The Forgotten Story

by Michelle E Lowe

  Frederica began fidgeting with the sleeve of her gown. “What if Volker tracks us down before we reach Reading? Robin could protect us.”

  Pierce snorted. “I doubt the bloke will do much tracking after the beating he took. By the time he’s done licking his wounds, you’ll be on your way to London, and I’ll be crossing the Channel. Everything will be fine.”

  * * *

  Joaquin broke through the darkness once or twice before falling back into it. Something had happened to him. He just couldn’t remember what. The last memory he had was asking his mother if she wanted to go papaya picking with him. When she sent him off to ask his grandparents, he decided to go off on his own, instead. The papaya trees weren’t far, and he never got to venture anywhere by himself.

  Now, he was somewhere dark and scary.

  He wanted his mommy and daddy. Why did Daddy have to leave?

  He began opening his eyes again. At last, he was coming around. Perhaps his family would be there waiting for him to wake up.

  A soft light, like a candle flame, burned away the lonely darkness. Everything was so blurry. He heard a voice. It sounded like a woman.

  “Mommy?” Joaquin managed to mutter out weakly.

  He felt sharp stabbing pains in his leg, both arms, and in his spine. It made him whimper. A voice that wasn’t his mother’s, uttered something he was unable to understand. Her blurry silhouette appeared, nearly eclipsing the light.

  A warm hand rested on his forehead. “Sleep.”

  He wanted to wake up and find out where he was and what had happened. The dreaded darkness, though, slowly swallowed up the firelight as his eyes closed.

  “Sleep.”

  And so, he did.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Message

  First Lieutenant Jeffery Porter and his guards had apprehended the two men who had tried holding up the train in order to steal the money that he and his troops were guarding. One robber was an average-looking sod, and the other had a misshapen face.

  The senior engineer reported that he’d sent the other engineer to the next station. If the teleprinter message had reached the sheriff, the police ought to arrive at any time. While the senior engineer unhitched the locomotive from the burning cars and moved it down the tracks, Lieutenant Porter was ready for some answers.

  “I know you two did not act on your own,” he told the would-be robbers standing beside each other, manacles on their wrists. “Who else was with you? Who orchestrated this?”

  Jeffery had been a guard for the Drummonds Bank for twenty years, and he had recently taken a position guarding currency transports for the Liverpool and Manchester Railway when the company began expanding across the country. This was his first experience dealing with a railway robbery, and it was surely a memorable one.

  “We work for a bleedin’ fairy,” retorted the thief with the unbalanced facial features.

  Despite the man’s appearance, Jeffery was certain he felt pain the same as anyone else.

  “Is that so?” he said as he slipped off his gloves to begin his real interrogation.

  “I bet this was Pierce Landcross’s doing,” came a voice from the crowd.

  Jeffery’s ears perked up. He turned and demanded, “Who just spoke?”

  A passenger in a tweed jacket raised his hand and took a step forward. “I did, sir.”

  “Kindly repeat that. C’mon, man, speak up.”

  Lieutenant Jeffery Porter was fresh out of patience. For the past hour, he had dealt with explosions that had nearly killed him, and he felt pretty banged up from when the railway carriage he was in had derailed. He was only fortunate to have walked away with nothing more than some cuts and a headache. Some of his men had broken bones.

  “Pierce Landcross, sir,” the traveler repeated. “He was on board. I saw him meself, I did.”

  It took Jeffery a moment to realize who the passenger was referring to. “Hold up. Are you talking about the thief who tried stealing from the Queen some years ago?”

  “Yessir, the very same. And I ain’t the only one who saw ’im, either.”

  Jeffery gave him a critical look. He wasn’t sure if he believed the passenger or not, even when the robber with the strange face blurted out, “Yeah, it was Landcross. He’s our ringleader!”

  Although Jeffery had his doubts, he decided to humor them both and question other passengers while waiting for the arrival of more authorities.

  It turned out that the passenger and the robber were telling the truth. A barkeep and a few of his customers admitted to seeing Landcross at the bar with a couple of other patrons. Others also claimed to have overheard a German, wearing dark spectacles, call him by that name. Then two assailants—a younger fellow and another with electric blue eyes—assaulted the German. A woman, traveling with her baby, admitted to hearing Landcross mention something about money right after the explosions. That was enough to convince Jeffery, and when reinforcements arrived, he reported his findings. They searched for Landcross but found no trace of him or his party. Then a witness informed him that he had seen people riding away on horses. Jeffery concluded that Pierce Landcross had fled the scene after the failed heist.

  Jeffery and the sheriff, who arrived with troops from Oxford, rode to the city to alert everyone they could.

  * * *

  A knock sounded on Lord Darius Javan’s bedchamber door, waking him and his wife, Ester.

  “Answer it,” she ordered, pushing him out of bed.

  Darius was a large man, yet he had no strength to resist his wife when her slumber was disturbed.

  After stubbing his toe and nearly falling over in the dark, he managed to find his robe and make his way across the room.

  “What is it?” he demanded, tying his robe.

  “Begging your pardon, my lord,” said the servant through the closed door. “An urgent message has come through your teleprinter.”

