Lisandro wasn’t the least bit interested in the pies; he wanted to know what they were going to do about Maria. He forced himself to take a slow, deep breath and calm down. This wasn’t his first time dealing with a complicated situation. One couldn’t just rush into action.
“We need to get around into the next street or the rear laneway and see what the back of the house looks like,” he said.
“Yes. But first, we need to do some homework about the address itself. Who owns it, and who is currently living there? That information will give us options as to how we go about securing Maria’s release. It may also provide vital information regarding the people behind her abduction. There are plenty of places in Spain, Portugal, or even France where they could have taken her. I still can’t get my head around why they chose England,” replied Stephen.
Lisandro had worked that question over and over in his mind. The fact that the kidnappers had taken Maria far away worried him greatly. Being the enemy of Don Elizondo meant he didn’t have an insight into the Duke of Villabona’s life or who, outside of his family, might hold a grudge against him. But one thing was universal—powerful men tended to make powerful enemies.
The butcher came around to the front of the counter, the meat wrapped in newspaper. Stephen dug into his pocket and pulled out some coins. He gave them to the man who counted out the required money, then handed the change back along with the parcel. They hurried out of the shop.
After crossing over Queen Anne Street, Stephen led Lisandro into a narrow laneway, then turned left. He stopped, ripped open the top of the butcher’s paper, and pulled out a sausage.
“You are not going to eat raw meat, are you?” asked Lisandro.
Stephen raised an eyebrow. “No, but experience tells me that if they are any sort of self-respecting criminals, they will have a guard dog.”
Lisandro grinned. Trust Stephen to be always thinking ahead.
At the rear of number nine, Lisandro bent and cupped his hands. Stephen placed his boot in the ready-made step and grabbed a hold of the fence with one hand while Lisandro lifted.
Lisandro groaned. His friend was no lightweight.
“You have been eating too many pork pies,” he said, through gritted teeth.
“Stop complaining. Now hold still a moment,” whispered Stephen.
Lisandro sucked in a breath and prayed that his knees would forgive him. A trickle of sweat slid down his back.
The low, threatening growl of a dog came from the yard, and he immediately fell silent. The last thing either of them wanted was for the animal to start barking.
Stephen whistled, then cooed softly. “Here, boy. I have a lovely sausage for you.”
Crouched as he was, Lisandro couldn’t see anything that was happening on the other side of the fence but snuffling and the wet sound of a sausage being gulped soon drifted to his ears.
“Good dog. Now you stay quiet and you will get another sausage.”
A welcome tap on his shoulder had Lisandro lowering his hands, and Stephen stepping away. Lisandro shook out his fingers as they walked back toward the street.
“You were right about the dog,” he said.
“Of course, I was. Though it’s only an old bulldog. From the way it swallowed those sausages down almost whole, I would say it is missing quite a few teeth. Oh, and it’s only got three legs,” replied Stephen.
That was good news. There was nothing worse than being chased by a beast in possession of a set of sharp teeth, especially when they were snapping at your heels.
On their way home, Stephen gave a full account of what he had seen in the rear of number nine while Lisandro made mental notes. By the time they had reached the offices of the RR Coaching Company, the kernel of a plan was already forming in Lisandro’s mind.
A plan to rescue Maria.
Chapter Eight
It was such a relief to be able to wash each day. The woman who kept the house for the kidnappers—Maria wasn’t granted her name—boiled up a large kettle of water each morning and brought it upstairs. Fresh towels and soap were a godsend. Her captor had even begun to allow Maria a little more time in which to attend to her ablutions.
Her gratitude toward the woman didn’t extend much beyond that, especially once Maria realized that the food she was being fed was laced with drugs.
With every meal came the same routine. Whatever was in her food rendered her unconscious within minutes of eating it. She would be given breakfast not long after the sun rose each day. The next thing she knew, Maria would wake in her bed, having no idea as to how she had gotten there. Through the window, she would see the pale light of early evening.
She’d have slept the day away.
But as the days rolled into one another; Maria began to sense that the woman was bored of the whole endeavor. She became inattentive and sloppy with her work.
In the beginning, she would remain in the room and wait for Maria to finish eating, but by the end of the first week she started leaving Maria on her own to eat, presumably only coming back once she had passed out.
The woman’s disinterest created an opening—one which Maria did not hesitate to exploit.
On the morning of her fifteenth day in captivity at the house, she waited until the woman had once more left her alone with her breakfast. As soon as the door closed and the key turned in the lock, she picked up the knife from her breakfast tray and quickly headed over to the window. Pushing the curtains aside, she set to work on her secret project.
The window was opaque, which at first had been a disappointment as she couldn’t see out, but it didn’t take long for Maria to realize the benefits of no one being able to see her or what she was doing.
Over the past couple of days, she had managed to prize the bolt on the window latch loose, and this morning, her efforts were rewarded when it finally gave way.
“Ah,” she gasped.
Success. Thank God.
Gently pushing on the frame, she cracked the window open an inch. She dared not go any farther lest someone outside notice. Placing her nose up to the gap, she took in a deep breath.
