Miss Peterson & The Colonel Read online

  'They've got Lydia? How did they get into her chamber? I can't understand why we didn't hear them.'

  'They didn't get upstairs. She accompanied the housekeeper to the kitchen and must have come face to face with them in the servants' quarters.'

  The young man smacked his fist into the wall. 'The coal hatch! They must have come in that way. I didn't think to lock that earlier. This is all my fault. What a disaster…'

  'Enough of that. I need you to have a cool head – we must plan our strategy.'

  'You will have to give them the book. They will trade her for it I am sure.'

  Simon shook his head. The young man didn't understand the gravity of the situation. Whatever his personal feelings on the matter, the safety of the book was paramount. 'Handing over the book is not an option.'

  Peterson swung towards him, his face ravaged with grief and his fists clenched. Simon raised a hand in warning. 'Although I cannot give up the volume, I give you my word your sister shall come to no harm. I must think. There has to be a way we can save her life and not betray our country.'

  *

  Lydia clutched the table edge for support. Confronting her was a rough, unshaven man, his eyes sunk into his skull and his garments covered in coal dust, his broken teeth bared in a smile. This did nothing to reassure her. She should scream to alert the house. As she drew breath to raise the alarm the man surged forward, thrusting a knife at her throat. 'Make a sound and yer dead, missy,' he whispered.

  Two more villains slipped into the kitchen. Without a word being spoken, she was trussed and a noisome rag stuffed in her mouth. There was nothing she could do. Her disobedience had cost her dear. The continued silence was unnerving. These men were no common thieves; they were professionals. She prayed Simon would not be taken unawares. A stinking individual grabbed her and slung her over his shoulder as if she was a sack of potatoes.

  Where were they taking her? The rank smell and the clouds of coal dust filling her nose was making her stomach heave. If she vomited she would likely choke. She must swallow the bile in her throat, think of something else.

  From her upside down position, she was aware that there were at least three or four accomplices in the passageway. If Simon knew the men were inside they would have the advantage of number. She was dumped unceremoniously against the wall in the servants' hall, her head striking painfully on the side of the long bureau in which the cutlery and crockery were stored.

  The leader of the gang turned the key and gestured to his henchmen to push the heavy oak table against the door. Then one produced a tinderbox and lit several candles. The candlelight confirmed what she feared. Her captors were armed to the teeth. They appeared in no hurry to announce their presence but settled down, obviously prepared to wait for the fight to be brought to them.

  Had they forgotten she was there? Their inattention gave her the time to study the group in more detail. Perhaps one amongst them was not as evil as the rest, one that might be persuaded to help her. She scanned their faces, looking for the two that she had met before. On both occasions these men had turned tail and run. Those men were the weak links in the chain. If she could exploit their fear she might get an opportunity to escape.

  The leader had a decisiveness of purpose and implacability that told her he would slit her throat in a second if she gave him cause. It would be more prudent to wait for Simon to come for her, but she intended to look for a way of freeing herself. She edged upright, pressing herself against the wall, closing her eyes and feigning sleep. Maybe they would reveal what they were planning if they believed themselves to be unobserved. She did not have to wait long before the leader spoke. His voice was little above a whisper, that she could hear his words quite clearly.

  'Luck's on our side tonight, boys. First we found the coal hole unbolted and then we got ourselves a bargaining tool. Someone will come looking for this one; she'll be missed soon enough. I reckon that tall dark one, the one that's supposed to be sick in bed, will be happy to give us the book in return for her life.'

  'I'm sure 'e will. We ain't going to 'ave to fetch 'im. We'll sit tight until 'e comes to us. I reckon we'll come out of this all right.' The speaker chuckled and the hair at the back of her neck stood up. 'More than I can say for them upstairs. What you going to do to stop them blabbing, guv?'

