Practice to Deceive (6 page)

“Ah, so you know about the—inducement,” he sneered.

Penelope met his scornful gaze levelly. “Yes. And that Quentin refuses to tell my uncle where the treasure is hid. If it is just the money, I would think—”

“But it is not just the money. There goes with the treasure a list of all those who contributed.”

She paled. “What madness! Sure death for all so named!”

“Aye. And a traitor's death. But for a man such as Delavale, an extra windfall, for it would be a choice gem of blackmail.”

Surprised, Penelope asked, “You are acquainted with my uncle, Mr. Chandler?”

His lips tightened. He slanted a glance at the Corporal, then replied, “I believe your father and mine were acquainted, but—well, I've—forgive me—I've heard rumours concerning your uncle. Is why I—we—came this way and watched day and night, hoping to intercept my brother.”

Incredulous, she asked, “You
knew
Quentin would come to Highview?”

“He was hounded this way. We knew he was hurt and desperate, so we thought it logical he might seek shelter here. For old times' sake.” He saw Penelope wince, and went on quickly, “Each instant we delay likely holds a bitter price for him. We must start now. How can you help us, Miss Montgomery?”

“I'd think,” the Corporal put in thoughtfully, “as the lady herself might be Major Chandler's best hope.”

Gordon tensed. “By Jove! You're right, of course! What a clod that I did not think of it!” He appraised Penelope's damp person speculatively. “Your uncle, m'dear lady, will pay highly for your safe return.”

“Good God! Am I kidnapped, then?”

“Aye. To be traded for my brother.”

Perhaps because this had been such a terrible day, Penelope began to laugh hilariously.

“An odd reaction to a kidnapping,” Gordon said dryly. “I make you my compliments, ma'am. Most ladies would be indulging a fit of the vapours.”

She gasped, “I very well … may be. Oh, sir—you cannot know how I pity you. If I thought 'twould serve, I'd agree, I swear it. As it is—alas, my uncle would be delighted did you make him such an offer. Delighted to be rid of me. The only use he had for me was to treat me as an unpaid drudge and to bully me into an advantageous marriage. But now I am to be given to his crony, Captain Roland Otton, in exchange, I gather, for his aid and a still tongue with regard to your poor brother.”

“Nonsense! No man could be so base as to refuse the exchange under such circumstances. If nothing else, fear of what his friends and neighbours might say would surely weigh with him.”

It was the argument she herself had used with respect to just such a situation, but to admit that now would not serve her at all. “The only thing that weighs with Delavale is gold. If he had any reaction to your demand, it would likely be to laugh for a week.”

A trace of bitterness had come into her voice. Watching her from under his heavy brows, Gordon said uncertainly, “The fellow must be a black-hearted rogue if what you say is true. Killiam? What do you think?”

“I think as 'tis likely the lady knows her kinfolk, sir. And that we are drove to the ropes before ever we start.”

“No, no—you are not!” Penelope jumped up, her heart beating very fast. “Mr. Chandler, I may be able to get you to your brother. Whether you are able to spirit him away will rest in your own hands. It will be very chancy, but—I will help you … for a consideration.”

Hope dawning in his eyes, he said eagerly, “Lady, if you can get us to Quentin, you may name any reward it is in my power to give.”

“My—my price is—that, if you escape … I go with you.”

III

“Daffy! What is it?” Penelope closed the door and hurried to the plump abigail who had served her faithfully for the past five years and who now sat in a corner of the bedchamber, her face buried in the snowy folds of her apron.

Phyllis Brooks sprang up, her round comely face alight with joy. “Miss Penny! You've come back! I was sure as sure as you'd runned off and left me!”

Penelope wrapped the girl in a hug and, with a twinge of conscience, said reprovingly, “As if I would do so unkind a thing!”

Despite her prim and sometimes rather Puritanical demeanour, Brooks had been ‘Daffy' to Geoffrey and Penelope since she had let slip the nickname during her first week at Highview. She had been hired despite some rather questionable references, due mainly to the kind heart of the housekeeper who had later joined the ranks of the deserters. Her relationship with Mr. Hargrave was an uneasy one, since she had objected to a pinch he had generously bestowed upon her bottom, and the thought of being compelled to ask him for a reference was daunting. Thus, the reappearance of her young mistress lifted a great weight from her troubled mind. Fear lingered in the blue eyes, however, and she pleated her apron with nervous fingers as she wailed, “Oh, miss! I've had the most
drefful
time! You wouldn't never believe what I been through!”

