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IT PROVED TO BE MORE of a struggle than I anticipated but eventually Tilda and I managed to drag, and then stuff, our semi-conscious, but firmly bound, prisoner into the bottom of the wardrobe. I was thankful the key I’d spotted lying on the floor did, indeed, fit the lock, therefore I did not believe our disabled hostage would flee. Next, we not only lit the one remaining candle but also located a proper candleholder in which to secure it, mainly to prevent dripping wax from burning our fingers, or setting our gloves on fire. With both of us dressed as warmly as possible we finally set out to find our way in the dark to the opposite wing of the huge, rambling house.
“Do ye’ suppose they’ll be any supper left, miss?” Tilda asked.
We had just gained the tower staircase and were slowly and carefully heading downward, me one rung behind my maid, holding the candle over my head as high as I could without losing my balance on the steep stone stairs. “I am in hopes there will be. I know you are far hungrier than I but I confess I am beginning to feel quite faint from lack of sustenance. A sip of water, or wine, would not go amiss.”
“Might I also have a bit of wine, miss?”
“You are scarcely of an age for strong drink, Tilda, but I do not see why not, so long as it is sufficiently watered,” I replied. After a pause, I added, “However, most everything that is served at Montford Hall seems to be sufficiently watered so I suppose there is no cause for concern. So long as you do not overindulge.”
“This ain’t been as pleasant a holiday as we thought it would be, has it, miss?”
A huff escaped me. “Indeed, it has not.” To myself, I added, and it is not yet over.
“Wonder what Mr. Sheridan will say when you tell him what we done tonight.”
That remark brought a genuine smile to my lips. “I daresay he will find our antics quite amusing.”
“I daresay he will be right pleased that we are still alive,” Tilda replied pertly. “I hope he ain’t stranded somewhere awful.”
“As do I,” I quickly agreed. “I have been refusing to entertain all such thoughts to the contrary and cling to the notion that he is safe and . . .”
“And that he misses you and has plenty to eat and ain’t lost, or froze to death somewhere in the snow.”
“All of that,” I sighed. And, much, much more, I thought.
When at last we reached the final stone stair step, we discovered it took both of us pushing hard against the heavy wooden door at the base of the tower in order to enter the corridor that would eventually wind around to the occupied quarters on the ground floor.
“Ye’ think they’ll be surprised to see us, miss?”
I exhaled another breath. “I have no clue what our reception will be. I only hope our presence, and our tale of escape from the killer, will not be discredited, or dismissed, out of hand.”
“What are ye’ gonna’ say first?”
I made no reply. But, when Tilda and I reached the drawing room and it became evident from the mingled garble of voices coming from within that everyone was, indeed, present, I settled on exactly what I would say first. And, to whom.
After blowing out the candle and setting it aside, we removed our outer garments and dropped them onto chairs in the corridor. I next attempted to tuck the errant curls dangling before my cheeks back into the tangled knot at the nape of my neck. Then after smoothing the wrinkles from the long skirt of my gown, I lifted my chin before bravely pushing open the door to the drawing room. Tilda fell into step behind me as we both entered the spacious chamber. The air in the room felt delightfully warm to me, as I am certain it did to her. And, the lingering aroma from dinner smelled . . . enticing, although, I confess, I was hard pressed to determine precisely what might have been served that night. Still, it was food and did cause my insides to churn with hunger.
As expected, every head in the room instantly turned toward us as we advanced towards the company gathered before a blazing fire, most everyone cradling warm, or cool, drinks in their hands.
“Why, Miss Abbott!” Lady Montford cried from where she sat, “where have you been all day? We have all been worried sick!” Setting her fluted goblet of wine onto a piecrust tea table, she rose and rushed forward, both arms outstretched.
“Oh, do spare us, Clara,” snarled Ardeth. “You may have been worried sick, but the rest of us have scarcely noticed the girl was missing. I see her little maid is also alive and well. Shall we all say a prayer of thanksgiving now?”
Emma and Helen had also arisen, but did not rush to greet us. Carlotta continued to sit, both her hands and perhaps a foot tangled up in the cascade of blue yarn that had only just tumbled from her lap and now lay in a twisted jumble at her feet.
Three of the four gentlemen, Lord Montford, Mr. Egerton, and Mr. Lyttleton, who all stood in a cluster at the far end of the mantelpiece, also turned to stare somewhat open-mouthed at us. Mr. Nordstrom did not stir from where he sat, apparently dozing before the fire.
Without replying to Lady Montford’s query as to where I had been all day, I walked straight to her husband, Lord Montford, and standing before him, said, “I have located your missing pistol, sir. If you like, I will be glad to show you where it is.”
“A pistol!” cried Ardeth, springing to her feet. “She has a pistol! Miss Abbott intends to kill us all! Run, Emma! Carlotta! She has a pistol!”
Flinging his brandy snifter onto the hearth where the brandy splattered and the glass shattered, Lord Montford firmly clamped a hand onto my arm. “Assist, Egerton!” he ordered, “The deranged girl must be restrained before she kills again!”
Roughly clasping my arm, his lordship whirled me around and placed a tight stranglehold on my neck. I was far too stunned, and also far too small, to resist, although I did quickly realize that any such action on my part would prove useless against two grown men. Mr. Egerton had already grasped my other arm and was also holding on tight.