  At his words Lydia feared her bladder would empty and her stomach revolt. She dug her nails into her palms. She would not disgrace herself. She was Lydia Peterson, a woman of independent means – this group of foul traitors would not reduce her to a shivering wreck.

  A voice she recognized spoke up next. 'Why's she dressed like that? You reckon they need the women to fight us?'

  The overpowering stench of unwashed humanity came closer. Someone was standing next to her. A vicious kick on the shin made it impossible for her to continue her deceit. She glared her defiance.

  The leader wrenched the cloth from her mouth. 'Tell me: how many men are there? Do you know where the book is?'

  She was tempted to defy him, to refuse to answer, but that would do nothing to help the situation. 'Colonel Sinclair has eight men, two of them marksmen and they have their rifles with them. All the rest are armed as well. 'Her voice wobbled and she forced herself to sound more confident. 'I have no idea what book you're speaking of. This makes no sense to me.'

  His lips curled back in a smile that did not reach his eyes. 'You'd better hope he has the book, missy, or you'll not see another sunrise.'

  'I don't care; I'm prepared to give my life for King and country. Whatever it is you seek, you'll not get it.'

  The cloth was stuffed back between her teeth and the ruffian laughed and turned away as if she was of no account. This was all her fault. For all her bravado she knew the book would be given up in order to save her life. Sunk in despair, she closed her eyes, and prayed that inspiration would strike, that by some miracle they would all come out of this unscathed.

  Colonel Wescott would never part with the book, he was a soldier, his duty must come first. Her stupidity would mean that her life would be forfeit. David would never forgive him and she doubted the colonel would forgive himself. Their lives would be ruined and she would be dead.

  How long would it be before Dorcas or Martha raised the alarm? She couldn't see the clock from where she was and this one wouldn't strike to help her. It could only have been a quarter of an hour since she had been dumped here and it was unlikely anyone would have gone downstairs as yet. There must be a way of preventing this catastrophe.

  She was happy to die if the others would be saved by her forfeit. No, that was incorrect, no one of sound mind was happy to die. But knowing that her demise would ruin the lives of the two men she held most dear made her sacrifice seem meaningless.

  Her eyes filled. She wished she'd had the opportunity to tell Simon that she loved him. In spite of the dire circumstances she felt a swell of happiness. She was almost certain he felt the same about her.

  When this was over, would they find a life together? Far better to think about a possible future than dwell on what might actually happen this very night.

  *

  Simon had faced worse odds many times and triumphed, but this situation was not like any other. Tonight he must think of a way to do his duty and also save the woman he loved. He paced the carpet in the library, forcing his muddled brain to function in its normal way. Having his emotions involved made it impossible to be analytical.

  Then inspiration came to him. He knew exactly what he had to do. If God and good fortune were on his side, they could save Lydia and keep the book.

  Her brother was glaring at him from the far side of the room, and he didn't blame him in the slightest.

  'We have one chance, but I need time to pull it off. Do you have a book of sermons on your shelves? It must have a black cover and look similar to this.' He flicked open the pages to show David. 'See, the letters are ringed in a distinct order. It's a code of some sort. These men will be illiterate; no doubt one book will
look very much another to them.'

  'Draw random circles then hand them the substitute? That's a capital notion.' The young man flung himself at the book lined walls, frantically scrabbling through a section until he pulled a volume out. 'This is the exact same volume of sermons – I knew the title looked familiar when you showed it to me.'

  Simon's shout of delight echoed round the room, bringing Jenkins and Sam to the door to investigate. 'Jenkins, have you secured doors from the lower quarters as I requested?'

  'I have, sir, and they are guarded as well.'

  He waited until he was alone with young Peterson. 'In order to complete this task, I must buy you some time. I shall go to them, pretend I'm considering their proposition and demand they give me half an hour. I shall take Jenkins and Sam with me.' He strode to the door, turning back to gesture at the desk. 'Get started on the copying, Peterson. Between us we might just pull this off.'

  David raised a hand in agreement and returned to his frantic scribbling.

