Page 24 of Weave me a Rope
Spen watched it unfold from his window. Charles was on basket duty and Andrew was in the tree when a group of footmen appeared from both sides of the tower and descended on Charles. He didn’t resist, and it was over in less than a minute. Some of them hustled Charles towards the stables and out of view, and the others untied the basket and collected the other items Cordelia’s men had brought for him.
Thankfully, none of them looked up into the tree. If Andrew stayed where he was, out of sight among the leaves, he should be safe. Spen could do nothing to help him, and there was work to do here.
The chisels and hammer went into a bag. He tucked Cordelia’s letters in there, too. What else did he need to save? As much food as he could pack went into another bag. He couldn’t keep the rope Cordelia had brought. It would need to stay hanging out of the window, for they knew it was there.
If he hid it, he was asking for them to tear the room apart, but they would not be looking for the one he had made himself, hand-twisting the cord and then knotting cords together in a tight strong weave. He had had plenty of time in the past few weeks to think of a hiding place they’d not find with the most careful of searches.
He took his bags and his coil of rope to the window that looked out over the roof. The bars here were even closer together, but there was room enough to maneuver the chisel bag between them and lower it down by the cord tied to the handle. He tied the cord around a bar. It was almost the same color and as close to invisible as it was going to get.
He did the same with the food bag and the rope. Only someone standing on the roof would be able to see them. As long as no one noticed the thin loops of dark cord against the dark metal of the bars, they would not be discovered.
That done, he concealed some of his books in the cavity in the mattress and more in the hollowed-out chairs. He put the rest, along with the remaining food and drink, the pack of cards and other entertainments, and his writing supplies, into drawers.
After a moment’s thought, he spread the blankets Cordelia had sent onto the bed, hoping they’d be ignored by the searchers.
The sound of the key in the lock and of the bolts being drawn back told him he had run out of time. He sat on one of the lumpy chairs. They didn’t keep him waiting for long.
The steward led the way into the room, with Fielder and several other footmen at his heels. “Search everything,” he commanded. “Lord Spenhurst, it will go easier for you if you tell me who that man is to you, and what they have been providing.”
Spen did his best to look relaxed. Better the marquess’s hirelings than the marquess himself. “He is my man,” he claimed. “I trust you will let him go.”
“He was trespassing on Deerhaven land and feeding you when the marquess commanded you be fed bread and water only,” the steward said. “He will be sent to the assizes.”
“He has broken no laws,” Spen insisted. “He was here at my command and following my orders.”
The steward sneered. “Your father is in charge here,” he pointed out. “He will decide, and your man will remain locked up until he returns.”
Spen narrowed his eyes and spoke with all the hauteur he’d learned from his father. “You would do well to remember that one day, I shall be both marquess and magistrate.”
The steward’s eyes skittered away, but not before Spen saw the flash of fear and doubt. The man tromped over to the pile of books and other items that were accumulating on the bed. “How did you miss all of this, Will Fielder?” he demanded. “You useless git.”
Fielder sent Spen a sullen glare.
“So did you,” Spen pointed out. “No one expected me to have a servant of my own on the outside. Neither of you is to blame for not thinking to search the room.”
Fielder gave Spen a nod, his expression a little less resentful.
One of the footmen had hauled the rope up and was untying it from the bed. Another wrapped what they’d discovered in one of the blankets to haul from the room. “No food tonight,” the steward ordered Fielder. “Everyone out. We shall leave you, Lord Spenhurst. The grounds shall be patrolled after this. There will be no more servants on the outside for you.”
With a final sniff, he led the way out of the room. William Fielder was the last to leave. He gave Spen a slow nod before he shut the door, and Spen took heart that Fielder, at least, still stood as much his friend as he safely could.
And the searchers had missed two of his caches and the bags and rope he’d hung from the window. It could have been muchworse. He pulled in the bags and the coil of rope and re-hid them.
He hoped Charles would be all right. If Andrew managed to escape, surely, he would fetch help to rescue the other servant?
Spen settled by the window, chisel in hand, so he could scratch away at the sill while watching for Andrew to be caught or to get away.
*
Cordelia was spendingthe morning going through reports from her business managers. When she was fifteen, she had gone to her uncle with a proposition for a business using skilled embroiderers working from their own homes to embellish some of the high-end fabrics he imported, using designs she created herself. He had given her a loan to try the idea out, and advice when she asked for it, but had otherwise left her to figure things out for herself.
She began in a small way, grew the production side of the business while selling the resulting fabrics to dressmakers, and moved on to take orders for embroidering directly onto partially made garments. Eighteen months ago, she had paid off the loan.
She had competent people running the various branches of the business, but she still maintained a careful watch over it, and she was deep in making notes on the various reports when she heard a commotion, as feet trooped up and down the stairs, accompanied by excited chatter.
She came downstairs to find a bustle of preparation for a journey. Her uncle had not mentioned a journey yesterday evening, but it was not unusual for him to be called away to deal with a problem at one of his mills or warehouses. She had no reason to immediately assume the disturbance had to do withSpen, but her heart was already in her mouth when she followed the sound of her uncle’s voice into the parlor and saw Andrew.
He sat slumped in a chair, but when Uncle Josh said her name, he straightened and stood. He looked dreadful. Part of that was because of his crumpled scruffy clothes in an anonymous muddy brown, but it was mostly because his face was drawn, and his expression defeated.
