The Duke's Challenge (21 page)

‘No, you must untie
the sash first and undo the buttons at the back of the bodice.’

He appeared to
growl then reluctantly dropped her skirt and did as she bid. By the time the
emerald silk puddled around her feet his hands were shaking. He didn’t stop to
enquire as to the value of her undergarments. His fingers gripped either side
of the central seam and then he tore her chemise and petticoats in half,
leaving her naked in front of him. She shivered as the cold air licked along
her overheated limbs and raised her hands to cover
herself
.

‘No, let me
look, you are incredibly beautiful.’

He ran his
thumbs across her nipples and they hardened under his touch. Gently he pushed
her and she toppled willingly on to the bed. And in seconds he had removed his
unmentionables and was beside her, his arms gathering her close.

An hour or so
later Jack propped himself on one elbow and gazed down lovingly. ‘I am sorry
for hurting you the first time, darling, I did try to be as gentle as I could.’

She could feel
a slight throbbing between her legs but there had been only the one flash of
real pain as he made her his. ‘You didn’t hurt me, not really, and it was worth
the small pain for the bliss of afterwards.’ Lazily she stroked his chest,
revelling in the sensation of rough hair and soft skin beneath her questing
fingers. ‘I didn’t know how things worked between a man and a woman until
tonight.’ She giggled. ‘In fact, if my mother had told me I should not have
believed her.’

His freehand
smoothed back her unbound hair lying like russet cloud on the pillow. He
smiled. ‘Did you never see animals mating?’

‘I did, but I
always averted my eyes and never thought too deeply about the … err… ins and
outs of it all.’

He chuckled,
delighted by her answer. ‘And do you fully understand how things work or would
you like another demonstration?’

‘I believe I
haven’t quite mastered it, so further practice would be most helpful, my lord.’

The house was
silent, the partygoers long departed when Jack, spent, lay back,
cradling
her close. ‘It must be after midnight. I’ll have to
go, sweetheart. I must ride to Ravenscroft; Captain Forsythe will wonder what’s
keeping me.’

She laughed. ‘I
hope you don’t tell him the truth.’

He sat up.
‘It’s a full moon tonight. I’ll not need a candle to dress. Remain here, my darling,
I hope to be back before you rise. I’ll have to rouse Meltham to lock up after
me, but it cannot be helped.’

She ran her
hand down his spine and felt his reaction. ‘I’m still a pupil in this matter,
and shall require a deal more instruction before I have the mastered the art.’

‘You are
insatiable, darling; let me be - I promise I’ll return as speedily as I can.’

He walked
proudly naked across to his closet and emerged a few minutes later in his
riding clothes. Her eyes widened as she saw he had his sabre in one hand, his
boots in the other. He came to sit beside her to put them on. As instructed she
didn’t touch him again, knowing his mind was elsewhere focusing on the battle
to come.

‘Jack, take
care. I…’ She almost spoke the words, but swallowed them back in time. She
would not embarrass him with her love, he didn’t need it. He had what he wanted
and she’d enjoyed the experience as much as he. ‘Godspeed - and come back
soon.’

He stood up.
‘Tonight shall see an end to this. One way or another it will be over.’ He
stepped away then unexpectedly turned to lean over the bed. He kissed her one
last time, imprinting his possession on her lips. Then his sword and scabbard
in his hand he vanished into the corridor, leaving her bereft.

She lay wakeful
for some time before finally deciding it would be better to return to her own
chamber. She didn’t relish being found in Jack’s bed by his valet and there
were the children to think of also.

She gathered up
her scattered garments, including the ruined chemise and petticoats, and
wrapped in the comforter she crept like a thief from the room. She tiptoed down
the corridor and was about to unlatch her door when she thought she heard
something downstairs in the hall. Who could be around at this time? Had the
butler decided to wait up?

Hastily she
slipped into her room and dropped her clothes on the floor. She found her
nightgown and snatched it over her head then added her wrapper. She discovered
her slippers and hastily pushed her feet in. Now she was ready to investigate.

Whatever she
thought she had heard a few moments earlier there was no noise now. Emboldened,
she hurried to the gallery, the light from the hall making her passage easy.
Light?
There should be no lights unless Jack or Meltham were
around. She inched her way forward keeping to the edge of the gallery in the
deep shadow. Cautiously she peered over. Yes, there was a flicker of light from
the corridor leading to the study.

For some reason
Jack was still here, it had to be him, for who else could wish to visit the
study at this time of night? She was about to run down to ask him when she
heard voices. She froze - her hand on the banister, her foot on the top stair.
This was not a voice she recognized. It was of rough, untutored voice, not that
of a gentleman. Not Jack’s, not the butler’s.

