by Joan Lambert
Leaning over the barrier, she peered into the cradle. A baby was inside it – a baby whose chest rose and fell at regular intervals. “Oh no! Not another one!” she breathed.
Rachel stared at the child in consternation. “But what should we do? We can’t just leave it here.”
Laura made up her mind instantly. “We have to take it. Who knows what might happen to it if we don’t. I’ll try to ease it out of the cradle without touching anything while you stand guard.”
Rachel went to the hallway and peered up and down. “We’re in luck,” she murmured. “No one’s in sight.”
Gingerly, Laura leaned across the barrier and tried to get the baby out without touching the cradle. It was impossible. Finally, she simply scooped the child up in her arms and cradled it. The alarm bells began to ring again.
Laura spotted a life-sized doll leaning against the wall that she suspected was the usual occupant of the cradle. “Put it back in the cradle,” she whispered.
Rachel understood immediately. Grabbing the doll, she arranged it carefully under the covers. Then they sauntered back into the State Dining Room, trying to look causal despite the deafening noise. The attendant who had been in the room was no longer there, apparently lured elsewhere by the clamor.
A husky man who had just entered the room eyed them suspiciously: then he brushed past them hurriedly and loped into the children’s room. Laura had a dreadful feeling that he was about to report them.
“We’d better get out of here,” she muttered to Rachel. “He looked like he was going to report us.”
They headed for the stairs, but a large party of tourists swarming up them made escape impossible, so they looked for a hiding place.
“Quick, behind the curtains,” Rachel whispered. “The ones on the other side of the servant’s corridor are right over there.”
Sprinting to them, she pulled the draperies aside just far enough so they could creep into the space behind, and then settled the rich fabric back in place. They stood perfectly still, waiting. Laura hoped their feet didn’t show and even more that the draperies were neither dusty nor moldy and elicit an explosive sneeze.
The baby stirred and opened its mouth as if to yell. Rachel popped a pacifier hanging around its neck between the pink lips. The baby sucked contentedly and fell asleep again. How could it sleep through this racket? Probably it had been drugged like the other one, Laura realized with a pang, and prayed it would be all right.
They heard running footsteps, a voice. “An American woman,” the voice said. Laura froze, hoping the attendant wouldn’t remember her question about the curtains and decide to examine them. More footsteps came, then another voice, this one irritated. “It’s that new alarm system. It goes off if someone breathes on it. Nuisance, it is. We’ll have to get someone in to make it less sensitive. I’ll call, shall I, to ask if we can turn it off until then? It’s almost closing time anyway.”
“The American woman seems to have left and nothing is missing or out of place,” another voice reassured.
After a few moments the alarm went off and the attendants returned to their posts. Laura and Rachel stayed perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe in the ensuing silence.
Gradually, normal sounds resumed - admiring if repetitive comments on the décor and furnishings, and curious questions about the present owner and his family, followed by patient explanations by the staff.
“What next?” Rachel whispered under cover of the next question. “I need to get a message to Violet and it’s impossible from here.”
Laura considered. “Let’s try to come out of the curtains near the stairs. No attendants are stationed there and we’ll be able to scoot straight down to the hall. Those tourists should be out of the way by now.”
They waited again until there was silence, indicating that no visitors were in the Saloon; then they tiptoed along the narrow passage between the two rows of curtains. As handy for them as it had been for the servants, Laura thought. It was also very dark.
She sensed rather than saw that they had come to the far corner of the Saloon and stopped. Rachel bumped into her and Laura felt the curtains sway a little.
They stayed still again, holding their breath, but nothing happened. More visitors came in; they waited again and then finally rounded the corner.
Laura tried not to breathe a sigh of relief. They weren’t out yet. Her chest felt tight, constricted. Was it the old draperies or just tension?
She felt Rachel’s hand on her arm. “Wait,” she whispered. Laura heard them then, stealthy footsteps nearby. Had one of the attendants seen them? An employee wouldn’t sneak around, though. He or she would get help. Maybe someone else was following them. The person who had been meant to pick up the baby perhaps?
The sound stopped, came again, and Laura thought she heard faint breathing. Someone really was creeping through the curtains. No – not through them, just outside them, she thought. Rachel gripped her hand hard.
“May I help you, Madam?” The voice was loud and peremptory. Laura jumped and she felt Rachel’s hand tighten convulsively.
“Oh! Oh, you startled me!” It was a woman’s voice, outside the curtains. Some of the tension went out of Laura’s chest. The attendant hadn’t been talking to them.
“I was just looking at the back of these costumes,” the woman explained nervously. “I’m… I’m a designer, you see…”
“Visitors are required to stay behind the ropes, Madam. If you would come with me, please.”
“But I don’t… I was only looking. I didn’t mean any harm, I’m sure…” The woman’s voice trailed off again, presumably because she was being led away.
“That’s a stroke of luck!” Rachel whispered in her ear. “They must think she set of the alarms earlier, too.”
