Lords of Misrule (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 4)

by Stella Riley

  But finding it meant descending the stairs and braving the water when she was already shivering with cold. And in the dark, with her hands tied behind her how was she going to find anything? The thought brought the blackness tightening around her. Panic crept several steps closer, closing her throat. She pushed it back and forced herself to take slow, calming breaths. She could feel her fingers going numb so she concentrated on clenching and unclenching them to restore the circulation, doing her best not to cause the twine on her wrists to tighten any further as she did so.

  Time passed. She didn’t know how long – only that the cold was seeping so deep into her bones that she was literally shaking with it. She refused to recognise that terror of what might be happening over her head was worse than the cold, the dark and the rising water all put together. From time to time, she felt a scream forming inside her chest; a scream she didn’t dare let out because she suspected that if she once started, she might not stop.

  When the door opened, releasing a sudden stream of light, she nearly jumped out of her skin. The next second, Eden was shoved through it with a force that would have sent him down on top of her if he hadn’t managed to right himself in time. Then the door slammed shut again, leaving her temporarily blinded.

  ‘Eden,’ she said, teeth chattering with cold and shock. She tried to stand up but her knees refused to co-operate. ‘Oh God … Eden. What d-did they do? Have they hurt you?’

  ‘No. Stay still while I feel my way down to you. I can’t see a damned thing.’

  ‘It’s too dark to see m-much anyway.’ The tears she’d been holding back through all this horrible time of waiting started to slide, silent and unchecked, down her cheeks. For the first time, she was grateful for the darkness that hid them from him. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. Are you sure you’re n-not hurt?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure.’ Eden lowered himself to the step above hers, his knee against her shoulder. He knew she needed comfort but, at present, that couldn’t be his priority. His voice low and rapid, he said, ‘Listen to me. I don’t know how much time we have and we’re going to need every second of it if we’re to have any chance of getting out of here. They haven’t finished with us yet. Aside from four fellows left in the workshop, Quinn’s got the rest of them dismantling the top floor and the attics but if they don’t find what they’re looking for, you and I will be in for a lot worse than happened earlier. How high is the water?’

  ‘I d-don’t know.’

  ‘Well, we’ll have to find out. But the first thing is to get our hands free. Slide over to the wall. I want to squeeze past you.’

  It was an awkward manoeuvre but as soon as it was accomplished, Eden said, ‘Good. I’m going to lower myself one more step and you’re going to twist so that your back is to me. Yes – that’s it. Try to touch me.’ Icy hands bumped clumsily against his face. ‘God. You’re freezing. Can you feel your fingers?’

  ‘N-not very well,’ she admitted.

  ‘You’re going to need to use them. Put them against my mouth.’

  Lydia did as he suggested and felt his breath on her skin … hot and vital. She nearly groaned with the relief it brought. After a minute or two, he leaned back and said, ‘Better?’

  ‘Yes. I think so.’

  ‘Then feel your way down to my left shoulder.’ Although he knew that it would be easier to reach the knife in his boot, circumstances made the smaller blade more suited to the task. ‘There’s a small pen-knife in the lining of my coat about a hand-span from my throat. The tip of the handle is protruding slightly so you should be able to find it. When you do, pull it out – and for God’s sake, don’t drop it.’

  Lydia gritted her teeth and tried to follow his instructions. He’d made it sound easy. Instead, it was immensely difficult and seemed to take forever; but eventually she located the rounded end of the bone handle and slowly, gradually she slid the little knife free.

  ‘Got it,’ she said.

  Eden turned his back on her and hoisted himself up a step.

  ‘Saw through the bonds on my wrists.’

  ‘I can’t. I’ll cut you.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. Getting my hands free does. Do it.’

  Lydia’s first attempt to use the blade met empty air and the second one, the back of Eden’s hand.

  ‘I’m sorry – I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re wasting time. Try again.’ And when she made a more successful attempt, ‘Yes – there. Well done. Now keep going.’ When the point of the blade nicked the side of his palm, he kept the fact to himself; and again when she scraped the inside of his wrist. And when the rope finally started to slacken he said, ‘Stop. I can break it.’

