Page 57 of Dare it all for Love

Louis frowned, uncertain if this was a good idea or not but… Oh, he could not deny her when she was so obviously frantic. “Very well,” he said with a sigh, and led her out of the house.

Well, this was a pickle and no mistake.

You great ninny, Florence Knight! Florence cursed herself silently, though she might as well have shouted at the top of her lungs. No one would hear her. She muttered under her breath.

“Come and see my, grandmother, Miss Knight. She’ll explain everything, Miss Knight.”

Wherever the grandmother was, she was certainly not living in this hovel in the backend of beyond.

Idiot!

Though who would have thought such a slip of a girl as Susan Cooper could be so strong? Or perhaps so desperate. Florence had heard the alarm bells ringing with every step towards the dilapidated cottage, but she knew she was privileged beyond what most people could dream, and that others lived in conditions that she would never believe possible, so she’d said nothing, assuming the grandmother was dreadfully poor. She had not expected the push from behind, so forceful that she’d gone down without a struggle, hitting her head on the packed earth floor hard enough to make her ears ring. Too dazed and shocked to respond at once, it had been easy for Susan to overpower her and tie her hands behind her back. Her ankles were bound too, so tightly her feet were going numb.

Think, Florence, think, she instructed herself. Her heart was beating too fast, in sharp erratic thuds that were making her feel giddy and nauseated, but that would not help her. Her father and Henry would be looking for her by now. A wealthy heiress and granddaughter of a duke could not disappear without anyone noticing. Susan had been foolish indeed and soon she would realise how much of a fool. The girl had seemed terrified in any case, but of whom?

She had cried when she’d tied Florence up, apologising over and over and begging for forgiveness.

“Never meant this to happen, for things to go this far. It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she’d sobbed. “He’s evil… the devil, he is. Oh, Lord, whatever shall I do? I won’t let him hurt you, though. I promise.”

What it had supposed to have been like, Florence had no idea, but it was obvious that Susan had got in over her head. Hearing him—whoever he was—referred to as evil and the devil was far from reassuring, either. Susan’s assurance that she wouldn’t let him hurt her seemed a fragile hope too. The girl was clearly terrified. Now Susan had run off, which meant she’d left Florence in the hope her family would find her, or she’d gone to tell someone else about Florence… perhaps that evil someone who had meant things to go this far. All she knew was that she could not rely on Susan’s reassurances.

She must escape.

Florence looked about the filthy space. It was a single room with a soot blackened fireplace; the tiny window was broken but too small to crawl through, and there was no furniture, just the packed dirt floor and the cold wall at her back. An odd white fur, like salt, grew over the damp stone, and the place smelled musty and forgotten. She wriggled her hands, trying to find some give in the rope but it was too tight. Perhaps if she could get her hands in front of her. Florence wriggled and strained but her huge skirts and layers of petticoats were in the way and her corset hardly allowed for much movement. It was impossible.

She muttered the rudest word she could think of, one that she’d overhead Papa say with some enthusiasm when he’d discovered his railway project would run thousands over budget. She said it again, louder, and then shouted it. For some reason it made her feel better, calmer, and so she took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. The cottage had not been that far from Holbrook, only a few miles, so it was likely still on the estate. This meant the earl probably knew about it, and they must be looking for her by now. All positive thoughts.

If Susan had gone to speak to whoever else was involved, Florence was very certain she did not wish to meet the devil, whoever he might be. Briefly, Mr Oak’s stern countenance flickered into her mind, and she shivered. Could he be at the heart of this? His grandmother had been a witch by his own admission. Whoever he was, she needed to get out of here as soon as possible and for that she needed her hands free. If only there were something to cut the rope with. Florence stared around the barren room and sighed. She glanced up at the window, trying to judge what time it was by the sun, and cursed herself.

“You little fool!”

The window was broken.

It took a lot more cursing, and she scraped her elbow badly, but eventually Florence got herself to her feet by pushing against the wall and levering herself up. The window was thankfully low, but she still had to bend forwards to get her wrists high enough behind her back, not easy when her corset was so tight. She held her breath, struggling to get her hands elevated so she could press the rope against the broken glass.

It was impossible to see what she was doing, and Florence sucked in a breath as she cut her thumb. Her heart pounded in her ears as she felt the rope slide against the broken edge. Carefully she moved the cord up and down, her head spinning as the corset constricted her breathing. At last the rope frayed and broke and she gave a whimper of relief as she brought her arms forward. There was no time to celebrate her cleverness though and she sat down, working the knots that bound her ankles. It took too long, her fingers numb and her shoulders screaming with pain after being pulled back in such an awkward position, but finally she was free. Well, free of her bindings. She ran to the door and gave a frustrated shout as she discovered it wouldn’t budge. There was no lock she could see, but somehow, she had been trapped in here.

She ran back to the window, wondering if there was any hope of squeezing through, but even if she stripped off her gown and petticoats her shoulders would never fit.

She was a prisoner still.

Chapter 15

Raphe,

What are you playing at, you pillock? You’re all over the damned scandal sheets again. I think you’d best come and rusticate with me for a few weeks. At least give your liver a day or two to recover. It’s really not so bad out here you know and the chances of being killed by falling plaster have significantly diminished of late. We even have a cook and a full staff, so you’ll not starve like last time you were here.

Do come, old man. Bainbridge is just up the road. Perhaps we can pry August away from those dreadful females who claw at his peace of mind when he’s home and it will be like old times?

What do you say?

―Excerpt of a letter from Daire ‘Dare’ Kelburn, Viscount Roxborough to Raphe Coote, Baron de Ligne.

18th August 1839, Holbrook House Estate, Sussex.

“You’re certain she went this way?” Evie demanded for the fifth time.

Louis gave her a look which suggested she did not ask him again.