Anna Jacobs (28 page)

“Your hands aren’t tied, so you can surely feel your way around? There must be something sharp that you could use to saw at the ropes.”

She dared not let him see that she suspected him of arranging this. She waited impatiently, hearing him fumbling about in the darkness. What if he left her tied up and then assaulted her person? The mere idea of him touching her again in that way made her feel ill.

“I’ve found something sharp,” he said at last. “It’s some sort of garden implement, I think.”

And you’ve no doubt realized how suspicious it would look if you didn’t release me, she thought to herself. “Thank goodness!” she said aloud. “Oh, Mr Smeathley, my arms are hurting so much.”

As he pulled her into a sitting position, his hands again strayed briefly across her body. She said nothing and he began to saw at her bonds. It seemed to take a long time, but at last she felt the bindings slacken. When they fell away and she tried to move, she cried out involuntarily as pain shot up her arms.

“Pray allow me to massage your arms, Miss Dencey,” he said in a throaty voice, his breath hot on her cheek.

“Keep away! I mean, thank you, Mr Smeathley, but there’s no need.” She was only too conscious of the size of the body supporting her and was sure he could easily overpower her, whether she was bound or not. “Thank you for your help, but sensation is returning to my limbs and I can move on my own now.”

The arm round her shoulders was not removed. “However brave you’re trying to be, my dear Miss Dencey, a female in your circumstances must be terrified. Allow me to comfort you until you are yourself again.”

“Oh, I always recover quickly when I’ve been kidnapped,” she said as lightly as she could. She pushed away from him and managed to stand up before he’d realized what she was doing, but he did the same and, to her mingled fear and frustration, she found herself trapped in the corner of the hut by his large, well-fleshed body.

“I’m afraid you may faint, Miss Dencey. Too sudden a movement could be dangerous. Or you might trip over something in the darkness.”

“Pray move back! Such close contact between us is unseemly, Mr Smeathley,” she snapped, losing patience.

“My given name is Augustus.”

“I prefer to call you Mr Smeathley. We aren’t related.”

Still he didn’t move away. “Whatever we say or do,” he pointed out, “this whole situation is highly unseemly, and I’m glad you’ve realized that. A young unmarried woman alone at night with a man to whom she is not related is a shocking thing, even when the man happens to be a clergyman with the purest of intentions. However, you need not worry. I shall, of course, marry you afterwards. I can do no less. Your good name is quite safe with me, my dear Beatrice.”

She pushed past him. “I need to move around, sir, to restore the circulation in my limbs.” She didn’t dare tell him what she thought of his offer. As long as she kept up the pretence of believing his tale, she might be safe. She bumped into a shelf and cried out involuntarily. A large hand groped for her and she was firmly seized again.

“Are you all right, my dear Beatrice?” The arm again slid round her shoulders and one of his hands lingered quite openly on her breast. “Ah,” breathed a voice in her ear, a voice husky with passion, “you are a very womanly creature.” The hand continued to caress her.

She tried to pull away from him, but he was far stronger than she was.

Chapter 14

First half an hour, then an hour passed and Miss Beatrice didn’t return to her room. Her maid became more and more worried. Surely Mrs. Smeathley could not be keeping her mistress talking for so long at this hour of the night?

Tilly went cautiously out into the dark corridor from which led the main bedrooms used by the family, and crept along it, listening at doors.

There was a light in the suite occupied by Mr and Mrs. Smeathley and the murmur of voices from inside. The light went out. A short time listening at the door confirmed that husband and wife were both there, settling down to sleep.

There was complete silence at Miss Eleanor’s door.

Tilly returned to her mistress’s bedroom, fidgeted around for a minute or two more, then lit a candle and went out again. As she made her way downstairs by its flickering light, the suits of armour made her shiver, because the moving shadows made them look as if they were waiting to pounce, but she swallowed hard and pressed on. Let it not be said that she had failed her mistress in time of trouble. She felt quite sure something was wrong.

The house was silent, full of dark shadows and rustling sounds. At the bottom of the stairs, Tilly paused to listen again. Nothing.

She groped her way to the front door, but it was bolted. Where was Miss Beatrice?