  God willing, one lot of rings would seem very like another to the ruffians when they looked inside. If they actually evaded capture, perhaps their masters would think the second book was correct and waste weeks trying to decipher it.

  His two men were waiting in the hall, rifles at the ready. 'Come with me, Jenkins, Smith. I'm going to try and negotiate.' They pulled aside the heavy oak bench they'd used as a barricade. Billy and Fred were guarding the door he needed. 'Stay here both of you. Don't let any of the intruders past.'

  His head was clear, his hands steady—he was once more in command of the situation and had his unruly emotions under control. He carried a lantern, his men carried loaded rifles. The passageway was deserted, but he could see light flickering behind the high windows of the servants' hall. He hammered on the door. It was flung open by a rough individual.

  'You cannot escape, I have rifles trained on you. The soldiers will be here in a couple of hours. Surrender or die.'

  'We have the girl, you have the book. Fair exchange: give it to us and we'll leave. No one will be harmed. Why have the little lady damaged for the sake of a book that ain't no use to you?'

  'I cannot give you the book. It's government property. It is my duty to protect it at all costs.'

  The man gestured. Simon heard scrabbling feet and then Lydia cried out in pain. She was dragged forward, tied hand and foot with a filthy rag rammed into her mouth. But her eyes blazed back at him and she shook her head vigorously. It was almost his undoing. She was so courageous. He could not let these villains harm her further.

  'You are surrounded. I have the ascendancy. I demand that you hand over Miss Peterson.'

  'You ain't in no position to make demands, mister. You give me that book or I'll slit her throat.'

  Simon barely restrained himself from smashing the lantern into the man's sneering face. 'If you release the girl I shall let you and your men leave unharmed. That's the best I can offer.'

  'The girl dies unless you bring the book.'

  'I need time to decide, I have never betrayed my country.'

  The man stared at him for a long minute, then he nodded. 'You got half an hour. Be back with the book or your fancy woman will be dead.'

  Simon tried to communicate to Lydia by his expression that she would be saved but he was certain she hadn't understood his signals. He backed away from the room, not trusting the villains not to open fire on him.

  'Jenkins, Sam, come with me. We'll be going back with the book.'

  In the library, Peterson raised his head and a faint smile flickered across his drawn features. 'Another fifteen minutes, no more, and it'll be done.'

  'Good man, I'll leave you to finish. I'm expecting Dawkins and his troop to be here within the hour. Now the rain's stopped…'

  'They'll not be here that soon, Colonel. The roads will be impassable and the ford flooded; they must make a detour of fifteen miles to the bridge. We can't expect help for several hours.'

  'Then we shall have to make this substitution work. If those villains get away, then so be it. They will take nothing of value with them.'

  What he hadn't yet told the young man was that it was inevitable they would all be taken prisoner. Lydia would not be exchanged. The men would be forced to give up their weapons, then the rest of his group would be rounded up.

  Jenkins said it for him. 'Shall I warn the others to surrender, sir? No point in anyone being hurt.'

  To his surprise, Peterson grinned. 'Don't worry, I'd already surmised that's how it would go. You're banking on the traitors being happy with the book, aren't you?'

  'I am. Hopefully they'll not have discovered the two stable hands hiding in the yard. With luck they can release us when the coast is clear.'

  'And if they've been captured?'

  'Then we shall have to remain incarcerated until Dawkins and his troop arrive. It's a small inconvenience compared to what could happen.' Simon sent a fervent prayer to the Almighty that his opponents were not bloodthirsty murderers determined to leave no one alive to identify them.

  *

  The gang threw Lydia back into her corner. Her heart was pounding and her mouth dry; if she was to escape she had to do it immediately. Simon had decided to give up the book. She saw it in his eyes. He had been telling her that she would be released unharmed. The only way that could be achieved was by betraying his country and handing over the precious volume.

