Kate Pearce - Educating Elizabeth

"You are a fine one to talk, Sir John. You left Angelique's stolen bracelet in my reticule," she countered. "You made sure that the duke cast me out on the street. I've no influence with him at all. Why do you think I came back here?"

But Sir John refused to release her. In desperation, Elizabeth looked at her mother, who sat sipping calmly at her tea. "Mother, Sir John is not what he seems. He is in league with Mr. Forester. You must find the duke and..."

"Did you know that Sir John is a distant cousin of mine, Elizabeth?" Mrs. Forester asked. "We were both left penniless by our families."

Mrs. Forester rose from her chair and glided toward Elizabeth. "Did you think I knew nothing about what was going on in my own house?" She smiled up at Sir John. "Your stepfather is an amiable man and he has proved useful as a messenger between Sir John and myself, but that is all he has done."

"You knew about the assassination attempt?" Elizabeth whispered.

"Of course I did, Elizabeth. Sir John and I have been working to achieve the Prince Regent's demise for over a year now. I knew when our original code breaker died that we would need to find a replacement and who better than my own flesh and blood? I would have sent Michael, if he had been able, but you proved very satisfactory my dear." She laughed. "You even persuaded the duke into your bed, which distracted him from his duties. I couldn't have done better myself."

"Why did you do it, mother? Why did you betray your country?"

Mrs. Forester arched one perfect eyebrow. "Why? For money, of course. Sir John has to work for a living, despite his title and noble name. Mr. Forester and I have a position in society to maintain and Mary deserves her choice of suitors."

Elizabeth shook her head, unable to speak in the face of such implacable avarice. Her disgust must have shown because her mother stiffened.

"Sir John, seeing as Elizabeth is so anxious to see the duke, why don't you take her to him?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but the unseen blow to her head sent her helplessly spiraling toward oblivion.

Elizabeth came to her senses as a familiar voice, roughened with desperation, repeatedly called her name. For a long dazed moment she stared at the curved, brick-lined ceiling above her and tried to remember where she was. At last, she sat up with a gasp and put her hands to her head to suppress the unpleasant sensation that her skull was about to explode. A wave of nausea shuddered through her and the floor undulated beneath her feet.

"Elizabeth? Are you all right?"

She gathered her senses as best as she could and took a wary survey of her surroundings. The tunnel-like room sloped down toward the river, where large rusted bars clogged with weeds and refuse allowed water to seep through in a steady trickle. On the opposite side, five steep steps led to a door set high in the wall. In the shadow of the steps, she made out the outline of another figure. Still unable to find the courage to test her legs, she crawled toward the motionless form.

The duke lay against the wall, his hands tied above his head, his booted legs stretched out in front of him. He wore no coat or waistcoat and his linen shirt was dappled with filth and what appeared to be the imprints of bloody fists and boots.

"Thank God." The duke's harsh words drew Elizabeth onwards until she knelt at his feet. His left eye was half-closed and blood ran down his cheek, soiling the front of his shirt. When he tried to speak, his breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the echoing space. "I thought they had killed you."

Elizabeth touched the back of her head and winced. "I think Sir John hit me whilst I was talking to my mother."

The duke groaned. "I should have known Vincent would never be able to hold you. Did you follow me to the Foresters?"

Elizabeth sniffed. "I went to Delamere House first, but Standish told me you were not at home and that he was not to divulge your whereabouts to anyone, especially me."

The duke grimaced and glanced up at his bound hands. "I make you my apologies, I was unavoidably detained. Can you free my arms?"

Without further thought for her thundering headache, Elizabeth stumbled to her feet. She steadied herself against the damp brick and breathed in the mingling smells of mildew and rank tidewater.

A rope was knotted around the duke's wrists and efficiently tied to an iron stake in the wall. Elizabeth tugged at the rope and the duke hissed a curse. Fresh blood ran down from his wrists to soak his sleeves. Elizabeth slid back down to the floor and studied him. Under the filth that covered his face he was as pale as milk curds.

"I don't think I can loosen the ropes, Your Grace. They are tied too tightly for me to work them free."

"Devil take it, woman, I know they are tight. I've been trying to get out of them for the past few hours!"

"There is no need to be rude, Your Grace," she fired back. "I'm not the one who put you in this predicament."

"You bloody well are!"

A sonorous clanging from the city's bells echoed along the dank subterranean passageway, mirroring the faint, rumbling roar of the crowd overhead.

"It is two o'clock," said the duke after the noise had ebbed a little. "The Prince and his fellow sovereigns are due to pass along the Strand in about an hour." He glanced at Elizabeth, his jaw set. "They didn't bother to lock the door after they brought you in here. They probably assumed you wouldn't recover from that blow to your head for hours. It might be better for you to leave me here and go and find help."

Elizabeth contemplated the duke's words. Had her mother knowingly sent her to her death? The thought was too horrific to contemplate, so Elizabeth pushed it away. She fixed her attention on the large, grated opening that allowed into their prison the dappled light reflecting off the river. Water was now gushing through the bars, lapping at the edge of the brick floor, turning it a dark, bloodstained red.

"If I leave you here, Your Grace, you will drown. From the state of the walls, I suspect that at high tide the Thames will completely flood these tunnels."

She glanced over her shoulder and her gray eyes met his. For the first time in their acquaintance, he looked away first. "The security of the nation is of far more importance than my life, Elizabeth. Leave me here."

"I would prefer you to be with me." She waded back through the rising water and, heedless of the state of her skirts, sank down beside him. "I cannot believe that the mighty Duke of Diable Delamere doesn't have a plan for his own escape."

The duke gave a reluctant smile and then sucked in a ragged breath. "If you insist on helping me, I've a knife inside my left boot. If you would be so kind as to remove it?"

With an obvious effort, he brought his left knee up toward his chest. Elizabeth tried to fit her fingers between his stockinged leg and gleaming white-topped boot. After a short struggle, she sat back and tucked her damp hair behind her ear.

"Your boot is too tight, Your Grace. I will have to take it off." She straddled him, applied all her weight to his boot, and ended up falling backwards into the rapidly rising water. She felt inside the soft, warm leather and located the thin-bladed knife. She set her teeth as the wickedly sharp blade sliced through the sodden strands of hemp and prayed she wouldn't cut him.

The church bells of London rang out the half-hour and the faint boom of distant cannon fire resonated through the tunnels to send ripples through the steadily advancing pools of tidal water.

She started humming "Oranges and Lemons" to distract herself as she tried to ignore the rising water that now reached the duke's outstretched legs and licked greedily at the soles of his boots.