“Fortunate they don’t bother to lock it.” The door was so well hidden, the thugs were confident no one would find it.
It wasn’t going to be this easy at the bottom of the rickety old stairs, he suspected, otherwise Tally would have already made her escape. Unless she’d been knocked unconscious or was tied up! The very idea had him hastening, lantern in hand, down the stairs.
* * *
“You need to build up your strength, Monsieur, so you’ll be able to walk when we get out of here.” Tally fed more of the broth to Monsieur.
“Pas la peine de…” he began in his native tongue. “Ah cherie, such hope I no longer have. That scoundrel has thrust you into the middle of it and the only end to this is ours. He will make sure we cannot carry tales of his treachery out of here.”
“But I haven’t come completely unprepared,” she said. “I have a pistol and my knife.” She pulled the gun out to show him.
Astonished, he said, “But why didn’t you use it before he threw you in here with me?”
“Because I needed to see that you were here first. And then he surprised me by shoving me in and to the ground and then shutting the door before I had the chance to use either my pistol or my knife.”
“There are several men guarding us. Even if you kill one of them, the others won’t allow us to escape.”
Monsieur believed there was no hope, but Tally wasn’t ready to give up yet. She had built up the fire as much as she could with the little wood there was. It didn’t give off much heat, but allowed her to light the candles they’d left, so that they weren’t in total darkness. Monsieur seemed to take heart from seeing her and from their conversation and it comforted her too.
“How many men are there?”
“Three or four, perhaps.”
“Have they hurt you?” What if they decided to attack her, physically? Her jaw firmed. She’d shoot at least one and knife another, see if she didn’t!
“No, they’ve left me completely alone. I guess they figure an old man like me will soon perish from the cold, so there’s no need to starve me.”
Hmmm. She wished she’d worn her warmer pelisse, but the blue one held her pistol pocket, so she hadn’t had much choice.
It was freezing and Monsieur had been imprisoned down here for close to a month. She’d have liked to be able to offer him something better to warm himself. She stood and began to move around, rubbing her arms briskly with her hands.
No use wishing for impossibilities, Tally. You have to work with what you’ve got. Her fear was that any rescuers who might come, would never find them even if they made it to the Abbey. How would they ever discover the hidden door?
So, it was up to her. She had to contrive a way to get them out of here.
She could shoot the door lock, but the blast would bring those men running. Tomorrow she’d get a better look at it, if her hands ever stopped shaking. They were so cold! She’d sit on them, to warm them, if she had to. She was hoping that, through the decrepit rocks and debris above them, bigger cracks than the slitted windows above them, would send shards of daylight below, allowing her to see better so she could try opening the door with her knife.
Or maybe she could surreptitiously shove something, like a piece of folded sketching paper, between the door and the lock when the man brought their meal? They probably weren’t being watched carefully, especially at night, so, if she did manage to pry the door lock open, she and Monsieur would wait until dark tomorrow night to escape.
Monsieur seemed a bit stronger now that she’d convinced him to eat a little and especially to drink the ale they’d brought him for supper. She hoped he’d be strong enough to leave when the time came. He seemed to want to talk, which wasn’t surprising after being isolated for so long. She sat back down beside him and put her arm around him.
“I should have my arm around you, to warm you up with your own pelisse.” He protested weakly. When she ignored that, he began to explain. “Victor tricked me into coming out here to paint the perfect landscape. I thought he was offering an olive branch. We haven’t been getting along well this past year since his mother died. Once here, he tried to force me to sign a paper giving him the ownership of my studio and all my possessions, and to tell him where I hide my money. I refused. With the help of those hired thugs, he overpowered me and they carried me down here. He said he’d be back and, by then, I’d be willing to sign.” His shoulders slumped further. “By now, he’s probably found my will and knows he’ll inherit everything once I’m declared dead.”
“But wouldn’t he have expected that anyway? You have no other relatives, do you?”
