by Rebecca King
‘I had heard that several of the local men were struck by bullets when they tried to intervene. Some of the fishermen went down to see if their boats were alright and got caught in the gunfire. I don’t know. It makes you wonder what the world is coming to,’ another woman announced.
‘What’s happened?’ Carlotta interrupted before the women could denounce the whole world as doomed to failure.
‘Have you not heard?’ Another woman asked. ‘Well, you probably haven’t seeing as you are a stranger around these parts. There was a gun battle in the next village. In Bladley Weeks. Many men are dead, but nobody knows who they are.’
‘They aren’t locals?’ Carlotta immediately dismissed any notion that her father’s thugs might have been responsible.
‘No, they aren’t.’ The woman squinted suspiciously at her.
‘God, how awful,’ Carlotta whispered. ‘Where was the magistrate? Why was he not called?’
‘He was,’ the woman snorted. ‘But he is busy helping the War Office or something. God only knows what he is doing. He has been down to the harbour this morning, eventually, but seemed to be looking for someone. When he had checked all the bodies he apparently lost all interest in what had happened and told the men that they could repair their boats and it would all be all right. But it isn’t all right. It won’t be alright until the bounders responsible for the damage are caught and put behind bars. They have caused so much damage livelihoods have been damaged.’
Carlotta pointed to the village next door to Windwidger, a smaller port called Tillington. ‘The fishing village that way?’
The woman shook her head. ‘Bladley Weeks,’ she repeated. ‘It’s about three miles the other way. The magistrate lives high up on the cliffs above the village there, but didn’t see fit to leave his bed chamber to go and see what all the kerfuffle was about. He had to be fetched by Marvin Richards. He nearly got shot as well.’
The disgust on everyone’s faces was enough to warn Carlotta that the magistrate was not a popular man. ‘Incompetent is he?’
Her heart sank when the women guffawed and began to regale her with the man’s inability to catch someone who kept stealing fish from the market, and sheep from the Lord’s estate. It was the villagers who found the thieves on both occasions, but the magistrate still didn’t arrest them as promptly as the villagers felt he should have. Carlotta realised then that it would do her no good at all to call the lawman if she had a problem with the thugs her father had sent to fetch her. She was well and truly on her own, not just at the house but in the predicament she was in.
Carlotta stepped forward when the woman ahead of her in the queue took her purchases and scurried out of the shop to spread her news a little wider. While she waited to be served, Carlotta listened with little interest to the women discussing whose boats had been damaged, and if they could be repaired or not. All the time she watched pedestrians on the street outside, searching for her father’s thugs to appear. She knew they were out there – somewhere – watching – waiting.
‘Oh! I am sorry,’ Carlotta gasped when she saw the baker waggle his fingers in front of her face. ‘A loaf and two of your buns, please.’
While the baker went to fetch her order, Carlotta dug around in her pocket and placed the coins on the counter. At that moment, the tinkle of the bell above the shop door made everyone fall silent and turn to look at the new customers. Carlotta threw a wary glance over her shoulder and immediately felt her stomach sink to her toes when she saw the thugs she was trying to avoid just a few feet away. They were distracted by the customers they had to side-step around and didn’t see her face. Carlotta quickly turned her back to them and tugged her shawl higher while keeping her gaze on the ground. By making sure her back was turned to them, she hoped they wouldn’t notice her.
When Mr Tabernacle handed her the bread and buns, she smiled her thanks, shoved the coins at him and hurried out of the shop. She felt sick as she stepped outside and sucked in a deep breath of the crisp, sea air to try to steady her churning stomach. Carlotta was physically shaking so badly that she wasn’t sure she could make it to the end of the street. There was no place she could hide, though. The only options she had were to go into the grocery shop or straight back to the house.
‘But I cannot do that. If they follow me they know where I am staying. I will be leading them straight to my door,’ she whispered.
When the tinkle of the shop’s doorbell behind her interrupted her thoughts, Carlotta glanced worriedly over her shoulder. The relief that flooded her when she watched a woman step out of the shop was strong enough to make her move. Hurriedly, she made her way toward the grocery and tried to remember what she needed.
‘Good morning, my dear. I had heard that we had a newcomer to the village. It is a pleasure to meet you,’ the man behind the counter called gaily.
‘Thank you,’ Carlotta whispered with a nervous smile. ‘I am glad to be here.’
The grocer, clearly not as easy to distract as the baker, leaned on the counter before him and smiled at his wife. ‘This is Mrs Strong, my wife.’
‘Pleasure to meet you,’ she replied nervously. ‘Mrs Trelawney. Mrs Regina Trelawney.’
The grocer beamed. ‘Is your husband here?’
‘No. He is away on business.’
‘I didn’t realise the Cliff House had been purchased. I thought the man who inherited it still had it,’ Mrs Strong murmured with a frown.
‘No, my husband purchased it from him a few weeks ago. I am here to sort through everything before we move in. He will be joining me soon,’ Carlotta replied. She turned to look at the shelving behind the shop keeper, hoping they would accept that the conversation was over.
