Johanna Lindsay - The Heir

That was paramount. After all, if she didn't come out of the house soon, her aunts would no doubt be coming in, and then they'd be kept, too. And if they were all three kept, who would there be to fetch a ransom from? Certainly not their distant relative who had gotten her great-grandfather's title and refused to even acknowledge them as relatives.

Being thrust into an upstairs bedroom and having the door slammed behind her gave her the bit of undistracted time to think that she needed, or it would have—if Mavis Newbolt weren't also there.

The room was dark. The only thing that told Sabrina she wasn't alone was the cranky voice that she recognized, coming from somewhere in the middle of the room, complaining, "What do you want now?"

"It's me—Sabrina," she said in the general direction of the voice. "Weren't you expecting me?"

"Oh! Yes! But what took you so long? I gave them the letter to mail days ago."

"I only just received it today."

"Bah, those idiots," Mavis said derisively. "I should have known they wouldn't know how to post a letter. Well, no matter, you're here finally. And I can't tell you how much I appreciate your coming."

"Don't mention it," Sabrina replied. "I'm just surprised that you would contact me. I really thought the letter was a joke."

A sigh. "If only it was. But I'm sorry, Sabrina, truly, to have involved you in this. I simply couldn't think of anyone else to contact nearby. It would have taken so long to reach my parents, and besides, they think I'm still at Summers Glade and I didn't want them to think otherwise. They'd be quite upset with me to know I left there but didn't come straight home, and then that this happened."

Sabrina decided not to mention yet that they already knew their daughter wasn't where she was supposed to be. She wanted to assure herself that Mavis was all right first, and she had to see her to do that.

"Is there no lamp in here that can be lit? It seems rather odd, talking to you in the dark."

"There are several, yes, but I didn't think to be conservative. I've already used up the fuel in them, and

they won't replace it—probably wouldn't bother to look for the store of it, the lazy sods," Mavis added bitterly.

A moment later, though, moonlight streamed into the room as Mavis opened the curtains at both windows. Since Sabrina had been several minutes in the total dark, that little bit of moonlight was almost as bright as a flamed light.

"Better?" Mavis said, coming back to sit on the edge of the bed where she had been.

"Much," Sabrina replied, and moved to sit next to her for a closer examination.

Mavis looked fine, though, if quite rumpled. She was fully dressed, but in the same clothes she'd been wearing when she left Summers Glade, and it looked like she hadn't removed them once. She'd been sleeping in them, and just using the bed as more of a pallet, not turning down the covers, even though they would have given her some welcome warmth. The room wasn't too cold, though, which suggested the fireplace had been fueled earlier and had just burned down to nothing. That Mavis had her coat near to hand meant she was probably used to the cold intruding late in the night.

"Have they been feeding you?" Sabrina asked with concern. "Treating you well?"

"Yes, I've been fed, but mostly with loaves of bread they steal, I don't doubt, since I can't imagine them baking them. The house wasn't well stocked with food, just a few stores, and they no doubt went through that very quickly. As for how I've been treated, well, I've been kept locked up here and left alone for the most part."

"What exactly happened here?" Sabrina asked next. "Is this your house?"

"No, it belongs to my cousin John. We arrived late at night, having come here directly from Summers Glade. The house was somewhat of a mess, which is why John suspected it had been broken into. We didn't expect to find the intruders still here, though, and sleeping upstairs. They were as surprised as we, actually. They'd apparently found the house empty and decided it would make a nice place to live for the winter, or until the owner showed up. Vagrants, the lot of them, or so I've gathered."

Sabrina had come to that conclusion as well. "I take it there was no time to summon the authorities?"

"There was no time to think of anything logical, if that's what you mean. That should have been our first recourse. I know it. You know it. But John was too furious to be thinking of doing things in the proper order, I suppose. Understandable, of course. They had broken into his house, were still here. He really was livid. But he really shouldn't have tried to physically evict all four of them himself."

"All four?"

"I know, even if he was a bloody Corinthian, which he's not, those odds are a bit much. And they were scrambling to escape, after all. So everything might have been fine if John hadn't chased after them in his rage. When he tried to trounce one of them, the other three came to their friend's rescue and John ended up being the one trounced."

"Was he hurt bad?"

"More his pride than anything else, I imagine. Their victory over him emboldened them, though. They tied him up and put him in the cellar, then locked me up here. It was another few hours before they came

up with the ransom scheme and I was ordered to write that letter—for a mere forty pounds. Can you believe it?" she added with an indignant snort. "My parents are worth—"

"I know it's a silly amount," Sabrina cut in.

"But probably not to them, and redundant. They have guns. Did they have them before?"

Mavis frowned, hearing that. "No, I saw no weapons before. My, my, they're really embracing the criminal path, aren't they? They must have acquired the guns since this started, probably stole them like they have the bread. That was really stupid of them. Someone might really get hurt now."

"As long as it isn't us."

"Oh, I wasn't worried about us. They're more likely to shoot each other. They do seem like complete incompetents. I doubt they've ever done anything like this before, so they don't really know what to do. I wouldn't even be surprised if this whole ransom thing was just a delay so they could stay here longer. They do seem to love it here, but then, of course, they would, if they'd been living in the streets."

