Captive Surrender (5 page)

Unless Prudence was
mistaken, they had been worried about their mother’s state of mind
and, having no use for it themselves, had packed their father’s old
hunting gun in the trunk too. Shaking off her melancholy, Prudence
placed her candle on the floor by her feet. She gasped as the flame
flickered alarmingly but, luckily, it didn’t go out. Being in the
attics with meagre light to find her way was bad enough. In total
darkness, it would be impossible to find her way out.

She screamed at the
squeaking sound that broke the silence and she turned in horror to
watch the small door to the attic slowly swing closed. Her breath
locked in her throat and her heart began to pound as her connection
with the rest of the house was severed.

“
It’s just
the wind. That’s what it is. The wind closed the door. Get a hold
of yourself, Prudence,” she whispered and turned back to the trunk.
This wasn’t the time for timidity or ridiculousness over
spiders.

She flicked the catch and
yanked the lid of the trunk up with rather too much force and was
met with a slight tearing sound that warned her that she had just
ripped the brittle leather on the aged object. She stared down at
the folded clothes and didn’t quite know what she should feel.
Should she feel sadness? Loss? Despair? She didn’t feel any of
those things. It was strangely disconcerting to stare down at the
objects with such disaffection. It felt as though the items in the
trunk belonged to a total stranger, which they did really, because
she was certainly of the opinion that she hadn’t really known her
sire. The man who had been around throughout their childhood had
spent many hours in the library and, even when he had joined the
family, had been quiet and almost withdrawn. It was as though he
was there, and knew he needed to be there for the sake of the
family, but would have preferred to be far away. Which, of course,
he did the first opportunity he got.

Pushing all
thoughts of Joseph aside, she began to rummage through the clothes.
A dark frown settled on her face as she rummaged deeper and deeper.
She paused long enough to sneeze and wiped cobwebs off her nose
with the back of her dusty hand, which only made her sneeze again
even louder. Sniffing a little, she finally reached the bottom of
the trunk and sighed when her fingers found nothing that was even
remotely similar to the metal barrel of a gun. It wasn’t that she
wanted one
per se
, it was just that she knew that visually it would act as a
deterrent.

Determined not to be
thwarted, she began a second, more thorough search, and was
rewarded for her endeavours when her fingers found the long, cool
metal barrel of what she was after. She slowly eased the gun out of
the neatly folded piles of clothes, and stared at it for a moment.
Its unfamiliar weight in her hand made her shiver and she wondered
how anyone managed to point the horrid thing at anyone, or
anything, with intent to pull the trigger. She certainly couldn’t.
She carefully put it onto the floor beside the candle and returned
to the trunk to search again only to come up empty handed several
moments later.

She stared blankly into
the darkness while she tried to think if she had ever seen any shot
for the gun, but couldn’t remember. With a sigh, she hastily shoved
everything back into the trunk and slammed the lid down. Within
minutes, she had closed the attic door behind her and stood within
the upper hallway for several moments where she simply absorbed the
warmth of the inner part of the house.

It was haven to her
chilled flesh and she glanced down tentatively at her soiled and
dirty skirts. Cobwebs tickled her cheeks and she knew she must look
a fright, but couldn’t bring herself to care. She had mixed
emotions about what she had found. A part of her wanted to put it
back and pretend she couldn’t find it. It was a wicked looking
object and something that she had absolutely no intention of using.
However, needs must, and with Ludwig Levant and his men watching
the house, she couldn’t afford to spare anyone’s delicate
eccentricities.

“
Oh, there
you are,” Eloisa gasped. She stared at the gun with a frown. “You
found it then,” she added weakly. Her disconcerted frown made her
feelings about having the wretched thing in the house perfectly
clear, but she didn’t voice any objection. The thought of strangers
watching the house gave her the chills. She had no idea yet what
Prudence wanted with the gun, but if she expected Eloisa to pull
the trigger, or even practice using it, she had another thing
coming.

“
Where did
you get that from?” Robbie demanded in an awed voice. His eyes were
lit with keen interest that made Prudence groan.

“
You touch
this gun, Robbie, and I swear that as God is my witness, I will
stake you by your breeches to the front lawn and let the rabbits
have you.”

Completely unconcerned,
Robbie merely edged closer. “Can I hold it? Was it in the attics?
Does it have shot?”

Prudence lifted it out of
his reach when his hand snuck out to stroke the long barrel
reverently. “I mean it, Robbie Freestone. Touch this gun and you
are going to be in serious trouble.” She hated even holding it
herself, and could only hope that she hadn’t just made matters
considerably worse by bringing it to Robbie’s attention. His
youthful face was alive with curiosity and intrigue, and she knew
that if she wasn’t careful, the first opportunity he got, he would
be practicing taking pot shots with it.

“
I am just
looking at it,” Robbie argued dismissively.

Prudence didn’t even want
him looking at it and merely cast him a dark look as she walked
around him and marched straight into her bedroom. It was the only
place that Prudence knew she could leave it that her brother
wouldn’t be able to get at it, because Robbie was banned from
entering any of his sister’s bedrooms. He would face dire
consequences if he dared venture into her room, even for a second,
and he knew it.

She carefully lifted the
lid to her blanket box and placed the gun beneath the top layer of
sheets before she slammed the top closed and sat on it for good
measure. She physically trembled with fear and seriously started to
wish that she hadn’t been in such a rush to go up to the attics and
fetch it. If she had stopped to think, she would have realised that
she may have actually made matters worse. Not only did nobody in
the house know how to actually hold a gun, much less use one, they
had an avidly curious young boy in the house who would be more than
willing to have a go. The thought made her shudder and she briefly
contemplated whether she should sneak upstairs again, and put it
back into the relative safety of the trunk, but knew that Robbie
would probably go up there the first opportunity he got and fetch
the thing back out anyway. It was safest now, kept in her blanket
box, well away from prying eyes and curious fingers. Later, when
she was alone and everyone had gone to bed, she would have to
practice holding it so at least she could point it in the right
direction if the need ever arose.