To my surprise, however, Tilda commenced to pummel his lordship’s backside with both balled up fists.
“Let her go! She ain’t got no gun!”
“Set to, Lyttleton!” Lord Montford exclaimed to the third gentleman. “The maid might have the pistol!”
Being quite quick on her feet, Tilda managed to elude both Mr. Egerton and Mr. Lyttleton’s efforts to snatch her. As nimble as the monkey I had once seen cavorting in Hyde Park, she snatched up a fireplace tool and jumped onto a nearby chair, menacingly holding the iron tool over her head. “I ain’t got no gun! But, make no mistake, I knows how to use this! I seen the clergyman kill Mr. Torbitt with it!”
“Tilda!” I cried. “Give the tool to Mr. Egerton! You mustn’t strike anyone!”
My little maid’s determined gaze slid to me. “I could get ‘em all with one blow, miss!”
“I am certain you could. But, to resort to violence will not serve. Please, relinquish your weapon at once.”
“I was jes’ tryin’ to save you, miss.” She continued to rock from one foot to the other on the chair. “Like you done me.”
At that juncture, Lady Montford appeared before me, her chin elevated, her tone calm. “Are you carrying a pistol, Miss Abbott?”
“No, ma’am.” I shook my head. “I am not. And, neither is Tilda. I merely told your husband that I had located his missing pistol and that I will be glad to show him where it is. I assure you, it is not on my person. Furthermore, I did not come here to . . . to visit harm on anyone.”
“John, you will release Miss Abbott at once.” She turned to Tilda, still standing on the chair, the fireplace tool gripped tightly in her hands, although she had lowered it to the level of her chest. “And what about you, Miss Tilda? Do you intend using your weapon against any one of us?”
“N-Not unless one of you hurts Miss Abbott,” she replied defiantly. “If it comes to that, I’d be obliged to hurt ever’one! She saved me from the killer. I owes her me life, and I always pays me debts.”
Lady Montford calmly reached for the fireplace tool, but before relinquishing it, Tilda flung a questioning look my way. When I nodded assent, she obediently handed over the poker. But she was not done talking.
“I saw the clergyman kill Mr. Torbitt, ma’am. He hit ‘im over the head with a iron tool just like that one, then he thumped him agin and agin. I saw ‘im do it, I did!”
“I see.” Lady Montford paused, then said, “Where did you . . . where were you, Miss Tilda, when you saw this . . . clergyman commit a crime. Where exactly were you when the deadly attack took place?”
“I was standin’ a few steps from ‘im in the corridor abovestairs, ma’am. The clergyman, he sprung from ‘round a corner and commenced to whack old Mr. Torbitt on the head. I was too shocked to move, then the clergyman grabbed me and drug me off with him. I been tied up ever since, ‘til Miss Abbott come to rescue me. ”
“Tied up?” Lady Montford cried. “Did this . . . this clergyman . . . harm you, my dear? Did he . . . molest you?”
From where I stood, my captors now having rather reluctantly released their hold on me, I noted that tears had begun to well in Tilda’s already red-rimmed eyes. I moved to take her hand and she allowed me to assist her down from the chair to the floor.
At that moment, Ardeth stepped up, her lips pressed together. “What is the silly maid rambling on about? How can you believe what either of them are saying, Clara? They are clearly lying in an attempt to gain our sympathy. Not a word of their ridiculous story can be true.”
I turned to address Ardeth. “I wonder if you might be acquainted with the clergyman, Lady Westcott? A gentleman who appears to be about twenty years of age and who . . . wishes you ill.”
Ardeth scoffed, “Now, what are you babbling about? I am not now, nor have I ever been, acquainted with a clergyman!”
“Well, I cannot dispute that,” I replied archly.
“Miss Abbott,” Lady Montford began again, “I recall telling you there is no living here at Montford Hall and therefore, no man of the cloth is currently in residence. Have you seen this . . . clergyman?”
Before I could reply, Tilda spoke up. “He was plannin’ to kill . . . her!” Tilda jabbed a thumb at Ardeth. “He calls her the lying bitch!”
Horrified, I turned again to my maid. “Please, Tilda, do allow me to explain things in a civil fashion.”
“You must both come and sit down, Miss Abbott. It is quite clear that you are both overwrought from your trying ordeal. Would you like a bit of tea, or wine; perhaps, a biscuit?”
“I’d like both, ma’am,” Tilda said in a rush. “I ain’t ate nothing since I left here two days ago. I’m near starved now, make no mistake!”
“Thank you, ma’am. Tilda and I would both welcome something to eat. A bit of wine and biscuits, or bread and butter, sounds delightful.”
“Humph. I cannot think why you are catering to them, Clara,” Ardeth grumbled as she turned back to her place before the fire. “They are both clearly fabricating falsehoods and should be severely punished.”
“Ardeth, please. Gaston, bring over whatever is still on the table and also pour out two glasses of wine for our guests.”
Once Tilda and I were hungrily gobbling up the bread and butter, and had each drained our wine glasses, twice; his lordship again addressed me.
“So, what is this about having found my pistol, young lady? If you did not abscond with it yourself, how did you know one went missing? Appears to me you have a good deal of explaining to do, Miss Abbott. You and your maid.” He shot an accusing look at Tilda who was far too busy eating to bother glaring back at him. Now.