“Let’s get out of here before they change their minds,” Laura whispered. She peeked out of the curtain, saw no one and slid through. Rachel followed. They sauntered past the rest of the costumes and into the upstairs hall. There was no sign of the man they had seen in the dining room. Probably he had only been another tourist.
The Grand Staircase was just ahead. Good. Only the hall and they would be out. The baby stirred restlessly in Laura’s arms as they descended the stairs, and she rocked it gently. “Don’t start to cry now,” she begged it wordlessly. “As soon as we get in the car you can let loose.”
Soothed by the rocking, the baby settled. Almost there, Laura told herself like a mantra. Almost there, don’t run, just walk…”
She saw the exit ahead, and then they were out and walking quickly toward the parking lot. No one came near them or even seemed to notice them. Laura took a deep breath. They were all right now. No one would confront them here, with all these cars and tourists coming and going.
Rachel punched Violet’s number into her phone. “Violet is out but she’ll come as soon as they find her,” she reported. They’ll send help, too, as quickly as they can.”
“Lady Longtree!” Laura said suddenly, and stopped walking.
“We can’t just leave her here,” Rachel agreed.
“You’re right. I’ll go back in and fetch her if you’ll take the baby to the car and come straight back for us,” Laura offered. “I’ll be less noticeable that way - especially if it chooses that moment to yell,” she added, looking suspiciously at the baby, who had thrust the pacifier out of its mouth with a discontented frown.
“Okay. I’ll get the car and come slowly down the drive to pick you up,” Rachel agreed. Taking the baby gently from Laura, she walked toward the car park, picking up her pace as the child began to whimper.
Laura turned to go back inside. She was on her way up the front steps when a man stepped out from the thick shrubbery at the side of the house and pressed something cold and hard into her back.
“We are leaving now,” he told her. “Together.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Laura had no choice but to obey. Her abductor was pressed so close against her that
she could feel his breath on her neck, and the gun at her back didn’t waver even when she stumbled.
When they reached the driveway, the man shifted his position. With a deft and well-practiced movement, he slid to her side, put one arm around her and pressed the gun against her ribs. They looked like a strolling couple now, Laura realized. His jacket covered the gun. No one would notice.
The man in the dining room, she realized belatedly, glancing at him. He must have been sent to pick up the baby. Once he knew they had it, all he had to do was wait until they came out with it.
But if that was so, why hadn’t he accosted her while she was still holding the child? Why had he waited?
Because then Rachel was with her. He’d wanted to separate them. Someone else must be waiting for Rachel, to wrest the baby away from her, or take both of them…
Laura licked her dry lips. She had to get away, warn Rachel. But how?
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, trying to stall for time.
“You’ll find out. Faster.” The gun pressed more forcefully into her side. Laura picked up her pace until they reached the first of the car parks, the one for busses only, where she was forced to slow down.
One of the busses opened its doors, disgorging a group of teenagers who were chattering loudly and volubly in French. They surged toward Laura and her assailant, making no effort to avoid them. Some passed to their right, others to their left as they hurled comments at each other and laughed uproariously.
One large youth bumped into them, and Laura heard an object clatter to the pebbled driveway. The man behind her swore under his breath and stooped to retrieve it. Another youth tripped over it, kicking it out of his reach.
“Pardon, Monsieur,” he apologized politely, and reached down to pick up the object himself. He stared at it. “Mon dieu! C’est un pistol!” He held it out in front of him, astonished.
“I’ll take it please.” Her assailant’s voice was steely.
Laura didn’t wait to find out what happened. Wrenching her arm away from her captor’s grip, she sprinted for the trees on the other side of the parking lot.
Another man spoke behind her. “Pardon, Monsieur, mais je ne pense… But I do not think that is a good objet to have here,” he reproved in stilted English.
“Give it to me. Now.”
“Mais Monsieur…” Laura heard the sound of a scuffle. Her attacker must have run out of patience.
“Il me harass!” she yelled over her shoulder frantically. “Il est mechant. Il essaye me kidnap. Keep him there, ne let him go…”
Oh please heaven, what is that in French? she whispered, unable to think.
“Il est kidnapper!” she screamed instead, giving the last word a French accent. “Kidnapper! Ne let him go…”
Behind her she heard a loud babble of noise, exclamations in two languages in excited voices. “Oui! Oui! Nous le guardons ici!” someone shouted.
Resisting an impulse to weep with relief, Laura ran on. If they kept him there, she could circle around and intercept Rachel in case Violet didn’t reach her in time.
She kept running for a few more minutes; then, when she heard no sounds of pursuit, only a series of cheers, she dared to look back.
Her assailant was lying spread-eagled on his face against the gravel drive. At least a dozen French students were lined up along his back, his limbs, even his head. Laura started to laugh. They had saved her. Those blessed French students had saved her. Still chortling, she retraced her steps. She might catch Rachel after all, and Violet would soon be here with help.
She was half way back to the car park when she saw a big man detach himself from the crowd of cheering students and walk in her direction. Good. Someone was coming to help her.
The man came closer and she saw him clearly. He was tall and well-built, very ruddy and English-looking. He wore jeans and a tweed jacket.
