He shouted for the carriage, and grabbed his cloak from the bustling footman.
Pamela flew out of her seat, eager to help but unsure how. She hurried after the Duke as he made his way through the foyer toward the front door.
"Pray forgive me, Miss Ashton, I must go."
"I'm coming with you," Pamela insisted, hurrying after him. "I feel as if this is all my fault. Your sister wouldn't be in danger if it wasn't for me interfering with Jonathan's life."
"Don't say that. You may have saved her, bringing me this news of the Earl and all he has been up to behind our backs."
"But what can Ferncliffe hope to gain?" Pamela asked breathlessly as she followed him.
"He can kidnap Jane, make me pay to keep her safe. Blackmail me so that the whole story will not come out. Or worse still, take the child. I don't know!" He paced up and down in the vestibule as he waited for the carriage to be brought around.
Pamela stared as the normally suave and urbane duke began wringing his hands in agitation. He was clearly terrified. It spoke volumes, more than any defense he could have raised on Jonathan's part as to who was guilty in all of this, and who innocent.
At last the vehicle came around the corner from the stables. He asked three of his large burly footmen to come along for assistance. They all piled into the coach and sped off.
"Where is she?"
"Near Green Park. It isn't too far, but we must hurry!" he added, shouting loudly enough for the driver to hear.
Every minute that ticked past was an agony of suspense for Pamela as the carriage trundled along as rapidly as the team could gallop.
She had no idea what she thought she would find, what she could do to help. All she knew was she adored Jonathan and would do anything to assist her beloved and his friends. Even if he could never ever love her because he had always been bound to Jane, Pamela had to help the Duke and his sister and her poor child now, before it was too late.
Chapter Thirty-one
When the Duke and Pamela arrived at the sanitarium at Green Park ten minutes later, they could hear a commotion inside and a woman's unearthly keening.
The Duke whitened. "That's Jane's voice. Good God!" He leapt out of the carriage, and ran for the entrance, leaving Pamela to scramble out behind.
The door was locked firmly. No amount of ringing or pounding gained them access.
Thomas wasted no more time. He ordered his three men to break down the door.
The door was worthy of a fortress, huge, reinforced with steel. It was going to take time, which was one thing they didn't have, Pamela could see.
The weeping and wailing was enough to spur her into action herself. While the men set to work,
While they set to work, Pamela looked around for another way to enter the sanitarium. There was a pretty garden at the side of the house, with huge black wrought iron gates separating it from the street.
Quickly she flung off her split skirt and jacket. Clad in her riding breeches and shirt, she stood up on the carriage step. Climbing up onto the driver's box, earning herself a stunned look from the servant.
"I'm climbing in."
"Good Lord, you'll kill yourself, Miss," the portly man protested.
"The Duke's sister is in danger. I have to help."
She grasped the top of the tall bars of the garden fence before her stunned companion could protest further, and swung herself over and down onto the other side of the railings. It was a long drop, but she managed to slide down part of the way, and then break her fall with some mosses and shrubs.
Once back on her feet, Pamela immediately looked for a way in. She picked up a small ornamental stone from a flowerbed and smashed one large pane of the glass-paneled door.
She reached in and turned the knob, then slipped down the long corridor cautiously to the front of the house. If she could get the door open for the Duke and his men...
Inside the house pandemonium reigned. A tall thin dark-haired woman was wailing on the stairs. Ferncliffe, standing astride two of the steps, was waving a pistol at anyone who tried to take the child from him.
"You can't have her! You can't!" Jane screamed.
"Oh, but I can," he said coolly. "She's my daughter. Your brother will pay dearly for her. If you ever want to see her again, you'll come with me. Your brother will pay for you as well, and so will your darling Jonathan."
"I'll never go back with you!" Jane hissed. "I hate you. I would rather die than let you touch me or my child ever again."
He grabbed her arm. She began to flail at him wildly, screaming anew.
Pamela could see a glitter of silver flash downwards. Ferncliffe shrieked, and clutched his left eye, grabbing at the small pair of embroidery scissors she had thrust into his face like a dagger.