Once, when confined to his bedchamber for misbehaviour, he had pushed a piece of paper under the door and then managed to dislodge the key from the lock on the other side and pull it under so he could escape. He had been soundly thrashed for his disobedience but secretly thrilled he had managed to get out.
The problem at the moment was he was unlikely to find any paper in the Stygian darkness. However, he did have his knife so could attempt to dislodge the key, if indeed it was still in the keyhole on the other side, and then pray he could hook it back using the blade.
He dropped to his knees and began the delicate procedure. The key was there, he could feel it with the end of the blade. He wriggled and pushed and it fell out. Next, he lay on the floor, gripped the knife by the very end of its handle and slowly moved the blade from one side of the door to the other praying that the key had not fallen out of his reach.
Yes – he could feel it. If he was careful he might be able to somehow wriggle it back under the door and thus be able to free himself. The alternative was climbing back the way he had come in and he doubted he was capable of doing so without falling. On his fourth attempt the key was within his finger's grasp. What he needed was something to hook it and bring it the last few inches.
His temperature was falling, a strange lethargy was beginning to overcome him. Sitting still and going to sleep would be fatal – he had seen men perish in the bitter cold because they had refused to keep moving. He had no intention of making the same mistake. One more try and then he would wrap himself in the holland covers and march up and down the room until morning and he was rescued.
Perhaps it would be better to get his blood pumping before he had a last try. He fumbled his way into the centre of the room and for the second time almost went head first when he came in contact with the pile of furniture. The cotton sheets were voluminous and took some effort to remove. When he had folded the two he had managed to extricate, he wrapped them around his shoulders.
Then he began to walk briskly up and down the space between the window and the furniture. He did this until he was reasonably warm and then returned to the door. He flattened himself and pushed his forefinger beneath the door and just managed to hook the key.
*
Beau heard what Aubrey had to say with incredulity. 'Why in God's name would a burglar have chosen to climb into a disused part of the house? Good grief! The place has been empty for months, why did they not come then?'
'You can ask him when he is captured. Now we are alerted to his presence there is no urgency as he will not get into the main part of the house without being seen. You might as well get dressed – it would not do for the Duke of Silchester to be seen in his nightshirt.'
'Do not go without me, I am quite looking forward to the experience. As far as I know there has never been a burglary here – no one before has had the temerity.'
His brother had managed to rouse the butler who had gone back to his bedchamber to dress correctly. He had been told not to bother to wake up any of the footmen as the three of them could deal with one intruder quite easily.
Aubrey was more or less dressed, there was not a lot of difference between a white, cotton nightshirt and a normal shirt in his opinion.
'Are you ready, little brother? I think we had better collect pistols from the armoury just in case he has a weapon himself.' This detour took a further fifteen minutes. Then, both of them carrying a lantern, they trekked to the far end of the house and unlocked the communicating door.
He couldn't restrain his chuckle. 'Look at that, I had forgotten I had told them to lock the rooms but leave the keys in the doors. The wretched man will not be able to get out. All we have to do is creep along the passage and listen for any movement.'
The third door they stopped at they could hear someone moving inside. Aubrey lowered the light. 'The key is on the floor, I wonder if the varmint was trying to pull it through.' He reached down and inserted it into the lock.
'Quietly now,' Beau whispered, 'try and turn it without alerting him. You get out your pistol, but put your lamp down. We will only need one – mine.'
This was done in silence, even the key turned without a sound. He put his hand on the handle and prepared to yank the door open. He did so and they both charged forward. His feet came into contact with something solid and the next thing he knew he was spreadeagled on the floor. The lantern flew from his hand and the candle went out. The air turned blue.
'Devil take it! Aubrey, Beau, stop kicking me and let me unravel myself.'
'What the hell are you doing in here? We thought you were a burglar.'
'I went for a ride and got locked out. That doesn't explain why you two are here – how in God's name did anyone know where I was?'
Beau rolled to one side away from the melee of arms and legs and, by the faint glimmer of the lantern left on the floor outside, he could just make out Perry who appeared to be wrapped in a shroud. Aubrey scrambled to his feet and heaved his twin upright.
'It's perishing in here. Here, take my coat, your hands are like blocks of ice.'
'No, you keep it, I shall be fully recovered once I get somewhere warmer.'
'I doubt that anywhere is particularly convivial in the middle of the night, Perry, but Peebles can rout out some help and get the fires burning in your apartment. Until then, I have no idea where we will be most comfortable.'
*
The three of them met the butler who was holding the greatcoat and other items he had abandoned earlier. They were too cold to be of much use to him. 'I shall be better in my bed. No need to disturb anyone. I am quite capable of making up my own fire. Good night and I apologise for disturbing your rest.'
Perry marched briskly up and down his sitting room to get his blood flowing freely and once he was sufficiently warm he stripped off his garments and put on his nightshirt and robe. Peebles had insisted on making up both fires and then arrived half an hour later with a tray of coffee and cake.
He drank the coffee and devoured the cake before thinking about retiring. Tomorrow he would go next door and insist on speaking to his wife. He was concerned that she might have been upset at seeing what she supposed to be a burglar climbing into the house. Then he smiled. Such a thing would be of no moment to her, she was not like any other young lady and he was glad of it.
There seemed little point in going to bed as it would be dawn soon and he intended to present himself at his brother's door before breakfast. He spent an inordinate time on his appearance and chose an elaborate knot for his neckcloth. His waistcoat was blue silk, as were the lining and collar of his coat.
Satisfied he was smart enough to plead his case he sat at hisescritoire, trimmed a pen and uncorked the ink. Writing down what he wanted to say to Sofia would make it easier when the time came. There might be only the one opportunity to try and persuade her to give him another chance, and he had no wish to make a sad mull of it.
After an hour the paper was still pristine. He had come up with nothing new to support his case. He could only apologise and pray she would forgive him. There was no excuse for his foolishness, unless being insanely jealous was an acceptable reason.
The clock had remained stubbornly on six o'clock and refused to move. He could wait no longer. He was going to rouse the household next door and demand to speak to his wife.
