An Inconvenient Wife (42 page)

Anne went up the ladder as
fast as she could climb, snatching the cloak on the way, his maniacal laughter
spurring her on. Nicholas. He wanted to kill Nicholas still, even now, with her
in his power.

The second floor was more an
open loft than a room, containing only a chair and a bed. Danielle was
stretched on it, her wrists bound and tied to a hook in the wall over her head.
An ugly bruise marred one side of her face and the fear in her eyes struck at
Anne’s heart.

“Mother Anne?” Danielle
breathed, her initial expression of relief changing to horror. “I prayed you
would not come. I am so sorry.”

“My dearest child. How could
I not?” Anne brushed Danielle’s tangled hair from her face and gently touched
her bruise. “I am the one who is sorry for not taking better care of you. Now,
let’s get you free.” She began working at the knot. “I need to use the chamber
pot, and I imagine you do as well.” The rope parted, and she began to massage
Danielle’s wrists. “Then you are going to escape,” she whispered, without a
note of doubt in her voice.

Danielle let out a strangled
cry, half laugh and half sob, and with Anne’s help sat up. “There is no way to
escape and even if there was, you cannot remain here alone.”

Anne put a finger to her
lips. She did not think they could be heard, but better not to chance it. The
men were gaming now, the slap of the cards and clink of coins providing a
welcome cover. A third voice rumbled occasionally—the driver she guessed.
Quietly, she and Danielle used the pot then pushed it under the bed.

The window was small, the
casement opening out. It was locked, of course, but closer examination revealed
what she had dared to imagine—the frame around it was rotten, not unusual in so
old and ramshackle a house.

Anne first removed the
pistol from her cloak, placed it in the pocket of her gown, and withdrew a
small knife. No more than an eating knife really, but sharp enough, and she
blessed the impulse that caused her to bring it. She stared at the little thing
and swallowed a laugh.
If you had visions of fending off the Major with it
your wits were to let.

In pantomime, she showed
Danielle, who seemed to take Anne’s possession of knife and pistol as the most
commonplace of things, how to knot the skimpy blanket into a rope once it was
sliced into strips. Then she attacked the splintered wood around the lock,
wondering all the while if Nicholas had returned from Winchester; had seen the
Major’s note, purposely left on her desk; knew where to find them? Dusk was
closing in, earlier than usual, but the rain had ceased.
Hurry, hurry
.
The word beat in her head in time to the jabs of the knife.

One last effort and she was
able to pry out the lock. The window opened with a minimum of noise and she put
her mind to the next problem—how to anchor the makeshift rope.

The chair was fashioned from
some sturdy wood, heavy of frame, and it took all their combined efforts to
carry the thing quietly to the window. The high back held several thick cross
slats, and they tied the rope to it and wedged the chair under the sill.
Satisfied the chair was a decent anchor, Anne leaned out to see if there were
any windows on the lower floor. It wasn’t a very
tall
house, more a
story and a half. Nevertheless, she was sending a child into danger and her
will faltered. What if Danielle fell? Was discovered? Got lost out there,
alone?

Anne started to say she had
changed her mind, unprepared to feel Danielle’s fingers touch her mouth.

“One of us must go, and I am
the lighter,” she whispered. “I can do it, Mother Anne.”

Anne studied her set face.
Danielle
was
right. The chance had to be taken. “Stay on the road as
best you can. There is a big house not far from here. Hide somewhere near it
and wait for Westcott. I think he will go there. You do know that he will come
for us?” Danielle nodded, and Anne held her tightly for a moment. Then, skirts
kilted up to allow her more freedom of movement, her shoes tied together and
strung around her neck, Danielle climbed onto the sash. She turned around to
face the wall and began to lower herself, hand over hand.

It felt like a lifetime, but
could have not been more than minutes before Anne felt the rope slacken,
followed by the two tugs that were their agreed upon signal. Danielle was down
and free. Anne sent up a prayer of gratitude, drew up the rope, and closed the
window. Nothing to do now but wait.

