‘Then we must lose no time. I’ll speak to Miss Langrishe. Charlotte, will you stay with her?’
‘No, I won’t! I’m coming with you.’
‘My dear, you can’t. We must ride at breakneck speed.’
‘We’ll follow you in the carriage.’ Mr Skelmersdale was holding his daughter’s hand. ‘Charlotte is right. Miss Amy will need a woman with her when she returns to Bath, and she must do so in the comfort of a carriage. Bristol, you say?’
The others nodded.
‘Then why are we standing here? Richmond, for God’s sake get a move on! There ain’t a moment to lose.’
He wasted no more time in conversation, handing Charlotte into the carriage without delay. Then he patted her hand.
‘Don’t take on, love!’ he comforted. ‘We’ll get Miss Amy back again…you’ll see.’
Charlotte wept against his shoulder. ‘Why should he have taken her, Papa? She’ll never agree to wed him.’
‘No, I don’t expect she will, but there are murky waters here. Can’t say that I ever took to the fellow. He’s too smooth by half.’
‘He’s hateful!’ Charlotte cried. ‘I should never have left her side. If I hadn’t been so selfish…so busy with my own concerns—’
‘So much of a human being?’ Her father laughed. ‘Cheer up, lass! Miss Amy won’t give in without a struggle. She’ll be giving a good account of herself, I make no doubt.’
He was right. Amy had waited until she heard the approaching footsteps of the Comte. His henchman must have obtained the food and come indoors again. She jumped on to a chair and flung the ripped skirt of her petticoat out into the breeze. It billowed out and floated down until it rested upon the cobblestones of the wharf.
Philippe de Vionnet entered before she could climb down from the chair. He was untroubled by her closeness to the window.
‘Well, ma’am, do you believe me now? Is it not too far to jump?’
‘It is!’ she told him calmly. ‘I have not planned upon suicide.’
‘Sensible girl! We shall deal well together, Amy. I imagine that you seek adventure and that I can offer you.’
‘I require rather more than that.’
Indeed? Pray tell me how best I can meet with your ideals.’
‘You could never do so, Comte, and this is not a matter of birth, or wealth, or breeding. It is something more…perhaps compassion for humanity, a feeling for one’s fellow human beings, a sense that one must be true to certain principles.’
His laugh was ugly. ‘Such high-flown notions are for those who can afford them. I cannot, my dear. Now, won’t you eat! I have gone to some little trouble to obtain these victuals for you.’
Amy wasn’t hungry, but she took the proffered food and accepted a glass of wine. She would need all her strength in the coming hours if she hoped to outwit her captor.
At last she pushed the empty plate aside. ‘My head aches,’ she lied. ‘And I feel so very tired…I believe I shall try to sleep.’
There was a silence, but she ignored it as she lay on the chaise longue and closed her eyes. A quick glance from beneath her lowered lids showed her that the Comte was undecided as to his next course of action. For a time he stood beside her, listening to her breathing. She sensed his suspicion before he spoke.
‘I don’t trust you,’ he said softly. He seemed to be speaking to himself. ‘But then, I suppose that the drug might have been stronger than I thought…’
Amy did not stir, and at last he walked away. It seemed an age before he left the room, but he opened the door at last, slipped out and locked it from the outside.
Amy lay as he had left her. She would not put it past him to return in an effort to catch her attempting to deceive him. Philppe de Vionnet had not survived by putting his trust in his enemies.
Well, she would show him what an enemy could be like. She looked about her again. He had left behind the bottle of wine, a pewter plate and her glass. She reached out and brought the glass down hard upon the floorboards, where it shattered into fragments. If he came back now she would say that she had dropped it. Hopefully he would not attempt to examine the razor-sharp shards to find that a large piece of the glass was missing.
The metal plate might prove to be another useful weapon though she could not think how she might use it. It wasn’t heavy enough to stun him. The bottle of wine was another matter. Still almost full, it would fell him to the ground if she could catch him unawares.
