A Little Wager

by Lucy Wild

  Of course, if he hadn’t accepted the bet, he wouldn’t have met Elizabeth Wilkinson, his little Beth, the woman who at that very moment was attempting to seduce Glossop into handing over the betting slip. It was an insane plan. It couldn’t possibly work. How could he have expected it to work? What if she was in league with Glossop? The two of them could at that very moment be carving up his estate, dividing it between them whilst laughing at his naivety.

  As he waited for her that evening, his mind turned in on itself, attacking his foolishness for not seeing Glossop’s true plan. The fiend had clearly intended to ruin him not just financially but also mentally. It had almost worked too.

  But the nearer he got to midnight, the more he thought about little Beth. The look in her eyes when he had spanked her, the way she had spoken to him during her stay, the softness of her touch when she curled up in his lap. She wouldn’t betray him, she just wouldn’t. He didn’t know how he could say it with any certainty and he dared not trust himself as he prepared to leave the house, but he knew he could trust her and that was all that mattered. If she had not returned yet, it was because she was in trouble.

  She had made him promise to wait for her and he had given her five hours. That was long enough. His fingers curled around the reins on Brutus as he rode out from his house. If Glossop had hurt her, he would make use of his gun, the heavy weight of it bouncing into his hip as he made his way along the country lanes. If the moon had been out, he would have been able to travel faster but he dared not sprint in the pitch black night, a single stumble into a ditch and he would lose his favourite horse and possibly any chance of rescuing her from whatever trouble she was in.

  She was in trouble, he knew it. It was impossible to say why or how, but like his trust in her, he was certain that something had happened to her, something that prevented her return. He reached Glossop’s house at quarter to two in the morning. There was no sign of life when he yanked on the door pull, only the echoing ring that sounded overly loud in the quiet of the night. After an age, a butler pulled open the door, lamp in his hand. “Yes?” he asked, squinting as he looked out at Charles.

  “I must see Glossop immediately; it is a matter of the utmost urgency.”

  “Mr. Glossop is not in attendance this evening. Perhaps if you were to return tomorrow?”

  “Not here? Where the devil is he?”

  “I do not know, though he did leave me this letter to give you.”

  “Did he indeed?” Charles asked, snatching the letter from the hand of the butler. “Bring that lamp closer, damn you, I can hardly see a thing.” He looked down at the paper, anger rising in him as he began to read.

  Dear Charley Boy,

  I got the feeling you might pop by this evening so I left this with Robert for you. I’m going to be away for a while and I’ve taken the liberty of bringing Lizzie along for the ride. I know it’s going to be dashed inconvenient for you as we had planned such japes at the ball. Unfortunately, my impromptu holiday means the likelihood of you winning our little wager is significantly reduced, sorry about that.

  But, seeing as Clare was only using me to make you jealous, I thought I might do something similar. I’m going to make you jealous, more than jealous, in fact, I’m going to make you green with envy. You see, I’m going to fuck your darling little Beth, something that she tells me you very nobly hadn’t got round to doing. Then I’m going to make her my whore, and best of all, I’m still going to win our wager and take over your estate. Toodle pip for now, old boy and no hard feelings, all’s fair in love and war and all that.

  Your obedient servant and infinite better,

  Roderick Glossop Esq.

  Charles crushed the letter in his fist, his mouth barely opening as he said, “Where is he?”

  “I do not know, Sir.”

  “Damn you, tell me!”

  “I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

  Charles shoved the butler in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards into the entrance hall. He went to push him again, shouting as he did so. “Tell me!”

  “I do not know anything, Sir.”

  “By the devil, I’ll have the answer from you or you will not leave this house alive.”

  He was just reaching into his pocket for the gun when he froze. Behind the butler was a portrait on the wall. It was a portrait of three people. The figure on the left was Glossop, that idiot grin fixed on his face. In the middle was his father, hand on his shoulder. But on the right hand side of the painting was the face of someone important, someone who drew his attention as he stared at it. “How could I have been so stupid?” he said, tossing the crumpled up letter at the butler. “I am a fool.”

  With those words spoken, he spun on his heels and headed outside to his horse, untying him from the railings at the bottom of the steps. He climbed up onto the beast and brought it around, heading away from the house and towards the city. That was how Glossop knew about little Beth’s training, how he had found out all about his methods of creating a submissive little girl to win the wager. The face in the portrait had almost laughed at him as he looked at it, mocking him for his ignorance of Glossop’s sister, a woman he had never met, or so he thought. For in the painting was a face he recognised the moment he saw it, a face that was the spitting image of the tutor he had hired, Miss Bullock.

  He was at her house as swiftly as Brutus could carry him, hammering on her door a minute later. “Open up, Miss Bullock!” he shouted up to the window above, watching as a flickering light grew. It faded in seconds, moving down the stairs to illuminate the hallway through the glass above the door. “Open up!” he shouted again, his fist slamming into the wood.

  The door creaked open a second later and Miss Bullock stood there in her night shirt, looking most disturbed at having been woken in the middle of the night. “Sir Doyle,” she said, “what on earth is the matter with you? Are you sick?”