“He might have worried I would leave half of it to Gaston. Have you met him, Monsieur Beauclaire?”
“Yes. He called on me the other day.” Had it only been days ago? It seemed ages ago now! “But why would he think you’d do that?”
“I wouldn’t. But we’re very close, Gaston and I, so Victor might have thought it possible. However, Gaston has family money; he doesn’t need mine. Victor has only me.” His voice cracked with emotion. “But what I don’t understand, ma petite, is why he is doing this? Why has he turned against me? What can he hope to gain that will not already be his?”
She heard the hurt and bewilderment in Monsieur’s voice. He’d taken care of his sister’s boy, as if he were his own. He must feel utterly betrayed.
“It has something to do with my paintings, I think.”
“Quoi? How? He knows nothing about them.”
“He does now! Did you enter two of my paintings in the Royal Art Academy Exhibit this year?”
“No, of course not. We agreed to wait until you came to London, so we could decide what name you were going to use to sign them.”
She knew she’d been right in assuming Monsieur was innocent! “I went to see the Exhibit and two of my paintings, the contrasting night and day one’s, were there with “Sold” cards on them.
“Mais, c’est impossible!” her mentor exclaimed.
“The problem is, they were signed with my father’s name.”
“Mon Dieu! Quelle bêtise!” Moreau was appalled. “Mais… what is he trying to do, ruin our reputation?”
“I believe he wants to go back to France, to live there.” She hugged him closer, being careful not to hurt him, he was so frail. It was keeping her warmer too. “You said he had no one, only you?”
“Yes. It has always been just the three of us and, when my sister passed away last year, we’re just the two of us left.”
“He mentioned something about meeting his father?”
“Maudit!” He tried to rise, but couldn’t, so she helped him sit up higher on the little cot.
Good, he was regaining some strength and some of his spirit back too.
Her pelisse slid off his shoulders. She pulled it back up and closed a few buttons. He needed the warmth more than she did right now. Victor should have made sure his uncle didn’t freeze, if he intended keeping him alive here for close to a month!
“My sister’s doing, I suppose. She felt so guilty about him not having a father that she probably told him who the man was before she died. But she must not have told him how the bastard had no interest in Victor at all.”
She began to say something comforting, but Monsieur shook his head. “It’s my fault. I should have taken him back to France, myself, to let him see why we had to leave. How his dreams of grandeur about living there were just that, merely dreams.” He moved uneasily. “My sister told him tales about how we came from a very old and noble family. She was never happy in England and built France into a golden place for the boy.”
Tally thought Victor was a little old to be called “boy” and she got the sense he had been over-indulged by both his mother and uncle. She wondered if she should tell Monsieur about his studio burning down, then decided against it. His knowing changed nothing and, if they didn’t get out of here alive, he need never know.
At that depressing contemplation, she allowed tho
ughts of Reed to take center stage in her mind. How she wished she had seen him before she left. She wished even more she had told him she loved him. Strange how nothing else appeared to matter now that her life might be over soon.
The thought of never seeing him again felt like her heart had been slashed open. Why had she been so against becoming his true wife? When she hadn’t been worried about being found out, she’d been happy playing that role these past weeks. Looking at it now, she saw how miserable life would be without him. Already she missed seeing him when she got up in the morning and before she went to bed at night. He was nothing like her selfish father and brothers. He let her breathe her own air, be her own person.
She vowed that if she made it out of here alive, she’d gladly wed him. No more allowing her past to sour her present. No more being afraid of loving a man.
Unable to remain seated, she carefully released Monsieur and got to her feet. She walked briskly across the cell and back to warm herself up. She could have used Reed’s comforting shoulder right about now, not that he was in any mood to lend it to her, but– “Wh..hat’s that?” she whispered to Monsieur.
“What?”
“I heard something. A scratching sound.” Don’t let it be rats, please. She hated rats! Both rodent, and human ones! That touch of wry humor restored her enough to move. She approached the door silently and put her ear against it.
