Finishing with a flourish, she felt somewhat more confident about the whole exercise, upon not immediately expiring.
“Thank you, sir,” she said with as much sarcasm as she could infuse in the words. Because whereas O’Malley might be no fool, Isabella definitely could be on occasion. She liked to keep her hand in, anyway. “No biscuits then? Tea cakes? What kind of breakfast do you call this?”
Chandler dismissed her, probably thinking she was absolutely no threat to him. O’Malley finished his own cup and set it neatly on the tray. His every move was followed with the menacing barrels of four pistols, which he ignored with aplomb.
Chandler nodded to himself, took a sip of the tea, made a moue of disgust and then turned on his heel and sauntered out the door, teacup held delicately before his chest.
“You’re just going to leave us here?” O’Malley ventured to ask to his back, not raising his voice. Chandler lifted a hand in a dismissive wave but didn’t turn.
Isabella sucked absently on her teeth and watched everyone with wary bafflement. What the devil was that all about? Tea with the enemy, for heaven’s sake.
After Chandler vanished from view, one of the brigands came back in burdened with shackles and chain, and O’Malley was then thoroughly and boorishly tied up to the armoire, the sole piece of stable furniture in the room apart from the bed. Almost everyone departed after that.
They were left alone except for Tom King, who had pulled a chair inside the room and sat with his rifle across his knees, bored and venomous at the same time. The minutes dragged, as the crisp cold of the morning became warmer as daylight brightened the room. Isabella huddled against the headboard, darting glances at the brigand, but mostly just watching O’Malley. Tom King stared at the wall, picking at his cuticles and tapping an unlit pipe against his thigh.
O’Malley looked savage, fettered in chains and sitting on the floor. Isabella dozed; she couldn’t help it. Her stomach was a little unsettled, and she sometimes felt as if she was floating, but that could just have been situational. It was difficult not to suspect that the tea had something to do with it, since such a spectacle had been made about it. She wished someone would give her some breakfast, for she was beyond peckish. It had been a jolly long time since she had had a proper meal.
Isabella awakened with a jolt when the door creaked open. Brutus was there, his own rifle resting in the cook of one elbow. A quick check showed O’Malley with his head down, slumped against the armoire. Brutus and Tom King exchange shifts with a minimum of verbiage and fuss and Brutus sat silently in the chair for a good fifteen minutes while O’Malley slowly tipped his head back and stared at him through slitted eyes. At some point, Brutus rose and walked out the door, leaving it open.
He returned with keys and a pair of leather gloves, which he drew on before unlocking O’Malley’s chains. He looked at Isabella expectantly. Isabella glared back, eyes narrowed and confused.
“What?”
“This is yer chance. If you have a message for yer beau, now is th’ time to give it.”
Isabella just stared at him, quizzically, caught short and speechless.
Brutus sighed, rolling his eyes as if he had never before in his life encountered someone as bacon-brained as Isabella. “O’Malley is to be sent with a ransom note, now that he knows how things stand.” He paused to narrow his eyes at the stable hand. “If you would like to add something personal, you may.”
Isabella was game, if still somewhat perplexed. She clambered off the bed, dropping her blanket en route, and went over to kneel by O’Malley.
“I don’t want you to leave me,” she whispered fearfully.
O’Malley nodded with a quick glance at Brutus. “I would prefer to stay as well but I reckon it’s safer for everyone if we just do as they say.”
Isabella sighed. “Tell the Duke and my mother I’m all right. Just scared. And that they should please hurry.”
“We will get yer out, whatever it takes.” O’Malley looked her solemnly in the eye, and she believed him.
“Thank you.”
He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Just hang on, please? It’ll be all right.”
Isabella nodded jerkily.
* * *
“We should get the constable.” Emmanuel said as he paced, wearing out the Turkish carpet in his drawing room.
“No!”
Emmanuel froze, turning to regard Lord Gefferton with a raised and inquiring eyebrow. “Whyever not?”
“We have no idea what Mr. Chandler is planning or how far he will go, but I’d wager that adding the prospect of gaol would make him even more desperate than he is now.”
“What is he desperate about exactly?” Lady Edric wanted to know. Everyone looked at Lord Gefferton. They had all gathered in the drawing room to await news. Only Emmanuel knew that O’Malley was this very moment infiltrating the enemy camp but the others did know that they were awaiting news from ‘scouts’ sent out to make enquiries.
Lord Gefferton frowned as he found all eyes on him. “Well, I’m sure I do not know why you are all looking at me. I have no clue why Mr. Chandler would be so desperate.”
“It’s just that…” Lord Edric began trying to be delicate, “He’s been your steward for a bloody long time—excuse my language, ladies—and surely you must have some inkling what this is about. For example, could he have fallen in love with young Miss Addison and was driven to desperation by her engagement?”