‘Well, it will be a pleasure to meet him when he arrives. Everyone has been aware that someone has been up there because the lights have been on at night. It will be a blessing to everyone’s peace of mind to know that it is you up there, especially after what has been going on around here lately.’
Carlotta frowned out of the window. ‘Are there many strangers around here? Does everyone carry guns? I saw two rough looking gentlemen just now and they were armed.’
‘Were they? Where were they?’ Mr Strong stomped over to the window and peered outside.
‘They were in the bakery. One of them had a gun strapped to his belt beneath his jacket. They are after some girl, apparently. God only knows what they should want her for. I hope they don’t find her. They look dangerous.’ Carlotta looked at the shop keeper with wide eyes and hoped and prayed that God would forgive her for her deceit. ‘Do you think they have something to do with what happened to Bladley Weeks?’
‘I don’t think it is coincidence that we have two men with guns in the village at the same time that Bladley Weeks is turned into a battlefield, do you?’ Mr Strong murmured.
‘Shouldn’t we tell the magistrate?’ Carlotta whispered. ‘That’s them.’
‘The magistrate is busy with Bladley Weeks at the moment. I doubt he would bother anyway. Jenner is useless.’ Mr Strong winced when his wife jabbed him in the elbow.
‘The village is usually such a nice, calm place to live. It is usually a very safe place,’ Mrs Strong assured her.
Together, Mr and Mrs Strong and Carlotta watched the thugs leave the bakery. They both tucked into the food they had just bought as they ambled down the main street toward them.
‘They aren’t from around these parts. I heard them talking the other day, they don’t have a local accent,’ Mrs Strong whispered.
‘Neither do I but I don’t carry a gun,’ Carlotta replied.
Mrs Strong nodded.
‘Do you think it is safe to leave?’ she whispered, knowing it wasn’t.
‘Wait until they have gone,’ Mr Strong advised.
‘I just need a few things,’ Carlotta began, turning away from the window just as the men passed it. She made sure she kept her back to the thugs and her head lowered in case either of them looked through the window at her.
‘Of course. What can I get you?’ Mr Strong asked as he rounded the counter.
Carlotta forced herself to appear nonchalant as she gave him her order. Unfortunately, she only purchased a few things and wasn’t in the shop for long. Reluctantly, she took her leave and stepped outside. One glance down the road was all it took to warn her that she was still facing the huge problem of how to get home safely.
‘I cannot go back yet because they will follow me,’ she whispered.
Carlotta watched them cross the road and begin to make their way toward her. Thankfully, they were far enough away that she had a good couple of minutes before they reached her.
‘I have to get back to the house,’ Carlotta decided, well aware that she could spend her entire day walking the village’s streets trying to avoid them.
Ducking her head, she crossed the street and headed straight into a narrow side-street which led down to the harbour. She had no business down in the harbour but knew there was a small path she could take that led to the woods which bordered the gardens of Cliff House. As she began to make her way toward it she desperately wanted to look over her shoulder, but daren’t. She had no idea what she would do if she saw the thugs behind her, or they saw her.
Stay calm. Appear normal. Everything will be all right. I just need to get back to the Cliff House.
As she stepped onto the path that led around the harbour, Carlotta took a deep breath but immediately regretted it as her lungs were attacked by the heady stench of fish. It permeated her lungs and filled her nostrils and made her feel sick. She stepped warily around several flapping fish. When she moved back onto the path, she glanced up and mentally cursed when she saw one of the thugs leave the same side-street she had just walked down.
‘Have you heard about the gunfight that has damaged the fishing vessels in Bladley Weeks?’ Carlotta asked of a fisherman who was trying to scoop the flapping fish back into his basket.
‘Aye,’ he grunted with a dark glare. ‘A lot of lives have been destroyed because of that. It’s a damned disgrace, that’s what it is. They all ought to be shot.’
‘They have guns. Are they local?’ Carlotta whispered with a nod to the two thugs who were heading toward them.
The fishermen waved to his crew, who immediately stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the newcomers. Several men on other boats motioned to each other. They all began to converge on the dockside to watch the gunmen.
‘What are you two doing down here? We don’t want none of your sort around here. Get out of here,’ a fisherman shouted.
The thugs froze. They stared hard at her, but Carlotta refused to look at them. She knew the fishermen would stop them following her but only for a few minutes. Determined to make good her escape, she headed toward a small road which led to the back of the shops. Once there, she lifted her skirt and ran. Her feet pounded the pavement. She slowed a little once or twice but only so she could check the road behind her. At the end of the lane, she took another small road, and another, and another, until she was sure that she wasn’t being followed. This time, she didn’t slow her pace. She continued to run for her life, all the way up the hill until her legs ached and her lungs burned. She gasped for breath but refused to stop until she was able to reach the sheltered protection of the woods.
Within the trees, Carlotta braced one hand on a thick oak tree and try to catch her breath. She smirked with glee when she looked at the people still milling about on the harbour and saw the thugs waving their arms at the fishermen. It was clear that there was an argument of some sort going on and the thugs would be a while.
‘Good,’ she murmured with a decisive nod.
Seeing them gave her the ability to take a moment to calm herself down. When she had her breath back, Carlotta threw one last look at the arguing men and went to find the path that would lead her back to the house she was, temporarily, calling home.