Her plan seemed weak, even to herself. Even if she could render him unconscious, she had still to escape from the house. She wondered about his accomplices. How many were they? She could not fight grown men without a weapon, but Philippe might have a gun. It seemed likely. She guessed that he would arm himself as a matter of course. Amy had never fired a gun, but the threat might be enough to stop her adversaries.
Now she wanted him to return. There was no time to lose. She had no means of measuring the hours, but they were passing all too quickly, taking her ever nearer to the dreaded moment when he would force her aboard ship. Then there would be no possibility of escape.
Her thoughts returned to James, but she blinked back the stinging tears. She would not give up hope. Perhaps even now he was riding fast for Bristol. Common sense told her that both he and Sir William would consider it the most likely destination for the Comte. He knew the place so well, and he had connections on the docks. Yet how were they to find her in the warren of ancient buildings which lined the wharves? A single length of fabric lying in the street was a poor clue.
When the Comte returned she knew at once that he had been drinking. She could smell the wine upon his breath as he bent over her. She sat up with a grimace of disgust.
‘Feeling better, my dear?’ he asked in a mellow tone.
‘Much better, sir, but I have been wondering. Did you plan this abduction beforehand, or was it simply that you saw the opportunity?’
He had no objection to boasting. ‘I have been considering it for some time, but my plans were hastened when I learned that Charlotte was to return to her home in the north. It was possible that you might be invited to go with her, if only for a part of the journey, on your way, perhaps, to see your parents and your sister. That would not have suited me. I had to take you whilst you were at Bath. It is so conveniently close to Bristol.’
‘I see. And last evening you saw your opportunity?’
‘It was heaven sent! The closed carriage had been nearby on one or two occasions, but last evening it was perfect. I understand that Richmond saw the carriage earlier in the street, but he made nothing of it. Why should he?’
‘He will have thought about it since!’ Amy assured him. ‘If you have any sense at all, sir, you will leave this place at once. I dare not think what will happen if he finds you.’
‘I shall try to bear that prospect with equanimity. Even your two valiant friends are not proof against a pistol.’
‘They will have weapons of their own,’ she said in a haughty tone. ‘I hope they blow your head off.’
‘Yours will go first, my dear. I wonder how ready they will be to fire if I have a pistol at your head, or a knife at your throat?’
Amy paled in spite of her determination to remain calm.
‘How like you, sir! Why am I not surprised to hear that you would hide behind a woman’s skirts? I’d tell them to fire and be damned to you!’
‘I don’t doubt it, Amy, but would they obey you, that is the question? Richmond, for example, would never bring himself to put you in danger.’
Amy was silent for so long that he felt obliged to speak again. ‘Let us not quarrel over a pipe-dream, Amy. Richmond will not find you. Why torture yourself with false hopes?’ Then his gaze rested upon the table beside her and he frowned. ‘There is something different here… Where is the wine-glass?’
Amy did not look at him as she replied. ‘I broke it,’ she admitted. ‘I must have caught it with my sleeve.’
‘I see!’ He studied the shatter
ed fragments on the ground. Then, very deliberately, he picked up the pewter dish and the bottle of wine, walked over to the door, and placed them on the landing. When he returned to stand beside her he was smiling, but there was no amusement in his eyes.
‘I did not misjudge you after all, my dear. Now give me the piece of glass!’
Amy tossed her head. ‘What do you mean?’ she said. ‘The glass is there, upon the floor.’
‘But not all of it, I think.’ Suddenly he gripped her wrist and twisted it. ‘Don’t try to fool me, Amy. Must I strip you to your shift?’ He twisted harder and Amy gave a yelp of agony.
Wordlessly she reached into her pocket and handed over the glass, still wrapped in her handkerchief.
The Comte examined it with interest, testing the sharp edge of the fragment with his thumb.
Then, to her horror, he laid it against her cheek, close to her left eye.
‘This is quite a weapon, my dear. You should take more care. It could slice through skin and muscle causing serious damage… Even when they heal the results of such injuries can be grotesque.’
Amy was terrified. The glass felt cold against her skin and she did not dare to move her head.
