by Janet Woods
She hoped the bread was full of insects, and imagined him writhing on the ground screaming in agony while they gnawed their way out.
Lethargy began to creep though her. When her head nodded forward he made her drink another glass of brandy. A few minutes later and everything had slowed down.
Stephen smiled. ‘You’re drunk, Amber Rose.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ Struggling to keep hold of her senses, her words seemed to stretch and blur when she said, ‘You’re scum ... a worm of the first order. ’
Rising, he came round to where she sat and, taking her by the hair he jerked her to her feet. His smile had an edge of nastiness to it when he said, ‘I could kill you in a second.’
She drew in a sharp breath when he took a dagger from his belt and held the cold metal surface against her neck. He drew it gently across without breaking the skin. Then he stooped to slash through her leg bindings, followed by the cords at her wrists.
‘You’re letting me go?’ she said with faint hope.
‘Certainly not. We’re going to play a little game, my dear. You have ten minutes in which to hide upstairs. Then I’ll come looking for you. If you can hide from me for ten minutes more, I’ll let you live ... for a price.’
Alarm sent goose bumps racing through her body. ‘What price?’
He whispered something foul and suggestive in her ear.
‘I’d sooner die,’ she spat out.
‘Then you shall.’ She cringed when a knife blade flashed and the hair in his grip parted from her head. He dropped the cut locks at her feet, took out his watch and said affably. ‘I’ll have you first and you don’t have to be willing.’
‘Are you insane?’ she whispered.
The eyes that came up to hers seemed perfectly sane, but something was lacking in their expression. Pity or conscience ... perhaps both.
The secret tunnel that led to the stables came into her mind, but she had no chance to get to it unseen, for he pushed her out of the dining room and into the hall. There, the clock relentlessly ticked away the seconds of her life in the dimming light.
‘Time starts now.’ He took a seat on the bottom stair and began to prepare the flint box to light a candle from. Amber had no choice to go anywhere but up the wide staircase. She thought she could feel his glance on her as she went.
Where could she hide? she thought, when she got to the first landing, and out of his sight. It was not a huge or pretentious house, but a home of comfortable proportions that was easy to run and maintain, her grandfather had said of it, which was one of the reasons he’d loved it so much.
There were only two corridors, one to the left and one to right, with rooms either side. They would not take long to search. The staircase went on upwards to the servants rooms and nursery, then to the attics above.
Amber hesitated for a few seconds, trying to gather her wits together. It might have been better if she’d asked for more brandy, enough so she could lose her senses altogether and pass into a drunken stupor. At least she wouldn’t have been aware of any horrible event that might overtake her this night. She also wouldn’t have been able to fight back!
She thought of her grandfather again, and she smiled as she took the corridor to the left.
The four men left their horses in the copse and made their way across Hartford House meadows. All was quiet except for the wind sighing in the trees and the soft thud of footfalls in the grass.
The air had an early autumn dampness to it. The house was a solid shadow, the evening star shining brightly above a dark shape of a chimney that thrust into the sky.
Benedict shivered as an owl hooted.
The house doesn’t look occupied,’ Kitt whispered. His words were instantly disproved when there came the quiet snicker of a horse. And as they reached the stable they saw the solitary flicker of a lantern behind the shutters, and a prick of light between the boards nailed across the house windows.
‘The horse belongs to Stephen and it’s saddled. It looks as though he intends to use it before too long,’ Patrick whispered. He pulled the saddle bags from the horse. There was chink of coin as he dropped them to the floor and shoved them under a pile of straw with the toe of his boot. ‘Your ransom, gentlemen.’
Thinking of what Amber must be suffering at he hands of Gould, Benedict felt sick.
The trapdoor was easily found, but it was padlocked. No wonder Amber hadn’t been able to open it. The key hung on a hook in the wall. The trapdoor squeaked as they pulled it open.
He took the lantern with him. ‘I’ll go down first. Watch your heads,’ he said, and felt for the top step with his foot. When he reached the bottom he held out his arms and touched the tunnel of either side. It was wide enough to be comfortable, but he had to bend almost double to move along it.
