CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Felicity moved back toward where the three footmen were picking up Mr. Merrick’s limp body and carrying him out of the room.
Lady Blackstone turned, as did Mr. Ratley, to face Felicity.
Felicity placed her hands on her cheeks. “I feel very faint. This is even more shocking than finding a dead body in the garden.”
Mr. Ratley took out his handkerchief and tried to use it to fan Felicity’s face, but it was not very effective.
“Let me fetch you some wine.” Lady Blackstone stepped to the sideboard and lifted a decanter next to the urn where Felicity had just hidden the papers.
Would they be visible? Would she see them sticking out?
Mr. Ratley patted the inside of her wrists. “I saw a lady do this when a girl fainted at a party I was attending in Bristol. It’s good for your circulation.”
He was patting so zealously it was actually painful, but Felicity said nothing. Lady Blackstone brought her the glass of wine.
“Here you are, my dear. This should help settle your nerves. And please don’t worry about anything. The capture of traitors need not concern you in the slightest. Forget you ever knew that man. Your Oliver and I shall take care of all the unpleasant details.”
Felicity obediently sipped her wine. “But you won’t kill him? You said you would hold him prisoner instead.”
“Darling, we must consider what is best for everyone,” Mr. Ratley said.
“We will not kill him tonight, at least,” Lady Blackstone said, “so you may sleep well and not worry. And you will forgive me for searching your room, won’t you, my dear?” Lady Blackstone peered into her face.
“Of course.” Felicity looked down, hoping they would see hurt in her expression. “I understand that you must be very careful, for everyone’s sake. I shall forget about the little thing of having my room searched, but if a man I have talked with, had dinner with, and danced with at a ball is killed while he lies helpless in an outdoor shed . . .” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m afraid that would be much harder to forget.”
Lady Blackstone huffed. Had Felicity gone too far?
“Go up to your room, Felicity. Get some sleep. We are all exhausted after a trying day.”
“Yes, my lady.” Felicity kept her gaze lowered as Mr. Ratley took her arm and led her toward the staircase.
“I am sorry you had to see that violence, my darling,” Mr. Ratley said.
Felicity sniffed but didn’t look up.
When they stopped in front of her room, he leaned down to kiss her, but she presented him with her cheek. He kissed it.
“When I close my eyes, I see that man’s poor battered face. Good night, Oliver.” She opened her door and went inside, shutting it behind her.
Philip lay on the mattress where they threw him. His rib was probably cracked, as every breath caused a sharp pain. Thankfully, all his teeth seemed intact. He moved his jaw up and down, but it didn’t feel broken. His cheekbone was a different story. It was hugely swollen, and the pain was intense.
They had left his wrists tied. What would happen to him now? If he could not escape, they would surely kill him, despite what they had told Miss Mayson. That was just to placate her.
“Oh, Miss Mayson,” he said softly, and moaned, since no one was there to hear him.
He had opened his eyes just a bit when she had been leaning over him, touching his face with the cloth. The compassion in her expression as she gazed at him . . . It had squeezed his stomach, but rather pleasantly, to witness her concern for him.
He shouldn’t think of her that way—the terrified but fierce look in her eyes, the way her hair fell about her face, the tears threatening to fall. How much he wished he could touch her face.
But the first thing he had to do was get these ropes off.
It was quite dark in the shed, reminding him of the time he had been trapped there with Miss Mayson. They had been in several compromising situations that would have ruined her reputation if anyone had discovered them. Throughout, she had shown intelligence, strength of mind, modesty, and good character. She was exactly the girl he wished to marry. And if she were in here with him again, he would . . . but his prospects were far from certain. How could he ask her to take a chance that he might make his fortune someday?
What would happen to Miss Mayson if he died? She might be forced to marry Mr. Ratley. Or if she refused, Lady Blackstone was ruthless enough to kill her. He couldn’t let that happen.
He made the effort to push himself into a sitting position. His head throbbed, but he did his best to ignore it. He looked around for something he might use to cut his bonds. If his hands were free, he might find a way to climb up to the window high in the wall and crawl out.
It was difficult to stand, with his sore ribs and bound hands, but a feeling of urgency spurred him to make the effort, and he managed to get to his feet. He stood still, waiting for his vision to stop spinning, then he started walking around the room, inspecting everything, looking for any kind of sharp object, a piece of broken glass, anything.
When he made it back around to the door again, he tried to open it with his hands, standing on his toes to reach the knob. It was definitely locked. Later he might try ramming his shoulder against it, but for now, he wasn’t sure he could stay conscious if he tried that.
Suddenly, he noticed a nail protruding about an inch through the wall next to the door. He touched his finger to it. It was surprisingly sharp. He pressed his ropes against it, finding one particular spot, and rubbed with a sawing motion as hard as he was able to stand as the rope chafed his wrists.
Hope rose inside him as he stared at the window, planning and working at the nail.
Felicity lay in bed thinking of Mr. Merrick and how she might help to free him.