He took it away at last, but he was not done with her. Still smiling, he bent towards her and struck her sharply across the cheek. She was not expecting the blow and the flat of his hand caught her unawares, jerking her head and knocking her back against the cushions.
‘So sorry!’ he apologized. ‘Some of the blame must rest with me. I should not have left temptation in your way, but you should not defy me, Amy. I am no gentleman and I won’t hesitate to do whatever is necessary to bend you to my will.’
Amy did not answer him. She was deeply shocked by the blow. Her cheek was hot and stinging and the pain brought tears to her eyes. She had never been treated so roughly in her life, but she would not let him see that he had hurt her. She closed her eyes and turned her head away.
The Comte consulted his watch. ‘We still have some hours to wait,’ he announced in a pleasant tone. ‘May I beg you to excuse me? I have a passion for cards, and my friends await me…’ With that he left her.
For a time Amy lay without moving. Now she knew Philippe de Vionnet for what he was…a man who would stop at nothing to gain his own ends. She should have listened to James.
Tears of despair came then. Her situation seemed hopeless. Even her feeble efforts to provide herself with a weapon had been thwarted by the smiling villain who had abducted her.
The Comte’s words returned to haunt her. Was she, in fact, torturing herself with false hopes? There had been time enough for James to reach Bristol. But had his search led him in the right direction? The Comte had avoided all the well-known hostelries where enquiries might be made about a couple in a closed carriage. No one had seen her. The Comte had made sure of that.
James might be miles from here. He could have made for London, or even for the Channel ports. Amy fought a sense of rising panic. Hysteria would not serve her now. Bristol was the obvious destination, she told herself, but rescue, if it came at all, might arrive too late.
She raised a hand to touch her scarlet cheek. She had no mirror, but she sensed that her face was swollen from the blow. Her chin went up. Philippe de Vionnet would pay for that. He could not watch her day and night. She would find some way to even up the score.
She tried to sleep again. She would need all her strength in the hours ahead. Even if she were to be taken aboard the merchantman he should not defeat her. As a last resort she would throw herself overboard and into the waters of the Bristol Channel. It was not a pleasant prospect, but it was all she could think of for the moment.
The light was fading when he returned. Amy had bathed her face again and her head had cleared. There was nothing she could do about her torn ballgown, but the pins seemed to be holding.
The Comte handed her a bundle. ‘You had best change your clothing, my dear. The sea air is chill.’
Amy was tempted to refuse, but it would have been a foolish gesture. A moment’s reflection told her that if she could indeed escape she would be all too conspicuous in her finery and her thin dancing slippers. She picked up the bundle and went into the other room.
The garments he had provided were of coarse weave, but at least they were clean. They did not fit her well. Their previous owner had been shorter and heavier than Amy, but they would serve, and the heavy cloak would be invaluable. She threw it about her shoulders and tied it at the neck. Then she went to join him.
He was standing by the table with the wine bottle and two glasses in his hands.
Amy eyed him with suspicion. Did he intend to drug her again? She waved aside the proffered glass.
‘You need have no fear,’ he said pleasantly. ‘See, I will drink from both glasses if you wish it! I wished only to offer you a restorative.’
‘I don’t trust you,’ she echoed his words to her.
‘Quite right, Amy, but I think I have no need to render you insensible. We have a short walk ahead of us, and it will be easier for both of us if you co-operate. Will you give me your word that you won’t try to escape?’
‘No!’ Her reply was uncompromising.
The Comte sighed. ‘Very well!’ He took a thin strip of leather from his pocket. ‘Hold out your hand.’
Again she was tempted to refuse, but to struggle would be undignified and she could only be the loser. In silence she gave him her hand.
He secured the thong about her wrist and attached the other end to his own. Then he slipped a hand beneath her chin and raised her face to his.
‘Hmm! I hit you harder than I had intended. You will have a black eye by morning, but the bruising will soon fade. My apologies for that, my dear, but you brought it upon yourself. Now, shall we go?’