Laura froze. The pugnacious man; she knew it without a shadow of doubt. There was menace in his gait as he came toward her, like a hunter stalking his prey. His face was cruel, remorseless. Her stomach went hard with fear.
The man saw her stop, and his lips twisted into a smile of triumph, as if he had caught her already. His eyes never left her face. They bored into her, freezing her in place, so that she couldn’t move, couldn’t even react, as if she were a deer caught in headlights.
A car engine started up noisily, releasing Laura from the man’s spell. She turned and ran, stumbling in her haste to get away from him. Rachel’s words pounded through her brain in rhythm with the throbbing of her head: What they want from you now is information… He would torture her if he caught her, would try to wrench what he wanted to know out of her any way he could – except she didn’t know what it was and couldn’t even make it up because she had no idea what was going on…
Laura put one hand over her heart to prevent it from beating so hard and ran faster. Her head throbbed wildly, but she hardly noticed. All she knew was that she was more terrified of the man behind her than she had ever been of any person in her life. He was ruthless, maniacal. She must not let him catch her…
Only when she came up against a barrier, a fast-moving stream directly across her line of flight, did she stop. It was too wide to leap across.
She dared to look behind her and saw no sign of her pursuer. Maybe he had given up. She didn’t believe it.
The narrow road that led to the Safari Park was on her left. A road would have a bridge across the stream. She could go there. Shifting direction, she ran toward it. A car was coming slowly along the road. It came closer and she saw him in the driver’s seat. The big frame, the ruddy face couldn’t be mistaken.
Panic engulfed Laura. She looked wildly around. Trees; there were trees to her right. They would give her cover. She whirled, ran that way.
The piercing sound of a train whistle cut through her terror. Her head swiveled to see where it was, and then she remembered. There was a children’s train here; she could see it chugging along its tracks on the other side of the stream. Children’s heads hung out the windows. Maybe she could get on the train, get away from him that way. He would never think to look on a train.
But where did she get on? Get out of sight first, she told herself. She plunged into the trees, immediately felt safer in their thick cover.
Heavy footsteps came rapidly along the stream. His footsteps.
People, Laura thought frantically; find people. She crept to the edge of the trees, spotted signs for a gift shop and restrooms. She could go into the ladies room. He couldn’t follow her in there. She could ask for help, too, at the shop.
She squinted at the signs, trying to see which way to run, and saw him instead. He had beaten her to it, was already waiting for her. There was no anxiety in his face, only confidence, and cruel indifference. He had guessed what she would try to do, knew he could stop her because he could see in all directions…
A strangled sob emerged from Laura’s throat. He had chosen exactly the right place to cut her off from everyone…
It was impossible to stop looking at him.
Tearing her eyes forcibly away, she sidled through the trees, unable to think what to do next. An image of herself climbing a tree came into her mind. Could she do it? Another image came of him waiting under the tree with total self-assurance, maybe even smiling at her… It would do no good…
A second whistle penetrated. Was a train about to leave? Maybe she could leap on it just as it pulled out so he wouldn’t be able to get on.
That was it, Laura thought. Jump on at the last minute.
The train came into view and she saw that it was going the wrong way, into the station, not out of it. Still, it was on her side of the stream – and it was between her and the man. She jogged beside it, hoping he wouldn’t see her feet.
The ticket booth was just ahead. She would go in and buy a ticket and then get on with the crowd of children. A measure of optimism returned as she thought of this plan, and she made an effort to stop her ha
nds from trembling as she joined the line of parents and children waiting to buy tickets.
The ticket attendant was waiting. Laura rummaged in her pockets for change. Pulling out a handful, she mumbled something about not having the right glasses to see which coin was which and let the attendant sort through the pile for her.
“Only yourself, M’am?” he asked politely. Laura whirled, afraid the man was behind her. He wasn’t.
“Oh, yes, just me. My niece is already on the train,” she lied, thinking he might find it strange that a middle-aged woman wanted to ride a children’s train by herself. The attendant didn’t care. Putting his hand over his mouth to hide a yawn, he signaled to the next customer.
Laura tried to decide if she should stay here and board with the group, or hide again until the train left. She chose the first option. He couldn’t very well haul her away forcibly in full view of all these people. In fact, she realized as a measure of rationality returned, he was in a very weak position. He couldn’t shoot her with dozens of people watching either, or even put a gun to her back and take her away. All she had to do was scream.
Why hadn’t she screamed when the other man had put a gun at her back? How did they manage to have guns anyway? People weren’t supposed to have guns in England, she thought indignantly.
“All aboard,” someone shouted. The chattering group of children and parents surged into the train. Laura clambered up the steps with them and hunched down on the side away from her stalker.
The whistle sounded again. The train jerked to a start and proceeded along the stream, picking up speed as it went. Only then did Laura realize that she would have to get off the train again at the same point. He could just wait. She hadn’t thought this plan through very well.
Unless, of course, he concluded that he had lost her and gave up. She looked across the rows of children toward the stream to see if he was walking back to his abandoned car.
