by Sue London
And she didn’t know quite what to make of Miss Grant. The redhead was currently absorbed in her own thoughts, but Jack had detected in her the same sort of nurturing protectiveness of which the countess herself was often accused. It was something of a surprise after the way she had upbraided them before marching out of Sabre’s house the first time they met. But then, they hadn’t all been in danger that day. Circumstances did often reveal character. Sabre stood ready to sacrifice herself, George stood ready to fight to the last man, and Miss Grant seemed determined to keep them all from harm as long as possible, which currently meant going along with the brigand’s plans. Jack wasn’t sure to which side she fell, but Miss Grant’s seemed the best plan for now. Not only was Jack loath to leave Sabre alone with these men, she wasn’t even sure that she could escape with any alacrity. And that meant she needed to keep George from starting a confrontation. Or Sabre. She sighed. Or herself. She wasn’t known to have the calmest temper when endangered. But she would do whatever necessary, even if that were to control her own temper, in order to protect her unborn child.
* * *
Robert didn’t have patience for the men around him. For all Gideon’s possessive braggadocio, he had known Jack for less than a year. He hadn’t been the one to teach her to swim, to ride, to shoot and fence and fight. To tell her not to cry over scraped knees. To partner her in practice dances before her debut. And the arrogant, sarcastic duke had even less claim to concern over Robert’s own sister. Sabre had become a duchess only a few months before. What right did Quince have to look so dour? He hadn’t held Sabre hours after she had been born, hadn’t promised himself that nothing could ever, ever hurt his little sister. Only Casimir had proven useful thus far, but even the young Polishman seemed close to fretting over George, a woman that Robert himself had trained to spy for the Empire.
However, Robert knew that it would be extremely unwise to try to send them all home. At least while he had them with him, focused on the task at hand, he could be sure that they weren’t trying to execute their own plans that would undoubtedly complicate his own. And as Robert didn’t want to spread word of this, he also didn’t have the luxury of putting all the resources of the Crown to bear on it. That made these men his primary backup. He was, perhaps, lucky that he knew them to all be good in a fight. Gideon had studied pugilism with near obsession some years ago and was a damn fine shot. The duke was among the finer swordsmen in Europe. Casimir had once taken down Robert’s own butler Bobbins, something Robert himself wouldn’t attempt to do, and had the reflexes of a cat. Yes, they could be a liability, but hopefully their talents would outpace that.
At Charlie’s arrival, with a number of grooms and string of horses, Robert finally took his first clear breath since receiving the note about his ‘little bird’. Although Robert’s request for the horses had been terse, a demand, his younger brother had arrived quickly and now sprang down from a stallion and surveyed the somber faces before him. Charlie, whom many assumed was always affable and humorous, was able to quickly read the situation. His face hardened into a stony visage that few ever saw.
“What happened?” he asked.
“The Haberdashers were ambushed and kidnapped.”
A muscle ticked in the younger man’s jaw, but he merely nodded and turned to instruct the grooms on parceling out the horses to riders. This was what Robert needed. Someone who knew, who understood, who didn’t question. And while Charlie was the only one who deserved to agonize over what was happening to the girls as deeply Robert did, he didn’t say a word. He merely set to implementing what Robert had asked.
Chapter Twenty
The carriage slowed significantly and Imogen felt panic rising. Although the quiet confidence of the women around her had kept her calm until now, her mind couldn’t imagine a scenario where this was resolved peaceably. Perhaps it was her insight into the motivations of the man who led their kidnappers, or perhaps it was simply that she was out of her depth. Especially without her mother. Much like the women around her, her mother always had a calm confidence in overcoming all obstacles. That was part of why Imogen knew she could never succeed her mother at the company, no matter what her mother’s hopes might be. If Uncle Henry, her mother’s brother, was hopeless at the helm, then Imogen would be doubly so. Along with no particular talent for business, she had the antithesis of a killer instinct. The only time she found herself able to hurt others was to save herself pain. Much as she had pushed away Robert Bittlesworth, she often used her insights to keep others at a distance. What else could she do? She could feel their pain as though it was her own. Hardly the recipe for negotiating business.
Now the carriage had slowed nearly to a stop and she could hear the riders circling closely.
George peeked out the window again and sniffed. “We’re definitely near the water. I can hear a boat in its mooring.”
Sabre looked out as well. “Yes, I can smell water.”
“We’re in mudflats,” Jack said. “That’s swamp you’re smelling.”
George wrinkled her nose. “Yes, that’s it.”
“It will be dark soon,” Sabre said briskly. “Let’s review our options.”
* * *
Casimir watched the other men surreptitiously as they mounted their horses and rode out after Robert Bittlesworth. It was clear that the gathering could quickly turn sour, based on the tempers of the men present. The earl, known to be overprotective of his pregnant wife, still bristled with indignation. The duke was quietly worried. Robert appeared unaffected, but Casimir knew firsthand that the man could be shockingly cold and composed while meting out the most cruel and vindictive treatment. And now Robert had ensured that his loyal little brother had joined them. If tempers did flare, the natural dividing lines would be the duke and earl on one side, and the Bittlesworth brothers on the other. Casimir didn't mind so much that he had no allies in the group, more that he needed these men to help him find his wife. And that meant he needed them to stay focused on the task, not fighting amongst themselves.
