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.Panic set in.She was helpless, and she was certain that some terrible fate awaited her.She began to writhe and struggle frantically.The tightly wrapped cloak felt as if it were smothering her.Redness swam before her eyes, and there was a buzzing in her ears, and in another instant she was aware of nothing at all.WHEN SHE AWOKE SOME TIME LATER, Priscilla had no idea where she was or what time it was.For a moment she could not even recollect what had happened to her.Everything was dark and hot, and it was hard to breathe.Then she remembered what had happened, and she realized that she was still encircled by the dark, heavy garment.She was not, however, still being jounced along on someone’s shoulder.Rather, she was lying on some hard surface.She continued to lie still, gathering what little information she could.There was such a penetrating silence all around her that she soon became convinced that she was alone.No one could remain this quiet; there would bound to be a shuffle, the scrape of a heel, or a breath, a cough or a sigh.Cautiously she sat up.Nothing happened.There were no shouts, and no one knocked her down again, further proof that she was alone.The cloak sagged open a little at the top, and a bit of light seeped in.Priscilla jiggled and shook, writhing until the cloak loosened further and she was able to bring her arms up and pull it open.She shrugged it off and rose to her feet, looking around her.It was still quite dark, and she was sure she was inside a building.There was not even the twinkle of stars or the light of the moon.She extended her arms on either side of her and felt nothing, then squatted and touched the floor around her.It was hard-packed dirt.She was beginning to suspect that she was in the same cabin in which John had been locked up.By standing still and looking long and carefully about her, she was able to make out a few faint streaks of…not quite light, but paler darkness.These, she thought, must be cracks between the boards of the shed.There was in one wall a definite thin line of paleness that ran in a rectangular shape.Priscilla made her way carefully toward the traces of light, holding her hands out straight in front of her and sliding her steps across the floor.When at last her hands made contact with the wooden wall, she felt her way along to a corner and an intersecting wall.She continued, turning corners and groping her way along, until she was certain that she was in a very small room and that there were no windows.She was trapped in the darkness, she realized, unable even to alleviate it by opening a window.Panic began to rise in her, clawing its way up her throat.Priscilla clamped her mouth shut on the scream that wanted to come out.She clenched her hands into tight fists and shoved the panic back down.It was night, that was all, she told herself.There was nothing to fear here in this small hut.In the morning, the sunlight would come through the cracks, and she would be able to see better.She would simply have to wait.In the meantime, her family would have realized she was missing.John would know about it…if he had returned from the village.What if they had gotten him, too?No.She forced herself to calm down.She refused to think that way.They could not have gotten John, or else there would have been no need to take her.No doubt they hoped to bargain with him, to get him back in exchange for her.They would have perceived that it was too dangerous for them to try to take John once they could not surprise him.That was doubtless why they had come after her.John was free, and John would guess what had happened.He would search for her.Would he guess that she was at the same hut? Would he be able to find it?It never occurred to her to wonder whether he would make the effort.She knew him better than that.He would come for her.And that thought was what enabled her to remain calm in the small, dark hut as she waited for him.CHAPTER ELEVENJOHN RETURNED FROM ELVERTON not long after Priscilla left for Lady Chalcomb’s.He grimaced when Mrs.Smithson told him where Miss Hamilton had gone, but he was not surprised.He was sure that she was angry at him for having left her behind when he went into the village this morning.He could understand that, too, but there had been no way he could go into the rough taverns and housing that he had visited today with a lady on his arm.And it was in that sort of place that he would find his quarry—or news about them.He had found news, too, which was pleasing, but it had been of little use.The two men had been staying in rooms above a dark and dirty tavern, where they had been serviced frequently by the women who worked the streets outside.He had found three girls who got over their disappointment that John was not a prospective client and were happy to talk about the two men from London who had hired them, one of whom had blacked Maisie’s eye.John had heard more than he had wanted to about the pair’s sexual habits, and he had also learned that the men had cleared out of their room this morning, taking their belongings with them.They were gone, had no doubt hurried back to London when they saw him yesterday in the village, scared that he would turn them in to the constabulary.Now he would never find out why they had seized him or who he was.He had turned back, failure grinding at his soul.He was not used to not getting what he wanted.He was sure of that.He hated failing, and he hated the thought of facing Priscilla and telling her that he had failed.It was not that he thought she would upbraid him for it—no, the scolding would doubtless be reserved for the fact that he had gone without taking her along on the adventure.It was simply his pride; he hated to have her think he was not capable of capturing two buffoonish ruffians.It was bad enough to be penniless and nameless, to be completely dependent on Priscilla’s generosity, without showing that he was incompetent, as well.Disgruntled, he had sat down to wait for Priscilla, sure that she would take her sweet time about the visit.She would want to make sure that he returned before she did; otherwise, there would be little point in going.At first he read, but as the afternoon wore on, he became less and less able to keep his mind on the story.By tea-time he had abandoned the book altogether, and when it grew dusk, he was pacing back and forth across the sitting room like a caged animal.Florian looked up from the book he was perusing with a pained expression.“I say.Whatever are you doing?”“Don’t you realize that she has not come home? Don’t you realize how late it is?” John turned on the man with a growl.Florian blinked, taken aback by John’s ferocity.“Why, yes, it is a quarter till seven.But what has that to do with—”“She hasn’t come back yet!”“Who?”“Who?” John repeated in amazement.“Your daughter, that’s who.Priscilla! She has been gone since early this afternoon, and she has not returned yet
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