his eyes squinting in the night so that they might see Grey’s bold features and intent stare.

  “I’m sorry, milord, but 'is lordship don’t receive no visitors at this hour o’ the mornin’.”

  “It is a matter of utmost urgency!” Grey demanded. “I shall see him at once!”

  “But, milord—”

  “It is in regards to his niece the Lady Eva.”

  “Lady Eva?” After a moment’s hesitation, the gatekeeper moved to unlatch the iron gate, pulling it open so that Grey might urge his horse through. With a careful eye watching all about him, Grey ran the stallion toward the front entrance of the castle, home to the first man to bear title as the Duke of Dawcaster and each of his heirs since for over two hundred years.

  Abandoning his exhausted mount to wander on the lawn Grey leaped the stone steps to the castle’s front doors, their black iron rose over his head and the gruesome image of a gargoyle defined the brass knocker which Grey slammed against the door with a fierce ire. “Open this door!” he demanded, feeling somewhat avenged for enumerable occasions on which he had heard such a cry from Alexander at his own home. A long few minutes passed before the door was pulled open to reveal the petite frame of an elderly man, bent with age and unsteady on his feet, clad in his nightwear with cap askew atop his head. Over the top of his spectacles, he seemed to examine Grey with the utmost annoyance and a hint of alarm at the baron’s arrival. “What is this, young man?” his crackled voice demanded. “Who are you and what you be doing here waking this house?”

  “I am Lord de Grey of Calgar, and I must speak with Lord Alexander.”

  The elderly butler squinted as though his sight failed him. “I’m sorry, my lord, but Lord Alexander is still in his bed. It is not even five o’clock and too early for callers, ’specially ones hal
f-dressed.”

  “This is not a social call, sir,” Grey demanded. “I must see him this moment and advise you to step aside.”

  “Now see here, my lord. The master is not well and I’m not accustomed to waking the house that they might meet the demands of some young baron—”

  “Wait!” Grey barked, only then beginning to comprehend the coarse words of the old man. “Did you say your master was—”

  “What in heaven’s name is this?” The voice—so frail in its sound and yet masculine so that its tone fell in assertiveness—came from beyond the front door, echoing off the inner wall of the castle’s great hall and falling upon the ears of both Grey and the elderly man who met him. Together they turned to look to the interior—the stone walls gray with age, towering over the great room lined with long dining tables and red and gold tapestries. Light from the old butler’s lantern cast a hazy shadow over the grand interior and left darker still the unlit corners from whence approached the figure who had spoken. Clad in a red velvet robe and leaning heavily his weight to a cane adorned with gold and brass was a man so aged with illness he seemed too frail to stand yet he moved from within the shadows. His eyes, filled with exhaustion and overcome by grief, fell on Grey’s disheveled figure and caused the baron to recoil, his heart dropping and eyes thrown open in surprise.

  “Lord de Grey?” the elderly man’s hoarse voice questioned the baron as he grew nearer. Grey, however, found himself unable to speak in return as realization began to overcome him and he uttered the only words which he seemed able to find, “My lord the Duke...”

  ~ 28 ~

  An atmosphere so thick and overhung by deceit that the walls of Covingdell Castle seemed to cry out with the wrongs that had been done therein. Grey was unmovable, standing still by the overcoming sensation of shock and realization which flooded him. Caught by what must have been the lies of the very man who had caused heartache to so many and even that moment must have been within the depths of completing his scheme.