Lord D'Anvers groaned and opened his eyes. He seemed to be lying on the floor of his hotel room. What the hell was he doing on the floor?

He tried to sit up and was overcome by a wave of pain crashing through his skull. Quickly he lay back down, waiting for the pain to subside. Evidently he had been in some sort of accident, but it was hard to think clearly. He took shallow breaths, trying to clear his head - what had happened? He could remember opening the door, then - Silverwood - Silverwood had been standing there with his bully boys. He couldn't remember the details for the moment but they must have got the better of him, knocked him out.

They had wanted Fredericka, but he couldn't have told them her whereabouts, even if he had wanted to - he didn't know. Were they still here, waiting for him to recover and tell them where she was? Beat it out of him? His eyes searched the room - but there was no sign of anyone else. He felt a moment's flash of relief before it was replaced by suspicion - Silverwood had been absolutely livid, he couldn't believe he had just given up and gone home!

Evelyn! Silverwood had threatened to take Evelyn. An icy coldness settled in his stomach.

He couldn't lie here any longer. No matter how painful it was, he had to get up and see if Evelyn was still asleep in his bed - or not. The pain in his head throbbed in sickening waves as he got to his hands and knees on the floor, only just managing not to bring up his dinner. With agonising slowness, he crawled across the floor to the desk and used it to pull himself to his feet. He stood there swaying, trying to ride through the pain - for a moment everything went black and he feared he was about to pass out again.

He needed Jonathan. Where was he? Surely he should have been back by now. He took another breath, then staggered across to Evelyn's room. His worst fears were confirmed - the room was empty. Where had Silverwood taken him? To his home? Anger rose up, wrestling with the sick fear. If Silverwood hurt one hair of Evelyn's head ... he would kill him. He had to pull himself together and go after them, but he needed a glass of water and a wet cloth on his forehead for a few minutes first.

He went back to his own room in search of the water jug only to find it sitting on the floor, its contents an unpleasant pink. So! Someone had been in here then. For the first time, he noticed the small pillow near where he had been lying and then he spotted the piece of paper next to it. He groaned involuntarily. He wasn't at all sure that he could bend down to pick it up without fainting. He needed help. Finally his brain was beginning to function. He went across to the bell used to summon the hotel staff and gave it a hearty pull.

When the servant arrived a few moment later, D'Anvers brushed aside his horrified gasps and his offer to fetch a doctor. "I'm fine!" he insisted, impatiently. "A shilling for you if you rouse my man, Jenkins. Tell him to have my coach ready as soon as possible and then bring me word when it's waiting. Oh, and before you go, pick up that note for me, will you?"

The bewildered man bent to pick up the piece of paper and handed it to his Lordship. What in heaven's name had been happening here? He didn't know what Mr Rollins the manager would have to say about it! Still, a shilling was a shilling - perhaps he wouldn't mention the disturbance until morning.

"Thank you. Now hurry!" D'Anvers was impatient for the man to be off. Then he remembered the jug of stained water. "And bring me some fresh water on your return."

Scarcely waiting for the servant to depart, D'Anvers looked at the note. 'Mausoleum, St Stephen's cemetery. J.' Thank heavens. Jonathan must have been here and set off in pursuit of Evelyn. For the first time he relaxed a fraction.

At least he knew where they were going now. His head had settled to a dull ache - as long as he didn't make any sudden moves! He had better get prepared, Jenkins would have the coach ready and waiting for him soon. He gathered up his greatcoat and went to get his pistols and ammunition. D'Anvers froze as he realised one of his pistols was missing. Had Jonathan taken it? Or Silverwood? He could only hope it had been Jonathan. He wondered helplessly if he had taken the time to load it before he left. His heart sunk as he imagined Jonathan threatening Silverwood with an empty pistol.

