Rescued by Love

by Joan Vincent

  Sarita saw all of this as if through a haze. He could have been attired in rags, and she still would have seen him as the handsomest man present. Her heart thumped wildly as he came through the throng and halted before her with a gracious bow. His eyes twinkled mischievously as Dunstan held out his hand. “May we dance, Miss Durham?”

  She copied his formal manner. “As you wish.”

  “You are the most beautiful woman in all of England,” he breathed in her ear, bending near as they took their places in the set.

  The dance prevented Sarita from replying, but her gaze upon him said all she could have spoken.

  Mandel cursed as he watched them. Then he slipped from the gallery through a passage used by the servants.

  Seeing the door close behind him, Lady Brienne reached to take hold of Lord Pergrine and found him gone. “Horse feathers and damnation!” she exclaimed angrily.

  A hawk-nosed woman peered at her through tinted spectacles. “Pardon, my lady?”

  “Be damned,” the baroness snapped and stalked off, leaving the shocked woman with gossip for weeks to come. It took her some time to find any of her sisters, but finally she nabbed Lady Phillippa, and the two circled the gallery, hoping to see Lord Pergrine.

  “Did you see Lord Pergrine leave?” Lady Brienne asked the countess when they found her.

  “No, I have been staying near Deborah. What a difficult task that is with the crush about her,” Lady Imogene said, beaming. It dimmed at the others’ stern looks.

  “Pergrine and Mandel are gone,” snapped Lady Brienne. “Where is Henrietta?”

  “She and Mr. Finley left the gallery before the orchestra paused,” the countess told them. “That was some time ago. Do you think—”

  “I think they have escaped us. As soon as this country set ends, get Crispin. Tell him they are gone. It’s a bloody poor time for him to be mooning over Sarita.” She shook her head angrily.

  “‘Tis only their second dance,” the marchioness reasoned.

  The baroness rolled her eyes and took Lady Phillippa in tow. Together they sauntered to the entry. She glanced back to see if anyone was watching, then said, “Come along,” and took the stairs two at a time.

  * * * *

  “What do you mean—escaped you?” Dunstan drew Lady Imogene aside. “Why were you watching them in the first place? Don’t you realize the danger? Where is the baroness now?” he beleaguered the hapless countess.

  “She and Phillippa went to find Henrietta,” she managed weakly.

  “Oh, Lord. Stay here. I do not need a fourth body to trip over,” he snapped and strode towards the entrance. He brushed past Sarita without a word.

  Sarita joined Lady Imogene. “What did you tell him?”

  “He said he didn’t need a fourth to trip over.” The countess’s lips hardened into a thin line. “He did not see us handle the French gendarmes in ‘eighty-three when we were in France.

  “Brienne and Philly are not going to have all the fun, nor get all the credit.” She stamped her foot. Lady Imogene suddenly recalled the young woman behind her. “Deborah, you had best return to your mother and stay close to her.

  “Young man,” the countess commandeered a gentleman walking past. “Take Miss Durham to her mother,” she ordered, placing Deborah’s hand upon his arm. Pleased at this manoeuvre, she was ready to proceed. She looked back when Sarita didn’t follow.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “I suppose I shall.” Sarita tossed aside the hesitation caused by Cris’ stern expression, and hurried after the short, waddling figure.

  * * * *

  “Do you know where you are going?” Lady Phillippa asked uneasily as the two dowagers wended their way through a maze of corridors and rooms.

  “I saw a drawing of this manor in Reverend Durham’s library,” Lady Brienne answered.

  “You went through his papers?”

  The baroness ignored her sister. “And the private chambers are in the wing just ahead.”

  “Aren’t you going to find Henrietta first?”

  “Knowing Henrietta, she will have gone beyond caution and—wait. Do you hear that?”

  “What?” the marchioness asked then clasped her hand to her heart as she heard the muffled thud, thump, thud. “Where is it coming from?” she whispered.

  Lady Brienne shook her head. “This direction.” She stepped back a few paces along the way they had come.

  The thump, thud, thud, thump sounded louder. “Check that room.” The baroness opened a door on her side of the corridor and pointed to the one next to it.

  “But it is dark in there.”

