Fenella J. Miller (22 page)

       As soon as the thought was there he knew it for the truth. Wydale was expecting him and had prepared the house to withstand all but a full attack from the military. A handful of men could not hope to break in.

       For a moment he was nonplussed, unable to push a feeling of dread away. ‘If we can’t get in, then we can’t save them from been raped by the group of monsters within.’ He scowled, thinking hard, not aware he’d spoken aloud. He turned to Edmund.

 ‘This place is locked up as tight as drum. We’ll not get in the doors or windows, we shall have to think of something else. I’m sure the others had no better luck, but we shall wait on them to return, just to be sure.’

       The lad didn’t answer and he thought for a moment he hadn’t heard. He turned and raised his lantern in order to see the young man’s face. It was pinched and pale. Cursing under his breath, he realized he must have spoken his thoughts aloud once too often. He was not much more than a boy, how could he expect him to shoulder such responsibility without flinching?

       He stepped forward and placed his arm around Edmund’s shaking shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, lad. I’m sure things are not be as black as I said. We shall get in, never fear, and your sisters will emerge unscathed. Now, you have to be strong. You cannot let your imagination run riot.’ He felt the trembling still and the young man took several steadying breaths.

‘Thank you, Fletcher. I apologize for my weakness, but your words were so graphic, I have been pushing the reality to one side. You merely stated what we both know could be the case.’ He stepped away and Fletcher’s arm dropped back. ‘However, I can hear no screaming, no shouts, no running feet; even with the shutters drawn I’m sure if something hideous was taking place we should be able to hear it out here.’

       ‘You’re right, Edmund. I think we’re in time. And I know how we can get in. There must be a coal chute somewhere; all we have to do is find it. No one would have scrambled up a pile of coal in order to bolt the doors from the inside.’

He heard the sound of the other group returning and waited for them to join him. ‘No luck, Sam?’

       ‘No, sir, but we know where they are. At least we know where some of them are. They’re in the drawing-room, the shutters are closed, but we could hear them laughing and carrying on. I don’t think either Miss Fox or Miss Sarah were in there with them.’

Fletcher’s heart lurched. This could be good news or the worst possible. ‘Was that bastard Wydale in the drawing-room? Did you hear his voice?’ He knew this was a futile question, how could Sam possibly pick out an individual voice through the muffling wall of shutters and heavy curtains?

       ‘I don’t know, Mr Reed. But at least we know they’re not at the back of the house and can get on with finding our way in.’

Roberts shattered the night with a shout of triumph. ‘It’s over here, sir, I’ve found it. And you’re quite right, it’s unlocked.’

Fletcher followed the voice through the darkness and indicated that they all hold their lanterns aloft whilst Roberts and Denver heaved the two doors apart.

       He shone his lantern down in to the shining blackness but couldn’t see the floor of the coal cellar. Unfortunately there had been a recent delivery and the fuel came almost to the roof. He was about to turn away in disgust when Roberts handed his lantern to Denver.

       ‘I reckon I can slide down that, sir, and then I’ll see if I can open the door. With someone in the house it shouldn’t be too difficult to let the rest of you in.’

       Before Fletcher would forbid it, the young man gathered up his riding coat, shoved his pistol in his pocket, and throwing himself flat slid feet first into obscurity.

They gathered round listening to the crashes, rattles, grunts and cursing as Roberts traversed the mountain of fuel. His passage sent clouds of dust into the air making them all cough.

       Eventually the noise stopped and Fletcher held his breath. He sighed with relief as the cheerful voice echoed up from below. ‘That was a mite uncomfortable, sir, but I’m down without mishap. I don’t suppose one of you would care to push a lantern down to me?’

Edmund’s chuckle was weak, but perceptible. ‘Don’t be a fool, man, you’ll set yourself and the whole house alight. You must grope your way to the edge and find the door.’

       Thomas stepped forward. ‘Excuse me, but that won’t be necessary, sir, I got a tinderbox and candles in my pocket, I always travel with them for when the lanterns go out. I can toss them down to him; they’ll not light anything on their own.’

       ‘Good man. Do it. Let’s hope they don’t become lost in the coal.’

