by Lucy Adams
It was empty.
Augusta felt nausea begin to climb up her throat as she stared at the neatly made bed, fearing that he had not slept there all evening. “What has happened to him?” she asked, one hand pressed against her stomach. “I cannot imagine where he has gone.”
“Stayton.” Lady Westbrook turned to Augusta, her eyes blazing with an anger that Augusta hoped was not directed towards her. “After you told your father the truth about Stayton, did you mention Lord Rushton in any capacity?”
Augusta hesitated, then nodded. “I did,” she said, in a small voice. “I told him that Lord Rushton would soon come to seek his permission for our marriage.” She felt sick to the very core, realizing with horror that, in doing so, Stayton might have decided to take his revenge on the one person who now stood in his way. “Surely he could not have done such a dreadful thing as this?”
Lady Franks’ face was dark. “If he is the sort of gentleman we believe him to be, then there is very little that he will not do,” she said, making Augusta close her eyes in horror. “We must speak to Stayton at once.” She made to quit the room, but Augusta grasped her arm and held her back.
“We cannot,” she whispered, hoarsely, her eyes wide as she realized what they would be forced to do. “If we do so, then he will not lead us to wherever he is going at three o’clock.” She saw Lady Westbrook close her eyes tightly, having only just realized what Augusta meant. “If Stayton is the spy, then this is the only opportunity to prove it.”
“But what of Lord Rushton?” Lady Franks asked, slowly, as Augusta tried her very best to think for another way to help Lord Rushton, wherever he was, as well as allow the gentlemen of the League to follow Stayton wherever he went later that evening. Try as she might, she simply could not. “What if he is injured?”
Augusta did not know what to say nor what to do. In her mind’s eye, she saw Lord Rushton speaking to her about The King’s League, his determination to serve the King and his beloved country evident in everything he said. “Lord Rushton would not wish for us to betray all that we know,” she said, hoarsely, hardly believing that she was saying such a thing. “If the chance to capture a treasonous spy is only a few hours away, can we so easily throw that opportunity aside?” Swallowing hard, she saw Lady Westbrook close her eyes, dropping her head just a little as she came to the same conclusion as Augusta herself had reached. “We must simply hope that he will somehow be able to find a way out from wherever he is at present.” Augusta shut her mind off to the other possibility, not wanting to allow herself to think of Lord Rushton in a desperate situation. “We cannot jeopardize what will soon come about.”
Lady Franks let out her breath slowly, putting her hand on Augusta’s arm. “You are correct, Lady Augusta,” she said, reluctantly. “But I cannot bear to…..”
“I cannot bear even the thought of it,” Augusta said, aware of the tears that pricked her eyes. “But what else can we do?”
There came a sense of despondency that began to sweep over the three of them as they stood in silence, looking at each other as though they were waiting for someone—anyone—to say something that might deter them from their current course of action.
“Then we should inform the others,” Lady Westbrook murmured, reaching out to embrace Augusta, throwing away any anxiety she had that the lady was angry and upset with her course of action. “I am sorry that we cannot think of anything else to do. It is not your fault, Lady Augusta. I would not have you feel any sort of guilt.”
“I did not even consider that Stayton would do anything as dark as this,” Augusta murmured, quietly, as Lady Westbrook stepped back. “I do not know how I shall even look at him when I know what he has done.” There was no doubt in her mind now that Stayton was the person responsible for everything that was going on at present. He was the one who had decided to work with the French in terms for financial gain. He had come to live here for his own gain. And now, he was the one who had taken Lord Rushton into some dark place in revenge for her refusing him and in telling her father all that Stayton had done.
“We will be beside you,” Lady Franks said, with a touch of firmness now in her voice. “We must tell the others just as soon as we can. They must know of it all before evening comes.”
Augusta nodded and together, the three of them walked from the room, with Augusta’s heart growing heavier with every step.
“What time is it?”
Augusta glanced at the heavy grandfather clock, trying to make out the position of the hands from where she sat. She looked at it with narrowed eyes, her heart thumping wildly. “It is a quarter to three o’clock,” she whispered, as Lady Westbrook let out a quick breath. “Stayton will surely move from his rooms soon.” A bead of sweat was trickling down her back but Augusta barely noticed it, such was her anxiety. It had been a very trying afternoon and evening, for she had been forced to continue on with her house party, pretending to enjoy her evening with them all. Stayton had been present throughout, although he had said very little and had never allowed his gaze to rest on her. He had appeared sullen and uncommunicative but she had been forced to resist the urge to grab at him hard and demand that he tell her where Lord Rushton was.
The gentlemen of the League were now positioned around the manor house, with Lord Westbrook near to them. The moment Stayton left his rooms, Lord Westbrook would follow whilst the three of them would then go and inform the other gentlemen that Stayton had left his rooms, knowing where they were all hidden. But, as yet, Stayton had not made a single sound. The door had not opened, there was not even a small creak from the floorboards that would signal to them that he was moving about. Her breathing was quick and fast, her fingers tight together and pressed against her chin as she kept herself hidden away in a corner of the hallway, sitting in a small alcove with Lady Westbrook beside her.
