“Of course, ma’am.” Dotty lowered her lashes in a show of contrition. “I shall do as you say.”
“Follow me then.”
The coach drove off and, obediently, Dotty followed her gaoler. As the woman led her through the house, she took notice of every detail until they reached a large chamber on the first floor. “What a lovely home. How old is it?”
“Built during Jacobean times.” Mrs. Whitaker bobbed a curtsey. “I’ll bring you a nuncheon and tea.”
“Thank you.” Dotty gave a grateful smile. “That would be lovely.”
The door closed and the lock clicked. She removed her bonnet and gloves. The first thing she must do was convince the housekeeper she was resigned to her fate.
A porcelain pitcher decorated with roses filled with warm water stood on a stand next to a matching bowl. Aside from the bathing stand, the room held an old oak wardrobe, bed, sofa, screen with a chamber pot behind it, and a dressing table with a chair. Dotty tested the window, but it wouldn’t budge. A door to what looked like a dressing room was next to the fireplace. She lifted the latch, and it opened with ease.
When steps sounded outside the door to the corridor, Dotty rushed back into the bedchamber, taking a seat on the sofa. The housekeeper and her husband entered. He carried a tray filled with tea, sandwiches, and fruit. It was enough to feed three people, but if she could find a way to escape, the extra sustenance would come in handy.
Mr. Whitaker set the tray down on the table in front of the sofa. “Here you go, miss. Don’t say we tried to starve ye.”
Dotty smiled. “No, indeed. Thank you very much. I am extremely peckish.”
Mrs. Whitaker pointed to the bell pull. “Ye just call if ye need anything. I put a nightgown and wrapper in the wardrobe for ye. Dinner is at five,” she said defensively. “We keep country hours here.”
“Truth be told,” Dotty replied sincerely, “I prefer country hours.”
Mrs. Whitaker nodded, her lips softening just a little. Given time, Dotty knew she could win the woman over, but time was one thing she did not have. She must not miss her betrothal ball this evening.
As she ate, she considered her options. If this house was truly as old as the housekeeper said, it might have a secret passageway. Most houses of that age did. No, they would never have put her in a room with an easy way to flee. Unless they thought she could not find it or . . . or if it was as in Merton House, mostly forgotten.
She spent the next hour knocking, poking, and pulling anything that could possibly be a hidden lever. Picking up another sandwich, she pulled the chair over in front of the fireplace and studied it. Yet, nothing popped out at her as being in any way different. Rising, she went back into the dressing room and knocked on the walls. Finally, she opened the wardrobe and ran her fingers over the seams. A few moments later, she hit a bump. It was in the shape of a rectangle. Could it possibly be a small lever? If so, it had been cleverly recessed into a corner. If she hadn’t been searching so thoroughly, or if her fingers had been larger, she wouldn’t have found it. Saying a brief prayer, she pushed it up and waited as a panel in the back slid open.
From somewhere in the house a door crashed open and shouting erupted.
“Where is she?” Dom’s hard voice reached her.
Thank God he’d come for her!Her heart raced, making it hard to breathe.
Boots pounded up the stairs. She poked her head out of the dressing room at the same time the chamber door slammed open. Time seemed to slow for a moment, then she was in his arms, and shots were fired below.
Dom glanced at the door. “We need to get out of here.”
“This way.” She seized his hand, pulling him into the dressing room. “There is a tunnel.”
Dom peered into the darkness and gave her a quick kiss. “How clever of you.”
“I pray it leads to the outside.”
“Even if it doesn’t, it will give us time to elude your captors.”
“Who is with you?”
“Worthington.”
“I hope he hasn’t been hurt.”
“That would definitely complicate things. Let’s go.”
Holding one hand to the wall for balance, she followed him as they made their way down the old stone stairs. There was a dank smell to the air, and she grimaced at the thought of all the dirt. Her gloves would never be the same. Then she ran smack into Dom’s broad back.
“A door,” he whispered. “I hope it’s not rusted shut.” Releasing her hand, he tugged on the door. Moments later, with a loud screech, it flew back, and a wall of ivy greeted them. “You wait here. I must ensure Worthington is all right.”
