by Liz Tyner
‘If I had a small rope—the door is lax enough at the hinges so when I heave against it, pushing to the side, a crack opens up the height of it. I can see through the crevice.’ Then he crouched on one knee and examined the base of the door. He knelt completely, peering closely at the threshold.
‘With a string, if the hole is big enough, perhaps I could get it outside the door from above, over the board, then let it dangle down and trap the end to pull it up, looping it under the board. If I lifted one end and it slid, then it could tumble to the ground.’
She braced herself, interested. ‘Corset ties are small, strong, and might be long enough to be used to pull the board up from the outside.’
He crouched on his knees, scowling at the wood. ‘I’ve nothing to snag the tie so I can drag it inside. Even the spoon she left for us is too thick.’
She pulled out the butterfly pin in her hair and walked towards him. He stood and watched as she held out her hand and offered her hairpin. ‘Perhaps this will help.’
She tapped the sharp end lightly against her finger, smiling into his eyes. ‘My mother told me to always keep it handy when strangers were about.’
He took it, held it carefully in both hands, rotated it slowly and inspected it. High quality craftsmanship. Those sparkles weren’t glass. They were diamonds of a nice size.
‘Your mother gave this to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘We can use it, but we may break it. I will have it repaired, later.’
‘My mother would not care. It might help me and that is all that would matter to her.’
‘Susanna would have made me promise to buy her a new one if I damaged this one.’
‘Maybe she truly loved you. Her husband could have been a mistake.’
‘I am sure he was.’ His voice was resigned. ‘And he told me too much about myself to convince me that Susanna had true emotion for me. She—’ He stopped. ‘I suppose she cared enough in her own way. And she would have married me if she hadn’t had one marriage in the register to a man disinclined to turn up his heels—who knows, we both might have been content.’ He tapped his hand on to his knee. ‘He told me he’d made sure his brothers knew of the situation, so if he was found floating in the Thames, Susanna would be punished before anyone could work out who the body was. Said he’d told her the same many times.’ Susanna would be huddled in the corner crying if she were in the room with them.
He grasped the pin tightly. ‘Let’s try the corset tie.’
She moved to the second room, untying her corset. A few minutes later she stepped out, triumphant, holding them high. The ribbons dangled to the floor and he ignored the delectable roundness of her dress, but it was too late. He’d already committed her shape to memory. She wasn’t as willowy as he’d thought.
He pulled his concentration back to the task of escaping.
‘It’s getting dark. Unless one of her cohorts is standing right at the door, he won’t see anything—unless the board falls. If he notices earlier, then we’ll be aware there’s someone out there when he stops the string. But if I get the bar to drop—’ His voice dipped. ‘Even if he sees me, it’ll be too late.’
He took the corset fastening and looped a huge knot in the end. Then he poked the unknotted end through the crack at the top of the door, working the tie to the other side, until he stopped as only the large end remained. He slid the knot down the inside of the door, stopping when he reached the barred area.
‘Can you see enough under the door to snare the string?’ he asked.
Carefully, she pulled out her hairpin and slipped the straight end of it outside. She levered the pin one way and then the other while he dangled the string after each movement.
‘I felt it.’ She lifted the end so she could scrape the point against the earth, trapping the string and sliding it inside.
Bending down, Chalgrove scooped the tie, sliding it up, along the crack. When he raised it to the level where the bar rested, he had one end of the ribbon in each hand and the tie was looped outside around the board.
Slowly, he lifted both hands, fingers tense.
‘It’s not rising. I’ll lift the end as high as I can, until the board tilts out of the string. Then the downward force should make the board slide out of the other side as well.’
He lifted, putting all his strength into it. Snap. The tie broke and he stumbled backward from the momentum in his efforts.
Merde. The board was wedged too tight. His efforts were from the wrong side of the wood and the sideways pull had broken the string.
She’d moved out of his way when he’d caught his balance. Now they stood side by side.
‘I should have had a new corset made a long time ago. I knew it.’
‘I doubt it would have worked,’ he admitted, ‘even with a stronger ribbon. The wood is too tight and perhaps there is something wedged to hold it in place. Or perhaps the bar slides into iron brackets.’
Her shoulders dropped.
He grasped them. He hated disappointing her. ‘We’ll get out.’
They stood silent and he had to repay some of the comfort she gave him.
‘This was just a first attempt. We’ll be free soon.’
Then he moved so close he could scent her hair and his jaw tightened. He wagered her hair smelled the same as a babe’s. It did. It must. No wonder she liked them.
‘Don’t worry, Miss Manwaring.’ He touched her elbow.
Eyes gazed up at him. ‘I am. Worried.’
He clasped her arm tightly, reassuring her. In that moment, he recognised that even though the old woman was likely her cohort, Miss Manwaring wanted to be released as much as he did. ‘I’m missing something to get us out of here. I’ll find it. Then we’ll be freed.’
Her face was a mixture of despair and sadness. He could not bear it. ‘My pardon,’ he said, then he put an arm around her, keeping a blanket of air between them, yet nudging her to the bed so she could rest.
