More Than A Mistress

by Ann Lethbridge

  How odd? ‘It is not the marquis, is it?’

  Jane openly laughed. ‘Guess all you want, missy.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  The trip to the apothecary should not have taken Charlie more than five minutes. Unfortunately, Mr Quire, the owner, had served the needs of the Mountford family for years. Charlie could not escape without a full accounting of the health of his family and a discussion of his brother’s wedding, which had appeared in The Times.

  Twenty minutes passed before he returned to the carriage outside the haberdasher’s. He glanced inside his coach.

  ‘Not back yet, my lord,’ the footman said.

  ‘Blast women and shopping,’ he muttered.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  She was probably still bargaining. His mother had always complained about the haberdasher’s exorbitant prices, but she had always paid him without comment. He should have done the same and dragged Merry out. He squared his shoulders and entered the shop. The pile of goods lay where Merry had dropped them. The clerk was busy tidying a tray full of brightly coloured ribbons.

  ‘Where is the lady?’ Charlie asked.

  The clerk gave him a disgruntled glance. ‘Trying something on in t’back room.’

  Charlie heaved a sigh. He leaned one hip against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. Minutes passed. The clerk went around to the other side of the counter. ‘Do she want these or not?’ he asked.

  Oh Lord, if she was going to start haggling when she came back, they were going to be here all day. He’d decided he’d rather spend the afternoon in bed, with her, because they had very little time left.

  ‘Tot up the bill, package them and I’ll pay while I am waiting.’

  The man’s eyes gleamed. Clearly, he was going to pay far more than any of this stuff was worth. The man was a Captain Sharp. He would speak to Father about not renewing his lease the next time it came up.

  The clerk parcelled up the goods and handed Charlie the bill. He forked over the dibs.

  Still no sign of Merry. ‘What was she trying on?’

  The man coughed. ‘Stays.’

  Why on earth…? ‘Where did you say she was?’

  The man pointed to the door leading to the rear of the building. As Charlie made his way back there a band around his chest tightened. He had no doubt what he’d find when he entered the back room full of boxes.

  ‘Merry?’

  No answer. Of course there was no answer. The little minx. She’d given him the slip. Reckless. The woman had no care for life and limb. But where the hell had she gone? He dashed through the back door and looked up and down the lane. Nothing suggested where she could have got to. The only other building of any size nearby was the inn.

  The inn had horses for hire. Could she really be that desperate to leave? It made no sense.

  ‘Hey,’ the clerk called. ‘What about your parcel?’

  ‘Have it put in the carriage,’ Charlie said. Anger balling in his chest, he strode down the lane and into the inn.

  A lad stood at the bar tossing a coin in the air.

  ‘Did you see a young lady come in here in the last few minutes?’

  The boy’s grubby face took on a crafty expression. ‘Wot if I did?’

  ‘Sixpence if you tell me where she went.’

  ‘It’s my lucky day,’ the lad said. ‘First door at the top of the stairs.’

  Not renting a horse then. Charlie dropped the promised coin in his hand. ‘If she’s not there, I’ll want it back.’

  ‘She ain’t come down yet.’

  What game was she playing? Who was she meeting? The hairs on the back of his neck rose. A warning. Not to be ignored.

  Cautiously, he climbed the stairs. The door stood ajar a fraction. He pulled the pistol from his pocket and pushed it open.

  The first face to meet his gaze was Merry’s. She was seated at the table facing the door. Pleasure did not describe her expression when she saw him.

  The other woman grinned. Jane. The missing lightskirt. ‘What in hell’s name is going on, Miss Draycott?’ He stepped into the room.

  Merry’s gaze darted off to the right. She had an odd look on her face as if she was trying to tell him something.

  The door swung closed.

  He whipped his head around. Too late. The cold metal of a pistol muzzle pressed against his neck. ‘One move and you’re a dead man,’ a coarse voice said.

  ‘It seems we have a stand off,’ Charlie said, keeping his pistol levelled on Jane.

  ‘Nah,’ another voice said. ‘See, if you don’t put down your pop, I shoots Miss Draycott here.’ A second man, a lanky pockmarked fellow, stepped into his line of vision from the other room, a bedchamber, with his weapon directed at Merry.

