Checkmate, My Lord (19 page)

Catherine stared at Cochran, not understanding his cryptic remark. “Excuse me?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Give me but a moment and I’ll explain.” He turned and disappeared down the corridor.

When Catherine heard the front door open, she made her way to the window overlooking the small circular drive. Outside Cochran’s carriage stood a short, wiry man with a balding pate interspersed with clumps of stringy brown hair.

Recognition crashed into her chest like an angry bull trying to breach a fence. Cochran joined the stranger, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder while he spoke. The little man listened intently, lifting his gaze in Catherine’s direction before scurrying away.

She stepped back, her throat closing around a string of questions. After a couple seconds, she craned her head around the draperies to see Cochran open the carriage door. He reached inside—

From the direction of the entrance hall, a door slammed, pulling Catherine’s attention away. Then the sound of pounding boots running up the stairs stopped her heart cold. Sophie was upstairs.

She flew across the drawing room and into the corridor while her mind frantically attempted to understand what was going on. When Catherine reached the bottom of the staircase, it was empty.

She lifted the hem of her dress, preparing to go after the stranger, when a noise from behind stopped her. She whipped around to find Cochran reentering her house with a pretty mahogany-haired woman on his arm. The errant thought that the woman looked none too happy swept through Catherine’s jumbled mind.

“What is going on?” Catherine demanded. Her mind screamed for her to run upstairs, to find the strange man and her daughter. Inching her way up one step, then another, she tried again. “Mr. Cochran, who are these people? Why have you brought them into my home?”

Cochran glanced over her shoulder. “In due time, madam.”

Catherine followed his gaze. Nothing.

She returned her attention to the couple below her and then eased up one more stair.

Cochran motioned for her to come down. “Perhaps we’d all be more comfortable in your drawing room.”

A feminine screech sounded from above.
Mary
. Her fear—barely controlled—unleashed, and she bolted up the stairs.

“Stop,” Cochran ordered. “Silas won’t hurt them. No guarantees, though, if you charge up there.”

Catherine halted, gasping for air. Every instinct she owned urged her onward, but Cochran’s threat kept her pinned in place, helpless in a way she’d never experienced before. Then she heard her daughter’s furious voice a moment before the little man—Silas—appeared, dragging her resisting daughter down the corridor.

“
Sophie
.” Catherine started after her daughter, but a large hand grasped her arm.

Cochran’s cold gaze met hers. “I told you. My man has everything under control.”

“Mama!”

Silas slung Sophie over his shoulder. Her small hands pounded against his back, shoulders, head, anything she could reach. “Let me down, you rabbity beast.”

Catherine jerked hard on her arm and winced when pain shot up to her shoulder. She clawed at Cochran’s restraining grip, and his other hand grasped her throat, forcing her chin into an unnatural angle.

“I said stay.”

“Mama!”

Unable to move her head, Catherine’s eyes found her daughter. “Be still, Sophie.” Her fear for her daughter’s safety was as palpable as the hands restraining her. “Mama will take care of everything.”

Cochran chuckled, his thumb raking across her lips. “Will you, indeed?”

“Release me at once.” Her sight was becoming blurrier by the second.

His nails bit into the tender flesh of her neck and then he pushed her down the stairs.

Sophie yelled.

Catherine scrambled for purchase, her world a whirl of images until she caught the balustrade. Cochran came up behind her, grasping her arm and towing her the rest of the way down, giving her no time to catch her breath. Catherine tried to keep her daughter in sight, but failed.

“Mama!”

She fought back tears. “Be strong, Sophie.” She twisted around to meet her daughter’s frightened gaze. “It will be all right.”

“Do you promise?”

Catherine hesitated a moment too long, for her perceptive daughter began to struggle in earnest, kicking and pounding on her captor.

“Say it, Mama. Say it.”

“Quiet,” Silas ordered with a smack to Sophie’s behind.

“Leave her alone,” Catherine demanded, fighting Cochran’s grip.

Silas’s scold did nothing more than stun her daughter into speechlessness for a half second. Enough time for Cochran to yank hard on Catherine’s arm, making her cry out and forcing her toward the drawing room.

