Disclaimers: as before.

Warning: this is quite a dark chapter. But things may be getting lighter from here on...

Nigel didn't know how long he slept for, but he doubted it was very long. When he awoke it was still light outside and, to his dismay, no food or water had been forthcoming. He still felt very tired, but he dragged himself over to the book on the windowsill. It seemed he would have to earn any slight comforts on offer.

Kneeling before the window, using the scant light coming through the arrow slit, he began to read. The first page was straightforward enough, containing the following words:

'This is an honest account of the passionate life of I, Emma, Lady Hamilton, now known once again as common Emmeline Hart, which I spent with the greatest hero of our age, and love of my life, Admiral Lord Nelson. Although I am now reduced to a beggarly state, I do not and shall not, for as long as I live, regret any of the acts in my long and now desolate life, for all was meant to bring me to him. I swear this, so God is my witness.'

Nigel, distracted from his hunger, was curious. Something about the text was slightly inauthentic. It was certainly a page turner, as one amorous encounter after another was detailed before his eyes. There were sentimental embraces, and long, unrestrained kisses told with such artless grace that they could not but imagine himself in similar situations, with Sydney, of course, playing the role of the infatuated Lady Hamilton.

After a while, Nigel realised what was wrong. There was no sense of time or place. Lady Hamilton was a woman who traveled the world and met the most distinguished people of her age. She first encountered her beloved Nelson in Naples when her husband was the ambassador there, hob-nobbed with the king and queen, and then returned to England, standing in the shadows as her lover received acclaim for his battle victories.

Some of these details, and others, were hinted at, but the book contained nothing that wasn't common knowledge after the event. The richest, most convincing portrayals were of timeless, erotic trysts. This could be a description of any two lovers, anywhere. Even the writing itself did not even seem be of quite the right period. Surely this was a fake?

However, fraud or not, the work did contain evidence of a hidden code. While most of the book read remarkably freely and easily, on every other page, there was a clumsily constructed sentence, in which one word in particular did not fit in. He picked out the misfit words and placed them together, in order.

The words were familiar. Nigel stared at them from few minutes and then remembered where they came from. It was the first verse of a poem which he'd studied at A-level English. It was by a Victorian versifier whose name he forgot, all about a poor, deserted woman, wretched like poor Lady Hamilton but who, instead of turning to drink, committed suicide. He put in the punctuation, so the words made sense:

'One more unfortunate, weary of breath, rashly importunate, gone to her death.'

'That clinches it then', thought Nigel. 'The book's a sham. That poem wasn't written until 1819, four years after Lady Hamilton died. 'But why does it still contain this message? Could it still lead to something, even to the locket?' Nigel pondered hard for a minute. What was the title of that wretched poem? Did it refer to a place? Then it struck him: it was called 'Bridge of Sighs.'

At this moment of revelation, the door opened, and in came Bately. In one hand he had a tray with a bowl of something on it, a piece of bread, and a bottle of water. In the other hand he had a bucket, containing soap and water, and over his arm he had what looked like a clean shirt. He had no free hands with which to lock the door behind him. Seeing this, Nigel's heart lurched. Was this his opportunity to escape?

Unfortunately, Bately's hands were not full for long enough for Nigel to make a run to the door from the other side of the room. Almost immediately, the henchman put down the tray, and bucket, on the floor. However, he still did not bother with the key. 'All I have to do is distract him from minute, and get between him and the door,' thought Nigel.

'What are you staring at?' said Bately, casually. Nigel had been looking at him very intensely.

'Your ridiculous hair,' came Nigel's quick retort, referring to the large mans long, blond locks. 'Is it the 1970s original, or a cheap imitation?'

'Very funny,' said Bately, unperturbed. 'You are hardly in a position to criticise my grooming, now, are you? But you still look a cute little thing... I like the ruffled look '

Nigel jumped up, but realised this was not a moment he could run for the door. Bately was just waiting for him to try something. He also hated the current topic of conversation, and where it might lead. He sidled over, picked up the bucket of water, and headed into the small guarderobe.

Bately tossed in the shirt, which was an unattractive shade of pastel purple, behind him. 'I thought you'd smell nicer in this,' he added, suggestively.

Nigel was extremely unhappy about his unwelcome visitor hovering in the outer chamber while he washed his face and hands, changed his shirt, and attempted to tidy up his hair. However, he also did not want his jailer to leave the room and lock the door. He said nothing and, as he both hoped and feared, Bately stayed.

Minutes later, he emerged cautiously back into his joyless bedroom. Bately looked at him and grinned. Nigel certainly looked cleaner, but no less pale and bedraggled. The shirt, several sizes too big, made him look very small. The glee on the bigger mans face at his captors apparent vulnerability was all too obvious.

'This was one of mine,' he mused, reaching forward to touch the shirt. This time, Nigel's rejoinder was a swift kick between his would-be tormentors legs, hitting home where it hurt the most.

Leaving Bately doubled up in pain, he hurtled straight for the door and yanked at the handle. It didn't open. 'Bloody hell!' he cursed out loud, and pulled again as hard as he could. He still had no luck. It obviously had some sort of self locking mechanism when it slammed. That was unfair! That shouldn't happen with an old castle door. It certainly wasn't an authentic 14th century lock!

