Not yet,she told herself fiercely, teeth gritted.If I can cross the courtyard, I shall reach the terrace—and from there, the house. Just reach the wall, lean upon it, and keep moving.
So close,she thought wildly.So close.
Had the courtyard always been so vast?
Onwards she stumbled, and now Jenny began to notice the edges of her vision beginning to darken, as though tiny fish were nibbling at her eyes. Her eyes certainly felt as though they were trying to escape from her skull, and from the pain behind them.
It is only pain,she reminded herself.This time tomorrow, it will be gone. But it may already be too late for Maggie and Emma.
She resolutely did not allow herself to think about the implications of what had happened. She did not think about who had taken Emma and Maggie, or why, or what they might be suffering at that very moment. No, she would focus only on her current task, which was to find somebody—anybody!—and tell them what had happened.
The gravel gave way to a paved terrace. Jenny gave a moan of relief, although of course she was not there yet, not nearly. Only a few more steps, only her legs had turned to pudding and would no longer support her, letting her totter sideways…
She stumbled against a firm, warm chest, and a pair of strong arms encircled her, saving her from sagging down to the ground. She twisted her head up, squinting against the rain at her rescuer.
“Jenny?” Simon’s voice was incredulous. “You—you’re bleeding! What has happened?Jenny?”
Jenny, who had done remarkably well up to this point, finally surrendered to the dark.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“It is a trap, Neil. You know it is a trap,” Simon argued, voice fraying with a panic he could no longer disguise. “You cannot even think of going alone. Wemustinform the authorities at once.”
Neil said nothing for a long moment. Time had become elastic since Simon had come crashing back into the house, cradling Jenny like a fainting thing and shouting of kidnap and murder and Lord Bramwell. In truth, only hours—mere hours—had passed. The ransom note had arrived half an hour since, thrust into his hands by a wide-eyed urchin who had no notion of the dread he carried.
Neil’s fury, white-hot in his veins, had not subsided. He was beginning to think it never would.
The fury that burned through Neil’s veins had not ebbed. If anything, it smouldered hotter the longer he stared at the letter. Jenny lay upstairs, tended by the physician and Aunt Harriet; Lord and Lady Farendale had retired in terror with their daughter. Neil kept forgetting that they were here at all. He supposed that it no longer mattered.
The ransom note was spread out on the desk between him and Simon. Two curls of hair, bound with twine, lay beside the letter. One curl was thick and glossy, a rich chestnut colour, and the other was thinner and paler.
One was Maggie’s. The other was Emma’s. Proof, the note claimed.
Neil stared at the locks as if they held some living cry. A curl of hair proved nothing, he told himself. Hair could be taken from the dead as readily as from the living. The thought made his stomach roll; he was obliged to turn from the desk and stare out through the rain-beaded window until the room stopped tilting.
It was raining—again—water sluicing down the glass. The lawn below had become a sodden mire, tracks of frantic feet marring the turf; searchers had tramped every inch. Carriage marks were found in the lane behind the wood: a plausible route of escape. Plausible, and horribly insufficient.
But the note answered the most urgent question—to where?—with an ugly neatness.
To His Grace theDuke of Burenwood,
No doubt by now you have discovered the absence of your niece, along with her governess, of whom you are so fond. Fear not—their recovery is an easy enough matter.
On the bank of the Thames, you will find a warehouse colloquially termed The Greenery. I believe you are familiar with the place. Come there posthaste and be sure to arrive before midnight. If midnight comes and goes without your presence, I shall assume you do not intend to come, and act accordingly.
Once you arrive, we may discuss how to proceed. I am sure you wish for your niece and your dear, dear governess to be released, but such terms come with a price, I am afraid. As I have said, we’ll discuss more when you arrive.
Oh, and one last thing—do be sure to come alone. This is rather important, your Grace. Do not bring friends, servants, soldiers, or any company but your own self. Should I spy a companion beside you, I shall be obliged to take swift, decisive action. Do not test me on this, not if you value the lives of your niece and governess.
I shall see you soon, my friend.
Unsurprisingly, the letter was unsigned. The handwriting did not match the words, either. It was a slow, laborious hand, littered with spelling mistakes and crossings-out. Neil had guessed that Victor had dictated the message, getting one of his thugs to write it himself. That way, in court, Victor’s handwriting would not match that of the note. Clever.
“It is a trap,” Simon repeated, beginning to sound rather panicked. “You mustn’t go. He’ll have men. It’s a snare—”
“It is most certainly a snare,” Neil admitted, “but I believe Maggie and Emma are there.” He pushed the curls toward Simon as if that small evidence might anchor reason. “And that is where I shall go.”
“Neil—” Simon began again.