“
Prudence,
dinner!” Georgiana called in a voice that made the rafters shake.
Prudence rolled her eyes and made a mental note to have a quiet
word with her sister about yelling like a sailor as she left the
bedroom. She was still covered from head to foot in cobwebs and
dust, but that was of little consequence given the events of the
day.

CHAPTER
THREE

Stephen arrived back at
Dinnington Hall, cold, wet and hungry. The faint scent of stew hung
in the air but the rather cloying odour made his stomach roil
alarmingly. It seemed that stew was all the cook was able to
prepare because it was all anyone at Dinnington ever ate, apart
from breakfast when the choice was bread, cheese, cheese and bread,
or bread and cheese, in that order. He couldn’t wait to get back to
some semblance of civilisation where at least he would have a
choice of stew with his bread and cheese. As it was, if he ate any
more of the wretched stuff he knew he would be sick to his
stomach.

“
You took
your time.”

Stephen paused and turned
to face Levant’s accusatory glare.

“
I’ve been to
take a closer look at the Cragdale estate.”

Levant beckoned him into
the study where he poured himself a brandy and motioned Stephen
toward one of the chairs before the fire.

“
I cannot
recall asking you to go there to do anything.” His voice was a
little too calculating.

Stephen studied him in
the firelight. Gone was the almost affable, clownish yet smarmy
charm and in its place was someone who was ruthless, calculating
and undoubtedly knew how to change persona to accommodate any given
situation. It warned Stephen that there was far more going on with
the man than he understood just yet, and he would be a fool if he
dismissed Levant as an arrogant wastrel just yet. He had no idea if
Levant was connected in any way to the import or export of the
French spies the Star Elite were after, but Stephen’s instincts
warned him that Rousseau wasn’t far away. If Rousseau wasn’t the
man seated opposite, then the man seated opposite certainly knew
who Rousseau was and where to find him.

“
I have been
checking out that beach. The far end of the beach, furthest away
from Cragdale Manor, runs straight into the village. The path is
fairly invisible to the villagers, so anyone can come and go
without being seen for miles around.” This made Levant lean forward
in his chair.

“
You have
tried it, why?”

“
Because I
wanted to see if someone could get to Cragdale Manor without being
seen.”

“
And?”

Stephen shook his head.
“Impossible,” he lied. “It is impossible to get anywhere near that
house without being seen from the road, the house and the beach.
The beach is accessible without anyone from the house noticing
because you can use the path from the village, but I cannot see any
way that anyone can get to the house without being spotted by at
least four people. The place is full to the rafters with
people.”

Levant nodded. “There are
five sisters, that boy and their mother. I believe their father
died of syphilis or something several years ago, in London, with
his mistress.” He smirked at Stephen in silent masculine
approval.

Stephen carefully kept
his face impassive. Personally, he couldn’t think of anything
worse. Why on earth any man would want to leave such a wonderful
place as Cragdale, and especially a wife and family, to move to
London, God only knew. There must have been something significantly
wrong with the man’s marriage for him to practically abandon
everyone. It was little wonder that Prudence didn’t trust
men.

“
They are a
bunch of women though, without a man in the house, and that leaves
them vulnerable.”

“
To
what?”

“
Me,” Levant
replied simply. He eased back in his chair with a look of
calculation on his face. “I want them to feel on edge; vulnerable,
confused and wary. Do you really think that I want to make thrice
weekly visits to that God awful place to speak to someone who hates
me?”

“
You want the
woman as your wife.”

“
Only to get
hold of the house and land. Oh, she is pretty, I don’t deny it, and
she would make a biddable wife once she had been broken, but I have
no intention of actually keeping her.”

“
Even though
she would be your wife?” Stephen felt himself go cold all over at
the matter of fact calmness in the man’s voice.

“
There are
ways and means of getting rid, I can assure you. Women like that
don’t remain pretty all of their lives, and I have no intention of
being saddled with some old crone.”

Stephen watched as Levant
stood, moved to the fire and lit his pipe. The man gazed
thoughtfully into the flames for several moments before turning
cold, hard eyes on him.

“
Don’t go off
by yourself again. I haven’t given you instruction to go anywhere
near that place. You do as you are told, when you are told and no
more, do you understand? I don’t pay you to think.”

“
Fair
enough.”

After several moments of
heavy silence, Stephen stood and moved to the door only to pause
with his hand on the latch at the sound of Levant’s
voice.

“
Don’t go
near that place again. I am warning you, I won’t have your
interference. If you cease to work for me now, you cease to exist.
Do you understand?”

Stephen merely looked
directly into Levant’s eyes and stared the man down for several
long minutes before he quietly left the room. The man before the
fire was a ruthless adversary who would think nothing of cutting
Stephen’s throat to get him out of the way. He now knew how the man
had managed to land grab as much of the countryside around
Marchwell as possible, even from people who had lived on their
properties for generations and had previously had no intention of
selling.

Stephen had been in the
area for several weeks now, and had asked enough questions to know
that at least two of the property owners had died, apparently of
natural causes. It was a little suspicious that the usually fit and
healthy property owners had passed away shortly after Levant
approached them with an offer for their property, which they had
refused. As a result of the deaths, their property, which would
ordinarily have been handed down to the next in line, had
mysteriously been sold instead. Had the beneficiaries been forced
to sell under duress? He had no doubt that heavy handed pressure
may have been applied but, without more resources and the time to
question the locals a bit more, he had no evidence to base his
suspicions on.