They both sat at the edge, shoulders touching, and their purpose intertwined. The silence grew between them, adding a feeling of camaraderie.
‘You don’t act like Susanna,’ he said. ‘She would be weeping. I don’t miss her any more. I haven’t in a long time.’
‘I’ve had a beau and know what it’s like to be disappointed. I didn’t want to wed him, but I was so intrigued by him that when he left my life, it was as if I mourned him. He made certain that his hair always had a wave over his forehead. He had sweet words for every occasion.’ She wound the corset string around the fingers of her left hand, interweaving it. ‘What was odd was that I felt sad after it ended. If he had been an upstanding man, I would have guessed I was recovering from love. I suppose it was the friendship I missed. The stolen moments. Or perhaps the flowery words and the dreams of my future.’
‘Stolen times can be compelling,’ he agreed. ‘I find them so.’
‘You must have many women hoping for your notice. I would imagine you are practically tripping over women who coincidentally find themselves in your path.’
He saw no reason to deny it. He recognised it on some occasions and found it flattering. He certainly had with Susanna. Then he’d shied away from it, hiding the annoyance that flourished in him when he saw the fascination with his title.
‘I don’t want another Susanna in my life and my mother was pushing for me to marry. So, I suggested she find a wife for me.’
‘That was daring of you.’ She unwound the string and tossed the ties into the corner.
‘Mother has trouble with decisions. She can’t make up her mind between two shades of fabric for a ball gown. Now she doesn’t complain that I can’t find a wife. She only bemoans that she can’t find one for me.’
‘What if she did and you didn’t like the woman?’ Miranda perched at the edge of the bed, back straight.
‘Easy eno
ugh. I would just ponder about a flaw I’d suggest and Mother would notice it and continue the search. She expects perfection. She mistakenly credits me with it and she wants the same in my wife, yet she can see the flaws in women easily.’
She rubbed her hands over her arms as if she were cold. ‘There is another reason that prevents me from marriage,’ she said. ‘Willie and Dolly. The children I care for. I can’t marry and remain their governess. Their father would forbid it and, even though Willie can be so annoying, I do care for them greatly.’
‘So, your heart is full.’
She nodded. ‘I do have a family and they need me very much. I need them, too.’
He couldn’t imagine living without being surrounded by blood relations. The ties that his family brought had enclosed him all his life.
‘You don’t feel alone?’ he asked.
‘In my mother’s house, I was always the ward. Deep inside me, I knew it. While my mother loved me and cared for me, and was all that I could ask, I could sense that...sometimes she didn’t feel happy. She could be moody even behind her placid face and perfection. I knew it and I stayed closer to Miss Cuthbert on those days. Where I live now, I am the governess. For the children, that is a stronger word than mother. They don’t remember their real mother, but they will remember me.’
Light flickered over her face when she turned to the window.
‘The children and I have that in common. I know nothing of the woman who gave birth to me and I’ve told them sweet stories of their mother. Every scrap I can find out about her.’
She shut her eyes briefly. ‘More terrifying than being abducted, or losing my own life, is the possibility of losing the children.’ Pain flashed across her face.
He would see that she was released. But if she had been in league with the old woman, it would be harder than she realised to return to the children she loved.
He mulled over his family. His mother. Sister and cousins. They normally faded into the background of his life. Always there. Always caring. A continuous, permanent connection.
If he could not secure their release soon, each day would bring less of a chance for freedom. He surveyed the room with the intensity of a warrior planning his next onslaught.
Chapter Eight
Miranda watched as Chalgrove went to the window, knelt down, put his palms flat against the wall and pressed his eye to the opening. ‘Clouds might give us a strong rain,’ his voice so quiet she could barely hear the words. ‘What do you think?’
She moved to the opening beside him but, when her shoulder pressed his, awareness of the fortress beside her heightened.
‘If you turn your head down and stare overhead.’ He reached around her and put his hand on her shoulder and moved her into place at the opening. The movement took her so much by surprise, she tumbled.
He immediately clasped her waist in both hands.
‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to jostle you.’ He didn’t remove his hands.
‘I was unsteady. The situation has unnerved me.’
She put her face against the opening, feeling the cool air and the few sprinkles of raindrops blowing in.
And him.
She didn’t move and his hands stayed as they were.
Another drop of moisture blew against her face and the sensation jarred into her. The wind cooled her face, filling the room with the scent of rain, and the temperature had dropped. The air had chilled significantly, and she fought a shiver, but it wasn’t from the cold.
Even as she remained outwardly unmoving, the sensations in her body swirled and vibrated with such awareness she couldn’t believe her skin could contain them. And maybe it couldn’t. She brushed her thumb inside her clasped hands and felt a sheen of moisture on her palm.
The smell of the rain on the ground hit her nostrils and a light spray of it blew into the room, sprinkling her cheek.
She had to move, or Chalgrove would realise the effect his presence had on her. She couldn’t give him the knowledge.