Terrified she
backed away and had reached the welcome darkness of the gallery when two men
emerged into the hall. They were strangers and carrying rifles. She clutched
the balustrade for support. These were the men Jack had just gone out to
capture. How could they be inside the house? The shadowy figures halted at the
foot of the stairs. Could they see her? She felt her bowels loosening and
feared she might disgrace herself.

‘What was that
bastard doing up and about at this time of night?’ The nearest figure said in a
harsh whisper.

‘Buggered if I know.
Reckon he thought he would join that
idiot and his toy soldiers at Ravenscroft.’

Charlotte
strained to catch the rest of their whispered conversation. They were talking about
Jack, they had to be.

‘Well, his
grace won’t bother us again. That’s one done for. Now for the bitch and

the
brats.’

She couldn’t
digest this information. Jack was dead. They had killed him and now they were
coming to do the same to her and the children. From somewhere she found the
strength to rally, to push away the knowledge that she had lost her lover and
force her limbs to obey.

Beth and Harry,
she had to save them. It was her duty; there was no one else to do it for her.
Almost blinded by tears she backed down the passage and into Beth’s chamber.
‘Beth, get up, now, don’t speak, come with me, your life depends on it.’

The child sat
up and half asleep tumbled from her bed. Charlotte handed her a robe, but there
was no time to search for slippers. ‘Beth, the bad men are in the house. They
are coming upstairs, we have to get Harry and hide before it is too late.’

The door
between the rooms creaked loudly and both of them froze, expecting angry armed
men to burst in brandishing guns at any moment. Nothing happened. Charlotte ran
across to Harry.

‘Beth, get his
robe. I’ll carry him, with luck he’ll stay asleep.’ Her brother was a heavy
sleeper. She prayed it would be the same tonight.

She reached out
and grabbed him, pulling him towards her. He didn’t stir and as she lifted him
he
snuggled
into her and threaded his arm around her
neck. ‘We’ll go out through the servants’ door, there’s no time to light a
candle, hold on to my belt. If we go slowly we’ll manage in the dark.’

Reaching the
dressing room was easy for there was enough filtered moonlight to guide them.
Once inside it was different. There were no windows in here. ‘The door’s
between the closets, Beth, you find it for us, darling. Close your eyes and use
your hands. Don’t try and see; it will confuse you.’

‘Over here,
Lottie. I’ve found it and I have a lamp and tinderbox. I can use them when
we’re through the door.’

She followed
Beth’s voice and they slipped silently and the narrow, dark passageway. She
sank back against the wall to steady her breathing, icy perspiration trickled
down her spine and Harry was becoming heavier by the minute.

Her sister kneelt on the boards and there was the tinkle of the glass
mantle being removed from the lamp. ‘Hurry up, I’m not sure how far behind as
they are.’

‘I’m having
to do this by touch, Lottie. Wait, I have the
tinderbox. I’ll try and strike it now.’

Charlotte saw a
flicker then somehow Beth managed to transfer the spark to the wick of the
lamp. A welcome yellow glow filled the space. ‘Oh, Beth, you’re amazing. Well
done. It will be so much quicker with a light.’

‘Shall I go
first, Lottie, lead the way?’ Beth stood up, the lamp in her hand. She stared
up and down the passageway.
‘Which way sure we go -
downstairs or up?’

Charlotte’s
instincts were telling her to flee outside but her sister’s words made her
reconsider. There might be were more than two men. Jack, her darling Jack. She
swallowed convulsively, determined not to think about him for the moment. He
had told her there was at least one other villain. They could be downstairs
waiting, so it would be foolish to go that way.

‘Upstairs,
Beth, to the servants’ rooms, we can rouse the men and they can protect us.’
Even as she said it she knew three footmen and a valet
were
no match for the evil men who sought to dispose of them. They had already
managed to kill Jack. She gulped. She wouldn’t give way, not now, not when the
children were still in danger. She had to get them to Annie, she could hide
them somewhere then she would send for Captain Forsythe. All they had to do was
stay hidden until then. In such an old house that shouldn’t be too difficult.

They crept
along the corridor and up the steep flight of stairs. Charlotte had never
visited these rooms but Beth seemed confident she was taking them in the correct
direction. She stopped outside door.

‘This is the
one, Lottie. Shall I knock?’

‘No, go in,
quickly. We can explain when we’re safe.’

Inside the room
were two single beds, an armchair, a few pegs to hang garments form, a screen
and little else. Annie, who occupied the bed nearest to the door, woke up
instantly.

‘Good grief,
Miss Carstairs, what’s amiss?’

