Mistress by Midnight (29 page)

Oh, she’d told herself it was because Marianna’s death was too fresh, but that was a lie. She was afraid to tell him they had a child together, denying herself the happiness she
didn’t deserve. How could she form a normal life with him when their daughter was in Cornwall?

When he had finally confronted her about Beatrix, she had forbidden him all contact. Laurette had practically forced him to ruin her brother to get to her. And now when Con had tried to cobble together a family, she extracted promises to keep her secrets, promises which made James disappear and doubt every single thing he knew.

She allowed herself one frustrated sob. Just one. Feeling sorry for herself was not going to find James. She called out one last time, then reached for the bag, much lighter now.

Her hand froze. There was the faintest noise from below.

“James!” Seconds later her own voice came back to her, but there was something else underneath, apart from the sound of the water. “James! It’s Laurette! Can you hear me?” There was a muffled tapping in the distance. Steady, like a metronome. Not a sound to be found in nature, unless there was a particularly regulated woodpecker. “James! Where are you?”

The tapping was more urgent now, in sets of three, coming from somewhere far below. Laurette couldn’t see well enough to make out the shadowy shapes on the incline. Scrubby trees. Boulders at the bottom. She could take a header and kill herself.

“Tap twice if you hear me,” she bellowed. There was something, but she wasn’t sure. “Again, James, please!”

Two distinct raps. Rock against rock.
Thank God.

“I’m coming down to get you, James. It may take me a little while. Are you hurt?” He was silent. “Two taps for yes, four taps for no.”

She waited. Slowly she counted. One. Two. And then three.

He was hurt, then, but being brave about it. She could be brave too, on her bottom all the way down this ghastly cliff, which was far from the typical rolling dale. She dumped out the rest of her stones in a little pyramid, blessed Tom for the
loan of his breeches, and scooted down inch by inch, her lantern flickering at each bump. Every few feet she called out to James that she was on her way. Her voice was so cracked she hoped he could still hear her. The tapping remained reassuringly steady.

The narrow stream glinted ahead. Suddenly the lantern extinguished, and she was in gloom.

She put it down and rubbed her arm. “Damn and blast. James, keep tapping. I’ve lost my light.”

Sound came from across the riverbed. Her eyes adjusted to the deepening night. The stars were stronger now, silver sprinkles spilled across the sky. It seemed safe enough now to stand up and walk the rest of the way. By God’s grace the water would be shallow enough for her to walk through it.

“I’m crossing the stream now, James.” Sloshing, she kicked up a commotion so James could hear her advance. To her right was a jumble of boulders. James’s signals were louder now. Laurette hoped he wasn’t trapped under rock. “James, can you talk?” There were four quick taps.

Wherever he was, he’d probably been yelling his head off. She could barely articulate herself; her throat was raw.

Somewhere she had heard that the most beautiful, calming sound to a person in distress was their own name. She imagined Con at her ear, murmuring “Laurie,” holding her fast.

“James, I see rocks, James. Big ones. Are you near them?”

He tapped twice. She lost her footing and stumbled. Catching herself, she smoothed the rock’s surface with her hand, waving through empty space. “This is a cave! You’re inside a cave aren’t you, James? Are you trapped somehow?” Two taps. “Under stone?” Four taps. Not a cave-in then. But something.

She heard desperate rasping. There was nothing for it but to duck under the arch. She set the bag down near the entrance with a clunk. It had been growing dark before, but now inside it was ink-dark. A fevered series of raps came
from a place below the cave floor. Laurette let out a little shriek as something soft brushed her cheek and flew by her. Bats.

“I’m all right, James. I’m right here, but I can’t see a damned thing. Is it safe to walk?” Four very loud raps. Immediately she fell to her knees, then flattened her body on the cold ground. “James, I’m going to crawl toward you. Can you talk at all?”

“N-not really.” The barest whisper.

Laurette had never heard anything so wonderful in her life. She inched along the uneven surface on her belly, pausing now and again to listen. Bats whirred above her head, and from the snuffling she was fairly sure James was crying in relief. But she hadn’t reached him yet, and had no idea how to get him out of whatever situation he was in. There was no light and she had no tools. Brushing away a pile of rubble, she reached forward, fingertips touching rough edge. The floor had collapsed and she felt nothing in a two foot wide radius. Somewhere within this narrow chasm, Con’s son was stuck and hurt.

