Chapter 33

Chapter 33

The silence of the room was broken by the faint sounds of two men arguing. The voices were barely audible, but unmistakably tense.

Still sitting on the edge of the bed, Vivianne froze as she strained to catch the words, but almost everything eluded her. She was too far away, with the division of the walls preventing her from hearing anything properly.

She rose to her feet, trying not to make any sound, but her skirt refused to obey. It rustled as she crept toward the door, pressing her ear against the wood. She closed her eyes, using her finger to close off the other ear so she could focus solely on the muffled conversation taking place somewhere beyond. The voices were low, but she could make out two distinct tones much more clearly now. She could hear how agitated they both were.

“… not what we agreed…” one of the voices growled, the words sharp and clipped.

There was a pause, then the second man spoke in a smoother tone, though it was no less intense. “Lord Chesterfield…”

There it was, that name. Reggie had mentioned that man, that she needed to hide away from him. She tried hard to remember anything, even the slightest of details, but her mind was still a fog.

“… more money…” one of the two voices demanded. She couldn’t tell which of the two men was speaking now.

The combination of those two words didn’t sound good. Her entire situation was unusual, to say the least, and she would not blindly believe a man who was keeping her locked up in a room. However, she knew better than to oppose him directly. She had to play her cards right, whatever those cards were, if she wanted to find freedom from this place again, and, eventually, her family.

“… delay the marriage…” she overheard again, and her heart skipped a beat.

Marriage? The word echoed inside her mind with fervor she could not extinguish. Who was to get married? She had no idea what connection marriage and money had with her current predicament, but the urgency in the voices she was listening to told her it couldn’t be anything good.

“…won’t risk it…” one of the men insisted, his voice growing louder, as if he were losing his patience.

“… must be done…” a different voice contradicted the first, although she still had no idea who was urging for what.

She caught her breath, pressing herself harder against the door to hear more. But the conversation grew even fainter, as if the men had moved farther away. Frustration clawed at her. She was missing crucial pieces of the puzzle, but the snippets she had heard were enough to tell her one thing: she was in grave danger.

Her mind raced, panic bubbling up as she realized she couldn’t wait any longer. Whatever plan these men had, it involved her—and she had to escape before they could carry it out.

She rushed to the window, yanking back the heavy drapes with a desperate flick of her wrist. The cool night air hit her face as she fumbled with the latch, her heart racing. When it finally gave way with a soft click, she pushed the window open only to find herself staring at cold, unyielding iron bars.

Her breath caught in her throat. The bars were thick, solid, and cruelly effective, blocking any hope of escape through the window. Panic surged through her as she grabbed hold of the bars, shaking them with all her strength, but they didn’t budge. They were securely fastened, a notion that only served as a grim reminder of how thoroughly trapped she was.

She backed away, her mind racing. The voices beyond the door had quieted. For a moment, she thought she heard footsteps. She rushed over to the bed, sitting down and staring at the door. She thought it would open instantly, and that something terrible would happen.

Every second felt like an eternity, and yet, the door did not open. But that didn’t make her feel relieved. In fact, it made her even more anxious, because she knew time was of the essence. She spun around, surveying the room for any other means of escape. The door was the most obvious route, but she knew it to be locked. Her eyes darted to the furniture—a heavy wardrobe, a dressing table, a bed—none of which offered any real assistance.

Then her gaze fell on the fireplace. It was narrow, and the chimney likely too small for an adult to climb through, but it was a possibility, however slim. She hurried over, crouching down to peer up into the dark, soot-streaked tunnel. It was a tight fit, and the risk of getting stuck was high, but it was the only option left.

She hesitated, weighing the odds. The sound of footsteps outside the room made her decision for her. There was no time left. She had to try.

But before she could move, the footsteps stopped just outside the door, followed by a soft murmur of voices. Her heart pounded in her chest as she pressed herself against the wall, her eyes fixed on the door, waiting, listening. Someone tried the lock, then released it. The sound of footsteps disappeared somewhere down the corridor.

Terror gripped her as she realized how dire her situation had become. She was trapped in a room with no way out, at the mercy of men who were planning something terrible. The window, her last hope, was barred, and the door was locked tight.

