Not Forgotten

by Elizabeth Johns

  “I will look in the hall,” Wellington announced.

  “Here is a servants’ door,” Waverley said as he opened a panel in the wall. “Our servants come and go through a similar entrance. I will investigate this stairway. If she was bleeding, I imagine there will be a trail.”

  Philip nodded and began to search for secret passages in the walls and hidden trap-doors like the one in his rooms. If he were going to kidnap someone here, he would use the tunnels. “Shall we meet in the courtyard when we have finished searching?” he suggested as the two other men departed.

  If this was due to Josefina, Philip snarled to himself, he would be hard-pushed not to strangle her. How dare she do such a thing!

  At this moment, he could easily allow himself to panic but his training stood him in good stead and he was able to concentrate on the task at hand. There was no hidden trap-door in the floor beneath her rooms, and he was glad of it. Imagining her thrown into one of those dank, dark cells to bleed to death made his blood run cold. Nor did he find any sign of a secret passage in the walls, so he took up a lamp and followed Waverley through the servants’ door in the wall. He strongly suspected Pierre or Josefina would have used that route rather than the main halls where they might be observed by guests. No servant would be awake by choice at two o’clock in the morning.

  A few drops of blood were scattered along the floor, and there was another large smear of it on the wall near a doorway, where the assailant would have had to use a hand to open the door. Waverley was nowhere in sight, so Philip trod onwards in the direction of what he assumed must be the kitchen. In his heart, he knew that Josefina had done this, but had she acted alone? It would have been a hard task for Josefina to bear Amelia’s weight by herself. Where could the wench have taken Amelia?

  The passage came out in the flagged corridor by which he had reached the kitchen earlier that night when he had seen Pierre. Turning into it, he recognized the maid’s door and paused outside, debating whether or not to confront her. If she could be convinced to help, he deliberated, Amelia might be saved. He knocked and waited, but there was no answer, so he opened the door. The small room was empty.

  He cursed, and hurried towards the courtyard. Waverley and Wellington were already there, waiting.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  Wellington shook his head.

  “I found a trail of blood which led to the kitchen, and then it stopped,” Waverley added. “I imagine they went outside.”

  “I followed the trail as well, since there were no hidden passages in her room. I think one of the maids, or her brother, did this. I overheard the wench speaking with her brother, who turned out to be the man who tried to attack Amelia and I on our way here. I left him bound, but not injured.”

  “Revenge?” Waverley asked.

  “He all but confessed that he had killed Lannes, and she expressed jealousy of Amelia. She has been my contact this year past, and recognized me.”

  “This is a far deeper game than I had thought,” Wellington remarked gravely. “They may have decided to harm Lady Amelia in order to weaken Madame Lisette. If I understand the situation, it seems that Pierre killed Lannes in order to gain power in the hierarchy.”

  “It would appear so, as best as I can tell,” Philip agreed. “The maid is not in her room—I looked. We must act swiftly.”

  “Where could she have taken her?” Waverley asked.

  “I wish I knew. We need Tobin. Waverley, can you send your man to fetch him from the village? He might be able to help better than anyone. He knows his way around the tunnels and is sweet on the maid. He might be able to find her,” Philip said.

  Waverley nodded and left at once.

  “I will wake Madame. This is not a matter to keep secret. We need everyone searching, now,” Wellington declared.

  Philip nodded and hurried to his apartments and the hidden access to the tunnels. He knew not the other entrances from inside. At this point, Amelia could be anywhere, and in the dark, it would be an almost impossible task to find her. They could have abandoned her in a cell or even thrown her in the ocean. At the thought, he swallowed deeply. What was their intent? It was hard to fathom jealousy as a motive. Nevertheless, it was a powerful emotion and Philip had seen grown men duel to the death because of it. He had to find her—it was unbearable to think of life without her vibrancy in it. Amelia was a light in the darkness and the earth would be dim without her. He knew he was acknowledging something deep inside which he would have to deal with later, but first he had to find her alive.

  Running down the hundred or so steps in the cold, damp darkness, he prayed for her to fight and not give in to the fear and sickness she must be feeling. He would find her—he had to.

  When he reached the door to Madame’s office, he began to yell, hoping the guards would come to his aid.

  Madame would be there shortly, he was sure, but he could not wait.

  The guards came running at the sound of Philip’s shouts. Quickly, he explained who he was and the situation, and they dispersed to search the tunnels. Philip knew not where to look and was afraid of becoming lost himself. Desperate to do something, he went out the cave opening to the rocks to see if he could signal Captain Frome. He feared the Captain may no longer be in support on the water since Wellington had called a halt to the operation. He signalled anyway, and waited. If someone was out there, he needed to know if they had seen anything.

  As he waited, he could hear the sounds of the search taking place as the sound of boots and shouts echoed through the stairwells and tunnels. By now, the entire household would surely be awake and searching.

  Philip could see a boat approaching, but as it came nearer, he could tell it was not the Englishman. Philip was desperate, however, and when the fishing vessel was close enough to hail, he explained what had happened and who they were looking for. The fishermen agreed to inform the castle guards immediately if they found anything.

