Your triumph will soon be at an end. You stole the wrong woman, gentlemen. She allowed herself the faintest smile of satisfaction, as a black cloth tightened across her eyes, blocking her vision of anything at all. She winced as her assailant pulled the cloth even tighter, securing it in place. But that didn’t trouble her too much, for she could easily untie the knot.
As if sensing her thoughts, her arms were yanked behind her back, and she felt rough ropes being tied around her wrists. The fibrous material grazed against her skin, making it itch. That would be harder to undo, she reasoned, as the wretch had bound her without any preamble. If she had suspected he might tie her up, she would have bent her wrists, the way her father had taught her, in order to give her hands some room to wiggle free.
“Don’t say a word,” the man threatened, as he lifted her inside the carriage. She couldn’t see a thing, that was true, but she had learned, a long time ago, how to survive on her other senses. Another part of her father’s teaching, which had got her out of a scrape or two in her time. This would prove no different.
“Is it done?” A gruff, muffled voice called from outside.
“It is,” the thin man replied.
A moment later, she heard the snap of reins and felt the carriage jolt as it set off. Even with her arms tied behind her back, she managed to feel along the bench beneath her. Soft velvet, much like the carriage she had left. Cautiously, she shuffled toward the far side of the bench, until she could feel the cold breeze against her cheek, sneaking in from the exterior.
“Stop your fidgeting!” the Heron, as she had decided to call him, barked.
“I am sorry, sir. I only wished to breathe some fresh air.” Even she was impressed by how pathetic she sounded. The perfect victim. And, goodness, were they going to get a surprise once they reached their final destination.
Leaning into the carriage wall, she set about her work. Shuffling the back of her skirt up, she managed to loosen the knife that she had strapped to her thigh. Every time she moved, she listened out for the sound of her vile companion. Although, after ten minutes had passed, she heard the soft sigh of his snore.
Excellent…
She waited a few moments longer, to be sure he really was asleep, before she began to cut at the hem of her dress. Feeling the give of the fabric, she continued to slice away fragments of lace and silk, until she had enough to leave an extensive trail. After all, she didn’t know how far they had to travel, nor when the Heron might wake again.
Setting the pile of fabric pieces on the bench beside her, she brought the knife between her clamped wrists and sawed through the ropes. She planned to loosely tie them again when the occasion called for it, but she couldn’t very well leave a trail if she was bound.
Ah… that is better. Her hands broke free, and she immediately brought them up to the back of her head to drag the blindfold down her face. Again, she planned to restore it when they arrived at their future location, but she needed her eyes for this.
Blinking several times to get accustomed to the dim light, she let her gaze pause on the Heron. He really had fallen asleep. Evidently, he felt he had nothing to fear from a measly damsel. It amused her, to think how close he actually was to potential death, without even realizing it. She had never resorted to killing anyone, in her entire life, even though there had been a number of occasions where she had been seconds from pulling a trigger to save her own life, or that of a victim. But she understood the power in her hands.
I could take this knife to your throat and slit it, and you would not even know you were going to die until it was too late. With her hands now loose, she could have done that exact thing, and rid the world of one more evildoer. But that wasn’t how she behaved. No, she felt a greater sense of satisfaction in seeing men such as this stand trial in a court of law. They could decide on a death penalty, if they wanted, but that was not up to her. She preferred it that way.
Stowing her knife away, in case the Heron happened to awaken, Victoria reached up and removed several hairpins from her coiffed locks. Stabbing one into each of the fabric scraps, she began to slip them out of the carriage window at steady intervals, where they lodged in the dirt below.
Find me, Christian. I know you will be cross with me, but I am relying on you. No matter how capable she may have been, she was no idiot. She knew that, in order to rescue the missing ladies and bring these two cretins to justice, she needed help. One woman alone could not do both, and she would be damned if she was about to let these two cretins escape her clutches this time.
“I don’t mean to be impolite, Admiral, but when was the last time you rode on horseback?” Christian glanced at his companion in frustration. He didn’t know why Benedict had insisted they ride, when it was obvious that the older gentleman was no horseman. Indeed, a perfectly good carriage had been available, yet Benedict had protested that this would carry them swifter along the country roads.
“I’d say that’s being very impolite,” Benedict retorted. “You focus on your own riding and let me focus on mine. And keep your eyes open for any trail she may have left. You’re not used to staying awake at all hours, as she and I are, and I don’t want you dropping out of your saddle.”
The two men had become somewhat cantankerous, after the irksome delay they had endured at Bow Street. With it being so late at night—or, indeed, so early in the morning—there had been few constables on duty at the Bow Street headquarters. Many officers were out on patrol, or had already gone home, leaving a sparse crew to man the building itself.
As such, they had been forced to strike out ahead of the proverbial cavalry, relying on a promise that others would be sent to follow their route once enough could be gathered. In addition, one constable had been sent to take care of Miss Longacre, so they had lost the use of him. But, at least Bow Street had lent them these horses, even if Benedict obviously didn’t remember how to ride one.