  “What hour is it?”

  “It’s nearly five, sir. Apparently, these messages have been—”

  Darius swung open the door, startling the servant.

  The servant composed himself and cleared his throat. “Have been coming out from Oxford for hours and circulating around major cities and towns, even in the personal homes of the governors, such as yours, milord.”

  Darius, bewildered, took the message from him. When he read it, his confusion quickly changed to rage.

  THIS IS AN EMERGENCY ACTION NOTIFICATION. PIERCE LANDCROSS HAS ATTEMPTED TO ROB THE READING-BOUND TRAIN. THE FUGITIVE HAS FLED THE SCENE. HE IS AT LARGE. BE ADVISED.

  “Landcross.”

  “My lord, are you well?”

  Clearly, the servant noticed the heat rising in his face and the fury flashing in his eyes.

  Instead of answering, he ordered, “Message Southampton and tell the officers there to lock down the ports. Have them arrest anyone meeting Pierce Landcross’s description.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Darius rushed over to a lantern and lit it.

  “What is happening?” his wife groaned as her husband went to the closet.

  “I must hunt down a man I should never have allowed to leave,” he answered angrily, taking down his clothing from the hanger. “I will need to make sure more messages are being passed on before I assemble my men for departure.”

  “Departure?” Ester pounced on the word while sitting up. “Where are you going?”

  Darius stepped over to the bed and laid his outfit upon it. “To Reading.” He entered the closet again. “I have a feeling he will be heading that way.”

  “Who?”

  “Pierce Landcross.”

  “Him again?” Ester whined. “Yes, you should have arrested him when he showed up here the other day, looking for Norwich. And you suspect he will be at the Norwiches’ residence?”

  “Indeed,” he said, taking down a rectangular box from its shelf.

  Darius cursed himself for not taking action against that bastard when he had the chance. It was in
his right to do so, since Landcross had broken the condition of his pardon. Javan vowed he would not be so lenient with Landcross when next they met.

  He opened the box and took out his sterling silver knife.

  * * *

  Despite everything, Pierce slept soundly. He eventually rolled out of bed, washed up, got dressed, and packed up his gear. He was ready to get underway and board a ferryboat out of England.

  He opened the door to leave when he was shoved back in by Clover.

  “Get inside,” she said.

  Pierce stumbled back so fast, he feared he would trip. “Whoa! Whoa, lass! What’s up, eh?”

  Clover shut the door and locked it. “Pierce, everyone thinks you tried to rob the train last night.”

  It took a few ticks to sort out her rapidly spoken words. “Come again?”

  “The authorities believe you’re responsible.”

  “Wha . . . wha . . .” he stammered. “What? How do you know?”

  “I went ahead to the station to buy us tickets for the first train to Reading and soldiers were there. They wanted to know if I had seen you and showed me my own book with your photographs inside. I told them no and then asked why.”

  Pierce could only assume that someone on board had identified him.

  “This is bad, Pierce,” Clover went on. “It seems word about this has been disseminating throughout the night. By now, the entire country has been notified.”

  Damn technologies.

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he gasped, grasping at his hair and knocking off his hat.

  He stepped over to the window and looked out. There could have been a war carrying on in the streets and he would have been completely blind to it. All he could picture was the trouble he was in.

  “We’ll leave the horses here,” Clover explained. “I’ve arranged a carriage to take us to Reading. When we reach home, we’ll find you a disguise and get you on a ferryboat.”

  He lowered his arm and turned to her.

  “I’ll fetch you when the carriage arrives,” she said, unlocking the door. Before leaving, she turned. “We’re going to get you home.”

  She left, closing the door behind her.

  When Clover finally came for him, Pierce was more than ready to crack on. He managed to get inside the carriage without being spotted, and away they went. He trembled as he did when in great distress. He gazed out the window, anxiously gnawing at his knuckles.

  A hand rested on his knee.

  “Mach dir keine Sorgen,” consoled Frederica, “Soon, you’ll be crossing the Channel.”

  Although he appreciated her words of comfort, he barely gave them a mustard seed of faith. Every time trouble had arisen throughout the trip, he kept telling himself that things were fine, and yet he only seemed to fall into deeper danger.

  He nodded anyway. “I hope so, love.”

  He returned his gaze to the window. How the bloody hell had things gotten all out of sorts?

  * * *

  When they reached Archie’s place, they explained everything to him and Eilidh.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Archie.

  “I wish I wasn’t,” Pierce sighed.

  “He’ll need a disguise,” Clover explained.

  “I suppose I could find something in the attic,” Archie offered while rubbing his chin.

  The sound of approaching horses caught Pierce’s attention. He checked out the window and became dizzy at the sight of the horde of red-uniformed troops riding up the lane toward the cottage.

  There was no doubt the guards had come for him. He thought about darting out the rear door, but was too afraid of being spotted.

  “Shite,” he cursed softly. “Erm, an attic, you say?”

  As Archie led him upstairs to the attic ladder, Clover, Frederica, and Kolt went into the sitting room, while Eilidh went to brew tea in the kitchen. It wasn’t long after Pierce crawled up into the attic that a heavy knock banged at the front door. Pierce crept like a cat over to a light coming in through a hole in the floor. He lowered himself to his belly to look down at the sitting area below as the hinges creaked open.

