by Candace Camp
“Aunt Fisbee!” the other girl cried, running to her on shorter legs but with no less enthusiasm.
Thisbe laughed and picked up her niece. “Athena, love! Escaped again, have you?”
The child beamed and planted a sticky kiss on Thisbe’s cheek, patting her other cheek with an equally sticky hand.
“It’s Thisbe, silly,” Athena’s sister, Brigid, said from her perch in Desmond’s arms, lengthening the th sound dramatically.
“I know,” Athena answered, thrusting forward a chin as stubborn as her sister’s. “I said Fisbee.”
Seeing Brigid’s mouth open to contest the matter, Thisbe moved quickly to distract them. “Did you girls come to observe...or are you perhaps in search of lemon drops?”
She reached into one of her capacious pockets and pulled out a small folded-over paper bag. She opened it, and Athena, being closest, reached in first, pulling out a sugarcoated yellow candy and popping it into her mouth. Brigid, only seconds later, swooped in to grab one.
“I wanna observe,” Brigid said around the candy. “I wanna see the volcano.”
“The volcano!” Athena joined in, clapping her hands.
“The volcano, eh?” Desmond asked, grinning at the little girl. “You liked the volcano better than growing the snake?”
“The snake’s stinky,” Athena told him, then beamed and bounced in Thisbe’s arms. “Grow the snake!”
“Both,” Brigid, never one to think small, amended.
Desmond laughed and kissed her cheek. “We’ll see what we can do.”
Thisbe was not one for introspection, but watching her husband now, she wondered if Desmond regretted their childless state. Sometimes Thisbe herself considered what it would have been like to have had her own children, little bespectacled replicas of Desmond. Now and then she felt a pang—not of loss so much as of never knowing. Still, she had been satisfied well enough with showering her affection on all her siblings’ children and leaving the parenting to those better qualified for it than she.
But did Desmond feel the same way? Did he ever wish his life had gone a different path? He could have been a professor at some university now, with a nurturing wife and obedient children waiting at home for him, puttering along in his peaceful, quiet life, instead of surrounded by her boisterous family and their wild adventures.
At that moment, as if to demonstrate how far away peace and quiet were among the Morelands, the girls’ beleaguered caretaker rushed into the room, calling their names. On her heels, Alex and Con’s dog, Rufus, bounded in, tail wagging and tongue lolling out foolishly. Brigid let out a shriek and scrambled down to throw her arms around the dog’s neck. Athena was quick to desert Thisbe as well, grabbing her pull toy and dragging it over to show Rufus.
The toy clattered. The dog barked at it and jumped about. Athena and Brigid laughed and hopped in imitation. Their nursemaid called their names in vain. Desmond looked at Thisbe and began to laugh. “Never a dull moment.”
A shrill whistle pierced the air, and silence fell in an instant. The girls’ mother stood in the doorway, fingers still at her mouth. Though Megan was only related by marriage, she had an air of command that almost rivaled the duchess’s. “Thank you.” Megan smiled down at her daughters. “Now, you two need to go with Alice.”
“But ’speriment,” Athena protested, pointing to her aunt and uncle. “I wanna see the snake.”
“The snake’s not here. He’s in the country.”
“Not the real snake,” Athena began, but her older sister interrupted.
“I wanna go with you and Aunt Thisbe.”
“Go?” Thisbe asked.
Megan turned to Thisbe, taking in her appearance. “You’re even later than I. You’d better grab your bonnet.”
“Why? Where are we going?” Thisbe asked.
“To that dreadful MP’s house. Don’t you remember? We promised the duchess we’d stand vigil with the suffragists.”
“Oh.” Thisbe’s eyes widened. “Oh! Is that today? I thought it was on Wednesday.”
“Today is Wednesday.”
“Oh...but...” Thisbe cast a longing glance at the experiment she had set up next to the gas burner.