Something or someone was definitely making noise on the other side of the door. She hoped it wasn’t the men coming to hurt or kill them. She pulled her pistol from her pocket. But, if so, why had they bothered to feed them?
Or was she the attraction? Those men had been up here in the country without entertainment for a month. She backed up closer to Monsieur and held her gun up ready to defend them.
“Who’s there?” she called in a low voice. If it was someone here to rescue them, she didn’t want to alert those villains.
The noise stopped abruptly, followed by a loud whisper. “We’re coming!” And the noise started again at greater speed.
Someone was here to rescue them! Surely not. It was too soon! She’d expected Foster to organize a search but never expected it to be this fast! And how on earth had they found the door to this dungeon?
Lowering her pistol, she ran back to the door and, keeping her voice down, she enunciated clearly, “the key is on a hook on the wall, around the next corner.” If it were their guards, they wouldn’t be picking at the lock. They knew where the key was.
Silence, then a jangling, followed by an odd squishing sound, then the key sliding into the lock. She cringed anticipating the awful screeching sound of the rusted lock, but the door opened almost silently this time. It was jerked open so fast she almost fell through, instead she ended up in someone’s arms.
“Reed!” She clutched him tightly and savored the safe feeling of his familiar embrace. Was she hallucinating? She’d just been thinking about him, wishing to see him, and here he was.
“Tally!” He enfolded her tighter into his arms. “Tally. Thank God!” After a few seconds, he eased her back a little, looked into her face and asked, “Are you all right?”
She nodded, then a tremor shook her from head to toe. He pulled her close again for a comforting hug. She sighed and snuggled still nearer. “Thank you so much for coming.” Her teeth were chattering so hard, she was stuttering. She burrowed still closer. “You’re so warm.” Now that she was safe, she could allow herself to feel the cold. For Monsieur, she’d been trying to conceal how chilled she really was.
“And you’re so cold.” He drew back a little. “Didn’t you wear something warmer?
She motioned behind her with her head and he saw a gaunt, shrunken man sitting on the cot huddled into Tally’s pelisse. Cold, but alive. He gave a grateful sigh. “Mason, can you hand me one of the blankets we brought and use the other one to wrap around Moreau.” Addressing himself to the older man on the cot, he said, “You are Monsieur Moreau?”
At the other man’s nod, Reed said, “Beauclaire will be relieved.”
“Gaston! He knows I’m here?” Monsieur’s voice shook with cold and emotion.
“He was the one who sent us here.”
“Dieu merci,” Moreau said.
Draping the blanket Mason threw him around Tally, Reed again drew her into the welcoming circle of his arms. “Did Dubuc hurt you?”
“No. He just pushed me in and shut the door.” She shuddered. “I wanted to see if Monsieur was here before using my pistol on him.”
“Ah, yes, the famed weapon!”
“Oh. You still have your memory back.” She wasn’t sure how he felt about her shooting him. He’d said he understood, but he must feel some anger at her about it!
He nodded but said nothing. His look turned somber. “We can discuss that later. Right now, I’m just grateful to find you alive and unharmed.”
Sudden tears welled up in her eyes.
“Oh no, sweetheart, please don’t.”
“They’re good tears. Tears of relief and happiness.”
“Tears of any kind will unman me right now, I’m afraid. It’s been a harrowing day and we haven’t had any sleep.” He softly pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Our first priority is to get you and Moreau out of here.” He released her and went to retrieve her pelisse, which was lying, discarded, on the cot, now that Mr. Mason had swathed Monsieur in the woolen blanket.
“I went back up to check and all remains quiet,” Mr. Mason told Reed.
