The man gave a low moan. “Effie. I tried to get her out of this place, but they soon recaptured me and separated us.”
Caro wanted to ask how long ago that had been, but it was evident he was too weak to withstand such a barrage of questions. Instead, she asked, “Who did this to you? Are you injured?”
He nodded and shifted on the bed to lift his shirt, revealing what appeared to be a knife wound in his side. “Bastard stabbed me,” he bit out.
“Who?” Kate asked, from Caro’s other side. “Who stabbed you?”
“One of Croyden’s men.” He scowled. “They took me when I wouldn’t tell them where Effie’s letters from Mary Killeen were. When they started watching Effie’s house, I took them to my rooms for safekeeping. They were her only proof connecting her to the old earl. Croyden’s man said he wanted all traces of Effie’s connections to him erased. Didn’t know it was him until then, though. Swear it.”
“The scoundrel,” Caro said in a low voice. “He and Tate are definitely working together, then?”
Thorn nodded. “Didn’t know about Tate.”
He was obviously tiring, his words slurring and a sheen of sweat coating his face. Caro feared that they’d not be able to get him to safety before he succumbed to the infection in his wound. “That’s enough for now,” she told him. “You rest and we’ll do what we can to get out of here.”
“And Effie.” He clasped her by the arm, his grip surprisingly strong as he nearly sat all the way up. “Don’t forget to find my Effie.”
“We will,” Caro assured him in a soothing tone. “We won’t forget Effie.”
Her words must have eased his mind because he slumped back down onto the pillow and he closed his eyes again.
Caro and Kate moved away from the bed so that they could confer without disturbing him.
“He needs medical attention.” Kate frowned. “It doesn’t seem as if they’ve done anything to see to his wound at all.”
“Mick and Gert don’t appear to be the most conscientious of jail keepers,” Caro agreed.
“My question is,” Kate began, “where is Effie? Is she even being held here?”
“We have to search the house. I can’t imagine a more convenient location for them to be holding her than here, but we won’t know until we’ve looked.” Caro scanned the room for anything they might use to clean Mr. Thorn’s wound. “If I were them, I’d try to keep the prisoners separated, if only to keep them from working together to escape.”
There was a cold pitcher of water near the fireplace, but that was all. An injury like Frank’s would need hot water, and something to disinfect it.
“What’s the plan?” Kate asked. “Frank doesn’t have much time. And we don’t know how long Val and Andrew’s interview with Croyden will take before they see your note. Fortunately, Val should be able to convince Tate’s man of business to give him the address on his own, since he won’t have a letter of introduction from Lady Tate as we did.”
Caro went to see if the window might offer a means of escape but found that iron bars had been installed to prevent them from being opened. “I’m not sure what kind of man chooses to have the windows in his mistress’s house fitted with bars, but my guess is not a good one.”
“One who chooses to kidnap a woman when she rejects him, so no, not a good man,” Kate returned dryly.
It had been just before dusk when they arrived, and already the sky outside was darkening. They had to find a way out, but how?
Pacing, Caro felt the weight of her pistol hit against her thigh. She’d long ago made sure all her gowns were made with pockets, and today she was especially glad of it. “I’ve got my pistol,” she told Kate in a low voice. “We’ve got to get out of this room and find Effie.”
Kate stepped closer so no one listening in the hall could hear them. “How?”
“I could try to shoot the lock off the door,” Caro offered.
“It’s on the outside,” Kate countered. “Otherwise, that might have worked.”
Biting back a curse, Caro bit her lip and thought. What would cause their captors to unlock the door?
“We could scream,” Kate suggested. “They might be curious enough to come running.”
“I can’t imagine Effie and Mr. Thorn haven’t already tried that.” Caro sighed. “We need to frighten Gert and Mick into opening the door. They obviously don’t care about the health of Mr. Thorn.”
“They might care very much about the health of a viscount’s wife, who will one day be the wife of a duke,” Kate said. “I wasn’t sure how Tate would respond as it’s unlikely he’ll ever hang for his crimes, but as for Gert and Mick…I’d imagine they’d do just about anything to ensure you stay alive.”
Caro added, “My father’s name might help. Everyone in London knows Hardcastle Fine Foods. Money might be enough to persuade Mick and Gert where the milk of human kindness will not.”
“I like it.” Kate nodded.
They took a few moments to solidify their plan before setting it into motion.
First, Caro arranged herself on the floor in front of the fireplace, the iron poker lying beside her as if it had been used to strike her. Hidden from view was her pistol, which she held in her pocket. One of the pillows from the bed also half covered her as if Mr. Thorn had tossed it to the floor in his haste to attack. He was clearly far too weak to have done anything like that, but the plan only needed their captors to act on their first reaction and come inside.
“Ready?” Kate asked.
“Ready.”
“Okay, go.”
Caro sat up and let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Mr. Thorn, no! What are you doing?” She screamed again and Kate dropped a book they’d found in a near-empty bookcase onto the floor.
“Take that, you brute!” Kate cried, then picked up the book and dropped it again. “Caroline? Caroline? Speak to me!”
She waited exactly ten seconds before she began pounding on the door. “Mick! Gert! Please come quickly! Mr. Thorn has attacked Lady Wrackham! She’s bleeding! Oh, you must come! What will the viscount, or his father the duke, do if she dies? She’s the heiress to Hardcastle Fine Foods, for heaven’s sake!”
When there was no response from downstairs, Kate pummeled on the door again, calling out to their captors once more. This time, they were rewarded by the sound of footsteps on the staircase.
“Orright, orright,” they heard Mick muttering. “Keep yer hat on.”
“Oh, please, Mick,” Kate cried. “You must help her!”
“Lady, ye best be telling the truth or ye’ll feel the back o’ me hand.”
They heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock followed by the snick of it being turned.
Kate, who had picked up one of the other fireplace tools, stood with her arm down, the iron shovel hidden in her skirts. The door opened inward, and she stepped behind it as Mick entered to see Caro lying on the floor.
“Where’s t’other bird?” He glanced around before stepping closer to Caro. Kate took the opportunity to fell him with the iron shovel.