Chapter 32
“The Duke of Herridge is an excessively greedy man, Simons,” Sarah said, probably the most personal remark she’d ever made to the majordomo.
From his expression, he wasn’t exactly certain how to answer her.
“I believe that he would do anything to acquire wealth,” she added.
She removed her bonnet, and handed it to him. Slowly, she divested herself of the gloves as well.
“I am sorry for my part in that, Lady Sarah,” he said, placing her garments on the sideboard.
“I am not speaking of my mother’s jewels, Simons,” she said. “But of other deeds. Are you involved in those as well?”
She eyed Simons. This man probably knew more about the duke than any other living individual.
“I am not certain, Lady Sarah,” Simons said, his voice a mere whisper, “whether it is greed or desperation that compels your father’s actions. He is, after all, a duke, and expected to live a certain way and to demonstrate a certain style of living.”
“He has no money.” She’d occasionally wondered about her father’s income, about his insistence in taking from Chavensworth anything worth selling, but she’d put it down to her father’s lavish spending. She’d never thought that he was completely without funds.
“Is that it, Simons?”
The man didn’t answer, but his silence was assent enough.
“When the opportunity came along to get me married without any expense on his part, it must have seemed heaven-sent.”
Simons allowed himself a small smile. “As you say, Lady Sarah.”
“He could not have been happy about the delay in Douglas’s diamond process.”
He looked directly at her. “He was not, Lady Sarah.”
“Enough to do something foolish, Simons?”
He moved to the sideboard and rearranged the placement of her bonnet and gloves. A few moments later, he gave a half shrug, a curiously self-deprecating gesture. “His Grace is what he is, Lady Sarah, but I have been with him for more than a decade.”
She remained silent, waiting.
“In all that time, Lady Sarah, he has done good deeds, and those which I regretted.”
He looked up at the ceiling.
“I very much fear that this deed shall be ranked among those I regret.”
She folded her hands in front of her and faced Simons, willing her expression to reveal nothing of what she felt.
“Is my husband here, Simons?”
The majordomo looked down at the intricate marble flooring. “He is, Lady Sarah.”
“Of his own volition, Simons?”
He took a deep breath, exhaled it. “No, Lady Sarah.”
She reached out and gripped his jacketed arm with her bare hand, the very first time she could ever remember touching the man.
“Can you release him, Simons?”
“It would mean my position, Lady Sarah.”
She nodded. “I know. But there are other places that need you, Simons,” she said. “Chavensworth, for one.”
“I doubt His Grace would allow me to be employed at Chavensworth, Lady Sarah,” Simons said with a small smile.
He was right. Chavensworth would not be a haven for Simons.
“Then I shall have to convince the duke to release him myself,” she said. “Is His Grace at home?”
“Yes, Lady Sarah, but I believe he’s dressing for his entertainments this evening.”
“Tell him that I’m here, Simons,” she said. Would her appearance change his plans?
She walked down the hallway to the duke’s study. Several weeks had passed since she’d been here. Weeks in which she’d been married, buried her mother, discovered family in Scotland, and surprisingly, and delightfully, found love.
And all this had happened in a matter of weeks.
She took one of the high-backed chairs in front of the fireplace. How odd that she’d never been invited to sit here, but always stood like a penitent before her father’s desk.
As she sat and waited, it occurred to her that Douglas’s freedom could be accomplished effortlessly. After all, there was no need for brute force, when she, herself, held the perfect weapon.
Sarah began to smile.
“They only hire me to clean up!” the young man said, his voice choked for the simple reason that Alano had him up against the side of a stall, his hands around the younger man’s throat.
The horse inside was spooked by the two men, his eyes almost as wide as the stableboy’s.
“I only work in the stables. I don’t know anything about what goes on in there.
” His frantic eyes darted toward the town house.
“Have there always been two carriages here?” Alano asked calmly.
The boy shook his head. “The other one was here one morning when I came in. Never saw it before.” The hand that had held the pitchfork, now tossed several feet away, shakily pointed to the bay where the carriage rested.
“And the driver?”
If anything, the young man’s eyes bulged out even more. Alano released his grip somewhat.
“I don’t have anything to do with that. I don’t. I see the trays, and I hear the noises, but I only sweep up here. That, and shovel out manure.” He glanced at the restive horse next to him. “Prince, here, needs a lot of shoveling. A lot.”