Away from Sophie.

Catherine stared into her daughter’s wary brown eyes as her six-year-old scooted her small frame back into the chair’s cushioned seat.

“That’s a good girl, Sophie. Thank you for joining us.” Cochran patted her narrow shoulder, acting as though she had been invited down to the drawing room, rather than packed down like a sack of potatoes.

“Now then, where were we, Mrs. Ashcroft? Oh, yes, I remember. You wished to discontinue your involvement in our little investigation.” He smoothed his hand over her daughter’s blond curls. “I hope I’ve provided sufficient inducement for you to press on.”

“
Inducement?
” Her daughter spat out the word, no doubt recalling her grandmama’s various incentives.

“Not now, Sophie.” Catherine’s gaze returned to Cochran. “Yes, more than sufficient. Now may my daughter return to the nursery?”

Cochran’s hands clamped around her daughter’s tiny shoulders, looking more like manacles of death than objects of comfort. “But I’m enjoying her company.”

His threat could not have been clearer. Because of Catherine’s moment of conscience, Sophie would now be used as a tool to ensure her mother’s good behavior.

“All men, even those with evil intent, have a weakness. It is how governments do business, madam. They find their opponent’s weakness and exploit it.”

Cochran’s prophetic words returned to haunt her. How had she missed the depravity lurking behind the official’s piglet eyes? Did he even work for the government? Doubtful. She must consider everything he’d told her up to this moment a lie, including Sebastian’s involvement with the French.
Sebastian.

“I’m eager to hear how you’re going to obtain the list, Mrs. Ashcroft,” Cochran said. “Spare us no details.”

At the use of the term “us,” Catherine remembered the others in the room. Her gaze slashed to the mahogany-haired woman hovering near the door to the frightening stranger called Silas keeping vigil next to her chair.

At first glance, Silas appeared to be in his late fifties with his hunched shoulders, unsteady gait, and thinning brown hair. But on closer inspection, Catherine noticed his eyes and mouth did not carry the deep grooves so common of that age. No, this drab little man couldn’t be more than a half dozen years beyond her nine and twenty.

Her attention shifted back to Sophie, who squirmed beneath Cochran’s hold. “Please allow my daughter to go upstairs,” she pleaded once more. Cochran’s hulking presence so near to her baby sent a shiver of debilitating dread through her. How in Heaven’s name would she get them out of this?

He leaned forward, and his thick lips spoke near Sophie’s temple. “Mrs. Ashcroft? We’re waiting.”

Catherine unlocked her ankles and gripped her knees with shaking hands. What did he want from her? She had already searched every room where she thought Sebastian would keep private papers.

Cochran considered her for a moment, then lowered his mouth to Sophie’s ear. “Your mother holds out hope that she has a choice in the matter.” He straightened, his gaze flattened. “It’s best to clear up such misconceptions at the onset. Mrs. Clarke,” he called, “stoke the fire. Our fine summer weather has definitely taken a turn, especially during these cloudless afternoons. I don’t want the ladies to catch a chill.”

A flush of cold panic coated her palms. She glanced from Mrs. Clarke bending over the fire to Cochran’s dispassionate gaze to Sophie’s pale face and felt the stabilized world she had erected for her daughter fracture.

She pushed up from her chair, intending to go to Sophie, to offer what comfort she could, but Silas clamped a hand around her neck, forcing her back into her seat.

“It is best you stay seated, Mrs. Ashcroft,” Cochran said.

“M-mama?” Sophie’s voice cracked.

Catherine winced when Silas’s fingers tightened on her neck. As she stared into her daughter’s uncertain eyes—a look so uncharacteristic of the imp whose escapades kept everyone in the household on guard—a weighty helplessness held her immobile while her brave girl contorted her body to elude Cochran’s despicable touch.

Catherine balled her hands into painful knots as the weight on her chest grew heavier. She pulled in a calming breath, one that barely registered, then forced a reassuring smile. “Do not fret, pumpkin. Mama will take care of everything. I promise.”

