Page 21 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl (Marriage Mart Scandals #2)

“Let me out!” Emmeline shouted, banging against the door with her fists. She had been doing the same thing for at least ten minutes, but nobody had heard her. She drew in a breath, exhaustion making her slump down against the cold stone wall. Nobody could hear through the thick stone walls.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “There must be something I can do... there must be a way out,” she murmured, her voice raw and low as she fought to steady herself.

She shut her eyes wearily. Her knuckles were raw with beating on the stone and her throat hurt. It was cold in the stone corridor. She was only wearing a summer day dress of white muslin and the chill sank into her bones. She leaned back, feeling the stone press into her shoulders. As she sat there with her eyes shut, she became aware of a breath of wind on her cheek. She reached up to tuck her hair back from her face and tensed as the implication of that slight breeze cannoned into her mind.

“There’s got to be an opening!”

If there was a breeze in the tunnel, somewhere there was a gap of some sort to the outdoors. She stood, filled with renewed strength, and walked slowly in the direction from which the breeze had come. It was pitch dark in the tunnel and the floor was damp. She shuddered as she proceeded onwards. The floor was slippery, and she went slowly. If she fell and was injured, she would not be able to escape.

There was a faint light and slowly her eyes became accustomed to the almost-complete darkness. The breeze was stronger on her cheeks, and she walked onwards. The floor sloped sharply downward, prompting her to take cautious, measured steps forward.

“Please, let me find a way out,” she repeated in the darkness. “Please, let me not fall.”

Images flashed into her mind as she walked. Amelia, somewhere at home with Uncle Henry and Aunt Patricia. If she died in the tunnel, she would never see Amelia again. Andrew’s face came next, his haunting blue eyes focused on her, his thin lips moving, whispering words of love.

“If I get out of here,” she said aloud to his imagined face, “the first thing I’m going to do is ask you what on Earth is going on. ”

The thought of shouting at Andrew, demanding that he explain himself and explain his terrifying cousins, gave her strength. Despite the horror of the situation, thinking of Andrew made her smile. Even anger towards him was precious, even the uncertainty and torment that he made her experience. It was something she shared with him and as she half-fell in the darkness, she realised what that meant.

“I am in love with him.”

She said it aloud, the darkness empty of listening, judging ears. The realisation was like running into a wall—forceful and unexpected. The strange, intense, maddening, and altogether wonderful feeling she experienced when he was close was love. She was in love with Andrew.

A brief smile lit her face, her heart soaring. Immediately, fresh horror set in. What if it was impossible to escape? What if Ambrose and Lydia came to finish the job before she got out? She would never be able to tell Andrew that she loved him.

She walked forward, slowly and determinedly, following the sloping passageway downhill.

As she walked, the tunnel became colder, and it became harder to feel the whisper of breeze on her skin. She stood still, thinking for a moment that she could no longer feel it, but it was there, caressing her cheek like unseen fingers, making her hair tickle her neck. She brushed her hair back from her sweat-damp skin and continued.

The tunnel went down, and then, abruptly, stopped. She gave a small cry of alarm as she walked into a wall.

“Where am I?” she whispered, a small, frightened sound.

She could see a stony, hard surface before her and she realised that there was an opening in the wall, but high overhead. She let out a cry of despair.

“I can’t get through that,” she said aloud. It was far too high up, and, even if she climbed up the rough surface of the wall, she was certain it was too small to allow her passage out.

She turned around, feeling terrified. She had been sure there was a way out, but now it seemed truly as though she was trapped. The floor sloped behind her, and she followed the new tunnel for a few paces but slipped and screamed and fell.

“This is stupid,” she told herself firmly. She was sitting on the cold stone floor, her dress wet from the damp stone. Her leg ached where she had fallen on it, and her hands were scratched on the palms too. Oddly, anger had replaced despair, and with the anger came a sort of clarity. There was no point in going down; not when the possibility of falling seemed so much higher than the chance of finding a route out. It made more sense to go back along the tunnel she had started in and try to open the door again.