An hour after she had gone to bed, she put on a loose dress over her nightgown and went downstairs, planning to go out to the shed and see if she could figure out a way to get inside. But she heard voices near the door leading outside. It sounded like Lady Blackstone. That lady would surely deduce what Felicity was planning to do if she saw her. So she went back up to her room.
She tried to imagine how much pain Mr. Merrick was in. Would he incur permanent damage, having his hands tied behind his back for so long? Not to mention the injuries from the beating to his face. And when she thought of how he had saved her from the runaway horse, and how he might have escaped and been on his way to his own home at that very moment if he had not taken the time and trouble to save her . . . she couldn’t hold back the tears, and soon her pillow was quite wet and cold.
She awakened from a nightmare just as dawn was breaking. Once more, she got dressed and walked quietly down the stairs.
The back door was locked, but the key was in the keyhole. Felicity turned it, and it opened. She slipped out and closed it as quietly as possible.
It was beginning to rain, more of a light mist, and Felicity ran along the ground to the shed. She tried the knob, but it was locked. “Mr. Merrick!” she called in a loud whisper. “Are you in there?”
She listened but heard nothing. She tried again, calling louder this time, “Mr. Merrick! It’s Felicity Mayson.”
Silence. Oh dear. Could he be unconscious? Or worse? She had heard of people expiring from head injuries. They simply went to sleep and never awakened. Surely that would not happen to Mr. Merrick. He was so strong.
She knocked on the door. “Mr. Merrick?”
She decided to walk around the building. On the west side, underneath the window, broken glass lay on the ground. She looked up. The window was completely out. She looked closer at the ground and saw a drop of red. Was that blood? She touched it, and the red liquid stuck to her finger. She held it close to her nose. The metallic smell was blood.
Had Mr. Merrick managed to crawl out the window, thereby cutting himself? If so, he was free, thank God. “Let him not be seriously injured,” she whispered, clasping her hands.
After the quick prayer, Felicity ran back to the house. She’d nearly forgotten the papers behind the urn in the dining room. She went in and found them just where she’d placed them. She stuffed them up her sleeve and hurried to her room. Surely everyone else was still sleeping after the eventful day and evening.
But now, where could she hide the papers? Lady Blackstone had already searched her room once. Would she search it again? Besides that, Lady Blackstone would not forget the papers for long. She would go back to the dining room looking for them.
Felicity sat down at her little desk. She would copy the papers and then return them to the dining room. She took up her pen and quickly copied the names and places Mr. Merrick—she should probably start thinking of him as Mr. McDowell—had written in his masculine handwriting. She wrote as small as she could while still keeping the lists legible. She wrote until she was nearly out of ink, but she finished copying everything on two sheets of paper.
She looked about her room. Aunt Agnes was still asleep in her bed, so Felicity did her best not to wake her.
She spied her own Book of Common Prayer beside the bed and folded the papers until they were small enough and then stuck them between the pages of the book.
Somehow, she needed to get her new lists to Mr. McDowell and the Home Office. This information had been important enough to him that he was willing to give his life for it.
Some of the servants would be up by now. They might see her returning the papers to the dining room. But she would rather risk that than risk Lady Blackstone discovering them missing and then finding them in her room.
Once again Felicity ventured down the stairs and hurried to the dining room. No one seemed to be stirring. She darted to the large table, tossed the crumpled papers onto it, and bolted out again.
Whistling sounded from one of the rooms down the corridor. Felicity slowed her step, trying to appear calm. But once she reached the steps, she hurried up as fast she could, until she was safe once again in her room.
Her blood went cold at the thought of Lady Blackstone and Mr. Ratley and everyone else there being hanged for insurrection and treason. But wouldn’t she feel much worse if the royal family was murdered, along with the Members of Parliament and many other innocent people? No, she had to get those lists into the hands of the authorities, no matter the cost.
At least Mr. Merrick—Mr. McDowell—had escaped. She felt so comforted at the thought of him being safely back in London again, or at least on his way, she changed into her nightgown and went back to bed.
Felicity awoke to shouts outside her window. She’d only been asleep an hour, so it was still early. They must have discovered Mr. McDowell had escaped.
She considered going downstairs to ask what the commotion was about. Or was it better to remain in bed, pretending she had not heard anything?
Aunt Agnes continued her heavy breathing, oblivious to the noises, but Felicity couldn’t resist going to the window and peeking down at the yard below.
Men were running around the shed, the door of which stood wide open. More men were going in and out of the stable, at least one leading a horse out. Lady Blackstone was speaking in a loud voice, turning this way and that as she stood in one spot.
Felicity moved away from the window and got back into bed. She clasped her hands and prayed. “God, I beg you to help him make it back to London safely. Don’t let him get caught. Give him favor.”
Felicity waited for someone to send for her or come to her room. Finally, when she could stay still no longer, she got up and began dressing herself. She was nearly ready when a knock came at the door.
Lady Blackstone burst in without waiting for an invitation.
“Felicity, I see you are up and dressed.”
“I only need someone to button the top of my dress.”
Lady Blackstone strode forward and buttoned the top two buttons.