Alano dropped his hands. “Where’s the coachman?”
The young man looked up at the loft above the stable. A set of stairs angled up from the side of the stable. At the head of the stairs was an old door, now closed, and probably locked.
“How many people guard him?”
The stableboy didn’t hesitate. “Just one. Sometimes, he leaves, but he comes back.”
“Is he there now?”
The boy nodded.
What was there about this boy that reminded him a little of Douglas?
Douglas’s eyes had been filled with intelligence.
Douglas was also more pugnacious—Alano doubted he would have allowed himself to be overpowered so easily.
Perhaps they shared one trait—both had the same aura of desperation, the same panicked look. Douglas had grown out of it.
This boy was dressed in little more than rags, and his hands were richly callused.
His hair needed a trim and a good wash, and it wouldn’t be a bad thing for him to have a bath.
But Alano had watched him for several minutes before sneaking up on the lad, and he’d diligently performed his job, even though it was apparent no one had been watching.
“Ever want to be a hero, boy?” Alano asked, grinning.
“I’ve never been a hero, sir.” He clenched his fists, all the while eyeing Alano with some caution.
“Well, it’s about time you started, don’t you think?”
Alano bent and retrieved the pitchfork before turning and striding to the other side of the stable. As he began to climb the steep steps, he glanced back to find, to his surprise and satisfaction, the stableboy following him, having taken the precaution of arming himself with a shovel.
One way or another, they were going to rescue Tim, then Douglas.
Everything was in readiness. A brazier of sorts had been built in the fireplace.
The crystals were growing on their frames, and although they weren’t as large as he would have liked, he had no intention of remaining a guest of the Duke of Herridge for a few weeks.
They would simply have to be large enough for his purposes.
The normal process was to remove each filament from its frame and set the filament into the fire. Within moments, the filament burned away, allowing the crystals to drop to the base of the fire. After a matter of hours, the flames were extinguished, and what emerged were diamonds.
As he’d learned at Chavensworth, however, the larger the crystals, the more unstable the process. He was going to duplicate what he’d done then, not by using larger crystals but by dropping three or four filaments into the flames at the same time.
The resultant explosion should be powerful enough to startle the guard somewhat and cause him to come running. His fists would do the rest. He grinned and felt substantially better for the first time in three days.
He removed the filaments from the first and second frames, draped them across the flames, and waited.
The door suddenly opened to reveal Simons standing there.
“His Grace will not approve, Mr. Eston, but then, I can’t say I approve of his actions, either.” Simons opened the door wide. “You’re free to go. Please do so in the next five minutes. I’ve sent the guard on an errand.”
Douglas looked down at the brazier and shook his head. “Damn it, Simons, you might have let me know you were getting a backbone. I’m afraid it’s too late!”
Alano traded his pitchfork for the boy’s shovel, slamming it into the door. It flew open, hitting the wall at the same time the man seated on the other side of the room stood.
Tim was lying on a cot, held there by ropes around his ankles and wrists, a cloth stuffed into his mouth.
The guard advanced on Alano with an oath. The boy at his side rushed the man, the pitchfork wielded like a spear. He was really taking his new role as hero seriously. Alano reached out and grabbed his arm at the last moment.
“We’re here to free Tim,” he said. “Not kill anyone.”
But he wasn’t about to be pummeled by a muscular oaf, so Alano released the boy and hit the guard over the head with the shovel. The man fell to the floor with a thud.
“Are you sure you didn’t kill him, sir?” the boy asked.
Alano shrugged, strode to the other side of the room, and pulled the rag from Tim’s mouth.
“Where’s Douglas?” Alano asked, as he began working on the knots on the ropes binding Tim to the cot.
“Don’t know, sir. I was waiting for him by the carriage when two men grabbed me.”
“Are you up to a rescue mission?” he asked. “I suspect the Duke of Herridge is keeping Douglas as another unwilling guest.”
The boy at his side spoke up. “We’re being heroes, sir.”
Tim and Alano shared a wry look.
“Care to join us?” Alano asked, as Tim cautiously sat up, rubbing his ankles, then his wrists.
Tim’s response was quick, profane, and more than satisfying.
Alano glanced at the boy. “What’s your name?”
“Jason, sir.”
Alano smiled. “A good hero’s name, Jason. Shall we?”
He stepped over the prone body of the guard, heading for the Duke of Herridge’s town house, Tim and Jason behind him.