Barrington nodded grimly. “That’s my concern. They know what’s at stake. You, Alex, and I know how long Rowland had been working to expose them. What Georgina found might be the last piece. And if they lose that—”
“They fall,” Simms finished.
Barrington tapped the map. “Which is exactly why we tread carefully. They’ve cloaked their desperation in bravado. But if they feel theground give way—”
“They’ll drag her down with them,” Simms said.
Barrington met his eyes. “Exactly. That place should have been empty.”
“That’s the quarry site,” Barrington said, tapping the map. “The mine entrances run along the back wall, here, and here. Only one is stable. The others collapsed years ago, or so we thought.”
“Any word from Tresham?” Simms asked without looking up.
“Still buried in ledgers at Cambridge,” Barrington replied. “If there’s a pattern we missed, he’ll find it.”
Barrington looked up at Simms. “You think she’s in the quarry.”
“I do, and so does his lordship.”
Barrington considered the layout, then pointed. “Simms, east ridge. Eyes on the rear.” He tapped the map again. “Alex and I go through the front.”
“We’re wasting time,” Simms said. “Every minute we wait—”
“We cannot afford to make any mistakes. None,” Barrington said firmly. “We go in blind, we lose her. Or they make certain we never find her again.”
The words hung in the air like smoke.
By nightfall, Ravenstock had changed.
No more pacing the halls. No more guessing at shadows. The uncertainty had become action. Even the staff moved differently, quieter, more watchful. A footman extinguished one of the front hall lamps early, and Mrs. Bainbridge kept to her rooms with the door shut. The manor itself seemed to understand something unspoken was about to unfold.
In the barn, Simms laid out the equipment: rope, lanterns, two pistols, and extra powder wrapped in oilcloth. He inspected each piece in silence, testing the flints, adjusting the harness straps.
Barrington stood nearby, sleeves rolled, reading through a worn notebook filled with hand-drawn layouts of the quarry. “There’s anaccess hatch above the main entrance,” he said, almost to himself. “If it’s still there, it could give us a second angle.”
Eliza entered with a basket. Bread. Apples. A flask of broth. Her face was drawn but steady. She placed the basket near the door, then turned to Barrington.
“I know you’ll bring her back,” she said. She didn’t ask. She declared it. The steadiness in her voice wasn’t belief in chance. It was the belief in them, in the men who loved Georgina enough to cross the dark for her.
Barrington only nodded. Words wouldn’t have served. Not when the air between them held everything neither could name. What if he failed? It wouldn’t only be Georgina he lost. It would be all of them.
Mrs. Hemsley came next, a folded cloth in her hands. “She’ll need this,” she said. “It’s her favorite shawl. The green one.”
He should have paid more attention to Georgina. But now wasn’t the time for regret, only results. Barrington accepted it without speaking, tucking it carefully into his pack.
Outside, the wind was rising. It moaned against the shutters and stirred the trees like a warning. The scent of rain hung in the air, sharp and cold, but the sky was moonless, starless, waiting. And inside, the house held its breath.
Barrington looked at Simms. “Midnight. We ride quiet. Douse the torches half a mile out. We go in as shadows.” He paused. “We come out with her. That’s the only thing that matters.”
Simms met his gaze. “Agreed.”
The last bell of the night tolled just as they crossed the outer gate. The sound followed them down the road, a warning, a promise, a reckoning yet to come.
Chapter Thirty-One
Alex waited insilence.
The rain had come and gone twice. The wind had quieted. Still no movement. No light behind the shutters. No sound beyond the distant rustle of trees.