Being enclosed affected them all as they carefully shuffled along the length of the tunnel. Breathing was heavy, but nobody spoke or voiced any fear. All of them swore as they tripped over a fallen brick. Finally, Benedict stubbed a foot against a barrier.
‘I think we’ve come to the steps,’ he whispered. Be quiet now. I’ll go up, see if I can find the catch and open the panel. I understand it slides aside.’
His fingers found the mechanism, his mind pictured it and he pushed against a lever with his thumb. There was a loud, metallic click. He froze.
* * * *
About to climb the stair, Stephen had frozen too. What the hell was that? He listened. As if listening encouraged noise the clock seemed to tick louder, floorboards creaked overhead and the chandelier tinkled as a draught played with it. After a while he relaxed. Lighting a couple of lanterns from the candle, he positioned one at the bottom of the staircase.
A door stealthily closed upstairs. Stephen smiled as he brought his mind back to the game. She was a plucky piece of goods who would try to outwit him. He was going to enjoy the sport, and the eventual outcome after the chase.
‘I’m coming to look for you, Amber Rose,’ he called out softly, and picked up the second lantern and moved swiftly up the stairs.
* * * *
When time brought no reaction to the click, Benedict carefully moved the panel to one side and stepped through into a cupboard full of outdoor garments. Reaching out for the door into the house he turned the handle, then quietly swore. It was locked, something he hadn’t taken into consideration.
Turning, he whispered down the stairs, ‘If I can’t pick the lock I’m going to have to try and kick the door into the house down.’
There was a whispered conference then Kitt said quietly. ‘Hartford has suggested that you may be able to lever the hinges off with a blade.’
‘I haven’t got one.’
A dagger was passed up to him and he started work on the top hinge. It was manufactured from thick metal.
Chapter Eighteen
Amber had been tempted to hide in her own wardrobe, but she suspected that would be the bolt hole Stephen would expect her to use.
She used her few spare minutes as wisely as possible, opening windows in as many rooms as she could, then leaving the doors ajar, so the doors would move and creak in the cross draughts, even slam shut if the wind came up. If it hadn’t been such a long way down she would have jumped from the widow.
She froze when she heard the loud click. It panicked her a little. Thinking it was Stephen she ran to her grandfather’s room, where she’d decided to hide earlier. She transferred the key from the inside of the door to the outside. If she managed to escape she would lock him inside.
There was only one place she could hide where Stephen might not think to look. The cupboards and linen box were too enclosed, and there was no room under the bed. As with the other rooms she opened the window, which framed a shining moon that inconveniently illuminated everything with a soft silver glow. Damn! It was too late to find another hiding place. Just above the window was a decorative ledge under the corner of the roof, with a gargoyle to carry away rainwater from the gutter.
Rippi
ng a piece from her nightgown she threw it up towards the gargoyle, where it hung from its fearful, snarling snout, caught on its teeth as if the beast had just ripped it from her.
Shedding the clumsy blanket she threw it out of the window, then climbed on to the end of the bed. Quickly, she pulled herself up one of the carved poles and lay on her stomach on the canopy of the four-poster bed.
The last time she’d been up here she’d been young, and hiding from her governess. Now the ceiling seemed lower, and the fabric of the canopy sagged beneath her increased weight. It also smelled of dust. She gripped the wooden frame with her fingers, trying to keep her weight off the material. It was hard work that taxed her muscles. Her pursuer would shoot her through the fabric if he saw her outlined there she thought despairingly. But she had nowhere else to run, now.
In the distance she heard a horse snicker, and another animal answer. It sounded as though it was coming from the copse. Her spirits rose. Perhaps Benedict had come looking for her. She took a deep breath to calm her jittery nerves.
Outside in the corridor a door slammed, then another. ‘Clever ruse with the doors and windows, Amber Rose,’ Stephen shouted out, ‘I’m enjoying your little game ... but I’ll find you eventually.’
