Chapter Twenty
Sofia politely declined to dine downstairs saying that the upset of the day had given her a megrim. 'Please, do not have a tray sent up at suppertime as I shall be asleep. Thank you for accommodating me. I gave my word to the duke that I would not leave until next week and I intend to keep my promise.'
'Your maid is now here and everything will be ready for you upstairs. Sleep well, I am sure that tomorrow things will look less painful.' Mary pointed to her bandaged hand. 'I think you have broken a bone and you should let us fetch the doctor. If it is not set it will heal incorrectly and give you pain for the rest of your life.'
'I'm sure it is nothing more than bruising, but if it is worse tomorrow then I will see the physician.' She said good night and made her way to the rooms that were to be hers for the next few days.
Polly made no comment about their change of circumstances. She merely did her duty as a good servant should. Her hand was indeed extremely sore and dressing and undressing would have been impossible without assistance. Sofia dismissed the girl and said she would ring when she wanted her the next morning. Once she was alone she scrambled into bed and pulled the curtains so she was cocooned in a private space.
Running to Perry's defence had surprised her, but it had told her one thing very clearly. She was still in love with him despite his faults, and they were many, and she was no longer sure that returning to Spain was the answer. He had looked so wretched, so ashamed, and so very unwell.
The duke had explained to her why her husband had behaved so reprehensibly and she could almost understand. After all, had she not herself overreacted when she was disappointed things had not turned out the way she'd hoped? Her stomach rumbled and she wished she had not been too embarrassed to remain downstairs. Every time she looked at Beau and his swollen nose she was mortified. She had never punched anyone in her life and yet she had chosen for her first victim the formidable Duke of Silchester.
She had thought she would cry, but she was too hungry and her hand too painful for that. After tossing and turning for several hours she abandoned the attempt to sleep and got out of bed. Her hand throbbed, moving it was agony, and she dearly wished she had agreed for the physician to attend to her and not been so stubborn.
With some difficulty she pulled on her robe but was unable to put her injured hand through the sleeve. She needed to put her arm in a sling. She had done this for partisans who had injuries so knew exactly what to do – the problem was when she had done it for someone else she had had two good hands.
She was biting her lip and blinking back tears by the time she found a scarf she could fold into a triangle and use to support her injury. What she needed was laudanum, this was the only thing that would take away the appalling pain.
Eventually she managed to tie a knot one-handed in the scarf and then slip it over her head. As soon as she rested the damaged hand in the sling the pain eased slightly. The fire had been banked up and there was ample coal and the log basket was full. She would get it burning brightly as she thought she would be more comfortable sitting upright on a chair than returning to bed.
Her bedchamber overlooked the terrace and she thought she heard footsteps outside. She pulled open the shutter and looked out of the window. Silchester Court was built in a c-shape, the wing she was in faced the wing the duke intended to convert for them, as he'd done for Aubrey and Mary. To her astonishment she saw a figure climbing up the wall and then somehow prise up the window and climb in.
Her heart almost stopped beating. Silchester was being burgled and she must raise the alarm immediately. With some difficulty she managed to hold a candlestick in the same hand that she was using to open the door. Mary and Aubrey had their apartment on the other side of the wing so it did not have the same view as her.
She knocked loudly on the door she hoped was their sitting room. 'I have just seen a robber climb into the house.' Her voice echoed and the door flew open. Aubrey must have pulled on his nightshirt hastily as it was inside out.
'Are you quite sure, Sofia?'
'Absolutely certain. The man went into an empty bedroom in the west wing.'
Mary appeared in her robe. 'You must alert your brother somehow. Is it possible for this villain to be able to make his way into the main part of the house from there?'
'Yes, the communicating doors are still functioning, unlike this wing.'
'Then I shall leave it to you. I bid you good night and I am sorry to be the bearer of such alarming tidings.'
She was about to go when Mary stopped her. 'Come in with me, my dear, and tell me how you came to be looking out of your window in the middle of the night?'
'I would prefer to go back to my room, thank you. I had just got up for a call of nature and heard footsteps outside.' This explanation appeared to satisfy and she was allowed to leave without further interrogation. The last thing that was needed at this point was for them to be worrying about her self-inflicted injury.