“I’m right above you, James. Can you see me? I can’t see you, I’m afraid. Don’t try to talk, just tap.”

“I’m all right. I can whisper.”

She shoved her arm down in the hole but touched nothing. “Can you reach up to me?”

“No. I’ve tried, but I can’t get my hands up past my shoulders. I keep sliding down every time I move.”

Who knew how deep this crevice was? James could fall to his death as she dithered above him.

“Stay put then. Let me think.” She could go back for help, but without light, her little white rocks were just so many smudges in a blur. There was a knife in her bag. If she cut Tomas’s voluminous white shirt, she might be able to tear it in strips to dangle it down, but the well-washed fabric would never support James’s weight, even if he could figure out a
way to hold onto it. She should have thought to bring rope instead of cheese.

“Are you thirsty, James? I’ve brought water, and food, too, but I’m not certain I can get it down to you.”

“Thirsty.”

Laurette pulled the shirt from her breeches and over her head, slipping her useless watch in her pocket. Beneath the shirt, she wore a short shift, and she shivered automatically. If she were cold after just a few minutes in this cave, James must be frozen. She’d try the shirt first without cutting it. Sleeve to sleeve it measured at least five feet. If that wasn’t long enough, she’d try the pants next. The fabric on the sleeve was thin enough to loop into the jug’s handle. “I’m going to get my bag, get the water.” She stood up, ducking quickly as another bat whizzed by.

She couldn’t leave him alone all night, even if she could find her way back to the farm in the dark. They’d come tomorrow morning at first light. Con would come.

She secured the stone bottle to the shirt. “I’m going to take the cork out for you. I’m sorry, you may get wet as it comes down. I’ll try to be steady.” She lay flat again, leaning in as far as she dared, holding the bottom of the jug with one hand and the sleeve with the other. She released the bottle and it hit rock with a sickening chinking sound. “Did it break over you, James?”

“No.” She heard wriggling and rustling and dreaded the consequences. “I’ve got it.”

Her arm strained under the weight of the bottle. It seemed forever before she heard the slurping sound. She closed her eyes in relief. Eyes opened or closed, she was truly in the dark. But dawn came early to Yorkshire. There were only a few more hours to get through.

“Th-thank you.”

“You’re most welcome. Do you want more or shall I reel it up?”

“More.”

She felt the blood rush to her head as she bent into the opening, felt dizzy. Ashamed she was so weary, she took a deep breath. She would talk James through the night and hope he didn’t slide any deeper. She had many things to tell him, and they weren’t going anywhere.

C
on had cursed in English, Greek, Arabic and schoolboy French. What in
hell
was that bloody woman thinking, wandering out in the dark? The others had returned an hour ago, their search for James as fruitless as his had been. He sent them to bed for a few hours while he waited in all his riding dirt for Laurette to return.

But he couldn’t wait any longer. He splashed some water on his face, picked up a lantern, and left the house and went into the barn. His own horse was spent, but he’d procured a sure-footed pretty little filly for Laurette as well as ponies for the children. The animal seemed agreeable to being awoken and saddled and stood patiently as he packed a bag with whatever came to hand. There were random tools and rope hanging on hooks along the wall which might become useful.

Con usually traveled light, but tonight he stuffed as much as he could into the saddlebag. He walked the horse down the path to the lake. Con knew he had to look for Laurette’s Hansel and Gretel crumbs every twenty paces and could not do so from horseback. Once he found her, she could ride back and fall into bed. She was bound to be as exhausted as he was.

If she wasn’t hurt.

If she wasn’t dead.

He promptly squelched those thoughts, but he could feel silver sneaking into his dark hair. Between his son and his lover, he would truly be the Mad Marquess by morning.

The night was alive with noise, from the hoot of an owl to the lap of the lake, to the ladylike whickering of the horse. He added to it, shouting Laurette’s name every few footsteps. Her path had been well-marked, each silvery stone catching the glow of the lantern.

As children they had perfected just such a system, when they escaped of an evening and went exploring. Laurette had even painted stones with whitewash for this purpose, until Sadie discovered her cache and hid all the house keys, locking her in. The maid had been more alert to their mischief than the Vincents, but she hadn’t been able to tame Laurette’s wild nature.

