servants must be searching very quietly.
‘Come here and get under the covers, Lizzie,’ Eleanor said, not sure if the maid’s violent shivers were from cold or fear or a combination of both.
Lizzie scrambled into the bed. ‘Oooh, milady. Everyone is up now and searching for him. Mr Pacey said I was to come to you and I was that pleased...what if I’d happened to come across that monster?’
‘Surely the maids aren’t searching? Why, what if—?’
‘Not on their own, milady. They’ve paired up with the men, to carry the candles. Ooh, milady, the men have all got weapons and everything.’
‘Weapons? What weapons? I did not know we had any.’
‘’Twere Mr Matthew, milady. He made sure there were enough stout clubs for us all to hide under our beds.’
Everyone except me. And, I presume, Aunt Lucy. Hmmph. The sooner I get that pistol the better.
‘Just in case, he said. And wasn’t it lucky he did that, milady?’
‘Indeed. Was Peter certain that window had been closed before?’
‘Oh, yes. And Mr Pacey—he always does a last round after everyone has gone to bed.’
Eleanor had the sensation of thousands of ants swarming through her veins. The urge to get up...to take action...battered at her, but she ignored it. She would only make it worse if she left her room. At least in here she was easier to protect. It was difficult, though, as the seconds stretched into minutes. From time to time they heard the muffled thud of a door closing, or the creak of a floorboard, and at each noise Lizzie squeaked and huddled closer, comforting Eleanor and helping her to conceal her own terror.
‘Did Peter see anyone?’ she asked. Had anyone got inside? Was he, even now, in the house—hiding...biding his time? Or had Peter frightened him off?
‘No. There was no one in the room. But he could have gone through into the parlour, couldn’t he, milady? Peter came upstairs to wake Mr Pacey. Mr Pacey was very cross. He said as how Peter should have stood his ground and shouted. Now, Mr Pacey says, we don’t know where he might have gone while Peter—’
A yell followed by the thud of running feet silenced Lizzie, who huddled even closer to Eleanor. Shouts echoed through the house. Doors slammed. Glass shattered. Then silence reigned once more. Eleanor pushed back the bedcovers and swung her feet to the floor. Lizzie grabbed at her, tried to tug her back into bed.
‘Milady! No!’
Eleanor patted Lizzie on the shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Lizzie. I only intend to poke my head out of the door. Peter is outside, after all. I need to know what is happening.’
She wrapped a shawl around her, and approached the door. Despite her conviction that Peter—solid, dependable Peter—was on the other side, she hesitated. What if...? Lizzie was watching wide-eyed from the bed, knuckles white as she clutched the sheet.
‘Peter?’ she called, low-voiced. ‘Are you there?’
‘Yes, milady.’
‘Is it safe for me to come out?’
The door inched open and Peter’s familiar face appeared in the gap. ‘I think so, milady. It was Mr Pacey that found him, but he couldn’t hold him. Some of the other lads are giving chase.’ He sounded disgruntled and Eleanor had to smile. What young man wouldn’t yearn for some excitement in an otherwise mundane life?
‘Has he left the house?’
‘Yes, milady. Agnes came up to tell me and John—it was John was put to guard Lady Rothley. He wouldn’t have got to either of you, milady. Not with us here.’
‘If you are certain he has gone, you and John may go and help the others if you wish.’
Eleanor shook her head, smiling at the sight, moments later, of the two footmen bounding down the stairs with the eagerness of hounds on the scent.
‘I don’t think we should, Ellie. Why can we not wait until Mr Damerel is here to escort us?’
‘I will not be made a prisoner in my own home, Aunt. We are only going to Hookham’s and we will have the men with us.’ As a concession to her aunt, Eleanor had agreed that three of the footmen should accompany them to the circulating library this time. ‘It is broad daylight. No one would be reckless enough to try and attack me in public.
‘Besides, Mr Damerel is not promised to his father until noon, so we shall not see him until mid-afternoon at the earliest.’
‘That sounds encouraging,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘The more time dear Matthew spends with his father, the more likely they are to resolve their differences.’
Matthew had undertaken to go to Blackfriars to buy a pistol for Eleanor straight after meeting Lord Rushock. Eleanor did not enlighten Aunt Lucy. She still did not know about the pistol, although how Eleanor might contrive to practice shooting without her aunt knowing...mayhap she could enlist Sir Horace to distract her?
* * *
Later, as they walked along Bond Street on their way back from the library, Eleanor began to regret her insistence on having her own way.
The pavement was even busier than usual and tension spread its tentacles from Eleanor’s stomach to encompass her entire body. People were too close, brushing against her as they weaved around each other. Occasionally a passer-by stepped between her and the two footmen behind her, and her heart would pound and her palms grow clammy. Why hadn’t she simply postponed her visit to Hookham’s? There were too many people, all hurrying about their daily business: too much jostling, too much noise, too much traffic. The din from the passing wagons, carriages and hackneys—rattling over the cobbles, their drivers losing patience, shouting at their horses and each other alike—was tremendous.
They were often forced into single file, with Aunt Lucy and William ahead of Eleanor and Peter and John behind. A sudden surge in the crowd forced strangers both in front and behind Eleanor, there was an outcry from the middle of the swarming mass of people and then a hard shove knocked Eleanor off her feet. There was a flurry of movement as a crew of urchins scuttled past, into the road, dodging the traffic, as a cry of ‘Stop, thief!’ rang out.
Eleanor landed with a painful bump on her bottom, her heart seized with fright. For one awful moment...she struggled to catch her breath, eyes screwed shut in an attempt to pretend it had not happened, knowing it was only by the merest good fortune she had not landed in the road itself, under the iron-clad, dinner-plate-sized hooves of the straining workhorses hauling a coal wagon past at that very moment.
An accident. That’s all. Nothing to worry about, just a gang of pickpockets. She forced her lids open, looked in vain for her servants and Aunt Lucy. Nowhere to be seen. Strangers crowded her vision—all craning their necks to see what had happened.
‘Allow me.’
Breathless, shaking, Eleanor turned her head to stare up into dark eyes lit with
