Mistress by Midnight

by Maggie Robinson

  “Are you thirsty, James? I’ve brought water, and food, too, but I’m not certain I can get it down to you.”

  “Thirsty.”

  Laurette pulled the shirt from her breeches and over her head, slipping her useless watch in her pocket. Beneath the shirt, she wore a short shift, and she shivered automatically. If she were cold after just a few minutes in this cave, James must be frozen. She’d try the shirt first without cutting it. Sleeve to sleeve it measured at least five feet. If that wasn’t long enough, she’d try the pants next. The fabric on the sleeve was thin enough to loop into the jug’s handle. “I’m going to get my bag, get the water.” She stood up, ducking quickly as another bat whizzed by.

  She couldn’t leave him alone all night, even if she could find her way back to the farm in the dark. They’d come tomorrow morning at first light. Con would come.

  She secured the stone bottle to the shirt. “I’m going to take the cork out for you. I’m sorry, you may get wet as it comes down. I’ll try to be steady.” She lay flat again, leaning in as far as she dared, holding the bottom of the jug with one hand and the sleeve with the other. She released the bottle and it hit rock with a sickening chinking sound. “Did it break over you, James?”

  “No.” She heard wriggling and rustling and dreaded the consequences. “I’ve got it.”

  Her arm strained under the weight of the bottle. It seemed forever before she heard the slurping sound. She closed her eyes in relief. Eyes opened or closed, she was truly in the dark. But dawn came early to Yorkshire. There were only a few more hours to get through.

  “Th-thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome. Do you want more or shall I reel it up?”

  “More.”

  She felt the blood rush to her head as she bent into the opening, felt dizzy. Ashamed she was so weary, she took a deep breath. She would talk James through the night and hope he didn’t slide any deeper. She had many things to tell him, and they weren’t going anywhere.

  Chapter 21

  Con had cursed in English, Greek, Arabic and schoolboy French. What in hell was that bloody woman thinking, wandering out in the dark? The others had returned an hour ago, their search for James as fruitless as his had been. He sent them to bed for a few hours while he waited in all his riding dirt for Laurette to return.

  But he couldn’t wait any longer. He splashed some water on his face, picked up a lantern, and left the house and went into the barn. His own horse was spent, but he’d procured a sure-footed pretty little filly for Laurette as well as ponies for the children. The animal seemed agreeable to being awoken and saddled and stood patiently as he packed a bag with whatever came to hand. There were random tools and rope hanging on hooks along the wall which might become useful.

  Con usually traveled light, but tonight he stuffed as much as he could into the saddlebag. He walked the horse down the path to the lake. Con knew he had to look for Laurette’s Hansel and Gretel crumbs every twenty paces and could not do so from horseback. Once he found her, she could ride back and fall into bed. She was bound to be as exhausted as he was.

  If she wasn’t hurt.

  If she wasn’t dead.

  He promptly squelched those thoughts, but he could feel silver sneaking into his dark hair. Between his son and his lover, he would truly be the Mad Marquess by morning.

  The night was alive with noise, from the hoot of an owl to the lap of the lake, to the ladylike whickering of the horse. He added to it, shouting Laurette’s name every few footsteps. Her path had been well-marked, each silvery stone catching the glow of the lantern.

  As children they had perfected just such a system, when they escaped of an evening and went exploring. Laurette had even painted stones with whitewash for this purpose, until Sadie discovered her cache and hid all the house keys, locking her in. The maid had been more alert to their mischief than the Vincents, but she hadn’t been able to tame Laurette’s wild nature.

  Somewhere under the starlit sky, his wild Laurette was striding around in Tomas’s breeches looking for his son.

  At least he hoped she was on her feet. He couldn’t think of her crumpled on the ground, injured somehow. His worry over James was too fierce.

  He’d stopped at every dwelling for miles this evening. No one had seen a handsome dark-haired boy on the road this afternoon, and they would have noticed. It was Sunday. Traffic was non-existent after church services, either by foot or on horseback. Everyone was enjoying their hearth and home with their families, spending a quiet sunny day thanking God for His blessings, just as they should.