“Yes, I know you’re keen to start working,” Megan said in her odd accent that blended New York, her Irish background and a hint of Britain from ten years of living here. “I feel the same. I got a lead yesterday that I’m itching to pursue. But the duchess is looking forward to it. It’s not often she has all of us together. And Anna has already had to excuse herself from the expedition—she came down with one of her dreadful headaches this morning.”
“Oh, dear. I hope she’s all right.”
“I think so. Reed said she usually is if she catches it quickly and lies down in the dark. I suspected that Anna, being the sweet person she is, was just trying to avoid the mob without hurting the duchess’s feelings—until I saw how very pale she was.”
“Do you think she’s ill or...”
“Seeing visions?” Megan shrugged. “I don’t think she knows until it happens. At any rate, your mother will be disappointed to lose you, as well.”
“I know.” Thisbe sighed. She had always been something of a disappointment to her mother—more interested in books and experiments than in fighting social ills. None of Emmeline Moreland’s daughters seemed to possess her reformer’s soul. “I suppose I’d better get my hat.”
“But ’speriment!” Athena had not lost sight of her goal.
Brigid joined her sister, turning soulful eyes on Thisbe. “Don’t go, Aunt Thisbe.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but the duchess told me to.” Thisbe used the family’s ultimate, unquestioned excuse.
“You can still see the volcano,” Desmond offered. “I’ll show you this afternoon...but only if you go back quietly with Alice now and obey her all morning.”
Megan shot him a grateful look. “Thank you, Desmond. Girls, let’s return to the schoolroom.” Megan picked up Athena’s nerve-racking toy and took the girl by the hand. “I’ll see you downstairs,” she called to Thisbe over her shoulder.
“That’s very good of you.” Thisbe smiled up at her husband.
“I don’t mind. I love Theo’s girls. They’re bright and inquisitive.”
Thisbe laughed. “They are that.” Turning serious, she laid her hand on Desmond’s arm, gazing intently up at him. “Do you regret it?”
He frowned. “Regret what?”
“All this. Our not having children. All my family’s fits and starts. Do you wish you had peace and quiet?”
“Raising children and having peace and quiet seem unlikely bedfellows. Especially in the Moreland family.” He chuckled but when Thisbe didn’t return his amusement, he grew serious. “Whatever brought this on?”
“I don’t know. I guess Alex’s wedding has made me think about such things. Made me wonder.”
“Dearest Thisbe...” He cupped her face in his hands, the smile she loved creasing his face. “I wouldn’t trade places with anyone in the world. I love you. You are all I need. And from the moment that beautiful green-eyed girl asked to borrow my lecture notes years ago, I regret nothing about my life.”
Desmond bent and kissed her. “Now...” Pulling back, he grinned and reached up to pluck out the pencil she’d stuck in her hair earlier. “Go put on your hat. The ladies are waiting.”
* * *
THE VIGIL, AS Thisbe had anticipated, was rather dull, consisting mostly of standing about, carrying a sign, and chatting with her sisters, both of whom seemed less bored than she. Now and then she broke the monotony by strolling up and down. She was on one such walk, deep in thought about her experiment, when her mother’s shout startled her from her reverie.
Thisbe looked up in alarm. Her mother was beating a man over the head with her sign. Thisbe would have assumed he was someone who had of
fended the duchess with a foul remark about the suffragist cause, but next to the duchess, another man had his arm wrapped around Kyria, his hand clamped over her mouth.
“Stop!” Thisbe pelted toward them.
“Let go of her!” At the same time, Olivia ran at the man holding Kyria, breaking her placard over his head.
A woman screamed, and another woman fainted across Thisbe’s path. Thisbe lifted her skirts and jumped over the prostrate form. Kyria lay limply in the man’s arm, her head lolling back in a way that struck fear into Thisbe’s heart. Olivia was thrusting at him with the broken end of the sign’s stick. The ruffian let out a howl as Olivia’s jagged weapon plunged into his arm.
“Ow! Ger off me, you witch!” He headed toward a closed wagon that stood nearby, struggling to hold up Kyria in one arm and with the other ward off Olivia’s blows.
