What in God's name was that? His fear evaporated. The noise was a woman's scream – the voice of his beloved. Like a madman he flung himself at the door – it didn't budge. Recovering, he checked the key had not been put anywhere nearby. It hadn't. His sword – he would prise the door open as he had done with the gun cupboard.
He put the blade between the door and the frame and threw his weight upon it. The door splintered and the sword shattered. There was sufficient room for him to get his fingers in the hole, he wrenched backwards and the rotten wood came away from the cross struts. He dived between them almost pitching headlong down a steep flight of steps.
When he'd recovered his balance and steadied his breathing, he called out. It had gone ominously silent, as if an unseen person had silenced her. 'Charlotte, sweetheart, it is I, James come to get you. Call out to me, guide me to your side.'
*
Charlotte's head flopped back painfully against the wall temporary stunning her. She was unconscious for a few seconds only, she came round to hear wood splintering and then her prayers were answered. James had come as she knew he would. Her nightmare was over. He was calling, asking her to respond, she must make an effort. He mustn't fall into the pit as she had done.
'James ….' her voice sounded strange, little above a whisper. 'James, be careful, I've fallen into a cellar of some sort. It is only a few paces from the bottom of the steps.'
'I'm coming, I'll use the wall to guide me. Are you hurt, darling? Is someone down there with you?'
The rats no longer held her in their thrall, her fears seemed irrational now. 'I'm alone, apart from the rats – I hate rats.'
There was a faint scuffle above her head and then a thud and he was beside her. She was trembling uncontrollably, she was almost sure her bladder had emptied, but none of this mattered. She was safe. James would take her away from here. His strong arms lifted her and she was held close; his heart was heaving against her.
'My darling, I should never have let you go. My stupid prejudices drove you away, this should never have happened. I shall never forgive myself.'
'We must leave immediately, my brother has two henchmen with him. I could not bear it if you were hurt on my account.'
Before he could answer someone else climbed through the broken door. James placed her gently on her feet and she heard him draw a sword. There was faint light filtering in, as it was no longer inky black her courage returned. Then the sword moved and she gasped. What use was it, with half missing?
'Doctor Hunter, it's me, Sam. You in there?'
'Indeed we are. We have little time to spare, be careful not to fall into the cellar with us.' James scooped her up a second time. 'I shall hand you up to Sam, darling, you must make your way to the door immediately. I shall be right behind you.'
There was still daylight, she'd not been incarcerated that long. She climbed through the door to be greeted by a filthy, squirming dog. How had Ben come to be here? There was no time to question James as he was beside her, urging her forward, away from her prison.
Her legs refused to respond to her instructions, her skirts were sodden, dragging unpleasantly around her ankles. 'I shall carry you, Charlotte, put your arm around my neck and hold on tight. I must take this at the double.'
Without further ado he set off, Sam behind him one dog under his arm and another peeping out from his waistcoat. The situation would have seemed amusing if she'd not felt so wretched. Did James have a carriage waiting? There was nowhere to turn round, he would have to drive miles in the wrong direction which would give her brother time to discover her absence and be waiting for them.
The jouncing was unpleasant, she feared she would add nausea to her other humiliations. Then they were around the hedge and he placed her on the ground. Two massive horses were waiting, ears pricked, ready to bolt at their sudden appearance. Sam arrived at their heads in the nick of time and soothed them.
'I don't feel well enough to ride, James….'
'It is I who shall be doing the riding, my love, all you have to do is hold on. I know you're feeling unwell, be brave for a little while longer until I have you safe.'
He vaulted into his saddle and leant down to take her hands. She was not an expert rider, had never been on the back of such an animal as this. 'Up you come. Trust me, my love, I'll not let you fall.'
Her protest went unheeded as Sam stepped smartly in behind her and tossed her up to the waiting arms. Her dress ruckled unpleasantly as she was obliged to sit astride for the first time in her life. Her dignity was long gone; why should she object to showing her ankles after all she'd been through in the past few hours?
James unbuttoned his jacket and pulled her back until she was resting close against his waistcoat, then, taking the reins in one hand he encircled her waist with the other. She lent her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. This was the last thing she remembered of her journey.
*
'Sam, Lady Charlotte needs urgent medical attention. Is there somewhere nearer than The Manor we can take her?'
'There is, sir, and it's the home of the local magistrate, Sir John Peterson. Follow me, I know a short cut.'
James prayed the man had the sense not to lead them across country, with a double burden even this magnificent beast would find it difficult to jump a hedge. Two head injuries in three months was too much, Charlotte had made an excellent recovery from the first. Would she be as lucky a second time? He was not given much to praying, but the Almighty had received several messages these past few days and none more fervent than this one.
His bigotry had caused her injuries. He was certain she would have shared her secret with him if he had not been so strident in his condemnation of those born with a silver spoon in her mouth. They were cantering down a smart gravel drive when the heavens opened, they were all so wet and dirty it hardly mattered.
Their approach had been observed and the front door was open and a small band of servants, headed by a man not much older than himself, was running across the turning circle regardless of the rain.