Penelope regarded her distractedly for an instant, then ran to throw open the casement and peer into the rainy night. Below her, the wind tossed the branches of the great oak, but there was no other sound, no sign of life. She thought, ‘Whatever shall I do if they do not come…?' and turned back to her astonished abigail, wringing her hands worriedly.

Daffy decided that poor Miss Penny was all about in her head, which was only to be expected, what with the miserable life she led and that oily Captain Otton undressing her with his eyes every time he saw the dear soul! “Come away from there, miss,” she urged, trotting over to close the window. “You be fair soaked. Going out on such a night! Whatever next? You'll take an inflammation of the lungs if—”

“No! Pray leave it open. I am—er, rather warm. I was running to—to get out of the rain, you see. Now, do tell me, Daffy, what has so upset you? Has that footman been pestering you again?”

“No, miss.” The saucy twinkle so at odds with her manner brightened the girl's eyes. “Bingham has kept his place since I told him straight out to keep his hands in his own pockets.”

“Then what has distressed you?”

Daffy lowered her voice. “I heared such a great crashing and banging about, Miss Penny. Like—like the devil hisself was capering about milor's study. Then the gentlemen went downstairs to their dinner—and well in their cups they was, if you'll excuse me for saying so. I was watching from the top of the stairs to see which one would fall down first, when…” Her eyes became very round; she said with solemn drama, “—when I heared … it.”

Trembling with apprehension, Penelope urged, “Oh,
do
hurry up, Daffy! When you heard—what?”

“A … ghost…!” whispered the abigail awfully. “For there wasn't no one in the study, as I do know. But I heared this drefful sound—like a soul in mortal sin and guilt—coming from in there. I was so
frightened,
miss! I ran—” She broke off with a shriek of terror and threw her arms about Penelope.

Gordon Chandler stood watching them, and Corporal Killiam was in the act of closing the window. Both men looked very grim and in Chandler's eyes was a horror echoed in Penelope's heart.

“You heard?” she asked, gently detaching Daffy's convulsive clutch.

Gordon nodded. “Where is he?”

“I'll take you, but you must let me go first, to be sure none of the servants is about.” Here, Daffy uttering a small whimper of dismay, Penelope turned to give her a reassuring hug. “I know this must seem a very odd circumstance to you, dear Daffy. But these gentlemen were—were friends of Master Geoffrey. I shall say no more than that. It is better for you to know none of the business. When we leave, you must go to the servants' hall and stay with the others.”

Daffy merely continuing to stare numbly at the two men, Penelope sighed and crossed to her standing mirror. The bedraggled creature reflected there caused her to utter a moan of frustration. To appear thus before the servants could not fail to attract attention. She took a cream shawl from her chest of drawers and draped it around her shoulders. Recovering her wits to some extent, but with many a nervous glance at the men, Daffy hurried to take up brush and comb and urge her mistress to sit down so that she might tidy her disordered locks. When she was done Penelope thanked her and turned to the door, but the abigail again clutched her arm and whispered distractedly, “Oh, miss! Oh,
miss!
”

Penelope kissed her. “Whatever may chance, I ask only that for the sake of any affection you may have for me, you will not tell anyone downstairs that you have seen my friends.”

Her eyes blurred with tears, Daffy nodded and turned away, dabbing her apron at her wet cheeks.

Cautiously, Penelope opened the door a crack, gradually widening it until she could see the length of the west hall, past the railing of the stairs, to the door that once had been Geoffrey's. There was no sign of anyone, but a distant burst of male laughter told her that Delavale and his cronies still lingered over their wine.

She beckoned, and Chandler and the Corporal came swiftly to her side. “He is in a room at the other end of the north hall,” she whispered. “It is locked, I've no doubt, and if you break it in you'll neither of you leave this house alive. My uncle has four strong manservants besides Otton and his friend Beasley, and any commotion here would be sure to rouse the grooms and gardeners.”

