by Sofia Daniel
“My mum.”
I held my breath, praying to whoever was listening that he would come to the right conclusion. When he didn’t speak, I said, “D-do you think Rudolph might track her down?”
A strangled noise rumbled in Mr. Carbuncle’s throat. “He’s got Mum.”
“Bring her along if you’re worried about her,” I said, playing ignorant. “Or take her to a bed and breakfast if you’re concerned about Rudolph’s violent bodyguards. The money in my account should cover the costs.”
“You don’t understand.” He balled his hands into giant fists. “My mum’s been missing for days.”
I turned my head. “Oh, no. Were you close?”
“Why are you talking about her as if she’s already dead?” he roared.
My heart jumped into my throat. I’d overdone it. “S-sorry! It’s just that he had Charlotte’s brother badly beaten in prison for saying Philippe organized my abduction. He’ll probably have Philippe killed for knowing his secrets. If Rudolph is holding your mom, he probably doesn’t want you to testify against him and Philippe.”
Mr. Carbuncle pulled his dungarees up to his chest, clipped on their fastenings, then paced within the shelter of the twisted tree.
He paused and stared at me. “I don’t suppose he’ll take you in exchange for mum?”
“M-maybe.”
“Where does he live?”
“New York, but they’re staying at Elfwynn House.”
He grabbed a handful of my hair. “You’d better not be fibbing, or I’ll keep you here and fuck that virgin hole till your insides fall out of your arse.”
My anus clenched with terror. “I wouldn’t lie about something so important.”
“Good.” He pulled out a hunting knife and slashed the ropes around my wrists. “You’re coming with me.”
My numb arms fell onto my belly with a thud. Unpleasant tingles ran up and down them as my empty veins filled with blood. With fingers I could no longer feel, I pulled my tank top down over my exposed breasts. I tried scrambling away, but he had lashed one of my ankles to a tree in a series of complicated knots.
“Run, and I’ll shoot you in the back.” Mr. Carbuncle fastened a bandolier belt around his hips, picked up his shotgun and reloaded it with ammunition. Memories of him bursting into Edward’s room resurfaced, and a tight fist of sorrow clenched at my heart.
Choking back a sob, I asked, “Sir?”
“What?” He adjusted his bandolier.
“Did you shoot Edward?”
“Shot at him, yeah.”
Tears filled my eyes, and pressure squeezed at my chest from where I forgot to breathe. Dwelling on Edward’s predicament would do me no good. I would only fall into grief, but I had to know. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on escaping if I kept speculating on his fate. “Did the bullet hit him?”
“I’ll be fucked if I know,” he muttered.
Disappointment mingled with relief as I blew out a breath through my nostrils. Edward might be unhurt, after all.
* * *
Mr. Carbuncle sped his pickup truck through winding country roads lit by the setting sun that led to a highway. Rolling hills stretched out on all sides, giving me the impression we were driving through the South Downs, a national park Edward had described as the size of London.
I looked out for signs of police and helicopters. A man had barged into a school, shot at the Viscount of Highdown, attacked two other boys, abducted a girl, and possibly killed a housemaster. Where were the search parties?
Cold despair seeped through my skin, penetrating me to the marrow. What was wrong with the British police? If this was New York, the whole place would be flooded with officers. But Mr. Carbuncle kept evading justice, only to keep striking back.
He threw my phone into my lap. “You’re going to call that cunt of a stepfather and tell him to meet me outside the hotel.”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
I pulled out my phone and stared at the screen. “There’s no signal.”
“Wait, then,” he growled.
Muttering under his breath, Mr. Carbuncle took a swig from a stainless steel flask. I rubbed my sore wrists. Had he always been this insane or had recent events pushed him into this madness?
My mind raced through scenarios. The best case was that we hit a roadblock, and the police gunned him down in a rain of bullets. But he would probably use me as a shield. The most likely situation would be that Rudolph convinced him that he didn’t have old Mrs. Carbuncle, and he talked the former caretaker into taking me away with his blessing.
The text message alert indicated we were back within signal range. It was from Henry.