She stood up and started walking back along the tunnel.

She had only walked a few paces when she reached the gap in the wall. She heard something—a voice, or something like a voice. Someone must be in the garden high above.

“Help!” she yelled. “Help me!”

No sound came in answer and the voice ceased. Emmeline sobbed, despair finally claiming her. There was no way out. She had truly believed that the hole in the wall might be her escape, but even calling out had not worked.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I have to figure this out,” she whispered fiercely.

She leaned against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Andrew; his thin-lipped smile, his eyes that sometimes flared with concern and warmth. His tender touch on her hand, the beauty of his kiss. She sobbed again, throwing out one hand in a gesture of despair.

Her hand grazed down the wall, but she was beyond caring at that moment. Her knuckles moved over something hard before her hand hit the floor and it was a moment or two before a thought struck her. The hardness had been smooth and cold—not stone, but metal.

“What?”

She frowned. There was something metal sticking out of the wall. It was something like a knob or a lever, and her heart started to pound. She lifted her hand again until she located the knob, and then she reached for it with both hands, exploring it in the almost-complete dark.

It was a metal knob, about the size of a doorknob. She gripped it and tried turning it, and then tried pulling it. Nothing happened.

She sobbed again, desperately. She had to get out! She grappled with the knob, turning and twisting, but her hands moved on the smooth, cold surface and nothing moved. She pulled it again, and then, in desperation and rage, she stood and kicked it, a wordless yell of anger bursting from her.

Something moved .

There was a slight sound, like a grating, grinding noise, and Emmeline kicked the knob again. This time, she could not doubt it. Something was moving. A section of the wall was moving inwards, turning. Her heart soared as, gratingly, slowly, began to slide inwards.

“It’s moving!” she murmured, hope rekindling as she prepared to step forward.

There was a way out.

Tears moved slowly down her cheeks as she cried out of gratitude and relief. It had been so close! She could have taken the other tunnel and perhaps never found a way out, or she could have gone back and wasted hours fruitlessly hitting against the outer door. It was a miracle that she had found it at all.

The door slid and grated and stuck. Emmeline wriggled forward. The daylight blinded her eyes. The gap was just big enough for her to slide through. Her dress tore as she wriggled through, but it didn’t matter. She blinked in the sudden light and tried to work out where she was.

She was sitting on the floor in what looked like a hallway. The floor was wooden and dusty, and she gazed up at the ceiling high overhead. There were windows on one side, letting in rich, warm daylight and she shut her eyes for a moment in quiet appreciation. Then she stood up and started to run. The hallway was one she recognised—it was downstairs, in the part of the building that linked the dining room and library to the old ballroom. Andrew had told her never to go there because it was dangerous; the ceiling was starting to cave in, and it was forbidden to enter there. She ran down the hallway, her heart pounding with new fear. Ambrose and Lydia did not know she had escaped, but the moment they saw her she was in danger again. They had locked her in there, in all likelihood believing she would never get out. If they were desperate enough to kill someone in such a horrid manner to protect their secrets, then they were desperate enough to try again if they found out that they had failed. Her hands sweating, heart pounding, she ran in earnest down the hallway.

“Andrew!”

The library door was open, and she spotted him standing there, his head tilted back as he gazed up at the ceiling. He turned and saw her, and his eyes widened in concern and shock.

“Emmeline!” he exclaimed. “Whatever happened?”

“Andrew!” She ran to him and threw herself into his arms, clinging desperately to him. Now that she was with him and safe, the fear crashed in on her, insurmountable and debilitating. She was shivering, sobbing, clinging to his coat. He held her and she leaned against his shirt-clad chest and cried.

“Emmeline,” he murmured. His voice was low with concern, and he held her tight. “What happened? What just happened?”

“Shut the door, please, Andrew,” she asked, gazing up at him. “Please. Lock it too, if you can.”

“Of course,” Andrew replied gently. He went to the door and shut it, then she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. She slumped against the wall, exhaustion making her legs give way.

Andrew ran to her, crouching down on the floor.

