by Sofia Daniel
Edward shook his head. “There’s no cure for his condition. Unfortunately, drugs only reduce the symptoms.”
We passed a small meadow of blue, purple, and pink wildflowers. Edward let go of my hand. Beyond it, men wearing khaki jackets stared up into the skies. One of them pointed a long-barreled shotgun at a flock of passing birds, while the other carried what might have been a dead pheasant. I couldn’t tell from the distance.
I intertwined my fingers with his. “I’m so glad you got the chance to speak with him.”
“As am I. It’s been years since he last recognized me.” He stopped by the edge of the path and pulled out his penknife.
“What are you doing?”
“Picking you a bunch of flowers.” Edward walked farther into the meadow.
A large hand clamped around my mouth, and a thick arm looped around my waist. Panic spiked through my heart, and adrenaline surged through my veins. The stench of alcohol and stale tobacco filled my nostrils. I jerked in my assailant’s grip, but he was too strong, too determined.
This could only be one person: Mr. Carbuncle, who had come to abduct me for his million-pound ransom.
I let out a scream through my nose. Edward shot out from among the wildflowers and raced toward me with murder in his eyes.
“Carbuncle,” Edward roared. “Let go of Emilia, or I’ll have you shot.”
Still with his arms crushing me to his apish chest, Mr. Carbuncle turned and ran into the woods. I wriggled and jerked and thrashed in his grip.
“Stay still,” he hissed into my ear. “Don’t move, or I’ll make things worse for you.”
A gunshot pierced through the air, and everybody froze.
Chapter 9
The former caretaker’s heart pounded against my back as though trying to break through my ribcage. My own heart skittered, needing an escape, and rapid breaths concertinaed in and out my lungs. His filthy hands clamped harder around my mouth, and the acrid scent of strong urine and stale tobacco burned through my sinuses. My eyes watered, both from fear and from the stench.
No other gunshots followed the first, and Mr. Carbuncle turned around, still clutching me to his chest. Now, I was both his captive and his shield.
The two men in khaki hunting clothes sprinted forward. The one carrying the gun pointed his rifle at us.
“Come any closer, and I’ll wring the whore’s neck,” snarled Carbuncle.
A shudder ran down my spine, and sweat poured down my brow.
“Fredrickson is an excellent marksman,” said Edward, his voice cold. “If you continue to hold Miss Hobson, I will order him to shoot.”
“Then he’ll shoot her,” shouted the former caretaker.
My eyes darted to Fredrickson, and I sent him a silent plea to shoot. I would rather take my chances on his skills than on the mercy of Mr. Carbuncle.
Mr. Carbuncle’s rasping breaths filled my ears. He hoisted me up, so I covered most of his head, and the thick bristles of his mustache rubbed against my ear. Disgust rippled through my insides, and my stomach heaved.
“What are you doing?” barked one of the huntsmen. “Stop that!”
“Put. Her. Down,” snarled Edward.
No matter how much I tried to wriggle out of his grip, Mr. Carbuncle held on tighter.
Edward turned to Fredrickson. “Aim for the elbow of the arm with the hand clamped around her mouth. If he flinches and turns around, aim for his back.”
Mr. Carbuncle threw me down onto the ground. I fell onto my hands and knees and stayed low. As he sprinted into the woods, gunshots filled the air. None of them were accompanied by the sound of a heavy body hitting the ground. My heart sank, but a pained bellow from behind the trees filled me with vicarious triumph.
When I turned around, it was Edward holding the gun. I hadn’t seen him this furious since the time he flipped over the head table. He handed it back to Fredrickson and strode toward me, his eyes softening. The two other men sprinted past into the woods, presumably to capture an injured Mr. Carbuncle.
“Are you hurt?” Edward knelt at my side, hands reaching for my arms but not quite touching. It was as though he was afraid of exacerbating any injuries.
“Fine, I think.” The bruises around my torso from my time in London twinged from the rough handling, and Mr. Carbuncle’s foul, tobacco scent lingered in my hair, on the back of my blazer, and under my nose. “Though I think I’ll need another shower.”