  As the rope gave way a huge weight fell from Eden’s shoulders. They weren’t out of trouble by any means but at least they now had a fighting chance. He turned, told Lydia to stay quite still and to give him the knife. Two minutes later, her hands were free as well.

  Shoving the blade back roughly where it had come from, he hauled off his coat and gave it to her. Then, rising to pull up the tops of his boots, ‘Put that on and stay where you are. I’m going to try opening the old coal-chute.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure there was one.’

  ‘There is – but the bolts are probably corroded to hell. Still … we’ll see.’ As he set off down the stairs a series of bangs and thuds came from somewhere far above. ‘Good. The din they’re making should cover any noises of ours. Ah. Here’s the water.’

  It was almost at the third step. By the time Eden reached the cellar floor, the level was just below his knees. He waded across to the far wall and started hunting by touch for the old double wooden doors and the bolt that held them. He tried to remember what he’d seen when he’d been down here before and wished he’d paid more attention. Then his fingers encountered metal. One of the hinges and, exactly as he’d feared, it was heavily encrusted with rust. The heavy foot-long bolt, when he found it, was worse.

  This, he thought grimly, isn’t going to be easy.

  Exerting all his strength, he tried shifting it with his hands. It wouldn’t budge.

  Hell. I wish I could see what I’m doing.

  He tried again, this time attempting to twist the head of the bolt to loosen it. After a few moments he thought he detected a hint of movement. Encouraged, he drew a bracing breath and re-doubled his efforts. Yes. The thing was definitely beginning to turn.

  Her voice disembodied in the blackness, Lydia said, ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Struggling,’ grunted Eden.

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Yes.’ He continued trying to force the thing to swivel in its brackets. ‘Stop … asking … questions.’

  Lydia huddled deeper into the warmth of his coat and fell obediently silent.

  Finally, squealing in protest, the bolt showed signs of co-operating. Eden lowered his arms and gave himself a brief respite. Then he tried again. He managed to move it an inch before it stuck.

  I’m never going to do it like this. I don’t have the time.

  He investigated with his fingers, seeking out the worst of the corrosion and finding it beside the right-hand bracket. Pulling the knife from his boot, he set grimly about hacking at those parts he thought were causing the problem. Flakes of rust rained down on his face and hair. He tried the bolt again, still to no avail. Wondering if he might have more success with the bracket itself, he inserted the knife-point and used it as leverage. Despite the fact that the cold was seeping through his boots to his feet, sweat was beginning to bead his face and neck. He heaved as hard as he could, thanking God that the blade was sturdy. One side of the bracket started to yield.

  Yes! Another massive heave. Come on, you bastard. Give way.

  The thing groaned and fell loose in another shower of rust. Eden jammed the knife above the bolt and levered downwards so that it strained on the other bracket. Then, as soon as the gap became viable, he shoved the knife back in his boot and grasped the bolt with his hands and hung on it, using the
whole weight of his body. For a moment or two he didn’t think it was going to work. Then, without warning, the remaining bracket came away from its moorings and the bolt fell loose into his hands.

  Thank you, God.

  The chute door, however, remained stubbornly closed.

  Eden tossed the bolt aside and, raising his arms, began trying to weaken the point where the two parts of the door met with a series of hard, rapid pushes. His shoulders began to ache with the strain but he didn’t stop. Finally, just when he was beginning to despair, the thing gave one tremendous creak … and dropped open, narrowly missing his head.

  Light. Not much, it was true … but shadowy light from a lantern outside. Eden didn’t think he’d ever seen a more welcome sight.

  ‘You did it,’ said Lydia, her voice unsteady and almost awestruck. ‘You really did it.’

  ‘Yes.’ His breathing was laboured and he’d have liked to rest just for a moment – but he didn’t dare. ‘Time for you to get wet. But first, take off your petticoats.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just do it!’ he snapped. ‘I’m going to have to lift you out of here and I don’t need the added weight of a dozen ells of wet cambric. Get rid of them. Now. And come down here.’