She went to listen outside the old lady’s rooms on the ground floor. Utter silence.

Even more worried than before, she tiptoed back up the stairs, again checked her mistress’s room, but found it as empty as before.

She went to listen outside Miss Eleanor’s room again, but that, too, was dark and there was not even a hint of movement from inside.

As she turned to go back to her mistress’s room, she saw a man standing in the shadows behind her and jumped in terror, sagging in relief when she recognized him.

“Be quiet!” he whispered. “It’s only me!”

“Oh, Mr Serle!” She clutched her breast, for her heart was still pounding, and tried not to sob aloud in shock.

“Shh. What are you doing creeping round the corridors at this hour of the night, Tilly?”

“I was looking for Miss Beatrice, sir. She hasn’t come back!”

“What! Where did she go?”

“Downstairs to speak to Mrs. Smeathley. A note came, asking for her.”

“Who brought this note?”

“Mrs. Smeathley’s maid, sir. But that was over an hour ago.”

Justin stood motionless for a moment, trying to work out the implications of this. “Where can she have gone?”

“That’s what I was trying to find out, Mr Serle. I went to listen outside Mrs. Smeathley’s bedroom and I heard her and her husband speaking, so she can’t be there. I even went downstairs to check.”

“I heard you coming back up the stairs. Look, we can’t talk here. Let’s go back inside Miss Dencey’s room.”

Once there, Tilly explained again about the message, ending, “... and I’m ever so worried, sir, for it’s all dark and locked up downstairs, even near her ladyship’s rooms, so where can Miss Beatrice have got to?”

“I don’t know, but I promise you I’ll find out. I - “

“What’s wrong?” Eleanor was standing in the doorway in her nightgown, with a cloak clutched around her. “And where’s Bea?”

Serle turned to frown at her. “Shh! That’s what we’re trying to work out.”

“You mean - she’s missing?”

“Yes.”

Eleanor stared at him in amazement. “But she came up to bed ages ago!”

Another form appeared in the doorway.

“Oh Crispin, Bea’s disappeared!” Eleanor threw herself into his arms and he clasped her to him.

In terse phrases, Justin explained the situation, as far as they knew it.

“We’d better go and look outside, then,” said Crispin in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. “She could have got locked out. Come along, Eleanor. You know the house and grounds better than we do.”

She refrained from pointing out that if Bea had been locked out, she would only have needed to knock on the door to gain admittance, since Borrill’s room was downstairs in this old-fashioned establishment.

They crept down and went out through the library, trying not to make any noise. As they started exploring the terrace, quickly establishing that there was no sign of Beatrice out there, the butler woke up and joined them.

Serle had difficulty hiding his frustration as they were delayed for yet another explanation when Beatrice could be in grave danger.

However, Borrill’s presence proved to be an advantage, for he slipped back inside and came out with three storm lanterns, whose light was a great improvement on the flickering candles the two men were carrying.

They all spread out along the terrace and started to search more carefully.

It was Crispin who discovered broken twigs and leaves next to one of the bushes, with an overturned potted plant nearby.

Justin examined the evidence, his expression becoming grimmer and grimmer, then he went further along that side of the house, where he found marks in the soft earth near a flower bed, as if something had been dragged along the ground.

Careful scrutiny of the area, with lanterns held close to the ground, revealed large footprints leading away from the house, with slide marks alongside the first dozen or so, then a jumble of marks, then nothing but the large footprints.

“Someone’s been dragged along here, I reckon,” said Borrill. “Look at those marks, Mr Herforth. And they stopped here, milling around. I reckon they picked Miss Dencey up and carried her after this.”

No one argued with his unspoken assumption that Beatrice had been kidnapped, but Eleanor clutched her beloved’s hand and found comfort in the way he gave it a quick squeeze and kept hold of it.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I’d say you were right, Borrill.”

“Where does this path lead to, Eleanor?” demanded Serle, his voice sharp with anxiety.

“Well, nowhere, really. Just to some sheds.”

“Show me!”

Clutching her cloak around her, Eleanor led the way through the shrubbery, holding Crispin’s hand quite openly. With his free hand, he held one of the lanterns up to light their way. “That must have been where Mr Smeathley was going yesterday,” she whispered.