He pulled me up to my feet and wrapped his strong arms around my shoulders. “I thought we would have to shoot him with you in his arms.”
At his touch, all the tension in my muscles drained into the ground, and I let out a long, relieved sigh. Edward’s cedar and cypress scent filled my nostrils, and I melted against his hard body. If he hadn’t been there… My mind didn’t want to explore the possibilities. Tears welled behind my eyelids. I was with Edward and safe.
“I’m glad you managed to get him,” I murmured. “Where did your shot hit?”
“I’m not as accurate as Fredrickson. The gun was filled with birdshot, so he’ll be left with small, lead pellets embedded in his back.”
“Which means he’ll have to go to a doctor to get them out.”
“Or a vet.” Edward pulled out his phone and called a number. Moments later, he reported the incident to someone who sounded like campus security, and then he called the police.
The two men emerged from the woods. “He had a vehicle at the east driveway leading out to Highdown Hill,” said Fredrickson. “We heard him leave and saw the tracks. He was too far away to get a registration, but it was a white pickup truck.”
Edward thanked the men and turned to me, his eyes stormy. “Sorry.”
I drew back and frowned. “What for?”
“I left you to pick those flowers.”
Shaking my head, I placed a hand on the side of his face. It was typical of him to carry too much responsibility on his shoulders, but this was ridiculous. We had been less than ten feet apart. “Did you know Mr. Carbuncle was lurking behind the trees?”
A breath huffed out of his nostrils. “Of course not.”
“Then there’s no need to apologize. We were unlucky, and he caught us off-guard. If it wasn’t for you alerting the others, he would have taken me away.”
A few minutes later, campus security arrived in two vehicles. After we had given them an account of what happened, one of the officers drove us through the estate, back to the campus. Edward turned to me in the back seat. “I want you to carry something with you, in case he strikes again.”
The muscles of my throat flexed. “He will.”
“Did he say?”
“He works for Rudolph, doesn’t he?” I said. “Rudolph and Philippe could have set this up as another way to lash out, like the letter Rudolph wrote to Mr. Jenkins about withdrawing me from the academy.”
When the car stopped outside Elder House, Edward walked me to his study and poured us both a tumbler of brandy for the shock. Even though I knew I was safe in Elder House, my hands couldn’t stop shaking. Mr. Carbuncle had nearly taken me. If he had succeeded, there would be no Peter Underwood to stop him from doing precisely what he had threatened.
I sagged onto the leather Chesterfield, tears clouding my vision. I had ruined Mr. Carbuncle’s life by exposing what he had done with the sixth-form girls, and now, he wanted to ruin me. Edward sat at my side, rubbing comforting circles on my back and whispering words of reassurance, but the tremors wouldn’t stop. I’d developed a phobia of Mr. Carbuncle, and I wasn’t sure of the cure.
Two police officers arrived and interviewed us both in Mr. Jenkins’ dusty room. Our housemaster remained silent throughout the interview, his face paling at the mention of the gun. It might have been because he worried about Mr. Carbuncle’s wellbeing, but I no longer cared. Mr. Jenkins was firmly on the list of people I didn’t trust.
After the junior officer had taken my statement, he said, “We’ve already sent out warnings to local vets, General Pra
ctitioners, and hospitals with Carbuncle’s description. If he seeks medical attention for his shotgun wounds, they’ll inform us.”
Nodding, I swallowed hard. As much as I wanted to believe in the efforts of the police, Rudolph had helped people, myself included, escape justice with his money and influence.
I returned to Edward’s study and slumped on the leather sofa. All the adrenaline drained out from my system, leaving me hollowed out and raw. Even when the academy medic visited to give me a checkup, I couldn’t muster enough graciousness to offer him more than a muttered thanks.
Edward sat on my left, and Blake arrived later to sit on my right. I rested my head on Blake’s shoulder and stared straight ahead at the trees outside the window. Even his warm, comforting familiarity failed to snap me out of my overwhelmed state.
Henry stepped into the room, his face grave. “I heard what happened.” He held out his hand. “Come with me.”