But she refused to give in to despair. She knew she had to stay calm, think clearly. If she could just buy herself a little more time, maybe she could find another way.

She stepped back from the window, forcing herself to breathe slowly, her mind working frantically. She couldn’t give up—not now, not ever. There had to be another way out, a way to escape before they returned to carry out whatever scheme they had in store for her.

She just had to find it.

***

Outside, Edward and Jonathon remained concealed in the shadows, their exhales barely visible in the cool night air. Minutes were stretching into hours, and Edward’s patience was running thin. He glanced at the front door through which William had entered shortly before. His hand was still on his pistol, refusing to loosen its grip.

“We should just go in through the front door,” he muttered, his voice low and urgent. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Jonathon placed a firm hand on Edward’s arm, always having been the more cautious of the two. “No,” he replied quietly. “That is too dangerous, exactly because they might be expecting that. We need to find another way in, something they haven’t secured.”

Edward hesitated. His instincts were telling him to act quickly, but Jonathon was right. If they barged in through the door like the cavalry, they would most likely walk straight into a trap. So he nodded reluctantly, deferring to his friend’s rational judgment.

“All right,” he agreed. “But we need to move quickly. We don’t have a moment to spare.”

Edward took the lead, guiding Jonathon away from the front of the house and toward the side, keeping low and close to the wall. The night was still, their footsteps nearly silent on the soft earth as they circled around the building, searching for another entry point.

They passed by several windows, all of them darkened and tightly shut. As they neared the back of the house, Edward spotted a narrow cellar door partially obscured by overgrown shrubs. He gestured for Jonathon to follow him toward it.

The door was old and weathered, the wood creaking softly as he tested the handle. It was locked, but the lock itself appeared to be ancient, rusted from years of exposure to the elements. Edward drew a small set of lockpicking tools from his coat, kneeling to work on the lock. His hands moved with precision, and within moments, there was a faint click, the sound of the lock giving way.

He looked up at Jonathon, who was grinning. “I always forget you know how to pick locks,” he whispered.

Edward smiled in return. “You never know when it might come in handy… like now.”

He looked down at the door, slowly opening it, trying not to make any noise. It revealed a dark, narrow staircase leading into the cellar. The air that wafted up was cool and damp, carrying the musty scent of earth and stone. Edward swallowed heavily. Yes, that was an entrance, but one that led into the unknown.

Knowing Vivianne was counting on him, he descended into the darkness, with Jonathon following closely behind. The stairs creaked underfoot, but they tried to move as quickly as possible, their eyes adjusting to the dim light as they reached the bottom. The cellar was cramped and shadowy, the walls lined with crates and barrels that had been long forgotten.

It was a maze through which they had to move with caution, every sense heightened as they listened for any sound that might indicate they had been discovered. The cellar door led to another, this one slightly ajar, with a faint light seeping through the crack. Edward exchanged a glance with Jonathon, his hand tightening around his pistol as he prepared to push the door open.

There could be someone there, waiting. They had to be careful. With a final nod, Edward gently nudged the door wider, revealing a narrow hallway that led deeper into the house. They could hear voices now, drifting from somewhere above them, tense and low. He immediately recognized William’s. But that other one… he couldn’t quite pinpoint to whom it could belong. He hoped it was Reginald.

“This way,” Edward mouthed without making any sound, leading Jonathon down the hall.

When they reached the end of the hallway, they found a staircase leading up to the main floor. The light grew stronger, and so did the voices. They were close now, close enough to hear snippets of the ongoing conversation, words like “money” and “marriage” standing out clearly. They were on the right track.

Edward motioned for Jonathon to follow him upstairs. They ascended slowly, careful not to make a sound. At the top, they found themselves at the entrance to what appeared to be a small parlor. The door was slightly ajar, and through the crack, they could see the two men, deep in conversation.

Edward clenched his fists, every inch of his body infused with an incredible source of energy that he could barely control. They were so close to finally uncovering the truth.

All they needed now was the right moment to strike. And what better moment than the present one?