  Philip returned to Madame’s office; still attired in her dressing gown, she had evidently not waited to dress and was pacing the floor, looking distraught.

  “Captain Elliot! Have you found her?”

  “No, not as yet. I hope you do not object, but I have sent your guards to search. I do not know the area well enough.”

  “I am grateful that you thought to do so. Who would want to hurt Amelia?”

  “I am not certain, but I overheard a man bragging to one of the maids that he had killed Lannes. I believe his name is Pierre.”

  Madame gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. She looked dishevelled, and Philip felt a small measure of sympathy for the woman.

  “I think he may have tried to hurt Amelia in order to upset you, but I can only guess what his motive might have been. Do you know of any wrong-doing linked to Pierre that might give us a clue?”

  She shook her head as if disillusioned. Tears streamed down her face.

  “Unless he is seeking a ransom, how would harming her benefit his cause?” she cried. “She has nothing to do with our greater purpose.”

  Relapsing into silence again, she took a turn about the small room. “He and Lannes disagreed on how to run our operation. Pierre was always trying to usurp my authority and, in turn, that of Lannes.”

  “Where does Pierre live? Perhaps we could search his home.”

  Two of the guards rushed into the office dressed in plain uniforms with dark coats and tan trousers, a rifle strapped across their chests. “There is nothing to be found in the prison cells, Madame,” they reported.

  “Thank you,” Madame said. “Please go and assist the others in searching the tunnels.”

  “Oui, Madame,” they answered and hurried away.

  “Wellington and Waverley were intending to search the house, but I do not believe she is there. I sent some men to look in the village since Wellington informed me the trail of blood ended in the kitchen.” Her voice cracked as she said the words.

  “We need to find Pierre and the maid. I fear time i
s critical to Amelia’s chances of survival.”

  Wellington entered the office as Philip spoke. “There is no sign of Lady Amelia in the house. Have you fared any better?”

  “No, sir. We were just discussing the need to find Pierre and a maid, Josefina, who is his sister, by all accounts. It seems probable she gave him access to the house.”

  “Their family has a farm outside the southern gate to the fortress,” added Madame, having composed herself. “I will take you there myself. Pierre has much to answer for.” Her voice was laced with ice.

  They climbed the stairs to the house in silence. They found Waverley trying to console the Duchess. “Have you found anything?” she asked when they entered the drawing room.

  “Non, ma chérie. My men are searching the tunnels, but my instinct tells me she is not there. They would have been seen by the guards if they had taken her there. I will return momentarily. I need to change into riding attire.” She hurried away and they continued to deliberate where Amelia could be.

  “As there been any sign of Lieutenant O’Neill?” Philip asked.

  “No. My man has not returned, either,” Waverley answered.

  “Perhaps he had a notion of where they might be and went after them. Do you stay here, in case there is any word, and we will search outside.”

  The Duchess said nothing but Waverley nodded his agreement.

  Madame returned, wearing a white riding habit in the military style, and they went to retrieve their waiting mounts from the groom. Madame was silent. Dawn was beginning to break over the horizon, making their path easier to follow.

  Philip scanned the area for any signs of the kidnappers or their victim. He was feeling more desperate as each minute passed. It had perhaps been two or three hours since he discovered Amelia was missing, and he knew it was likely they did not have many hours left to find her alive. The air was thick with moisture and drops of rain began to fall from the sky. Madame cursed with uncharacteristic heat and urged her horse along a rough track towards Pierre’s small farm. When they arrived in front of the white farmhouse, Madame dismounted without waiting for help and marched up to the front door. She pounded on it angrily as Philip and Wellington exchanged surprised glances.

  The door opened after a few minutes, to reveal Pierre in a dishevelled state. Philip and Wellington dismounted and, in silent accord, moved closer in case they were needed.

  “Madame?” Pierre’s voice held evident surprise.

  “Where is my niece?”

  “I do not know.”

  Philip believed him. It was difficult to feign that kind of innocence.

  “I know what you did to Lannes.” She pulled out a pistol and pointed it at him. “I want to know what you did with my niece. We can discuss why later—if I let you live.”

  Pierre held up his hands. “I swear on my life, I did not hurt your niece.”

  “Then tell me where Josefina is.”

  “I left her in her room, with her lover, a few hours ago. I have not seen her since.”

  “I think he is telling the truth,” Philip said quietly. “I saw him leave the fortress alone... unless he returned, of course.”

  “Your sister is not in her room. Where would she go if she was in trouble?”

  The rain, which had been increasing steadily, began to pour down, and the horses were growing restless as the driving shards saturated their fine coats.

  Madame cocked her gun and raised it closer to Pierre’s chest.

  “Since she had a lover with her, I can only suppose she would go to him,” Pierre offered sullenly after a pause.

  “You will dress and go looking for her at once. If you can find my niece alive, I will let you live.”

  Pierre nodded, clearly believing Madame meant what she said.

  “I will stay with him,” she announced, turning to Wellington.

  “I believe I know where her lover is billeted in the village. I spent some time here after I was washed ashore from the shipwreck.” Philip spoke casually, knowing Madame was eyeing him closely. What did she think had happened to him? He could only conjecture.

