Anderley, Trevor, and I backed up a few feet and huddled together under the deep shadows created by a copse of birch trees.
“Our best option is to ambush Mr. Stuart at the farmhouse, and hope he’s alone,” Trevor said, reading my own thoughts. “Then maybe we can convince him to give us more details about what is happening in the cabin, and how many men are there.”
“He will,” I replied confidently, thinking of the handkerchief tucked in my pocket that I was now certain he’d tried to warn us with. I suspected that whatever Mr. Stuart’s original intentions had been for these body snatchings and ransoms, his plan had gone horribly awry. I only hoped I wasn’t greatly underestimating him.
Trevor frowned. “Let’s hope.”
“What of the others?” Anderley asked. “Lord Rutherford and your cousins. Shouldn’t we wait for them?”
My brother glanced at me. “I’m afraid if we do, it may be too late.”
My heart twisted hearing someone else admit to his own fears over Gage’s condition.
The valet nodded grimly.
Then Trevor leaned in to tell us his plan.
? ? ?
The back of the farmhouse was surrounded by a low wooden fence, presumably to keep animals inside when the property had actually been used for such a purpose. I did my best to open the gate quietly, but it squeaked shrilly on its hinges, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I squeezed through as small a gap as I could manage, leaving it open behind me, and began to inch my way around the yard, clinging to the shadows as best I could. When finally I reached the wall of the house, I pressed my back against the cold stone and counted to ten, slowly. When there was no indication that I’d been either seen or heard, I exhaled forcefully.
I took a moment to calm myself and my rampaging heart, and then brushed a hand down the front of my cloak to smooth it out. Deciding enough time had passed to allow the others to get into position, I moved forward and rapped softly on the back door.
At first nothing happened, and I began to worry that in the time it had taken me to circle the house, Mr. Stuart had returned to the cabin. But as I reached up to knock a second time, I heard footsteps cross the floor inside toward me.
Now was the moment of truth. Would Mr. Stuart answer the door or one of his minions from Edinburgh?
I clasped my hands together tightly in front of me and tried my best to look demure, despite the pulse pounding in my temple. The lock clicked and the door inched open with a groan. Apparently none of the hinges had been oiled for a very long time. But I was inclined to forgive that when I saw it was Mr. Stuart who peered cautiously around the frame at me. I nearly sagged in relief.
“Lady Darby,” he gasped, pulling the door fully open. “Wh-What are you doing here?” I opened my mouth to offer him my rehearsed excuse, when he stepped forward to peer to the right toward the cabin. “Hurry, please come inside.” His hand on my elbow helped propel me over the threshold.
As soon as he had me inside, he closed and locked the door. He leaned back against it, his breathing ragged. It was then I realized how truly scared he was.
“Didn’t you get the handkerchief?” he demanded.
“I . . . yes . . .” I stammered, surprised by the forcefulness in his voice. “But—”
“But Mr. Gage ignored it,” he interrupted with an angry huff. He swiped a hand over his brow. “Please, come into the kitchen,” he urged, guiding me to my left, toward the corner of the house farthest from the cabin. I didn’t mind so long as he avoided the front rooms.
A single candle was lit and sitting on the table. Mr. Stuart bustled around the room, twitching closed curtains that were already shut. With nothing left to do, he turned to face me, his back pressed against the basin for washing dishes. His eyes were wide and white in his face, and his hands gripped the stone behind him.
Trevor might be mad, but I decided rather than offer him the flimsy excuse we’d concocted for my being here, I would simply tell him the truth. It would save time, and he already seemed to be aware of it anyway from the resigned way he stared at me.
“Is Mr. Gage next door in that cabin?” I asked him.
He nodded and swallowed. “Yes.” Then he hastened to explain. “I tried to warn you, with the handkerchief. I didn’t know what they intended to do until it was too late. I told them to harm no one. But . . . but they do not listen.” He stood taller, gesturing agitatedly with his hands. “First that caretaker and now Mr. Gage.” He buried his hands in his fair, thinning hair. “Everything is going wrong.”
His mention of Dodd, who was dead, in conjunction with Gage made my heart rise into my throat. “Is Gage alive?”
He nodded, but his eyes were panicked.
“Are they hurting him?”
His face screwed up as if he might cry, and he nodded again.
“Trevor,” I called anxiously, hoping my brother was already in the house.