Once he found Gini, he would feel better. He counted on his wife being able to keep up with him. As Casimir knew that he could get out of almost any situation, it was really finding her that posed the greatest problem. He didn’t trust Robert Bittlesworth, but it was almost a certainty that the man would want to find his sister. And further, of all the men in England, Robert had the resources to find the women most efficiently. It was a gamble, but not the worst that Casimir had ever taken. Not the worst by far.
* * *
“Jack,” the duchess said in a warning tone, for the third time since the countess had started her argument that they should go along with their abductors until it was clear that either they were being saved or they saw a clear opportunity to escape.
“I don’t like it,” George said stubbornly.
“I don’t like it, either!” Jack hissed, finally losing patience. “But if Miss Grant has the right of it, if these men mean to take Sabre at any cost, then we must not take action when we aren’t assured of victory. They may decide that we are too troublesome to take as a group and simply kill the rest of us.”
George was still frowning. “That doesn't seem likely.”
Imogen interrupted them. “Their leader, at least, seems capable of it.”
The duchess narrowed her eyes. “So you say.”
The countess put her hand on her friend's arm. “I'm inclined to believe Miss Grant. And we shouldn't be wasting our energy fighting amongst ourselves.”
A knock on the carriage door made them jump. “Duchess,” the now familiar voice called out in a mocking tone, “your ship awaits.”
“Just a moment.” Sabre glowered at the countess before sliding her sword under the seat, but concealed her gun under her wrap. Opening the carriage door, she imperiously held out a hand for the brigand to assist her. Once she was standing on the marshy ground, George followed her. Jack went next, clinging tightly to George's hand as she stepped down. Finally, it was Imogen's
turn to descend.
It was clear to her that the Haberdashers had formed something of a protective circle around her in the carriage. Although aware of the brigands and the danger, she hadn't felt the sharp edge of it. Now, standing on the carriage step, she felt the weight of the men's eyes on her. Hungry. Vicious. Feral. Had she been alone, she most likely would have retreated into the carriage. But she was not alone. Looking down into the faces of the women with her, she saw that they were more irritated than afraid. The countess was the only one who seemed at all intimidated by their present predicament, but even she had a thread of stubborn bravery that was easy for Imogen to see. Imogen wished that she had the confidence these women seemed to display. On the other hand, she worried that they were woefully incorrect about their ability to prevail. It made her, again, sympathetic to her mother. Before, she had only ever been determined to have her way while resisting the waves of worry she could sense. The visions of horrible events that she had thought were only her mother’s wild imaginings. Standing here, preparing to walk into a most dire situation, she realized that her mother had perhaps not had enough imagination. That she herself had lived such a sheltered life she had never considered that something like this could possibly happen to her.
Swallowing her fear, she stepped down from the carriage.
“Well,” said the man holding the duchess’s hand as though they were at court. “What a lovely set of ladies I find myself burdened with.”
His voice was like oil, and his face might have been handsome without such a rodent quality to it. Imogen was desperate to regain her composure, her emotional distance, before absorbing more of his malice.
The duchess, however, didn’t seem nearly as affected. Her chin lifted in an imperious gesture and she asked, “Shall we?”
“Whatever will I do with your carriage driver?” the man asked. Belying his rodent features, there was more of the cat than the mouse to this one. He meant to make the topic of the servant’s life a game.
“I suggest you allow him to leave,” the duchess replied evenly.
The man clucked his tongue and looked disappointed. “I don’t think that will be possible.”
“You might be surprised what is possible.”
His eyes hardened like a wild cur’s, sensing confrontation. Imogen wanted to warn the duchess to stop arguing with their captor. He not only had the upper hand, but also seemed the sort to enjoy it. Who would enjoy even more proving that his authority was absolute. His hand tightened on the duchess's. “You might be surprised what is possible yourself, your grace.”
“Let John go.”
His gaze shifted to the carriage driver. “No, I think not. I think-”
Imogen had never seen anyone move as quickly as the duchess did then. In less than a second her flintlock was pressed up against the brigand’s throat and she had wound herself close to him. The other Haberdashers drew closer to guard her back, not holding weapons but staring down the men who pressed close. “Don’t think,” Sabre advised, still in that deadly calm voice. “Just do as I tell you and we will go willingly. Believe me when I tell you that you want our compliance.”
Imogen felt waves of rage pouring off the brigand. She walked forward and picked up the shawl that the duchess had cast aside when drawing her weapon. As much as it hurt to do so, she looked at him. “You’re wondering if she is capable of killing, and I can assure you that she is. I would prefer not to see any death today.”
His eyes fixed on her and she could feel him assessing her. He ordered his men in French to stand down.
“Go home, John,” the duchess called out.
“Your grace,” the driver protested.
“Don’t argue, John.”