“There,” he growled. “You can call him now.”
“I have to look up the number for the Elfwynn House.”
“Call his fucking mobile!”
“He only gives out the numbers of his personal assistants. Please… you remember how long it took to contact him when Mr. Chaloner expelled me? I need to look up the number of Elfwynn House on the internet. It’s going to take much longer to go through a PA.”
“Try anything funny, and I’ll throttle you.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Henry’s text said he was on the road with Blake, tracking me through my phone. There was no mention of Mr. Jenkins, Henry’s head wound, or whether Edward was alive or dead.
I replied with, C thinks Mrs C abducted. Will confront R in Elfwynn Hse.
“Did you find it?”
“There are two bed and breakfasts with that name. I’m just going to Google Maps to make sure I call the one closest to the academy.”
He snarled. “It’s the one in Mercia, you daft bint.”
“Ah… Sorry.” I entered the name into Google. “Found the number.”
It took a lot of half-truths and wrangling for the receptionist to put me through to Rudolph’s room. By the time she agreed, the muscles of my neck and shoulders cramped with tension. The phone rang again, and I exhaled a long breath.
“R-Rudolph?”
“Who is this?” asked another male voice.
“Emilia Hobson, his stepdaughter.”
After a long moment of silence, Rudolph’s voice purred, “Emilia, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I thought about what you said, and I want to meet.”
“Tomorrow at eight for breakfast—”
“No!” I blurted. “It’s urgent. You were right about my nymphomania. I just had sex with three boys and I almost had anal with a fourth. P-please… I need help.”
Rudolph’s low chuckle filled my belly with revulsion. “You naughty girl,” he said in the same tone he had used in Charlotte’s honey trap. “I’ll send a car.”
“A-actually, I’m on my way. Will you meet me in the lobby? Please don’t tell Mom. I can’t let her see me in this state.”
He paused. “I’ll book a room, so we can discuss the matter in private. Ask for Rudy Prong.” He laughed at his own joke. “It’s more subtle than Rudy Ramrod, don’t you think?”
Nausea battled with self-disgust, and I forced out the words, “Y-yes, sir.”
Rudolph hung up, and I slipped my phone into the pocket of my jeans.
“Did he agree to meet you?”
“He’s booking a private room.”
Mr. Carbuncle dumped his pickup truck in an overgrown field, where a red jeep waited. Swigging from a huge bottle of booze, he dragged me out, shoved me into the passenger seat and drove off. Every ounce of hope drained from my body. The police would be looking out for a white truck, not a red jeep. Tears filled my eyes and dread filled my belly as I pictured Mr. Carbuncle’s face when Rudolph convinced him that he hadn’t stolen his mother.
We reached the gates of Elfwynn House after sunset. Iron lamps lit a long driveway that led to a massive, timber-framed mansion with white-washed walls and paneled windows. I scanned the vehicles parked next to the courtyard and found no police cars. Why wasn’t that a surprise?
He pul
led up outside the double doors, downed the rest of his bottle, and slurred, “I’ll keep the shotgun trained on your back. Walk inside, find Rudolph Trommel’s room, and don’t try anything dumb.”
The decorative wooden interior of the venue faded into a blur. Over the next few minutes, I struggled to stay upright, struggled to retain my composure, and struggled to find the room in the name of Rudy Prong. Even walking up the stairs was a struggle with a lunatic’s hot, alcoholic breath on my back. I eventually located the room and knocked on the door.
The voice behind it purred, “Come in.”
“You first,” whispered Mr. Carbuncle.
Sucking in a deep, fortifying breath, I prayed to whoever was listening that Rudolph had brought his bodyguards and that they would shoot at the first sight of the shotgun. I pushed the door open to find Rudolph lounging on the bed clad in a crimson satin robe with gold lapels. My eyes skipped to the corner of the room, where a camera stood on a tripod, and a bottle of champagne sat in a bucket.
“Good evening, darling.” He sat up and fumbled at the belt of his robe.
Mr. Carbuncle shoved past me and punched Rudolph square in the face. “What the fuck did you do to my mum?”