Now that she was out of her bedchamber she thought it might be acceptable if she went downstairs in search of something to eat. She had been given a tour of the building and was confident she could find the kitchen. The range was alight, as it should be, and it was comparatively simple to get it burning at full heat again even with only one arm – and this her right hand which wasn't the one she used naturally.
Mama had always said being left-handed was what had made her contrary. Most young ladies would have been forced to use their right but her parents had been more accommodating and allowed her to continue to be different. Her lips curved as she wondered if Perry had actually noticed.
The kettle that was used was far too large for her to manage one-handed – what she needed was a small saucepan in which she could put either water or milk. Perhaps hot milk with honey would be beneficial as it should help her to sleep. This task achieved she went in search of something easy to eat with one hand. There was a large plum cake and half-eaten apple pie on one of the slate shelves in the vast larder. A piece of both of these would be ideal with her hot milk.
Taking them back to her room would be quite impossible so she dragged a chair up to the long table that dominated the kitchen and sat there. She had only ignited two candles, just sufficient for her to see what she was doing. Her hunger satisfied after devouring the cake and pie she drained her cup of milk and was ready to return. Before she could do that she must leave the kitchen in the pristine state she had found it.
Had the burglar been apprehended yet? There were dozens of male servants employed next door and she was certain they would easily overwhelm the unfortunate intruder. When the room was tidy once more she thought she would pull a chair close to the range and get warm again before venturing into the icy passageways.
Her damaged hand now hurt so badly she feared she would faint from the pain. With some difficulty she moved the rocking chair, reserved for Cook, close to the range. She rested her outstretched feet on the fender and closed her eyes hoping that by keeping her arm still the agony would subside, thus allowing her to return to her own chamber.
*
Perry shuffled forward with his arms outstretched in the direction he hoped would lead him to the exit. He collided with a solid object and stumbled to his knees cursing volubly. He fingered his way around the obstruction and then continued. Eventually his palms touched a wall – all he had to do now was sidle one way or the other and he would come to the door.
He moved right and had made the correct choice as his groping fingers touched the door frame. He found the knob and turned it. The door didn't budge. It had been locked from the outside – there was no key to turn where he was.
Once, when confined to his bedchamber for misbehaviour, he had pushed a piece of paper under the door and then managed to dislodge the key from the lock on the other side and pull it under so he could escape. He had been soundly thrashed for his disobedience but secretly thrilled he had managed to get out.
The problem at the moment was he was unlikely to find any paper in the Stygian darkness. However, he did have his knife so could attempt to dislodge the key, if indeed it was still in the keyhole on the other side, and then pray he could hook it back using the blade.
He dropped to his knees and began the delicate procedure. The key was there, he could feel it with the end of the blade. He wriggled and pushed and it fell out. Next, he lay on the floor, gripped the knife by the very end of its handle and slowly moved the blade from one side of the door to the other praying that the key had not fallen out of his reach.
Yes – he could feel it. If he was careful he might be able to somehow wriggle it back under the door and thus be able to free himself. The alternative was climbing back the way he had come in and he doubted he was capable of doing so without falling. On his fourth attempt the key was within his finger's grasp. What he needed was something to hook it and bring it the last few inches.
His temperature was falling, a strange lethargy was beginning to overcome him. Sitting still and going to sleep would be fatal – he had seen men perish in the bitter cold because they had refused to keep moving. He had no intention of making the same mistake. One more try and then he would wrap himself in the holland covers and march up and down the room until morning and he was rescued.
Perhaps it would be better to get his blood pumping before he had a last try. He fumbled his way into the centre of the room and for the second time almost went head first when he came in contact with the pile of furniture. The cotton sheets were voluminous and took some effort to remove. When he had folded the two he had managed to extricate, he wrapped them around his shoulders.
Then he began to walk briskly up and down the space between the window and the furniture. He did this until he was reasonably warm and then returned to the door. He flattened himself and pushed his forefinger beneath the door and just managed to hook the key.
*
Beau heard what Aubrey had to say with incredulity. 'Why in God's name would a burglar have chosen to climb into a disused part of the house? Good grief! The place has been empty for months, why did they not come then?'