The driver regretfully turned the carriage to rattle away on the packed dirt road. Once the conveyance was lost in the failing light, the duchess relaxed her stance. “I’m glad to see you can be reasonable.”
Imogen sensed the man’s intentions too late to warn Sabre. His uppercut caught the duchess by surprise and she stumbled back. He wrested the gun from her after a brief struggle. Feeling his rage, Imogen had a moment of complete panic as his hand closed over the weapon. Rather than attacking the women, however, he pointed it up the road and fired where the sound of carriage wheels could still be heard. He roared at his men in French, and three of the brigands rushed to do his bidding.
The duchess clearly understood him. “Just remember that if he dies, so do you.”
Pushed too far, a wild animal in a corner, the brigand struck the duchess so viciously that she was thrown into the muck at their feet.
“Sabre?” George asked. Imogen could feel the struggle the blonde had not to act on her instincts and attack the men who held swords on them. Certainly it couldn’t go well, one woman with knives against six armed men.
“No, George,” the duchess replied, sitting up and brushing at the mud on her dress.
“Get on the boat,” their captor shouted, followed by an impressive array of French curse words. Some of the only French that Imogen understood.
“I don’t want to get on that bloody boat,” George said. Imogen could feel that the tension, combined with the idea of being trapped, was getting to her.
Their captor was only getting angrier. He seized the countess by the hair and shoved the gun at her belly. Even though it had already been spent, Imogen felt the waves of panic from Jack.
“Let go of her,” George shouted, reaching into her sleeves. Sabre flung herself in front of her blonde friend.
“Let’s get on the boat,” the duchess said urgently. “Let them have Jack get on the boat.”
Still shaking from anger, George nodded. Imogen swallowed her fear and walked over to fetch the countess from their captor.
Chapter Twenty-One
After hours on the road, Robert was frustrated. They knew where the carriage had been ambushed and the general direction it had taken afterwards, but the trail seemed to have gone cold. They were much further east than he expected the captors would take the girls. It was tempting to pull in his agents, but the more people who knew what he was doing, the harder it would be to control the information. The men with him seemed similarly impatient and he knew that without direction from him they would eventually begin to use their own creativity. That was something he was intent on not allowing.
“We should consider stopping for the night,” his brother said to him sotto voce.
Robert looked over his shoulder before turning his attention back to Charlie. “So that one of these bastards can slip out and do Lord only knows what?”
Charlie snorted. “We’re all worried, Robert.”
“We’re almost to Canvey Island, and I’m no more sure they came this way than any other.”
“We’ll find them.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because God doesn’t want England torn apart brick by brick, which we all know you’re perfectly capable of doing. There’s a light ahead, I’ll go see if it’s another inn.”
Robert nodded and allowed Charlie to ride ahead. He knew that his brother was as impatient to find the Haberdashers as himself. Would Robert tear England apart to look for them? Most likely, if that was required. He wished he had the faith and good spirits that his brother found so effortless.
* * *
“I don’t like this,” George said again, as the women crowded in a small cabin waiting for the crew to get the boat underway.
The duchess took a deep breath. “And your impatience is why Jack and I could always beat you at War.”
“This isn’t a game,” George hissed. “You've already been injured and John is most likely going to die.”
“My injuries are no worse than if I’d fallen from a tree, and try to have some faith in John.”
The countess laced her fingers with the blonde’s, who frowned at their hands but didn’t pull away. Imogen was impressed that, for all their arguing, the three women continued to work as a united force. The duchess was cle
arly their leader, with the countess serving as her trusted advisor, and the blonde as their restless eyes and ears. They behaved as though being ambushed and abducted, even beaten, was little worse than being caught out in a thunderstorm while shopping.
It was full dark now, with a dim lantern their only illumination. Imogen heard hoofbeats and shortly there were men speaking in French on the dock. She couldn’t quite make out what they were saying but George laughed.
“They can’t find him,” the blonde said. ”He cut one of the horses loose to ride.”
The duchess nodded. “See?” She poked her friend in the ribs with an elbow.
“Only two came back, though. One will continue to search for him,” George reported.
“You’d best hope my man lives,” Sabre called out.
Rather than respond, their captor ordered the men to cast off.
Imogen didn’t mean to speak up, but couldn’t stop herself. “You must stop tormenting our abductor.”
The duchess met her eyes and Imogen felt an icy chill run through her. “No, he must stop tormenting me. Whatever business is to be conducted at the end of this journey, this man most likely has no stake beyond his payment. He would be best off remembering that, rather than risk losing his life.”
Imogen was impressed with the younger woman’s force of will, but wanted to shake her and preach sense. They were facing danger of uncertain origin and Imogen had little confidence in their safety. Look at what they had already faced! The duchess struck, the countess’s babe threatened. The younger women’s foolhardy confidence seemed to inspire her sense of protectiveness. All she wanted was for them to live through this, to one day be able to look back and, if not laugh, at least tell the story with some relief in a positive conclusion. That outcome seemed far from likely if the duchess insisted on baiting a bear.