Lord Gefferton snorted. “Stuff and nonsense. Mr. Chandler is too old for calf love.”
“Then what, Daddy? What has caused this descent into madness?” Lady Peregrine chimed in quite sharply. Her color was very high and she looked a trifle upset. Emmanuel thought she might actually care that her sister was taken, in spite of her appalling behavior before all this. It was heartening to know that she most likely had nothing to do with this kidnapping.
“I do not know what has possessed Mr. Chandler to do such a thing. I expect we shall find out once he sends his ransom note.”
“Are we quite sure he’s not trying to run away with her to Gretna Green?” Lady Gefferton asked quietly.
“We feel fairly certain he has not left the district,” Emmanuel said.
Lady Gefferton subsided in relief. “That’s good then…she never liked him, you know. Wanted me to talk to you about getting rid of him.” Lady Gefferton sniffed as she looked at her husband. He hurried to her side, squeezing her hand.
“It is not your fault, Diana. If it’s anyone’s fault here, it’s mine.”
“Yes, it is your fault, Daddy. Whatever were you thinking to hire such a brigand? I wager his references were forged.” Lady Peregrine spoke quite sharply but her father ignored her. Emmanuel turned away, not wanting to witness any more of their personal family drama. He began to fidget, getting extremely impatient for news. The butler came in with a tray of tea and scones, leaving them on the sideboard in case anyone felt the need to bury their worry in food.
It was not until midday that O’Malley came stumbling into the room, quite the worse for wear. There was a collective exclamation in the room as the ladies got to their feet and the gentlemen hurried forward to help him to a seat.
“I’m quite fahn. Don’t you worry. Just a little banged up.” O’Malley said as Lord Edric handed him a brandy. He gulped it down before looking up at Emmanuel.
“They’ve got ‘er up at the Peregrine house. Not the main hall, but the dower ‘ouse in th’ back.”
Emmanuel squeezed his shoulder hard. “What do they want with her?”
Lady Peregrine took a step forward. “You’ve seen her?”
Lord Gefferton clasped his hands behind his back looking stern. “How do you know this?”
The three spoke at the same time and O’Malley looked from one to the other as if not knowing who to answer to. Emmanuel waved a hand at them all and turned back to O’Malley.
“Tell us what you know. We will not interrupt again.”
O’Malley nodde
d. “I followed th’ tracks of their carriage like we agreed and I was right. They took me right to the Peregrine property. Instead of going to th’ front like usual, they turned in at th’ small gate at th’ bottom of th’ garden.”
O’Malley had followed the tracks right up to the dower house where he’d seen that people were moving about inside. He knew from gossip amongst the servants that the Dowager Countess, Lady Peregrine, lived in Dover for she had a love of the sea and so the dower house normally stood empty. It clearly wasn’t empty now, for men were going in and out but there was no sign of Isabella.
O’Malley did not want to return without at least confirming that she was indeed in the house, alive and well. So he poked his head out of the bush he was hiding behind at the ‘wrong’ moment and sure enough, Chandler’s bandits came for him.
“That was a very dangerous thing to do. They might have killed you!” Emmanuel growled.
O’Malley shrugged. “Well, they didn’t. And I didn’t really expect them to, what with them being on someone else’s property. If’n they were a-going to kill me, they would ha’ waited until they could dump me body somewhere.”
Emmanuel just shook his head at his stableman’s thinking.
“I told you, my cousin…” O’Malley lifted an impertinent eyebrow at Emmanuel who hid a smile.
“Go on, then.”
“Well, they dragged me in the ‘ouse, with me ‘ollerin and carryin’ on o’ course. They banged me about a bit…”
Everyone leaned forward anxiously to hear the rest. He told them about being taken to Isabella, that she was fine, just scared.
“They didn’t hurt her?” Emmanuel interrupted in spite of his promise.
“Not that I could tell. Well, that steward o’ yours,” he nodded at Lord Gefferton, “he gave me a note to give to His Grace.”
Emmanuel held out his hand for it and O’Malley fumbled in his pocket to produce a dirty piece of paper. Emmanuel snatched at it, opening it and reading it as fast as possible.
“What does he want?” Lady Peregrine was, of course, the first to ask.
Chapter 28
Ransom and Pardon
To: Emmanuel, The Duke of Helmsfield
From: George Chandler
I have something that is precious to you. In return for it’s safe recovery, I require you to obtain a pardon in my name for any and all crimes I may have committed in the past. Once this pardon has been delivered to me, then you shall get your precious fiancée back. Should you try to cheat me in any way or make an attempt to rescue her, she will die. You have twenty-four hours.
Emmanuel’s brow furrowed, as he raised his eyes to meet Gefferton’s. “A pardon? What a strange thing to ask for. Do you know of what crimes he seeks to be exonerated from, Lord Gefferton?”
