Beyond A Wicked Kiss (58 page)

Dazed, but game, Ria allowed herself to be dressed first in West's shirt, then his frock coat. Holding onto his arm, she got her legs under her and rose to her knees as he swept aside pieces of glass. When he stood she followed, even though he would have had her stay where she was.

"I'm not letting you go," she said. She wobbled a bit on her bare feet, her long legs as uncertain in their first steps as a foal's.

West lifted her so she would not be cut on the glass and set her down only when he reached the fireplace. "Clear!" he shouted up to South.

Almost immediately, the viscount was tumbling through the opening. He hung from the lip of the skylight's wooden frame for a moment, then released his grip and landed rather lightly on his feet. Except for broken glass crunching beneath his boots, he had swooped as quietly as a bird of prey. He brushed off his hands and regarded West with satisfaction at having accomplished the thing so neatly. Making a small bow to Ria while keeping his eyes politely on her face, he asked, "You are all of a piece, Miss Ashby?"

She blinked widely, but found she had pluck enough left to nod.

"Good." He glanced at West. "You can get us out?"

"Now I can." He reached inside his boot and recovered his knife. Handing Ria over to South, West hunkered in front of the door to the adjoining room and slid his blade along the crack in the panel until it caught the latch bolt. He wriggled the slim steel blade back and forth a few times before it smoothly depressed the latch.

The paneled door gave way, opening a few narrow inches. West threw it open the rest of the way. "Beckwith fled as soon as the skylight shattered," he told South. "Where are North and East?"

"Waiting for us to stir these bishops from their nest."

"You have a weapon?"

South unbuttoned his coat and pointed to the butt of a whip handle poking above the waistband of his trousers. He took it out with something of a flourish, snapping it once to show the long, supple lash. "It seemed fitting somehow."

"Indeed." West looked to Ria. "Give me your wrists."

She held out her hands and marveled at their steadiness as West used his blade to try to remove the cuffs. She concluded before he did that his knife would not do the trick. "It's of no import," she told him, letting one hand fall and waiting for him to release the other. "They present no deterrent to leaving this place."

West looked to South for guidance, but his friend merely shrugged. "Very well," he said reluctantly, knowing they could ill afford to take more time in the task. "You will stay close behind us."

"Of course." Before either of the men could stop her, Ria ducked back into the room where she had been a prisoner and began twisting the nearest hook from the wall. South saw immediately what she was about and began to help her turn the screw.

"Bloody hell," West said. "What are you doing?"

"Weapon," Ria told him succinctly. She regarded him pointedly, daring him to tell her she couldn't have it, all the while twisting the hook with South's assistance.

Expecting no sympathy from Southerton, West did not even look for it. Instead, he used his knife to loosen the paneling around the hook so they could turn it more quickly. Once Ria had it in hand, he led them into the adjoining chamber. To be safe, he checked the dark cubicle where he had been forced to watch Sir Alex restrain and fondle Ria. It was empty. Beckwith had indeed not chosen to cower there, running instead.

They moved out of the room with the sapphire chaise and blood-red drapes and into a narrow hallway at the top of the stairwell. There were no other rooms on this attic floor, and the three of them hurried down the steep stairs. In the hall below, West ordered Ria to stay by the landing while he and South went room to room along the corridor looking for Herndon, Cotton, Beckwith, or any other of the bishops who were still about.

They found one girl kneeling at the apron of a fireplace, tethered there by a slim leather collar and chain attached to an iron ring in the bricks. She had been left unattended for so long that her forearms and the back of her hands sported tiny burns and blisters where popping embers had caught her skin. Her chemise was speckled with ash and a host of small holes where flames had licked the fabric. West sawed through the leather collar with his knife, and South escorted the girl to Ria for shelter.

"Sylvia," Ria said gently. She took the dazed young woman into her fiercely protective embrace, and they stood in just that manner until they were joined by Mary Murdoch, then Amanda Kent. "What of Jane?" she asked them.

But none of them knew, or if they did they were too afraid to say. They huddled around Ria, but she sensed it was a fragile bond. She caught their fearful, darting looks toward the stairs as if they anticipated a sudden surge of bishops from the floor below. Ria realized she could not depend upon them to help themselves. Obedience and fear had been too well ingrained.

When West and Southerton returned, she regarded them more determinedly than before. "What of the bishops?"

West and South exchanged looks. "Two are in hand," West said carefully. South had trussed a corpulent baron over a padded bench so the man's pink arse was raised like the tender hindquarters of a roasted pig. Another bishop caught with pants below his nether regions was now hoisted upon the same hook that had held his much younger victim. "You will not want to see."

Ria was not so certain. "Jane?" she asked.

West shook his head.

"And Sir Alex?"

"Not yet. Nor Beckwith either. If they fled by the front or rear of the house, North and East will have already reeled them in."

Ria nodded but she was not as certain of it as West. She took her cue from the young women around her, who still plainly feared some reprisal. She communicated this to West with a single sweeping glance, first at the girls, then in the direction of the stairs.

Using his knife to indicate what he wanted South to do, West led the way downstairs, and this time South brought up the rear behind Ria and the girls. It did not take them long to determine that the ground floor had already been abandoned. Ria ushered her charges into the relative sanctuary of the humid conservatory while South and West opened the doors for Eastlyn at the front of the house and Northam at the rear.

Eastlyn had two liveried footmen in tow, but he let them go before he came inside. North had chased all the fleeing servants away once he was certain there were no bishops hiding among them.

"Where is Miss Ashby?" East asked.

"Caring for the girls we found. She is with them in the conservatory."

"Of course," Northam said. "The Flower House."