“I only hope we’re in time,” he said, then could have kicked himself when he saw her look even more anxious.

“If he’s touched Bea, I shall find one of grandfather’s dueling pistols and shoot him,” she said through gritted teeth.

He squeezed her hand. “No need. I rather fancy we can leave him to Serle.”

Her eyes brightened and she looked sideways to see that Serle’s lips were a tight, bloodless line and his free hand was clenched into a fist.

The sheds proved a disappointment, for they were empty of anything except garden implements and sacks. Frustrated and afraid for Beatrice, Serle prowled round the bushes behind the huts and then returned, only to stop dead in his tracks, frowning as if in thought.

“Where can she be?” asked Eleanor loudly.

“Shh!” Serle’s whisper was so ferocious that everyone fell silent. He stood in a listening posture, then looked at Crispin, who was also listening. “Did you hear something?”

“I’m not sure. Over there, do you think?”

“Yes.” They listened again in silence, then Justin said, “I definitely heard something that time. It sounded like a woman’s voice.” The mere thought that Beatrice might be in some sort of distress made him set off in that direction, without bothering to find out whether the others were following him.

Walking in single file now, they pushed their way along an overgrown path and found that it led them to another hut. This one had its door firmly bolted from outside and had a large key in the lock as well.

“Hello?” Justin called, banging on the door. “Is anyone in there?”

From inside, someone cried, “Oh, thank goodness!”

The voice had a distinct quaver and at the sound of it, Justin thrust his lantern into Eleanor’s hand and threw himself at the door, tearing back the bolt and nearly ripping the door off its hinges as he flung it open.

He snatched the lantern back from Eleanor and thrust his way through the narrow doorway, calling almost immediately, “Thank God! She’s here!”

When he came out a moment later, he was supporting Beatrice, who was clinging to him openly.

Eleanor threw herself at them, embracing her cousin and Justin indiscriminately. “What happened? Oh, Bea, we were so worried about you! Oh, thank goodness you’re safe!”

Beatrice shivered and pressed against Justin. “I was abducted.”

Eleanor stared at her for a moment, then gasped, “Like in Cressida’s Revenge?”

“It wasn’t at all like those stupid novels!” snapped Beatrice. “I’ll have you know, Eleanor, that when one’s hands are tied behind one, it’s just not possible to wriggle free. Nor can one spirit oneself through a heavy door that’s bolted on the other side!”

“Oh!” Eleanor’s tone was faintly disappointed.

“And what’s more, one can’t scream for help with a mouth full of gag. In fact, adventures are not at all pleasant in real life and I hope I never have another one as long as I live!”

“I’ll make sure you don’t,” Justin promised quietly.

Eleanor looked so disappointed that Crispin burst out laughing. “There you are, then, my love. I feel exactly the same way about adventures, so you’ll just have to be content with a mundane life from now on.”

A groan issued from inside the hut and they all froze.

“What’s that?” Crispin demanded, amusement vanishing. “Is there someone else in there?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention that Smeathley is lying on the ground unconscious,” drawled Justin, not even turning round toward the hut. “How did that happen, Beatrice?”

His beloved began to fidget with his coat buttons. “I’m afraid I hit him over the head with a flower pot. I - um, I seem to have hit him a bit harder than I intended.”

Eleanor gaped at her. “But why?”

“Because he’s the one who kidnapped me and,” Beatrice blushed, “because he was behaving improperly.”

Crispin put one fingertip on Eleanor’s lips, and shook his head to warn her not to pursue this point.

“I dare say he has a thick skull,” Justin said savagely. “It certainly looks thick. Let’s leave him to recover on his own.” Though the fellow didn’t deserve to come out of this unscathed, and Justin had every intention of coming back once he had seen Beatrice safely to her room to teach him a sharp lesson.

Crispin went to peer into the hut. “His hands appear to be tied behind his back as well.”

They all turned to stare at Beatrice. “Well, he kept trying to force his attentions on me and telling me we’d have to get married! As if I’d marry him! So I hit him on the head with the first thing that came to hand and then to be sure, I tied him up with a strip of my petticoat.”