It took him but a few minutes to search each room, then the door to the room she was in creaked. He went straight to the window and looked out, then up to where the strip of fabric hung. He chuckled and gently closed the window. ‘I can’t believe my little vixen jumped out or climbed up on to the roof. I wonder where she can be. In the linen box perhaps?’ He threw open the lid then slammed it shut again.
The disturbance in the air sent the dust swirling. Her nose and throat began to itch.
Her pursuer disappeared into the manservant’s room, but was back in seconds to throw open the door of the mahogany wardrobe. Satisfied it was empty he turned and sniffed at the air. The light cast by the lantern didn’t reach her shadowed position. ‘The big bad wolf can smell you, my tender little lamb,’ he cooed.
He was trying to break her nerve, but he wouldn’t succeed, she thought fiercely, trying not to betray her position, though she longed to clear her throat.
Dust tickled her nose. Oh no ... a sneeze! Desperately she pinched her nose end between between her finger and thumb. Her body jerked violently with the muffled sneeze she gave.
‘Oh, there you are, just where I want you,’ he said, as the canopy tore open and gave way under her weight. She dropped through to bounce on to the mattress below. Placing the lantern on the dresser Stephen joined her, pinned her to the bed and kissed her.
She pushed him away, screaming and struggling as he began to paw her.
* * * *
Benedict had managed to remove the top hinge, but as soon as he heard Amber scream he threw caution to the winds. He used the heel of his foot as a battering ram. The door tore from its hinges under the force behind it, and they were through to the house.
Stephen Gould must have heard the noise for Amber went quiet, except for the odd whimper, which tore his heart out.
‘Let me go up there first,’ Patrick whispered. ‘He’s more likely to trust me and I might be able to flush him out.’
Benedict nodded. I’ll be right behind you, so no tricks.
He positioned Archie and Kitt beyond the circle of light cast by the lantern in the hall and followed Patrick up the stairs to the first landing. Mindful that Patrick knew the layout of the house better than he did, Benedict stayed a few paces behind and to the side of him.
When they got to the landing, Patrick called out. ‘Stephen, it’s me, Patrick. Where’s my cousin?’
There came a small whimpering noise from the left, one that was cut suddenly short. Benedict saw a faint glow under one of the doors. He restrained the urge that told him to go barging up there, but quietly directed Patrick’s attention to it.
‘You have her in my grandfather’s room. I’m going to come along the corridor. I’m not armed, and I’m alone.’
The door opened, spilling light into the corridor. ‘You’re too cowardly to come here alone, Patrick. Take one step and I’ll shoot you down.’
‘Who else would I bring, especially when there’s when a thousand guineas at stake? I want my share, Stephen. I have to get away. They’ll be after me for the murder of that man in the forest if they find his body. Is my cousin all right?’
‘Why do you care?’
‘I don’t care. I was thinking that while she’s still alive she might want to compensate us for leaving her that way. All it will take is a letter of credit to the bank signed by Amber and Thomas Dunstan. I can easily copy his signature. Where’s Maisie? I thought she was with you?’
‘I left the slut in Sally Bowers’s boarding house.’
‘After she helped you?’
‘Maisie will fit in well there. Stop being such a saint.’
Benedict brought up his pistol when a figure stepped out into the light. No, not one figure, but two. Stephen had Amber in front of him in a choke-hold, using her as a shield. He tightened his grip when she gave a frustrated squeak and tried to heel him in the shin.
The man’s insane, don’t inflame him, Benedict prayed as she clawed at his arm in a futile quest to loosen his grip.
‘Lift your arms and turn around,’ Stephen ordered.
Patrick did as he was told.
Seemingly satisfied that his former friend was unarmed, Stephen laughed and pushed Amber to the floor. Planting a foot in her stomach, he placed his pistol against her temple. ‘You’re a fool to think I’m going to be taken in by you, Patrick. You’re too cowardly to face me, with or without your weapons. You’re playing for time. Who have you told?’