  Lydia hoisted her skirts and fumbled clumsily for the tapes of her petticoats. Then, stepping out of them, she kicked them to one side, held her dress up about her knees and prepared to walk down into the water.

  ‘Oh!’ The first shock of it took her breath. ‘It’s freezing!’

  Eden didn’t answer. He was already hoisting himself up awkwardly through the chute, his arms and shoulders screaming with the effort. Once he had his torso out, he scrambled over the top into a crouch and looked around, hoping against hope Quinn hadn’t left any of his men on this side of the building.

  He hadn’t. The lane was silent and deserted. Wasting no time, Eden got on his knees and bent double to lower his upper body back into the cellar. He reached down towards Lydia, saying, ‘Take my wrists and hold on.’ Her hands found his and he wrapped his fingers round her forearms. ‘Ready? Now!’

  Lydia found herself hauled out of the water in one violent tug and then, more gradually, pulled up and forwards over the ledge until she was almost nose to nose with Eden. One final heave had her rolling with him away from the chute.

  For a second, they both lay there breathing hard. Then Eden pushed to his feet, snatched the knife from his boot and, grabbing her arm, said quietly, ‘Up. We need to move fast – the other way through Newgate Market. Let’s go.’

  He set a smart pace which had Lydia, still clutching her dripping skirts in one hand, half-running to keep up. He didn’t speak so neither did she. Silently, they fled past the church of Saint Sepulchre … past Pie Corner and down the northern edge of the market. When they got to the top of Old Change, Eden pushed her into a doorway and said, ‘Wait. I want to see if the house is being watched.’ And he left her.

  Having been too concerned with running, Lydia hadn’t so far given any thought about where they were running to. Now, she realised he was taking her to his home rather than hers.

  When Eden returned, she said, ‘Cheapside?’

  ‘Yes. It’s nearer. Come on.’

  The door was unlocked – a fact that left Eden both annoyed and grateful. Pulling Lydia inside, he bolted it behind him and then shouted for the housekeeper.

  Alice appeared, hands on hips. ‘I’m not deaf, Colonel.’ Then, taking in the state of the pair of them, ‘Not again. What this time?’

  ‘Later,’ said Eden, retrieving his coat from Lydia. ‘The lady needs a hot bath and dry clothes. Use my room until there’s a fire lit in the spare bedchamber – and leave the water. I’ll need it later. Are either Toby or Nick back yet?’

  ‘Both of them,’ said Alice. She took a hasty step back so the Colonel could take the stairs two at a time ahead of her. Then, shepherding Lydia in his wake, she muttered, ‘Whatever next? These men! I never saw the like.’

  Eden shot into the parlour and without bothering to explain, said, ‘Get your boots on and load every pistol we have. I need you.’

  * * *

  Lydia, meanwhile, found herself summarily stripped of her wet clothes and wrapped in a voluminous chamber-robe while Alice and the kitchen-maid toiled back and forth with pails of hot water. The bath, when she finally sank into it, felt utterly blissful. For a little while she allowed herself to stop thinking and merely gave herself up to warmth and comfort.

  Of course, the bliss didn’t last.

  Peter! How could I forget about Peter?

  Abruptly, she sat up in the water, dislodging her hair which had been left hanging over the rim of the tub. But before she could get out, Alice walked in with a steaming mug and said, ‘Whatever are you doing, Mistress Neville? Stay where you are and drink this.’

  Lydia shook her head. ‘I can’t. I have to speak to Colonel Maxwell.’

  ‘Well, you can’t. He’s gone out again. All three of them have.’

  ‘Gone out? Where?’

  ‘How would I know? No one ever tells me anything. They just come back trailing muddy footprints over my floors and, often as not, bleeding as well.’ She pushed the mug into Lydia’s hands. ‘It’s hot spiced wine. Drink it. You coming down with a fever won’t help anybody.’ She waited until she saw Lydia take an obedient sip. ‘Good. Stay there and finish it. The towels are here and your shift is airing by the fire but you’ll have to put my wrap back on because I’ve got your gown drying downstairs – not that it’s ever going to be the same again. Then, when you’re ready, there’s a fire lit in the next room so the Colonel can clean himself up in here when he gets back.’ She paused, looking into the white, strained face and added more gently ‘Whatever happened is over.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ said Lydia miserably. And thought, It isn’t and he’s gone back there. If they catch him again, they’ll kill him.