Delicious, fresh air filled her lungs, and joy sparked in her heart. It was a small step, but it gave her hope. She was determined to fulfil the promise she had made to her mother while onboard the ship.
Mamá I shall find my way home. We will be together again.
Hurrying back to her breakfast, which was the same standard offering every morning, a badly cooked pie, she cut off a large piece of it, then carried it over to the window. Crumbling it between her fingers, she let the wind take it away.
“It’s a start,” she whispered.
She would have to eat the rest of the foul pastry, but at least there was a chance now that she might be able to snatch a few hours of being conscious before the next meal—hours that could be used to figure out a way to escape.
Chapter Nine
They set a watch on the house. Each morning, Toby was taken over to Queen Anne Street where he would climb a tree in the rear of number seven and spend the day watching the comings and goings in the back garden next door. Just before leaving, Stephen would poke a sausage through the fence of number nine and have a friendly chat with the guard dog.
A flower cart vendor was given a few coins to relocate and set up across the road. The woman selling flowers was tasked with the job of noting who came and went via the front door.
By the end of the third day, Lisandro had a good idea of the routine of things. The woman who worked in the house was followed home one evening and afterwards kept under constant surveillance. Two other men also moved in and out of the house, but they appeared to be staying there.
A war council was summoned for the evening. In attendance were Stephen, Lord Harry, Gus, and Lisandro. Their chief spy, Toby, sat at the head of the table, a picture of seriousness.
“The old lady comes and sits on the steps about an hour after I arrive every morning. She smokes a cheroot right down, then goes back inside. I
see her coming out again a few more times during the day, then she leaves just as the sun is going down,” he explained.
Lisandro opened his notebook. “I confirmed again with the flower seller, and she informed me that the only person who uses the front door is Señor Alba. Which means later each day, we only have him and the two other unknown males in the house.”
Establishing where the three men were during the night was one problem they were yet to address. Only a fool would go sneaking into a house not knowing where possible assailants could be lurking. Still, there was strength in numbers and if push came to shove, they could handle taking on the kidnappers. But they had to know where Maria was being kept. It wasn’t unheard of for captives to be killed by their abductors rather than rescued.
Toby cleared his throat and glanced at Stephen. The handler of dirty deeds had taken the young orphan under his wing and was teaching him the tools of the trade.
“Go on, Toby. Remember what I have taught you. Even the smallest detail can be vital,” said Stephen.
“Well, I was watching one of the upstairs windows early yesterday and I swore it opened just a crack after the old woman sat down on the steps to smoke. She was well away from it, so she didn’t notice.”
Lisandro sat forward, listening intently. Toby had a good eye for detail, and even in the short time that he had known the boy, Lisandro had come to trust his instincts. “Go on.”
“Something fell out the window. I’m not sure what it was, but the dog raced over and quickly gobbled it up. Then he went back to his spot by the stables and lay down. I didn’t see him move again for the rest of the day.”
There was a sparkle in Toby’s eyes, one which Lisandro recognized only too well—the joy that came from discovering a vital piece of information, something that could change everything.
“I had the spyglass ready this morning when the woman came out. Within a minute of her lighting her smoke, the same upstairs window opened. This time, I saw a small hand and what looked like a piece of pie. It was dropped just like yesterday, and again, the dog ate it.”
“Did the dog sleep the day away?” asked Lisandro.
Toby nodded.
Gus let out a low whistle. Lisandro and Stephen exchanged a hopeful grin.
Someone hidden within the house was waiting until the housekeeper went outside to have her morning smoke and was then tossing food out the window. Food which, from the reaction of the dog, had clearly been drugged.
A small hand. A woman’s, perhaps.
The memory of Diego de Elizondo as he stood in the grounds of Castle Tolosa and begged him to save Maria came clearly to Lisandro’s mind. The heart-breaking look of desperation and fear on Diego’s face would haunt him for all his days.
He sent a silent prayer across the many miles of sea to his homeland, hoping that Diego may somehow get his message.
I think we have found Maria.
The thought of Diego also brought back the rest of their conversation; and the reward Lisandro had asked to receive if he brought Maria safely home. To be allowed to spend time with her. For the Elizondo family to accept and acknowledge Spanish society’s expectation that Lisandro would make Maria his wife.
And what if she doesn’t take kindly to that idea?
Rescuing Maria from the clutches of a bloodthirsty band of kidnappers might well be the least of Lisandro’s problems.
Chapter Ten
“This could all end rather badly,” said Stephen.
Sir Stephen always said the same thing right at the start of any dangerous encounter. It was his peculiar way of saying ‘take care and don’t get killed’ without actually having to give voice to his fears.
Lisandro checked his pistol for the fifth time, determined that he would not be the one on the wrong end of a gun. Glancing at his hands after he’d placed the weapon into its holster, he was relieved that they were steady and without any tremor. Cool heads were required for what lay in front of them tonight. Their lives, and the life of Maria de Elizondo Garza, depended on it.
The coach drew into the dark laneway at the rear of number nine Queen Anne Street and stopped. They waited in silence, ready for the signal.
