Page 60 of Dare it all for Love

At last the tunnel ended with a set of steep stairs cut into the chalk. Henry climbed, cautious now, aware that he was behind the walls of his own home. He stilled as he heard muffled voices, guessing he must be close to the kitchens. At least not all his staff had deserted him in terror… yet.

The passage ran until he reached another staircase, wooden this time and worn with age. The treads creaked and protested, and Henry held back a curse, praying they would not give way or make so much noise his arrival would be revealed. At the top of the staircase was another short passage. At the end, the panelling that hid the tunnel must have been left open, as daylight pierced through a narrow slit, illuminating the dim entryway.

Henry blew out the candle, set it down, and moved silently towards the light.

Chapter 16

Dear diary,

I’m so tired. I stayed up all night reading and did not sleep a wink. Truthfully, I am not certain I shall ever sleep again. The Ghosts of Castle Madruzzo was quite magnificent, though the villain was so much more interesting than the hero. How I wish he had not died horribly. He was so clever and wicked, funny too. I would far rather have run away with him than the hero who was something of a wet blanket and had no sense of humour. Bad men are always much more interesting for they need unravelling and I have always enjoyed puzzles. The descriptions of the ghosts and the villain’s grisly demise was so vivid, though, and now I see it every time I close my eyes. Indeed it makes me feel a little queasy whenever I think on it.

I cannot tell Mama, or she will tell Papa and he’ll be disappointed in me and that is worse than any other fate imaginable, even the villain’s.

―Excerpt of an entry to the diary of Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ Barrington, (youngest daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu).

18th August 1839, Holbrook House, Sussex.

“Where is he, you villain?”

“Florence!” Mama scolded as Florence flew out of the carriage before the footman could even let down the step for her. They had not even reached Thistley Farm but had passed Mr Oak at the side of a narrow lane, mending fences.

Evie sent Louis César a pleading expression and he sighed, jumping down after her.

Mr Oak looked up in surprise as Florence ran up to him, with Louis close behind.

“Miss Knight?”

“Don’t you, Miss Knight me! where is Henry?”

Mr Oak’s expression darkened as he realised he was being accused of something and Louis stepped in hurriedly.

“Mr Oak, forgive us for interrupting your work, but we believe Mr Stanhope may be in danger.”

“Oh, he knows,” Florence said, vibrating with anger as Mama pulled her back and hushed her.

Mr Oak’s anger seemed to evaporate to something closer to concern and, despite his brusque manner, Evie could not believe he would hurt Mr Stanhope. The two men had appeared to her to be friends.

“I told him not to meddle with things he didn’t understand,” Mr Oak muttered. “What’s happened?”

As no one else seemed capable of speaking without accusing Mr Oak of wrongdoing, Louis ploughed on. “Miss Knight was attacked by Susan Cooper this morning. Miss Cooper tied Miss Knight up and held her captive. Happily, we found her, as you see. Miss Cooper spoke of a man though, someone she referred to as the devil, and how he had gone too far. We know Henry suspected Joe Foster of involvement, but we have been to the church and there is no sign of Foster or Henry, nor Mr Knight and St Clair, who were with him.”

“My father and St Clair went to the village to ask if anyone had seen my sister, or Mr Foster, but the vicar said Henry wasn’t with them,” Evie added desperately. She was horribly afraid someone was going to get hurt and, if they had to waste any more time driving about looking for people, she might run mad.

Mr Oak ran a hand through his unruly black hair. He had been hard at work mending a broken fence and had taken off his coat. His cravat had also been discarded, exposing a strong, tanned throat and the suggestion of wiry hair on his chest. His waistcoat hung open and his sleeves were rolled up to show powerful forearms also covered with dark hair. Despite her anxiety, Evie could not help but stare, fascinated by such a rare display of masculine virility. Most men would never be seen without their coat, let alone in such disarray. Evie had certainly never seen anyone dressed so. She wondered vaguely if Louis César was built in the same fashion beneath his elegant attire, but chased the thought away. There was no time for such frivolous meanderings. Though she doubted there was much that her father could not handle she still worried for him, and for Henry too, for Florence loved him and was clearly worried sick.

“Has anyone been back to the Hall?” Mr Oak asked, to which they all shook their heads. “Right. We’ll start there. It’s an ancient old place that hides secrets aplenty, by my reckoning. Just because Henry never found a tunnel doesn’t mean no one else did. It would explain that corn doll on his pillow, assuming none of the staff are involved.”

“Could they be?” Evie asked as they all hurried back to the carriage.

Mr Oak shrugged on his coat before climbing in after them. “I don’t reckon so. I know everyone who works at the Hall, and they’re all decent folk. I don’t know of any grudges against Henry.”

“And what about you, Mr Oak?” Florence asked, folding her arms and glaring at him.

The carriage fell silent, the sudden jerk and sway a little disconcerting as the horses moved forward, making the prickling atmosphere even more uncomfortable.

Mr Oak stared back at Florence unblinking. “I know you don’t like me, Miss Knight, though I don’t know what I’ve done to offend you. I’ve no pretty manners, I suppose, and I don’t like to talk if I’ve naught to say, but I don’t reckon that’s an offense. All I can tell you is that Henry is my friend, and if he’s got himself in bother, I mean to help him out of it. That’s all.”

“I’m sure my daughter meant no offense,” Mama said and, from the way Florence jolted, Evie suspected she’d delivered a pinch to induce an apology.