Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
Maps of the estate and architects’ plans covered the library table.
The passage Richard and the others took was not on any of them.
Jenson, Martha, and a parlor maid searched the shelves for histories of Redbridge and the Dukedom.
Books that, according to the ledger, existed, but Jane had not yet found according to her notes.
Yates, having returned from his fruitless search, studied the map. “Your Grace, do you happen to have a compass?”
“Not personally. Those of my uncles who purchased commissions were in the army, not the navy.” If only Captain Godderidge lived closer. Shropshire was not a place to find retired sea captains.
Yates frowned. “I was hoping for a small, handheld one. Many in the army used one. I own one, but I did not think to bring it.”
Birch raised his head from the map he studied. “I am afraid I left mine in London as well. Without knowing the exact exit of the tunnel from the building, I can only eliminate three-quarters of your holdings.”
“How long was the tunnel?” asked Yates.
“A mile.”
“Half mile.”
“Three-quarters, I am sure of it.”
Richard thought the narrow tunnel longer than a mile, but he rarely walked so far on foot, so he did not add his estimations to those of the others.
“Where did the master of the hounds find the dog?” asked Birch.
“Nearer the kennels than the house, I believe?’
Birch looked about the room. “Where is he?”
“He is tending to the dog in my quarters,” said Hanover.
“Have someone take one of these maps and get the exact spot.” Birch held up the paper.
A footman rolled up the map and left the room.
Richard crossed to the window. The sun had set while they were still in the tunnel. A white flake drifted down, then another. He did not need to be an expert to know that a snowstorm would obliterate any trail the dog had left and bury any other clues that might be about.
Yates came up behind him. “A blessing as much as a curse that snow is. They will not risk their lives moving her.”
“Do you think we could pick the lock?” It was not the first time Richard asked the question. Jane’s fear of them being heard made entry through the trapdoor a near impossibility. If her captors heard them, they could end Jane’s life before they opened the door.
“I believe a locksmith has been sent for Your Grace,” said Birch.
Oh yes, he had given that order as soon as they exited the tunnel.
Richard ran his hands through his hair, he was not thinking clearly.
Most of his ideas had been rejected. It was too dark to explore the grounds safely without direction.
Setting the hunting dogs on Duke’s trail would alert the captors, as the dogs were anything but quiet, being trained to bark as they neared their quarry.
Assuming the dogs would look for a human instead of a fox.
Also, chasing after the hounds on horseback in the dark was dangerous for man and beast.
Martha approached, carrying a book. “Your Grace, I believe I found a history that may help, or not, as a page has been torn from the book where the King’s chambers are discussed.”
Richard took the book, opened to the torn-out page. “Thank you, Martha.”
He must remember to add a bonus to her pay. He read the remaining pages as he crossed the room to Birch. Proof of what they learned today. There was a tunnel to allow for the safe escape, or a clandestine visitor into the suite.
Birch studied the book. “Unfortunately, someone took the page which I assume is a map and details about the location of the other entrance.” Birch continued reading. “Look here. The first sentence after the missing page is… ‘guarded at all times.’”
“Do you think we found the guardhouse then?” asked Richard.
“Definitely. Is there any structure on the property that could be an abandoned guardhouse?” Birch turned back to the maps.
“The castle ruins are in that direction. I explored them many times as a boy, I would have noticed a trapdoor. Or any door.” It had been a near score of years since he gave the ruins a thorough going over. The moat, crumbling walls and keep. Any doors had long disintegrated.
“The ruins are further than we believed we walked,” said Birch gesturing on the map.
A young stable boy entered the room and walked over to Yates. He held out an object. “Is this what you are looking for?”
“A compass. How did you come by this son?”
“It was my Da’s. He was at Waterloo. These were in his things they sent back.”
“Do you know how to use it?”
The boy shook his head. “But they said in the kitchen a compass could help find Her Grace.”
Yates put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It will. I need an assistant such as yourself to aid me. Will you come?”
“Yes.” The stable boy stood taller.
Richard stepped back from the table, ready to join them.
Yates turned in the Duke’s direction. “I know you wish to go, but it is best that you stay here. The boy and I can get the job done quicker and quieter if we are the only two in the tunnel.”
