Miss Peterson & The Colonel (9 page)

'Of course I will, Dorcas. I've done it many times before. You go ahead. I shall be with you directly.'

Her task completed and all but her own candle doused, she was ready to depart. She hesitated, checking there was no incriminating evidence of their visit left behind. Her hand was on the kitchen door when she heard the unmistakable sound of stealthy footsteps approaching.

She was discovered. She was tempted to hide, then common sense took over.

This was
her
house. If
her
staff needed sustenance then it was up to her to provide it. If he was furious with her, then so be it. The door opened.

She froze. Her eyes widened and the candlestick slipped from her fingers.

*

The library had become Simon's headquarters. He paced the carpet. Something was amiss; his instincts told him so. Why hadn't the men attacked? It didn't make sense – they must know their time was limited. There was something he hadn't grasped, a part of this equation didn't add up. Peterson was stretched out on a sofa. He didn't have the heart to rouse him. He'd go round and check with the other men; they must remain alert.

It would be dawn in a couple of hours, the attempt to break in must come soon. Jenkins was at his post, his rifle barrel resting on the balustrade of the small balcony that ran outside the windows. The poor man must be frozen stiff, but he was used to inclement weather and would not complain.

'Any sign of movement? It's too quiet. Something should have happened by now.'

'Nothing to report out here, Colonel, but I'm keeping my eyes skinned. It will be light in an hour or two now the rain's stopped. I reckon I'll hear if those varmints approach from the front.'

'Good man. I'm going to check on Sam. The others have heard nothing either.'

Sam was crouched by the open window. Simon dropped to his knees beside him. 'What's happening? Have you seen something?'

'It's too dark to see, but I definitely heard them approaching the back of the house. Those windows are too small to climb in, but I reckon we should check just in case.'

They crawled backward until they were sure they couldn't be seen outside. 'Fetch Jenkins. I shall wake young Peterson. He knows the layout of the house. Maybe he can tell us where they might attempt an entry.'

He was halfway down the main staircase when a door opened behind him. He was running when the housekeeper rushed out to greet him, her face etched with concern.

Chapter Nine

'Thank the good Lord. I was coming to fetch you, sir. We went downstairs to make ourselves tea. Miss Peterson was right behind us. She just had to tend to the fire. I was halfway up the staircase when I heard noises in the passageway. Something's happened to her. Those men are inside the house and have taken her!'

Sam had been correct. Simon bit back a mouthful of curses – better not to offend the lady if he could avoid it. 'Remain where you are, madam. I shall go and investigate. Is there any way you can secure the door that leads to the back stairs?'

'There is, sir. The door opens inwards. We can push a set of drawers across.'

'Excellent. Do so at once. Whatever happens, stay put.'

What in tarnation had made the girl disobey his orders again? The commotion had brought Jenkins out from the front room. 'They're in the house, Jenkins. Fetch the others and bring them to me. They've taken Miss Peterson hostage.'

Her brother was on his feet when he strode into the library. 'Peterson, the beggars have got in. How did they achieve that when we're watching every entrance? They've captured your sister.'

'They've got Lydia? How did they get into her chamber? I can't understand why we didn't hear them.'

'They didn't get upstairs. She accompanied the housekeeper to the kitchen and must have come face to face with them in the servants' quarters.'

The young man smacked his fist into the wall. 'The coal hatch! They must have come in that way. I didn't think to lock that earlier. This is all my fault. What a disaster…'

'Enough of that. I need you to have a cool head – we must plan our strategy.'

'You will have to give them the book. They will trade her for it I am sure.'

Simon shook his head. The young man didn't understand the gravity of the situation. Whatever his personal feelings on the matter, the safety of the book was paramount. 'Handing over the book is not an option.'

Peterson swung towards him, his face ravaged with grief and his fists clenched. Simon raised a hand in warning. 'Although I cannot give up the volume, I give you my word your sister shall come to no harm. I must think. There has to be a way we can save her life and not betray our country.'

*

Lydia clutched the table edge for support. Confronting her was a rough, unshaven man, his eyes sunk into his skull and his garments covered in coal dust, his broken teeth bared in a smile. This did nothing to reassure her. She should scream to alert the house. As she drew breath to raise the alarm the man surged forward, thrusting a knife at her throat. 'Make a sound and yer dead, missy,' he whispered.