  “Take a candle.” Lady Brienne wrenched one from a wall sconce.

  “But I can’t reach one.”

  “Really, Philly. Follow me,” she snapped irritably. “It will take twice the time, but you needn’t have an apoplexy.

  “No, it didn’t come from in here.” She surveyed the empty chamber with some surprise. “How odd that there is no furniture,” she muttered as she crossed the corridor to the chamber opposite.

  Lady Phillippa stayed tightly on her heels.

  The candle’s weak flame showed only a large wardrobe in the room. Thump, k-thump.

  Gasping, the marchioness turned to flee but found that Lady Brienne had a firm hold on her skirts.

  “You open the door, and I’ll hit whatever—or whomever is in it,” the baroness whispered, nodding at her cane.

  Reluctantly, Lady Phillippa edged toward the wardrobe. Casting a pleading look over her shoulder, she received only a contemptuous scowl. With a pounding heart, she reached for the latch and jumped back when something shook the door from the inside. Prodded by her sister’s cane she whispered, “I’m doing it, I’m doing it.” Using both hands, she pried the latch open.

  The doors flew apart and a ghoulish white mound tumbled to the floor.

  Lady Phillippa loosed a piercing scream. She clung to the baroness’s arm. “W—wh—what do you think it is?”

  “Those look bloody well like Henrietta’s pumps.” Lady Brienne took in the red-heeled black shoes sticking out from beneath the sheet. “Unfasten the rope,” she ordered, holding the candle over the kicking figure.

  The rope undone, Lady Henrietta tossed the sheet from her head. “Whatever took you so long?” she demanded, struggling to rise. She kicked the sheet from her feet. “I heard whoever clapped that over me say he had the gold ready.”

  “We must hurry then. They may have already exchanged it for the documents,” the baroness told her.

  * * * *

  At the same moment, in a different part of the manor, Lady Imogene and Sarita halted before a towering man in footman’s garb. “Guests are not allowed in his lordship’s private apartments,” the man threatened.

  “We must have taken a wrong turn,” the countess twittered. “We merely wanted to freshen up a bit. Come along, Sarita, dear.” She led the way back down the corridor and ducked into the first doorway out of his sight.

  “What can we do?” Sarita asked. “We cannot get past that guard.”

  “There must be a way. Brienne did it.” She glanced about. “Look, this door is not latched.” Lady Imogene followed as it quietly swung open.

  The dim light of the hall was reflected in four large windows. One of them stood open.

  “You don’t mean to go out it,” Sarita protested as the countess stuck her head out the window and examined the ground below.

  “Mr. Sullivan may need our help.”

  “But in these gowns?” Sarita moaned.

  “Quiet, I hear steps.”

  Running feet in the corridor raced past the room. Voices were raised where the guard stood. The sound of a struggle broke out, and then silence prevailed once more.

  “I’ll go first,” Sarita said in spite of the lump of fear in her throat. Sitting on the ledge, she swung her feet over it and jumped lightly to the ground just three feet below.

  Getting Lady Imogene’s ample form through the
window proved more difficult, but after many false starts, this feat was accomplished as well.

  “Now what?” Sarita whispered.

  “If I were Brienne, I would head towards that light in the wing ahead.” Lady Imogene waddled through the shrubbery. She waved for Sarita to follow.

  * * * *

  In the corridor outside the chamber they had just left Cris swiftly dragged the unconscious footman into the nearest room. Stripping him of his jacket and breeches, he tied the man’s hands and feet. After exchanging these garments for his own, he edged from the room with the man’s pistol in hand. With the positions of both Finley’s and Pergrine’s chambers in mind, he chose the latter’s and raced forward. Slowing as he neared it, Dunstan stole to the door, hoping to hear if they had his aunts, and to learn their intent towards the women.

  * * * *

  Outside the manor, Lady Imogene reached a row of shrubbery less than twenty feet from the lamp-lit window. “Sarita,” she whispered. “Sarita?” She turned when no answer came.

  A huge shadow loomed over the countess and she felt a strong hand clamp over her face. Recovering from her initial shock, Lady Imogene struggled. She clamped her teeth over a salty finger and heard a man softly swear. Stars flashed, consciousness faded. She sank to the ground unconscious.