Thisbe grabbed the parasol Kyria had dropped, and jumped into the fray. Since Olivia seemed to be holding her own, Thisbe ran to her mother’s aid. The duchess, too, was now unconscious, and her assailant was lifting her into the back of the wagon. Letting out a primitive shriek, Thisbe charged at him, swinging with all her might, and whacked him across the back.
He let out a bellow and whirled around, punching out at Thisbe. She ducked and as she rose up again, she shoved the pointed end of the parasol into his stomach. He stumbled back and came up hard against the wagon.
Behind her, Thisbe heard a wild whoop that could only be Megan, and in the next instant, a small rock thudded into the side of the wagon. The next one hit the duchess’s attacker square in the arm. He roared and ran forward, cursing. Thisbe raised her parasol to defend herself, but he stormed right past her, chasing Megan. Megan walked backward, continuing to pelt him with stones.
Thisbe turned to her sisters. Olivia leaped onto the back of Kyria’s abductor and clung to him like a monkey, wrapping her arm around his neck to choke him. As Thisbe ran to help her, a third man jumped down from the driver’s seat of the wagon and grabbed Olivia, tearing her away.
The other man carried Kyria onto the wagon as Olivia turned, kicking and punching her new attacker. “Let go of me, you stupid, filthy—”
The driver smashed a fist into Olivia’s cheek and she collapsed. Thisbe rushed at him, but he was quick and sidestepped her attack, grabbing her arm and hurling Thisbe to the street. She landed hard on the cobblestones, jarring her spine. “Blast!”
Thisbe scrambled after the parasol she’d dropped. In the hubbub behind her, she could hear Megan shouting a mix of Irish imprecations and American curses. The man turned his attention back to Olivia, picking her up and tossing her into the wagon like a sack of potatoes beside Kyria and her mother.
“No!” Thisbe jumped up and charged the thug like a woman possessed. Wielding the parasol with both hands, she smashed her makeshift weapon into the man’s head. He staggered under the blow and went to his knees. Thisbe continued to rain down blows on him. The parasol’s decorative stone handle, it turned out, made an excellent club. The shaft of it, alas, was not as sturdy, and it broke on his shoulder.
Two beefy arms wrapped around Thisbe from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. She had forgotten about the third attacker. Thisbe’s weapon clattered to the ground as the man picked her up and carried her to the wagon.
She squirmed and kicked, trying to tear free. Thirty feet away, she saw one of the men slam his fist into Megan’s face, knocking her to the ground. As several other women closed around Megan, hitting the ruffian with signs, parasols and reticules, he turned and ran back to his compatriots.
Thisbe’s attacker heaved her into the wagon. She hit the floor beside the bodies of her mother and sisters, the wind knocked out of her. The doors of the wagon slammed shut, and a bar dropped across them. A moment later, the wagon lurched and rolled forward. They were trapped. Kidnapped.
* * *
FOR A MOMENT Thisbe lay there, dazed and struggling for breath. They couldn’t be dead; surely her mother and Kyria weren’t dead. Panic swelled in her, and she crawled over to her mother. The vehicle took a sharp left turn that sent her sprawling again.
Thisbe reached the duchess and pressed her fingers to her wrist. Reassured somewhat by the steady beat and the warmth of her mother’s arm, she examined Emmeline’s face. She was breathing evenly. Unconscious, not dead. Thisbe sagged in relief.
She went to Kyria next, reassured by her mother’s state, and found that she, too, was alive, though deeply asleep. Olivia, who had rolled up against the wall during that wild turn, moaned and stirred.
“Livvy!” Thisbe scooted over to her sister. “Liv. Are you all right?”
“Ow.” Olivia lifted a hand to her cheek. “No. What happened?” She looked around groggily.
“That bastard hit you.”
“Who—oh. Oh! Kyria! Mother!” Olivia sat up swiftly, then clapped her hand to her mouth, looking sick.
“Careful. He gave you quite a blow.” Thisbe wrapped her arm around Olivia. “Mother and Kyria are alive, but they’re unconscious.”