  Con received promises of help in the morning if the boy didn’t turn up. He had soon gotten tired of the knowing chuckles and the “boys will be boys” platitudes he heard all evening. Something was wrong and he knew it.

  Nico thought James might be holed up in a cave somewhere. He’d been a keen potholer the past two weeks, and had begged Nico to camp out overnight after he and Bea had arrived at Stanbury Hill. However, nothing could induce Bea to sleep out of doors with bugs and bats, and bright-eyed creatures of the night. The idea of James curled up sound asleep on a cavern floor was an appealing one, but one Con couldn’t quite believe.

  The horse shied and shifted and Con held her reins. He lifted his lantern and saw James’s folded jacket, a neat row of rocks marching up the front like buttons. His heart leapt. “Good girl,” he murmured. The horse preened, but his praise wasn’t meant for her. He slowed his pace now, scanning for the double stones, getting off course several times before he came to the scattered daisies. He loves me, he loves me not.

  Con loved his son even if James didn’t love loving him back right now.

  He led the filly up a rise. There was no way the horse could go any further; the way down was steep and gnarled with rocks and roots. He walked a few yards and found another pile of stones. Quite a lot of them, as if Laurette had dumped the whole bag open.

  “Laurette! James!” His voice came back to him, the sound of its need so strong no one could fail to know how desperate he was.

  James couldn’t credit it. He’d fallen asleep for a bit, that big finger of rock still poking him in his gut, his body aching from head to toe with damp. He’d finally dropped his signaling rock, and had listened to it skitter down a fair distance. A long way down, then. Good thing he was trapped between a rock and a hard place, no matter how much it hurt.

  Above him he could hear Laurette’s breathing. No. No point in beating around the bush. Her snores. The wuffles were magnified by the acoustics in the cave. He shouldn’t be surprised that she snored. He expected he did too when he was lying down in his own soft bed, not wedged between limestone slabs.

  They had talked for a long time, and his head was a bit clearer now. His father would come for him. Laurette wouldn’t leave James alone tonight, but if rescue didn’t come by early morning, she would go back and fetch help. He could manage a few more hours smashed in the dark.

  He shifted slightly and undid the placket of his trousers. He had an urgent need to relieve himself. The water still dangled against his chest from the shirt and a bit of leather strapping that Laurette had cut from her bag and anchored with a heavy rock. She’d dropped food down on him too. He’d been pretty lucky getting anything into his mouth. He imagined he reeked of piss and cheese and ham in equal quantities.

  He had just finished his business when he heard a low mournful sound, kind of like a trapped bear. That’s all this adventure needed, for them to be discovered by some wild beast, and be eaten as a midnight snack. There wasn’t even any food left to fob an animal off with; he’d consumed every crumb that rained down on his shoulders.

  “Laurette! Wake up! There’s something out there.”

  And then he knew it was someone. He heard his father shouting, first Laurette’s name, then his, over and over. “It’s my father! Wake up, Laurie!” he croaked.

  She made a peculiar snort and then spoke in a sleep-softened voice. “I’m awake. What is it?”


  “It’s my father. I heard him shouting.”

  Before she ever got up, she screamed, “Con!” His father’s name reverberated around the arched cave roof. James heard Laurette scramble to her feet and shuffle across the floor in the pitch black. She screamed again and James’s head ached. His own voice was coming back to him but he was glad she was there to do the screaming for him. She sounded like one of the three Furies, although she certainly was a lot prettier. Very pretty, in fact. And very nice to him. Always had been. He shut his eyes, squeezing the tears back. He was to be rescued.

  Con took off down the cliff, his lantern swinging wildly. He had found Laurette at least. From the sound of her cries, she was some distance away.

  “I found James! He’s trapped in a little cave. The floor gave way and he slid down. I can’t reach him, but he’s safe for now. Oh, I see you, Con! I see your light. Thank God.”