The Viscount was very pale as he shook his head jerkily. “I, I have no idea. Mr. Chandler ha-has worked for me for fourteen years with no incident. I can only imagine that he has lost his mind.”
“Either that or he has done something of which you are unaware.” Lady Gefferton cut in gently, “It is possible.”
A bead of sweat rolled down Lord Gefferton’s nose. He shook his head. “I cannot…I do not—” Lady Gefferton got to her feet. It was her turn to offer comfort to her husband.
“Do not blame yourself, Colin. You could not have known. We will get her back.”
“How? There is no way to obtain such a pardon.” Lord Edric pointed out, earning glares from the ladies present.
Emmanuel stayed silent, his brow wrinkled in thought. “Does it have to be a real pardon? How will he know the difference?”
“I expect he means to check somehow. He is no fool.” Lord Gefferton replied.
“Well, since I happen to know a magistrate who can help us draft a convincing document, perhaps we can try.”
Lord Gefferton was shaking his head. “He will kill her if it is not the real thing. We must find a magistrate and convince them to give him what he wants.”
“I am the magister for this district as appointed by His Majesty. I am telling you that there is no way to grant a blanket pardon. It would not hold up in a court of law.”
Lord Gefferton sighed. “But that is a problem for another day, is it not? As long as you can get the pardon written up and properly stamped, then we will have done our part.”
“Our part in letting loose a potential killer.”
“We do not know what he did.”
Lady Peregrine got to her feet, eyes narrowed at her father. “Well, we know he did something and I for one would not rest easy until I knew what.”
Lord Gefferton turned away from his daughter to face Emmanuel. “What do you need?”
Emmanuel turned to face O’Malley. “Will Chandler be expecting an answer from you?”
O’Malley shook his head. “I expect not. He certainly does not expect me to return.”
“May I ask one more thing of you?”
O’Malley stood up at once. “Ask.”
“Go back and tell him that the magistrate is ready to write him his pardon, but he must know the sins which he is pardoning. For legal reasons, he must be specific. Tell him I would speak with him in person.”
“No! That would be a mistake!” Lord Gefferton tried to protest but Emmanuel ignored him.
“I will come with you and wait outside the grounds.”
Lord Peregrine got to his feet. “They are using my estate. I will escort you to the dowager house myself.”
Lady Gefferton also stood up. “I am coming, too. She’s my daughter.”
Lady Peregrine stepped forward. “Well, you are certainly not leaving me behind.”
“We will all go.” Lady Edric declared.
Lord Gefferton sighed in resignation.
* * *
They went in the carriage to spare Emmanuel’s leg and because of the ladies. They used the same route as Mr. Chandler had, and came to a stop in front of the dower house. Lord Peregrine alighted first, a frown of annoyance on his face as he took in the trampled flower beds.
A man walked out of the house, carrying a rifle.
“Don’t move!”
Everyone froze as he pointed the musket at them, his face a mask of malevolence.
“We come in peace. Mr. Chandler had asked for a magistrate. I am here to serve in that capacity.” Emmanuel called.
“Don’t move,” the man said again.
They waited in silence until Mr. Chandler emerged from the residence, looking them all over as if they were strangers.
“Chandler! What are you doing?” Lord Gefferton’s voice was cold and irritable as he regarded his—former—steward with loathing.
“Getting what’s mine. I warned you, and you did not heed me.”
Lady Gefferton turned to her husband, a question in his eyes. Lord Gefferton shook his head and shrugged. “I do not know what he is talking about.”
George Chandler snorted in amusement. “Oh, you don’t? Shall I remind you?”
Lord Gefferton shook his head. “We do not have time for this. Where is my daughter? How dare you steal her away?”
Mr. Chandler just sneered at him before turning to Emmanuel. “Do you have what I need?”
“I have the means to afford you a pardon if you tell me exactly what it is I am absolving you of.”
Chandler narrowed his eyes at Emmanuel. “That is none of your concern. You just do as you’re told if you want to see your Duchess ever again.”
Emmanuel took a deep breath. “Where is she? I would like to confirm that she is alive and unharmed.”
Chandler turned to the bandit on his right, who stood with his rifle raised, finger on the trigger. “Go and get her.”
The man stomped back into the cottage while they all waited in silence. Lady Peregrine fidgeted a bit while Lady Gefferton sighed but nobody said a word until the bandit returned, dragging a bedraggled Isabella along. Emmanuel involuntarily stepped forward, his hand outstretched but one of the other bandits got between
him and his goal. “Stay back!”
Emmanuel stopped but could not prevent his eyes from raking over her frame, in search of injury. His gaze snagged on the scratch at her temple and the dried blood around it and his eyes narrowed. “Why is she bleeding? What did you do to her?”
“I…” Chandler looked back at Isabella with a frown, “Nothing. I have no idea how she got that injury. Nobody has touched a single hair on her head.”
A Sinful Duke She Can't Refuse (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 24
