"My stars," Simon breathed. "I think she's going to make it."
"Don't speak too soon and tempt fate."
In the gloom of the gardens, they could just make out Martin hovering by the shrubbery, and Sugden on the path to the kennels. Both remained frozen, silent witnesses to the girl's perilous flight. No one made the slightest sound, the slightest movement, did nothing to distract her.
After what seemed an eternity, the wildly lurching figure reached the end of the beam where it joined with an upright support. Simon tensed; Helena sank her fingers into his sleeve. "You are not following her."
Simon didn't even glance at her. "Of course not. No need."
They waited silently as the figure grappled and grasped, then partly swung, partly fell, partly scrambled to the ground, landing in an ungainly heap.
Simon immediately leaned out of the window. "She's on the ground by the loggia outside the music room!"
His ringing call propelled everyone into action. The girl jumped to her feet and tore off toward the shrubbery.
Then she saw Martin closing from that direction.
With a shriek, she pivoted and fled in the opposite direction, toward the rose garden and the darkness of the wood beyond.
She was almost there, almost to the path that led into the shadows, when she ran directly into Lucifer, who'd left the house through the front door and circled around the east wing.
Luc heard Simon thunder to Helena's room, but no one had passed either him or Simon, so how…? Via the window? But Martin, Sugden, or Phyllida would have seen… how had anyone got past them all?
Striding into the west corridor, he saw Simon dash into Helena's room. He paused, poised to react, then he heard Simon speak. Confused, Luc waited — there was clearly no drama occurring in the room, no danger to Helena.
What the devil was going on? He was about to stride to Helena's room and find out when he heard Simon's call.
"She's on the ground by the loggia…"
She.
The word stopped him in his tracks. The possibilities crashed down on him. Could they all have been wrong? Had Anne gone out of her window and around the outside of the house? Or had she not even been in her room but in Helena's?
Swinging around, he strode for the east wing.
Amelia was hovering outside Anne's door; she'd heard Simon's call but the house was too massive for her to make out his words. But she saw Luc coming, understood enough. She didn't hesitate.
She opened Anne's door. "Anne?" No reply. The bed was draped in dense shadows. "Anne!"
"Huh? What…?" Pushing her thick brown hair from her face, Anne groggily sat up, peering at Amelia. "What's the matter?"
Amelia beamed at her. Relief and newfound excitement rushed through her. "Nothing, nothing — nothing to worry about."
Sounds from outside reached them; Amelia rushed to the window, flung back the curtains, threw up the sash. Behind her, she heard Luc reach the room and step inside.
"What's going on?" Anne asked from the bed.
After the faintest pause, Luc replied, "I'm not sure."
Amelia heard the profound relief in his voice, could feel the irrational dread lift from his—their—shoulders. Holding back the curtains, she leaned out as Luc joined her. A second later, Anne, dragging a robe about her, pushed in alongside.
The sight that met their eyes was at first incomprehensible — a trio of figures wrestling on the lawn, detail obscured by the dense shadows cast by the huge trees of the wood. Then the trio resolved into two larger figures supporting the third toward the house; the smaller figure resisted, but weakly.
Beneath them, a door opened; Amanda stepped onto the terrace. She waved to the group. "Bring her here."
They changed direction; a moment later they passed out of the shadows and features became clear. Martin and Lucifer were gently but determinedly escorting a slight female, cloaked, shaking her head, sobbing hysterically. Her hood had fallen back revealing lustrous brown locks.
Luc frowned. "Who is it?"
Amelia suddenly realized.
It was Anne who answered, staring at the figure round-eyed. "My God — that's Fiona! What on earth is going on?"
It was the third time she'd asked, but the explanation wasn't going to be easy, and they didn't have all the answers.
"We'll explain tomorrow." Luc swung around and strode out of the room; they heard him running down the corridor toward the stairs.
Amelia started after him.
"Amelia!"
She turned back, met Anne's eyes. "I truly can't stop now, but I promise we'll explain all tomorrow morning. Please — just go back to bed."
Fervently hoping Anne would do so, Amelia hurried out, closing the bedroom door behind her. She started down the corridor, then remembered Emily. She paused by Emily's door, listening, then eased it open. She tiptoed in, just close enough to be sure Emily was still sound asleep — doubtless dreaming innocent — or possibly not so innocent — dreams.
Inwardly sighing with relief, she retreated, then hurried on toward the stairs. At their head, she came upon Helena and Minerva being escorted down by Simon.
Simon looked up. "They've got her."
"I know. I saw."
Minerva sighed. "The poor child. We'll have to get to the bottom of this, for I simply will not believe it was all her doing. She was never a bad girl." She paused, one hand gripping the balustrade, a frown forming in her eyes. Then she glanced upward. "Someone should check on Portia and Penelope." Minerva glanced at Amelia.
She nodded. "I will. Then I'll come down."
Minerva resumed her descent. "Tell them they must stay in their beds."
Already headed up the stairs, Amelia doubted any such injunction was likely to stop those two; to her mind, their only hope was that they'd slept soundly and hadn't been disturbed.
That hope was dashed the instant she cracked open Portia's door — and discovered Luc's younger sisters fully dressed, leaning far out of the window, presumably watching Fiona being led into the house two floors below.
She stepped inside, shut the door with a click. "What do the pair of you think you're doing?"
They glanced back at her; not a glimmer of guilt showed in either face.
"We're observing the culmination of your plan." Penelope turned back to the window.
"They've got her inside." Portia straightened, then walked to Amanda.
Penelope followed. "I really didn't think the plan would work, but it has. I did think it might be Fiona — she was at all the places where things were taken, after all." She fixed her spectacled gaze on Amelia's face. "Do we have any idea why she did it?"
Amelia had no idea where to start in the task of putting these two in their place. She wasn't even sure it was possible. Nevertheless, she drew a deep breath. "I bear a message from your mama — you're to stay in your beds."
Both girls looked at her as if she'd run mad.
"What?" Portia said. "While all this is going on—"
"You expect us meekly to close our eyes and fall asleep?"
One breath wasn't going to be enough. "No, but—"
Amelia broke off, raised her head. Listened.
Portia and Penelope did, too. An instant later, they all heard it again — a muffled scream. They rushed to the window.
"Can you see…?" Amelia asked.
They all scanned the gardens, even darker now; the moon was rapidly waning.
"There!" Penelope pointed across the lawn to where two struggling figures were just discernible on the path beside the rose garden.
"Who…?" Amelia asked, but the clenching of her heart told her.
"Well, if Fiona's downstairs," Portia said, "then that must be Anne."
"The fool!" Penelope said. "How senseless."
Amelia didn't stop to argue; she was already out of the door.
"No — just think," Portia said. "That man must be part of the syndicate—