  * * * *

  Meanwhile, Lady Henrietta, the marchioness, and Lady Brienne had reached the corridor upon which Pergrine’s chambers opened. Spying a man garbed as one of Pergrine’s footmen with a pistol in his hand standing at the door, they paused, then retreated.

  “We’ll never get past him,” Henrietta fretted.

  “Let’s keep watch. He may be called into the room,” the baroness told them.

  “What good will that do?” Lady Phillippa asked.

  “Don’t ask so many questions. Come along,” Lady Brienne snapped in a whisper and stole back to the corner to watch.

  Chapter 22

  “There is the boat,” Jervy whispered to the two men with him. “Looks like we best lose no time.”

  On the rocky point below, the three men had roughly thrown Lin to the floor of the half-hidden boat. They now debated the size and number of anchors needed to ensure that his body would not drift to shore.

  While they argued, Jervy and his companion crept down the slope. Pointing out a man for each with his drawn pistol, Jervy rose from behind the concealing boulders. “That be as far as ye’ll go this night.”

  Cursing, Mandel’s men clamoured over the rocks trying to escape. A shot rang out. The one farthest from Jervy fell. The other two halted; surrendered.

  “Look to ‘em,” he ordered his men and stuck his pistol in his waistband. Scrambling over the rocks, Jervy set the shielded lantern the three had brought with them beside the boat and clambered into it. Slashes of his knife severed the rope binding Lin’s hands and feet. With a strength belied by his size, he shouldered Sullivan and carried him to a small sandbar at the end of the point. There he gently laid him down.

  “Here, here, Mr. Sullivan.” Jervy daubed Lin’s bruised face with a seawater-soaked kerchief. “Ye be among friends.” He fended off a weak blow thrown by the barely conscious man. “That’s it, me lad,” Jervy said cheerfully and helped him sit up.

  “Where—where am I?”

  “As near death’s door as yer likely to get fer many a year to come,” the other chuckled. “‘Tis the Channel,” he added.

  Relief flowed through Lin’s aching body. “Then Mandel’s been caught.”

  “Like as not he has. His lordship’s after him at Pergrine’s.”

  “You don’t know for certain?”

  “Nay, his lordship sent us after you. He‘n that Traunt fellow were headed to Pergrine’s last I saw ‘em. Don’t fret. He’ll handle Mandel.”

  Lin grabbed hold of Jervy’s blouse. “But does he know the man intends to kidnap Deborah—Miss Durham?”

  “Won’t matter what he intended if he’s already caught, ‘n that’s a surety,” the little man answered to calm him.

  “We’ve got to get them. Right away,” Lin insisted, trying to rise. His legs, stiff from lack of exercise and being bound, buckled.

  “Best we get ye to Durham’s. Ye look a sight.” Jervy shook his head.

  “I’m going to Pergrine’s if I have to crawl,” Lin grated.

  “All right, Mr. Sullivan. Seein’ as how yer game fer it.” He pulled him to his feet and supported him as they staggered over the rocks. “One of ye stay here, out of sight. Treat them louts proper-like,” he yelled. “The other go find the rest of the men.”

  Back at the horses, Lin pulled himself into the saddle with Jervy’s help. “Lead on, as fast as you dare,” he ordered as he grabbed hold of the saddle to steady himself. He gritted his teeth against the pain as Jervy did exactly that.

  * * * *

  The conversation beyond Pergrine’s door had become heated. Dunstan strained to hear the muffled words.

  “Mandel—made—fool—Has papers now,” the earl made out. “Those dowagers—Dunstan—kill,” came next. Cris decided it was time to act. He Slowly pushed the door open and quietly slipped into the chamber.

  Pergrine spied him and lunged for a pistol on the table beside him. Finley threw himself against the earl. He knocked him against the door, stunning Dunstan and causing his pistol to discharge into the air.

  “It’s Dunstan,” Finley gasped. “I thought Mandel had him.”

  “That’s not the earl. It’s his man, Sullivan,” Pergrine sneered.

  “I’ve spoken with Dunstan when he’s called on Lord Gerard. This is the earl. If he’s onto this, our wick is snuffed. What are we going to do?” Finley asked, frantic with fear.

