Miss Peterson & The Colonel (10 page)

'They'll not be here that soon, Colonel. The roads will be impassable and the ford flooded; they must make a detour of fifteen miles to the bridge. We can't expect help for several hours.'

'Then we shall have to make this substitution work. If those villains get away, then so be it. They will take nothing of value with them.'

What he hadn't yet told the young man was that it was inevitable they would all be taken prisoner. Lydia would not be exchanged. The men would be forced to give up their weapons, then the rest of his group would be rounded up.

Jenkins said it for him. 'Shall I warn the others to surrender, sir? No point in anyone being hurt.'

To his surprise, Peterson grinned. 'Don't worry, I'd already surmised that's how it would go. You're banking on the traitors being happy with the book, aren't you?'

'I am. Hopefully they'll not have discovered the two stable hands hiding in the yard. With luck they can release us when the coast is clear.'

'And if they've been captured?'

'Then we shall have to remain incarcerated until Dawkins and his troop arrive. It's a small inconvenience compared to what could happen.' Simon sent a fervent prayer to the Almighty that his opponents were not bloodthirsty murderers determined to leave no one alive to identify them.

*

The gang threw Lydia back into her corner. Her heart was pounding and her mouth dry; if she was to escape she had to do it immediately. Simon had decided to give up the book. She saw it in his eyes. He had been telling her that she would be released unharmed. The only way that could be achieved was by betraying his country and handing over the precious volume.

There were knives stored in the cupboard. There must be some way to get into it.

With one at her disposal, surely she could cut her bonds? It was a remote possibility, but the only idea she had. Far better to fight than remain cowering in a corner. She sighed loudly and slipped down the wall, pretending to swoon.

The men were gathered around the table talking urgently. Now was her opportunity. She toppled sideways so that she was resting with her head beneath the bureau.

Had they heard her? Was someone watching her every move?

It was too dangerous to open her eyes – that would reveal she was dissembling and her chance would be lost.

Forcing herself to breathe deeply and evenly, she slumped further until she could feel the edge of the cupboard door beneath her cheek. This was the difficult part; she must nudge it open with her nose without arousing suspicion.

The leader was becoming impatient. 'I'll give him another ten minutes. If he ain't back by then we'll take the girl and go and find him. He'll hand it over soon enough if I stick my knife in his little lady.'

'And then what, guv?'

'Then we'll recover the book and tie the others up. We ain't got time to search for the rest of the staff. I want you two to set a fire under the stairs and burn this place down. We want no witnesses left behind to identify us.'

They were going to murder everyone. It was one thing for her to give up her life for King and country but she could not sit by and let innocent people die as well. The women upstairs must be saved. She had to make her move immediately. Simon must be warned. If he returned with the book they would all perish.

Chapter Ten

The men were occupied, checking their weapons, preparing to spring an ambush on Simon and his men when he returned in good faith to exchange her for the book. She was ignored for the moment. Slowly, the cupboard door opened an inch or two. She nudged it again until she could see inside. There was a broken knife in the tray on the bottom shelf; this would be better than nothing. How was she to remove it with not even her teeth to assist her?

She eased up until her head and shoulders were inside the cupboard. Any moment she expected to be struck down from behind. Using her chin, somehow she fumbled the knife out. Balanced on the edge of the tray, it fell bouncing against her chest to land between her knees.

She'd done it.

Her elation made her incautious, made her forget she was supposed to be asleep. From nowhere, rough hands gripped her shoulders and hauled her backwards.

'You'll not try nothing a second time,' a voice snarled in her ear.

Her eyes widened and she braced itself. His fist rose and her world went black.

*

'Are we ready, men?' Simon asked. The group murmured their agreement and all but Jenkins and Smith shuffled nervously. 'You stay here, David. Anything goes wrong, guard the real book with your life. Put it back on the shelf. You must never reveal its whereabouts.'

Peterson clasped his hand. 'Save Lydia. She's the world to me.'

On impulse, Simon threw his arm around the young man's shoulders. 'And to me, my boy, and to me. When this is over, I intend to marry your sister.' He grinned. 'I take it I have your permission? Although by rights it is Edward I should apply to. Is he not your guardian?'

'In name only. We send him any paperwork and his man of business attends to it.

'Anyway, Lydia does as she pleases. You don't need my permission, but you have my approval. I knew as soon as I met you, you're the man for her.'

What was he thinking of? Now was not the time to be talking of such matters, all their lives depended on the next few minutes. Leaving the young man to hide the book, he strode out. He was taking only his own men with him. He addressed the others. 'I've decided to give them the book. I believe there's an excellent chance they will be caught before they can hand it on. I cannot sacrifice Miss Peterson.'