  With a curse, Charlie lowered his gun. He’d walked into an ambush like some Hyde Park soldier fresh on campaign. ‘What is it you want? Money?’

  The first man snatched the weapon from his hand.

  ‘They are nothing but cowards,’ Merry said, her voice full of scorn. ‘They won’t even admit who they are working for.’

  ‘Whoever it is, I’ll offer you double to let us go,’ Charlie said swiftly.

  The second man laughed. ‘You ain’t getting off so light.’

  Charlie glanced at Jane with a frown. ‘Are they holding you hostage, too? Is that why you disappeared?’

  Jane rose. ‘Certainly not.’ Her voice was cold enough to freeze a pond in mid-summer. ‘These men work for me.’ Her voice no longer had a nasal whine and her clothes were better quality than those she had worn at Merry’s. She looked more like a housekeeper than a maid. Or a prostitute.

  ‘What do you want?’ Charlie asked.

  She smiled. ‘I have everything I want.’

  None of this made any sense. ‘And that is?’

  ‘The end of Merry Draycott.’

  Blunt and to the point. Merry’s face paled and Charlie’s fists bunched in futile rage. He should have brought reinforcements. He’d been so annoyed with Merry for giving him the slip, he’d not stopped to think it through. Too bloody hot-headed. His colonel’s voice rang in his ears. It chilled his blood. He could not let the past tie him in knots.

  ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ he said. ‘Do you know what will happen to you, if you harm me or my betrothed?’

  Jane laughed. ‘Your whore, you mean.’

  Merry flushed red.

  ‘I’ll have none of your lip,’ Charlie said, clenching and unclenching his fists, watching for some sign of weakness, some lack of attention on the part of the men.

  ‘Don’t worry about your skin, my lord. We’ve no axe to grind with you. We just need you not to interfere for a day or so. Tie them up.’

  Poor Merry. Her lower lip trembled, showing her fear. He gave her an encouraging smile, though what the hell he had to be encouraging about he didn’t know.

  The two men pushed them to the floor roughly and bound them hand and foot. The ropes were tight about his ankles and his arms. Merry winced as the other man pulled at her restraints.

  ‘Be careful,’ Charlie growled. He wanted to tear the man apart for that wince. ‘My men will come looking for me,’ he warned. ‘My coachman is standing out in the street. He will wonder what has happened to us.’

  Jane looked thoughtful. ‘He’s right.’ She pointed to one of the men. ‘Go give the coachman a message from his lordship, here. Tell him they’ve decided to spend the afternoon at the inn and he’s to come back for them after dinner.’ She fumbled in Charlie’s coat and pulled forth his purse. She fished around and found a half-crown. ‘Give him this. Tell him mum’s the word. He’ll know. The servants all know what the two of them are like.’

  Merry gasped.

  ‘Servants talk, Miss Draycott.’ Jane curled her lip. ‘They say what they think when they know you’re not listening. They know his lordship’s had you in his bed and they won’t be a bit surprised to hear he stopped off to dance a blanket hornpipe after an absence. You always
were a slut.’

  ‘You are a nasty piece of work, Jane Harper,’ Merry said.

  ‘Blindfold and gag them,’ Jane said. ‘Take them down through the cellar until tonight. Just make sure no one sees you. Be careful with the girl—he wants her in one piece until he deals with her himself.’

  Charlie’s blood ran cold. ‘If you value your life, you won’t do this.’

  Jane grinned.

  The man closest uncocked the pistol in his hand and raised it by the barrel.

  Merry’s eyes widened. ‘No!’

  The sharp blow to Charlie’s head sparked stars behind his eyes. Darkness descended.

  Merry screamed. One of the men heaved Charlie up on his shoulder with a grunt. ‘Bloody heavy, he is,’ he said, looking at Jane.

  She waved him away. ‘Get on.’

  The other man approached Merry. ‘You don’t have to knock me out,’ she said.

  He looked at Jane.

  ‘We don’t want her hurt,’ she said. ‘A blindfold and a gag will do, if she doesn’t struggle. Then cover her with a sheet.’ The blindfold came first, followed by a rough cloth shoved in her mouth.

