“Yes. But, while we wait for the horses, we can rack our brains. Does ‘slaughter’ join with anything to make a vestige of sense? Slaughter—Bill…? Still? Drill? I can think of no Slaughter Hill, can you?”
Despite the bright tone, he looked so drawn, and longing to spare him, Morris said, “A drink might help my brain. Don’t know about you, but I’m as starved as I am thirsty. Begad, I’d even welcome a glass of—”
“Water!”cried Rossiter. “Water,Jamie! Not Shorter!”
“Water—Hill?” said Morris, doubtful. “Never heard of it, but—” He gasped as Rossiter’s hand closed crushingly over his wrist.
“Water…mill!” Gideon’s eyes narrowed to glinting slits. “My God! They have her at the old mill!” He was in the saddle again and wheeling his horse.
Leaping to catch the bridle, Morris demanded, “What mill? Where? Oh, Gad! You never meanyours? I mean—Promontory Point?”
Gideon nodded grimly. “Is a jolly jest, no? To hold my lady on the lands we have lost! And that damned mill is rotted and unsafe, Jamie. I only pray it did not blow down last night!”
He wrenched at the reins, but Morris hung on. “’Tis all of sixty miles!”
“Yes. I should reach there by eight o’clock. Half-past eight at the latest.”
“You’re mad! Your horse is tired now, and you’re not—”
“I’ll hire another. Let go.”
“You don’t know what you go into, you dolt! Wait ’til we can get help, at least.”
“Very well. You ride back to Town and bring Tio and whoever will come. I’m going on.”
“But suppose you’re wrong again?”
“Then I shall ride straight to Gravesend. Let go!”
“But, Ross! You cannot hope to—”
“Dammit! You waste time! Go and get Tio—but don’t tell him where Naomi is ’til you’re on the road. Stand clear!” Rossiter drove home his spurs. The horse plunged, and Morris jumped back. Crouching low in the saddle, Rossiter was away, galloping eastward in a desperate race against time.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Plaiting with intense concentration, Naomi was making good progress. Her improvised ladder looked crude and ungainly, but seemed strong, and she could only pray it would support her weight. Twice, she had come horribly close to being caught at her task, and only the mighty voice of the wind had saved her from being discovered as she’d made a wild dive for the cot to thrust her ladder under the blanket.
As the hours had passed the mood of her captors had deteriorated. She now knew that there were five of them, and at intervals three others came and went. They seemed to have small liking for one another, and became ever more contentious. There was another serious quarrel in mid-afternoon between Bill and the man with the high-pitched voice, who she thought was called Paddy. The Scot had cursed them furiously, and warned that they’d “have the lamp over,” the very thought making her heart stand still. They’d quieted at length, but they were surly with one another, and it was clear the wait was telling on their nerves.
The Scot brought her lunch, and she said in desperation, “Mac—you won’t let them kill me? You’re not that kind of man, I know it.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “In your worrrld, lassie, folks are gentle, belike. In mine, folks canna afford tae be.” Turning to leave, he said over his shoulder, “But dinna be despairrring, forbye. ’Tis only two o’clock, and ye’ve till midnight for your mon tae do as he’s bid.”
He went clumping downstairs. With her ear pressed to the door, she heard him say heavily, “’Tis a bonnie wee lass. I dinna bargain for murrrder, y’ken!”
“None of us did,” growled Bill. “But I don’t mean to go agin the Squire.”
Their voices were drowned by the clamour of the wind. Naomi huddled against the door. If it was humanly possible, Gideon would not let her die. Beyond all doubting he would give up the jewelled men in exchange for her life. There was no reason to be so afraid. He would come. Or he would arrange for her release. And if, for some terrible reason, he couldnotrescue her, she had her ladder. She did but need to strengthen the top loop, and she could try it out. The best time, probably, would be after they brought her dinner at about six o’clock.
She gave a start as the wind thundered against the house, and the floor shook. Dust filtered down from the loft until the air was full of it, and she sneezed violently. Retrieving her ladder and the much depleted blanket, she went to work again, trying not to think of what she would do if the window in the loft was too small for her to get out, or if the ladder did not hold her.
By about half past five o’clock her task was finished. She tugged and wrenched at the rungs, but they did not break, and she hid the ladder in the bedding, not daring to test it until after her dinner had been brought up. The wind seemed to be rising, the gusts battering the old house so that she sometimes thought that if she was to die here, it would be from the building’s collapse rather than by any evil scheme of her captors. There was no use trying to read, for it was quite impossible to keep her mind on the words. She washed, and tidied her hair, then sat on the bed and waited.
At last boots were clumping up the stairs. A different tread, she thought. The man who brought in her tray was a young giant. She’d identified all their voices by this time, and knew this must be the one they called Jolly. She thought he looked as jolly as a great big spider. From behind the slits in his hood his eyes gleamed at her. He put down her tray gently enough. She tried to get him to tell her when she would be released, or if anything had happened, but he just stared, then walked out.
She did not even look at the food, but set the tray aside, knowing they would probably not come for it until morning. If at all… Unwinding her rope ladder, she again inspected it anxiously. She had made six long thin braids, then plaited three together for each side, crossing and tieing them to form the rungs, and at the top she had fashioned a larger loop. Please God it would prove strong enough!
The wind roared, the men downstairs squabbled and bickered, and Naomi climbed onto the chair and made her first attempt to cast the rope over the plank. It fell short. Her following efforts sailed to left or right. Not once did the loop come near the protruding end of the plank. She tried until her arm was tired and she was so frustrated that she could have bitten the silly ladder. The room began to grow dim as the sun sank lower. It occurred to her then that she needed a weight, but there was the danger of it falling and alerting her gaolers. Still, the wind was making so much clamour, they’d likely think it just a branch hitting the house, or a loose board, mayhap. She searched about for something to use, and decided on the tin mug they had brought for her ale. She pulled a strand from the remnant of the blanket and used it to tie the mug to the top loop. “There,” she said proudly.
