Chapter 7 #2
“What did you write?” Duncan asked, because Malcolm’s idea of a “note” could swing between practical and provoking. Though Duncan still trusted him fully.
Malcolm’s mouth twitched as if he might have teased him again, then thought better of it.
“I told ’em Miss Charity’s safe,” he said. “She came back for ’em, and I told ’em I’d be back in an hour to bring ’em to her, but they’d best come quiet, because if they start shoutin’ and stampin’ about, the whole house’ll wake and then it’ll be your uncle’s hands on their arms instead of mine.”
“They’ll come,” he said, setting down the mug with controlled care.
“They’ll argue first,” Malcolm replied, shaking his head, “But I’ll handle them.”
Duncan’s gaze flicked around the room once, then back. “Then we go?” he said, standing.
“Now,” Malcolm agreed, rising too, the humor gone from him entirely, and it struck Duncan how easy Malcolm made the shift from easygoing to dangerous when it was needed. “If we wait till the last minute, we’re relyin’ on luck, and I’ve never trusted luck a day in my life.”
They left without drawing notice, stepping into the cold as if they were only two gentlemen venturing out innocently, then took the darker way back towards Edward’s estate, keeping to hedgerows and shadow because there was no sense in walking boldly down the center of the road when the night could hide them just fine.
The house looked worse in the dark, the windows dim and uneven.
“See,” Malcolm muttered, eyeing the crooked line of the roof. “He’ll keep the front polished, so folk think he’s still grand, but he cannae afford the rest of the lie.”
Huh. Malcolm had a point. The Viscount had a knack of keeping up appearances but being hollow underneath.
“We should try to be quiet,” Duncan remarked.
Malcolm lifted one hand slightly, as if to say aye, aye, and led them to a side door, opened it with a practiced lift-and-push.
Inside, the air was cold enough to tell Duncan at once that Edward rationed his coal, and the corridors smelled faintly of damp and old smoke.
A maid crossed a distant passage with a candle, but she didn’t look up properly.
They took the back stairs without hurry.
At the second-floor landing, Malcolm paused and listened, then guided Duncan along the wall until they reached the corridor he’d described.
A stool sat near one of the doors, and the maid on it was slumped forward, her hands tucked into her apron as if she’d tried to keep awake.
Sleeping on the job.
Malcolm moved without a sound, and before she could lift her head properly, he had his hand over her mouth, bending close as if he were only whispering something friendly.
“Daenae make a sound,” he murmured. “We’re nae here for ye, and I’d like it to stay that way.”
The maid froze, wide-eyed, nodding quickly, and Malcolm eased his hand away, still watching her. She stayed silent, breathing hard through her nose. Duncan stepped to the door and knocked once, softly.
There was a pause, then a cautious shuffle, a voice came from behind the wood. “Who is it?”
“Malcolm,” Malcolm said quietly. “If ye scream, I’ll be forced to carry ye out, and I daenae think ye’ll enjoy that. We are here to get ye.”
The bolt slid back at once, quick and nervous, and the door opened a crack. Augusta stood there pale but upright, anger holding her together. Behind her, Matilda hovered with her hands clasped near her throat, eyes bright with fear.
“You’re real,” Augusta said, looking relieved. Clearly, they had received the note earlier and were informed of what was happening.
“Aye,” Malcolm replied. “We must hurry because we’ve nay time. Miss Charity’s safe, and she’s waitin’. I’ve come to take ye to her.”
Matilda made a small sound, half breath, half sob. “Charity…”
Augusta’s gaze snapped to Duncan at once, distrust flaring sharp.
“And who is he?”
“The man getting you out,” Duncan didn’t dress it up.
“That tells me nothing,” Augusta shot back, stepping subtly in front of Matilda as if she could shield her with her body alone.
“It tells you enough,” Duncan replied, unimpressed by her pride, though he respected it.
“You can stand here and ask questions until your uncle comes down this corridor, or you can come now and see your sister, and then you can ask her every question you like where he can’t reach you. What do you want?”
Matilda’s eyes darted to Malcolm.
“Is she truly there?” she asked, trusting Malcolm’s face more than Duncan’s.
“Aye,” Malcolm said, and his voice softened just a fraction. “She’s there, and she’s been beside herself about ye, so if ye care to keep her waitin’, do it quick, because she’ll be in a worse temper than I am. We must be quick.”
Augusta hesitated, eyes flicking down the corridor, then to the maid, then back, weighing danger the way Charity did, and Duncan felt an odd jolt of recognition at it. The sisters were remarkably similar.
“We can’t just walk out,” Augusta said, voice lower now. “He’ll stop us.”
“Nae if ye’re quiet,” Malcolm replied. “Get your cloaks, and move when I tell ye. If ye want to argue, argue once we’re away.”
Matilda darted back into the room at once, hands clumsy with haste, while Augusta stayed in the doorway, still watching Duncan as if she expected him to turn rough the moment she stepped out.
“If you’ve harmed her,” Augusta said, her voice trembling at the edges though she tried to hide it, “if this is some sort of….”
Duncan cut in, not cruel, simply final. “If I’d harmed her, you wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he said.
Matilda returned with her cloak half-fastened, cheeks blotched with fear. Augusta took her arm immediately, holding her close.
“Now,” Malcolm said.
They stepped into the corridor, the maid still silent, and they moved towards the back stair.
Matilda stumbled on the first step, and Duncan caught her elbow without thinking, steadying her before she fell, then let go at once, because he’d seen enough of frightened girls to know that a strong hand could feel like a threat even when it meant help.
Matilda glanced up at him, startled.
Duncan said nothing, only kept walking, solid at their side, and as they descended into the dark house he found himself thinking that earning Charity’s trust had been difficult enough, and these two would be worse, because they had been trapped in Edward’s walls while he’d been free.
But they had made it out.
And Charity was waiting for them.