  “I am sick of being lied to,” he replied, leaning menacingly towards her. “Where is your brother?”

  “What? What brother?”

  “Do not lie to me again. I have a gun that is itching to be used. You are no more Miss Bullock than I am the Queen of England. You are Glossop’s sister and you are going to tell me where he has gone.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about. Now I must insist you leave, my neighbours need their rest, as do I.”

  “It is perfectly simple,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Either you tell me where he is and I go and fetch my little Beth from his clutches or I find him by myself, kill him and then take little Beth home with me. What’s it to be?”

  “I…I don’t know where he is,” she replied, her voice filling with anger. “And he took his guns with him so you might want to have a care before you go planning an execution.”

  Charles froze. “What did you say?”

  “I said my brother took his guns with him. You might want to go home and pack instead of embarking on a wild goose chase. After the ball on Sunday you won’t get the chance, what with us moving in at once.”

  “Thank you, Miss Bullock,” Charles replied. “Or whatever your name is.”

  He turned, resisting a quiet chuckle as he left her gawping at him from the hallway. She hadn’t realised it but she’d answered his question perfectly. A year earlier, Glossop had taken Thomas and himself up to his hunting lodge, twenty miles north of his house. If he had taken his guns with him, he wagered everything he owned that the villain had gone there. He realised as he climbed onto Brutus that he was wagering everything he owned. He only hoped he could remember the way.

  The sun was just beginning to rise when he saw the sign for Middleton on the Wold. The lodge was a mile to the east of the village and as the first houses came into view, he turned Brutus onto the smaller farm track that led to the woods, looming dark in the distance. Fear and anger began to rise in him in equal measure. He had no idea what was waiting for him there. It could be an armed man ready to fight. It could be an empty hou
se. He shuddered at the thought of little Beth trapped with Glossop. If the matter were just between him and his foe, he would have felt calmer. But knowing she was stuck with that fiend, the thought made his blood boil with rage.

  He shouldn’t have let her go. He should have told her that it was too dangerous. The entire time he’d known her, he’d given her commands and she’d obeyed. And yet the one time he should have put his foot down and demanded her obedience, he had instead waved her farewell and watched her walk directly into the lion’s den. He deserved this, he deserved to lose her for being such a damned fool.

  The birds were beginning to sing as he reached the edge of the woods. Passing under the canopy of the trees, the early morning sun faded into a gloom that matched his mood. He slowed his horse, wary of an ambush awaiting him. What if Glossop had hired men to fend him off? How far was he willing to go to win this bet?

  The wager, it was all about the wager. Everything that had happened was because of his inability to resist being goaded into action. He could have turned down the game. He should have turned down the game. He vowed to never bet on anything ever again. He would have vowed never to drink again but that could wait. First he was going to a drink a toast to getting his little Beth back.

  His heart ached for her, her face filled his mind, looking to him with fear in her eyes. “Why didn’t you protect me?” she asked in his daydream. “You promised to look after me and instead you let me go to him. You don’t deserve me, I hate you.”

  Stop it, he told himself. Don’t think such rot. He rounded a bend and there was the hunting lodge. It was made of red brick, looking a little like the witch’s house in Hansel and Gretel, ivy climbing the walls and almost hiding the place from view, as if the wood itself was trying to swallow the building.

  He slowed Brutus to a stop before jumping down to the ground. “You just stay here,” he said, patting his steed on the side of the neck. “I shall not be long.”

  With a final check of his gun, he set his feet towards the house and began the longest walk of his life.

  Chapter 29

  Little Beth was in the living room when he came for her. She had been so sure she would not be found, she had almost given up hope of rescue.

  When Glossop had pounced on her in his study, she had done her best to fight him off but he was just too strong for her, dragging her out with the help of his butler who picked her up off the ground, carrying her through to a store room of some kind. She kicked and screamed herself hoarse until a stinking rag was stuffed into her mouth, bound in place by a length of cloth, leaving her cries muffled as the pair of villains bound her wrists and ankles.

  “Put her in my carriage,” Glossop said, opening the door for his butler whilst she squirmed in his grip. “I must pen a letter to my good friend, Sir Doyle, and then I’ll be off.” He leaned over little Beth, grinning as he did so. “Thought you could outsmart me with your outfit, didn’t you? Took me for a fool but Roderick Glossop is no fool. I shall not be long, my love, and then we can get better acquainted.”

  Little Beth tried to squirm free from the butler’s arms but it was no use. Within minutes, she was bent in a painful position, crammed into the gap between the seats of the carriage. She tried to sit up but as she did so, Glossop climbed in, using his foot to shove her down to the ground. “Might as well get used to being at my feet,” he said, knocking on the roof with the flat of his hand. “It’s the best position for someone like you, after all.” He sniggered, giving her a nudge with his boot. She tried to sit up again and this time he just watched her struggle.

  “We’re going to become very close, you and me,” he said, reaching down and lifting the hem of her dress, looking at her nappy. “What was it you asked me to do? Be harsh to you? Discipline you, wasn’t it? Well, I’m going to give you all the discipline you need, and by the end of it, you’ll be begging me to stop. Won’t that be fun?”