Somewhere under the starlit sky, his wild Laurette was striding around in Tomas’s breeches looking for his son.

At least he hoped she was on her feet. He couldn’t think of her crumpled on the ground, injured somehow. His worry over James was too fierce.

He’d stopped at every dwelling for miles this evening. No one had seen a handsome dark-haired boy on the road this afternoon, and they would have noticed. It was Sunday. Traffic was non-existent after church services, either by foot or on horseback. Everyone was enjoying their hearth and home with their families, spending a quiet sunny day thanking God for His blessings, just as they should.

Con received promises of help in the morning if the boy didn’t turn up. He had soon gotten tired of the knowing chuckles and the “boys will be boys” platitudes he heard all evening. Something was wrong and he knew it.

Nico thought James might be holed up in a cave somewhere. He’d been a keen potholer the past two weeks, and had begged Nico to camp out overnight after he and Bea had arrived at Stanbury Hill. However, nothing could induce Bea
to sleep out of doors with bugs and bats, and bright-eyed creatures of the night. The idea of James curled up sound asleep on a cavern floor was an appealing one, but one Con couldn’t quite believe.

The horse shied and shifted and Con held her reins. He lifted his lantern and saw James’s folded jacket, a neat row of rocks marching up the front like buttons. His heart leapt. “Good girl,” he murmured. The horse preened, but his praise wasn’t meant for her. He slowed his pace now, scanning for the double stones, getting off course several times before he came to the scattered daisies.
He loves me, he loves me not.

Con loved his son even if James didn’t love loving him back right now.

He led the filly up a rise. There was no way the horse could go any further; the way down was steep and gnarled with rocks and roots. He walked a few yards and found another pile of stones. Quite a lot of them, as if Laurette had dumped the whole bag open.

“Laurette! James!” His voice came back to him, the sound of its need so strong no one could fail to know how desperate he was.

James couldn’t credit it. He’d fallen asleep for a bit, that big finger of rock still poking him in his gut, his body aching from head to toe with damp. He’d finally dropped his signaling rock, and had listened to it skitter down a fair distance. A long way down, then. Good thing he was trapped between a rock and a hard place, no matter how much it hurt.

Above him he could hear Laurette’s breathing.
No.
No point in beating around the bush. Her snores. The wuffles were magnified by the acoustics in the cave. He shouldn’t be surprised that she snored. He expected he did too when he was lying down in his own soft bed, not wedged between limestone slabs.

They had talked for a long time, and his head was a bit
clearer now. His father would come for him. Laurette wouldn’t leave James alone tonight, but if rescue didn’t come by early morning, she would go back and fetch help. He could manage a few more hours smashed in the dark.

He shifted slightly and undid the placket of his trousers. He had an urgent need to relieve himself. The water still dangled against his chest from the shirt and a bit of leather strapping that Laurette had cut from her bag and anchored with a heavy rock. She’d dropped food down on him too. He’d been pretty lucky getting anything into his mouth. He imagined he reeked of piss and cheese and ham in equal quantities.

He had just finished his business when he heard a low mournful sound, kind of like a trapped bear. That’s all this adventure needed, for them to be discovered by some wild beast, and be eaten as a midnight snack. There wasn’t even any food left to fob an animal off with; he’d consumed every crumb that rained down on his shoulders.

“Laurette! Wake up! There’s something out there.”

And then he knew it was
someone.
He heard his father shouting, first Laurette’s name, then his, over and over. “It’s my father! Wake up, Laurie!” he croaked.

She made a peculiar snort and then spoke in a sleep-softened voice. “I’m awake. What is it?”

“It’s my father. I heard him shouting.”

Before she ever got up, she screamed, “Con!” His father’s name reverberated around the arched cave roof. James heard Laurette scramble to her feet and shuffle across the floor in the pitch black. She screamed again and James’s head ached. His own voice was coming back to him but he was glad she was there to do the screaming for him. She sounded like one of the three Furies, although she certainly was a lot prettier. Very pretty, in fact. And very nice to him. Always had been. He shut his eyes, squeezing the tears back. He was to be rescued.