Chapter Thirty-three

Westcott read Major
Reynard’s note to Anne, shaking with rage and fear. Anne had gone; of course
she had, foolish woman. How did she expect to prevail against a man like
Reynard?
She may be foolish but she is not stupid. She left this for you to
find and will delay as long as she can.
The thought of what might happen to
her, and Danielle, in the meantime, he locked deep inside. He needed a clear
head if he was to help her.
Not if, never that. You will find her, and
quickly
.

“Martin!” His bellow brought
the man running and Westcott issued a stream of orders as he half-ran to the
gunroom.

“Lady Westcott and Danielle
are in the hands of some very bad men. Have Max brought around. Tell Bill
Fenton the Major has his mistress, and he is to mount half-dozen men and meet
me in the front. Have them bring torches as well.”

The butler hurried off,
calling for Banks and the other footmen. Westcott unlocked a gun case, removed
a shotgun and pocketed some ammunition. He wanted pistols as well, he decided
after a moment’s thought.

The gun drawer stood open,
the key dangling, and the smallest of the pistols missing. Bloody hell. Anne
had to have taken it. No one else would dare. He hoped to hell she knew how to
use it. Westcott swiftly selected his weapons and headed out. Gloves, hat, and
cape. No, too confining. His jacket would do. The pistols could go in his
saddlebags.

He was on the front door
landing, waiting for Max and the others, when he heard rapid hoof beats and saw
riders approaching. St. Clair and Carlisle?
What the devil is the Captain
doing here? And St. Clair, for that matter.

“We came to warn you, Nick.
Carlisle brought the information from London an hour ago.” The earl dismounted
at the foot of the steps as Westcott ran down to join him.

Carlisle stayed mounted and
leaned over. “Strathmere finally heard from the War Office. I was in port, and
he asked me to bring word to you. Reynard was discharged months ago for
dereliction of duty, whatever that means. The Army pretty much threw him out, I
wager. He sailed for Portugal, and they don’t know where he is now.”

Westcott looked up at his
friends. “He’s here, and he has Anne and Danielle,” he said harshly, forcing
out the words. “I am about to go after him. Are you with me?”

“Idiot. As if you need to
ask,” Carlisle growled.

St. Clair merely lifted his
brows. “You know where to go?”

“Back to Grayson’s, I think,
but how long he will stay there is anybody’s guess. I’m sure Anne will do what
she can to keep him from leaving before we arrive.” Fenton rode up then,
leading Max. Westcott took the reins and swung into the saddle. “Lady Westcott
took one of my guns, Fenton. Does she know how to use it?”

“She does. Her father made
sure of it.”

Carlisle shot St. Clair a
puzzled look and the earl grinned. “Nick’s lady is a resourceful woman.”

Westcott heard the exchange
and smiled grimly. She was, and it gave him some hope. He turned in the saddle
and surveyed the troop behind Fenton. Several men held torches, unlit for now,
while they still had some daylight. Grayson’s was a fair distance; they would
need them later, but with luck they could get at least half of the way before
dark.

They stopped once, to light
the torches, and then resumed their steady trot. Much as Westcott wanted to
race headlong along the road, he knew better than to risk laming his horse on
some unseen hole or fallen tree limb. He signaled for a halt a good mile from
the manor house, and divided the men. Fenton would take half of them down a
side road and come in from the rear, while Westcott approached from the front.
He waited until the others were well away, ordered all but one torch doused,
and keeping Max at a fast walk, rode as far as the curve onto the drive. Once
beyond it they would be in full view of the house.

“James, you stay with the
horses. We’ll walk from here. Pete, put out the torch and as soon as you have
your night sight, you and Frank fan out and get to the stable. See if any
horses are there.” Westcott looked at his friends, shadows now in the darkness.
“This way, gentlemen.”

