Fenella J. Miller (23 page)

       ‘We all heard that, both Miss Fox and Miss Sarah are obviously safe. Roberts, take Thomas and try and find another way through; we have to block their escape from the far end of that passage. Edmund have your pistol ready, I’m going in to drag that bastard out and teach him what it means to harm someone of mine.’

       He realized he had not given instructions to the other two but guessed they would stand guard in the corridor in case they were needed. He paused at the door. He wanted to be quite certain what to expect before he charged in. He had been away from his post barely a minute and Wydale was still talking to the hidden occupant.

       ‘There’s no point in telling me lies, Miss Fox is still within that room. My men have been waiting out here since we made the bargain, no one has come out or they would have seen them. So stop lying and tell Miss Fox that she will have more than one death on her conscience before this night is out if she doesn’t appear immediately.’

       Fletcher raised his hand to charge in, but hesitated as Wydale shouted to his assistants. ‘Go and select the prettiest of the women incarcerated in the servants’ hall, bring her here. I’m sure Miss Fox will emerge soon enough when she hears the girl screaming.’

       Fletcher had heard enough. He turned sideways and shouldered his way through the door cannoning into the unsuspecting Wydale before he had time to react.       His arm shot out and with one movement he lifted the man from his feet and ran backwards, taking him out into the corridor before his servants could react.

Edmund snatched a candle from a nearby table and, followed closely by Thomas, raced after the two murderers.

Fletcher ignored them. His concern was to mete out the punishment Wydale deserved.

His opponent had recovered from his shock and, unlike him was unencumbered by a heavy riding coat. Like lightning Wydale sprang forward swinging his fist.

Fletcher swayed sideways and the blow went harmlessly past his ear. Raising his left hand he snatched off his coat, flinging it to the floor. Wydale’s teeth were barred and he lashed out a second time with wildly flailing arms.

       This time Fletcher was ready and ducked, swinging back his right fist he jabbed it forward catching his opponent in the solar plexus, knocking all the air from his lungs.

       His left hook connected underneath Wydale’s jaw sending him staggering backwards blood pouring from his mouth where his teeth had gone through his tongue. After that it was easy. Fletcher pounded the man with a series of ferocious blows and added one to Wydale’s teeth for good measure.

Within a few minutes the fight was over, Wydale was unconscious and bleeding on the boards. Fletcher stood back, not a vestige of pity in his face. With calm deliberation, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his pistol, slowly he cocked it and raised his hand, pointing the barrel directly at Wydale’s black heart.

       As his finger started to close around the trigger an iron grip took his wrist forcing the gun sideways. ‘It’s over, Fletcher. You have half killed the man with your fists, don’t murder him in cold blood.’

       For a moment Fletcher fought an inner battle, then his killing rage subsided and common sense took over. He released his fingers, letting the pistol drop harmlessly to the floor.

       ‘You’re right, Edmund, it’s over. Come we must release the girls and take them home.’ He called back to the men waiting in the passageway. ‘Go down and release the servants - the women are in the hall, the men must be somewhere close by. I shall leave them to clear up this mess.’ He nodded dismissively at the crumpled heap on the floor.

This time they all carried candles and walking the short distance to the inner door he pulled it back and stared at the makeshift barricade. Why wasn’t Eliza there to greet him? Instead, one of her serving maid’s was standing, wringing her hands in abject misery, when he would be expecting her be jumping for joy at her rescue.

       ‘Where’s Miss Fox? What’s wrong? Tell me at once.’

       ‘I was telling the truth, sir. She left here more than an hour and a half ago; if she didn’t go downstairs then I’ve no idea where she is. Miss Fox must have met with an accident.’

Fletcher watched the woman fight to regain her composure his elation dissipating. He spoke to her quietly. ‘How did Miss Fox get out?’

‘The dressing room door has bolts on the inside, she went that way, Mr Reed, sir.’

‘Go round to the dressing room and let us in.’

The girl nodded and hurried through the communicating door. Edmund had been standing close behind and he felt the young man’s anxiety. He had no comfort to offer, he felt too worried himself.