The wind blew—louder than the sound of her heartbeats in her ears.
Suddenly he jumped and she turned face him. A drip of water ran from his forehead to his nose.
‘I think the roof might leak, Miss Manwaring.’
As he spoke, the rain slowed, but another breeze blew in. He strode over, picking up his coat and draping it around Miranda’s shoulders.
Miranda didn’t move, especially her eyes. The coat enveloped her, completely covering her hands. She raised one, flapping his sleeve. Her mind kept taking flight and letting her mouth pick its own words. ‘You seem sturdier than I would have expected you to be.’
‘I was born so. I’ve worked as a labourer alongside the farmers and they had trouble keeping up with me.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘A lark. A respite. A challenge.’
Tension remained in his shoulders, but he expelled a breath. ‘Susanna was no longer in my life at my request. Everything seemed bleak. My favourite uncle had unexpectedly passed away and my aunt was in reduced circumstances. I found a home for her, but the life I’d expected to build with Susanna had been an illusion. Only memories remained. Of her. My uncle. My father. At that instant in my life, I felt I had no respite except for an empty country estate where I’d grown up. I decided to go back.’
He’d hated the part of himself that had mourned Susanna and he’d feared replacing her with another copy of the same, with only a different outer body.
Moving to the estate had hit him harder than he’d expected. His father was gone for ever and now the walls didn’t seem like a home, but like an elaborate crypt.
He’d been planning to return to London, but his estate steward had been struggling along with a broken leg, a poorly made crutch and gritting his teeth with every step.
Chalgrove found himself asking questions, learning from the man and walking the estate. When the tenants struggled with a physical chore, Chalgrove had pushed himself to prove, if only to himself, that he could do as well as they and he’d helped.
The physical labour had felt good, bolstered him and cleansed his mind of Susanna. The work was a novelty at first, then a salvation and then something to soothe him.
The fencing lessons he’d taken, the sparring and the riding had given him an edge he’d not known before.
At first, he’d found the usual deference at his estate. Then, as the months changed, the deference had as well—it transformed to a new kind of respect he’d never had before.
He’d slipped into a different culture which had existed right under his nose, yet he’d been oblivious to it. The same place he’d spent most summers of his childhood and which had the peaceful demeanour of a pond surface had come alive, vibrant and pulsating with different aspects of humanity. He’d not known of the bickering and squabbles and romances and jealousies that flourished and faded and sometimes flared into fist fights.
Over time, his estate steward had altered towards him, no longer telling him how wonderful everything was, but listing concerns he’d been undecided on and asking for a decision. His decision had been appreciated and esteemed, not from his position, but from its merit.
‘A duke doesn’t get invited to country dances if he doesn’t let it be known he wants to attend. I wanted to dance and drink and laugh with the men. I didn’t want my friends to know of my foolishness of falling under Susanna’s spell. The tenants didn’t know me. I could act that all was well with them and, within time, it was.’
‘You got over her quickly?’
‘I demanded it of myself. Another thing that surprised me and illustrated the shallowness of love.’
Then, when he’d returned to London, he’d moved on to the camaraderie he’d found at Gentleman Jackson’s and found less enjoyment in his old habits of drinking the night away without deeming anything important but laughter.
He’d stepped into his true heritage as easily as he’d stepped into the clubs in the past and the life of the tenants.
His fingertip steadied her elbow. His grip couldn’t have been lighter, yet he felt so much more than just the fabric of the sleeve. It was almost as if he could feel her heart beating and absorb the love she felt for the children.
He flashed a smile, changing his tone. ‘I can shoe a horse as fast as any blacksmith, but I still flounder at the simple task of putting on a saddle.’ He laughed silently without humour. ‘Someone had always taken care of that for me in the past and I’d never comprehended it. The beasts blow out their stomachs to fool me into thinking I’ve got the cinch tight when it’s loose. Some horses act as if they are too privileged to let me ride. A horse doesn’t understand if a titled man saddles him or a stable boy. Or he does and prefers to show the titled man his place. They’re good at showing me my place and you’ve not seen eyes twinkle so bright behind a serious face when a stable boy helps a duke to his feet.’
Her eyes mirrored the smile in the stable boy’s.
He left the window and put as much distance from her as he could in the enclosed space. Miss Manwaring reminded him of the life he’d found in the countryside. The vibrancy of it. The feeling of being strong and alive and able to conquer anything.
Anything but an old cottage.
* * *
With his coat around her, it seemed she could scent his shaving soap and that his arms surrounded her. She should give it back. She really should. The air wasn’t that chilled. In fact, the coat made it a little too warm in the room. Or just right.
Hunger moved her forward to the food.
She ate one of the apples, its tart taste refreshing her, and some of the hazelnuts, trying to escape from the feeling of being too close to him, yet unable to remove his coat.
He sat on the bed and examined the sole of his foot. ‘Horses are just like pieces of glass. Shards of glass don’t care whether it’s a titled man or a stable boy who steps on them. I suppose I should be more careful.’ He laughed, but he didn’t gather his boots.