Not a glimmer of light shone
from the house looming up before them. Hardly unexpected, since Westcott knew
from his visit yesterday the few rooms fit for occupancy were in the rear. If
he was wrong…. They halted a few yards from the main entrance. Nothing stirred,
not a sound to be heard, and he was about to lead them around the building when
he felt a warning grip on his shoulder.

“To your right, the window
recess halfway along.”

Carlisle’s voice, so low he
hardly heard it, and Westcott slowly examined the area. There, a darker blot
disturbing what should be empty space. This was no burly man, whatever or
whoever it was, and driven by a premonition that was more hope than hunch, he
went forward and risked a soft “Danielle.”

A moment of absolute
stillness. The blot moved, expanded, and she ran across the short distance,
throwing herself into his arms with a muffled sob. “He has Anne! He has Anne!”

“Shh…you are safe now, but
we need your help, Danielle. We know about Anne. Where are they?” He laid a
hand on the top of her head.

Danielle took a shuddering
breath and straightened. “Not here. There is a house…”

“Wait. No one is here? Are
you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Quickly then. You can tell
us the whole but not out here in the open.” He turned to his companions. “I
want to risk a light, Dev, but let’s see if we can get inside first.” As he
remembered, a side entrance led through a scullery to the cavernous kitchen.

St. Clair struck a flint to
the small shuttered lantern he carried. No windows in this room and they felt
able to light a few candles that were stuck onto an old table.

Westcott took one look at
the girl’s face and swore. “Bloody hell. Who did this to you, Danielle? Meraux?”

“Son of—” St. Clair broke
off the curse, unlike Carlisle who voiced his unmistakable opinion in some
incomprehensible language.

“Where is this house and how
did you get here, Danielle?” Westcott could do nothing now to ease what had to
be a painful bruise and time was fleeting.

Steadier now, Danielle told
them of her escape. “Anne said to come here and wait for you. The house is not
far. There is another man with them. I don’t know who he is.” She clutched
Westcott’s hands. “They want you, sir. I was to be exchanged for you.”

“Were you.” He felt
something settle, a cold calm gripping him, and knew the night would end in
death, and not his own.

“What say, gentlemen? Shall
we give the man his wish?” If Westcott’s grin was as feral as those of his
friends, he felt it well Danielle had turned her head. “Dev, see if Frank and
Pete made it to the stables and bring them here.” St. Clair slipped away and
Westcott put his hands on Danielle’s shoulders.

“You’ve done well, Danielle,
and I need you to be brave a little longer. I want you to stay with the men.
You know them, and Bill Fenton and some other of Westhorp men will soon be
here.” She looked ready to protest and he held up his hand. “I cannot do my job
and get Anne if I need to worry about you. I promise to bring her here and we
will all ride home together.”

She locked her trembling
lips and nodded.

“Good girl.”

St. Clair returned then, and
there was no time for more. Westcott ordered the men to stand guard and alert
the others, and leaving the shotgun for Frank, they headed out. It was no good
for close work and he had his pistol. He had given St. Clair the other and
Carlisle had that damn blade he carried everywhere, tucked into his boot. The
Captain didn’t care for guns, said they were too dangerous, but Westcott had
seen the man in action with his knife and deemed it, and him, just as
dangerous.

This house was not dark.
Faint light shone through the two narrow windows on either side of the door.
They circled around looking for another entrance, but the rear door was nailed
shut. A set-back, and they drifted to the lean-to that held a pair of horses,
presumably for the carriage standing beside it.

“It would help to know where
Anne is and if they know Danielle is gone. I don’t believe it to be the case,
or someone would be out searching for her. What we need is a way to draw the
third man out. Take care of him and get a feel for the interior when the door
is opened,” Westcott said. Unfortunately he hadn’t a single idea. He looked at
St. Clair. Dev was ingenious. Maybe he could come contrive some kind of plan.