  The man hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of coal. His shoulder ground into her stomach, making it hard to breathe. She held still.

  The journey to the cellar being carried like a bag of washing was something of a nightmare. When Merry was carried outside, she began to worry. They weren’t out there long. The smell led her to think they had entered a barn. After another set of stairs, they seemed to turn in circles and the direction became muddy in her mind.

  She was dumped on a cold damp floor. Her ribs felt bruised from the rough handling, but at least she could catch her breath. She inhaled the stink of stale beer, mould and rodents. They must be underground. She shivered.

  The men walked away, leaving them alone in this horrid place. But why? What had she done?

  Jane had let slip the word ‘he’, so she hadn’t acted alone. Did it mean Caro was not involved? Lord, what did it matter? The situation was hopeless, whoever it was. One thing she was sure of. Charlie was not part of the plot.

  And the man who was involved was coming tonight. One of the mill owners? Grandfather’s friend? One of her employees? Bile rose in her throat. The gag tightened. She swallowed hard. A hollowness filled her chest. Stupid tears burned the backs of her eyes.

  Dash it, she would not cry. Despair would not help them escape and she feared if she was here when the he arrived, things would go very badly indeed.

  She couldn’t see a thing through her blindfold, and her hands were going numb, but she could hear Charlie’s breathing. A harsh rough sound through his nose. At least they hadn’t killed him when they hit him.

  She lay still in the dark, listening. He was panting as if he’d run a mile and making the same kind of noises she’d heard him make in his nightmare. Sounds of terror.

  Was he conscious?

  She wriggled backwards, towards the sound. ‘Charlie,’ she mumbled. It sounded more like ‘Uhhhn uhhhn’, but his breathing slowed as if he was listening.

  He groaned when her legs touched him and flinched away. She tried again, slowly running her bound feet up and down some part of his body. His legs, she thought.

  He inhaled a deep noisy breath and shifted closer. Something touched her arm. He was trembling. Shaking as if he had the ague.

  ‘Mmmmm?’ she mumbled.

  His breathing picked up speed again like a startled horse. The sound of panic.

  How could he be so afraid? What did he know? Her heart raced. Her breathing shortened.

  No. There was nothing to be afraid of. Not yet anyway. No sense in getting into a lather until they knew what they were dealing with, as Grandfather used to say. ‘Stop it,’ she snarled, furious he couldn’t understand the stupid sounds coming from her throat.

  He stopped breathing.

  Damn. What was the matter with him? Was he afraid of the dark? Was that why he left the candles burning all night? A grown man fearful of his dreams? Dreams like the one he’d had the other night?

  When she used to be afraid at night after her parents died, Grandfather used to sing her to sleep. It took her mind off all she’d lost. It had always felt comforting.

  She started humming an old lullaby.

  He drew closer, touching her down her length. She felt him relax. She hummed ‘Lavender’s Blue’, then ‘Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill’. He joined in, his deep hum echoing off the walls. They sounded more like a church choir than a couple of terrified prisoners.

  After a while her dry throat gave out. ‘Sorry,’ she said. He rubbed his forehead against her shoulder blades in acceptance. He wasn’t shaking any more and his breathing had slowed.

  They lay still, bodies touching, for a long time.

  Then he moved, pressing his knees into the small of her back.

  ‘Uhhn?’ she said.

  ‘Uh,’ he said. It sounded like a command.

  How was she supposed to know what he wanted?

  He pushed her leg with the toe of his boot.

  ‘Uh?’ she asked.

  He pushed her again. Harder. Why was he kicking her? He had boots on. The same boots he’d worn when he cut her traces and when they were attacked. The boots where he hid a knife.

  ‘Ooooh,’ she said.

  He made a sound like a chuckle followed by ‘ugh ugh’. That had to be good girl. Had to be.

  She wriggled until her bound hands found the tops of his boots. He pushed one at her, so she concentrated on it. Found the hilt of the knife with her fingertips. After much grunting and muffled cursing she managed to pull it clear. ‘Now what?’