“I couldn’t ‘drop out’ of my saddle if I tried, Admiral,” Christian muttered. “I have ridden horses since I was old enough to walk. Once upon a time, I was known for having the finest seat in Cornwall.”
“There can’t be many people in Cornwall, then.” Benedict glowered at the road ahead. Much to Christian’s additional chagrin, they had been forced to slow their pace, due to the note that Victoria had left. She had spoken of this trail she might leave, and if they raced along the country roads, Benedict reasoned they would be likely to miss it. Still, it distressed Christian to think they were wasting time. Valuable time, in which Victoria could be heading deeper into danger.
“Do you see anything?” Christian peered down at the road, casting his lantern across it in great sweeps. After all, the moon had decided to be uncooperative, with dense clouds covering the meagre glow. The metallic scent of rain still hung in the air and, judging by that swelling cloud cover, it wouldn’t be long before the heavens opened.
Do not wash away her trail, I beg of you.
“There!” Benedict spurred his horse on and pulled it to a halt a short distance ahead. Christian caught up with him, squinting down at whatever had caught his companion’s eye.
A glint of gold emerged from the dirt, catching the glow of Benedict’s lantern.
Without hesitation, Christian leapt down from the saddle to investigate more closely. Ironic, considering Benedict was supposed to be the actual investigator. He crouched low and took up the shining gold item, placing it in his palm and brushing away the grime that had gathered.
“It’s a bracelet,” Benedict said, stating the obvious. “Not one of Victoria’s, though. I’ve never seen her own anything so fancy.”
“It belongs to Miss Longacre,” Christian explained. “She lent it to Victoria, in honor of the Earl of Russell’s soiree.”
“She really is leaving us a trail.” Benedict lifted his head and stared into the gloom. “Although, I doubt she’s got an endless supply of fine jewelry. Going forward, we’ll need to keep an eye out for stranger clues.”
“Li
ke what?” Christian pocketed the bracelet and climbed back into the saddle.
Benedict rolled his eyes. “If I knew that, I would tell you.”
Certain, now, that they were on the right path, the two riders continued on through the windswept landscape. They had barely gone thirty paces when the first droplet of rain splashed against Christian’s cheek, like a cold kiss from a spurned lover.
After thirty more paces, that first tentative drop turned into a barrage of icy rain that doused him within seconds. Those furious dark clouds unleashed the full weight of their ire, sparing no one and nothing from its bitter lashing. Christian’s heart lurched as he pressed on, wiping the water from his eyes in a desperate attempt to see any articles upon the road. They were going to have to move swiftly, if they wanted to stand any chance of finding the rest of the trail that Victoria had left for them.
Chapter 24
Meanwhile, Victoria had kept herself busy, depositing the pin-stabbed scraps of fabric out of the window. The Heron hadn’t stirred throughout their journey, though she was careful to keep a watchful eye upon him, nonetheless.
She was about to stab another piece of fabric, when the carriage trundled to a standstill. Wasting no time, and taking no risks, Victoria immediately pulled the blindfold back up, across her eyes, and slipped her wrists into the loose loops that she had made with the cut rope.
And not a moment too soon…
“Castell?” A voice called. The same, gruff voice she had heard earlier, from the Heron’s accomplice. Although, she now knew that the Heron possessed a name—Castell. It didn’t ring any bells for her, though she had a wealth of knowledge with regards to the names of possible criminals in London.
“Huh?” She heard the Heron stir, at last, oblivious to her tireless undertakings.
“Castell?” the voice repeated, sharper this time. A heavy thud of boots followed, as if the speaker had jumped down from the driver’s box. Next, she heard the creak of the carriage door opening. “Castell, tell me you didn’t fall asleep again?”
“I was merely resting my eyes, Benson,” Castell replied. “No use exhausting myself, now that we have Miss Longacre. And it wasn’t as though she was going anywhere.”
The man who went by the name of Benson gave a low grunt of disapproval. “As far as you know. She might’ve tossed herself from the carriage, and you’d not have known about it until we arrived here.”
“You would do well to calm down. All is as it should be. No harm done. And, I must say, I feel better for having slept for a while,” Castell protested. “Now, what do we do with her?”
“Same thing we do with the rest of them.” Benson seized her roughly by the arm and dragged her out of the carriage. She made a show of writhing and shrieking, when all she wanted to do was break loose and pummel the pair to smithereens.
“A lively one.” Castell snickered.
“Ah, they all quiet down in the end.” Benson shoved her sharply in the back to get her to walk. It burned her up inside, adding to her fury, but she wouldn’t let that show. Not yet.