"Herndon's idea," West told them. "I've learned more than I want to know about this place since I left you. The academy's board of governors made a point of educating me, but you will have to wait to hear it. South and I only came upon two. They're secured above stairs, but every one of them was here earlier. Beckwith was in the garret when South made his theatrical entrance."

South shrugged. "Miss Parr's influence." He pointed to North. "And when we realized it was the best way to gain admittance, he dared me."

West held up his hand, enough said. "The girls are frightened. One of them has burns that require attention—all of them have been hurt in ways that defy explanation and reason. I don't know if they can be persuaded to give up the bishops, but it is probably true that they know where they've gone. Jane Petty is still missing." He regarded the others frankly. "Beckwith wanted to negotiate for the colonel. That was the price the Society was asking for Miss Ashby's release." His voice grew a shade rougher. "That, and something else besides." West said nothing else regarding the other demand and knew that South would never repeat any part of what he had witnessed through the skylight. "Give me a moment to speak to Miss Ashby. Then we will plan a strategy to search the house a second time."

When West was out of hearing, Northam said "He looks as if he's seen hell."

"He has," South said quietly. "And leaving here won't put the demons behind him."

* * *

Ria met West just as he entered the conservatory. He looked past her shoulder to where Mary and Amanda shared a stone bench, surrounded by pots of orchids and tall grasses. They were also sharing his frock coat. He frowned at that, but knew better than to suppose Ria could have done differently. Sylvia Jenner sat on a cushion at the feet of the other two, her legs drawn up to her chest. She had the back of one burned hand pressed to her lips and the other deep inside a watering can. There was a ragged bandage around one forearm, and the uneven tail of West's shirt flapping just above Ria's knees told the rest of the story.

She held out her hands to him, and he took them in his, squeezing lightly, rubbing the backs with his thumbs. Reassurance, though, was not one-sided, but mutual.

"What have they told you?" he asked.

"Precious little. They think the governors will return for them."

"Return? Do you mean there was a way out we didn't know existed?"

"I'm not certain. I have the sense the girls think they're still here. There are more girls missing than Jane. Sylvia told me there are six others. I know she is just as afraid of what will become of them."

"Ria." West said her name firmly, brooking no argument. "You must discover where they think the bishops have gone. If you can't, I will."

"No," she said quickly. "No, I'll do it. They're afraid of you."

"Me?"

Ria's faint smile was gentle. "You're half naked," she reminded him, "and you're carrying a knife. It gives one pause."

He hauled her against him hard and buried his face in her hair. He whispered at her ear, his voice low and urgent, and the words that tumbled from his lips were barely intelligible, even to him. It didn't matter if she understood what he said—the embrace communicated all of that and more.

Across the conservatory, Mary and Amanda exchanged glances, then shared the same with Sylvia. If Miss Ashby trusted the bedlamite so completely that she would risk being crushed in his arms, could they do any less?

West disengaged himself from the embrace reluctantly. He could feel the pressure of time passing in the quickening of his heartbeat. Here was urgency that could not be dismissed. "Talk to them," he said. "I will be outside with the others."

She nodded and waited for him to go.

* * *

The rest of the Compass Club had come to stand in the hall on the other side of the door. South held out a shirt to West. "Courtesy of the baron. It will be too big, of course—the man is a swine in so many ways—but it will serve."

West thanked him and handed over his blade until he put the shirt on and tucked it in. It billowed around his waist anyway. "Ria says the young ladies are afraid of me."

"I shouldn't wonder," Eastlyn told him. "I'm afraid of you."

With some effort, West managed a wry smile. He glanced at the pistol East held in his hand. "Primed?"

"It doesn't do much good if it isn't."

Nodding, West's attention swiveled to North. "You won't get shot, will you?"

Northam merely grinned and revealed his own pistol. "Where do we begin our search?"

"A moment yet," West told him. "Ria is questioning the girls again. If they do not tell..." He let his voice trail off. They knew well enough what he would be forced to do if that was the case.

It seemed that a long time passed before the door to the conservatory opened, but the true reckoning was that it was less than two minutes. Ria felt the expectant eyes of every one of them as she stepped into the hallway.

South saw she had given up West's frock coat, and he quickly stripped off his and offered it to her. "Where are they?"

"Below stairs," she said, pulling the coat around her shoulders like a cape.

"The kitchen?" West asked.

"No. Below that. The girls say there is a large room deeper underground."

"Another way out?"

"They don't think so. They have never seen anyone leave by any means except the way they entered." Her flint-colored eyes darted between West and Southerton because she knew they would understand her reference. "It is the altar chamber."

West nodded gravely. "I wondered why we did not come upon it before." He explained to Northam and Eastlyn what they could expect to find there, but it was Ria who described the purpose of the chamber.

Northam shook his head slowly when she concluded. Candlelight glanced off his bright yellow hair. "It is yet another circle of hell."

"One Dante neglected to mention," East said.

Agreeing with these observations, South added, "How do we find it?"

"I will show you." It was not quite true that soldier, sailor, tinker, and spy gaped at her, but it was a narrow thing. "You will not find it without me."

West took a steadying breath. "Time is of import here," he told her. "Give us the directions the girls shared."

"Come," she said, starting to walk away from them. "I swear to you it will be quicker this way."

West looked as if he might argue. It was North who put a light restraining hand on his shoulder and cautioned him against it. With little choice left to them, they followed her. She led them toward the rear of the house and down a poorly lighted staircase to the large kitchen. The oven had been fired earlier and left to die when the servants abandoned their posts. The aroma of rising bread filled the room. A clutter of utensils lay on the cutting block beside a basket of eggs. A kettle of soup bubbled in the open hearth.