  Later, with her hair still damp and Mistress Wilkes’ wrapper over her shift, she left Eden’s bedchamber for the one next to it and settled down to wait. Her thoughts were unpleasant companions, sending her mind scrambling back and forth and arriving over and over again at a single inescapable conclusion. Those horrible hours in Duck Lane were entirely her fault. And if something happened to Eden or the others now … that would be her fault, too.

  By the time an hour had passed she was becoming frantic.

  Where is he? Why doesn’t he come back? What is happening?

  Minutes continued ticking silently by with maddening slowness. Alice returned with a tray of food. Lydia thanked her politely and, as soon as she was alone again, set it to one side, inwardly shuddering. Unable to sit still any longer, she took to pacing up and down the room, half-tripping every now and then over the too-long robe. Finally, just when she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, she heard voices and footsteps on the stairs. Wrenching open the door, she came face to face with Eden and said, ‘Oh thank God! I thought – I thought --’

  ‘Yes. But do you mind if we leave this until I’ve at least put on a clean shirt?’ he replied tersely. ‘Go back to the fire. I’ll join you presently.’

  And he walked away into his own room, leaving her staring after him.

  The shock of relief almost overwhelmed her. Then, as five minutes became ten and ten, fifteen, she grew agitated again … and from there, illogically angry with him for putting himself at risk a second time.

  The result was that by the time, Eden – clean and in fresh clothes – rapped brusquely at her door and walked in, Lydia was beyond rational thought. She threw herself at him, stumbled over the robe and fell into his chest to pound at him with her fists.

  ‘You went back, didn’t you? Didn’t you? You went back – knowing they might kill you.’

  He caught her wrists and held them still.

  ‘Of course I went back. What else was I going to do? Did you want me to leave Peter trussed up on the bloody floor?’

  ‘I – no. But --’


  ‘I didn’t think so.’ He gave her a little shake. ‘If you’ll sit down, I’ll tell you.’

  Lydia subsided back into her chair. Her face was wet and she dabbed surreptitiously at it with her sleeve. ‘I’m sorry – I’m sorry. I was just so worried.’

  ‘So I see.’ His glance took in the untouched tray. ‘You should eat something.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Well, I can.’ He picked up a plate of bread and cold meat and carried it over to the stool by the hearth. ‘I went back with Toby and Nick – and we met Aubrey by the gate. Henry had sent him in search of you. By that time, Quinn and his entourage had gone – though whether he’d found what he was looking for is debatable. At any rate, they’d left Peter where he was, every door unlocked and an unholy mess upstairs.’ He took a bite of ham, chewed and swallowed. ‘Potter and the rest of them will have their work cut out tomorrow.’

  Lydia stared, watching him eat. She said, ‘How can you be so calm?’

  ‘One of us should be, don’t you think?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I don’t understand how you can just sit there eating as if nothing had happened.’

  Eden demolished another mouthful.

  ‘I’m hungry. And even if I had the energy to lose my temper – which I don’t – it wouldn’t do much good, would it? What’s done is done.’

  She caught a hard, gleaming look and swallowed, recognising the justice of it.

  ‘Yes. I know … I’m aware it was all my fault and I’m sorry.’

  ‘Good. Perhaps next time you’ll think first.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Without appearing to do so, Eden absorbed her bent head and tightly-clasped fingers. He saw the hair tumbling wildly down her back over the awful green thing that half-buried her and her bare toes peeping out from under its hem. She well and truly deserved the rough edge of his tongue … but he hadn’t the heart to inflict any more distress on her, so he said, ‘Cheer up. We got out of it with whole skins – more or less, anyway. And you did well when it mattered.’