Bately was recovering rapidly but Nigel hoped he still had time to try and grab the key out of his pocket. He lurched back at Bately, punching him in his side, and reaching into his pocket. He was lucky, the key was there, and he gripped it tightly. Unfortunately, the blow was not hard enough to prevent Bately seizing the hand with the key, and then the other, twisting them uncomfortably behind his back in order to make him drop it. In desperation, Nigel kicked backwards, trying to hit again the place where he'd had the most success. His aim was equally good, and he was able to wrench away his arms, and launch himself towards the door.

With a roar, Bately unfolded himself, and surged after Nigel, grabbing hold of his leg and tripping him. With the key in one hand, Nigel only had the other to break his fall, and he was unable to prevent himself smacking his forehead hard against the door. As everything went black again, Nigel thought ruefully to himself: 'Why didn't I just hit him with the bucket?'

………………….

When Nigel awoke this time, the first thing he saw was a familiar, but unwelcome face. Wildey, at least the man he still thought was Wildey, was leaning over him, looking mildly anxious and patting his uninjured cheek.

'Nigel, mate, are you with me?'

'Not if I can help it,' murmured Nigel, and shut his eyes again. Sometimes it was better not to wake up.

Wildey persisted in patting his cheek, forcing Nigel to open his eyes again and scowl at him. Uninvited, Wildey pushed his hand behind Nigel's neck and lifted up his head, saying 'Here, have some water. You'll feel better then.' He tipped a glass of water towards Nigel's lips. Nigel took a sip, almost gratefully, finding that his mouth was incredibly dry. After a second drop, though, his head hurt more than ever, and he pulled away, glad that to be allowed to flop back onto the mattress.

'Well done, mate,' said Wildey. 'Seems you and Mr Bately had a bit of a scuffle, eh? Careful, now. There's a cut on your forehead which is still bleeding. '

Nigel lifted his hand to confirm this, drawing it back spotted with blood. However, the last thing he wanted, feeling as he did, was sympathy from this conman.

He turned his face to look at his unlikely nurse. 'Let's cut to the chase Wildey. I've cracked your code. If I tell it to you, will you let me go?'

'Good God,' spurted Wildey, with amusement. 'I don't show who's more naïve, you or your dear Professor. Of course I can't let you go now. I might free you when the locket is safe in my hands, and I've cleared out for another continent. Or I may not.'

Nigel narrowed his eyes. He had some suspicions to confirm. 'You're Bellimo, aren't you? You were never a historian, even a bad one.'

'My, you are entertaining, aren't you? You're nearly as exquisite a delight as your lovely superior. My, she and I have had some fun together over the last twenty-four hours.'

Nigel wanted to grab the man by the collar and shake him until his teeth rattled, but the best he could do was prop himself up on his elbows and stare him straight in the face. 'You've been with Sydney? If you've hurt her…'

'Now, where have I been hearing this before? Why don't you two just tie the knot and get it over with… not that you can do that right now, though, can you?' Nigel looked daggers. His face had gone from deadly white to pink with rage in a matter of seconds. 'So here's the gist of it. I have your Professor. She is locked in the basement of my house in Rouen. I will kill her unless you tell me where the locket is. If you can't tell me, I'll leave you here with my friend, and make the same offer to her. If you tell me wrong, I'll leave you here to die. If you tell me correctly, Sydney Fox goes free and I may be equally lenient with you. Tu comprend?'

'Exactly,' said Nigel, lying himself back again.

Staring intently at the ceiling, avoiding all eye contact, Nigel then spoke to Bellimo very deliberately: 'The locket is hidden under the Bridge of Sighs. It's in Venice.'

'Good boy.' Nigel cringed. Bellimo patted him on the shoulder, rose and left the room.

………………

The moment the door had shut behind him, Nigel gingerly pulled himself to his feet, fighting against the excruciating pain in his head. The food which Bately had bought in earlier was still there. Although feeling slightly nauseous, he forced himself to eat it. He needed his strength.

Immediately afterwards, he made his way into the water closet. 'Time for plan B,' he thought.

With all his strength, he pulled at the stone seat on top of the guarderobe. At first it didn't shift, but after two or three attempts it ground forward. After a few more tries, he had to jump back as it clattered to the floor loudly, just missing his foot. He prayed nobody heard. Underneath was a gap just large enough to somebody his size, and no larger, to crawl through. It didn't smell very inviting, but fortunately the guarderobe hadn't been used much in recent years. 'I'm coming Sydney', he thought desperately. He couldn't bear the notion of her locked up in a horrible basement, no matter what terrible things he had to go through.

He was about to squeeze his way down, when he heard voices from outside at the bottom of the keep.

'I'll call you from Venice,' he heard Bellimo say. He was obviously leaving Nigel solely in Bately's charge again, giving his escape plan even more impetus.

The car pulled away, and Nigel hoped that Bately had gone back inside and was not coming up to check on him immediately. Headfirst, he eased his way down the small tunnel. It ran diagonally down to about two meters. Then Nigel came face-to-face with a sheer drop down. Fortunately he was only one story on to the top of the steps. To his relief, he could see nobody about.

He lowered himself down slowly, until he was dangling by his fingertips. He then dropped the distance, barely two meters, onto the top of the steps. As he landed, the world swam for a moment. He thought he might lose his balance, but sheer willpower stopped him from tumbling. Fighting against the throbbing in his head, he darted down the steps and straight out through the gates. Then, veering off the path for safety, he plunged his way into the woods.

Is a reunion between Nigel and Sydney on the cards? It looks likely…

Thanks for reading.