A round of approval greeted this remark. No one, apart from David, knew there had been a substitution.

'You all know what to do: you must throw down your arms when told to do so. I want none of you killed tonight.'

The barricade was removed. Billy and Fred had instructions to replace the furniture, leaving all the doors available to the intruders. Simon prayed that offering no resistance would save the men's lives. He returned to the servants' quarters, making sure he could be heard. There was nothing stealthy about his approach. He shouted through the closed door: 'I have the book, I wish to exchange it for Miss Peterson.'

Two rifles and his pistols were trained on the door. The same filthy individual peered through the door.

'You ain't having the girl until you disarm. Drop your weapons and we'll hand her over.'

Simon peered over their heads. Lydia was lying in a crumpled heap, apparently unconscious. Icy rage engulfed him. They would suffer for treating her this way. He removed the book from his pocket and waved it in the air above a flickering sconce. 'If you do not give me Miss Peterson, I shall drop the book in here.'

It was a risk. He would lay down his life for her but they must not know. Two villains picked her up between them. Her head flopped, blood trickling down the side of her face. The leader stepped in last, a wicked blade in his hand. He pressed it against her neck, drawing blood on the white skin.

'You have thirty seconds before I slit her throat.'

Simon didn't hesitate. Enough was enough. 'Put your weapons down, men. It's over. I cannot risk Miss Peterson.'

He dropped his pistol and the others followed suit. No sooner were the weapons on the ground than they were surrounded and bundled into the hall. The book was snatched from his fingers. The man gave it a cursory glance before ramming it in his waistcoat pocket. Simon was shoved into a chair and tied up by two of the men. The rest of the gang was sent to round up the others. God willing they would not bother to search out the ladies upstairs.

Five minutes later they were bundled in, trussed and dropped against the far wall. Simon held his breath. His subterfuge had worked. The leaders seemed more intent on getting away than murdering his captives. The door was locked from the outside and they took the candles with them, leaving the room in total darkness.

Simon waited until he was certain they had gone before he made a move. First he must attempt to spit out his gag so he could communicate with the others. It might be possible for one man to release his neighbour.

He must remain calm. There was no immediate urgency to escape from the hall; the danger was past. The traitors might well discover the stable hands when they went to make their escape. This would delay matters somewhat, but no one would suffer unduly whilst they waited for Dawkins to arrive and release them.

But how would the soldiers get in? The house was locked tight. Would they think to try the coal hatch? Had the gang the intelligence to bolt the trap door before they departed? All this could be left until later. He must deal with the situation here.

He'd memorized the room before it had been plunged into darkness. Sam and Jenkins were tied to chairs on the far side of the table. David and the other men were against the wall under the window. But far more important, Lydia was lying directly behind him. She was parallel to the table and the bureau with her head toward the centre of the room. How bad were her injuries? If anything were to happen to her, he would not wish to go on living.

He could not dislodge the gag and was not able to warn anyone what he intended to do. So be it. He dare not delay any longer.

He started to throw his weight from side to side until he had gained momentum and then toppled his chair backwards on to the flagstones with an almighty crash. The back splintered. His hands were free. It was the work of moments to remove the rope from his legs and tear off the disgusting rag which had served to keep him silent.

'I'm free. Everyone remain where you are. I'm going to release Miss Peterson first.'

A series of thumps and grunts told him he was understood. He dropped to his knees and began to edge forward until his fingers touched her. 'Sweetheart, lie still, I'll have you safe directly.' Her skin was warm to the touch, thank God; she could not be badly hurt. He had all but forgotten his own injuries. A dull ache behind his eyes was all that was left to remind him.

He ran his hands down her body and something sharp nicked his finger. He swore and lifted out the object that had injured him—the blade of a sharp knife. Excellent, this was going to make removing the ropes from her hands and feet far easier. By touch he gently pulled the gag over her head. He spoke to her again, more urgently. 'Lydia, can you hear me? I need to know that you're not badly hurt.'

A rush of relief poured through him as she stirred and mumbled something. 'I must undo the men, my love, but will be back to you as soon as I've done so.'

He stood up, keeping his eyes closed – it was far easier to negotiate in darkness when you weren't trying to see. He took one stride to the table. He would release Jenkins then his man could do the rest. This wasn't the first time they'd found themselves in such a predicament.

He groped his way along until he cracked his shins on the chair to which Jenkins was attached. 'I have a knife, Jenkins. When you're free, release the others.'

When he removed his gag Jenkins coughed and cleared his throat noisily. 'You take care of Miss Peterson, sir. Leave this to me.'

