This Way to Heaven Read online

  “Return to the castle and tell everyone where I am. Then I will at least know you are safe. And that means so much to me.”

  Jasmina’s heart sang at his words, but she realised at once that she could not leave him.

  “Richard, if these documents are really as important as you say, then my safety cannot be a consideration.”

  The Earl groaned under his breath.

  “Dearest, your safety means the world to me. If only – ”

  Jasmina reached out her hand and touched his wrist just above where the ropes cut cruelly into his skin.

  “Richard, you will never know how much I have longed and dreamed to hear those words, but our feelings must not be allowed to interfere with what is right. Evil must never win. Now, tell me what to do.”

  “Jasmina!”

  “Listen, Richard, I know you think women should be protected from all the hazards of this modern world, but surely you must see that this is one of those desperate times when you have to put that wonderful sentiment aside?”

  The Earl was silent for several seconds. He knew she was right, but how could he ask the woman he loved to put her life in danger?

  “That briefcase must never be allowed to leave the country,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with anguish.

  Jasmina did not hesitate.

  There was no time for fond farewells or last minute speeches.

  The man she loved had told her what needed to be done and she was determined to do it.

  She allowed her fingers to rest for another moment on his bound hands and then she crawled away out into the snowy countryside.

  *

  Only a mile away, Mary and George were skating slowly along the lake, hand in hand, straining their eyes for any sight of Jasmina on the path that ran along the bank.

  The snow had just stopped and the clouds had given way to a brilliant starry sky with a full moon throwing a silvery light over the white fields and moors.

  George had decided the snow was far too deep for them to try and follow the American girl on foot.

  Mary had found him a pair of the Earl’s skates and it had taken only minutes for the two of them to be out on the ice.

  “Miss Winfield must have followed them along the track,” said George. “If we keep it in sight, we should see ’er eventually.”

  “I can’t believe she’s riding your old pony!” Mary grunted.

  They had just been about to set off from the castle when a young groom had run round from the stables with the news that Miss Winfield had taken George’s pony and gone off into the night – and what should he do?

  George grasped Mary’s hand tightly as their skates juddered over rough ice.

  “She’s a real brave lass and no mistake,” he agreed. “But she’ll be no match for them ruffians even if she does catch up with them.”

  “Oh, George, what on earth will happen if the Earl is killed? Who will inherit the castle? Where would I go?”

  “Now Mary, my sweetheart, stop worryin’ and just concentrate on findin’ the two of them alive and well.”

  “George – look – we’re about level to where the path branches. They might have headed up into the hills.”

  The young farmer swerved to a halt.

  “You’re right! Stay there while I check it out.”

  Before she could reply, he had left her side and was scrambling heavily up the bank.

  It seemed like an age, but was only seconds before he appeared again through the line of willow trees, waving something in his hand.

  “It’s a ribbon, Mary. Pink one. Would that belong to Miss Winfield?”

  “Yes!” cried Mary in excitement and relief. “She was wearing it in her hair.”

  “Clever lass has marked the lake path for us. They haven’t gone up into the ’ills. And I reckon I know where they’re ’eaded!”

  He slid back down the bank and swooped towards her. Mary reached out and he swung her round in his arms and gave her a rough kiss.

  “The boatshed! It’s the only place they could rest and shelter this side of the lake. I’ll bet you a year’s wages that’s where they’ve taken ’is Lordship.”

  Mary gazed back along the long length of the lake.

  The ice glistened silver in the moonlight and in the far distance she could see the flicker of flares.

  Torchlight!

  At last the village had been roused and help was on its way.

  But would it be in time?

  CHAPTER NINE

  With her heart thumping wildly, Jasmina crept slowly around the boat shed, her footsteps muffled in the thick soft snow.

  The night was inky dark. The earlier starry sky had vanished as large black clouds swept in across the moors, blanketing the moon and casting everything into gloom.

  But luckily the freshly fallen snow gave off plenty of reflected light even in the dark shadowy areas.

  She did not know how she had found the courage to leave Richard behind, still bound, a captive of the men who conspired to steal his valuable Government documents.

  All she knew was that the agony on the Earl’s face had not been caused by his own pain and imprisonment.

  Nor did she truly believe that it was putting her life in jeopardy that worried him so much.

  No, it was the result of fear of what could happen if those papers were lost and sold to some foreign power.

  ‘Well, they will not leave this country if I can help it!’ Jasmina muttered.

  ‘But, oh, dear Heaven, please look after Richard! Because I love him so much!’

  She paused, wishing she could feel her fingers and toes which seemed to be frozen solid.

  Her love for the Earl was so new and exciting that she wished she had time to sit quietly and savour the thrill that rushed through her at the very sound of his name.

  But she could not.

  She was on a vital mission and knew she must push everything else to the back of her mind or else that mission would fail.

  She reached the corner of the boatshed, knowing that the kidnappers were sheltering just inside sitting on the wooden jetty surrounding the deep inlet that ran from the lake into the shed.

