Chapter 50 #2
‘It took some convincing for father to allow it. Dashwood was poking around by then, you see. We had to put him off the trail. Robbed our own coach. I thought that would be the end of it. The army payroll was enough to tide us over until …’ He trailed off, clearly embittered.
Lucy finished the thought. ‘Until you married Charlotte Wyndham.’
‘It was such an easy solution.’ He bristled with frustration.
‘She would have given us enough money to settle things. But her stupid father was just as stupid as my stupid father. He’d followed his advice!
I saw what that was, his family being ruined.
I wasn’t going to let the same thing happen to us! ’
‘So you came up with another plan. A ball, and robberies while people were vulnerable.’
‘It almost worked. But I underestimated Dashwood.’
No, Lucy thought. You underestimated the Elliot sisters.
‘Luckily for me he got called away. We were free to move ahead again. Everything was going to plan. And then my lanky brother shows up with your sister. He was meant to be away another week. It’s frustrating, Lucy. You create a well-oiled machine and then you keep hitting bumps in the road.’
‘Well, that’s racing.’ She shrugged.
He appeared slightly confused by her comment, but his attention turned past her to the end of the hallway. She recognised the entrance to the cellar, where a man stood guard with a lantern.
‘Another one?’ the man asked curiously.
‘It’s one of those nights,’ George replied.
The man nodded, turning a key and unlocking the door.
George took a lantern from off the wall and gestured for Lucy to descend the steps. She did so, moving slowly downwards, aware that her only chance was to humour George for as long as she could.
They reached another door and he motioned for her to draw back the bar. Beyond it, the stairwell opened into a large shadowy room, illuminated by a single candle. There were rows of shelves, which she realised were stacked with dozens of jars of preserves.
‘Lucy?’ came an exclamation from within.
She saw Margaret approach, but her sister stopped as she caught sight of George behind her and the pistol in his hand.
‘Please, George.’ Margaret shuddered. ‘Don’t hurt her.’
‘I have no intention of it. Do you really think me to be such a monster?’
‘I no longer know what to think of you. Whatever villainy this is part of, I do not know how far you might debase yourself.’
George seemed not to be offended by this. Whatever path he had chosen, he had done so wholeheartedly.
‘Lucy. Please join your sister and my brother.’
‘You are no brother of mine,’ came a voice from the shadows.
As Lucy stepped forward, she caught sight of Oliver seated on the floor, a bruise visible on his temple even in the dim light. It seemed he had not come here quietly.
‘No brother of mine would so shame the St Martin name,’ Oliver sneered.
‘I am trying to save the St Martin name!’ his brother yelled back with a sudden fury. ‘While you and Father fritter away money with your bad investments, I’m doing the real work. If it were up to you, we’d already have been thrown out of this place.’
‘Family is more than a building, George. Honour is worth more than gold.’
‘Well, I suppose we’ll find out when we receive our gold. Chain her up.’
To her shock, Lucy realised that Oliver and Margaret each had a shackle around their ankle, chained to a sturdy link in the wall.
As the guard with the lantern stepped forward, George kept his pistol level.
‘One of our ancestors used this room as a dungeon. It turns out it’s more useful than a storeroom for preserves ever was.’
Reluctantly Lucy held out her foot as the man locked the iron around her ankle.
‘You’ll have a slightly better deal,’ George continued. ‘Two water barrels. Several shelves of preserves of all kinds. It should last you long enough to be found.’
‘This is madness, George.’ Oliver shook his head sadly. ‘Whatever you are planning, you know the law of the land will not forgive this.’
‘Laws change, little brother. Next time we meet, I hope you will have come to your senses.’
With that he turned away and the guard followed, leaving the three alone in the candlelit cellar.
‘Lucy. I’m so glad you’re safe.’ Margaret hugged her. ‘Why did you come here?’
Sitting on a small barrel, keeping her voice low, Lucy explained everything.
There was no point hiding anything from Oliver now and she went into detail about the investigation, the robberies and the truth about Captain Dashwood.
She did not mention Torres or the Night Races, for their own privacy.
Nor did she mention her feelings for Dashwood and their connection, as she felt they had little relevance to the current circumstances.
Once she had finished, Oliver sat stoically, processing it all.
‘So that is it then.’ He sighed grimly. ‘You have explained to me what my brother would not. I knew something unscrupulous was afoot, but I had no idea the depths of it. I thought perhaps some dubious speculation at worst. I wish we had stayed in London. Then I should not have led the three of us into this imprisonment.’
‘It is no fault of yours,’ Margaret countered. ‘It says at least something of your brother that he should leave us here rather than kill us mercilessly. Clearly he has that capacity in him. But then, so do I, I suppose.’
Lucy threw her a glance, but she nodded softly in reply.
‘I have told Oliver of my actions on the evening of the ball.’
‘I love you no less for defending the lives of those you care about.’ He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘There is a world between that and the heartless murder my brother has done. How can he ever expect forgiveness? All the wealth in the land will not buy off the laws of England.’
The words he spoke struck Lucy more than the disappointment in his tone.
‘Not the laws of England,’ she said quietly. ‘But there are other laws.’
‘Lucy!’ Margaret gasped. ‘You cannot mean—’
‘Treason.’ Oliver cursed. ‘They mean to sell out our nation to Napoleon.’
‘That is what George meant.’ Margaret was agitated enough to rise to her feet. ‘They plan to return once we are under the boot of France.’
‘And after tonight it will be too late. Whatever my brother means to do, it will happen tonight. They shall be across the Channel by morning.’ Oliver pulled at his chain in frustration, but it was built to hold desperate souls, and mere brute force would not break iron.
Lucy sat unspeaking. Planning. Looking around the room. Assessing their options.
The fate of the British Empire now lay with the wits of Lucy Elliot.