Regency High Society Vol 1: A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel. Mary Brendan

      In the cellar time passed interminably, for Harriet and Billy were unable to tell whether it was day or night, being aware only of the endless waiting in impenetrable darkness. They could hear the persistent and ominous rumble of thunder, even within their earthen cave, although the torrential rain that accompanied it they could only imagine, until intermittent dripping of water from various parts of the roof indicated its overhead presence.

      ‘You would think that a cellar would be watertight,’ observed Harriet crossly, as she moved their now bracken-filled sacks for the umpteenth time. ‘One does, after all, expect to keep logs and certain perishables throughout the winter.’

      ‘Yeah, but you have to remember that the roof has gone on this cottage,’ Billy pointed out. ‘And some of the other wooden bits must have dried out in the fire—them that didn’t burn, I mean.’

      Harriet considered this. ‘Meggy Watts told me that the flagstones had fallen through to the cellars in some of the other cottages. I hope the ones above our heads don’t take it upon themselves to come down on top of us!’

      She regretted having given voice to these thoughts as Billy at once let out a loud wail and clung to her like a leech. She was obliged to sit him down and pet him for some time until his terror abated. She dashed away the tears that persisted in forming in her own eyes and leaned her still desperately aching head against the now dank and streaming walls. The thought of falling flagstones kept recurring, however, and eventually gave birth to an idea.

      She settled the fitfully sleeping child down on to the damp sacking and felt her way back to the corner where the rest of the vegetable sacks were heaped. Carefully climbing on top of them, she raised her hands and realised, to her joy, that she could feel the underside of a large flagstone. The cellar was hardly more than six feet high! How stupid of her not to realise that this would be the case!

      Moving her fingers across the under-surface of the stone until she felt the floor timber that supported it, she widened her search until she could feel another. Twelve inches apart, she judged, and the joists probably nine or ten inches wide. The flagstones must be about twenty-one inches square and heavy enough to rest on the oak timbers without moving—two or three-inch-thick quarry stone, probably—would she be able to move one upwards?

      She sat down upon the turnip sacks to weigh up the possibilities. She was no weakling, in the ordinary way, but thought that it was likely that she had lost quite a bit of blood as she had twice felt it necessary to renew her makeshift head-bandage—in addition to having subsisted on raw turnips for who knew how long.

      The problem was one of leverage, she supposed, and she had no tools available. She had scoured the floor of the cellar on hands and knees, with Billy’s assistance, to scavenge for anything that might have come in useful to them but, unfortunately for her cause, Potter had proved to be an inordinately tidy housekeeper and none of the usual debris of broken shovels or brooms had been found in his underground storeroom.

      Harriet made up her mind. Hoping that the sounds of activity would not penetrate the sleeping urchin’s brain, for she was reluctant to raise his hopes unnecessarily, she began to rearrange the sacks of turnips into a more stable platform for herself. This was heavy and cumbersome work, for the sacks were unwieldy and unco-operative, in addition to being very wet, and she was forced to stop frequently to rest and recover from the attacks of swimming fatigue that overcame her. But her perseverance was finally rewarded when, some immeasurable time later, she found that her solid pile of sacks would raise her three feet closer to the roof.

      She could only crouch at the top, of course, but this had been her intention for she knew that this was the only way in which she would be able to apply any upward movement to the slab, given that her arms could sustain the weight. Where would be the best place to push? she wondered, not wishful of having a quarry-stone come crashing down on her fingers to add to all her other miseries. If she could lift one at its junction with a neighbouring slab, would it be possible to slide it over the top in the same movement? She was well aware that, even with all the will in the world, she had no real hope of holding up such a heavy weight for more than a moment or two, but if she could just get one into position on top of its fellow it would surely be possible to slide it along the timbers and out of the way. Then, even if she could not make her own escape through the aperture, there might be sufficient room for Billy to do so.

      She gnawed at the unappetising turnip in her hand, wondering if she would ever be able to bring herself to face the taste again then, smiling at her foolishness, remembered having had the self-same thoughts about stewed rabbit many years ago—what she would not give at this moment for a dish of that delicacy!

      She drew a deep breath, at the same time feeling in her pocket for her riding gloves and, pulling them on so that she could get the best possible grip, she positioned herself carefully and, with all her might, she strained her muscles against the unyielding object.

      Nothing! A sob of wretchedness escaped from her lips and her eyes filled with tears. Please, God—oh, please, dear God, she prayed, give me the strength—please help me! She applied herself once again and, gritting her teeth with anguish, she heaved at the slab above her head until her arms began to give way and her head swam.

      Then she felt, or rather, heard the movement and either her prayers or her desperation must have given her some sort of divine power for, with a grating lurch, the flagstone did indeed lift and move away from her, only a fraction but enough to balance its front edge precariously on top of its neighbour.

      She slid down on to the sacks in a half-swoon, her ears pounding, choking for air and was unable to move for several minutes. She heard Billy stirring and his anxious voice calling her, but could not answer him for she had no strength left in her body.

      ‘Miss? Miss—where are you? Did you hear a noise? Where are you, miss?’

      He had found her platform of sacks and was clambering up to reach her. Weakly she put out her hand to reassure him and he huddled himself as close as he could get to her limp body.

      ‘What you doing up here, miss?’ he asked in shocked amazement.

      ‘I—think—that—we—may—be—able—to—get out!’ she gasped, her voice rough with exhaustion. ‘But I—must rest—for just a little while—before I can go on.'Is it your head, miss?’

      Billy couldn’t imagine what had happened to Miss while he had been sleeping. This surely was not his stalwart saviour, who had been so strong and resilient up until now. If she folded, he was ready to believe that they were doomed to remain in their underground prison forever and that they would fade away and die—if ‘matey’ didn’t come and finish them off first!

      But Harriet was at last beginning to recover from her Herculean efforts and was gradually able to sit up and explain, in simple terms, what she had achieved.

      ‘And I do believe,’ she said, trying to make her voice sound bright and cheerful, ‘that if we can push the slab from this end, we might slide the whole thing back and make good our escape!’

      ‘Ooh, miss—let’s do it. I can help—see! I can easily reach if I stand up next to you! Both of us should be able to push hard enough!’

      Harriet fervently hoped so, but begged him to allow her to get her breath back before they attempted the task. She gave him a turnip to nibble while she closed her eyes for a few minutes in a concentrated endeavour to mobilise her few remaining resources. Her arm muscles felt as though they were made of water, the back of her head was causing her considerable discomfort and she knew that she would be able to summon up sufficient effort for only one good push and, after that, how long would it be before her strength returned, in these conditions?

      Resolutely,