'Come in, you can tell me who you are and why you're in this mess when you are warm and dry.'
Sir John took Charlotte from him, waiting until he was dismounted and then handing her back. Sam was escorted to the rear of the building whilst he entered by the front door. 'I'm Doctor Hunter, this is my future wife, Lady Charlotte Siddon, I need to get her warm and dry and attend to her head injury.'
His host did not send him upstairs with the housekeeper but bounded up before him and threw open the door of a bed chamber. One maid was warming the bed, another piling logs and coal on to the fire. A lovely young woman, her blonde hair coiled around her head in a coronet, came forward.
'Here, sir, let me and my girls take care of the young lady. I promise you I shall have her warm and dry in no time.'
'Madam, she has a serious head wound which must be treated immediately. I am a physician, unfortunately I do not have my bag with me, but I shall make do with what I can find.'
A hand gripped his elbow and before he could object he was expertly guided from the room. 'You'll do more harm than good, Hunter, the state you're in. Let my wife deal with this. Come with me, you must clean yourself up and change into dry clothes. But the time you have done so I shall have found what you need.'
Sir John left him in the capable hands of his valet and dashed off to find his wife's sewing box. He had given him instructions to get the finest needle he could find, silver scissors and silk thread, then have them boiled for three minutes. He'd discovered, when treating the wounded after battles, that those that were dealt with by clean instruments survived better than those that were treated further down the line. Since then his practice was to boil his instruments before use. He was taking no chances today.
*
Charlotte opened her eyes to see her beloved James sitting at her side, his face anxious, his hands clasping hers. 'Where are we? I do not recognize this room - my head hurts. Did it need sutures?'
> 'Thank God! I feared your memory would have been impaired again. We are at the home of Sir John Peterson and his wife. I have explained the whole to him and he's ridden with a small group of men to apprehend your brother.'
'Good. But is there anything he can be charged with? After all, he's my legal guardian at the moment, can he not do as he wishes with me without fear of interference from the law?'
He chuckled. 'Even an earl cannot abduct his sister and throw her in a cellar. You could have died in there if I'd not got to you when I did. Sir John assures me he has enough power to exile Siddon. His name will be vilified, no one in society will recognize him when this story gets out.'
'I'm glad that you did not kill him, it will be a far worse punishment for a man like him to be ostracised and obliged to live abroad. What will happen to my sister-in-law and the children?'
'As soon as we are married I shall assume their guardianship, without Siddon leaching away the rents I believe the estate will come around eventually.'
'I shall give my fortune to its upkeep, Ned deserves to inherit a prosperous estate. Did you know that I am fabulously wealthy as well as an aristocrat?'
He cupped her face, his eyes glittering. 'I should still marry you even if you were in direct line to the throne. I love you and intend to make you the happiest woman alive.'
She stretched up her unbandaged wrist to trace the outline of his lips with one finger. 'My darling, you have already done that.'
The End
LORD ATHERTON’S WARD
Chapter One
Suffolk, 1815
Sarah sent her chair crashing down, the noise loud in the hushed library. 'Surely there must be some mistake, Mr Carstairs? My father couldn't possibly have made arrangements such as those.' The elderly lawyer scratched his head, his watery blue eyes sympathetic. 'I know it's a shock, my dear Miss Ellison, but it's what Sir John wanted for you and your sister. Lord Atherton is an excellent choice as your guardian.'
Sarah heard Jane restoring the chair and she slumped back on to it, her vision clouded. This was too much; first Papa's death from a second seizure, and now this. A hand slipped into hers and she was grateful for the comfort. She straightened her shoulders, blinking away the tears. She was all Jane had now and it was up to her to protect them both from the stranger their father had arranged to take charge of their affairs.
'Thank you for your time, Mr Carstairs. We shall delay you no longer.'
She stood gracefully and left the man no option but to do the same. With her sister's hands still linked to hers, she nodded regally. 'I bid you good day, sir.'
She waited until a servant had escorted the lawyer from the room before turning in despair to her younger sister. 'I can hardly take it in. I'll be one and twenty next summer, why couldn't Papa leave things as they are? After all, I've been running the estate and the house for him since he was taken ill six months ago.'
'I expect he was thinking of you when he did it, Sarah. The last thing he said to me before his final seizure was that you work too hard, and it was time you learned how to be a young woman and enjoy yourself. Anyway, even I know you have only been able to run things here because Papa was still alive. Things will be different now he has gone, it would be better if there is someone else in charge.'
Sarah snatched her hand away. How could Father have talked in such a way to Jane, and not to her? 'You're right, but to have a complete stranger dictating our every move will be insupportable.'
'Remember, that when the year of mourning is up we cannot go abroad in society without male protection.'
Sarah had not really enjoyed the local assemblies and parties she had attended in Ipswich when she came out three years ago. When Mama had become ill and died so suddenly, she'd been happy to stay at home and run the house and supervise her younger sister. She frowned; she might not wish to parade like a prize mare and be ogled by eligible men looking for a suitable bride, but her sister might well wish to do so.
'Jane, you're almost eighteen which is more than old enough to come out; is it your wish to have a season next year?'