       ‘If we all hold our lanterns up by the entrance when your coachman throws the items, Fletcher, with any luck Roberts will see where they go and be able to find them.’

       After a deal of scrabbling and swearing Roberts had both tinderbox and candle in his possession. Wisely he stepped away from the gleaming pile of coal before he lit the candle. Fletcher heard the footsteps fade and then a triumphant shout and the small glimmer of a candle appeared at the bottom of the hole.

‘I’ve found the door, it’s not bolted on the outside, it’s a key. But it’s heavy, I can’t shift it on my own. In fact I think it will take several men to break it open.’

Fletcher didn’t hesitate. He was twice the weight of Roberts, and was sure he could kick the door down, especially the way he felt. Without hesitation he swirled his cloak around him, pulling the collar up to cover his face, and then launched himself feet first, the way Roberts had, down the slippery heap. The speed with which he descended was double that of the groom and he landed in a heap on the floor seconds later.

He heard a startled exclamation and the room went dark. ‘Buggeration, I’ve dropped the candle. I’ll never find it in here. It’s black as a coal cellar.’ This remark caused a ripple of mirth round the men standing on the top.

       Fletcher struggled to his feet, his boots slipping on the lumps of coal. ‘Don’t worry about it, I have another in my pocket. Stay where you are, keep talking and I’ll walk towards you. I take it you still have the tinderbox?’

       ‘That I do, sir, I’m not a nodkin.’

       Fletcher doubted the veracity of this statement but his throat was too full of coal dust to answer. Roberts took the candle-end and expertly using the tinderbox immediately had a small flame burning. He held it above his head. ‘Look, there’s the door.’

Fletcher stared and pushing his coat back behind his shoulders in order to leave him free of any hindrance, he took a deep breath. Raising his boot he smashed it down with such force that the lock splintered and the door swung back. He wished it had been

Wydale’s face beneath his heel.

       He was glad to be out of the choking dust and into the comparative fresh air of the narrow passageway. Holding this small flame in front he stared in both directions. He swore viciously. It as like a rabbit warren, he had no real idea in which direction to go to find the backdoor. Still cursing silently he turned back to speak to the men waiting outside when there was a clatter and cloud of dust enveloped him.

‘Thank God, hear that, Roberts, I think they’re arriving the same way we did.’

       Ten minutes later they were all assembled in the corridor, the five remaining candle stumps lit and pistols gripped in their hands, all ready to move.

       Fletcher was concerned the weapons would no longer fire successfully; although all had had the sense to push them back into the pockets’ of their coats during their slide down the coal, it was very likely some dust had got into the firing mechanism and they wouldn’t work. There was nothing he could do about it now, it was too dark.

       He stood for a moment, trying to visualize the shape of the house. The drawing-room, according to Sam, had been on the far side of the building. Leading his band of coal- covered men, coughing and spluttering as they went, hoping there would soon be stairs leading up to the main part of the house.

        He had given instructions that each man was to examine the panelled walls for entrances and if they found one to look inside in case it was the staircase they sought. After ten minutes Edmund shouted triumphantly. ‘Here, we’ve found them.’

Fletcher ran back to join him and resumed his place at the head of the line. A candle in one hand and a pistol in the other, his many caped coat flapping around him giving off further clouds of coal dust and causing the men behind a deal of aggravation.

As he reached the top of the winding stairs he could see a band of light shining under the doorway. ‘Extinguish your candles, men, we’re there.’

 He moved forward, slowly pushing the door open a crack, he could feel the men

behind freeze like him, listening. There was total silence, no voices, no laughs, nothing.

       He shoved the door open and stepped out into a corridor illuminated by a series of flickering flambeaux. This was not the main part of the house, perhaps this passageway was one that led to a study, or an estate office.

       ‘Check your pistols; see that they are free of dust before we proceed any further.’ He did the same himself. As far as he could see everything was working satisfactorily. ‘The main entrance must be to our right. Edmund, you keep behind me, Sam and your men follow, then Denver and Roberts and Thomas after that.’