‘Nobody, d’you think I want to end up in prison. All I want is my cousin left unharmed. Look at her, she’s terrified.’
‘That’s part of the entertainment. There’s nothing to stop me from shooting both of you, right here and now. My ship leaves in an hour so I really must be going soon. The hammer clicked.
Amber obviously didn’t intend to be shot out of hand. Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around Stephen’s leg and rolled away from him. Thrown off balance, his arms flailed and the gun discharged. Plaster fell from the ceiling. He grabbed a second pistol from his waist, cocking it, his eyes on Amber.
Benedict instinctively fired his own pistol. Stephen’s reflex shot was almost point blank, yet as he dropped, by some miracle it missed Amber by a hair’s breadth and thudded into the floor beside her.
Amber scuttled away. Gasping for breath, her eyes wide with terror she huddled in a corner. Tremors rippled through her as she gazed at Stephen. When Benedict tried to help her up, she pushed his hand away and hissed. ‘Don’t touch me.’
His heart went out to her. Softly he said, ‘It’s me, Benedict. Stephen can’t hurt you now, my love. He’s dead.’ Indeed, it had been a merciful, clean kill, straight through the heart. More than the man had deserved.
Kitt and Archie had come running, pistols drawn. They summed up the situation and smiled at each other.’
‘Good shot, Ben,’ Kitt said.
Amber made a distressed sound in her throat.
Archie went into the nearest room, coming back with a blanket to wrap the body in. He emptied the man’s pockets first. Coins, a key, a handkerchief and an enameled gold snuff box.
Benedict picked up the snuff-box, turning it over in his hand before he slipped it into his pocket. ‘This belongs to my father. It must have been Gould who robbed Laconbridge and attacked the maid. Were you a party to that, Hartford?’
‘I didn’t know he’d robbed the place. We went in to look for the agreement made between our grandfathers. Stephen thought I might have a claim to your property. He copied it and sent it to my cousin.’
So Amber had known about the loan for some time. Feeling uncomfortable, Benedict’s glance went to her, but she showed no sign of having heard Patrick. She was staring wide-eyed at Gould’s body, her expression terrified. He move
d to hide it from her line of sight as his brothers-in-law began to wrap the blanket round the corpse.
‘We’ll put his body in one of the rooms in the other wing until morning, then contact the authorities in Bridport. No doubt the magistrate will want statements from us all.’
He stooped to where Amber was huddled in her dirty, ripped nightgown. Her hair was a dark tangle, her exposed skin was bruised and her neck chaffed. She had a remote air about her and jerked her head away when he reached out to touch her face.
‘Will you be able to tell them what happened here tonight, Amber?’
The gesture had wounded him, and he could have wept when she turned her head away from him. She needed a woman to help her through this, he thought.
Kitt said awkwardly. ‘We’ll collect our horses from the copse and bring them round to the stables after we’ve dealt with Gould’s body.’
‘The magistrate can wait until morning,’ he said. ‘Make all haste to Laconbridge House and rouse my father and mother if you will. ‘Ask my mother to come as soon as possible. Tell her that Amber is in need of her counsel. Tell her . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Well, you know what to tell her.’
‘We’ll escort them back.’ His brothers-in-law carried the corpse away, blood seeping into the blanket.
Patrick was pale-faced.
Benedict didn’t know how to approach Amber. He enlisted Patrick’s help. ‘See if you can help your cousin.’
But as soon as Patrick reached out a hand she leapt to her feet and cried out, ‘Leave me alone!’ and bolted like a rabbit into one of the rooms. The door slammed behind her and the key turned in the lock.’
‘That’s her room,’ Patrick said ineffectively when Benedict put his ear against the panel and gently called out her name. ‘Her clothes have been thrown everywhere.’
A storm of weeping reached his ears, great gulping sobs. Benedict felt helpless in the face of Amber’s melancholy mood, and wretched. God only knew what the girl had been through, which was something he didn’t really want to dwell on either. ‘My mother will know what to do.’