The nursemaid
was out of bed and took the sleeping Harry from Charlotte’s arms just in time.
‘He can go in here, miss, into my bed.’ Annie pulled the covers over the
sleeping child. Betty was now awake and had taken charge of the shivering,
barefoot Beth.

‘Hop in here,
lovey. There, pull over the covers, and get warm.’

Charlotte drew Annie
to one side; she could hardly speak through her chattering teeth. ‘The duke is
dead, Annie, they’ve killed him. Now they’re looking to do the same to us.’

‘Sit down for a
minute, miss, before you fall.’ The nursemaid guided her to the bentwood chair and
pushed her down. She asked no questions, she was too wise for that. She waited
until her mistress was able to continue.

‘Lord Thurston
went down an hour ago intending to join Captain Forsythe. Somehow these men got
inside and ambushed him. He told me we were safe inside this house for the
doors all lock on the inside and the windows are too stout to break open. I
cannot understand how they got in.’ Charlotte clenched her fists, her nails
biting into her palms. The pain steadied her a little and helped her to
concentrate. ‘This place is like a rabbit warren, thank God, it will take them
hours to find us. With God’s help, Robert, or one of the other men, can ride
and fetch Captain Forsythe before that time is up.’

Betty,
night-cap fluttering, voluminous flannel nightdress ballooning around her,
began to pull cloaks and mufflers from the closet. Beth had snuggled down and
fallen into a fitful doze. Annie checked she was asleep before speaking.

‘There’s a far
easier way for them to murder you, Miss Carstairs.’

Charlotte started shaking, hardly unable to whisper her response. ‘What?
Annie, tell me, what could they do?’

‘They could
burn this blooming building to the ground. It’s that full of old dry timber it
would go up in a flash. Then none of us would get out alive.’

Chapter Twenty-one

‘Fire?
Are you suggesting they’ll set fire to the Hall and
burn us out?’

‘I am, Miss
Carstairs, it’s what I’d do in their shoes.’

Charlotte’s
stomach revolted and she placed a hand over her mouth, looking around
desperately for a suitable receptacle. Annie held out a china bowl and
Charlotte cast up her accounts. The noise of her retching woke both children.

Harry sat up.
‘Lottie’s being sick, Beth,’ he announced, then seconds later. ‘I’m sick too.’
And he was. Annie had no time to offer him a bowl, her bed was covered with the
noxious mess.

‘Never mind, my
love. Here, come out of that. Stand there, like a good boy, and I’ll clean you
up.’ The smell of vomit in the room was almost too much for Beth and she too
began to gag.

Charlotte, her
stomach empty, felt better and took command. ‘You’re not sick, Beth, it’s the
smell. Harry’s the one who throws up in sympathy, not you.’ She put the bowl
under her chair and picked up the little oil lamp. ‘Beth, darling, do you know
where all the girls sleep, or just Annie and Betty?’

‘Everyone –
Mary’s two doors away, she shares with Jenny…’

‘I don’t need to
know who is where. I need you to go and wake them, tell them to put on their
cloaks and shoes over their night clothes and start to make their way
downstairs. Don’t tell them
why,
just tell them it’s
urgent.’

‘I’ll go with
her,
miss,
it’s no job for a child.’ Betty said.

Charlotte took
off her own slippers. ‘Put these on, Beth, now off you go, with Betty. Don’t
come back here either of you, go with Mary, I’ll meet you in the servants’
hall.’

Betty pushed
open the door and, holding Beth’s hand, she vanished. Annie had completed her
task and Harry was now clean. ‘I have some garments of his here, miss, that I
was mending, thank God for that.’

Harry didn’t
understand what was happening but was happy to join in the excitement. Even
being sick was something of an event in his life.

‘Do you have
any spare slippers, Annie? I’ve given mine to Beth.’

‘Wear my clogs,
miss, they’re in the wardrobe.’

Two minutes
later they were ready to go. Charlotte didn’t really believe Annie’s
preposterous prediction but could not take the chance she might be right. She
could hear the small sounds of others shuffling along the passageways towards
the back stairs. Good, Beth had done her job well.

‘Annie, can you
take Harry, I must check everyone’s awake.’

‘Mary will have
gone
,
she’s courting young Robert and she’ll not want
him to be left behind.’

Charlotte
headed the silent group of women as they crept downstairs. She still thought
they were in more danger going down than staying put. Then the unmistakable
smell of smoke wafted around the corner. She stiffened and stopped.

‘I can smell
smoke, Miss Carstairs. Is the house on fire? Is that why we’re going out?’
Jenny asked from behind Charlotte’s shoulder.