Striding, one behind the other, the men arrived outside the door just as it was flung open and light flooded the darkness.

       ‘Quickly, tell me in which direction did Miss Fox go?’

       ‘She went… I don’t know which way she went, sir, because I had to close the door before she lit a candle in case anyone saw.’

       ‘Edmund, go in and reassure Sarah and then escort all three down to the carriage. I shall take Denver and Roberts and find Eliza.’ He stood for a moment deep in thought. These corridors wound in several directions, which way would Eliza have gone? She wouldn’t have gone the way they’d just come because she would have been captured.

She had to have gone the other way.

       ‘Right, I shall walk down the centre holding the light - one of you press the wall on the right side the other on the left. If there’s a hidden door we shall find it.’ He was about to leave when Ann hurried back an oil-lamp in her hand.

       ‘Here, Mr Reed, sir, take this, it gives better light than a candle.’

       Gratefully he took it and, leading his men, set off to look for his darling girl. He was not a religious man, was not given to making frequent requests to the Almighty, but rather felt he had become over familiar with his Maker this past twenty-four hours.

       They reached the corner and followed it round, he had only gone a couple of yards when he spotted something lying on the floor. His heart contracted with fear. It was a candlestick and a puddle of material. These had to be items Eliza had dropped.

       He rushed forward and dropped to his knees to examine them. The cloth was a reticule, and he could feel the hard shape of a pistol within its depths. He knew there was something horribly wrong.

Without standing up he threw out his arm. The wall moved as the hidden doorway was revealed. Springing up he held his lamp aloft. For a moment he could see nothing, then he made out the shape of a dark spiral staircase. He passed the lamp over his shoulder to Denver. ‘Hold it up and keep close. I’m sure we’ve found her.’

Taking the stairs three at a time he saw a glimmer of golden material ahead. Holding on to the wall for support he looked round and there she was, in a huddle, her face deathly pale and her lovely fair hair a mass of blood.

Chapter Twenty-one

Pushing himself away from the much needed support of the wall, Fletcher stepped over Eliza’s body and dropped to his knees. He pressed his fingers under her chin, where a physician friend had once told him you could find a pulse if the person lived. Her skin was cold and clammy and for an awful moment he thought he was too late. Then he forced himself to continue, he had to be sure.

       Oh yes! Thank the good Lord! He felt it, a faint, but regular rhythm, under his fingertips. ‘She’s alive, but barely. Give me your stocks, both of you, between them I can make some sort of bandage. There was the sound of rustling and two limp strips of cloth dropped into his lap.

He should have realized the wound was still oozing blood - if Eliza had been dead this would have ceased. His horror at seeing her unconscious had caused his limited medical knowledge to desert him. He was about to construct a makeshift bandage, but looked down material in his hands and saw it was thick with coal dust. Putting these upon an open one wound could only exacerbate matters. Tossing them to one side he slid his arms underneath her inert form and scooped her up.

‘I’ll have to take her back to the chamber. I need clean water and linen. Hurry man, back-up, hold the light high so that I can see my feet.’ Scarcely five minutes after he had left Edmund to see to his younger sister he returned, Eliza unconscious in his arms.

He stepped into the dressing room and came face-to-face with both of them. Fletcher saw the girl’s face drain of colour and her wail of distress made him flinch. ‘She’s not dead, sweetheart, she’s unconscious. She has a bad cut on her head which I’m going to sort out for her. Step a side, there’s a good girl, and let me get through.’

In the bedroom he was faced by the companion and the other woman, luckily they immediately understood the seriousness of the situation.

Jane, stepped forward. ‘Lay her on the bed, sir, and I’ll fetch clean water and cloths.’

He did as she suggested and whilst waiting for her to return quickly felt Eliza’s limbs for fractures. He even ran his hands around her ribs to make certain none were splintered. Last year a stable boy at Grosvenor Square drowned in his own blood when a broken rib punctured his lungs.

       ‘Would you like me to do this, sir? I’ve been tending Miss Sarah and her cuts and bruises for many years.’

