Scoundrel (45 page)

“I didn’t know what to make of it, Your Grace. I just tried to do what your wife wanted.”

“I realize that, Mr. Milton.” Remmington walked out of the shop without a backward glance.

“Crofford House?” Digsby asked, when they reached the street.

Remmington nodded.

He stalked into the earl’s library less than a quarter hour later. Robert was there, along with his father. They both turned to stare at him.

“Lily,” Remmington managed, through the constriction in his throat. “Did you get her note?”

“Something arrived from the printer about an hour ago.” Crofford sat back in his chair, his grip on his desk so tight that his knuckles turned white. “What is it? What’s happened to her?”

“She went to Milton’s this morning to approve the invitations. Someone lured my driver into an alley and knocked him senseless. Before he took Lily, she managed to leave this note.” Remmington tossed the printer’s copy of the message on Crofford’s desk. “What does it say?”

Robert rushed around the desk to look over his father’s shoulder. He read the message aloud. “Half pound paper. Almond in color. Remmington coat of arms on the envelope. Red wax seals. Yellow ribbon inserted in the seals. Lord Crofford will approve the final designs. Gold embossing on the coat of arms.”

“What does it
say?”
Remmington repeated.

The two men studied the note without a further word or question about Lily. Her note would tell them what they wanted to know. It had to.

Remmington began to pace.

Hurry
! The word echoed over and over in his mind. He couldn’t say it out loud, couldn’t do anything to distract them from their work. The seconds ticked by. He wanted to shake them both. It wouldn’t help. More seconds. The note had to be a code. It had to be! His silent demand turned into a prayer.
Please
!

Robert spoke first. “Seven sentences. Words in the sentences; three, three, seven, three, six, seven, seven. Three threes, three sevens, and a six in a seven-word sentence.” He leaned closer to the note, studied it a good minute longer. “Damn it, Lily! Where did you hide the key?”

“Number the letters,” Crofford snapped.

“No. It forms actual words. It can’t be a cross alphabet, not unless she had a good hour to design the message.” Robert glanced up at Remmington. “How long did she take to write this?”

“No more than minutes.”

“Minutes.” Robert stared at the message. “She can write a hundred codes in minutes!”

“Yes, but she knew she had only minutes,” Crofford mused. “She wouldn’t chance anything but a code she knew inside and out, one she couldn’t possibly make a mistake on.”

Remmington stopped pacing near the fireplace. The clock on the mantel continued to tick. Endless, endless. ticks. He wanted to smash the clock to bits. He glared at Lily’s father and brother.
Say something
!

“It might be a simple code,” Robert said. “It might be a code so simple that we cannot see it.”

“Oh, my God!” Crofford rose halfway from his seat. He sat down again just as abruptly. “Oh, my God.” His pen underlined the first letter of each sentence. “H. A. R. R.Y. L. G. Harry, L. G. Harry,
Lord Gordon
.”

They both looked at Remmington.

“Robert, come with me. Crofford, send for Bainbridge. Tell him I’m on my way to get more of my men, then I’m going to Harry’s.”

Lily angled her hairpin in a new direction inside the lock, unable to see anything she was doing. Her prison cell in Harry’s town house was a small, narrow room dug deep into one wall of the cellar. It smelled of mold and mice. She’d caught only a glimpse of the damp brick walls and dirt floor before Lando pushed her inside, then the door banged shut, plunging her into darkness. The walls seemed to dose in on her, walls she couldn’t even see. She felt buried alive. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from screaming, to keep herself from clawing at the door to beg for a lantern or candle. She wouldn’t show them her weakness.

The cold that permeated the room seeped into her bones, yet she felt a trace of perspiration on her brow, her skin made clammy by fear. The pin snapped in half, the third broken pin so far. She had no idea how long she’d worked at the lock. Time became elusive in total darkness. It felt like days. It might only be minutes. Still, her efforts must have required several hours. At some point the lock might prove too foolproof for her skills, but she wouldn’t give up the effort until every last hairpin broke into useless nubs. Then she would know there was no hope of escape from this black pit. Then she would go mad.

She searched her hair for another pin, but started to panic when she couldn’t free the broken piece from the lock. She wedged the good pin into the small opening and tried to maneuver the piece free. A sudden click made her stop. A little more maneuvering and she felt the lock turn into place. She’d done it!

Her hand felt for the latch, but she hesitated a long moment after she found it. Someone might be guarding the door, waiting until she tasted but a moment of freedom before forcing her back into the cell. She knew they would have to render her unconscious or worse before they returned her to this horror chamber.

She put her shoulder against the door and pushed it open, took a step forward to stand on the other side. Only darkness greeted her. It pressed in on her from every side, silent, black, endless night. Then a faint scurrying sound and a small, rhythmic clicking. Like small teeth. Like the sound of a rat. It came from inside her cell. A startled scream escaped her lips, even as she shoved the door back into place. Her shoulders collapsed against the door and a hard shudder racked her body. She listened hard for any sound. Not just for the rat, but for some noise from overhead that would say she had given herself away.

Nothing.

If anyone heard her scream, they must have assumed she found something unpleasant in her cell. She thrust her arms straight in front of her and spread her fingers wide, raking the darkness all around her, looking for something solid as she took a step forward. The steps were ahead and to her right… or were they? Yes. Right. They were to her right.

Another step. Then another and another.

It couldn’t be this far to the wall. She was going the wrong way! Her hand encountered something solid and she yelped, part shock, part pain from her jammed finger. A more hesitant stretch of her fingers and she felt stone. Brick. The brick wall opposite her cell door. She laid her palm flat against the grimy surface, a solid anchor in the dizzying black void that enveloped her. With her hand on the wall, she pointed her toe forward, eased onto her foot and shifted her weight, then repeated the same cautious movement with the other leg. Seven slow steps later, something struck her ankle, the bottom riser of the open staircase. She inched her way forward until her foot rested on the step, then she hiked up her skirts with one hand and used the other to balance herself on the steps above her.