“I saw him clamping a handkerchief over Kyria’s mouth. I’ll wager it was something to knock her out. Chloroform or something. They probably did the same to Mother.”
Thisbe let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I was worried by how deeply asleep they are. At least we know they’ll come around at some point.”
Olivia turned her head more carefully, taking in their moving prison. “Where’s Megan?”
“They left her behind. I saw one of the men hit her, and she fell. I think he knocked her out. They threw the rest of us in here and took off.”
“Good. That’s good. She’ll be able to tell Stephen and the others what happened. They’ll come after us.”
“If they can find us.”
“They’ll manage,” Olivia said confidently. “You can imagine how Rafe will turn the city upside down to get Kyria back. All of them will. Con can track us down. He’s very good at it.”
“Yes. Too bad Alex isn’t here to use his talent.”
“It may take longer without him,” Olivia agreed. “Still, I’ve never known the family not to be able to rescue any of us.”
“They have had a good deal of experience.” Thisbe couldn’t help but smile. “We’re rather an odd family, aren’t we?”
Olivia grinned back. “Personally, I think the rest of the world are the odd ones.” She began to look around her on the floor. “Blast. He must have knocked off my spectacles. I do hope it didn’t happen outside.”
“Here they are.” Thisbe found the glasses and handed them to Olivia. “Now, what shall we do? Beat on the walls? Scream?”
“Our husbands and brothers will come after us. We need to give them all the help we can.” Olivia made a testing thump to the side wall. “With the clatter this carriage is making, I can’t think anyone will hear us banging on the wall.” Olivia adjusted her spectacles and surveyed the interior of the conveyance again. “We’re in some sort of delivery wagon, I think. Except there are windows.” She peered up at the small windows on either side of the vehicle. “But they’re much too small and high for a carriage.”
“Not to mention barred,” Thisbe added drily.
“I think we must be in some sort of vehicle for prisoners.”
They checked again on Kyria and their mother, who were still unconscious, though seemingly unharmed otherwise. Standing up—not an easy task in the swaying wagon—they looked out the windows on either side. Olivia had to pull herself up on the bars to see out. “We’re still in London.”
Thisbe thrust both her arms through the bars and waved them frantically, calling. Across from her, Olivia did the same, but after a moment, she pulled her arm back in. “I don’t think there’s much hope of anyone noticing.”
Olivia unwrapped her scarlet silk scarf from her neck, and with a wistful glance, held it out the window and waved it around, the
n released it. “The best thing I can think of is to leave a trail for the men to follow.”
“You really think they’ll find something we throw out?” Thisbe asked doubtfully.
Olivia shrugged. “There’s some possibility. It’s an unusual wagon, and I think someone might notice an article of clothing flying out of it.”
Thisbe shrugged and unfastened her bonnet, which, during the struggle, was crushed and hanging down her back. She threaded her hatpin through her skirts to keep it and handed the hat to Olivia. Olivia waited a few moments, then tossed it out, too.
While Olivia manned the window, Thisbe crawled to the back doors. She had heard them slam a bar down to brace the doors, so she had no hopes of finding any way to open them, but still, she had to try. Unsurprisingly, there was no handle and the doors were firmly shut.
She crawled back, checking on her mother and Kyria once again, then sat down beside Olivia. They rode along, speculating about their kidnappers, periodically divesting themselves of items of clothing—gloves, a decorative belt, petticoats—and tossing them out the window. When they ran out, they added a few items of Kyria’s and their mother’s.
“Kyria won’t like losing that hat,” Thisbe commented, and the two sisters looked at each other and began to laugh. Once started, they seemed unable to stop, and they laughed until tears were running from their eyes.
Finally their laughter wore down, then stopped. Olivia leaned back against the wall, wiping away the tears. She drew a deep breath. “Well...I feel calmer now.”
After another moment, Thisbe grumbled, “Where are they taking us? Scotland? We’ve been riding for hours.”
“It hasn’t been as long as it seems,” Olivia said prosaically. “As best I can judge from the sun, we’re heading in a southeastern direction. So, more likely, it would be Dover.”