  “Lord Javan?” said Eilidh. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

  “Darius?” Pierce whispered. “Wonderful.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Norwich,” he greeted her. “May I come in?”

  “Of course. Please do. I was just brewing tea. Would you care for some?”

  The door closed. Pierce set his ear near the floor, listening for more troops that might have entered with him. It was difficult to tell.

  Although Darius and Eilidh were out of his line of sight, Frederica, Clover, and Kolt were visible down in the den. They sat on the couch and armchair, looking toward the front entrance. He kept his fingers crossed that everyone would act natural and not give off any signs that they were hiding him. He cringed at the idea of a slip up such as one of them telling Darius they hadn’t seen him at all when the man knew damn well Pierce had visited them the other day. Or, getting their stories mixed up, since none of them had had any time to prepare. He was only thankful the children were napping, removing any risk of their son informing the soldiers that he was in the house.

  “You have many soldiers with you, Lord Javan,” observed Eilidh. “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m afraid not. I’m here on official business.”

  “Oh, dear. Is this about Pierce Landcross?”

  Bloody hell. He didn’t expect her to jump into the meat of it like that.

  “Landcross?” Archie asked as he came down his creaky stairs. “What has he done now?”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Norwich,” Darius said.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Javan.”

  Pierce imagined the two shaking hands and bowing to each other. All that systematic shite.

  “I take it Landcross has stopped by recently?” Darius inquired.

  “Indeed,” Archie admitted. “He mentioned that you told him where to find us. He stayed here overnight and left for Sherwood the following day.”

  “Sherwood, you say? Did he tell you why?”

  Please say nothing about Robin.

  “He wanted to visit some old friends of his.”

  “Did he say anything about these so-called friends?”

  Christ almighty! Darius must be thinking that in “friends,” he was really visiting the gang that tried to rob the train.

  Nice going, Arch!

  “He said little about them. Only that he hadn’t seen them in ages.”

  Archie sounded calm. He spoke normally as though they were merely having a friendly chat. It reminded him of when he’d put Archie up to playing a drunken louse at Robert’s château. Archie had done well enough then, and perhaps would continue to do so now.

  “If he was on his way to Sherwood,” Darius went on, “why did he stop by here?”

  His lordship was beginning to sound more like an officer on a mission than an acquaintance.

  “To visit,” Eilidh spoke up. “We are, after all, friends with him.”

  “Yes, I’m aware. You both did assist in sneaking him inside Buckingham Palace.”

  That was it. This was where everything would go to pot. In a matter of moments, Darius would have built up enough suspicion to merit a search of the house.

  “He came by asking for money,” Clover chimed in.

  With the spotlight now on her, Pierce held his breath in anticipation.

  “Miss Norwich,” Darius said, straining to keep up formalities.

  It must have been killing him.

  His heavy boots stepped toward her, and when he appeared in Pierce’s view, his heart knocked hard against his chest.

  “Lord Javan,” Clover said. “Let me introduce Mrs. Frederica Katz, and her son, Kolt. They have only just arrived.”

  Darius bowed to them. “Frederica Katz. Yes, I have heard of you. My wife and I saw you in The Government Inspector last year on our anniversary.”

  “Oh, how lovely,” Frederica cooed. “
I do hope my performance made your night a touch more special.”

  Frederica was a natural born actress. She could pull this off without a hitch.

  “It did. Very much so,” Darius assured her. “May I be so bold as to ask why you’re here?”

  “To see Miss Norwich. I’m responding to her ad about research for her next book. I decided to come and be interviewed before I leave for London tomorrow.”

  “You’re talking about the Landcross series, I take it?”

  “Ja. I knew him long ago before I was Frederica Katz,” she stated in a theatrical tone.

  “How did you know him?” Darius asked, sounding surprised.

  She smiled mischievously. “We were, um, sort of a couple as youths. If you’re curious about the rest, you will have to read the book.”

  It may have only been the firelight coming from the hearth, but it appeared Darius was blushing.

  “Mrs. Katz and her son will be our overnight guests,” Clover spoke up, bringing the attention back around to her.

  “And Landcross was seeking money, you say, Miss Norwich?”

  “Yes.”

  “And not because he wanted to add to your books?”

  Pierce recalled when Darius implied that the reason behind wanting to see Archie was because of the books. Pierce merely played along, even though he’d had no inkling that Clover was the author then.

  “No,” Clover answered. “He mentioned I owed him for writing about him.”

  “And what was your response?”

  “I said I owed him nothing. Then he gave me some sob story about needing money to repair the ship he’d sailed in on so he could return home. I refused to give him a single penny. I mean, the very idea that I would pay him anything from my years of hard work. . .”

  Clover sounded harsh and prudish as she attempted to act like a cold-hearted shrew.

  Pierce lightly beat his head against his own fist. Although he understood what Clover was trying to do by steering some sympathy his way, she had given Javan a motive as to why he would want to rob a train transporting a bunch of loot.