by Jane Goodger
Rebecca wanted to argue but stopped herself. If they did run out of oil before they were found, they would be in utter darkness, something Rebecca hoped not to experience. “Very well. It doesn’t make much sense to try to get anyone’s attention now. They are all abed and too far away to hear us at any rate.”
Molly got up and doused the lamp before returning to the mattress. “Here, I’ll make room.” Rebecca could feel Molly moving over to accommodate her.
“Thank you. Good night.”
She lay next to the maid, stiff and frightened, her eyes open and staring at the blackness of the room. After a minute, she felt a hand on her wrist; Molly gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “I know it’s horrible for you to be here. I know that. But I’m glad you’re here.” A pause. “I don’t mean to sound as if I’m glad you’re here—”
Rebecca smiled slightly. “I understand.”
Next to her, Molly sighed, sounding almost content, then turned on her side, facing away from Rebecca. In a few minutes, her breathing became even, and Rebecca sensed she’d fallen asleep. Rebecca lay there, straining to hear a sound from above. All she heard, though, was water dripping somewhere nearby. How far under the house was she? Those stairs had seemed to spiral endlessly.
Tomorrow, she could call for Oliver. She would call, over and over and over until she couldn’t call any more. No ghost would call out his given name. Surely, he would hear her. Or someone else would. Suddenly, her body heated with a new fear. What if Mr. Winters harmed Oliver? The man was obviously unhinged, calling himself the true duke. What if he decided he must eliminate Oliver so that he could become duke in truth—at least his own warped truth?
As she lay there, she wondered what Oliver would think when he discovered her missing.
Her eyes drifted closed, and as much as Rebecca wanted to stay awake, sleep overcame her.
Oliver strode to the stables, ready to rouse his driver and find out where he’d taken his wife. “Mr. Stevens,” he called, his eyes adjusting to the dark room. A horse nickered and stomped its hoof, annoyed with the disruption. His driver emerged from his quarters in the back of the stables, pulling on his braces and carrying his boots in his hand.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Where did you bring Her Grace this evening?”
The man gave him a confused look. “I didn’t bring Her Grace anywhere. Haven’t left the stables.”
Could she be afoot? That made no sense when it would have been a simple thing to order a carriage. “Are any horses missing?” he asked, knowing how ridiculous it would have been for Rebecca to have saddled her own horse. Then he recalled that she didn’t ride.
“No, Your Grace. All the cattle are here and well.” The man scratched his head, his brow furrowing. “Is something wrong, Your Grace?”
“The duchess is missing,” he forced himself to say. “I assumed she went to town.”
“Ah, bit of a lover’s quarrel then, Your Grace?” the man asked good-naturedly.
“Perhaps.” He looked about the large stable absently. “Thank you, Mr. Stevens.”
Oliver turned to go, and his driver called out, “If I see or hear anything, I’ll be sure to report it.”
Oliver waved his hand, acknowledging the man, but continued on, his head whirling with dark thoughts. It was frigid out, the ground covered with a light dusting of snow. He searched the grounds and found not a single footprint; had Rebecca left that evening, surely he would have seen signs of her departure in the snow. It had stopped snowing soon after they’d arrived. He tried to quell the panic that was growing in his chest, but it was becoming more and more difficult to come up with a logical explanation for her disappearance.
Unless something horrible had happened to her. He tried to shake the thought away, but he could think of no other explanation. She’d been upset. Perhaps she’d wanted to be alone and found a room where she could think things through and could at this very moment be injured, dying…
With a bracing breath, he pulled upon the door to find the grand entry filled with servants, all looking worried and no doubt wanting to hear news, any news. “She has not left,” he said. “The duchess is somewhere within these walls. I would like every room thoroughly searched, including the root cellar. I fear she may be in trouble, perhaps unconscious, for certainly she would have responded to my calls if she could have.” God, those words were difficult to say. Raw fear closed his throat momentarily, and he swallowed forcibly. If she had fallen, hit her head…
“Even the west wing, Your Grace?”
