Page 62 of Dare it all for Love

“Good man. You watch the front, please, and make sure no one leaves. You two had best come with us and guard the back once we’ve entered. Well, come along, no dilly dallying.”

The men leapt to do Lady Helena’s bidding, as most men did when she issued a command, and they hurried around to the back of the house. They entered unhindered and made their way to the kitchen, where they found one of the footmen and the cook having a comfortable coze over a pot of tea.

“Are we interrupting something?” Mama asked politely, as the footman and cook sprang to their feet.

“My lady,” the footman exclaimed, mortified. “Forgive us, we were just a little at a loss for what to do. The master left early this morning and we’re all that’s left of the staff. The ghost that attacked Mr Stanhope frightened everyone to death.”

“Silly fools, ain’t no such things as ghosts,” said the cook calmly as she poured out another cup of tea.

The footman frowned, looking less convinced. “No, Mrs Taylor, right enough. I’d agree with you, only where did the devil go if he weren’t no ghost? That’s what I’d like to know.”

“That is what we should all like to know, so why do we not go and find out?” Florence said in frustration. “Mr Stanhope has disappeared, and we fear he is in danger. I strongly suspect there is a secret passage into this house and—”

The sound of something heavy hitting the floor with a crash somewhere in the house interrupted her words.

“Oh, my stars,” exclaimed the cook, clutching at her chest and looking a deal less sanguine than she had a moment earlier. “What was that?”

“It came from above us,” the footman said.

“Well, come along then!” Florence exclaimed, pushing past them and hurrying up the stairs to the ground floor.

They all burst out into a back corridor and ran towards the entrance hall, where they almost collided with Mr Oak and Louis César.

“I told you to stay in the carriage!” Mr Oak said furiously.

“Oh, stow it,” Florence yelled at him, having had quite enough of being told what to do for one day. She hiked up her skirts, taking the stairs two at a time, careful to keep the pistol pointing down.

“Florence, darling, do be careful,” Mama called out from behind her, but another crash and a masculine grunt of pain echoed through the house and Florence ran, heedless of anything but the need to get to Henry.

“Henry!” she called and then screamed as Henry staggered out of an open doorway and hit the floor, cursing.

Another man fell upon him, fists flying like a madman as Henry defended himself. Florence cried out. Foster was in a frenzy of violence. She had never seen such hatred as she saw in the man’s eyes, such… madness. Henry got in a blow that drove Foster’s head back and used the moment to force the man onto his back. He tried to get to his feet, but Foster grabbed his ankle and pulled hard, tugging Henry back down. Henry’s head smacked the hardwood panelling as he fell. He lay, unmoving.

Then things happened very fast, and yet so slowly that Florence was aware of every beat of her heart.

She screamed and raised the pistol as Foster pulled something from his pocket. There was a click, and a blade sprang free from the handle he held. He gave a laugh which made Florence’s heart stutter; he sounded utterly unhinged. Mr Oak and Louis César surged past Florence, shouting, though she could not make out the words, too focused on Henry. Foster lunged towards Henry and Florence’s finger tightened on the trigger as a shot ran out, a shot that wasn’t hers.

Foster staggered and fell back against the wall, sliding to the floor and clutching at his right shoulder as blood welled between his fingers.

“Mama!” Florence gasped, as she saw her mother beside her.

A strong smell of gunpowder permeated the air. Her mother’s face had blanched white, but her hands were steady, the pistol still raised.

“Give me the pistol, love, and go to Henry,” she said calmly, not taking her eyes off Foster as she set the spent pistol on the floor and took the one from Florence’s grasp. She levelled the loaded gun at the wounded man, who was shrieking loud enough to wake the dead.

Florence was only vaguely aware of the sounds around her, or of Mr Oak suggesting they lock Foster in the pantry for the time being. She ran to Henry’s too still form.

“Henry, Henry,” she sobbed, sinking to her knees beside him. “Oh, please wake up.”

There was a pained moan and his eyelids fluttered open.

“Florence!” he exclaimed in alarm.

“It’s all right. Mama shot him. It’s all right, we’re safe.”

Henry subsided with relief. “Christ, my head,” he muttered. “It’s a wonder I’ve any brains left, they’ve taken such a battering of late.”

“Oh!” Florence said, the terror of the past moments catching up with her. She drew in a breath of relief before she collapsed on his chest. “Oh, Henry, I was so frightened.”