“I heard noises, shouts. Is something amiss?”
“Yes. Do you know anything about Mr. Merrick escaping?”
“He has escaped?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. The scullery maid said she thought she saw you skulking about the shed at dawn.”
“I admit I did go out there. I couldn’t stop thinking of what a terrible state Mr. Merrick was in when they took him to the shed. I went to ask him if he was well. He made me no answer, so I went back inside and back to bed.”
“Did you help him escape?” Lady Blackstone leaned toward her and shook her finger in Felicity’s face.
“No, I avow to you, my lady, I did nothing to help him.”
Mr. Ratley suddenly entered through her open door. Poor Aunt Agnes was starting to rouse herself, sitting up in bed and saying in a groggy voice, “What is the matter? Felicity?”
“All is well, Auntie,” Felicity said as pleasantly as she could. “Do not upset yourself.”
Mr. Ratley approached Lady Blackstone. “It appears he broke through his bonds, which were lying on the ground, climbed up to the window, broke it out, and escaped through it. He somehow saddled and took his horse without anyone seeing or hearing anything.”
“Traitors. I will question the groom who was supposed to be watching the horses. Bring him to the small sitting room.”
“Yes.” Mr. Ratley turned, then stopped and looked at Felicity. He nodded to her and left.
“Felicity, you seem to have some kind of infatuation with Mr. Merrick.”
“Not at all. I do not know what you mean.” She tried to remain calm and dignified.
“Be that as it may, you shall suffer the same fate as the rest of us if Mr. Merrick has us arrested.”
“Do you think he will have us arrested?”
“He has no evidence against us,” Lady Blackstone said. “It is only his word against ours, and thankfully”—she held up the crumpled papers Felicity had returned to the dining room and smiled triumphantly—“he did not get the information he tried to steal from me.”
“Oh, that is a relief.” Felicity placed a hand over her heart and sighed.
Lady Blackstone reached out and patted Felicity’s cheek, as she had been wont to do when Felicity had first arrived at Doverton Hall. “Forgive me once again, my dear, for my suspicions of you. I know you would never want to see myself or Mr. Ratley hanged.”
Felicity tried to look meek. “I understand. It is a difficult time.”
“Yes, and now we must prepare for the worst because of that traitorous Merrick, or whatever his name is.” Lady Blackstone straightened her shoulders and slapped the papers against her palm. “We have to move the guns from the shell grotto where he knows we have hidden them. We will have to send the men out to warn everyone. And we will strike sooner, rather than later. Our plans will not be thwarted, no matter what Merrick does.”
“You are so clever and brave, my lady.”
Lady Blackstone’s expression turned grim. “I have had to do many things that most people would shrink from, just to ensure my own survival. No one knows, but I killed my first husband.” Her dark eyes fastened on Felicity, boring into her. “It was done in self-defense. He lunged at me, the drunken fool, with a knife in his hand. But I never drank in excess, and that gave me an edge—I’ve never forgotten that.” She stared at the wall before turning back to Felicity. “I took the knife away from him and stabbed him. It was so easy, I was surprised. And it was equally easy to convince the constable that he’d fallen on his own knife.”
Felicity stared back at Lady Blackstone, her fingers tingling uncomfortably and her toes going cold.
“And that is why I am so well suited to revolution. I know I am able to kill when necessary. So many people are unsure if they are capable of what is necessary. But I know that I am capable.”
“Did you kill that man in the garden?” Felicity whispered, holding her breath as she waited for Lady Blackstone’s answer.
Lady Blackstone said nothing for a moment, staring back at Felicity as if they were speaking of dress patterns or wallpaper. “I could have killed him—it was necessary—but I insisted Mr. Ratley do it. He had to show me he was capable, after all, before the revolution began, and we all were depending on him to be able to do whatever terrible deeds were necessary. For killing is terrible, Felicity. But sometimes it is necessary for the good of others.”
Felicity swallowed and nodded. “Yes, of course.”
Lady Blackstone smiled. “I must go. Mr. Ratley and I shall stay at Doverton Hall, but nearly everyone else will be leaving.”
Felicity took a breath to ask her if she and Aunt Agnes could also leave and go home, but she stopped herself.
“We need to pray,” Felicity said. “May Aunt Agnes and I go to church today?”
“Church?” Lady Blackstone looked confused for a moment. “It is Sunday, isn’t it?” She said it more as a statement than a question, then stared at the window. “Very well, but you should take a manservant with you, and don’t talk to anyone. We’ll be moving the weapons today. Perhaps, for that reason, it is good that so many people will be at church.” Her expression lightened as she said, “Yes, tell the rector, Mr. Birtwistle, that my guests have all gone back to London to enjoy the rest of the Season, and I am unwell. That is why I was not able to be at church today.”
Felicity smiled and nodded, and Aunt Agnes said from her bed, “Very good, Lady Blackstone. You may depend upon us.” But as she sounded as meek as ever, with her shaky voice, it was no wonder Lady Blackstone did not see her as a threat. Perhaps Felicity could use that to her advantage.