“Every room. I realize you would all rather be in bed and I greatly appreciate your help.”
“We’d do anything to help Her Grace,” one footman said, and the others nodded.
“Very well. Let’s find our duchess, shall we?”
With that, the servants dispersed. Oliver headed directly to his rooms, then stopped cold, as a terrible thought occurred to him. He had not searched Rebecca’s bathing chamber when he’d gone into her rooms. What if she had taken a bath to soothe her nerves? What if she had slipped on the slick tile and fallen? With a growing, sickening dread, he made his way to the door that connected their suites and headed for the bathing room, stopping just outside the door.
“Rebecca?”
Silence. He pushed open the door, a wave of relief nearly felling him when he found the room empty. “Thank God.”
Collecting himself quickly, he headed for the secret passage, intending to search every inch before expanding his search. Though he couldn’t imagine why Rebecca would go into the passage, she had once before and might have done so again. Perhaps she’d heard something in the walls; his bloody cat was always getting trapped in the passageway and meowing piteously to be let back in.
Just as he opened the passage, the cat appeared and dashed past him into the darkness. Despite the gravity of the situation, Oliver couldn’t help but smile at the wily little beast. Oliver knew the passages well and was used to navigating them in the dark, but this time he brought a lantern with him. If she was in the passage, he didn’t want to miss her.
“It’s morning.”
Rebecca slowly opened her eyes, then groaned as she realized where she was. It hadn’t been a nightmare; it had been real.
“How can you tell?” Rebecca asked, turning around to look at her cell mate.
“I always wake up just before seven.” Molly dangled her watch in front of Rebecca’s bleary eyes. “The first thing I do is light my lamp. Like a sunrise.”
Rebecca gave her a weak smile. “Good morning.” But it was not a good morning. It was an awful morning and Rebecca found her eyes pricking with tears.
“I won’t mind if you cry. I cried a lot over the years.”
“It’s only that I thought His Grace would have found us by now. I’m sure he’s realized I’m missing and begun a search. If he hasn’t found us, then he doesn’t know this place exists. I thought he knew about all the secret passages in the house.”
Molly furrowed her brow. “There are other passages?”
“Every room has a passage.” Rebecca sat up and her stomach growled loudly. It had been nearly a full day since she’d eaten anything.
“Food usually arrives before eight. I wonder if he’ll bring more, if he even knows there’s someone else down here with me.”
It was unlikely Mr. Winters would have told anyone what had happened.
Molly got up and retrieved some bits of cloth from the corner. “I’m making another doll,” she said with a shrug. “It helps pass the time.”
Rebecca sat next to her as the woman worked, slowly pulling stitch after stitch into what looked like a tiny pair of pantaloons. While she worked, Rebecca counted the dolls—thirty in all, and even smaller ones sitting on those. The dolls had children, it seemed. “You don’t have any men dolls,” she said. “How could the ladies have babies if there are n
o men?”
Molly looked up from her work, then burst out laughing, as if that were the most amusing thing she had ever heard. Rebecca had meant to be funny, so she joined in. “I haven’t laughed that hard in years.” Then she sobered. “Ten years.” Putting her sewing to the side, she said, “I had a man, you know. Peter Stevens. He worked in the stable, caring for the horses, and was the gentlest man I had ever met. I was so sweet on him.”
“Was he sweet on you, too?”
She smiled. “Yes. Though he only tried to kiss me once. It was right before…” She frowned, and looked at Rebecca. “Do you know if he still works for the duke?”
“Mr. Stevens is now stable master. And as far as I know, he has never married.”
“Oh.” Molly worried a piece of cloth in her hand. “I’m sure he’s not waiting for me. I’m sure he thinks I’m long dead.”
“I don’t know, but I am certain he will be pleased when the duke finds us and lets us out.”
Molly shook her head. “You shouldn’t talk like that. No one is coming. Not even your duke can find us here. You know, sometimes I thought I was so far down into the earth, I was close to the very devil.” She looked at her watch. “Half past eight. No food today.”