Her daughter visibly relaxed, having no reason to believe her mother would fail. She never had before. But Catherine knew this time was different. A palpable evil had entered their home, and Catherine worried she had told her daughter her first lie.

Cochran directed his attention toward the pulsing coals. “You did well with the fire, Mrs. Clarke.”

The woman averted her face.

Bending forward, Cochran rubbed the backs of his fingers across Sophie’s rounded cheek. “Can you feel the fire’s warmth,
pumpkin
?” His lifted his amused gaze to Catherine.

Her eyes welled with tears.

Sophie nodded, scrunching up her pert nose and leaning away from his caress. “It’s hot.”

“Is it?” His careless tone belied his concern. “Shall we ask your mama?”

“Do you think the fire’s hot enough, Mrs. Ashcroft?”

Her throat closed around a useless scream. Besides Mary, who had nowhere to go, the servants had all gone home to spend time with their families, as they did every Tuesday afternoon. It was the only time she truly had Sophie all to herself. Even her mother had gone out to visit with friends. Had Cochran known they would be alone? He seemed to know a great deal about them.

She fought the urge to close her eyes, to wish this nightmare away. If anything happened to Sophie—

Swallowing hard, she cut the thought short and allowed her anger to build. She thought back to all the achingly lonely nights she had spent waiting for Jeffrey, all the times her daughter searched the drive for her father.

She thought about how she would kill these men for threatening her baby.

“I will do what needs to be done,” Catherine said.

Cochran’s gaze flicked to Silas, though his comment was directed at the woman. “I am not convinced. Mrs. Clarke?”

The mahogany-haired woman stared at the fire, unmoving. “Mrs. Clarke, need I remind you—”

“No, Mr. Cochran.” The woman turned bleak eyes to the fire and bent to retrieve the red-tipped poker. She turned toward Sophie.

“No!” Catherine catapulted herself out of the chair.

Clawlike fingernails raked across her skin as Silas lost his grip. His other hand swept around, seizing the coil of hair pinned at the back of her head, yanking her to a painful halt. A cry of shock-pain escaped her throat and her body bowed backward.

“Let me go!” Keeping her burning gaze on the glowing poker, she made mad swipes at the hand entrenched in her hair. A couple of her nails connected with flesh, and her captor jerked hard in retaliation, sending her sprawling back into her seat. He did not release his hold.

“Leave my mama alone!” Sophie cried, fighting against Cochran’s restraint. Tears streamed down her terrified face.

Unable to free herself, Catherine tightened her grip on her captor’s wrist while she warned Cochran. “Leave her be, you brute.” To her daughter, she said, “Sit still, pumpkin. Mama’s fine.”

She caught Cochran’s eye. “I’ll tear apart every room, ask questions, eavesdrop on conversations,” she panted. “Revisit his bedchamber.
Whatever
it takes.” A mother’s determination bolstered her tone. “I swear it.”

Silence followed her declaration. Catherine focused on Cochran and awaited his verdict with thundering ears. Her daughter’s broken cries sliced through her heart yet strengthened her resolve.

Finally, Cochran nodded, releasing Sophie at the same time Catherine’s captor withdrew his painful grip on her hair.

She barely had time to sit up before her daughter launched herself into her arms. Catherine hugged Sophie’s small, trembling body, keeping a cautious eye on her uninvited guests.

“It’s time I formally introduce you to my lovely assistant.” Cochran gestured to the mahogany-haired woman. “Mrs. Clarke will join your household until you have completed your task.”

“Whatever for?”

“Insurance, of course.”

More
like
a
gaoler
. Now that the woman no longer held the hot poker, she appeared stern and uncompromising. “How am I to explain her presence?”

His gaze sketched over her daughter, who now fought Catherine’s protective hold to see the other woman. “I’m sure you’ll agree that your daughter could use a bit of refinement. Mrs. Clarke will make an excellent governess.”

Sophie shook her head. “No, Mama. I don’t want her.”

A lump formed in Catherine’s throat. They expected her to just hand over her daughter to this woman? To this unsmiling creature who would no doubt report her every move and would do God knew what to her daughter?