  He couldn’t see her yet, and could barely hear her raspy, breathless voice. He understood enough to stop his descent. “I have rope, Laurie. Let me get it. I’ll be right there.”

  He’d climbed worse cliffs than this, but not in the dark. Not when his heart was pounding. Not when the relief he was feeling threatened to put him on his wobbly knees in thankful prayer. He left the lantern wedged against an outcropping of rock and used both hands to propel himself up. How the devil he was going to get up it again later with Laurie and James, he had no idea. Maybe they could take the long way home.

  He allowed himself a breath. His son was alive and the woman he loved was resourceful and safe. He was determined to kiss both of them—sloppy, emotional kisses that left no doubt how much they meant to him. Laurette might want to keep her distance, and James probably thought he was too old for such a display, but Con would prevail. Just this once. He threw himself over the bank, rolling onto the grass.

  The horse stood a little ways away, just where he left her, untethered in his hurry to get down. She whinnied at his folly, ambled over him, and dipped her velvet nose to his face.

  “That’s a girl.” He reached into his pocket for a lump of sugar and tied her reins to a twisted root, then removed the saddle bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he started back down the slope trying to keep his balance.

  Laurette flew out of the dark at him, clad in buff trousers that revealed every sweet curve, her braid unraveling, her chemise so thin he could see her honey-colored nipples. His mouth dried and he struggled to keep his eyes on her worried face. He placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her and himself.

  “Is he all right?”

  “I think so. Mostly. He got scraped up as he fell into the shaft, and then hollered himself hoarse. We have to cross a little stream to get to the cave. Your boots will get wet.”

  “Is that what happened to your shirt? I must say, I find this new fashion quite fetching.”

  She gave him a stern look. “I’ll be most happy for the loan of your shirt, my lord. Tom’s is doing water-bearer duty.”

  Con stroked her arm. “You’re cold as ice.” He handed her the heavy bag while he stripped off his coat.

  “What’s in this? Rocks?”

  “No, my clever girl. That was your bag. Brilliant, by the way. Made me feel like a boy again.” He wrapped her in his jacket. Laurette shrugged into it gratefully.

  “I’m fine, really. But James is freezing. His teeth keep chattering. When he fell he was wet from head to toe. He took a bit of an impromptu bath in the water but forgot to remove his clothes.”

  Con followed the sway of her delicious backside as they walked down the hill and over the slippery riverbed. He was amazed and grateful Laurette could have found his son in this most inconvenient of places. “How did you know to look here?”

  She shrugged. “I found his coat at first, then just kept going. It’s a bit of a miracle, really.”

  It was that and then some. “Where is your lantern?”

  “Went out.”

  Con was incredulous. “You found him in the dark?”

  “I heard him before I lost the light. He was banging a rock.”

  He grabbed her elbow and squeezed it. “You’ve saved his life, Laurie. I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you.”

  “Just get him out of that hole.” She stopped at the cave’s entrance. “And don’t be too hard on him,” she whispered. “He never intended to cause anybody this much worry. We had a very good talk.”

  As if Con would ever say a cross word. James would have a free pass for ages, at least until he reached his teen years and tried the patience of a saint, as all youth were wont to do. Con dodged into the entry, casting light in the interior. Laurette shuddered as a few bats objected to the invasion of their playground.

  “Over here. Mind your step.”

  Con knelt at the edge of a substantial drop, his heart constricting as he looked down into his son’s pinched white face. “Hello, James. I’m awfully glad to see you.”

  “I didn’t mean for you to be inconvenienced, sir,” the child said in a gravelly voice.

  “Hush. Don’t talk. Laurette said you’ve strained your throat.”

  James shook his head. “I’m sorry for all the things I said.”

  “I’ve forgotten them, James. I’m just so happy you’re all right. Alive. Now how are we going to get you out?”

  “I kept slipping down. I’m on sort of a shelf now, but I can’t get my arms up through the gap. I’ve tried.”

  And was probably bloody to prove it. “Tight quarters, eh? I brought a hammer along. Suppose I come down and knock about?”

