‘If she is not,’ responded Max grimly, ‘I’ll tear the bastard from limb to limb until he tells me where he’s secreted her.’
‘Amen to that,’ the Reverend added fervently.
Nicholas and Malcolm glanced at each other. Clearly Marquess’s feelings went beyond mere affection. Despite the fraught circumstances, the Duke’s heart warmed. His sister-in-law deserved a man who appreciated her … distinctive qualities. He fought a silent grin, a welcome reprieve to the tenseness. If Max did wed Patience, she would undoubtedly lead the poor bastard a merry dance.Much like the rest of ushe mused ruefully.
The carriage began to slow, bringing his attention back to the present, and seconds later, they were turning into a track which was barely noticeable from the road. Truly Bamford had chosen an excellent location if he wished to keep his private asylum just that.
The coachman drove the horses carefully down the rutted track. The light was sporadic at best, with dense woodland on either side. After about fifteen minutes, the track opened up to a natural circle as Adam had described. The Earl dismounted and strode over to the carriage as the other four climbed down. ‘The entrance to the house is just up ahead,’ he advised.
Nicholas nodded. ‘How much daylight do we have left?’
‘An hour at the most,’ Malcolm answered, squinting through the trees. ‘We’ll have te be quick laddie if we’re going te rescue the lass afore we canna see a hand in front o’ us.’
The Duke turned to Max. ‘I know you are impatient, but I beg you, no heroics. Follow my lead.’ He turned to Reverend Shackleford who was dancing from one foot to the other in nervous anticipation. ‘Augustus,’ he commented drily, ‘the only reason you are here is because I recognise that had I not allowed it, you would simply have followed with Percy. This way at least I am assured of your curate’s continued wellbeing.’ His voice turned hard and clipped. ‘But if you eventhinkto take matters into your own hands, I will not hesitate to cut you off. Is that clear?’
Reverend Shackleford swallowed an indignant retort and nodded. He had no idea whether his son-in-law meant what he said but for once thought it best not to find out.
All conversation ceased as they carefully made their way towards the entrance. A broken ankle would clearly not add anything positive to the proceedings. Minutes later, they approached the gate which was currently wide open having admitted Bamford earlier.
Stopping, Nicholas turned to the others. ‘From here we’ll be unavoidably exposed until we reach the shadow of the house, but dodging from bush to bush will take forever. My suggestion is we walk as though we have every right to be here. Doing so may fool a casual observer.’
‘Well his carriage is there,’ commented Malcolm. ‘Let’s hope Bamford’s otherwise occupied.’
Without further ado, they strode out into the open. Max’s skin crawled at the thought they were being watched.
For a while, no one spoke, and the only sound aside from their footsteps on the cobbles was the Reverend’s puffing and panting as he sought to keep up with their brisk pace. ‘Brazen will only get us so far,’ murmured Nicholas as they got closer to the house and the clearly empty carriage, ‘so I suggest we avoid the front door.’
As they finally reached the Earl’s coach, the horses began to snort and stomp uneasily. ‘Evidently Bamford isna intending to stay the night,’ observed Malcolm
‘Should we split up,’ queried Adam, squinting up at the waning light.
Malcolm nodded his agreement. ‘I ken we’re running out of time laddie,’ he grimaced.
Nicholas sighed. He knew his valet was right. The light would be gone in under an hour. But if they remained separated and lost each other in the dark? He’d been in too many nightmare scenarios to warrant taking such a risk. Grimacing, he shook his head. ‘We stay together,’ he ordered. ‘Augustus, take up the rear. There’s no time to lose.’
They trod as silently as possible along the front of the house. There were no candles flickering in any of the windows, and Max wondered where the hell everyone was. Reaching the end, Nicholas paused for a second, peering round the corner, then after signalling them to follow, strode on. Minutes later, they’d circled the entire house. There’d been no sign of another door, and Nicholas feared they would have to resort to breaking a window, though the ones they’d seen were hardly big enough for a child to climb through.
‘Where’s Patience when you need her?’ muttered Max drily.
Adam gave a grim chuckle. ‘Clearly Bamford’s determined whoever’s in there is going to stay in there,’ he added.
‘What’s that?’ questioned the Reverend suddenly, pointing to a shadowy alcove six feet away. Frowning, Nicholas walked towards the area the clergyman was indicating and discovered a set of steps, almost invisible in the dusk. Cautiously making his way down them, the Duke discovered a door. Did it lead into the main house, or was it merely a storeroom? There was only one way to find out. Climbing back up, he beckoned the rest of the party to him.
And then they smelled the smoke.
Chapter Twenty-Two
By the time they were allowed out to work in the garden, Patience was becoming desperate. Throughout the day, she’d watched carefully for any sign of another door leading outside but had seen nothing. Undoubtedly there was a front entrance to the house, but she had no idea how to get there. The windows she’d observed were for the most part thick and mullioned which would be almost impossible to break, and they’d been watched the whole time by either Mrs Trenchant, or Cavendish. She could see no sign of a driveway and knew that if she tried to make a run for it, she’d be caught in seconds. The giant appeared to be enjoying her distress at the thought of what was to come, and every time she accidently caught his eye, he gave her a lewd wink. Towards sunset, her anxiety combined with her empty stomach began to make her feel lightheaded, and she had to fight an overwhelming urge to cast her account.
As the shadows began to lengthen, they were finally called inside. The only door they’d so far used was hidden at the foot of some steps at the side of the house. It led into a series of empty rooms on the lower ground floor which had obviously once been the servants’ sleeping quarters. As they filed in through the narrow door, Patience paused to look back. Though the driveway was undoubtedly around the front of the house, she thought she heard the sound of a carriage in the distance. Terror, the like of which she’d never known, gripped her whole body, and the slamming of the door behind her felt like a death knell. For the first time, the sound of the lock clicking into place gave her no sense of satisfaction.
Stifling a sob, she stumbled after the other women. This was the only external door they’d used. Somehow, she had to escape the watchful eye of Cavendish and find her way back here. But so far, she hadn’t even located anything to pick the lock with. Squaring her shoulders, she fought the urge to scream. Falling apart would do her no good, and all a bout of hysterics would get her was another night tied to her bed.
After Bamford had had his way with her.
As she waited for Cavendish to unlock the door to the room in which they broke their fast, Patience’s mind was racing. They’d been given no eating irons, so there was nothing on the table she could use to pick a lock. As they filed past the giant into the room, she kept her eyes to the floor, anxiously scanning it for anything suitable. The chamber was shrouded in gloom now with the only light being provided by two meagre candles melted onto the high window ledges, and another being held by Mrs Trenchant who was standing at one end of the table, scratching her head as she waited impatiently for them to sit down. ‘Get a bloody move on, you ain’t got all night. I want you finished and back in yer beds afore Bamford gets here.’ She looked over at Patience. ‘All except you deary,’ she finished with a leer.
Patience registered the pitying looks from the other women, and if she’d had any doubts of her captor’s intentions, they were quashed now. Summoning the last of her dignity, she stared over at the matron who was still picking at her head. Patience suspected the woman had lice and stifled the instinctive urge to scratch at her own scalp. Mrs Trenchant gave a knowing cackle. ‘The master’ll soon wipe that haughty look off yer face,’ she crowed.