“Emmeline!” he called urgently. “What is the matter? What happened? Do you need a physician? Are you ill?”

“No,” Emmeline whispered. She was so tired. Now that she was safe, all she wanted to do was to sleep. “It’s Ambrose and Lydia,” she told him in hushed tones. “They are plotting to kill you. Please be careful. They locked me in a tunnel. I heard them talking. I...” She could not speak anymore; a sob catching her throat. “I’m so cold and tired and it was terrifying , Andrew,” she sobbed. “It was so frightening in there. I thought I would never escape. I thought...I thought I’d never see you again.” She looked up at him, each line of his face more precious than she had remembered.

“Emmeline,” Andrew said gently. He stroked her hair, his other hand resting on her shoulder, holding her upright. “Shh. It’s all right. Please tell me again slowly. I don’t think I followed what you said.” His face was a picture of confusion and fear.

Emmeline took a breath, trying to fight the sobs that seemingly would not stop.

“I heard Ambrose and Lydia talking,” she began. “They were in the drawing room. I hadn’t meant to spy, but when I heard them talking about you, I stayed to listen. They were saying that they had to act quickly. That they had to...to depose you soon. Before you acquire an heir.” Her heart thudded. “They caught me listening. Lydia did. And Ambrose. He...he...” She started sobbing again. “He shut me in a tunnel. It was so dark in there, and the walls were stone and I thought I would never escape.”

Andrew’s gaze had been wide with disbelief, but when she said what Ambrose had done to her, his eyes narrowed.

“That wicked...” he trailed off. His hand ceased stroking her hair, clenching into a fist. “When I catch him, he will know what suffering is. ”

Emmeline blinked in surprise. She had never heard Andrew speak so strongly about anything. She gazed into his eyes, and he stared back.

“He could have killed you.” His voice was thick with feeling. “He tried to. I cannot forgive him any of what he has done, but mostly I cannot forgive him that.” He reached for her and held her close.

Emmeline blinked in surprise, and it was only after a few seconds, after the bliss of feeling his warm arms crushing her close had settled that she realised something.

“You cannot forgive him any of what he has done?” she repeated. “What did he do?”

Andrew looked at her. His blue eyes were drained of emotion—he looked so angry that there was nothing left except a sort of arid coldness.

“He tried to kill Grandma, too. He and Lydia. They have been poisoning her slowly. Or, that wicked creature who sets himself up as a physician has. Wainwright. He has been giving her poison in her tea.” His expression was a mix of disgust and rage.

“No!” Emmeline gaped. “They’ve poisoned Lady Rilendale?” She took Andrew’s hand, horror draining her of strength.

“No,” Andrew reassured her. “They tried, but she knew from the first moment they began. She has been throwing the tea out of the window.” His lips lifted in the corner, a smile of love blossoming on his face. “She wondered if she has been poisoning the trees with it.”

Emmeline giggled. The comment was typical of the older lady.

“Is she all right?” she asked at once.

Andrew smiled fondly. “She is well. Trust you to be more concerned about her than you are about yourself. You just escaped a tunnel, you know.”

Emmeline laughed; a small, shaky giggle.

“I suppose,” she agreed.

“Quite so,” Andrew replied. “Now, we have work to do. Grandma told me something else. She needs me to find some journals. I’ll tell you about it later—first, I want you to go upstairs and get warm and change into some dry clothes. You’ll catch a fever running around like that.” He frowned.

Emmeline shook her head. “I am staying with you,” she said firmly.

Andrew drew a breath, about to argue, but then he sighed.

“All right. But I insist that you wear my coat. Here,” he added, shrugging out of it and dropping it over her shoulders .

“Thank you,” Emmeline murmured. She gathered it around her shoulders and held it close. It was a fine wool weave, and thick, and with it on she was instantly warmer.

Andrew glanced at her with concern. “I should make you go and get into bed,” he said gently. “But I agree—you're safer here with me. Now, let’s look for these books of my uncle’s. We need to find them soon, before the cousins do.”

Emmeline nodded and followed him to the bookshelf, ready to start looking.