A Heart in Jeopardy (2 page)

"What?!" Her jacket caught on a splinter in the casement. In the dark, she ripped it free.

"Sh-shh! Oh, please, sh-shh!
The clock's struck ten! She'll be here any moment! I'm supposed to be asleep!"

Leona climbed into the room, latching the window shut behind her. "They check on you at ten?"

A vigorous nod.

"And you're supposed to be asleep?"

Again the nod.

Leona tiptoed over to the bed. "Then in you go," she whispered, pulling aside one of the animal pelts. Her lips pursed when she noted that the entire bed was made up of pelts. There was not a sheet on it.

The child obediently crawled up on the big bed. Leona tucked the pelts snugly about her, her gloved hand lingering on the child's hair where she pushed it away from her face. A sound from the hall caught her attention. She looked toward the door and saw a sliver of light coming from beneath it. Someone was indeed coming to check on this sad-eyed waif. Leona dropped to the floor and slithered underneath the bed. Dust boles attacked her nose, sending tickling shivers into her head. She fought the urge to sneeze as she scrambled deeper underneath toward the darker shadows at the head of the bed. She clamped a hand over her nose, pressing hard to stifle the incipient sneeze. Her eyes watered with the effort. Then she heard the scraping sound of a key in a lock, and the door swung open with a grating squeal.

Leona watched dark skirts swish across the room toward the bed. The skirts stopped not three feet from her face. She could have reached out and touched them. The figure stood silently for a long moment. Leona felt the resurgence of tickling in her nose and pressed harder, her face screwing up in her effort to thwart the sneeze. Finally the figure turned and left the room, squealing the door closed and turning the key in the lock. Hie room was still. Mentally Leona reached the count of fifty-eight when she heard rustling above her. A curtain of dark hair tumbled over the edge of the bed followed by a childishly round-shaped face.

"She's gone. You can come out now," the child whispered, then pulled her head up to be quickly replaced by bare feet.

Leona slowly released the hard pressure on her nose and inhaled deeply as she crawled out from under the bed. The waiting sneeze exploded from her, throwing her head hard against the bed frame. Bright colors swam in Leona's head, and her eyes teared. She reached up to tenderly touch the top of her head as if to protect it from further mishap as she dragged the rest of her body out from beneath the bed.

The child stood by the fireplace where dying embers glowed. She was coaxing a punk to burn. Carefully she carried it to the candle, lighting the sputtering wick. She shook the punk out, then conscientiously touched the end to see that all sparks were out, her tongue caught carefully between her teeth, the tip curving up to touch her upper lip. It was an endearing gesture.

Leona led her back to the bed, encouraging her to sit in the middle of its wide expanse with the pelts tucked up around her for warmth.

"Now," Leona said, sitting at the end of the bed facing the child, "I suppose I had best introduce myself. My name is Leona Leonard. And yours is—?"

"Chrissy—I mean, Lady Christiana Deveraux, daughter of the Sixth Earl of Nevin," she amended, drawing herself up straight and proud.

Leona repressed a smile at the child's unconscious formality. That formality also lent credence to the child's words. Leona was certain that no child, unless she was of the aristocracy, would automatically assume such an attitude. "I'm delighted to meet you Lady Christiana, even if it is under somewhat unusual circumstances."

"Please, call me Chrissy." The child blushed and looked down, nervously twisting her fingers together. "They always called me Lady Christiana," she explained with unconcealed dislike.

"I see." Leona paused, searching for ways to discern the truth. "The Norths say you're one of their relatives . . ." she began slowly.

"That's a lie!" The heated outburst surprised them both. The child bit her lower lip, her chin quivering slightly as she stared intently at Leona. "I'm not. Really, I'm not. I'm telling the truth. Please believe me. Please help me!"

Leona compressed her lips and sat silent a moment, searching the child's anxious face for the truth. Finally she reached out to lay her hand on the child's arm. "How can I help?"

"Get me out of here! Please! They . . . they kidnapped me while I was on my way to visit Nanny Hazlett," she explained, her words coming out in a rush. "They hit Walter on the head. There was so much blood! And then they threw a blanket over my head and carried me away, leaving Walter there to die!"

"Gently, child. Gently," Leona soothed, patting her arm.

Chrissy sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. When she looked up at Leona again, there was a renewed expression of mulishness on her face.

"It's not that I don't believe you. I'm merely trying to understand. Now, where and when did they capture you?"