"Gathered that myself. And they've already come up with another reason to let them stay longer. They plan to keep me now and send you for another ransom."

Mavis made a choking sound of frustration. "Absolutely not! I didn't ask you here to put you in the same deplorable situation as I. They are idiots. There is no other explanation. Well, we'll just have to inform them that this is not how this is done."

"That isn't all that needs explaining," Sabrina said, her worry sneaking into her tone. "I'll have to let them know that others will be arriving here if I don't leave soon. You've dealt with them for a few days. Will that work to get them to take their ransom and run?"

"Will someone be arriving?"

"Yes, my aunts will." Sabrina sighed. "They're waiting outside in our coach."

"Oh, dear," Mavis said, and then when they heard some door pounding coming from downstairs, "Oh, dear."

It all happened too quickly, Raphael putting his shoulder to the door when it wasn't answered soon enough, breaking the lock on it—he had a strong shoulder—then muttering, "What the hell?" just before he slumped to the floor.

With the lantern they had set on the back porch, Duncan saw him falling, saw the weapon in the hand of the man who'd clubbed him over the head with it, and dove at the fellow. A shot was fired.

Shrieks of startlement were heard from in front of the house, from somewhere upstairs in the house, from the next block. The shot had echoed loudly through the quiet neighborhood at that hour of the night. The

stench of gun smoke filled the air. The bullet had passed near Duncan's neck, and had been heard clearly, which was probably why he was angry enough to seriously bloody the man's face before he was done with him.

They should have approached this with more caution, rather than the impatience they were both feeling. But after two days of searching, having doors slammed in their faces, being chased by dogs, and finally being led to this place by an urchin through backyards and over fences, rather than down the front street, then finding that the house looked deserted . . . well, that hadn't inspired calm emotions.

He spared a moment to wonder who he had beat unconscious. He didn't think it was John Newbolt. One of his servants, perhaps, who had understandably come armed to investigate what most likely sounded like someone breaking into the house. Bedamned. They'd have some explaining to do now. The authorities would no doubt be arriving soon, after all those shrieks he'd heard.

He spared another moment to make sure Raphael wasn't dead. He wasn't, was even starting to groan a little. He went to fetch the lantern from the porch. The urchin had disappeared, not surprising.

Coming back into the kitchen where the two bodies were sprawled, Duncan had only enough time to set the lantern down on a table before two more men appeared in the open doorway that led farther into the house. One had a pistol trained on him. He hadn't thought to pick up the gun on the floor that had been used on Raphael's head.

"Wot the 'ell?"

"What happened here?"

"A wee misunderstanding, I'm thinking," Duncan explained. "I'm here tae see John Newbolt, or rather, his cousin. You work for him?"

An exchanged look between the two men, before one said, "Shore we do, but this ain't the hour to come visitin'. Come back in the morning, gent."

"I'll stay and see tae my business, if it's all the same tae you."

"You'll be leaving if you know wot's good for you," the one with the weapon said, and just in case Duncan hadn't noticed it, he waved it about in front of him now.

But the other intervened and said cordially, "That's fine, we'll take you to Mr. Newbolt. He'll likely be glad o' the company."

That it was said with somewhat of a snicker wasn't Duncan's first warning that something wasn't right here. It was that they would call Newbolt ‘Mister’ when the man held a minor title, according to Rafe, title enough for his servants to refer to him as Lord Newbolt.

The lantern Duncan had brought into the kitchen illuminated the short hallway and into the larger entry hall, though by then the light was extremely dim and there was no other to be had. He should have brought it with him. One of the two men should have thought to do so as well. It seemed strange to have no light inside the house unless everyone in it had been asleep, and yet the men had all been fully dressed, so apparently hadn't come straight from their beds to investigate the noises at the back of the house.

Those noises, though, had obviously woken the whole house, including those upstairs. At least that was

what he figured when from the corner of his eye he saw the ripple of a skirt at the top of the stairs. He started to turn that way but felt the pistol poke into his back, insisting he continue on where they were leading him.

That was pretty much the last bit of warning he needed that something was definitely not right here. He'd explain later if he was wrong, but right then he turned on the man behind him, knocked aside the arm with the gun, and slammed his fist against his nose. The fellow flew backward, toppled over a hall table, and didn't move any further.

The other man, who had been in the lead and was now behind him, growled and jumped on his back, wrapped his arms around Duncan's throat and tried to choke him. He wasn't succeeding, not even a little, though he probably thought he was, because he laughed triumphantly. Duncan, thoroughly annoyed by then, dragged the skinny little fellow around to the front of him, held him there as he drew his fist back, then watched him scream and faint before he could hit him. Disgusted, he let him drop to the floor.

And then he was incredulous to hear a voice he had no trouble recognizing, despite the anger in it. "How could you just ignore his weapon like that?"

He didn't answer that, demanded instead, "What the hell are you doing here?"

She didn't answer either, still intent on her original question. In a furious tone, she said, "You could have been killed just then!"