When a loud rap came on the side of the coach, both men startled. Lisandro’s pistol was immediately aimed toward the door.
It swung open and Augustus Jones appeared into the pale light. He looked to Stephen and then Lisandro. “Our men are in position across the road from the front of the house. As agreed, I will knock on the door while Harry and his men rush in from behind me.”
He glanced at Lisandro’s pistol and screwed up his face. “It goes without saying that I would rather not get shot by either of you two gentlemen this evening. So please take extra care if you decide to start firing.”
Their plans didn’t include having to shoot their way out of the house; the diversion at the front door would hopefully be enough for him and Stephen to be able to steal in and grab Maria. The sight of Stephen’s powerful double-barreled flintlock did give him pause, but he knew the Englishman well enough to trust his instincts when it came to wielding weapons.
Lisandro pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. It was almost eleven. Right on the hour, they would raid the house.
“Good luck. We shall rendezvous as soon as possible,” said Stephen.
Gus closed the door and disappeared into the night.
Stephen leaned over and offered Lisandro his hand. “Los santos te protegen, my friend.”
“Yes, and may the saints also protect you.”
He followed Stephen out of the coach.
Earlier in the day, while the dog slept, Toby had climbed down from the tree next door and opened the gate to the rear yard. He had then closed it again and placed a stake in the ground in the laneway. From the house, the gate appeared to be shut fast, an illusion they all hoped would hold.
Reaching the break in the fence, Lisandro bent and withdrew the stake. The gate silently opened; they stepped inside.
The poor dog ambled slowly over to them and Stephen pulled out a sausage from his coat pocket. He handed it to the beast, who happily gulped it down.
“Off you go, lad,” he whispered.
The bulldog wandered out the gate to where the driver of the getaway coach was waiting. He lifted the animal up into his arms and it happily settled on the seat next to him and went back to sleep. In the morning, the lucky dog would have a new home and all the sausages he could ever want.
Lisandro and Stephen hurried to the back door; a set of skeleton keys made short work of the lock. The door had just opened when a loud knock echoed in the front of the house. They quickly slipped inside and, after closing the door, hid themselves under the staircase.
“Yes, yes, wait a minute,” grumbled Señor Alba.
He made his way downstairs, followed by another man. Lisandro turned to Stephen and held up two fingers.
Only one unaccounted for.
He caught the click of multiple pistols being cocked just before the front door was opened. Whoever was at the door was going to be met with force.
In an instant, Stephen had stepped out and fired his pistol twice. The two men dropped to the floor.
The next few minutes were a flurry of activity. Lisandro raced for the stairs with Stephen and Gus close on his heels.
A figure appeared at the top of the first landing, brandishing a rifle. In a deft move worthy of a flamenco dancer, Lisandro leaned to the left as Gus raised his pistol and fired at the man’s head. The shot went wide and Gus swore.
Lisandro moved into position and aimed his pistol. The bullet found its mark and a patch of red appeared in the middle of the other man’s forehead. He dropped to his knees, the gun falling from his hands.
At the top of the stairs, Lisandro turned right while Stephen and Gus went left. Room after room revealed only vacant furniture, but when Lisandro’s hand dropped onto the door handle of the final room, it stuck. Rummaging around in his coat pocket, he pu
lled out his own set of skeleton keys and slipped one into the lock.
Click.
The door opened, and he stepped into a dimly lit room. On a bed in the far corner lay a body, still, as if dead. His heart stopped for an instant. Was he too late? Had they killed her before answering the door?
When the body moaned and turned over, it was all he could do not to sink to his knees in prayer.
“Oh, gracias padre celestial,” he whispered, and made the sign of the cross.
He hurried over to Maria, halting for a second when he caught sight of her face.
You are as beautiful as a I remember. Thank god you are still alive.
He bent and gently shook her by the shoulder.
“Maria de Elizondo Garza wake up. Maria, we are here to take you home,” he said.
His pleas were in vain. She was either in a deep sleep or had been drugged. Lisandro assumed the latter.
Gus appeared in the room and came to the bedside. “At least one person is still alive in this house. I’m afraid you and Stephen are too handy with a pistol, and none of the kidnappers have survived.”
It was a pity. Lisandro would have loved to spend some time with the late Señor Alba and find out who had been the mastermind behind abducting Maria. Mister Wicker had probably been the one to collect the first ransom and give the second letter of demand to the priest in Bilbao, but from the indiscreet way the Englishman had behaved in the tavern at Zarautz, Lisandro had concluded he was likely only a middleman. Whoever had come up with the plan to kidnap Maria remained hidden.
Stephen entered the room. “The rest of the house is empty. Toby counted the numbers right.” He glanced at Maria and winced. “I assume she has been drugged once more.”
Lisandro wrapped his arms around Maria’s limp body and hauled her off the bed. Taking her right hand in his left, he draped it over his shoulder. Then, with his head under her armpit, he wrapped his arm around the curve of her knee. Lisandro squatted and Stephen helped to position Maria over the back of his shoulders. Gus stepped in and steadied things as Lisandro stood.
Devoted to the Spanish Duke Page 5