"I was driving my little pony cart on my way to visit Nanny Hazlitt. She used to be my nurse. She lives in a little cottage by herself, and she really shouldn't. She's blind now, you see. She was my daddy's nurse, too. And my Uncle Nigel's and Aunt Lucy's." Her forehead furrowed, and she bit the tip of a finger as she thought. "I don't know how long ago. It seems like years! Sometimes they give me this awful-tasting stuff that makes me sleep and sleep!"

Laudanum, most likely, Leona thought. And lamentably, that is a standard practice for treating the insane. Instinctively, though, she believed the child. Rationally she was forced to gather further evidence. "Where is your home?"

"Castle Marin."

Leona shook her head. "I'm afraid I've not heard of it"

"It's in Devon, not far from Axminster."

"Is that where your parents are?"

Her face fell. "No," she answered on a thread of sound. "They're in Switzerland. Papa's sick. The doctors said Switzerland would make him better. But Grandmamma, Uncle Nigel, and Aunt Lucy are at Castle Marin. They've been taking care of me until Mama and Papa can come home. If they ever can," she finished softly. She looked away, swallowing thickly.

Something was terribly wrong here—as if kidnapping weren't enough! "Do you know what it is the kidnappers want?"

"Money, I guess, but they won't take it from Uncle Nigel. They want it directly from Papa! They don't care that it would kill Papa to come back to England. I don't understand," the child wailed softly, then crumbled forward, weeping, her face in her hands.

Leona sighed and stroked her head. "I don't either, my dear. But it seems to me that if we're to save your father, we've got to get you out of here."

Chrissy gulped and sniffed as she straightened. "I know, and I've tried to escape several times."

"You have?"

"Uh-huh. First I took a fireplace iron and tried to use it to bash the old lady's head in, but it was too heavy and I missed. So they gave me that stuff to make me sleep and took all the fireplace stuff out of here. Then I dragged the chess table over by the door and stood on it with the wash basin in my hands. I thought I could drop it on her head. But the table fell over while I was standing on it."

"So they took the table away along with any other items you might use as weapons," Leona said.

The child nodded.

That explained the room's bareness. "I gather you also tried to use the highboy and the bed linens? How were you going to use those?" she asked with a hint of admiration and humor in her voice.

"I wiggled behind the highboy and tried to push it over onto Joanna when she brought me food. That didn't work either. It was so heavy, and I couldn't do it quickly. She heard me."

Leona repressed a smile. "Ah, yes, that would be a hard piece to maneuver. And let me guess, you tried to tie the sheets together to form a rope to lower yourself to the ground."

Chrissy nodded.

"You are quite a resourceful young lady. Your parents would be proud of you."

"No, I'm not. I'm not resourceful at all. I've botched up everything." Her little chin quivered again, and her eyes leaked tears out the corners. Defiantly she swiped them away.

Sensing pity could destroy the last vestiges of the child's strength, Leona kept her voice calm and matter of fact. "Well, sometimes we all have to know when we need help. As much as we like to do everything ourselves, sometimes it isn't possible. I think this is one of those times."

"Then you'll help me?"

Leona nodded, then watched—astounded—as the glow of hope turned the drab waif into a dimpled charmer.

"But how will we escape? Do you have a ladder?"

"No. I climbed the vines that grow up the side of the house."

"Vines! Oh, how I wish I'd known of them! I could have climbed down them!" She scrambled to the edge of the bed. "Come on! What are we waiting for?"

Leona grabbed her hand. "Chrissy, wait! It's freezing outside. You are hardly dressed to go out, let alone climb down those vines. Besides, we can't. They were ripping loose as I was climbing up. We would most likely fall and break our necks."

"But. . . but, how am I to escape?"

"By going out the door."

"What? But I can't! I'm locked in. We're locked in."

Leona smiled and dug her hand into her pocket to pull out a ring of keys. "The Norths rent this house from my family."

"You have the keys!"

"Every one," Leona said as she walked toward the door.

"But if you have the keys, why did you climb up vines?"

She sorted through the keys. "Two reasons. First, the Norths said they had a mad child here. For all I knew, that could have been true. I didn't know what to expect. Better to look through a window first than to open a door when I didn't know what was on the other side. Second, the manor house doors are all deadbolted from the inside. Bring the candle here."

She took the candlestick and handed the keys to Chrissy to hold. "I was shocked at first to see them using such cheap tallow candles over wax ones. Now I think we should be grateful."

She dripped tallow over the door hinges, then took the keys back and dripped tallow over one of the keys. She thrust the candle into the child's hands. "Let's hope this works, I didn't like the loud sound this door made when your warder entered. We don't need anything that could call them down upon us."