  The carriage journey took hours. By the time they stopped, little Beth’s limbs were in agony, her muscles screaming for relief from the position she had been forced to adopt whilst they travelled. The driver assisted Glossop in getting her out and into a house surrounded by trees. She was dumped unceremoniously onto a couch and left to try and work the cramp from her legs whilst Glossop turned away from her. “I shall not need you until Sunday night. Ensure no one knows where I am until then. I am not to be reached, I am not to be contacted. Is that understood?”

  “Of course, Sir,” the driver said, tipping his hat before turning and heading out of the door.

  “Well now,” Glossop said, grinning as he came to sit next to little Beth. “I’ll just get the fires lit and then we can spend some time getting to know each other. Don’t go anywhere, will you?”

  He left, leaving the door open, a blast of cold air blowing in from outside. As she heard the sound of an axe thumping into wood, she tugged at her wrists, trying to loosen the ropes holding her in place. They were tied too well for her to do anything other than chafe her skin. In the end, she slumped back against the sofa, tears starting to roll down her cheeks.

  She should not have gone alone to his house. She had made a mistake. She’d thought she could get the betting slip from him and all would be well and what had happened instead? He had brought her somewhere nobody would find her and he still had the betting slip in his pocket. It had all been for nothing. He would keep her there until Sunday and once he had won the wager, he would take control of Sir Doyle’s estate. As for her, she shuddered to think what he might do. Would he let her go? Would he keep her here out of sight? Locked away where Sir Doyle would never find her, kept like an ornament for him to gloat over whenever he wished?

  Glossop didn’t return for some time, the sun slowly rising outside as he continued to chop wood. When he did finally re-enter the house, he carried a pile of freshly split logs in his arms. “Hope you weren’t getting lonely?” he asked, dumping the wood in front of the fireplace. “Now where are my Lucifer’s?”

  He patted his pockets, finding the matches a moment later. It wasn’t long before the fire took, the kindling ablaze with a quiet roar. “I’ll make myself a little snack,” he said, walking away from her. “I’d offer you some but you appear to have your mouth full already.”

  She could hear him rattling in the cupboards in the kitchen just as the front door creaked open. Looking across at it, her eyes widened in shock as she saw who was standing there. It was Sir Doyle.

  He took one look at her, putting a finger to his lips as she motioned towards the kitchen. He nodded once, crossing the room silently to position himself next to the door. She couldn’t help but stare at him, wondering how on earth he’d found her. Was he real or was she perhaps dreaming of a rescue that would never come?

  He looked real enough, his hands poised by his side as Glossop walked back in, his back to her saviour. “I found a bottle of whiskey,” he said, holding up two glasses. “What say we share a little snifter before bed? What’s that? What are you looking at?”

  He began to turn but Sir Doyle was too fast for him, crossing the room and looming over him, arms outstretched.

  “You,” Glossop was able to say before the taller man was on him, taking him by the shoulders and shoving him heavily backwards. “How did you find me?”

  Sir Doyle didn’t answer, shoving him again. Glossop raised his arms and as Sir Doyle lunged at him, he pushed back, twisting away and heading for the door. “I’ll have the law onto you,” Glossop said as Sir Doyle grabbed his arm, yanking him backwards. “This is assault.”

  “And that’s kidnapping,” Sir Doyle replied, throwing him back against the wall. “Wouldn’t you say?”

  “Let’s talk about this,” Glossop said, fear oozing from his voice. “We can be civil about this, can’t we?”

  “Going to make her your whore? Going to fuck her for fun? What’s civil about that?”

  “I didn’t mean it, old friend. It was only a jape.”

  Sir Doyle pushed him against the wall agai
n, pressing a hand to his throat. “Where’s the betting slip.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  Little Beth let out the loudest scream she could. Muffled against her gag as it was, it got Sir Doyle’s attention. She nodded furiously towards Glossop.

  “She disagrees and I trust her over you. Where is it?”

  Glossop turned purple as Sir Doyle’s hand tightened its grip on his throat.

  “My pocket,” he squeaked. “In my pocket.”

  Sir Doyle reached down, sliding the slip of paper out into the air. Only when he had it open, did he loosen his grip on Glossop’s neck, letting him slide down to the floor, gasping for air as he went.

  Sir Doyle walked slowly across the room, staring at the slip at the same time. “I win,” he said, tossing the paper into the fireplace, watching the flames consume it. Only when it was no more than ashes did he turn to the sofa, untying little Beth quickly, lifting her into his arms. “Speak to anyone about this,” he said, looking down at Glossop who was still fighting for breath. “And we will make another wager.”

  “What?” Glossop squeaked. “What are you talking about?”

  “We will wager whether or not you are capable of surviving a gunshot to the chest.”

  He turned away from Glossop, carrying little Beth out of the house and along the track to his horse. He did not look back. Little Beth slumped against his shoulder, hardly able to believe he was really there. “You came for me,” she said quietly, wrapping her arms around him. “How did you find me?”

  “There’ll be time for all your questions later,” he replied, helping her onto Brutus’s back. “But first, let’s get you home.”