Instead, she listened to her surroundings, trying to gauge her bearings. She had watched intently from the carriage window, but it had done her little good. Having rarely left London for much of her life, she didn’t recognize a single thing out here in the country. Why, it could easily have been a different world entirely, and she wouldn’t have known. All she did know was that they had passed through dense woodland for at least ten minutes, which meant they were somewhere deep in a forest. The damp, earthy scent that surrounded her only served to solidify that idea, accompanied by the rustle of leaves, shaken by the rain that had begun to fall.
Please don’t wash away my trail. Not before Christian and Benedict have managed to follow it. She sent her prayer upward, though not without a hint of anger. Why had the rain chosen now to start its descent? She had endured quite enough challenges for one season; she didn’t need the heavens themselves adding to it, no matter how blasphemous that might have sounded.
“Get in there and stay quiet until you’re called for.” Benson hoofed her unceremoniously into what could only be a building of some kind. She could hear the rain falling outside, but it no longer splattered upon her face.
She waited for a few moments, until she heard the sound of retreating footsteps. Only then did she dare to slip her hands out of the ropes and remove the blindfold. Her mouth opened in surprise as she found herself in a shed of some kind, barely big enough to accommodate her. Mold streaked the wooden slats, and the grimy hay that had been laid underfoot smelled potently of mildew.
A few cracks in the structure revealed the outside world. Victoria ran toward one, and pressed her eye to the gap, so she might see better. By the looks of it, they had brought her to some kind of farm. Though the farm had evidently been abandoned for some time.
Across a wide courtyard, she saw a towering barn. The door sat open, with glowing lights flickering within. Away to the right of the barn stood an ancient farmhouse which had certainly seen better days. The roof had caved in entirely, and the masonry had begun to crumble, with some of the brickwork stained black. From those erratic marks, she reasoned a fire must have gutted the place, which was why these wretched kidnappers had selected the barn as their main place of residence.
And now, all I can do is wait. She couldn’t recall the last time she had slept, but she didn’t plan to close her eyes that night. She couldn’t risk falling asleep and leaving herself vulnerable, before these criminals. No, she wouldn’t rest until this was over, even if it brought her to the brink of exhaustion. Which, judging by the ache in her limbs and the weight of her eyelids, wasn’t too far off.
Several hours later, with dawn starting to poke through a clouded sky, sending bolts of vivid pinks and oranges across those fluffy plumes, Victoria saw two figures emerge from the barn. They were heading directly for her shed, prompting her to pull her blindfold back on and slip her hands back into their bound position.
It had been a lengthy wait, filled with unfamiliar sights and sounds and smells. With every masculine voice that had drifted across the courtyard, her spirits had lifted, believing that Christian and Benedict had come to her aid. Disappointment had followed each time, for though a good amount of time had passed, there had been no sign of Christian or Benedict anywhere.
Perhaps my trail wasn’t good enough. Perhaps they lost sight of it, with all the rain and wind. Perhaps I will have to do this alone, after all. It wouldn’t be easy, but she was convinced she had faced starker odds than this. She could not think of any, at present, but then her mind was not exactly clear.
She sat on the rancid hay and pretended to shiver, which was not all that difficult considering her attire and the chilly temperature outside. Presently, she heard the voices of Castell and Benson outside her shed and listened in to their conversation.
“Why does he want to check her?” Benson asked. Victoria would have recognized that voice anywhere. “He’s never checked any of the others, not so soon after they’ve been captured, anyway.”
“Why are you asking me? I don’t know, any more than you do. He asked to see her, and we have to obey. What more do you need to know?” Castell retorted.
Benson huffed out a sigh. “Fine, but if she starts wriggling again, I’m going to have to throw her over my shoulder. I don’t care what the boss says about treating these ladies with decorum. I’m not risking a kick again.”
“This one didn’t kick you,” Castell replied.
“No, but that don’t mean she won’t try.” Benson muttered something rude under his breath, that made Victoria want to snort. She resisted the impulse, for the sake of appearances, but she would happily have kicked Benson clean across the courtyard, had she not had to pretend to be someone else.
The door to the shed screeched open, and she was once again grasped by the arm. Fortunately, Benson didn’t attempt to throw her over his shoulder, or she might well have indulged in some hand-to-hand combat. Instead, he dragg
ed her across what she supposed was the courtyard she had seen through the cracks.
Estimating the steps they were taking, and the distance between her temporary abode and the barn, she figured that was precisely where Benson and Castell were taking her. A few moments later, a warmth hit her in the face, and she smelled the faint aroma of woodsmoke—they had a fire burning in here somewhere, to stave off the biting chill of the autumn.
“Where do you want her, boss?” Benson asked.
Victoria’s heart began to race, as she realized she was about to meet the ringleader of this entire operation. Why else would they be calling him boss? It came as something of a surprise, as she had been working under the assumption that there were only two men involved in this kidnap scheme. However, if she really thought about it, she realized it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. The kidnappers were too stealthy, and too well organized, to be working solely as a duo. Of course there had been a mastermind behind it all.
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