Two more villains slipped into the kitchen. Without a word being spoken, she was trussed and a noisome rag stuffed in her mouth. There was nothing she could do. Her disobedience had cost her dear. The continued silence was unnerving. These men were no common thieves; they were professionals. She prayed Simon would not be taken unawares. A stinking individual grabbed her and slung her over his shoulder as if she was a sack of potatoes.

Where were they taking her? The rank smell and the clouds of coal dust filling her nose was making her stomach heave. If she vomited she would likely choke. She must swallow the bile in her throat, think of something else.

From her upside down position, she was aware that there were at least three or four accomplices in the passageway. If Simon knew the men were inside they would have the advantage of number. She was dumped unceremoniously against the wall in the servants' hall, her head striking painfully on the side of the long bureau in which the cutlery and crockery were stored.

The leader of the gang turned the key and gestured to his henchmen to push the heavy oak table against the door. Then one produced a tinderbox and lit several candles. The candlelight confirmed what she feared. Her captors were armed to the teeth. They appeared in no hurry to announce their presence but settled down, obviously prepared to wait for the fight to be brought to them.

Had they forgotten she was there? Their inattention gave her the time to study the group in more detail. Perhaps one amongst them was not as evil as the rest, one that might be persuaded to help her. She scanned their faces, looking for the two that she had met before. On both occasions these men had turned tail and run. Those men were the weak links in the chain. If she could exploit their fear she might get an opportunity to escape.

The leader had a decisiveness of purpose and implacability that told her he would slit her throat in a second if she gave him cause. It
would
be more prudent to wait for Simon to come for her, but she intended to look for a way of freeing herself. She edged upright, pressing herself against the wall, closing her eyes and feigning sleep. Maybe they would reveal what they were planning if they believed themselves to be unobserved. She did not have to wait long before the leader spoke. His voice was little above a whisper, that she could hear his words quite clearly.

'Luck's on our side tonight, boys. First we found the coal hole unbolted and then we got ourselves a bargaining tool. Someone will come looking for this one; she'll be missed soon enough. I reckon that tall dark one, the one that's supposed to be sick in bed, will be happy to give us the book in return for her life.'

'I'm sure 'e will. We ain't going to 'ave to fetch 'im. We'll sit tight until 'e comes to us. I reckon we'll come out of this all right.' The speaker chuckled and the hair at the back of her neck stood up. 'More than I can say for them upstairs. What you going to do to stop them blabbing, guv?'

At his words Lydia feared her bladder would empty and her stomach revolt. She dug her nails into her palms. She would not disgrace herself. She was Lydia Peterson, a woman of independent means – this group of foul traitors would not reduce
her
to a shivering wreck.

A voice she recognized spoke up next. 'Why's she dressed like that? You reckon they need the women to fight us?'

The overpowering stench of unwashed humanity came closer. Someone was standing next to her. A vicious kick on the shin made it impossible for her to continue her deceit. She glared her defiance.

The leader wrenched the cloth from her mouth. 'Tell me: how many men are there? Do you know where the book is?'

She was tempted to defy him, to refuse to answer, but that would do nothing to help the situation. 'Colonel Sinclair has eight men, two of them marksmen and they have their rifles with them. All the rest are armed as well. 'Her voice wobbled and she forced herself to sound more confident. 'I have no idea what book you're speaking of. This makes no sense to me.'

His lips curled back in a smile that did not reach his eyes. 'You'd better hope he has the book, missy, or you'll not see another sunrise.'

'I don't care; I'm prepared to give my life for King and country. Whatever it is you seek, you'll not get it.'

The cloth was stuffed back between her teeth and the ruffian laughed and turned away as if she was of no account. This was all her fault. For all her bravado she knew the book would be given up in order to save her life. Sunk in despair, she closed her eyes, and prayed that inspiration would strike, that by some miracle they would all come out of this unscathed.

Colonel Wescott would never part with the book, he was a soldier, his duty must come first. Her stupidity would mean that her life would be forfeit. David would never forgive him and she doubted the colonel would forgive himself. Their lives would be ruined and she would be dead.

How long would it be before Dorcas or Martha raised the alarm? She couldn't see the clock from where she was and this one wouldn't strike to help her. It could only have been a quarter of an hour since she had been dumped here and it was unlikely anyone would have gone downstairs as yet. There must be a way of preventing this catastrophe.