A faint shadow of light showed from underneath the door at the top of the steps, no more than a gray shadow. What if that door was locked, too? The knob turned in her hand, but the door didn’t budge. She straightened to lean against it, lost her bearings for a moment and almost fell over backwards. Only her grip on the doorknob kept her from tumbling back down the stairs. She waited until she could catch her breath again, then turned the knob and leaned her shoulder against the door. It opened.

She entered the basement of the town house. It seemed to be a storage area for the most part, but there were windows cut high into walls. They were covered with dust and dirt, but were windows nonetheless that bathed the room in the most beautiful light Lily had ever encountered. She wanted to laugh, but it was hysterical laughter and she kept it bottled tight inside her. She was a floor closer to her captors. Now they might hear her.

She rubbed her hands against her skirt and left dark streaks of soot and grime on the lavender gown. She didn’t care that it was ruined. The staircase to the first floor rose before her. She fashioned her skirts into a large knot at her hip that left her legs and hands unencumbered. She reached for the fourth step and braced her hands to the far edge of the riser where a loose nail or board would be less likely to creak beneath her weight. She placed her feet in the same position on the first step, then began to work her way up the staircase, feeling like a large, awkward spider.

At the top of the stairs, a good inch gap separated the door from the polished oak floor. Lily knew this door opened onto the foyer. She settled all her weight onto the staircase so she could rest her cheek against the top step and peer beneath the door. To her left she could see a large arched doorway and she recalled a brief glimpse of a sitting room, ahead of her the front door. At the farthest range of her vision she could see the bottom riser of the staircase that led to the second floor. She turned her head and looked to the right.

More polished oak floor in that direction and a long wall with double doors in the center, perhaps a library, with another gap beneath its doors. The closed room had windows, for she could see sunlight reflected beneath the door. She also saw a momentary shadow and knew it was caused by someone inside the room who walked past the door. Harry, or Lando, or one of the two servants she saw when she first arrived, the ones who greeted Lando in French and deferred to him as if he was their leader.

She couldn’t see any other movement, nor hear any sounds from anywhere in the house. If she could just make it to the front door without notice she would be free. Once she reached the street, they would have to shoot her to bring her back. She wouldn’t return without a fight. Her hand reached for the doorknob. A sudden pounding noise made her snatch it away again. Someone was at the front door! More accomplices? What if they sent someone to check on her? Her heart beat harder.

A pair of scuffed brown shoes crossed the foyer and stopped before the front door, then the door opened. “Maybe I help you, sir?”

The voice belonged to one of Lando’s underlings. A movement caught her eye and she looked to her right. The library door was open now, and she saw the highly polished riding boots of the man who stood there. Harry or Lando. Her gaze returned to the front entry. In the second she’d looked away, another man had entered the foyer. She watched his booted feet cross the oak floor to stand not a pace from her hiding place. She released a silent sigh when he turned away from her.

“Tell Lord Gordon I am here,” a voice announced from the doorway.

Lily covered her mouth and nose with both hands, terrified she wouldn’t contain her sob. Only one thing kept her from bursting forth from her hiding place and throwing herself into her husband’s arms—the knowledge that he would be dead before she reached him.

“Remmington?” Harry called out. The pair of boots near the library door moved forward. “Whatever are you doing here? Do come in.”

The boots in front of her door blocked any view of her husband’s entry into the foyer, but she heard his solid, familiar footsteps. The other three men stood within her sight, only one unaccounted for. Her gaze scanned the floor and she found the last pair of shoes near the entrance to the sitting room. Then she heard Harry’s voice again.

“My God, Remmington! What are you doing with those pistols?”

Lily smiled, weak with relief. Remmington had the situation under control. She wondered if he had used that trick with his greatcoat to conceal his weapons. Now she could reveal herself. Just as soon as she felt able to stand. She still couldn’t show any weakness in front of their enemies, nothing that might distract Remmington and make him vulnerable. She rested her cheek against the riser and drew a deep breath. It was all right now. She could take a moment to compose herself.

“I think you know exactly what I’m doing with these weapons. Take me to my wife.
Now
!”

“He won’t be taking you anywhere.” This from Lando. Lily could tell that he was the owner of the boots that stood in front of her door. She heard two sharp clicks. “We are equally matched, Remmington. In fact, the odds are tipped in my favor’ If you will look over your left shoulder, you will see that my friend, Michel, has you in his sights as well.”

“Do you think I am fool enough to come here alone?” Remmington sneered. “Take me to my wife, Harry.”

It was Lando who answered. With a deafening pistol shot. Lily watched in horror as Harry crumpled to the floor. She could see his face now, but she couldn’t see his injury. His mouth opened and closed, then opened one last time. In a matter of seconds his eyes glazed over and he stared straight ahead at nothing.

Lando broke the silence that followed. “I believe I mentioned the fact that he won’t be taking you anywhere. I’m afraid Harry became a liability once he delivered what we wanted. An expensive liability. That shot should bring your men on the run, but I doubt they will be of much use with three pistols trained at your heart.”

“You don’t have enough weapons to shoot them all,” Remmington warned. “You can shoot me and two others. That won’t be enough. My wife will not leave here with you.”

“Did I say she was here?” Lando asked. “Do you think
I
am fool enough to keep her within such easy reach? She is in a place you will never find her, unless I take you myself. If I don’t meet the men who are holding her within the hour, they have orders to kill her.”