       Fletcher was going to refuse, to insist on doing it himself, but remembered his hands were ingrained with coal and it would be better if someone clean dealt with the wound.

       He stepped aside and watched helplessly as the two women deftly cleansed the gash that stretched right across Eliza’s forehead. How the hell had she managed fall backwards and then strike the front of her head? He felt sick to his stomach as he reconstructed what must have occurred.

She had somersaulted and landed face first. He shuddered at the thought of the force involved in such a fall. Eliza had been lying almost on her back, the momentum must have caused her to twist a second time until she ended up against the wall. She had been unconscious and losing blood for far too long. He knew how serious things were.

       ‘There, that’s all we can do now. Miss Fox urgently needs the attention of a physician, sir, but I have no idea where we would find one around here.’

       ‘Neither do I, and I have no intention of searching. I have my carriage outside. It’s barely an hour’s journey to my own estate. I shall send my man ahead to rouse the doctor and he will be waiting for us when we arrive. The sooner we leave these premises the better.’

* * * *

Eliza opened her eyes, but it was night so she closed them again. She was completely disorientated, had no idea where she was or why her head hurt so abominably and every bone in her body ached. She attempted to move her head, but a searing pain across her forehead made her gasp and she stopped.

       She wasn’t on the floor, it was too soft and comfortable underneath. She tried wiggling her fingers and detected soft linen – she now knew that she was in a bed, and in her nightrail. But whose bed was this?       She lay still for a moment trying to make sense of things.

She remembered escaping from the bedchamber, remembered inching her way along a pitch dark passageway, and yes, she remembered tumbling backwards. However, she had no recollection of being carried to this bedroom or anything else that followed.

Had Wydale placed her here? Had her plans come to nothing? Surely even the devil himself would not violate an unconscious woman?       Eliza lay still, letting her breathing slow. As the heavy thumping of her heart became less she began to hear another sound which filled her with horror. She could hear someone breathing close by. She knew at once what it was, that monster had decided to thoroughly ruin her and was in the bed as well. Ignoring her injuries she clenched her fist and lashed out sideways. Her knuckles connected satisfactorily with solid flesh.

The shout of pain told her she had made a dreadful mistake. She recognized the cry.

‘Fletcher? I’m so sorry I thought it was… well you know who I thought it was… lying beside me.’

She heard him laughing, totally unfazed by her violence. ‘My darling girl, you cannot know how delighted I am to hear your voice. A black eye is a small price to pay to know you’re recovered.’

Before she could protest the bed moved and his arms slid around her. His attempt to gather her close was so painful she couldn’t help the whimper of pain escaping. Immediately he let her go.      

‘I’m sorry, darling, does your head hurt very much? You have been unconscious for four days. I was so relieved that you have come round I forgot all about your injury.’

       ‘Where am I, Fletcher? This is not Winterton Hall?’

       ‘Of course not, it’s my estate, we brought you here to be looked after. Your mama and grandmamma are also here and eagerly waiting to see you. I’ll go and fetch them.’

       ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Fletcher. It’s the outside of enough that you’re lolling about on my bed in the middle of the night, I certainly don’t want my mother and grandmother to witness my disgrace.’

She heard a sharp intake of breath and felt him stiffen. What had she said to upset him? Then his hands brushed over her face, touching her eyes gently. He shuffled closer, this time not moving her, but bringing himself near enough so that he could offer comfort.

       ‘Darling, I have to tell you that it’s midday, the shutters are drawn back, the sun is streaming into the room. It’s not dark.’

       For a moment she didn’t understand. ‘My God! Fletcher, I am blind. I cannot bear it. Never to be able to see the faces of those I love, for ever dependent, like Sarah - like a child being led around the place.’ She felt the hot tears trickle down her cheeks and she buried her face in the softness of his shirt.

       ‘I shall fetch Mrs Fox, she can sit with you until the doctor arrives. I’m sure this is only temporary, when you suffer a serious injury it might well take some time for the effects to go.’

       Eliza heard the swish of a dress and realized that they hadn’t been alone in her bedroom at all.