Edward shot out of his seat. “I hardly think this is an appropriate time for a date.”
“A change of scenery.” He pulled me out off the sofa. “We’re going to London and staying at the apartment, behind guards more effective than campus security.”
Henry stroked my hair for the entire journey while I dozed on his chest. Somehow, his presence and the moving vehicle provided a level of security I hadn’t gotten from sitting in Edward’s study.
As the limo passed Marble Arch, Henry’s phone buzzed.
“What’s that?” I murmured.
“Hold on.” He shifted a bit and pulled his phone out of his blazer pocket. “It’s from Blake.”
I scanned the smartphone’s screen. Blake’s message read:
Mr. Underwood was arrested for trying to leave the country while on bail. Charlotte wants to sell her story to the tabloids. She has already secured an agent and two offers. Her copy of the video will be used as evidence.
Annoyance rippled through my insides. “Fuck.”
Henry’s lips thinned. “You can’t use Charlotte’s video to blackmail him anymore, but this will still lead to Rudolph’s ruin, and the adultery will give your mother grounds for divorce. Right now, you need to focus on yourself.”
We traveled through the public parking lot, through the underground passageway under the stores, and into the Bourneville private parking lot. The maze of hallways and security doors that led to the upstairs apartment didn’t seem as daunting as the first time I had visited.
When we stepped into the giant drawing room of black marble pillars, crystal chandeliers, and gold-embroidered furniture, Mrs. Bourneville stepped out from the far doors. She wore a maroon, snakeskin leather jacket with a camel-colored, bodycon dress. Golden hair, the exact shade of Henry’s, cascaded down to her shoulders, framing her delicate features to perfection.
“Henry? I didn’t expect to see you.”
He leaned into me and muttered, “Sorry. Mother told me she was in Milan.”
I wrapped my arm around his bicep. “It will be nice to catch up with your mom.”
Mrs. Bourneville crossed the room and yanked Henry down for a kiss. “We arrived a few hours ago.” She drew me into a tight hug. “It’s a wonderful surprise to see you both. Have you come for dinner?”
Henry turned to me and shrugged. “We can always eat at one of the restaurants downstairs if you’re not up for company.”
“Up here’s fine,” I replied.
Mrs. Bourneville beamed. “Well, food will be ready in an hour. Change out of your uniform and put something on.” She stared down at my empty hands. “Did you bring any clothes?”
I shook my head. In my desperation to leave Mercia Academy, I hadn’t really thought we would need to dress for dinner.
“We’ll go downstairs and find you something to wear. Who’s your favorite designer?” Before I could reply, she waved her manicured hand. “It doesn’t matter. We can try a selection and see which you like best.”
Mrs. Bourneville looped her arm through mine and walked us through the drawing-room to another elevator. I glanced over at Henry, who walked behind us, his lips quirked into a smile. I smiled back. At least he would be coming with us.
She placed her entire right hand on a scanner at the side of the elevator. It beeped, and she looked into a tiny reader that scanned her retina. After that, she tapped in a code and spoke into the intercom. “Yes… Clara Bourneville here with Emilia Hobson, a guest.”
“Henry?” said a voice from behind. “Did you come to discuss your inheritance?”
Mr. Bourneville stepped out of another door with Henry’s Aunt Idette in tow. They both wore identical navy blue trouser suits, but Aunt Idette wore a red pussy bow around her collar instead of a necktie.
Henry’s brows drew together. “I’m giving Emilia a change of scenery after an intruder nearly snatched her in Mercia Academy.”
Aunt Idette placed her hands on her hips. “Another kidnapping?” Contempt edged her voice. “What do you children need money for this time?”
I bristled. “It wasn’t faked.”
“Henry, we need to have words.”
“I’m escorting Mother and Emilia through the—”
“Do you think you can do a better job than our security staff?”
Henry scowled but didn’t reply.
His father turned to me. “Emilia, please be assured that a pair of armed bodyguards will escort you through the door when you step out of the lift.”