 Knowing he had organized his small army as best he could he moved forward, stopping every few yards to listen, but the house was eerily silent. After a few minutes they arrived in the large entrance hall, this too was well lit, but this too was deserted.

       However, sounds of raucous laughter and the high-pitched squeals of women were clearly audible through the double doors ahead. He gestured to Edmund to stay with him and sent Sam and his two cohorts to find the servant’s entrance. The other three slipped away to find the dining-room, so they could approach that way. He would go in through the double doors. If Wydale was there he would shoot him through the heart.

Chapter Twenty

Fletcher gave the others five minutes to find the entrance and their places then flung the doors open. He stood shocked, surveying the room. His eyebrows shot up under his hair at what could be a scene from a Roman orgy. Semi-naked women and men with their britches around their knees were cavorting all over the carpet and furniture. One man glanced casually in his direction and his screech of horror alerted the rest.

Fletcher had been about to shout instructions to these men and their partners to regain their feet and move into the centre of the room, but to his astonishment the room fell silent of it’s own accord and eight faces, mouths agape, stared at him as if he were the very devil himself.

Before he could move the servant’s door crashed open and then the communicating doors from the dining room did likewise. The eight heads jerked from side to side like marionettes and like marionettes they slowly collapsed.

Fletcher understood why his appearance had caused such consternation. If he looked remotely like the six men who had just emerged then he was a frightening sight indeed. He had forgotten they were all covered in coal, their faces black like sweeps, their clothes exuding clouds of dust as they walked. He tried not to cough and spoil the effect he had created.

Ignoring the pathetic bundles quivering on the floor he called across the room to Sam’s group. ‘Take an entrance each - guard these creatures; shoot if they so much as blink any resistance.’ He beckoned to the others. ‘The rest of you come with me, our quarry is not here and we must find him immediately.’

Leaving the debauchery he strode from the room followed by the his men. They gathered in the tiled entrance hall.

       ‘I think we had better search upstairs. I imagine Miss Fox and Miss Sarah will have rooms on the first floor. We’ve no idea where Wydale and his henchmen are so we had better be wary. I shall lead the way. Edmund take your place behind me, then Denver and Thomas bring up the rear.’

Like the other passageways the hall was sufficiently well illuminated to allow them to move forward without recourse to igniting candles. Fletcher led his band forward stealthily, keeping his eyes and ears open.

       On reaching the landing halfway up he gestured to the others to flatten themselves against the wall and remain silent. Then he heard something. Was his mind playing tricks? He cocked his head to listen again. Somewhere ahead a man’s voice was raised in anger.

       ‘It’s him, he’s somewhere upstairs. We outnumber him by far, but he has the advantage if either of the girls are in his clutches. Whatever you do, don’t react unless I give the signal.’

       There was murmur of assent greeted this. Pleased his impromptu troop of foot-soldiers responded so readily to his orders, Fletcher continued upwards. On reaching the head of the stairs he dropped to a crouching position, believing that anyone standing in the passage would automatically look to shoulder height, which might give them the few seconds advantage he needed to spring an ambush.

       He remained still for a second. Wydale, or someone else, continued to berate his victim. He straightened and took the last three steps in one to emerge, poised to kill.

       There was no one there. Where were the voices coming from? It wasn’t in the main thoroughfare. He ran forward on his toes. As he moved towards the rear of the house the shouting became more distinct until he recognized Wydale. Where the devil was he? He halted in order to listen again.

       Yes, of course! He was in one of the servants’ passageways, but it must be somewhere close. He waved to Edmund, miming that he should search the wall for the door. The entrance was found almost immediately and he edged his way forward. Putting his ear to the crack he listened.

       ‘Don’t stand there snivelling at me, fetch your mistress at once. She has broken her word, she agreed to come down at seven thirty and it’s ten minutes past that time. She might have decided not to keep her promise that believe me, I am a man of my word.’

Fletcher’s face split into a broad grin. Eliza was safe, she must have locked herself into her chambers and managed to keep the bastard out. Thank God! Thank God! He hadn’t been too late, no one’s life had been ruined apart from the groom lying dead in the stables. He stepped away from the door and moved across to the far side of the wide passage, beckoning his men to follow.