She thrust the key in the lock and carefully turned it. The door lock clicked open. She and Chrissy exchanged happy smiles. Carefully she pulled the door open, grimacing at the squeal that sounded, fainter than before, but still evident. She took the candle back from Chrissy and grabbed her hand, leading her out into the dark hall.

Stealthily they made their way to the back servant's staircase and on down two flights of stairs. At the bottom, a hallway branched off toward the kitchen and another toward the butler's pantry. Leona led her toward the kitchen wing and through to the scullery. In the scullery, there was a door leading outside. On the wall beside the door were two cloaks hanging on wooden pegs along with an apron. Leona set the candlestick down on a worktable. Grabbing one of the cloaks, she wrapped it around the child. It was woefully long. Plus, there was still the problem of her bare feet. Leona grabbed a kitchen knife and attacked the long hem of the cloak, biting her lower lip whenever it ripped loudly. From the piece she removed, she cut strips to wrap around the child's feet, binding the heavy wool in place with apron strings.

"Ready?" she whispered.

In the candle light Chrissy's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Ready."

Leona carefully pulled back the bolt and lifted the latch. She pulled the door open. It groaned loudly. Leona and Chrissy exchanged panicked glances. Leona had not thought to grease this door. Of course, when she lived in the house, the doors never needed greasing. It was something the servants did regularly.

"Quickly!" she urged the child as they stepped through the door. Together they ran toward the woods. Leona glanced back once to see a figure standing in the open doorway, a branch of candles held high. She grabbed the child's hand and pulled her deep into the forest, now thankful for the moonless night.

She didn't know if they would be pursued, or if so how quickly, but she would not take any risks with this child's life. They would go by a slightly circuitous route to Rose Cottage. There she would entrust the child to Maria's care while she sent messages to one Nigel Deveraux at Castle Marin in Devon and to Sir Nathan Cruikston, the local magistrate. She would have the Norths apprehended and out of Lion's Gate—and out of her life—before morning.

"Maria!"

Leona grabbed for the hands that flitted from straightening her blankets to fluffing her pillows. She clasped them between her own, her grip warm but firm. "Maria, please stop fussing." A light smile and rueful shake of her head took the sting out of her words.

"I'm not fussing. I never fuss." Miss Maria Sprockett ignored the raised eyebrow of her former pupil, now mistress and friend. "It's not fussing when one just tries to make another comfortable and keep her from the ague. You were very foolish last night. I should never have allowed it."

Leona released her friend's hands as she laughed. "Piffle. When you were my governess, you never could stop me from doing anything I set my mind to."

Her friend's head bobbed, birdlike. "Maybe not, but I should have at least made the effort last evening. And when I think of those awful clothes you wore—" Her hands fluttered up to her cheeks, and her pale blue eyes widened. "And to think that at midnight you went alone to the Golden Goose Inn where any manner of stranger might have seen you, just to ask Mr. Tubbs to send his boys to carry your messages—" Her hands dropped, clasped together, to rest over her heart. "Oh, mercy ..." she trailed off faintly.

"All the guests were abed when I got to the inn, and I was careful. I did not go directly into the inn. I tapped on the window of their room on the ground floor and they let me in through the kitchen entrance. The Tubbs are good people, and you know I've known them all my life. They're not the kind to condemn or gossip. Besides, my cause was urgent, and I doubt they noticed or considered my attire."

Leona pushed back the covers and swung her feet toward the floor. She started to get up, then sat back quickly. "Oh, dear. Quickly, hand me a hankie, ple-ple-please—"

She sneezed.

"The ague!" Maria Sprockett pulled a lace-edged handkerchief out from the wrist of her lavender morning gown. "Oh, I knew how it would be! Dashing about at all hours of the night, no muffler about your neck, and only that small cap on your head for a hat."

Leona grabbed the proffered handkerchief and waved her friend to silence with it as she fought against another sneeze. She failed. And failed again. "Thank you. Oh, my head feels like a block of wood. Oak wood, I fear. But I must get up. What time is it? If Mr. Tubbs sent his boys out at first light, as he promised, to deliver those messages, then we should be getting visitors shortly."

"Going on ten, by now, I should think."

"Ten!" Leona surged to her feet, then caught the edge of the bedside table as vertigo threatened. "Maria, you wretch! How could you have let me sleep so long? Sir Cruikston should have been here by now! Hand me my dressing gown, would you please?"

"No, no. You need your rest. You're not well!"