  In the summer she imagined this channel was used to launch the Earl’s boat for fishing expeditions and picnics out onto the lake, although Jasmina did not imagine there had been any since his wife died.

  She knelt in the snow, glad of the soft leather riding trousers that protected her legs from the cold and listened carefully.

  Although she could not see them she could hear two of the villains talking away, but could not understand them. Whatever language they were using, it was not one she knew.

  She remembered that when she had first seen inside the boatshed, those two had been sitting furthest away from this corner of the building.

  The leader of the gang, the bearded one, had been sitting with his back to the wall, sheltering from the wind coming off the lake.

  Suddenly he must have stood up, because Jasmina could hear him giving what sounded like brisk orders.

  Carefully she peered through the crack between the door and the building desperate to see what was happening.

  The two men were grumbling away to each other, but obviously getting ready to move off.

  As Jasmina watched, the bearded man strode to the back of the boatshed and she could overhear him taunting Richard and the calm measured sound of his response.

  But – and she drew a deep breath – there, lying on the muddy ground was the black briefcase!

  He had left it there, so determined was he to make the Earl’s life a misery that he had quite forgotten the spoils of his robbery.

  This was her chance – probably the only chance she would have.

  Jasmina hesitated, but only for a second.

  Before she could think of her own safety, she had darted around the edge of the door, snatched the briefcase and turning, fled out across the icy lake.

  Inside the bearded foreigner swore viciously as he saw what w
as happening.

  He began to start after Jasmina and just then, the Earl shot out his leg and tripped him up.

  He stumbled and fell, cursing, shouting in a foreign language to his two assistants, who looked bewildered by the sudden turn of events and lumbered across the shed to help him, ignoring his shouted orders to follow the girl.

  “Oh, Jasmina, run, run! Oh, sweet Heaven, protect my girl,” the Earl moaned, struggling to untie his wrists.

  There were a few moments of confusion before the men vanished in pursuit of Jasmina and for a second all was silent.

  Then suddenly there was a soft movement behind him and a voice called,

  “My Lord!”

  The Earl turned his head in amazement.

  “George Radford! By all that’s – ! Quickly, man, untie me. We must go after Miss Winfield. She only has a short start on those ruffians and I fear they will kill her if they catch her.”

  There was a glint of a blade and George’s knife was cutting through the rope.

  As he watched the strands giving way, the young farmer laughed to himself.

  One quick turn of the blade and the Earl would be dead and no one would ever know who had done it.

  George would swear he was dead when he found him.

  His farm would be safe because George knew in his heart that the Earl would never give up trying until he had prised it away from the Radford family.

  But the wayward thought was just that.

  As George had said to Mary the Earl might be his enemy, but he was an Englishman first and foremost and no foreigner was going to kidnap him while he had any say in the matter.

  With a deep groan the Earl pulled his hands apart, wincing at the ache in his strained arm muscles.

  “I thank you very much, Radford, from the bottom of my heart. You had no need to come to my assistance. You are a good man.”

  Not stopping to pull the rope ends from his wrists, he raced out of the boatshed to desperately gaze across the icy lake, expecting to see Jasmina’s fleeing figure with the three men closing in on her.

  But the lake lay empty and still before him.

  “Where have they gone?” he moaned.

  George was at his side, his breath showing in little white clouds in the freezing air.

  “The ice perhaps – it cracked – ” he murmured, his voice full of dismay.

  The Earl shook his head.

  “No, thank God, I think not. It is too thick by now to give way even with four people on it.”

  “Help is on its way, my Lord. Look – you can see lights flashin’ on the far side of the lake. They are torches carried by men from the village. I left Mary back a ways to meet them when they cross the ice to show them where you are. I ’ad guessed that they ’ad you imprisoned in the boatshed.”

  The Earl nodded, his head whirling.

  Yes, the brave men from the village, like George Radford were coming to his aid, as he knew they always would in a real emergency.

  But would they be too late to save the life of the woman he loved?

  And where was she?

  How could she have disappeared so swiftly?

  What on earth could have happened to Jasmina and the dastardly kidnappers?

  *

  As she fled out onto the ice, Jasmina had formed no clear idea of where to go or what to do.

  All she knew was that the briefcase must be saved from the Earl’s enemies.

  Then a sudden thought shot through her brain.

  It was not the briefcase that was important – it was the important papers it held!

  As she slid and stumbled across the frozen surface, she could hear the sounds of pursuit.

  She sharply snapped open the clasp of the briefcase, thanking Heaven that Richard had forgotten to lock it and pulled out a large sheaf of papers, all tied together with red ribbon.

  Next she flung the briefcase as far away from her as she could and, pushing the papers firmly inside her jacket, she turned and slid over the ice towards the castle bank.

  How long would it take for her pursuers to discover they did not possess their spoils any more?