'You can ask him when he is captured. Now we are alerted to his presence there is no urgency as he will not get into the main part of the house without being seen. You might as well get dressed – it would not do for the Duke of Silchester to be seen in his nightshirt.'
'Do not go without me, I am quite looking forward to the experience. As far as I know there has never been a burglary here – no one before has had the temerity.'
His brother had managed to rouse the butler who had gone back to his bedchamber to dress correctly. He had been told not to bother to wake up any of the footmen as the three of them could deal with one intruder quite easily.
Aubrey was more or less dressed, there was not a lot of difference between a white, cotton nightshirt and a normal shirt in his opinion.
'Are you ready, little brother? I think we had better collect pistols from the armoury just in case he has a weapon himself.' This detour took a further fifteen minutes. Then, both of them carrying a lantern, they trekked to the far end of the house and unlocked the communicating door.
He couldn't restrain his chuckle. 'Look at that, I had forgotten I had told them to lock the rooms but leave the keys in the doors. The wretched man will not be able to get out. All we have to do is creep along the passage and listen for any movement.'
The third door they stopped at they could hear someone moving inside. Aubrey lowered the light. 'The key is on the floor, I wonder if the varmint was trying to pull it through.' He reached down and inserted it into the lock.
'Quietly now,' Beau whispered, 'try and turn it without alerting him. You get out your pistol, but put your lamp down. We will only need one – mine.'
This was done in silence, even the key turned without a sound. He put his hand on the handle and prepared to yank the door open. He did so and they both charged forward. His feet came into contact with something solid and the next thing he knew he was spreadeagled on the floor. The lantern flew from his hand and the candle went out. The air turned blue.
'Devil take it! Aubrey, Beau, stop kicking me and let me unravel myself.'
'What the hell are you doing in here? We thought you were a burglar.'
'I went for a ride and got locked out. That doesn't explain why you two are here – how in God's name did anyone know where I was?'
Beau rolled to one side away from the melee of arms and legs and, by the faint glimmer of the lantern left on the floor outside, he could just make out Perry who appeared to be wrapped in a shroud. Aubrey scrambled to his feet and heaved his twin upright.
'It's perishing in here. Here, take my coat, your hands are like blocks of ice.'
'No, you keep it, I shall be fully recovered once I get somewhere warmer.'
'I doubt that anywhere is particularly convivial in the middle of the night, Perry, but Peebles can rout out some help and get the fires burning in your apartment. Until then, I have no idea where we will be most comfortable.'
*
The three of them met the butler who was holding the greatcoat and other items he had abandoned earlier. They were too cold to be of much use to him. 'I shall be better in my bed. No need to disturb anyone. I am quite capable of making up my own fire. Good night and I apologise for disturbing your rest.'
Perry marched briskly up and down his sitting room to get his blood flowing freely and once he was sufficiently warm he stripped off his garments and put on his nightshirt and robe. Peebles had insisted on making up both fires and then arrived half an hour later with a tray of coffee and cake.
He drank the coffee and devoured the cake before thinking about retiring. Tomorrow he would go next door and insist on speaking to his wife. He was concerned that she might have been upset at seeing what she supposed to be a burglar climbing into the house. Then he smiled. Such a thing would be of no moment to her, she was not like any other young lady and he was glad of it.
There seemed little point in going to bed as it would be dawn soon and he intended to present himself at his brother's door before breakfast. He spent an inordinate time on his appearance and chose an elaborate knot for his neckcloth. His waistcoat was blue silk, as were the lining and collar of his coat.
Satisfied he was smart enough to plead his case he sat at his escritoire, trimmed a pen and uncorked the ink. Writing down what he wanted to say to Sofia would make it easier when the time came. There might be only the one opportunity to try and persuade her to give him another chance, and he had no wish to make a sad mull of it.
After an hour the paper was still pristine. He had come up with nothing new to support his case. He could only apologise and pray she would forgive him. There was no excuse for his foolishness, unless being insanely jealous was an acceptable reason.
The clock had remained stubbornly on six o'clock and refused to move. He could wait no longer. He was going to rouse the household next door and demand to speak to his wife.