Leona willed the room to stop spinning. She glared at Maria. "And I'm not on my death bed, either." She brushed past her well-meaning companion to pick up her dressing gown herself. Impatiently she thrust her arms into the sleeves. "Really, Maria, I should hope I know my duty. That child is much more important this morning than my cosseting a little chill that will no doubt be the better for a little exercise."

"Chrissy is a dear. I cannot imagine the ordeal that child has been through. It's a wonder that she is not now a candidate for Bedlam, in truth. But she is bright and chipper this morning. And such polite manners!" She followed Leona over toward the dressing table and watched as she attacked her tangled mass of hair. "You should have braided it before you went to sleep. No matter the hour, a woman must properly attend to her toilet."

Leona glanced up at her in the mirror but pointedly refrained from commenting as she silently counted the brush strokes. At one hundred she stopped and tightly gathered the gleaming tawny mass into a bun on top of her head. Behind her Maria frowned and then sniffed her disapproval. It was an old game between them. Maria wanted her to cut her hair, loop the back into a twist, and curl the locks closest to her face in the prevailing mode. Leona insisted on dressing her long golden hair in a practical bun or braiding it into a coronet. She did once try to cover her hair with a fetching little lace cap trimmed with pale green ribbons, but at the sight of that mute testament to spinsterhood Maria threatened an apoplectic fit. For the sake of household harmony, Leona took it off and hid it away in a dresser drawer.

"Chrissy was up at first light. And do you know what she wanted even before a cup of chocolate? Her hair washed! Said she didn't want her Uncle Nigel to see her with that snarled, drab mass. We were not completely successful in getting out all of that wretched dye or rinse or whatever it was they used on her hair; nonetheless, we did see some measure of success. She is sitting before the fire letting it dry. Do you know what color that child's hair really is?"

"Red," Leona answered absently as she turned her head, checking to see that not a single golden strand of hair was out of place. She rose from the stool.

"How did you know?"

"The amount of dye used was woefully inadequate for hair as thick as Chrissy's. There were streaks where her natural color shone through. Then too, there is the matter of her eyelashes and eyebrows," Leona finished with a smile. She crossed toward the armoire to select a dress.

"I swear, Leona Clymene Leonard, you are far too clever by half. One of these days you are going to out-clever yourself."

Leona laughed. "Out-clever myself? Really, Maria, where do you pick these terms up?"

Two high points of color shone on Maria Sprockett's cheeks. She clasped her hands in front of her and sniffed, her back ramrod straight. Leona looked at her friend, then relented.

"I'm sorry. I should not tease you. Come, tell me. Which should I wear? The gold or the blue?" She held out two morning dresses for her to see.

"The gold. But there is no need to hurry. Let me bring up a cup of herbal tea. A nice cup of comfrey tea should help clear your head—no, it's chamomile tea that's—Or is it perhaps costmary?" She shook her head then waved her hand airily. "It's one of those that begins with the letter cee. No matter. I'll look it up. You stay here and rest."

"Maria, you forget," Leona said as patiently as she could. "Sir Nathan will not be coming the distance Mr. Deveraux will be. It is what? Seven, eight miles to his home? He will be here soon."

Maria laughed. "Oh, heavens, no. The man has already come and gone twice."

"What?!"

"Now do not fuss, Leona. Chrissy gave him evidence while you slept. He went immediately to Lion's Gate, but I'm afraid the Norths had already gone. Left the servants in quite a tizzy, I understand. I expect we'll hear all about it from Mrs. Thrailwithe through her housekeeper's daughter."

Leona sagged back against the clothespress. "Maria! How could you! You know I wished to speak with Sir Nathan myself!"

"And so you shall," Maria breezily assured her. "Later this afternoon or tomorrow you shall have a nice comfortable coze. We worked it out between us before he left. He's at the Golden Goose waiting for Mr. Deveraux to arrive. Said he'd explain the matter to Mr. Deveraux himself. Such a sensible man. A widower, too, I gather. When Chrissy told him how you reached her, he clucked his tongue and said he understood if you now found your sensibilities shaken."

"Sensibilities shaken?" Leona repeated, stunned. She raised a hand to her forehead. How could a friend of more than ten years be so obtuse? "I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Maria, a crime has been committed using Leonard property. As the only Leonard immediately available, I must represent the family in this matter. It is my duty to speak with the magistrate. I cannot countenance your obstruction in this matter."

"I am not obstructing," Maria sharply denied. Her lower Up quivered. "I am seeing to your health and well-being. If Mr. Sharply was to discover what I allowed you to do last night—as surely he will if you are to take sick—I will be turned off without a-a character!" she finished on a sob. Tears slid down her parchment-skinned cheeks.