Rebecca felt like crying. “Have you gone many days without food?”
“A few.” Molly picked up the sewing again. “Those are the worst days of all because I wonder if I’ll ever eat again, if I’ve been forgotten or if the man who brings me food has died. And then I think, maybe that would be a good thing. Death. It would end this.”
Rebecca grabbed her arm. “I know you don’t want me to say this, but we’re getting out, Molly,” she said fiercely. “We are. I promise you.” When Molly’s eyes filled with tears, Rebecca gave her a little shake. “None of that. We’re getting out and we’re getting out now.”
Rebecca slid off the mattress and got to her feet, walking over to the door with determined steps. When she reached it, she pressed her mouth close to the edge of the door, to a place where more sound might escape. And then she began calling, over and over, for Oliver.
“Mr. Winters has gone, Your Grace,” Mr. Starke said.
Oliver looked up from the table where his breakfast sat uneaten. How could he eat when his wife was missing? All night, he and the servants had scoured every inch of the house, to no avail. It was almost as if she had disappeared into thin air. Just after dawn, Oliver had ordered one of the footmen to go into town to make inquiries there, but the man had returned in an hour with nothing to report.
Oliver wasn’t surprised; the lack of tracks in the snow told him that no one had left the house that night.
He hardly registered any reaction to the news that the man who had caused so much ill over the years was gone. “Thank you, Mr. Starke.”
He’d dismissed the butler, but the older man continued to stand in the doorway as if he had something further to say. With a sigh of impatience, Oliver said, “Is there something more, Mr. Starke?”
“Indeed there—” He stopped, and the expression on his face made Oliver realize he was about to learn something unpleasant.
“Out with it,” he demanded, bracing himself to hear the worst. Someone had found her.
“Mr. Winters was an evil man,” he said finally, surprising Oliver.
“Some might find him so,” Oliver said. Despite all that he had done, Oliver believed the man’s motives were good even if his means were twisted.
“No, Your Grace, he is evil. There can be no question. And I have been his accessory.”
Oliver gave the older man an assessing look. The poor fellow looked as if he were on the verge of tears. “Do come in and take a seat,” he said, indicating the chair adjacent to his.
“Oh, no, sir, I couldn’t…”
“I insist.” The butler lifted his chin and carefully sat down as if he planned to leap to his feet at any moment. “Please, tell me what is on your mind.”
“Very well.” Starke closed his eyes briefly, his hand moving nervously across the linen tablecloth in front of him. “Do you recall a maid, Molly Holly?”
Oliver could feel his face heat. He very much remembered the maid who’d seen him and then become so hysterical she’d had to be dismissed. “I do. She was dismissed more than ten years ago, I believe.”
Starke swallowed heavily. “She’s still here, in this house.”
“I’m not certain I follow.”
“Mr. Winters has been keeping her in the dungeon. Another woman who came to visit was also kept there for a time, but she died of a fever.”
Oliver suddenly found it difficult to breathe. “You are not jesting.”
“No, Your Grace. I wish I were. He… He made me bring her food every day. And remove her chamber pot. I wanted to refuse. I wanted to leave. But without a reference, I never would have found employment. I had just started here and had little experience. I felt I was lucky to have found such a position. He threatened to fire me, Your Grace, and spread word that I was a thief. I wanted to free her, I did. But I thought, she’s being fed. She’s not being harmed.”
“My God, she’s the ghost, is she not? The woman’s voice we’ve all heard. I thought it came from the servants’ quarters all this time.” Oliver stood abruptly, startling the older man. “We must go immediately and free her.”
“Your Grace,” Mr. Starke said, staying him. “I fear he’s done something to the duchess. He made no secret that he held her in contempt.”
“If he has, he will die.”
His words seemed to shake Mr. Starke, but the butler nodded in agreement. “I will show you the way.”
“The portrait gallery, I’ve no doubt.”
“Yes, Your Grace. A secret door.”