‘It’s worse
than that, Jenny. There are at least two armed men loose inside and it’s they
that have set the fire. I hope someone will have woken Meltham and Mrs Blake.’

‘Mary was going to tell Mrs Blake on her way to wake Robert and he’ll
rouse Mr Meltham and the other men. They’ll be on their way down the other
stairs by now, don’t you fret,’ Jenny told her.

‘We have to be
very quiet. I don’t know where the intruders might be.’

Annie spoke
from behind Jenny. ‘I reckon they’ll have set the fires and got out whichever
way they got in, miss; from the smell the blaze is well alight and they will be
long gone.’

Charlotte
coughed; the smoke was denser here on the first floor where she and the
children had slept. She could hear the sound of crackling of flames taking hold
on the other side of the wall. She was glad the house had thick panels which
gave the fire something to burn through before it could reach them.

It was becoming
much hotter and they must not linger. ‘Quickly, downstairs, don’t touch the
walls they are far too hot. With luck the fire was set on the ground floor and
will be burning up the stairwells and corridors and the servants’ hall will not
yet be aflame.’

The two flights
of stairs met in the lower passageway and she was relieved to see the men
emerging as her party arrived. The air was becoming thick, the heat stifling,
and most of them were coughing, their eyes streaming, but none complained or
cried; they stood waiting for her to tell them what to do next.

It might be a
matter of minutes before the stairs behind them became too hot and smoke filled
for safety. She had to risk a confrontation with the rifleman and their
paymaster or else they would all die trapped inside the house.

Holding her
hand over her nose she plunged forward and out into the servants’ hall. It was
fresher here but not by much. ‘Hurry, we’ll exit through the boot-room door.
Robert, go ahead and unbolt the door. Annie, you take Harry and Beth first.
Girls follow and then the men. Be as quiet as you can.’

Asking them not
to cough was like asking the sun not to shine but they did their best. She
waited until the last person was out and away down the corridor before she
followed. As she moved she heard a horrible groan, like a giant in pain, then
the ceiling a few yards behind her, collapsed, spewing flames and searing heat
in her direction.

She fled down
the corridor remembering with
horror, that
as soon as
the back door was opened the inferno would follow them. When she had been a
small child in Spain she had witnessed this phenomenon. A family, trapped in
their house, opened a window only to be consumed by flames which suddenly
engulfed the room. The fire appeared to wish to escape, like the occupants,
through the opening. The poor family had all perished in the conflagration. It
was an image she had kept buried deep until now.

‘Don’t open the
door,’ she screamed down the corridor.

The butler, at
the rear of the group, heard her and shouted. ‘Robert, don’t open the door. Do
you hear me, lad?’

Robert did. He
removed his hands from the bolts if they were red-hot already. Charlotte raced
up to Meltham. ‘We need to create a barrier between the fire and ourselves
before we open the door or we shall all be burnt to a cinder.’

The butler
didn’t question but pointed to the walls of the boot-room. ‘Quickly, lads, pull
this lot down, the shelves will make a fire break.’

All six men
ripped at the wooden racks and boxes, throwing everything into a heap a few
feet behind the terrified group waiting to get out into the safety of the
night. The barrier would give them the extra few seconds’ protection they needed
to get out.

In the confined
space the heat was becoming unbearable and the smoke filled air as dangerous as
the fire. With streaming eyes the butler stepped back.

‘We can do no
more, miss, it will have to do, we have to get out or we shall choke to death.’

Charlotte eyed
the flimsy wall - it almost reached the ceiling – but would it be enough? She
prayed that it would. ‘Robert, when I shout open the door and everyone run for
your life- we have given ourselves a half minute’s grace, no longer.’

There was a
chorus of coughing from which a few assents could be distinguished. The
children were at the front with Annie and Betty; she had to be sure they got
out safely. She intended to leave last but the butler and Mary had other ideas.
Before she could protest they bundled her forward. And the press of coughing
people passed her along, flattening
themselves
willingly to the wall as she passed.

‘Open the door,
Robert,’ Meltham yelled and Charlotte was ejected behind her brother and
sister.

‘Run, keep
running, to the shelter of the barn,’ she called as she pounded along her bare
feet slipping in and out of her borrowed clogs. Mary’s arm came round her,
holding her upright when she was in danger of falling.

They stumbled
into the empty barn, still warm from the party. Beth, being the only one to
have a tinderbox was in great demand lighting the lanterns and torch ends that
remained on the walls. Charlotte’s chest burned, her throat felt raw as if she
was suffering from a severe head cold, otherwise her physical state was
unimpaired.

‘Is everyone
here? Mrs Blake, check your girls; Meltham do the same for the men.’