  Wellington decided to take charge of proceedings. “I will return to the tunnels, discover what the guards have found, if aught, and then lead them in a search of the grounds if they have not found her.”

  Philip went to the house where he had lived and climbed the steps to his rooms. Knocking on the door, he yelled Tobin’s name. He would be furious if he found the rogue still abed when they needed him so desperately.

  There was no answer, so Philip opened the door. He knew from experience that the latch was worthless.

  Chapter 16

  Philip entered the apartment. It was dark inside. Finding a lamp, he and lit it—there was no one there. The bed had been slept in, however, and it appeared as though Tobin had left in a hurry.

  “One can but hope he is out searching for her,” Philip muttered. “But where? Where are you, Amelia?” he asked desperately of no one as he left Tobin’s rooms and headed back towards the fortress to continue his search. His mind kept telling him that people tended to return to what was familiar, so, he thought, if it was Josefina who had done this wicked thing, then it was likely she would have taken Amelia to somewhere between her home and the fortress. The rain was still pouring down in sheets, which made an impossible, worrisome task even more miserable. The sun was beginning to rise, but the blanket of dark rain clouds made it dreary as more storms threatened.

  He stopped before a stream and the horse bent down for a drink. Philip used the pause to look around. The water was moving faster than it had been when he had crossed earlier, and it was running away from the fortress. When Scipio had finished drinking, Philip decided to follow the rushing water as it descended beside a path which paralleled the road past the fortress. It was a natural track, which they had also taken on their way to the farmhouse. The water was filling, by way of a ditch, a conduit house positioned between the fortress and the farmhouse. The stone was the same as the cliffs and manor house and covered a subterranean reservoir, into which the water was pouring with great speed. Philip dismounted and tied Scipio to a nearby tree in order to begin searching for the entrance. Since the reservoir was partly buried, it meant there was only one way in and out.

  He began to shuffle around the sides of the large water house, wary of the mud and slippery undergrowth surrounding it. The rain was beating into his eyes, and he feared there was no possibility of Amelia being alive if she had been thrown inside. He had to cross the torrent of water gushing into the cistern through an open drain. Losing his footing, he slipped, landing up to his waist in the cold water. The ditch was wide as well as deep and he was immediately drenched. Cursing at his clumsiness, the weather, his misfortune and more alarmed than ever for Amelia, he dragged himself to the other side. Very soon, his teeth were chattering.

  There was a rusted door near the top of the water house, and although he released the latch, the door was jammed. Standing on a stone block beneath the door, he propped his boot against the outside of the door and pulled with all his strength. Could she be in there if the door was as difficult as this to open? Could Josefina have opened this herself? Perhaps the rainwater was making it stick. He gave another pull with all his might. The door suddenly gave way; his body weight threw him backwards. Scrambling to his feet, he clambered back up to the opening and peered inside. Water was rushing into the pool below; the sound echoed like thunder around the brick-lined reservoir. Urgently, he searched the darkness for any sign of her.

  “Amelia! Amelia!” he cried desperately.

  He could not see well enough to determine whether or not she was inside. As he stared helplessly, his arm knocked against something just below the hatch, drawing his attention to an iron ladder. Without stopping to consider, he turned around and began climbing down inside.

  “Now, why could you not leave well alone?” a female voice called from the door above.

  He looked up. “Josefina?”


  “Oh, so you do know me. I knew it was you.”

  “Where is she?” he demanded in her French tongue.

  “Is that any way to speak to someone you want answers from?”

  “Did you kill her?”

  “I could not say. I have not heard anything from her in some time. Of course, that could be because of the rain.”

  “Josefina, this is not a game! Amelia could die!”

  “So she could. It is too bad, you know. We could have had a nice life together.”

  “You will not get away with it, Josefina. The whole fortress is looking for her—and you. Even Pierre is looking.”

  That caught her attention for a moment, and then he could see she made a decision by her changed expression. “You are the only one who knows it was me. Enjoy each other’s company!” She straightened and, before he could protest, slammed the door shut. With a morbid note of finality, he heard the latch click into place.

  He cursed. He had made a complete mull of that and now he was trapped too. However, it meant Amelia was down here somewhere! Hardly daring to hope, he rushed down the ladder to find her amongst the foul, musty pit of wet and darkness.

  When he dropped from the ladder to the floor, the water was above his knees. He held on to the wall and began to skirt the edge of the chamber.

  His foot found her first. Dropping to his knees, his heart clenching with fear, he felt for any signs of life. She was sitting propped against the wall, the lower half of her body completely covered with ice-cold water.

  Placing his ear close against her nose and mouth, he felt a small breath of air. “Thank God!” he exclaimed aloud, at once scooping her up into his arms. He had not the slightest notion how he was going to save her.

  He stared upward, more in hope than assurance. Their only chance of salvation lay up high. Scanty light drifted in through a small window high up in the wall. If only the rain would stop, he might see better. Although he knew it to be futile, he strained his eyes to pierce the gloom. If there were any sort of ledge on which he could lie her; if he could somehow help her to dry, she might have a chance to live. It would be an exceedingly difficult task to carry her up the ladder with her unconscious and her body limp.