He led her on to the landing and down three flights of stairs. She could hear no sound from any of the rooms. He must have sent his minions on ahead.
Then they were out of doors and he was hurrying her across the cobbled streets towards the dockside. Amy winced as she struggled to keep her balance upon the uneven ground. Every step was agony and for all the protection offered by her slippers she might have been walking barefoot.
The Comte paused at the edge of a flight of steps and whistled. His accomplice must have been waiting, for a rowing boat appeared at once and the occupier threw him a line.
‘Careful now!’ he warned as he urged Amy down the steps. ‘No tricks, my dear. Remember, you are tied to me!’
Amy did not answer him. She could not break the tie that bound her, but at some stage she knew he must release it. When that moment came she would be ready.
‘Where is the ship?’ her captor asked.
‘Out there! ’Tis the one with the single riding light.’ The man did not seem to be disposed to talk further. Instead he bent to his oars and sent them skimming across the calm waters of the harbour.
Amy shivered. If she hoped to escape she must do it soon. Once they were under way all opportunity would be gone.
She guessed that once aboard he would release her, but now she eyed the distance from the ship to the wharf in dismay. She was not a strong swimmer, and her clothes would hamper her. To call for help would be useless. Not a soul was stirring upon the docks.
Her chin went up. The Comte would not defeat her, no matter what the difficulties. Fear and despair were her greatest enemies. She would give way to neither.
She stared up at the ship. A climbing rig swung from the side and with apparent solicitude for her welfare the Comte helped her to gain a foothold. She reached the deck to be offered assistance from two shadowy figures who came towards her.
‘Good!’ The Comte gave a grunt of satisfaction. ‘Now you will wish to meet the master of this vessel. Do you go straight ahead, my dear, his cabin is at the far end.’
Amy was thinking hard. These creatures worked for money. The captain might be persuaded to help her if she could make it worth his while. If only the Comt
e would leave her alone with him they might reach an agreement, but would he do so? Past experience had shown her that Philippe de Vionnet was no fool. He seemed always to be a step ahead of her, but how well did he know the captain?
The man might be an honest sailor, fooled by some tall tale about an elopement. More likely he was one who would sell his services to the highest bidder. Well, she would not know until she had the opportunity to judge him for herself.
Philippe de Vionnet paused at the entrance to the cabin. He tapped softly, and was bidden to enter. Pushing Amy ahead of him, he stepped into an ill-lit room.
The single lantern swaying overhead did little to dispel the shadows in the corners of the cabin, but the man who sat in the captain’s chair appeared to be untroubled. He was sitting with his back to them, and he did not turn as they came towards him.
‘Well, sir, are you ready to set sail?’ Philippe de Vionnet was impatient to be gone.
‘Not quite yet, I think!’ The captain’s chair swung round and Amy almost fainted.
‘Oh, James!’ she cried. ‘Thank God!’ Forgetting the leather thong about her wrist she tried to move towards him, but she was jerked back. The hard muzzle of the gun dug into her back, and then her captor spoke.
‘Hands on the table, Richmond!’ he ordered. ‘No false moves, if you please! One shot will be enough to smash this lady’s spine.’
Chapter Fifteen
‘What will that avail you?’ James enquired. He sounded unnaturally calm. ‘Kill your hostage and you have no bargaining counter. Your death would follow hers in the next second.’
Amy heard a low laugh.
‘I am well aware of that, sir. Let me assure you that it is no part of my plan. I feel that the time has come for negotiation. Do you not agree?’
James nodded. His eyes went briefly to Amy’s face. ‘First you must release Miss Wentworth from her bonds. She appears to be on the point of collapse. Consider your position, Comte! If she were to faint she might pull you down with her.’
‘And possibly cause my finger to tighten upon the trigger? You are right, of course.’ Keeping his gaze fixed firmly upon his enemy, he unwound the thong from about his wrist. ‘There!’ he said in cheerful tones. ‘Now we may all be comfortable. Won’t you sit down, my dear? After all, we are civilized people. Let us act as such. Now, sir, your hands, if you please!’
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