Her sister's expression answered the question. 'You mean we could go to London and open the town house, attend balls and soirees? I should love it above all things.' The girl's face fell. 'But only if it's what you want, Sarah, I'd not want you to be miserable whilst I am enjoying myself.'
'In which case, my love, we shall remain where we are until this wretched Lord Atherton decides to come and find us. Then I shall insist he takes us to London next season so that you can be presented.'
Three months passed before Sarah had news from Viscount Atherton. The instructions from his lordship's lawyers were quite clear; she was to close the house, leave a skeleton staff in charge, and travel, with their elderly governess, to Highfield Hall, which was somewhere near Chelmsford. It would seem the Dowager Lady Atherton had a residence there and would be awaiting their arrival.
She read the missive and tossed it into the fire. Until their guardian appeared in person she intended to stay at Kesgrave Hall. Why should they be forced to live somewhere else when they had a perfectly good home of their own right here? The weather was better today; the sleet and biting wind that had been whipping off the North Sea had finally abated. It would be the first day of March on Friday and the daffodils would begin to bloom and the snowdrops fade away.
'I'm going to ride, do you wish to accompany me this morning?'
Her sister looked up from the sewing in her lap and shook her head. 'No, I certainly do not. I don't know how you can bear to gallop around the countryside when it is so inclement. Miss Read and I shall sit here in front of the fire and complete our embroidery in comfort.'
The governess, no longer needed but considered one of the family after having been with them so long, smiled. 'Do you intend to ride astride? I do wish you wouldn't, my dear, it's so unladylike.'
'Sir John said it was perfectly acceptable to ride this way as long as I stay on Ellison land. As we have almost five hundred acres doing that has never been a problem.' She raised her hand to stop her sister's protest. 'And yes, I shall take Bill with me this time. I know it's unwise to ever go out without a groom in attendance in case I take a tumble.'
She ran upstairs to discover that her abigail already had a dark blue military-style riding habit waiting for her. 'Mary, Miss Jane is staying inside, but I need to clear my head. This waiting for news from our guardian is like living under a dark cloud.'
'Heard nothing today, miss? I expect his lordship is far too busy in London to worry about you and Miss Jane. I reckon you could be here until Parliament rises and the season is over.'
It always surprised her how well informed Mary was about things they hadn't discussed.
'I hope so, the longer we can remain here in our own home the happier I will be. But three months is a long time without news from someone who is supposed to have our best interests at heart.'
She smoothed a fold of her habit and glanced in the mirror to check the jaunty cap was set straight on her curls. 'I am glad Sir John insisted that we mustn't wear black for him.'
Mary was fussing around her hem and glanced up, her homely face lit by a smile. 'You and Miss Jane had been wearing black for so long already. Sir John wasn't the same after Lady Ellison died, if you don't mind me saying so, Miss Ellison. I reckon he was glad to join her in heaven.'
'I'm sure you're right, Mary. Especially after he was confined to bed. That was no life for an active man. I miss him sorely, but I'm glad his suffering is over.'
Word had been sent to the stable and Sultan, her large chestnut gelding, was waiting outside on the gravel in front of the elegant steps that led to the porticoed front door. She smiled at his antics. The unfortunate stableboy was being lifted from his feet every time the horse plunged.
'Enough of that, Sultan. I'm here now and you shall soon stretch your legs and get the fidgets out of you.' Her habit had a divided skirt under which she wore breeches and boots. This meant she could ride
astride, or sidesaddle without an indecorous display of ankles. She turned her back, taking the reins, and raised a leg for the boy to boost her into the saddle. She barely had time to ram her boots home in the stirrup irons before her horse shot forward.
*
Lord Atherton glanced idly through the pile of letters waiting on his desk. He picked one up at random and broke the seal. Good God! The two girls in Suffolk! He'd completely forgotten about them. He rummaged through the stack of unanswered mail in the tray on the far side of his desk. He found the one he sought and looked at the date. Over a month had passed since he'd told his lawyers to write and ask the two young ladies to travel to his estate in Essex and three months since he should have assumed control of their lives.
He didn't frequent Highfield Hall himself, he preferred to live in town, or at his principal seat in Hertfordshire, but his mother and sister were in residence. It would make his life far simpler if Lady Atherton had the Ellison girls living with her. As far as he knew the girls had not followed his instructions. Even allowing for the vicissitudes of the mail service his lawyers should have heard something from them by now.
He frowned as he had no wish to trek all the way to the back of beyond to fetch them himself. He yawned and glanced at the tall-case clock standing between the bookshelves. The hour was past two in the morning. Time he got some shuteye. His duties in Parliament had kept him busy all day, and then a committee meeting had dragged late into the night. Afterwards he had visited White's and played cards for far too long.
He downed the remainder of his brandy and pushed himself upright. He was getting too old for burning the candle at both ends. Maybe it was time to settle down; ten years ago he would have been able to go several days without recourse to his bed and still ride to hounds without coming to grief. If he tried that now he'd most likely break his neck.
The Lords & Ladies Box Set Page 26