Mrs. Bourneville placed a hand on my arm. “There’s no need to be afraid. Henry brought you here because the security is world-class.”
I glanced around the opulent room. Henry hunched his shoulders, and a muscle in his clenched jaw flexed with annoyance. His mom gave him an encouraging smile, which he didn’t notice.
Mr. Bourneville kept his gaze steady, with only the drumming of his fingers an indication of his impatience. Aunt Idette’s narrowed eyes darted around the room, and her mouth puckered as though she’d tasted something sour.
A lead weight of guilt sank my heart into my stomach. If it wasn’t for me, Mr. Bourneville wouldn’t have disinherited Henry. If there was a chance for him to make amends with his father and regain his birthright, I couldn’t be selfish and insist he stayed at my side.
Giving Henry what I hoped would be a reassuring smile, I said, “I’ll be fine in the store.”
Mrs. Bourneville pressed the elevator button, and the doors opened. We both stepped in, and she selected the middle button, which wasn’t even labeled.
As the elevator descended, she said, “It’s wonderful to see you here with Henry, considering your rocky start.”
“We went through an awkward patch, but things are getting better.”
She shook her head. “I wish he had come to me for help with his friend’s father instead of getting you implicated in such a convoluted plot.”
Before I could answer, the doors opened into a short hallway. Two guards with body armor under their suits stepped forward. Guarding the entrance further on was a pair of regular security guards who wore black uniforms and matching caps with the Bourneville crests.
My throat dried. While their presence evaporated any fears I had about Mr. Carbuncle following me to London to finish the job he had started, I couldn’t help but wonder why Mrs. Bourneville needed a pair of bodyguards.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I walked alongside Henry’s mom though the doors and into the store. She took me to the designer concessions department, where I had shopped with the triumvirate for my gown.
Mrs. Bourneville stopped at Amanda Wakely and picked out a floor-length wrap dress in a luxurious, green silk that matched Henry’s eyes. “This would look divine on you.”
I gulped. It seemed more like the sort of gown Mom would wear. “Will it be a formal dinner?”
“Smart-casual for the men. Anything goes for the women.” She winked. “If you wear that, I’ll put on my Diane Von Furstenburg maxi.”
My stomach twisted. I loved dressing up, but after today, I was in
the mood for something understated. At the end of the row of concessions stood on a mannequin wearing a knee-length, asymmetric dress in caramel satin.
I nodded in its direction. “What about that one?”
She tilted her head to the side. “A bit young but—” A delicate huff escaped her nostrils. “What am I talking about? You’re only sixteen.”
“Seventeen,” I said.
“Of course. I forget that Henry is younger than his friends.” She looped her arm through mine. “Let’s go and try it on, then we can accessorize.”
Shopping with Mrs. Bourneville reminded me of the days I would spend with Mom before she remarried. Back then, she couldn’t afford to shop in a London department store, but there was a togetherness that I thought I’d lost forever. With Mrs. Bourneville, it was like I was her best friend, daughter, dress-up doll, and the source of gossip for her favorite subject: Henry.
The ladies’ shoe department had a special, where they served a glass of champagne for every customer who made a purchase. As soon as the server, a middle-aged lady, caught sight of Mrs. Bourneville, she rushed over with two glasses.
“Thank you, Felicity. May I introduce my son’s girlfriend, Miss Emilia Hobson of New York?”
The older woman’s brows rose for a microsecond, as though the pictures of Henry and Blake’s romp had been etched in her mind, but the expression disappeared so quickly, I almost imagined it.
She inclined her head. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hobson.”
By the end of the shopping spree, I had a pair of nude shoes, a chunky cuff bracelet in rose gold, and a matching pair of teardrop earrings. She would have bought me more, but I really wanted to see Henry.
Mr. Bourneville’s angry rant filled the air as we stepped out of the elevator and walked through the parlor. I turned to Mrs. Bourneville, who sighed. “I had hoped they would reconcile their differences by now, but it seems Oscar’s temper has flared again.”
I chewed my bottom lip and gripped the handles of my shopping bags. “Is he always like this?”