CHAPTER TWO
Carlotta picked her way through the woods. Every now and then she tipped her head back to enjoy the faint beams of sunlight streaming through the canopy of leaves. The need to get out of the woodland and into the warm sunshine was enough to make her increase her pace.
‘Help me.’
Carlotta screamed when her elbow was caught in a fierce grip. She clawed at the fingers and cried out again when she looked up into a gnarled face that had a bloody open welt down one side. One glance was all it took for the image of his pale, twisted features topped by a large bushy mane of mangled grey hair, mean, blood-shot eyes and a cruel snarl on twisted lips, to be indelibly printed on her mind.
‘Get away from me,’ she cried.
The man yanked her toward him instead.
Carlotta tried to step back only for the man to yank her in the opposite direction. ‘Get your hands off me.’ She tried to slap at his hand on her arm. ‘No. Let go of me.’
‘Help me,’ the man snarled and tightened his grip until pain lanced down her arm.
Carlotta began to punch his arm with more and more force as she dug her heels in and used her body weight to try to slow him down. Thankfully, he didn’t seem as strong as she had first thought. It might have been his sodden clothing, which appeared to be wet with sea water. It might have been the wound to his face that made him stumble. Whatever it was that made him loosen his grip, the split second he eased his hold gave Carlotta the opportunity she needed to wrench her arm free. He lunged after her only for Carlotta to kick him in the shin.
‘Stop it,’ he snarled with a curse.
Carlotta turned to run only for him to grab her arm again and yank her back around to face him. She kicked him once more but this time he refused to release her. Digging her heels in, she tried to prise one finger off her bruised flesh at a time. She wrestled and wriggled and did everything possible to try to get free of him. ‘I said get off me!’ she snarled.
‘Get here. I want help. You are going to help me,’ he grunted as he continued to try to drag her into the bushes.
When she felt herself being propelled into the undergrowth, Carlotta used her free arm to grab a tree trunk. She clung tightly to it and refused to release it. The man tried to drag her off it but couldn’t while he was holding her arm. He was forced to release her again. Carlotta then used both arms to hold on to the tree and clung desperately to the wooden solidity. The man grabbed her by the waist and tried to bodily separate her from the tree. He cursed and spat, uttered dire threats and guttural moans, but couldn’t find the strength to force her to do what he wanted.
‘Get off me,’ she cried. The scream she wanted to emit wouldn’t escape her because of the possibility of the thugs coming to investigate. Desperately, she began to kick at the man. His thigh, his shin, his stomach, anywhere she could reach. When he stepped closer, she released her hold on the tree and slammed an elbow into his face. Thankfully, her elbow hit his wound and immediately made him howl with pain.
The man suddenly dropped to his knees, clutching his cheek with both hands. He cursed and mumbled something as he cried out and began to rock. Carlotta eyed the path she knew led to the safety of the house. With one last glare at her attacker, she turned and ran for her basket. Grabbing it on the way past, she set out for home. She glanced back several times but couldn’t see him following her. Even so, she didn’t slow down, until her skirt was suddenly grabbed from behind. Another scream escaped her when she heard material tearing and realised it was the skirt of her dress. She yanked it out of his grasp and whirled to face him. As she did so she swung her basket at his head and whacked him on the side of his face.
The man immediately released her and fell to the ground once more. This time, he didn’t get up. He rolled onto his side and curled into a tiny ball of human misery as he howled and clutched his wounded face. Carlotta could feel little sympathy for him. With one last brief glare she turned around and resumed her flight toward home. This time she didn’t bother to glance behind her. She raced all the way home. By the time she reached the back door of
the house she made sure she had the key in her hand. Carlotta glanced wildly around as she tried to shove the heavy iron into the lock but her hand shook so violently she fumbled. When she did manage to get the door unlocked she shoved it open and stumbled into the kitchen on trembling knees. Slamming the door behind her, she finally slid the bolt home and then fumbled with shaking hands to lock it for good measure. When she had finished, she rested her forehead against the cool wood and tried to catch her breath.
It was then that Carlotta realised she was not alone.
She had no idea what warned her something was wrong. It might have been the way the small hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. It might have been gut instinct. Whatever it was, Carlotta knew that something wasn’t right about the house she had left just an hour ago. The atmosphere within it had changed. There was an imperceptible shift of the silence within the house that hadn’t been there before. It was watchful and dangerous.
Carlotta dreaded having to turn around and see who was standing behind her. She was sure that someone was there. It wasn’t that he touched her. His presence cast a looming shadow over her that was dark and oppressive. It created a heavy silence that settled along her back and made her shiver.
Without turning around, Carlotta sidled toward the dresser beside her. She slid open the drawer, half expecting a hand to reach out and stop her. She picked up a wickedly sharp knife. Her wrist was grabbed before she could remove her hand from the drawer. She was relieved of the weapon which was promptly dropped back into the drawer which was then slammed shut with a decisive bang. Carlotta was slowly turned around until she faced the intruder and found herself staring into the hard glare of the tallest, darkest, and most dangerous man she had ever seen in her life.