Chandler nodded. “We are to enter through the Passion Path you spoke of, eh?”

“Yes. It leads from the room that was used to be the master bedchamber. My mama did not care for the view from the windows, so my father had the three centre rooms converted to a master suite. Do you wait here whilst I go. If I am seen, I will have to make some excuse and return as soon as may be.”

She started out, but Chandler caught her arm, looking down into her eyes. “If you betray us, ma'am,” he said with stern implacability, “I do assure you we shall take some of your relations to hell with us.”

Penelope met his gaze gravely. “Do not forget our bargain,” she murmured.

He released her, and she slipped into the hall.

At once, her nerves tensed and she had to force herself not to walk too hurriedly. Expecting at any second to encounter a maid or a footman, she passed one bedroom door, another, and another. The sounds from the stairwell grew louder as she approached the landing. Her eyes were fixed on that crucial point, her hands tight-gripped on her shawl. She almost cried out with shock when she inadvertently trod too close to the large bowl of stocks on the ornately inlaid chest that Grandpapa had brought back from India. As usual, Lady Sybil had stuffed too many blooms into the vase. A large spray became entangled in Penelope's shawl, and she caught the vase just as it toppled downwards. With shaking hands she restored it and then hurried on. The landing loomed up. Penelope forced her reluctant feet to wander past the stairs and pause while, with one hand lightly resting on the railing, she pretended to be about to descend. Luck was with her: there was no maid or footman to bow and watch and wonder. From below came another raucous shout of laughter. The gentlemen were drinking heavily, it would seem; probably, she thought, in an attempt to forget the inhuman things they had done.

She strolled across the landing to where the stairs continued up to the second floor. Again, all was quiet and deserted. Abandoning caution she ran to the northwest door and went quickly inside. Geoffrey's old room. The cold and empty darkness, the dim glow from the hall lamp revealing the shrouded shapes of Holland-covered furnishings brought a lump to her throat. If only … But there was no time for grieving. Staying only to whip the window curtains closed, she ran back to the corner of the hall and gestured urgently. Her bedroom door opened wide. Chandler and the Corporal hurried towards her. She held her breath until they were safely beside her, then ushered them into the room and closed the door.

Chandler whispered, “Well done, ma'am! Dare we light a candle?”

“One only. The draperies are closed, but they are not very heavy.”

The Corporal took a tinder box from his greatcoat pocket and by the light of the single candle he lit, Penelope led them to the wide hearth. “It is here somewhere. Behind the fireplace.”

Gordon bent, peering. “I cannot discern any kind of bar, or handle.…”

“Nor I.” She knelt and groped anxiously along the sooty walls. “I know it is here, but I was never told just how the door was opened. I had quite forgot about the passage, until—”

“See here, sir!” The Corporal's deep voice rang with excitement. “This part where we stand is much narrower than up above us. The hearth was a sight deeper at one time.”

Despite this apparent corroboration there was no sign of a door or anything that might constitute a handle, and Penelope began to fear that the passage had been sealed off.

“Logical enough that so secret a route would have been well hidden.” Gordon stepped back, carrying the candle with him. “Feel along the mantel,” he suggested. “Try for anything that gives a little, or can be twisted.”

They obeyed, twisting, pulling, tapping all along the carven stone, but without success. In desperation Gordon wrenched at a wall sconce above the hearth, and the iron came away in his hand, leaving a chunk of crumbling masonry behind it. Three hearts that had leapt with hope knew the pangs of disappointment.

“Try the other one, sir,” urged the Corporal. “Just in case.”

Gordon reached across to the second sconce, but his cloak caught the remains of the one he had laid on the mantelpiece and sent it crashing to the hearth. Penelope gave a gasp of fright, and Gordon groaned his repentance. Killiam snatched up the offending article. Straightening, he cracked his head on the corner of the mantel. He had moved faster than he'd realized, and saw stars for an instant. He staggered and steadied himself by grasping an ancient iron brazier mounted on the wall beside the hearth. An instant deep creak resounded through the hushed room. The three conspirators looked at one another in breathless questioning.