The headcount
established all were present and none the worse for their experience.

The
two footmen at the rear had been forced to remove their cloaks and were busily
stamping out the embers.

One of them
cheerfully told her. ‘It’s a good thing you said to put these on, Miss
Carstairs, or one of us might have suffered a lot worse than a few holes.’

‘I’m relieved
that everyone is safe. We can…’ her voice faded as she remembered that not
everyone had got out alive. Jack was gone - killed by the monsters that had set
fire to her home. How was she to live without him? First her father, then
mother and now him- it was too much. She couldn’t endure the pain.

Strangely her
hands stopped shaking and her mind cleared. She knew what she had to do. She
turned to Annie. ‘You will take care of Beth and Harry for me?’

‘Of course I
will, miss, that’s my job.’

‘Thank you,
Annie. I knew I could rely on you.’

She walked
trancelike from the barn, seeing nothing, hearing his voice calling to her. She
went steadily back towards the blaze. She would join Jack; Thurston Hall could
be their funeral pyre.

The stable
hands were occupied fighting to calm the horses and lead them away from the
smoking stables to the safety of the meadows behind the barn. It seemed no-one
saw the tall, slim figure, dressed in clogs and night apparel walk ever closer
to the conflagration.

She could feel
the heat of the massive flames and welcomed the warmth. The fiercer the blaze
the sooner it would be over. She could endure any agony but the one of losing
Jack. To be with him she would walk through fire.

Flying embers
settled on her hair and she flinched, hearing it fizzle. Her wrapper, floating round
her ankles started to burn at the hem. Her ankles were blistering, her face
burning, still she walked on.

*

‘For God’s
sake, Miss Carstairs, what are you doing?’ She struggled, her madness
magnifying her strength. Dr Andrews knew he couldn’t hold her, if she slipped
from his grasp she would throw herself into the fire and die. He wouldn’t let
that happen. He raised his fist and punched her on the temple.

She collapsed
like a
stringless
puppet and he threw her over his
shoulder and raced away. Robert and Mary had seen Charlotte leave but had been
too far away to stop her. Now they were here and beating out the flames on her
garments with their bare hands.

‘Is she dead?
Please God, not her as well,’ Mary whispered as she held Charlotte’s limp hand.

The doctor
placed his finger against her neck, under her chin. ‘No, she’s breathing
steadily. But I fear she has suffered considerable burns. I must get her back
to Upton Manor and attend to her immediately.’

She remained
semiconscious throughout the carriage journey. Dr Andrews carried her inside.
He had roused his entire staff before galloping across to Thurston, alerted, as
were many in the vicinity, by the tell-tale orange glow in the sky. He had also
had the foresight to order his carriage to follow, and now it held Annie,
Betty, the children and Charlotte. He rode alongside, his face grim.

He could
scarcely credit that he had seen Miss Carstairs about to cast herself into the
flames for the sake of her dead love. He was glad he had saved her, but feared
for her sanity. She had suffered too much loss over the past two years. He
wondered if she was strong enough to recover from this latest and most
devastating of blows.

*

The smell of
the fire acted like a burning feather waved under a swooning debutante and Jack
twitched. He lay immobile, fully alert, listening before he moved. Too often he
had seen a man recover his senses and sit up, glad to be alive, only to be
skewered by a passing enemy soldier. Keeping still was the answer until you knew
it was safe to move. His caution saved his life.

The sound of
booted feet approaching at the double made him freeze and he prayed the smoke
wouldn’t make him cough revealing he was conscious. The boots passed and he
opened his eye and seeing the butt of a rifle realized these were the men he
sought. How had the bastards got into the house, been able to ambush him? He
remembered strolling unconcerned down the stairs, candlestick aloft, intending
to ring the bell for the butler on his descent, when a crushing blow to the
head had sent him plunging into blackness.

He saw the men
enter the study, God knows why, so knew it was safe to rise. He sprung upright
and raced to the hall to be forced back by the heat as the wooden stairs and
gallery burned fiercely. There was no way of getting to Charlotte and the
children - the whole of their corridor was ablaze.

He collapsed in
an agony of grief. He wanted to throw himself into the blaze, to join his
beloved there. Then a killing rage such as he had never experienced, even in
the bloodbath of Waterloo, consumed him and he turned and ran back down the
corridor. He stooped to collect his sword and belt, buckling it on as he ran.
He had done this so often he could do it without conscious thought.

The passage
ahead was a solid wall of fire and the men hadn’t come out of the study. He had
them trapped - if he could kill them both he would not care what happened to
him. He stopped, but it did matter, he could not give in until the paymaster
was dead as well. Revenge would keep him alive a little longer.