His lips tightened. Now he had the two of them to worry about.

~~~

Jonathan regained his senses to find his cheek pressing uncomfortably against cold dirty stone. His hands were tied behind his back and he was lying on the floor of the mausoleum. He thought Evelyn had got away safely, but he couldn't help hoping that D'Anvers was coming after them, and the sooner the better. How far was Evelyn going to get, dressed only in his nightshirt?

"So, you're awake are you?" came the hateful voice. Rough hands pulled Jonathan to his feet and he found himself held upright by the burly henchman, forced to face Lord Silverwood.

"Where is Fredericka?" his Lordship demanded.

"Somewhere safe, where you'll never find her!" Jonathan answered defiantly, his chin in the air.

Silverwood smiled unpleasantly. "We'll see what D'Anvers has to say about that, shall we? I'm sure he'd prefer to have you back instead of her."

"Lord D'Anvers won't give in to your threats!"

"We'll see, I hardly think he can be pleased by your interest in her, after all. I'll be doing him a favour - getting rid of the competition."

Jonathan flushed. "It's not like that! I'm not interested in Fredericka in that way, I just feel sorry for her, like any gentleman would!"

Silverwood's eyes glittered for a moment.

"Wot I want to know is, wot 'ave you done with Bill?" The burly man holding Jonathan spoke for the first time.

"Bill?" Jonathan was confused.

"'im as was guarding the place."

"Oh him. He's outside, having a nap," answered Jonathan irreverently, anything to keep his courage up.

"I think this young man needs to be taught a lesson," said Silverwood in silky tones. "Give me a hand here would you?"

In seconds, Jonathan found himself dragged over to a stone sarcophagus and pushed face down on top of it. His face was pressed uncomfortably onto the cold marble lid and he could feel Silverwood's hand in the middle of his back, all his weight behind it. His heart froze as Silverwood took a firm grip of the waistband of his trousers with his other hand, hard knuckles digging painfully into the bare skin of his back.

"Leave him here with me and go and check on Higgins would you? No need to hurry back," Silverwood told his henchman. "You can keep watch outside in case D'Anvers turns up."

Jonathan heard the other man leave, only just managing to bite back words begging him not to go.

"Alone at last!" sneered Silverwood, and wrenched at Jonathan's trousers.

~~~

Lord D'Anvers entered the cemetery cautiously, his pistol, fully loaded, in his right hand. Jenkins followed closely, carrying a heavy wooden club. He hadn't liked leaving the coach unattended but young Evelyn's safety was more important. He could only hope thieves would be too frightened to hang around here after midnight.

They could see a faint light coming from the middle of the cemetery and made their way towards it, taking care to make as little noise as possible. D'Anvers thought he saw the outline of a man, moving across in front of the light, and came to a sudden halt. Both men stood stock still, listening intently, watching for another hint of movement. A low groan broke the silence, followed by some hearty cursing.

"Shh!" A different voice broke in. Neither sounded like Lord Silverwood and D'Anvers smiled with satisfaction. Now he knew pretty much exactly where the two henchmen were - presumably Silverwood was inside the mausoleum with Jonathan and Evelyn. With the flick of an elbow, D'Anvers sent Jenkins off to his left, to try and circle round behind the two men. He wanted to take the two by surprise, without alerting Lord Silverwood if at all possible.

D'Anvers crept forward, taking advantage of the cover provided by the stone monuments, getting closer and closer. An owl hooted softly nearby. That was Jenkins, signalling he was in position. In one smooth movement, D'Anvers rose to his feet, aiming his pistol directly at the man in front of him, only ten feet away.

"Hands up!" he ordered in a determined but low voice, "Or I shoot."

The burly man jolted in surprise, his head spinning around to find his opponent. The light from the lamp showed D'Anvers standing there, glinted off the large pistol in his hand, and reluctantly the man raised his hands.

"No need for that guv'nor," he asserted, taking a cautious step back towards the mausoleum.

"Hold still!" D'Anvers ordered, the last thing he wanted was for Silverwood to get help.

"I'll just get his Lordship," murmured his target, still shuffling slowly backward, "He's th'un you want to speak wit'."

Taking matters into his own hands, Jenkins rose up behind him and brought the club down on his head with a solid thwack. Then he turned to the second man, who was sitting on the ground, holding his head, and staring fearfully up at him.

"No!" he pleaded. "Not again!" but Jenkins was ruthless, bringing the club down, though a fraction lighter this time. "I'll look after these two, milord, you go after the boy," suggested Jenkins, already pulling some rope out of one voluminous pocket.

Lord D'Anvers was already moving towards the door of the mausoleum. He slipped inside, holding the pistol in front of him.

Only the greatest self restraint stopped him from shooting Silverwood on the spot.