'I'm certain she's merely stunned. I wish we had some light, but I've no idea where to find candles or a tinderbox.'

Someone attempted to speak whilst kicking the floor. Her brother was trying to attract his attention. Of course! He'd know exactly where these things were kept. Leaving Jenkins to release Sam, he dropped to his knees and made his way carefully across the room. He'd no wish to tread on Lydia; she'd suffered enough indignities already.

'David, bang your feet so I can find you more easily.'

A series of thumps directed him to the left. With outstretched hands, he edged forward until his knees bumped into the person he was seeking. Immediately he snatched the gag from David's mouth. 'Young man, do you know where there's candles and a tinderbox?'

'They're stored in a cupboard next to the fireplace. Have you seen to Lydia yet?'

'He has no need do anything for me, David. I'm a trifle dizzy, but otherwise unhurt. I'm going to stand up and get out of everyone's way.'

Simon grasped the young man's hands. He knew David was equally relieved the young woman they both loved was conscious. She laughed softly in the darkness. 'From the noise over there I think it might be wise if you all remain where you are and let
me
find the candles. I'm almost there. I'll have the room lit in a few minutes.'

*

Although Lydia had told Simon she was fine, her thoughts were jumbled, the pain in her head making it difficult to concentrate. But it was true, the candles would be easier for her to locate. She was closest. Once the room was lit, she'd take the opportunity to sit and rest until she felt more the thing. Crashing and swearing in the darkness indicated the other men were free and blundering about the pitch black room. She and David had the advantage. Although they didn't visit the servants' hall that often they knew its layout well enough. As she knelt by the cupboard, she hesitated. There was something she should be telling Simon but she couldn't recall what it was.

Her outstretched fingers found the door latch and she pulled it open. Reaching in, she soon located the tinderbox and two candles. Simon arrived at her side. She knew instinctively it was him without him having to speak. His arms slipped round her waist and he gathered her gently against his chest. She relaxed into his embrace, feeling safe for the first time that night.

'Do you have the candles, my love?' He didn't release her. No one could see he was doing anything improper.

'I do, but I have not yet discovered any candlesticks. Once we have some light no doubt we'll find some easily enough.'

Slowly she rotated within his grip, stepping away before placing the candles and tinderbox in his outstretched hands. To her surprise, he was able to turn and toss the objects onto the table. Could he see in the dark? Then his arms were around her once more. His voice was soft in her hair.

David spoke from the darkness. 'Have you found the candles, Lydia? We're standing around here afraid to move in case we trip over something.'

She stepped away from Simon and moved cautiously to the table before answering. 'I'm going to try and light one this very minute.' She picked up the tinderbox but had difficulty locating the aperture.

'Let me do it, Lydia. Your hands will not be steady enough strike a light.'

Simon was quite correct: he would be quicker by far. 'I believe there are more candles on the lower shelf. I shall rummage for those whilst you light the first two.' She stilled. A chill ran down her back. There was something vital she had forgotten. What was it? Then she was distracted by his swearing.

Listening to him cursing under his breath because the spark was not sufficient, she came to a decision. If she was to become his wife she would insist that he desisted from using such bad language in her presence. She smiled at the thought of his reaction to her request. No doubt he was unaware that he larded his conversation with expletives so used was he to mixing with common soldiers. Her questing fingers finally grasped a bundle of beeswax candles. Tallow candles gave off such an unpleasant smell that when she'd taken over the reins of the household she'd dispensed with them.

Why was she bothered about such trivialities? Why could she not dispel this unease?

Eventually Simon succeeded and the first candles were alight. It was a relief to be able to see once more. She was about to pass him the bundle when her eyes widened, his shape became blurred and she feared she would swoon. She'd finally recalled what had been niggling at the back of the brain, the vital information she'd overheard.

Stumbling forward into his outstretched arms, she was hardly able to form the words. 'Simon, they have set fire to the house. They intend all of us to perish in the blaze. I'm so sorry, I should have told you immediately.'

'Are you sure? The air is clear enough in here. If they set it before they left I'm sure we would be aware of it by now.' Ignoring the other occupants of the room, he swept her up in his arms and carried her easily to the fireplace where he gently placed her in the rocking chair that Cook used each evening.

'It cannot have taken, my love. As soon as we have the door open, I'll go and investigate. Remain here; you're not as well as you believe. Leave matters to us.'

She'd had done her part. She would rest as he suggested. Although the blow to her temple was of no account, the headache it had left her with, combined with her fatigue, was making it difficult for her to stay awake. She closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the room drift away. She was roused when Simon knelt down beside her.