She was happy to die if the others would be saved by her forfeit. No, that was incorrect, no one of sound mind was
happy
to die. But knowing that her demise would ruin the lives of the two men she held most dear made her sacrifice seem meaningless.

Her eyes filled. She wished she'd had the opportunity to tell Simon that she loved him. In spite of the dire circumstances she felt a swell of happiness. She was almost certain he felt the same about her.

When this was over, would they find a life together? Far better to think about a possible future than dwell on what might actually happen this very night.

*

Simon had faced worse odds many times and triumphed, but this situation was not like any other. Tonight he must think of a way to do his duty and also save the woman he loved. He paced the carpet in the library, forcing his muddled brain to function in its normal way. Having his emotions involved made it impossible to be analytical.

Then inspiration came to him. He knew exactly what he had to do. If God and good fortune were on his side, they could save Lydia and keep the book.

Her brother was glaring at him from the far side of the room, and he didn't blame him in the slightest.

'We have one chance, but I need time to pull it off. Do you have a book of sermons on your shelves? It must have a black cover and look similar to this.' He flicked open the pages to show David. 'See, the letters are ringed in a distinct order. It's a code of some sort. These men will be illiterate; no doubt one book will look very much another to them.'

'Draw random circles then hand them the substitute? That's a capital notion.' The young man flung himself at the book lined walls, frantically scrabbling through a section until he pulled a volume out. 'This is the exact same volume of sermons – I knew the title looked familiar when you showed it to me.'

Simon's shout of delight echoed round the room, bringing Jenkins and Sam to the door to investigate. 'Jenkins, have you secured doors from the lower quarters as I requested?'

'I have, sir, and they are guarded as well.'

He waited until he was alone with young Peterson. 'In order to complete this task, I must buy you some time. I shall go to them, pretend I'm considering their proposition and demand they give me half an hour. I shall take Jenkins and Sam with me.' He strode to the door, turning back to gesture at the desk. 'Get started on the copying, Peterson. Between us we might just pull this off.'

David raised a hand in agreement and returned to his frantic scribbling.

God willing, one lot of rings would seem very like another to the ruffians when they looked inside. If they actually evaded capture, perhaps their masters would think the second book was correct and waste weeks trying to decipher it.

His two men were waiting in the hall, rifles at the ready. 'Come with me, Jenkins, Smith. I'm going to try and negotiate.' They pulled aside the heavy oak bench they'd used as a barricade. Billy and Fred were guarding the door he needed. 'Stay here both of you. Don't let any of the intruders past.'

His head was clear, his hands steady—he was once more in command of the situation and had his unruly emotions under control. He carried a lantern, his men carried loaded rifles. The passageway was deserted, but he could see light flickering behind the high windows of the servants' hall. He hammered on the door. It was flung open by a rough individual.

'You cannot escape, I have rifles trained on you. The soldiers will be here in a couple of hours. Surrender or die.'

'We have the girl, you have the book. Fair exchange: give it to us and we'll leave. No one will be harmed. Why have the little lady damaged for the sake of a book that ain't no use to you?'

'I cannot give you the book. It's government property. It is my duty to protect it at all costs.'

The man gestured. Simon heard scrabbling feet and then Lydia cried out in pain. She was dragged forward, tied hand and foot with a filthy rag rammed into her mouth. But her eyes blazed back at him and she shook her head vigorously. It was almost his undoing. She was so courageous. He could not let these villains harm her further.

'You are surrounded. I have the ascendancy. I demand that you hand over Miss Peterson.'

'You ain't in no position to make demands, mister. You give me that book or I'll slit her throat.'

Simon barely restrained himself from smashing the lantern into the man's sneering face. 'If you release the girl I shall let you and your men leave unharmed. That's the best I can offer.'

'The girl dies unless you bring the book.'

'I need time to decide, I have never betrayed my country.'

The man stared at him for a long minute, then he nodded. 'You got half an hour. Be back with the book or your fancy woman will be dead.'

Simon tried to communicate to Lydia by his expression that she would be saved but he was certain she hadn't understood his signals. He backed away from the room, not trusting the villains not to open fire on him.

'Jenkins, Sam, come with me. We'll be going back with the book.'

In the library, Peterson raised his head and a faint smile flickered across his drawn features. 'Another fifteen minutes, no more, and it'll be done.'

'Good man, I'll leave you to finish. I'm expecting Dawkins and his troop to be here within the hour. Now the rain's stopped…'