With her foot on the windowsill, Prue eased her hips through the bars. It was a tight squeeze, but she managed it. Her head whirled dizzily.Don’t look down!Clutching the rope tightly, she managed to turn and place her feet against the rough, stone wall. She slowly easedherself down. Her stockings were soon shredded, and her toes cold and sore scraping against the rough stone, while her hands burned as the coarse rope slid through them. But with no other option, she inched down while fighting to control her rising panic. Had she tied the knots tightly enough? Or would they unravel and send her tumbling to her death?
The way down seemed to go on forever. Was she above the balcony? She couldn’t trust herself to check. What if she missed it entirely? Her hands grew sweaty, and she feared the rope would slip through her fingers.
At last, her feet reached the balcony floor. Her knees weak with the strain, she fell onto her bottom, gulping in a huge breath.
Elated, Prue climbed onto her knees to look through the Gothic arched window. Was it locked? She hesitated, paralyzed to act. With a groan, she gave herself a mental shake and carefully stood to peer inside. It was a small chapel and appeared quite empty. Before her fragile courage waned, she snatched up her shoes and reached up to pull the latch. It turned, and the window opened, the age-old smell of incense drifting out.
Suppressing the desire to whoop with joy, Prue entered the cool, dim interior. Frankincense lingered, its spicy warmth tainting the still air and the sweet, waxy aroma of beeswax candles from a small iron candelabrum near the altar. To put on her shoes, she sat on one of the wooden pews, polished to a dark sheen, which gave off a subtle citrusy tang of furniture polish and the woody smell of aged oak. A few well-thumbed hymnals were stacked at each end.
The silence was almost tangible, broken only by the distant chirping of birds through the balcony door she’d left open. She stirred herself and rose to listen at the door, which must have opened into a corridor as it did in the room above. No sound of footsteps or voices. If she was going to do it, there was no time better than right now.
*
Lady Aldridge walkedacross the hall to welcome Jack. She looked delicate, her ageless vitality seeming to have seeped away. He took her proffered hand. “My lady, will you tell me what happened?”
She nodded. “Come to the drawing room. There’s a fire there, and it’s warmer.” She rubbed her arms. “It’s hard to warm these old bones.”
Seated in a chair by the welcome warmth of glowing coals and nursing a glass of fine claret, Jack listened to Lady Aldridge relate what she knew of Lady Prudence’s disappearance.
“Dear Prudence was understandably nervous due to this shocking business. I told her to go for a walk in the garden.” Lady Aldridge looked troubled. “With that man now in jail, I didn’t see the need for a maid to accompany her.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “And in any event, knowing how determined Prudence is, she probably would have refused.”
“I believe she might have, my lady. When was this?”
“Prudence has been gone since yesterday. I called in a Bow Street Runner, but he could find nothing! I am at my wits’ end. I pray you can help, Lord Hereford.”
“I will do my best. I’m glad you contacted me, Lady Aldridge. Did anyone see her walking in the garden?”
“My gardener, Philpot, did. He watched Prudence walk down the path to the river. But she did not reappear. The staff have searched the grounds and the woods. They’ll continue tonight with lanterns after dark until every inch of the grounds has been covered.”
“I’d like to talk to the staff, if I may.”
“Yes, of course. My footman, Robert, will take you to them.”
Jack left Lady Aldridge, promising to tell her immediately if he had news. He walked toward the lantern light bobbing through the shadowy trees, but as expected, they’d found no sign of her. An hourlater, convinced he had nothing further to learn here, Jack drove his curricle out the gates.
A gentleman emerged from his gate farther along the road. Jack reined in his horses and introduced himself. The neighbor, Mr. Goodman, a short, heavy-set gentleman, an inquisitive expression in his eyes, removed his hat and scratched his head. “Didn’t see Lady Prudence, milord, but yesterday morning, I noticed a coach had stopped over the road. Must have been there close on an hour.”
“Can you describe the vehicle?” Jack persisted, unwilling to let go the only possible witness.
“Dirty, it was. I couldn’t say what color, black or dark blue. Hard to see beneath all that dust.”
Jack’s hope began to ebb. “Nothing else?”
“No… but I did notice the horses.”
Jack nodded encouragingly, fighting not to hurry the ponderous fellow.
“A black horse among the three bays drew the carriage. I’m fond of black horses. Had one myself, once. Fine animal, it was… I remember when…”
“Did you catch a glimpse of the occupants?”
“Made a point of it. One doesn’t see such a rundown vehicle in these parts. A gentleman, yes, one expects to find a gentleman, doesn’t one? Seemed to be waiting for someone. He appeared to be alone. And when I looked again a half hour later, it had gone.”
Jack raised his hat. “Thank you, sir.”
“Glad to be of help, milord.” Goodman whipped off his hat and bowed. “If I think of anything else, where might I reach you?”
“We should be grateful if you could tell Lady Aldridge at Waterford Manor anything you might have discovered. No matter how small.”