“Why has he not yet left his room?” she whispered, as Lady Westbrook shook her head, the moonlight their only source of light as it came in through the window. “It will soon be time for his meeting….or whatever it is to be.”
Lady Westbrook shook her head again, her hand settled onto Augusta’s arm, clearly wanting to help alleviate her anxiety. Again, they settled into silence, but Augusta felt her worry grow more and more, wondering why Stayton had not yet left his rooms.
And then, the voice of Lord Franks reached them, loud and crashing against the walls around them.
“Westbrook!” There was no attempt on Lord Franks’ part to keep his voice low. Augusta stepped out from her alcove almost at once, her eyes wide as she saw Lord Westbrook come out from his hiding place into the middle of the hallway, just as Lord Franks came into view.
“It is not Stayton!”
Augusta gasped, her hand at her heart.
“What do you mean?” she asked, as Lord and Lady Westbrook stood with them. “How can it not be Stayton?”
“Because a fellow emerged from the servants floor and has already stepped out into the gardens,” Lord Franks said, hurriedly. “Lord Millerton is pursuing him but we must go at once. Come!”
Augusta did not know what to do, her feet fixed to the floor as first Lord Franks and then Lord Westbrook ran down the hallway, seeming to make their way with confidence despite the gloom. Lady Westbrook did not move either, looking after her husband without a word passing her lips.
And then, the door to Stayton’s door opened and Augusta stepped back in horror, half expecting her cousin to be wielding a knife of some description, threatening to drag her to wherever he now kept Lord Rushton.
“Augusta?”
To her surprise, Stayton appeared to be in a stupor, clearly having been roused from his bed by the sound of thundering feet and loud voices. He held a candle in one hand, with deep shadows now under his eyes.
“Lord Rushton,” Augusta said, hoarsely, taking a small step towards her cousin and seeing him start in surprise. “Do you know where he is?”
Stayton stared at her, clearly lost for words.
“Do you know where Lord Rushton is?” Augusta asked again, her own voice now echoing along the hallway. “Tell me at once!”
“I do not know anything about Lord Rushton!” Stayton stammered, his eyes wide with astonishment and fright. “What are you talking of, Augusta? What are you doing outside my door at such an hour?”
Lady Westbrook stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Stayton. “You are not in collaboration with the French?”
Stayton blinked rapidly, evidently quite surprised with all that had been said. “The French?” he replied, his voice weak and his face a little pale. “What are you talking of?”
Augusta shook her head, closing her eyes tightly and running her fingers over her forehead. She did not understand who had left the servants quarters, nor who was now being pursued by Lord Franks, Lord Millerton and Lord Westbrook.
“I have no understanding of what you are speaking of,” Stayton replied, rubbing one hand over his face in an attempt to rouse himself a little more. “I have nothing to do with the French! I may be a liar but I certainly have no intention of doing anything treasonous!”
Augusta swallowed hard, opened her eyes and looked directly at her cousin. “Then who else would have written dates and times down on a piece of paper on your writing desk?” she asked, her voice soft but her words seeming to slam down hard onto Stayton’s shoulders. “Who else, Stayton?”
“Dates?” he queried, looking quite confused. “Dates and times?”
Augusta resisted the urge to reach out and grasp him by the front of his night shirt, her fears beginning to take a hold of her all over again. “The times with which you—or someone else—would meet with those who seek to pass information to the French!” she demanded, her voice rising steadily. “Who else would have written such a thing, Stayton?”
Her cousin trembled visibly, but his expression began to grow with a horrorstruck expression, telling Augusta the answer before she even had to say it aloud.
“My manservant,” Stayton replied, his voice rasping as he realized something of the implications of what he was saying. “Knowles. He is the only one who would have anything to do with my private affairs.” Giving his head a small shake, as though to clear it of all of his confusing thoughts, Stayton let out a long breath and then looked at Augusta steadily. “I am not guilty of what you speak of, Augusta. I do not know where Lord Rushton is.”
“Then return to your room and return to your bed,” Lady Westbrook said sharply, before Augusta could say anything in response. “We will have more questions for you come the morn, Mr. Stayton, but for the present, you are of little use to us.” She reached out and took the candle from Stayton, who gave it to her without even a murmur of complaint, clearly quite overcome by the resounding authority in Lady Westbrook’s voice. As Augusta watched, Stayton retreated into his room, closing the door tight. The sound of a key scraping in the lock told her that he was not as assured as he had appeared.
“It is Knowles, then,” Augusta breathed, reaching out to lean against the wall for a moment, weakness overtaking her. “I never once considered that it might be him.”
Lady Westbrook shook her head. “Nor I,” she said, quietly. “But we must go on now, Lady Augusta, with all strength. The gentlemen will be in pursuit and they will find him, I am sure.” She grasped Augusta’s hand. “But what of Lord Rushton? Where might Knowles have him?”
Augusta shuddered violently, then forced strength into her weak limbs. Now was not the time to be overcome. Yes, she had been given a great shock but she would not allow it to stun her. “We should look in Knowles’ room,” she said, standing up straight and lifting her chin. “That is the only place I can think of.”