Who was she? What were her qualifications? No one in her household, or in the village, would believe Catherine would entrust Sophie’s care to a stranger.

“I see your apprehension, Mrs. Ashcroft. You’ve no need to worry. Mrs. Clarke is quite good with children.” He smirked at the other woman. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Yes, Mr. Cochran.”

“You see,” he said, “there’s no call for concern.”

Catherine tried to reason with him one more time. “I can do this without your insurance.”

“No doubt,” he said. “Mrs. Clarke, take the girl to the nursery.”

Catherine tightened her hold around Sophie. Now that the immediate danger had passed, she did not want to lose sight of her daughter. As long as she could see Sophie, she could maintain the illusion of control.

Mrs. Clarke approached Catherine’s chair and held out her hand. “Miss Sophie, come show me your toys.”

Catherine stared at the woman’s outstretched fingers, noted their slight tremble. The woman did too, and dropped her arm, fisting her hand.

Interesting.

But her daughter had already shied away, clutching Catherine’s face between tiny hands that smelled like dirt and worms. “No, Mama,” she pleaded, her blue eyes filling with tears. “I p-promise to behave. I promise.”

Catherine could barely speak around the tears clawing at the inside of her throat. She rested her forehead against her daughter’s and squeezed her eyes shut.

Lord, give me strength
.

Her daughter impatiently pushed against Catherine’s cheeks, cutting her prayer short. She bent to capture Catherine’s gaze. “Please, Mama. I want to stay with you.”

Managing a wobbly smile, Catherine said, “I love you, pumpkin. I love you just the way you are. Never forget it. Now cover your ears.” She waited for her daughter to comply before lifting her gaze to Mrs. Clarke. “You harm one hair on my daughter’s head and you will come to regret it. Understood?”

The woman slanted a glance toward Cochran, then gave Catherine a swift nod.

Drawing in a bracing breath, Catherine eased her daughter’s hands away from her ears. “You must go with Mrs. Clarke.”

“No.” Sophie wrapped her amazingly strong arms around Catherine’s neck. “No, I don’t want to go.”

Catherine noticed Cochran’s patience had come to an end. His message was clear—if she could not control her daughter, he would. And soon.

Catherine knew how to handle her daughter’s infrequent tantrums. With a mother’s gentle strength, she unwound Sophie’s arms and set her back. “Sophia Adele Ashcroft,” she said in her sternest voice. “Stop this nonsense at once.”

“But, Mama—”

“Enough,” she said, her heart breaking with each harsh word. “You will go with Mrs. Clarke now, or you’ll be forbidden to ride Guinevere for an entire month.”

Her daughter’s eyes widened in wounded horror, and the remaining pieces of Catherine’s heart shattered.

Sophie adored her pony. The two were caught more than once tearing across the open field near the stables. To her daughter, a month without Guinevere would be like a month without sustenance.

Scrambling off her lap, Sophie stood before her with her arms locked at her side and her nostrils flaring with each angry breath. “You can’t do that. Papa gave her to me.”

Irritation abraded Catherine’s nerves. She had done what she could to preserve Sophie’s memory of her father, and to his credit, Jeffrey had never forgotten his daughter’s birthday. Lavish gifts arrived on time every year to honor her birth—and to soften the sting of another missed celebration.

As a result, Sophie worshiped her father, and Catherine would have it no other way. But Sophie’s choice to invoke her father’s so-called wishes against her cut deeper than her husband’s abandonment had.

Cochran moved to stand next to Mrs. Clarke.

Catherine hardened her resolve, then sat forward in her chair and pointed toward the door. “Go. Now.”

Her smart daughter recognized her I’m-through-talking tone and ran from the room, leaving Mrs. Clarke to follow at a more sedate pace.

When the door closed, Cochran threw something onto her lap. She glanced down and recognized Sophie’s lost figure, a kilted warrior holding a two-handed claymore.

“Finish what you started, Mrs. Ashcroft, or I will slit your daughter’s throat.”