Hope caused a burst of energy to race through Damian’s veins. Getting Halcrow out might be possible, and with his own skin intact. “Will you show me the entrance to this tunnel? I’ll ask no more of you.”
Bart’s boyish face drooped, and panic turned his brown eyes black. “I never go there, sir, not since mytante died. Too dangerous in those parts.”
Damian took two gold sovereigns from his pocket and tossed one to Bart. “One now, and the other when we find the entrance.”
Bart hungrily eyed the coin as if it burned in his palm. His fingers closed around it, and he nodded.
Pole glanced up at the darkening sky. “We need to leave.” He turned and yelled at one of his men. “Bring the trap round. And Lucifer, for Beau to ride.”
Damian’s heart sank as he viewed the skinny, old animal. As he mounted, he hoped it would last the distance, wishing he could set it free to spend its last days in a lush meadow where it could eat its fill.
Through the long twilight, Damian rode out the gate onto the lane with Pole and Bart ahead of him in the trap. The golden glow vanished from the landscape as in the west, the sun dipped below the horizon, the air still warm. He hoped for a moon to light their way. A lantern swung from the trap but would have to be doused before they reached the abbey.
It was about an hour before midnight when, hidden from the abbey by trees, they approached the graveyard where Bart said the entrance to the tunnel would be found. It wasn’t enough to hang his hopes on, Damian realized, but there was nothing else.
Dismounting, his senses on high alert, he followed young Bart through what seemed little more than a pile of broken stones. The sliver of a moon sailed high in the sky, bathing the few headstones still standing in a faint, silvery light. Apart from the roar of the river and an occasional bird call, the world seemed hushed, as if the violence perpetrated by war hadn’t touched here, although it lurked behind the stone abbey walls. Damian’s stomach tightened, and he prayed he wasn’t too late to find Crow alive.
With Pole, he followed Bart over the flagstones across a thick mat of grass and weeds that tried to trip him. Purple Shadows stretched across the dank-smelling grounds, dark and foreboding. One might have imagined ghosts hovering about, but Damian did not believe in ghosts. He focused on the bulky outline of the abbey rising above that copse of trees, where he knew the guards would wait, alert to any intruder.
Bart disappeared into what appeared to be a dark well. He emerged again within minutes. “It’s not boarded up from the outside.”
“Good lad.” Damian descended the slippery, moss-covered steps, then came to what appeared to be a solid wall. Following Bart’s directions, he felt his way along, then came to wood: asmall, arched door rough beneath his fingers, completely hidden behind a large bush.
He tried to open it, but it was stuck fast. “I pray they haven’t blocked it up inside, or the tunnel hasn’t caved in. Let’s put our shoulders to the door.”
Pole came down and the three men heaved. With a groan loud enough to wake the dead, the door creaked as it slowly opened, and the dust of the ages wafted out in a choking cloud along with the stench of rats.
Damian climbed back up the steps. “I’ll go on alone. Thank you, Bart.” He fished the sovereign out of his pocket, handing it to Bart, who scurried away as if the hounds of hell were chasing him.
“My thanks to you, Pole. I hope to find you waiting with a vehicle, at the place you pointed out near the willows. If we don’t show up before daylight, leave. I see no reason for de Marmont’s men to capture more of us.”
“I’ll be there, Beau,” Pole said. “And have a rowboat waiting to row you out to the fishing boat. They’ll drop you somewhere on the English coast. Lucifer doesn’t look like much, but he’ll carry the two of you. He’s done it before.”
Damian eyed the old, brown horse doubtfully where the animal pulled at the grass. “I appreciate it.”
“Bonne chance,” came the whispered reply, and Pole was gone, back to where he left the trap.
Damian went back down the steps, wondering what he’d face inside. And whether he’d ever see the light of day again.
Chapter Nineteen
Diana fretted throughanother day. Ill with worry, she begged her grandmother to refuse an invitation that evening to the Johnsons’ card party. Lord Montgomery was sure to be there. He might endeavor to speak to her alone. To frighten her with more of his threats when she refused to become the submissive, young miss he intended for a wife. She knew herself too well. There would be a horrible scene. How disappointed Papa would be in her! He’d be even more convinced she should marry as soon as possible. Her freedom and her future were at stake; she must act. But what could she do?
As she lay in bed with a cold compress on her aching forehead, Grandmama came to sit beside her. “How are you, Diana? Feeling better?”
“A little, Grandmama.”
“I have ordered a tincture. It might settle your stomach.”
Diana screwed up her nose. “Thank you.”
Smiling, her grandmother smoothed her blankets. “You shall feel better in no time. You look far too well to be an invalid.”
“Grandmama…”
She held up her hand. “I know what troubles you. And I shan’t stand by and watch your life ruined. I recall Lady Slade mentioning Lord Montgomery asked her daughter, Felicity, to marry him at one time. They rejected his proposal. I have written to her in Devon to ask why. We shall see what they have to say about him.”
“Oh, that is an excellent idea, Grandmama.” Diana squeezed her thin hand. “It gives me hope.”