“Good, but we need to hurry. We have no idea if they have anyone keeping watch at night or not. It would be best to get far away from here, as fast as we can.” Reed helped her put on her pelisse. Letting her button it herself, he went to talk to Monsieur. They’d brought a warm coat for Monsieur, who showed his good sense by allowing Mr. Mason to button it up for him. Or maybe he was simply too weak to be embarrassed.
“Do you think you can walk?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it.” Monsieur sounded defeated. “At first, I tried to keep up my strength and spirits by walking around this cell many times every day. To keep me warmer too! I even searched for a way to climb that wall, to reach the little opening at the top! But as the weeks passed and no one came, I gave up hope of ever being found. I stopped trying. I haven’t done any walking at all in several days.” He stood slowly, swaying slightly. “But I will do my best,” he promised.
Mr. Mason grabbed his arm and steadied him. “Let’s practice a little to get your sea legs.”
They walked back and forth several times. Monsieur seemed to be gaining strength each time. “I think my years of regular walking are helping me now.”
“Ready?” Reed asked. His impatience to get out of there was obvious.
Tally couldn’t fault him for that. She was anxious to leave too. Maybe even more than he was!
To Monsieur, he said, “Mason will assist you and, if you need more help, we’ll carry you up together.” Holding his lantern high, he led the way. “Follow me.”
She gestured for Monsieur and Mr. Mason to go next and she’d bring up the rear, in case Monsieur had difficulties. She felt the least she could do was help ensure he didn’t take a bad spill down the steps.
With Mr. Mason’s strength supporting him, Monsieur remained valiantly on his feet.
At the top of the stairs, Reed said, “I’ll go out alone first to reconnoiter and make sure no one is about.” He handed the lantern to her and quietly pulled the door open and slipped out, leaving the door to swing shut.
She was glad he’d left the lantern. One day in here and already she’d had enough of the dark. She should be thankful it hadn’t been total darkness. Poor Monsieur, how awful his weeks here must have been! She was anxious for a glimpse of the sky. She hoped the stars would be shining tonight.
Reed was back in a few minutes. This time, after taking the lantern and snuffing it out, he clasped her hand and said, “Let’s go. They’re playing cards, but we still need to be as quiet as we can.”
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br /> Guided only by pale moonlight drifting in and out from behind the heavily clouded sky, they stepped carefully over the rough ground, eyes down to avoid obstacles in the debris. Luckily, the rain had passed leaving the ground only slightly soggy. They were just about to reach the path, from where it was a short way to the first line of trees, when one of the men came out to relieve himself by the side of the barn. They ducked low and froze, but it was too late!
He bellowed for the others to come. And suddenly there were shouts and men running toward them.
“Damn,” Reed cursed. There was no cover to hide them until they made it into the woods. “Quick, run! This way.” He led them toward an opening in the trees.
“You help Monsieur,” Tally bade him. “I can run by myself.”
He nodded and went to help Mr. Mason. Together they lifted Monsieur by hooking their arms under his and leap-frogging him along.
Bullets began to fly. She ducked lower but perhaps fifteen lengths from the woods, she tripped and fell. When Reed would have stopped to help her, she insisted they get Monsieur to safety first. She took her pistol from her pocket and shot in the direction of the approaching men.
“Ow! She’s got a gun! That she-devil has shot me!” The four men flattened themselves onto the ground. This gave the chance to crawl toward safety in the wooded area.
Reed crept out to help her and she turned to shoot again to keep them down and not shooting at Reed. His arms came around her waist from behind and he half-lifted, half-dragged her into the trees.
A bullet whizzed past them and he moved them behind a large tree to allow her to catch her breath. They’d made it just in time! “The others have gone further in. Come on.”
Bullets ricocheted off trees, following them deeper into the woods.
“They can’t see us this far in, so we’ll keep moving further into the trees,” he said. “They’ll be afraid to come in. They don’t know how many of us are here or where we are.”
It must have been mere minutes, though it felt like hours, when she heard him say, “Ah, here they are. Will you be alright to move on your own?”
The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife Page 46