  Laurette shook her head. “Con, you’ll never fit. I’ll do it.” He raised an eyebrow. “It makes much more sense. You can lower me in with a rope and hold me. I doubt I could hold you.”

  “We’re talking about rock here, Laurie. Are you strong enough to chip it away?”

  “Pooh. It’s limestone. Relatively soft as rock goes. And I don’t have to quarry a huge block of it, just break off a few chunks. Some of it was loose enough for James to do it with his bare hands to make his signaling stone.”

  Con chuckled. “You really are a marvel. All right, we’ll try it your way. Feet first or head first?”

  “I think I’d have more leverage if I went feet, but I’d wind up too high to be useful.”

  Con uncoiled the rope while Laurette buttoned up his jacket, tucking her braid under the collar. He looped the rope securely around her slender waist, then tied the other end around his, wrapping the excess around one fist. “We’ve got plenty of play. He’s not down all that far, just jammed. Let me know the minute you want to come back up. You’ve been heroic enough. If this doesn’t work, I can go back for Tomas or Nico.” He nudged a good-sized rock with his foot to help stabilize the rope once she was down.

  She swung the tool in an arc, testing its weight. She looked like a Valkyrie warrior, loose tendrils of golden hair catching the lamplight.

  “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  She hung over the edge, giving Con an unobstructed view of her derriere. In his opinion, if all women wore pants, the world would be an entirely different place. She flipped into the opening, Con unspooling the rope inch by inch. She wriggled through a narrow passage, angling her shoulder.

  “Stop! Hello, James!” Her voice was rich and mellow in the tunnel. Con slipped the rope under the rock but held firm anyway.

  “Mind your eyes, the both of you. James, you should close yours altogether.”

  “James, how about I put your kerchief around your eyes?” Con waited anxiously while she struggled with the knot with one hand, the other clutching the hammer, her feet seeking a toehold along the walls. Finding the task impossible, she stuck the hammer under her chin and covered James’s eyes. “Just like blindman’s bluff, but you can’t touch me yet. You will shortly.”

  Her strikes on the rock were at first tentative. A few chips flew up and James coughed.

  “Sorry.”

  Con watched as she switched her strategy. Hold
ing the hammer with both hands, she increased the speed, swaying alarmingly at every blow.

  He should stop her. This was madness. Instead he held the rope and light as steady as he could, watching her body twist and turn with her efforts, and occasionally seeing the top of James’s head. Limestone was porous and full of seams; if they were lucky she’d find a flaw. Soon.

  He tried to imagine how his son felt encased in a stone cocoon for hours. Shivers raced up and down his spine. Con had done his share of tomb raiding with William. It was never pleasant underground in the dark and dust and damp. Throw in the fact that James was alone, thinking his whereabouts would be unknown forever, and Con felt his own panic ratchet. He’d never liked enclosed spaces; even on ships he spent most of the time on deck. This episode might scar James permanently, beyond whatever injuries he’d sustained in his fall.

  Laurette’s whoop and the sound of rocks and metal clattering down ripped him from his thoughts.

  “Progress?” he asked.

  “Success, I think! But dash it, I’ve dropped the hammer. James, can you get your arms through now?” Con couldn’t catch the exchange. They spent an eternity talking and then Laurette said, “Pull me up, Con.”

  She was dead weight as he hauled her up, squeezing her limbs as close to her body as she could. When he finally got her out, her arms were shaking with fatigue, her face bright red and slick with sweat.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Just take the rope off. I’m afraid I can’t manage.” She collapsed on the floor and tried to force the feeling back into her fingers. Con got on his knees, loosened the knot and slipped the rope up over her torso. Her voice was pitched too low for James to hear. “He’s nervous about moving from his little seat down there. There’s quite a drop below. But his arms are free and I think he’s fit enough to get the rope around himself. It will be tricky though. I’m so hot.” She tried to unbutton Con’s jacket but her hands were too numb. Con did it for her, slipping the coat off her freckled shoulders. “Should I have stayed down there and pulled him up myself? I didn’t think I could hold on.”