Never had Richard been told he could not do as he wished so often as today. He supposed there was wisdom in Yates’s request. This was not a rescue mission after all. Richard would not be left out of that. Somewhere in the darkness his wife depended on him. He would be there.
The thin blanket was not enough to battle the cold which settled around Jane and seeped through the walls. Thank goodness Alex insisted on the flannel petticoat. Her teeth chattered as she shivered. At least the cold dulled the pain in her shoulder.
A light flickered from under the door. The tiny sliver of light was enough to penetrate the darkness and give Jane some semblance of her surroundings.
An hour or longer passed since Duncan had set a bucket next to the door.
Her stomach gurgled. Food would be welcome.
She didn’t dare ask for any. Duncan was as likely to throw food into the bucket as to give any to her.
She closed her eyes and pictured the pages of Shakespeare’s Hamlet and wished she had memorized Twelfth Night instead.
Anything to keep her from going mad while she waited for Richard’s return.
Or possibly not this work, it was filled with ghosts and murderous plots that led her mind to places she rather not explore.
No wonder the tragic play ended as it did. Shakespeare did not promote sanity.
A sonnet. Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments; love is not love…
The recitation was over far too quickly and left her longing to explain her feelings to Richard. To tell him she believed him and loved him as well.
Bible verses. They would be better. Psalm 23 ran through her mind.
Or not. More death.
Jane made a note to memorize a fun novel once she escaped. The one about Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy would do. Perhaps now that she was married, she would not feel so much the part of the unloved bookish Mary.
Voices on the other side of the door interrupted her thoughts.
Careful not to jostle her arm, Jane slid from the bed and closer to the door.
“You should not have risked coming in the snow,” said Duncan.
“No one watched me. I figured I should leave before they thought to question me again.”
Jane knew the woman’s voice immediately. Francis had returned.
“Did they believe your story?” asked a third voice which Jane did not recognize.
“The Duke sent out a search party a few minutes after he and Mr. Birch questioned me.”
“Who is Birch?” asked Duncan.
“An older man. I am not sure. One scullery maid said he worked running a street bow. But I don’t know what that means,” said Francis.
“What food did you bring?” asked the third voice. “I’m hungry after leaving a false trail. Unlike my brother, who has been sitting here watching a closed door.”
“Has Her Grace behaved?” sneered Francis.
“She has been quiet. Prepare some of that food for her.” Duncan’s command was followed by muttering, then footsteps.
Jane stepped back to the bed as a key slid into the lock.
Francis entered the room. A thin slice of bread and a small chunk of cheese in her hands. “Your supper, Your Grace.”
She dropped the food on the dusty table. The cheese bounced to the floor.
“Best get that before the rats do. Geoff is not happy that we must share with you.” She flounced out of the room.
Jane dove for the cheese before the door could shut. Surprisingly, the door remained open. The laughter of her three captors filled the room.
Jane straightened to face them, cradling her injured arm. Francis wore the primrose gown under one of Jane’s cloaks. “Why are you in my clothes?”
Francis laughed.
“Of all the things to ask,” muttered the man who must be Geoff.
“Why, Your Grace? Don’t you know that it is standard for ladies to give their cast-off clothing to their abigails?
I certainly could not take one of your brown or gray dresses, and this one is not to your liking.
” Francis rubbed the cloth of the dress between her fingers.
“And since I will be duchess soon, I need to compile a wardrobe.”
Francis turned to Duncan and kissed him fully on the lips.
Words she should have said weeks ago finally crossed Jane’s lips. “You are no longer my abigail. I am letting you go.”
More laughter.
“You cannot let me go. I quit.” Francis snuggled against Duncan.
“Your final pay is forfeited.”
“Who needs final pay? You should not trust your steward to send your pin money through your abigail. I made more in these past three weeks than in the two years before, including the bonus I received for waiting for a position to open in the Aylton household. I must say this, the Duke is more than generous with your pin money.”
The five pounds she received each week was generous. What money was she talking about?
“You didn’t even miss the other twenty pounds, did you? Since your clothing doesn’t need to come from your pin money, you have no need for even the five pounds I passed on.”