  Hopefully enough time for her to find somewhere to hide the papers.

  Or should she destroy them?

  Were they replaceable?

  The Earl had not said.

  ‘Oh, why did you not ask him, you silly stupid girl! Instead of fussing about what he might think of you,’ she moaned, as she clambered through the snow, up the bank to the path that ran round the lake.

  As she looked back the moon came out briefly and she could make out three figures quite plainly bent over what she was sure was the briefcase lying on the ice.

  Jasmina gazed around her.

  Where could she go?

  Where could she possibly hide so she could not be discovered and forced to hand over these vital documents that Richard had been prepared to die to protect?

  “Miss Winfield!”

  Jasmina almost leapt out of her skin.

  “Mary! Oh, my goodness, Mary, how wonderful to see you. But what are you doing here? You’ll be caught. Look at those men out on the lake. They are the ones who kidnapped the Earl.”

  Mary nodded.

  “Help is well on its way. And George has gone to release his Lordship. George thought he would be in the old boatshed. Did they demand a ransom? Was that why they grabbed him? I have heard it’s a very popular crime nowadays.”

  Jasmina shook her head.

  “No, it was not the Earl they were after. It is these documents!”

  And she pressed her hand against the package she had safely hidden under her jacket.

  Mary stared in disbelief.

  How could some boring old papers be worth all this trouble? It did not make any sense to her.

  “Quick, Mary, they’ve seen us!” gasped Jasmina, as she saw the men look across the ice towards them.

  “George’s pony is right here, miss!” urged Mary, as they stumbled through the willow trees to where Jasmina had tethered him. “You can ride the papers to safety.”

  Jasmina swung herself onto the broad grey back.

  “I’ll not go without you, Mary.”

  She leant down and holding her arm, Mary vaulted onto the pony behind her, tucking up her long black skirt over her black stockings.

  Mary was a country girl and riding bareback held no qualms for her.

  However, she could only marvel to herself that this young American lady in leather riding trousers that had seemed so shocking when first seen was just as much at home riding without a saddle as she was.

  Jasmina urged the pony forward along the path.

  The snow was still deep and he plodded slowly and carefully along, no matter how much she tried to make him go faster.

  Mary gazed behind her.

  A few hundred yards away she could see the men floundering through the deep snow, but they were gaining ground.

  She bit her lip.

  She realised that her extra weight was the problem. George’s poor old pony could not cope with two riders at the same time.

  Suddenly she had made up her mind and slid to the ground.

  “Mary!”

  “Don’t stop, madam! Keep going. I’ll try and lead them away from you.”

  Jasmina felt her heart breaking at Mary’s bravery, but knew she had no choice.

  She urged the pony forward and without the extra load, he quickened his pace, heading for the castle and the comfort of the warm stables.

  *

  As the Earl and George gazed around for signs of Jasmina and her pursuers, a sudden commotion broke out a little way down the lakeside.

  A figure shot out from the shelter of the tall willow trees and slid across the ice.

  Within a few seconds, two burly men followed her, slipping and sliding, but closing in fast.

  “That’s my Mary!” cried George and flung himself forward out of the boatshed.

  The Earl hesitated. He could see the torches of the villag
ers coming across the lake from the other bank.

  They would soon reach Mary and the villains and George was more than capable of taking on two men at once to protect his sweetheart.

  But yet there was no sign of Jasmina or the bearded foreigner.

  In a brief flash he knew what had happened. Those brave wonderful girls had separated in order to throw their pursuers off the track.

  And it had half worked.

  The two men who, even now, were being subdued by George and an angry group of villagers had followed Mary.

  But the leader of the gang had obviously not been so easily distracted from his goal.

  He must have stayed on Jasmina’s trail.

  The Earl was certain that she would not have parted with the papers. They were still in danger of being wrested back and so Jasmina’s life was still at risk.

  Grimly he forced his way back to the path, his heart bursting with fear for the beautiful outspoken creature with tumbling yellow curls and bright sapphire blue eyes, who had come to mean so much to him in such a short while.

  The tracks there were quite plain.

  The deep even hoof prints of a heavily laden pony and, over the top of them, the marks of a horse that was shying and skittering and all the time being forced along the track towards Somerton Castle.

  *

  Jasmina felt herself swaying violently as the sturdy pony plodded into the castle grounds.

  She was so very tired and cold she could not think clearly.

  All she really wanted to do was to crawl into her bed and sleep for a month.

  But she knew that was a luxury that was denied her at the moment.

  Not while she was still responsible for the secret papers and could help Richard, the man she loved so much.

  She slid off the pony with a groan as he reached the main steps certain he would find his own way round to the stables.

  Glancing over her shoulder she thought she could just hear the chink of a bit and the creak of a saddle, but the moon had vanished again and the darkness of the castle cast a deep shadow over the pathway.

  Running up the steps she hammered loudly on the door, hoping and praying that one of the footmen would answer.