The old man fell back on the bed, his body bouncing on the mattress.
Wincing, I backed out of the room.
The caretaker turned around and grab me by the arm. “You’re going nowhere.” He threw me onto the bed, and I landed next to Rudolph. “Where is she?”
Rudolph clutched his bleeding nose. “Who are you?”
Mr. Carbuncle lurched forward and grabbed Rudolph by the lapels. “The man whose mother you took. Where is she?”
I rolled off the bed and landed on the floor.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Rudolph.
“Philip works for you, yes?”
“If Philippe offended you, visit him in prison,” cried Rudolph.
“You said his name right. That means you know him!” Mr. Carbuncle shook the old man so hard, his dentures fell out of his mouth and bounced on the wood floor.
My heart jumped into my throat. At any moment, Rudolph would tell the crazy caretaker I was lying, and I’d be the one getting beaten.
As Mr. Carbuncle pummeled into Rudolph, not giving him a chance to catch his breath, I crawled to the foot of the bed, where he had left his shotgun. With the greatest of care, I picked up the weapon and edged to the corner of the room. Mr. Carbuncle rained blow upon blow on Rudolph, reminding me of something Henry and Blake had once discussed: one-punch killings.
It was cold. It was heartless, but if Rudolph survived this beating, he would do more than have me sent to a mental institution in Moldova. If I escaped this hotel room and Mr. Carbuncle gave chase… I shook my head. It would be brutal.
With my free hand, I reached into my jeans pocket, called 999, and left the phone on the floor, hoping that the operator would eventually work out what was happening and trace the call.
Chapter 20
Mr. Carbuncle pummeled into Rudolph, and I sank into the corner at the side of a wingback chair, hugging his shotgun to my chest. It was as though the caretaker had fallen into a rage so blind, he’d forgotten that he needed Rudolph lucid enough to answer his questions. The caretaker’s grunts filled the air. Each smack of his fists into Rudolph’s flesh made my stomach leap into my throat, and each blow landed with such force that Rudolph’s legs jumped.
The door rattled with the weight of a pounding fist. “Mr. Trommel?” said a male voice. “Are you alright?”
“Sir?” shouted another male voice.
My heart pounded so hard, reverberations traveled down every nerve ending in a series of tremors that made every limb shake. A fleeting thought crossed my mind that I wouldn’t be able to handle the gun if Mr. Carbuncle turned his anger on me and that I might hurt myself, but if I moved and attracted his attention, he might turn his fury onto me.
“Sir, we’re coming in.”
A long breath shuddered out of my nostrils. I wished they would burst through the door instead of just talking about it.
Mr. Carbuncle stepped back and stared at Rudolph’s still body. His broad shoulders and barrel-shaped torso expanded and contracted with loud, harsh breaths. From my position on the floor wedged at the side of the chair, I couldn’t tell if Rudolph was still breathing.
The caretaker turned around, his eyes wide and showing their whites, and bared his crooked teeth. “What happened to my mum?”
I opened my mouth and screamed.
With an almighty crash, the door flew off its hinges. Three huge bodyguards rushed into the room and tackled Mr. Carbuncle to the bed. The force of them hitting the mattress knocked Rudolph off onto the floor.
Another bodyguard reached down and snatched the shotgun from my arms. With a few deft movements, he removed the shells, placed the weapon on a nearby table, and yanked me up by the arm. “Tell me what happened, girl.”
Mr. Carbuncle’s outraged roar filled the room and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The bundle of men rolled off the bed in the direction Rudolph had fallen. A second later, the former caretaker scrambled out from behind the bed and leaped to his feet.
I clapped my free hand over my mouth. “D-don’t let him get away again!”
“M-Mr. Trommel?” said one of the bodyguards from behind the bed.
“Mr. Trommel!” the other shouted.
The bodyguard holding my arm tightened his fingers. “Talk!”
Hysteria filled my lungs and made my eyes bulge. Mr. Carbuncle dashed out of the door, and none of the wretched bodyguards tried to stop him. “No!”
