Page 77 of Finding Hope
“It will be loud, but at this point that is the least of our worries.”
The minutes ticked by as they waited, but Max would not leave Hope’s side, just in case.
“She has to be in here, Dom. She has to be.” His voice cracked as the fear inside him crept out.
Neither of them spoke about what the alternative would be if she’d been tossed into the river.
Gilford and Montford returned first. “I have no key, my lord, since the grotto was closed off.”
Abernathy rushed in with Major Stuart to see if he could help. “I am afraid I have never had a key to this door, my lord.”
Carew came back with some of the servants carrying tools, and they began to pound away at the steel hinges, which seemed to have forged together over time.
Each of them took turns at hammering and beating on the old, rusted iron. It was exhausting work, and the hinges barely seemed to budge. Soon they were all sore and sweating from a great deal of effort for very little progress. “Maybe we would have better luck splitting the wood,” Carew suggested.
“Whatever it takes, but we must not stop!” Max ordered as he took a hammer and pounded at the door with frustration. It felt as though the door was as thick as a tree. Westwood was trying to insert a crowbar under the edge but chiselling away at the stone around the door was also very slow work.
Almost two hours had passed since they’d first discovered the hidden door and no one dared to give up.
“Where is the blacksmith? I fear he may be our last resort.”
“Max!” Gus shouted as he came into the cavern with the Duke limping along beside him. “Here is the key!”
“Thank God!” Max was in such a hurry to take the key from his brother that it almost slipped from his hands into the pool below.
The Duke stayed only to ensure that the door opened. “Now I am off to banish the Duchess from these shores forevermore.”
Max did not know if his father was attempting to be pithy, but so long as he never saw the woman again, he did not care where she went.
Frantically,Hope tried the door handle, but it would not budge. She banged on the door, then searched the room while she still had light, but there was nothing there. It was naughtbut an empty room. There were no tools or hidden keys to give her an opportunity to be a heroine like in the novels she and her sisters enjoyed reading, where they would save themselves. There was nothing romantic whatsoever about her current situation.
The more she dwelled on it, the worse was her anguish. She wrapped the blanket around her and sank down the wall to the floor, feeling as though she was sinking into a deep abyss. She tried to reason that Rotham would have noticed she was missing and would be searching for her, but would he even know of this place? It could be hours or days before anyone found her, and she was already damp and chilled to the bone. How long could a person survive like that? She was not certain she wished to know.
For a time, Hope tried to think about her sisters, and even Rotham. She had known only an hour’s happiness before it had been stolen from her! It was hard to keep her thoughts from becoming morbid when she was so physically miserable. There was little to find comfort in when she was shaking so hard her teeth rattled. She put her hands under her arms and burrowed her face down into the blanket wrapped around her, but since her clothing was damp, it did very little to ease the cold.
Would the footman keep his word and come to visit her? He had not been rough or mean. But how long would that be? It was hard not to despair. Trusting in someone who would aid the Duchess, and put Hope in such a prison in the first place was foolish.
Having always been the one to try to live up to her name, she felt she had earned the right to thoughts of desolation in light of the Duchess’s genuine effort to make her suffer. In this state, it was impossible for her soul not to feel utterly forsaken, weighed down by an insurmountable sense of sorrow. How could this end happily? She could think of no possible way. The future, whicha short time ago had seemed brighter than the sun, was now looming as a bleak, dark hole.
How much time had passed? It felt to be an eternity already. She tried to stay awake to be alert for anyone who might possibly be searching, but exhaustion was overtaking her. Perhaps if she could sleep for just a little while, it would conserve the little strength she had left. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to slip into an abyss of darkness.
So deep in her state of despondency that she had become numb in body and spirit, she did not at first hear her rescuers.
A distant pounding resounded in the distance and Hope stirred a little, but she was too cold to move. It was easier to be still. The pounding became louder and harder, and she tried to open her eyes, but all she could see was darkness.
It sounded as though someone was calling to her from far away. Was she dreaming?
A loud bang was followed by a rush of air. Suddenly, light flooded her cell.
“Hope, my love, I am here.” Rotham scooped her into his arms and the relief overwhelmed her.
“Max,” she whispered.
“You are so cold! We must get you warm at once!” He lifted her and searing pain shot through her limbs.
She cried out a little, but he seemed to know what the problem was.
“She is here! We must warm her quickly!” he shouted to someone. He carried her out through the rushing water and she flinched as it hit her face. Moments later, Lord Westwood and Lord Augustus wrapped blankets about her as she lay cradled in Rotham’s arms.