“Very good,” Lady Westbrook said, the candle still in her hand. “Then lead the way, Lady Augusta. And let us hope that we will be successful, just as we pray the gentleman will be in their pursuit of Knowles.”
Augusta nodded and began to move quickly along the hallway, pushing every flicker of fear and anxiety from her mind and forcing the determination and hope that buried itself deep within her to come to the fore. She would do all she could to find Lord Rushton, to rescue him from the danger that now encompassed him, just as he had saved her. Silently, she sent up a prayer to heaven that he would still be alive, that he would not be too gravely injured. She prayed that the men would capture Knowles and return him to the house, so that the traitor would be brought to justice.
“I am coming, Rushton,” she whispered to herself, as they began to hurry down the servants stairs. “It will only be a little longer. Soon, you will be free.”
Chapter Thirteen
The sound of footsteps had caught Marcus’ attention but he had been unable to shout out loud, still bound and gagged within the small, cramped space he still found himself in. He had spent a good deal of time trying to work out who this person could be, wondering if it was Stayton and, presuming it was, what his intentions were for Marcus.
Stayton—if it was he who had captured him—had been walking around the room some hours before, clearly making no attempt whatsoever to check that Marcus was either still alive or even still bound. He had made one or two sounds, the noises feeble in the back of his throat, but all he had heard was a small chuckle, a dark sound that leeched towards him and made him shudder. Feeling weak and useless, he had resigned himself to spending some more time here, uncertain as to whether or not it was day or night. He presumed there were a few holes within his prison, for whilst he was still able to breathe, the air was thick and heavy. His body had been tired and somehow, despite his pain and uncomfortable position, he had managed to doze for a time. But now, he was sure, he could hear two lots of feet on the floor, straining to hear a little more.
The sound of murmuring voices caught his attention and he immediately tried to kick out at whatever was at his feet, his fingernails scratching at the board behind him. The voices were a little higher than a gentleman’s would be, and he began to kick out all the more, believing it to be either maids come to light the fire early in the morning, or one of the ladies from the League. He even attempted to bang his head against the wall, so that the thump might alert whoever was in the room but that did not succeed.
“Did you hear something?”
The clear, unmistakable sound of Lady Augusta’s voice had his heart soaring and, in the moment of silence that followed, Marcus made as much noise as he could, praying that she would be able to hear him. Bringing his knees up as far as they would go—which was not particularly far giving his bonds—he kicked out hard at the wall near his feet and heard something splinter.
“Good gracious!”
The sounds of scrabbling came to him now and he tried to call out, but the tight gag refused to let him do so. Small noises came from his throat but he continued to force them out from him, knowing that any sound was better than none at all.
“Lord Rushton?” There was another voice now, not that of Lady Augusta but rather of someone else. “We are searching for you and I think we have you but there are some things on top of the trunk. Wait a moment and it shall soon be opened.”
A trunk? Little wonder he was so cramped, if he had been placed bodily in one of the trunks in the various rooms of the house! His breathing quickened in anticipation as he heard things being lifted from the lid, until, finally, it was heaved open.
“Lord Rushton!”
Hands reached down and untied the knots at the back of his head, fingers pressing against the most painful part of his head, but he did not allow himself to make a single sound of pain. Wincing instead, he blinked furiously as the blindfold was removed, the candlelight burning in his eyes for a few moments.
“Where am I?” he rasped, the gag now removed, his mouth dry. “What happened?”
Lady Augusta shook her head mutely, her eyes huge with fright as she and Lady Westbrook continued to work at his bonds. Within a few minutes, he was free of his ties and finally able to pull himself to his feet, although it did take him a
few attempts to raise himself to stand given just how long he had been tied in such a way. One of his legs and both of his hands had gone numb and now, as the blood flowed back to it, he could not help but groan, closing his eyes tightly as he waited for the feeling to return.
“Lord Rushton?” Lady Augusta was looking at him with a good deal of anxiety in her expression, but with an effort, he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it as best he could.
“I am well,” he said, seeming to be aware that this was what she needed to hear in order to settle her heart and mind again. “My limbs are a little painful and I could use something to drink, but…” He looked at her again and found his heart overflowing. “I thank you.”
“Here.” Lady Westbrook had somehow managed to conjure up a glass of water and Marcus took it at once, drinking greedily and feeling his throat begin to loosen. Lady Westbrook went about the room, lighting one or two more candles so that soon, there was enough light to see by. With a sigh of relief, he set the glass down and then climbed out of the trunk, looking all around the room as he did so.
“This is not Stayton’s rooms,” he said, frowning. “Do you mean to say –”
“It is not Stayton,” Lady Augusta interrupted, coming to stand a little closer to him, her expression now one of sheer relief as she saw he had recovered very well indeed. “It is Knowles.”
He stared at her for a moment, a cold chill running down him with the shock of what he had just heard. “Knowles?”
“We are sure of it,” Lady Westbrook said, firmly. “We discovered your absence some hours ago, Lord Rushton, but we could not come in search of you for fear of what Stayton would do.”
Lady Augusta dropped her gaze, a flicker of guilt in her expression. “I wanted desperately to come in search of you, Lord Rushton, but I realized that we could not, not when the time was so near.”