"Piffle! Even if my sanctimonious brother-in-law were to learn of last night's events, there is nothing he could do about them. He is not my guardian. Oh, here." She grabbed a clean handkerchief from a dresser drawer and thrust it into her companion's hands. It did not do to upset Maria. She really believed she was acting in her best interest. Leona felt a scoundrel for not appreciating her friend's concerns. She sighed. "Do stop your crying. Our first concern should be for that poor child downstairs! I'm sorry I snapped at you," she said with diminishing patience. "I am very angry at the goings-on up at the manor house, but that is no reason to take my anger out on you," she admitted ruefully. "Why don't you go see to that tea you spoke of while I dress. I promise when I come downstairs I shall ensconce myself on the sofa with a quilt over my legs to ward off further chill and I shall not go gallivanting about. There. Will that make you happy?" She put an arm about Miss Sprockett's thin shoulders as she led her toward the door.

Maria blew her nose and dabbed at her reddened eyes. She nodded. "I was only thinking of you," she added timidly.

"I know, dear, and I am the biggest boor for taking you to task for it. Now, off with you. And while you're downstairs, why don't you ask Cook to bake some of those jam tarts I'm so partial to. I'll wager Chrissy would like them, too."

"I already have," she said with a watery giggle and another sniff. "They should be done by now."

Leona laughed and gave her a hug. "What would I ever do without you? I'll be down directly. Just be sure you and Chrissy leave a couple for me!"

After the door closed behind Maria, the smile Leona maintained for her friend's benefit faded. She sagged back against her dressing table and ran a shaking hand across her throbbing temples. Despite her brave words to the contrary, she knew she was ill. Slowly she turned around to study her reflection in the mirror. Feverish blots of color stood out on her high cheekbones, and her eyes were glassy. She sneezed again.

"Dear Lord, let me get through this day, then I promise I shall stay abed for a week," she murmured. Then she straightened, a determined expression firming her pale lips. "I know my duty. That comes before all else. And I shall see justice done!" She turned away from the mirror and pulled angrily at her dressing gown, tossing it aside.

"How long do you think it will take my Uncle Nigel to get here? He can ride like the wind, my uncle can. Nuit— that's his horse; it means night in French. My grandmother's French, you see. Actually, she's not my real grandmamma. My real grandmamma died when Papa was a baby. She came to take care of Papa, but my grandfather fell in love with her and married her. Isn't that romantic?" Chrissy paused to sip her hot chocolate.

Leona repressed a laugh. Since she'd come downstairs to join Chrissy in the parlor, the child had been talking incessantly, all the while hopping from subject to subject. With her temples throbbing and her head feeling like a block of wood, Leona was hard pressed to follow her young guest's rapid conversation. It was fortunate she was not expected to respond. She inhaled the steam escaping from the herbal tea Maria had prepared. She could not identify the herb. She wondered if Maria simply tossed together all the herbs beginning with the letter C, hoping one would work. Though Maria created wonderfully smelling wet and dry potpourris, she was not an herbalist. Still, it did seem the concoction was beneficial, for Leona's ragged breathing had eased. Guiltily, she raised her head to listen to the child.

"... one of Nuit's get, but Uncle Nigel says any foal fathered by Nuit would be too big for me. He says he'll get me my own horse when I improve my seat. But how can I improve if I must forever ride Rosebud? She's just a pony!" Disgust curled Chrissy's lips.

This time laughter escaped Leona. She realized she'd missed part of Chrissy's conversation, however, it was not difficult to fill in the missing pieces. Chrissy was horse mad. Leona could appreciate that, for she remembered herself at Chrissy's age. For her it had been particularly agonizing since her older brothers were given horses of their own at ten while she was relegated to her pony until twelve. She gathered from the bits and pieces of her young guest's monologue she'd been able to string together that Chrissy was an only child without even cousins to compare to. Judging from the conversational tidbits the girl had mentioned, Leona learned that Aunt Lucy, a diamond of the first water, was engaged to be married, and that Uncle Nigel was, to his niece, a hero of every peninsular battle fought, a sportsman par excellence, and not a person to cross. How did Chrissy say it? "When he sort of closes his eyes and looks at you through the slits like, you know you're in trouble!"

Her grandmother she described as gentle and understanding. She obviously made a point of tucking her into bed at night and singing an old French lullaby to her. It was a ritual that was somehow important to the child and sorely missed. Leona wished she'd known that last night. Though she didn't know any French lullabies, an old English one might have helped soothe the frightened child she'd turned over to Maria's care while she went to the inn.