  There were knives stored in the cupboard. There must be some way to get into it.

  With one at her disposal, surely she could cut her bonds? It was a remote possibility, but the only idea she had. Far better to fight than remain cowering in a corner. She sighed loudly and slipped down the wall, pretending to swoon.

  The men were gathered around the table talking urgently. Now was her opportunity. She toppled sideways so that she was resting with her head beneath the bureau.

  Had they heard her? Was someone watching her every move?

  It was too dangerous to open her eyes – that would reveal she was dissembling and her chance would be lost.

  Forcing herself to breathe deeply and evenly, she slumped further until she could feel the edge of the cupboard door beneath her cheek. This was the difficult part; she must nudge it open with her nose without arousing suspicion.

  The leader was becoming impatient. 'I'll give him another ten minutes. If he ain't back by then we'll take the girl and go and find him. He'll hand it over soon enough if I stick my knife in his little lady.'

  'And then what, guv?'

  'Then we'll recover the book and tie the others up. We ain't got time to search for the rest of the staff. I want you two to set a fire under the stairs and burn this place down. We want no witnesses left behind to identify us.'

  They were going to murder everyone. It was one thing for her to give up her life for King and country but she could not sit by and let innocent people die as well. The women upstairs must be saved. She had to make her move immediately. Simon must be warned. If he returned with the book they would all perish.

  Chapter Ten

  The men were occupied, checking their weapons, preparing to spring an ambush on Simon and his men when he returned in good faith to exchange her for the book. She was ignored for the moment. Slowly, the cupboard door opened an inch or two. She nudged it again until she could see inside. There was a broken knife in the tray on the bottom shelf; this would be better than nothing. How was she to remove it with not even her teeth to assist her?

  She eased up until her head and shoulders were inside the cupboard. Any moment she expected to be struck down from behind. Using her chin, somehow she fumbled the knife out. Balanced on the edge of the tray, it fell bouncing against her chest to land between her knees.

  She'd done it.

  Her elation made her incautious, made her forget she was supposed to be asleep. From nowhere, rough hands gripped her shoulders and hauled her backwards.

  'You'll not try nothing a second time,' a voice snarled in her ear.

 
; Her eyes widened and she braced itself. His fist rose and her world went black.

  *

  'Are we ready, men?' Simon asked. The group murmured their agreement and all but Jenkins and Smith shuffled nervously. 'You stay here, David. Anything goes wrong, guard the real book with your life. Put it back on the shelf. You must never reveal its whereabouts.'

  Peterson clasped his hand. 'Save Lydia. She's the world to me.'

  On impulse, Simon threw his arm around the young man's shoulders. 'And to me, my boy, and to me. When this is over, I intend to marry your sister.' He grinned. 'I take it I have your permission? Although by rights it is Edward I should apply to. Is he not your guardian?'

  'In name only. We send him any paperwork and his man of business attends to it.

  'Anyway, Lydia does as she pleases. You don't need my permission, but you have my approval. I knew as soon as I met you, you're the man for her.'

  What was he thinking of? Now was not the time to be talking of such matters, all their lives depended on the next few minutes. Leaving the young man to hide the book, he strode out. He was taking only his own men with him. He addressed the others. 'I've decided to give them the book. I believe there's an excellent chance they will be caught before they can hand it on. I cannot sacrifice Miss Peterson.'

  A round of approval greeted this remark. No one, apart from David, knew there had been a substitution.

  'You all know what to do: you must throw down your arms when told to do so. I want none of you killed tonight.'

  The barricade was removed. Billy and Fred had instructions to replace the furniture, leaving all the doors available to the intruders. Simon prayed that offering no resistance would save the men's lives. He returned to the servants' quarters, making sure he could be heard. There was nothing stealthy about his approach. He shouted through the closed door: 'I have the book, I wish to exchange it for Miss Peterson.'

  Two rifles and his pistols were trained on the door. The same filthy individual peered through the door.