The footman had gone deathly pale. No doubt he’d been hoping to be well on his way home before the letter was read. “I don’t know nothing,” he said, although his face gave this away as a lie. Of course he knew what was going on there.
“Dick, grab hold of his horse,” Harry said.
Dick was over the gate almost before Harry finished speaking and took the reins from Harry. With a neat flick he had them over the horse’s head. Now the man was going nowhere even if he decided to be brave enough to try. He was reduced to holding the pommel instead and looking from one to the other of his captors with real terror in his eyes.
“You tell me right now what’s wrong with my Miss Miranda,” Betsey snarled, resembling a pugnacious guard dog more than a staid housekeeper. “She were right as ninepence this morning and it’s scarce after midday now. I don’t believe a word of what this scoundrel’s telling us in his letter.”
The footman cowered, and Harry decided right then never to get on the wrong side of her.
“I don’t know,” the footman muttered, staring down at his hands on the pommel, but he was crumbling.
“Where is Lady Madeley?” Harry snapped.
Dick looked as though he’d like to pull the man off the horse and give him a pummelling. He might only be sixteen or so, but he was already a well-grown lad and would have been handy in a boxing ring. Harry wouldn’t have liked to have been the recipient of his anger.
The footman glanced to left and right again as though in the faint hope that aid might come to him by some miracle. He took a deep breath. “She’s locked in the pink bedroom with Baxter the gardener outside the door to make sure she can’t get out.”
“Locked in a bedroom?” Harry couldn’t prevent his voice from rising. “Whatever for?” His fists had clenched and anger rose through his body.
“To stop her escaping,” muttered the poor footman. “Before Sir Julian can get his common licence. He’s sent off one of the grooms on a fast horse to go get one.”
A stunned silence settled over all four of them.
Betsey found her voice first. “Sir Julian thinks he’s going to be able to force my Miss Miranda to marry him? By keeping her locked in a bedroom? Is he addle pated?” She shook her head. “The man wants locking up.”
Harry had to agree that she was right.
The footman, head hanging, nodded dumbly.
Harry gathered his reins. “I’m going there now.” If only he’d thought to bring one of those duelling pistols with him. If he’d known Miranda was missing, he would have, but he didn’t want to waste valuable time by going back for one. And anyway, surely Sir Julian wasn’t so deranged as to be dangerous.
“Not on your own, you ain’t, Sir Henry.” Dick reached up and yanked the unfortunate footman off the horse with little difficulty, carelessly throwing the man into the mud, where he proceeded to cower. “I’m coming with you.” And he was on the horse in a moment. Ex-gardener’s boy or not, he seemed to know his way about a horse.
For a moment Harry wondered if he should send the boy to fetch the constable, but common sense told him he was going to need reinforcements. He couldn’t be sure his leg wouldn’t let him down when he needed it most.
He nodded at Dick. “You come at your own risk. If the man could shoot at his gardener’s boy, then he won’t think twice about shooting at us if he thinks he’s cornered.”
Dick, his eyes alight with excitement, nodded. “You just let me at him,” he almost snarled. “Kidnapping her ladyship like that. I’ll kick’im where it hurts the most, I will, gun or no gun.”
But someone needed to fetch the constable and do it quickly. His eyes fell on the footman who had now regained his feet, mud all downone side of him. “You. What’s your name?”
“Jack Ashby, Sir Henry.” If anything he looked even more cowed.
“Your master’s going to prison for this, so do you want a new job?”
Jack’s eyes flew wide and hope lit them. “Yessir. I do that.”
“Then get Miss Betsey back to my house now, as fast as you can, and send my coachman to Naseby to fetch the constable to Thornby. He’s going to be needed. And don’t stop there. Take another horse and get to the nearest magistrate as well and tell him what’s happened. Do all that and you’ll be second footman at the Hall after this.”
“Yessir. I’ll do that, sir. Thank you, sir, thank you.”
“The nearest one’s Sir Julian himself,” Betsey put in sourly. “He’d best get over to Colonel Letwin-Jones. He’s at Lychford House. And while you’re at it, young feller-me-lad, you send as many men to help Sir Henry as you can.” She looked up at Harry. “He can run on ahead of me. I’m fine to walk to the Hall by myself. And you two get on and take good care of yourselves, or you’ll have me to answer to.” She waved her hands in dismissal. “What’re you waiting for?”
Harry nodded, more than a little concerned by her words. “Don’t worry. I know what danger is. I’ll be careful and so will Dick.” He turned back to his companion. “Come on. We’d better hurry.” God alone knew what horrors Miranda might be experiencing.
Miranda sat onthe pink bed in a bedroom at Thornby Grange that was so pink it made her feel slightly nauseous, and fumed. Having met the late Lady Horncastle many times, she could only wonder at whatever had prompted her to choose such a color scheme for her bedroom. Considering the woman had preferred muted colors for her gowns, this pinkness in her private life was a big surprise.
But she wasn’t here to criticize the lady’s taste, terrible though it was. No, she was a prisoner of that lady’s appalling widower. She gritted her teeth. How dare that awful man do this to her. What was his ultimate aim? That she might come around to his way of thinkingand decide marrying him instead of Harry was what she wanted? He had to be mad. There was no other explanation. In fact, the more she thought about it the more she came to the conclusion that Sir Julian could only be monstrously unhinged. Insane. There was no other possibility.