They began walking to the gallery, Oliver’s footsteps quick on the marble floor. “I thought I knew all the secret passages. I understood the way to the lower levels had been blocked off years ago, before my father’s time even.”
As soon as they turned the corner into the gallery, Oliver stopped, holding out his arm to halt Mr. Starke. And then he grinned. “It appears my duchess has been locked in the dungeon as well, Mr. Starke.” Indeed, they could hear a woman calling “Oliver” quite clearly. Mr. Starke hurried to the back of the gallery and stepped on a clever trigger in the floor, which caused a door to pop open just far enough so it could be prised open with one’s fingertips.
Oliver was about to run down the steps, when Mr. Starke stopped him. “One of the lamps. It’s missing,” he whispered.
Oliver turned to look at the older man, who was pointing to a small shelf at the top of the stairs. “If a lamp is missing, that means Mr. Winters is down there.”
Oliver tensed, realizing that Rebecca’s calls had abruptly stopped. He stepped back cautiously, quietly. “I am going to fetch my rapier. Should Mr. Winters return before I do, keep him here.”
Moving as silently and quickly as possible, Oliver ran out of the gallery and down the hall to where he and Winters had spent so many hours fencing. He grabbed his rapier, making sure to take the safety tip off before running back to the gallery, where Mr. Starke nervously waited.
“Now we can proceed.” He gave Mr. Starke an assessing look. “You don’t have to come with me, if you’d rather not.”
“I shall, Your Grace. It will be a pleasure to assist you in any way I can.” With that, Mr. Starke took up the remaining lantern and lit it, exposing a steep, winding stairway that disappeared into the darkness beyond the light of the lantern.
Rebecca had given up shouting for the time being. Now she and Molly sat on the bed, chatting about their childhoods. In another life, Rebecca might have been Molly’s friend, but she knew when they escaped—and they would escape—it would be difficult for them to talk this way. Rebecca had insisted Molly call her by her name, and the woman reluctantly agreed to it.
“M
y mum was carrying a babe when I disappeared,” she said wistfully. “I wonder what she had? I’ve a brother or a sister that I’ve never met, who is near ten years old. Seems so strange to think on it.” Suddenly, she tensed, and whispered, “Someone’s coming.”
When they heard the jingle of the keys, both looked at each other worriedly. Only Mr. Winters would use the keys. “I’d hoped he would be gone,” Rebecca whispered. “Maybe we can bash him on the head with the chamber pot. Now that we’re both free…” Her eyes widened. “Put the cuff back on.”
Molly hurriedly placed the cuff attached to the chain back on her wrist, grimacing as she did, but was careful to leave the lock open.
Just as she completed the task, the door swung open, revealing Mr. Winters, lantern in hand. Rebecca immediately stood and Molly followed; sitting seemed to put them at a disadvantage. “Good morning, ladies,” he said pleasantly, making a shiver run up Rebecca’s spine. “I’ve decided to clean up some loose ends before I take my leave. Kidnapping is a hanging offense, you see, and I should like to avoid the gallows. Can’t take the chance that someone will find either of you. Really, Your Grace, all that shouting. It was positively shrill.”
Rebecca stared at him in disbelief. “Whoever has been bringing Molly food knows of your crime.”
“He will never betray me.” He clicked his tongue. “Fear is the best motivator. Fear of death. Fear of starvation. Fear of being destitute. Starke is my accomplice. Why ever would he implicate himself? He may be a sheep, but he is not a complete idiot.”
“Mr. Starke,” Rebecca said, unable to comprehend how such a kind, gentle man could possibly have been Mr. Winters’ accomplice.
Winters smiled blandly. “You may be correct, though, Your Grace,” he said mockingly. “Perhaps Mr. Starke is another loose end that must be eliminated.” He reached down to his boot and withdrew a vicious-looking knife, the metal gleaming in the lamplight. “I’ll make it quick,” he said calmly, twisting the knife slowly in his hand as he examined the blade.
