Chapter 14 #2
Without an acknowledgment, he ran from the study. They needed to mount a search immediately. Duncan approached down the hall, en route to answer his earlier summons with the bell, and Marco quickly dispatched the head footman to gather the other servants and set them to search for Miss Carter.
Then, striding into the library, Marco found Angelo reading a book and sipping a cup of coffee, the aroma rich in the cold air. To Marco’s nose, Angelo must have brought some coffee with him from Florence.
“Molly is missing.”
Angelo snapped his book shut, getting to his feet. “What is this?”
“Miss Dubois lost track of her after our meeting this morning and has not seen her since.”
“Then we must search for her.”
“I have sent Duncan to gather the servants. They will search the house, but Miss Dubois informs me that Molly was on her way to the garden when she last saw her.”
“Do you think MacNaby might have returned?”
“Molly only disappears from Miss Dubois for short periods.”
Angelo arched an eyebrow, his curiosity evident about how Marco was aware of Molly’s habits, but he did not comment as they headed out through the terrace doors into the cold without pausing to fetch their overcoats.
Marco was not quite ready to discuss his numerous clandestine encounters with the young lady, which would reveal too much.
Angelo would know this was unusual behavior for his older brother.
They searched through the gardens but found no sign of Molly until Marco entered the walled garden and saw that a small square of lacy linen had been dropped beneath the stone bench.
Hurrying over, he knelt down to retrieve it.
It was embroidered with “M” and “C,” and his blood ran cold as he realized Molly might have left it here as a signal.
Running from the walled enclosure, he entered the mews to question the grooms, where he learned that MacNaby had keys to a recessed entrance where he sometimes admitted merchants making deliveries through the alleyway.
He rushed out into the alley and looked about, but there was no sign of anyone. Running down to the end, he checked the street to no avail, then backtracked to check the street on the other end of the block. His intuition told him they were gone. He would need to summon the Runner back.
Hurrying back into the gardens, he hollered for his brother until he appeared around the side of the house.
“Any sign of her?”
Angelo shook his head.
“I think MacNaby took her.” Marco held up the lacy handkerchief to display the initials, and Angelo rubbed his face in distress.
Guilt racked Marco as he blurted out, “We should have informed the servants!”
“It would not have helped if he took her from here. It does not appear he entered the house.”
“This is my fault.”
“That is a leap, brother. MacNaby is trying to kill you, not her. There was no reason to suspect he would take Molly.”
His brother’s assurance did not help. All he could think about was his vision of Molly consigned to torment, with her face covered in soot and her hair burning with molten lava.
How disturbing it had been to witness her suffering in the world of dreams, only to wake to this living nightmare where she could be killed by a madman in search of revenge.
If she was harmed, it would break him in two, and he realized that despite his best efforts, Molly Carter had found her way into the very heart of him.
Her forthright nature, her graceful form, her courage living in a household beset by such devious curses!
It was more than he could bear to think of something happening to her.
They returned inside, and Angelo sent a footman with a note to find the Runner because Marco’s hands were shaking, unable to hold the quill steady to write the note himself.
“How has he grown so bold? To kidnap a woman?”
“Bold, indeed. Also rather foolish, I think.”
“What do I do? She must be terrified!”
Angelo bobbed his head back and forth with skepticism to this statement. “Fearful, perhaps, but Molly has fortitude. Perhaps I should find Lorenzo and Sebastian? We need to devise a plan to rescue her.”
A knock on the library door drew their gazes sharply toward Duncan, who stood holding a letter with an apologetic expression on his broad face. “Sir, an express rider from Edgware delivered this,” he announced. “It is from Mr. MacNaby.”
“Edgware?”
“It is a small village in Middlesex, sir, a few miles from here. It lies on the route to Elmstead. You would have passed it on your visit, if I may say so.”
Marco grabbed the letter. Confirming that MacNaby had sent it, he dismissed Duncan and closed the door. Quickly unfolding it to read the contents, his heart skipped a beat. It was true. The butler had taken Molly hostage.
“What does it say?”
“He has taken Molly to Elmstead. By now, they must have reached the manor. He wants me to meet him there without accompaniment.”
“That is rather melodramatic. Does he plan to kill you, then come and murder the baron and I one at a time? How can he know you will arrive on your own?”
“It says if he sees anyone else, he will put a musket ball through her head.”
Angelo threw his hands up in the air. “This is a halfhearted plan at best. He does not seem as committed as he should be, but I shall find Sebastian and Lorenzo, so we can leave for Elmstead. You summon the carriage and a spare horse to approach the manor without companions once we reach there.” The last was said with heavy sarcasm.
“Blazes, Angelo! We must take this seriously! Molly’s life is in danger.”
“I know, brother, but the four of us will effect a rescue.”
Marco hesitated, then relented. He was more certain of recovering Molly with help, despite the dire warnings in the letter. “Call the others.”
While awaiting Angelo’s return, Marco went upstairs to briefly inform the baron about what was happening.
He could only hope his uncle’s resulting distress would not harm his vulnerable health.
Marco then went to the entry hall and lifted one of the ceremonial daggers from the display on the wall.
Testing the edge for sharpness, he gathered up several more and returned to the study.
He hunted through the shelves until he located a walnut box.
Inside lay a single dueling pistol with a flintlock, along with a few musket balls.
The second pistol was missing from its indented space, and a chill ran through him as he realized MacNaby would have had access to the missing weapon.
This was how the butler must have coerced Molly into leaving with him.
How long had the servant had the pistol in his possession?
Had he tired of making his attempts at murder look like accidents and decided to take a more direct course?
MacNaby would have had to have taken it even before Molly had uncovered his corruption.
Soon the four of them waited out in the entry hall for the carriage to be brought around, Marco bouncing on his toes with impatience while Lorenzo distributed the daggers Marco had gathered up.
“I think we should take the rifles, too.”
“I could not find any gunpowder. They are useless,” replied Marco.
“Yet a Brown Bessie can be used as an effective club,” commented Sebastian.
“Then take one.”
Lorenzo and the Norseman nodded, grins spreading across their faces as they each took up a rifle from the display, a circle of firearms radiating outward from a central point on the wall.
Marco pondered their difference in moods. They seemed almost eager to hunt MacNaby to the ground, while he could not stop thinking about what would happen if he failed her. A world without Molly Carter was … inconceivable.
“You hold her in more esteem than I realized.” Angelo spoke from behind his shoulder, Marco watching the street to see the second the carriage approached.
“I do not desire it … to hold someone in such high regard, knowing the frailty of life. It is … perilous to one’s state of mind.”
“Molly is not frail.”
“We are all frail.”
“That is rather … pessimista?”
“I think … pessimistic. And it is my experience.”
“You mean because of what happened with …” Angelo paused, as if searching the depths of his memories. “Miss Dashwood?”
“Sì. And our father.”
“Marco, I am disappointed by your cowardice.”
Marco frowned, spinning on his heel to glare at his brother. “Cowardice?”
“Chi non intraprese mai nulla non realizzò mai nulla.”
“He who never undertook anything never achieved anything?”
“Sì. You cannot compare Miss Dashwood to Molly. Molly is strong. Undaunted.”
Sebastian chimed in. “Miss Carter? That young lady has gumption. She will be alive and well when we get there. I am sure of it.”
The sound of the carriage approaching had Marco turning back to the window, flinging the door open to hurry outside as fear for Molly’s safety continued to make his heart pound against his bruised ribs with unrelenting force. His woman needed him.
“I hope so. MacNaby is a lunatic.”