  He seemed to understand because she felt him move away, then he was hard up against her again, his fingers feeling her sleeve. Back to back. Oh God, he was going to try to cut the ropes against the blade. His fingers passed over her hand and she felt the blade shift.

  ‘Careful.’ Oh, this stupid noise coming out of her mouth was so annoying.

  ‘O I,’ he said.

  Hold still.

  ‘Mmmm,’ she agreed.

  She gripped the hilt hard in her palms and prayed she wouldn’t drop it. The pressure of him sawing back and forth made it so difficult to hold the knife. She hoped he was cutting hemp and not flesh. She swallowed at the stomach-wrenching thought.

  After what seemed like an age, the pressure stopped. He scuffled around beside her. He stilled.

  Footsteps. They were too late. Someone was coming. She heard him move again. His breathing becoming rapid. Oh, no, don’t say he was going to start panicking again.

  ‘Mmmm,’ she said.

  ‘Mmmm, mmmm,’ he murmured softly. He didn’t sound upset. Then what was he doing?

  Light pierced the blindfold. She turned her head in its direction.

  ‘Dear God,’ a well-educated voice said in horrified tones. ‘Do you know who you’ve got there?’

  Merry strained to hear something familiar in the voice, but the echoing chamber distorted it. Oh, well, she would see who it was soon enough, when they set her free. And then he’d get a piece of her mind and some besides.

  ‘Naught we could do, your lordship.’ Jane. ‘They came looking for me. They know who we are.’

  A lord? What lord?

  Some whispered mutters. Merry held her breath, waiting for Charlie’s signal.

  ‘That’s no good,’ Jane said, sounding furious. ‘He’s seen us. You have to do away with them. Today. Now.’

  ‘You people are idiots. Kill Tonbridge and the world will be looking for you. Let them go as soon as I am clear,’ the new man said in a harsh whisper. ‘I’ll deal with her later.’

  Merry shivered. If only she could recognise his voice, but the echoes and the whispering made it impossible. He had recogised Charlie at a glance, though.

  The muttered voices drew further away. Footsteps drowning out their words. They were leaving.

  And Charlie, beside her, was moving. He took hold
of her wrist and began sawing at the ropes.

  No, someone was coming back. A light hurried step. Had Jane returned to set them free?

  ‘Mmmm,’ Merry said. Charlie must have heard, too, because he stopped cutting at her ropes.

  Liquid splashing on the floor. The smell of brandy hit the back of her throat.

  ‘Mmmmm,’ she said.

  He kicked her foot. She lay still.

  ‘Bloody coward,’ Jane said. ‘He’d see us all hang. But not me. ‘Tis bad enough she caused the death of my brother.’ The voice receded. Then the sound of a striking flint, followed by a woof of rushing air. And heat.

  ‘Hey,’ Merry yelled through her gag.

  ‘That’ll teach you,’ Jane yelled and then she was gone, running after the others.

  And Charlie’s hands were on her ropes, cutting frantically, then pulling at her blindfold.

  Merry blinked at the dazzle of flames. Jane had set a fire. It licked up the side of a barrel. They were surrounded by barrels on racks. The flames ran like rivers along the liquid Jane had poured. Fumes filled Merry’s head and made her feel dizzy.

  ‘Come on,’ Charlie said, working on the ropes at her feet. ‘We have to get out of here.’ He freed his own ankles and pulled her up.

  Pain. Hands, feet, legs—all prickled with the rush of blood. She rubbed at her wrists.

  Charlie grabbed her hand and they headed for the doorway. Flames curled up around the doorposts.

  They broke into a run.

  With a crack and a rumble, the rack nearest the door collapsed. Barrels rolled off it to the floor. One, maybe more than one, split open. Flames roared up to the ceiling.

  Heat. Merry put her arm up, to protect her face. ‘We are trapped.’ There was no way out.

  ‘This way,’ Charlie shouted.

  He ran to the racks on the other side of the cellar. He put his shoulder to it.

  She ran to help. ‘What are you doing?’ She pushed at the wooden structure and felt it move.

  ‘I think there’s another way out,’ he said, heaving with a grin that looked demonic in the blaze of flames. With the place lit up like Guy Fawkes’s night, he looked positively happy. She wanted to strangle him.