  “There is a boat waiting on the coast not far from here.”

  “Not if Mandel promised it.” Finley rushed to the window. Shadows swarmed on the grounds outside. “Dunstan has men surrounding the manor. We’re trapped.”

  “Not I,” Pergrine spat. “He goes with us.”

  “We can’t carry him and the gold.”

  “The gold has been sent ahead. If Mandel only has one boat, it will be mine. Let’s tie his hands.” He motioned to the earl. “Hurry.”

  Together they bound Dunstan’s hands behind his back and heaved him to his feet. “Blow out the lamp and snuff the candles,” Pergrine ordered.

  Outside, Clem Traunt and his men lost their smiles as the chamber darkened. “Stretch out men,” he ordered. “Keep a keen watch.” Gathering ten men, he led the way around the wing, stationing a few at the likely exits but keeping three with hire as he entered the manor through a window.

  * * * *

  “Back, back,” the baroness whispered urgently in the hall as she heard Pergrine come towards the door.

  “Let’s go,” they heard Pergrine order and peeked around the corner to see him and Finley supporting a footman.

  Lady Henrietta poked her sister. “That’s not a footman, it’s Crispin. We can’t let them take him.”

  “Shh. They’ll hear you. My cane is no match for that pistol. Let’s try to follow. Stop treading on my heels,” she said over her shoulder as she was trod on by both.

  “Where do you suppose they’re going?” Lady Phillippa asked.

  “There must be an exit—”

  “Think, Brienne, think,” Lady Dunstan implored as they slunk along.

  The baroness halted. “It could work—but it could also be the death of one of us.”

  “What is your plan? I’ll do anything.”

  “Anything to save Crispin,” Lady Phillippa added to Henrietta’s entreaty.

  “Here is what we must do,” Lady Brienne whispered hurriedly. “Do you understand?” she ended seconds later. “Surprise is our only hope. Remember, be extremely quiet till they see us.” Firmly gripping the end of her cane, the baroness slipped her pumps from her feet; her sisters did likewise.

  Tiptoeing, they hastened dodged from doorway to doorway as they slowly drew near their quarry.

&nbs
p; Suddenly Pergrine spun around. The three women loosed banshee howls and screams as they flew at him, arms waving, skirts flying. Unnerved momentarily, his pistol wavered, allowing just enough time for Lady Brienne to swing her cane with all her might.

  Wood met flesh with bone breaking force. The pistol fell, unfired. Pergrine yelped with pain.

  Finley released the earl and dashed down the corridor when the dowagers descended upon him.

  “After him,” the baroness commanded, stepping upon Pergrine’s good hand as he scrambled after his pistol.

  Tripping in his frenetic rush, Finley was pelted and battered as the marchioness and Lady Henrietta fell upon him with a fury.

  Moments later Clem Traunt appeared. For a moment he considered leaving the traitor to the mercies of the women, but concern for Dunstan outweighed that wish. “Ladies. My ladies.” He caught the marchioness’s arm.

  “Enough. Let him live for the hangman.”

  Drawing back as Traunt hauled Finley to his feet, Lady Henrietta and Lady Phillippa haughtily smoothed their gowns and tried to pat their ruined coifs into place.

  “You could have managed to come a bit sooner, Mr. Traunt,” Lady Brienne’s accused.

  Clem spied his lordship huddled against the wall, his broken arm cradled in his lap while the baroness poised threateningly over him with her cane. “You’ve got Pergrine. That’s bloody well done,” he congratulated her as he pushed Finley into the arms of his men. “Now to find Lord Dunstan.”

  “That is done.”

  The earl shook his head to clear it as he struggled to sit up, his hands still bound behind him.

  Rushing to him, Clem quickly untied the cord. “Bloody good show, my lord.”

  “‘Twas the dowagers.” He smiled and rubbed his sore head. “You’ve got Mandel, then?”

  “I thought he was still in the manor. Didn’t see anyone leave,” Traunt answered blankly.

  “He’s made a fool of you as well as me,” Pergrine spat. “You’ll never get him now.”

  “At least everyone is safe.” Dunstan looked at the three sisters, his mother and Lady Brienne arm in arm.