A heartbeat later, the sound of a fist smacking into flesh had the caretaker staggering back into the room, clutching his nose. Henry stormed after Mr. Carbuncle, and with lightning-fast speed, he slammed his fist into the side of the caretaker’s head.
I sucked in a breath and whispered, “H-Henry.”
“Fuck!” The caretaker fell onto his ass, his back hitting the foot of the bed.
Behind him, the bodyguards lifted Rudolph’s still body onto the mattress. The old man’s robe gaped open, revealing a wrinkled chest, and his head lolled to the side. I wasn’t sure if he was unconscious or dying or dead.
A heartbeat later, a fist flew past my face and into the jaw of the bodyguard holding my bicep. The man let go and staggered into the dresser. Blake pulled me into his arms and hurried to the other side of the room. “Emilia, are you hurt?”
“N-no,” I gasped out.
“Y-you fucking ponce.” Mr. Carbuncle pulled himself up.
“Eat this.” With another fist in the face, Henry knocked him down to the floor.
Mr. Carbuncle’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, just as one of the bodyguards pushed Henry aside and pummeled the unconscious caretaker with the butt of his handgun.
My nostrils flared. Those guards were only good for maltreating women and attacking men who couldn’t fight back.
Henry strode across the room and wrapped his arms around me. “Emilia, did he do anything to hurt—”
“Not really.” I gazed into his verdant green eyes, and a fist clenched at my heart. Something terrible must have happened in the bedroom because only two of the triumvirate had come to my rescue. “But where’s Edward?”
“A and E,” said Blake.
I whirled around. “What?”
“Campus security stormed Elder House as we were leaving to track your phone. They saw Edward’s arm and held him back for the ambulance. We didn’t stick around.”
“But is he alright?”
“It’s just a flesh wound,” said Henry. “The bullet only skimmed his body, but he hit his head while dodging it.”
My muscles sagged with relief, and all the tension left my body in a dizzying rush. Blake held me upright and turned us to where the bodyguards still took their anger out on Mr. Carbuncle. One of them stamped on his knee, making the man wake up with a pained bellow.
“Drop your weapons!” A police officer clad in bullet-proof armor stepped into the room holding a semi-automatic rifle. Flanking him were two other officers carrying guns.
After rounding up the bodyguards, the paramedics arrived, took one look at Rudolph and told us all to leave.
What happened next was a blur of paramedics rushing in and out Rudolph’s room, bringing in oxygen tanks and a defibrillator. After a paramedic measured my blood pressure and other vital signs, the police took our statements. What I told them was mostly the truth, that a drunk and paranoid Mr. Carbuncle had abducted me for ransom but changed his mind when he thought Rudolph had taken his mother in revenge for kidnapping me last term.
A policeman tracked down Mom, who rushed down the crowded hallway and enveloped me in a Coco Chanel-scented hug. “They just told me that man abducted you again.” She stepped back and scanned my face and body. “D-did he hurt you?”
I shook my head. “Apart from a bump on the head and a few bruises on my wrists.”
She called over a paramedic, who sat me in their suite and checked me for signs of a concussion. Henry and Blake came along and murmured to each other while Mom fretted, and the paramedic retook my blood pressure.
Just as the paramedic left, Edward rushed through the door. The bodyguard grabbed at his arm, but Mom told him he was a friend.
Edward shot the man a cold look and crossed the room. “I came as quickly as I could.”
I jumped out of my seat and wrapped my arms around his neck. Edward’s familiar cedar and cypress scent engulfed my senses and wiped away the last of my tension. It was one thing to hear that the gunshot wound hadn’t been fatal, but it was another to see him in the flesh.
“How did you find us?” I murmured.
“Henry’s been keeping me updated throughout the evening.” He pressed a kiss on my lips. “I’m so glad you’re unhurt.”
A knock reverberated on the door. The bodyguard opened it and stepped aside.
“Mrs. Trommel?” A different paramedic stepped into the room. “I’m afraid I have bad news. Despite our best efforts, Mr. Trommel died at ten-fifty-five.