It was all Alexander could do to restrain himself from leaping out of his hiding place, particularly when he heard sounds of a struggle. Just as he was preparing to exit, he heard a slap and Emily’s voice. “You swine,” she said.
“Call me Jack,” he said, rubbing his cheek where she had slapped him. “If I wasn’t fond of a bit of a tussle, you’d have your hands tied up again, my girl. Now then, before we get to know each other better, I have a little chore for you.” Jack went over to the chest and opened it, removing a piece of paper and a pen. “You are to write your parents, or whoever you think may be concerned about you, and tell them that you have run away with your secret lover, the son of an estate agent. If I know the nobility, they will write you off with barely a sigh of regret.”
“You cannot make me write such a thing,” Emily protested.
“Oh, can’t I? How would you fancy a bruise on your other cheek, to match this one?” he asked, touching the spot where he’d hit her earlier. “You will write whatever I say, or pay the consequences.”
Emily took the paper and pen and began writing. Alexander removed his pistol from his coat pocket, as he had heard all he needed to, and it did not appear Marcus was going to come to his assistance. He heard the highwayman tell Emily that she needn’t write a book, that he had other plans for the night, and Alexander cocked his pistol. When he heard sounds of a scuffle, and Emily’s cries of distress, he scrambled out of the tunnel as quickly as possible.
The highwayman did not even notice him, so intent was he on Emily. He had his arms around her and was pressing his lips to her neck, and the expression of revulsion and fear on Emily’s face was something Alexander felt would live in his memory long after that night was over. He stepped up behind the man and shoved the pistol into his back. “Let go of her, and put your hands up where I can see them.”
The highwayman obeyed, and just as Alexander was checking his pockets for weapons, they were all distracted by a very loud banging noise, before the wall of the room came crashing in on them.
Chapter Twelve
Marcus had rushed to the Tudor Arms, where he had asked to speak to the landlord of the establishment. The landlord was helpful enough, and agreed that it was common knowledge that the Hawkhurst Gang had used a tunnel that was supposed to end at his establishment, but he had never seen any evidence of such a tunnel.
“Believe me, your honor, if there was such a thing, I would know it. Know every square inch of this place, I do.”
Marcus thanked him, but asked him if he could perform his own investigation, just the same. The landlord agreed, and Marcus asked to be directed to the basement. He reasoned that as the tunnel ran underground, it was likely to end below ground, as well. He took a lamp and examined each wall in the basement. His first time around he could find nothing, and was worried he was wasting precious time on a wild-goose chase. He asked the landlord, who had been observing him in silence, if the basement ran the entire length of the building.
The landlord answered in the affirmative, and watched in puzzlement as Marcus began to measure off the distance of one side of the room by placing one foot in front of the other and counting. He then asked for the quickest way out of the building and began measuring the outside wall in the same manner. When he was finished, he looked at the landlord in triumph.
“Even allowing for the width of the outside walls, there’s still a good ten-foot difference between the length of your basement and the length of the building.”
The landlord proclaimed his astonishment and directed some of the servants to assist Marcus in investigating the walls of the basement. It was not long before someone noticed an irregularity in one wall, and Marcus drew closer to investigate. It looked as if someone had applied stucco over the stone wall in this one section. Marcus asked for a knife, and began to chip away at the stucco. After a few minutes, he had chipped away about a square inch or so, and saw that there was wood beneath. “I believe, gentleman,” he told his audience, who were waiting to hear the results of his investigation, “we have found a door.”
Marcus asked if they had anything they could use as a battering ram. There was a long log in the woodshed that had not yet been cut up for firewood that was found to suit this purpose. Marcus organized the two servants who looked the strongest to begin battering down the door. After just two tries they were successful, and the door gave way, the log flying through with the two men dragged along behind.
Inside the room, all was in chaos. Alexander had dropped the highwayman and his pistol, grabbing Emily and pulling her out of the way of the log. The highwayman, seeing his chance for escape, ran into the tunnel that led to the stable. But Marcus, who had entered the room by this time, managed to grab him by the back of his coat and hold him for the few seconds necessary until the other men came through the broken wall and assisted him in dragging the highwayman back into the room. Then they tied his hands behind him, with the same length of rope that had just recently been around Emily’s wrists. The men who had formed part of the battering ram were dazed, bruised, and a little scratched, but otherwise all right, and Marcus promised them a guinea and a pint for their assistance in catching a traitor to the crown.
Emily was crying in Alexander’s arms, hardly able to believe her ordeal was over. Alexander held her tightly against his chest, telling her to hush, and gently smoothing her hair back from her face. He kept seeing in his mind her expression as the highwayman held her captive in his arms, and he tightened his hold until Emily was in more danger from suffocation from him than she had been in the tunnel.
The landlord approached them, to offer Emily a room for the night and ask if he should send for the doctor.
“No. No, thank you. I want to go home,” Emily said, disengaging herself from Alexander’s embrace and attempting to compose herself.
“Emily, it is nearly three in the morning, and you have sustained a blow to the head. I really think you should stay here,” Alexander told her.
“I just want to go home,” she replied, looking up at him through eyes that shone with tears, about to lose her thin grip on her composure. Alexander sighed, and told the landlord he would see the lady home, but asked him if he could make arrangements for a chaise.
As Alexander and Emily were leaving, Marcus stopped them to ask Emily if she was all right. She thanked him for his concern, but told him that Alexander had arrived just in time, leaving Marcus to wonder that she gave all the credit to Alexander when it was he who had knocked down a wall to come to her rescue.
Alexander took a moment to tell Sir Marcus what he had overheard the highwayman tell Emily about Lord Cecil Burke. Marcus thanked him, happy to have the information he needed without having to interrogate the man himself.
The ride back to Smithfield House was accomplished in near silence. Emily was thinking that, since she now knew Alexander was not the highwayman, a renewal of his addresses would not be looked down upon. Alexander was remembering that she had told the highwayman she was engaged to a marquess, and wondered then why she had thrown herself into his arms instead of Marcus’s. Of course, he may have been the one to initiate the embrace; everything had happened so fast he could not recall exactly.
As he was not aware that Emily had suspected him of being a criminal, nothing had changed in his mind. Emily had refused him. As hard as it was for him to believe, she did not really love him. Now that the highwayman had been captured, there was no reason for him to persist in his charade. The truth could be told, and he could leave Stonehurst and return to London. That thought brought him little pleasure. The only thought that pleased him in the least was the fact that Emily was bound to bitterly regret her choice when she discovered who he actually was.