Checkmate, My Lord

by Tracey Devlyn

  He found Jack and Bingham behind the gardener’s shed—bound, gagged, and unconscious. After a bit of shaking, Jack came to and staggered to his feet. However, nothing Sebastian did roused the older Bingham.

  “Jack,” Sebastian said. “Can you make your way to the village? Helsford and Danforth are there.”

  The young Irishman ran a hand around the back of his neck, angling his head this way and that. “Aye, m’lord.” He stared down at his comrade. “What of old Bingham?”

  “He received a bad knock to the head. For now, he’s safe.”

  Jack ripped off his coat and placed it beneath the older man’s head.

  “What happened?”

  “Can’t say, m’lord. One minute I was walking toward Bingham to see if he had any news, and the next, I was waking up to you rattling my head.”

  Frustration coiled through Sebastian. “How long ago were you attacked?”

  “What’s the time?”

  “Half past ten.”

  “Not more than twenty minutes ago.”

  Sebastian stilled, his gaze seeking the high angles of the manor’s roof. “Bring Danforth and Helsford now.” He didn’t wait for Jack’s acknowledgment before turning toward the house.

  Toward Catherine’s terror-filled scream.

  ***

  Later, Catherine would not recall her flight from the ground floor to the third-floor nursery. Silas’s absence at the door combined with Sebastian’s missing men confirmed the sensations she’d been battling all evening. Sophie was in danger. And Catherine had not been here to protect her baby girl.

  Somewhere along the way their panicked flight roused her mother, who was now trailing in their wake. Once they reached the nursery’s closed door, Cora motioned for Catherine and her mother to move aside. The agent drew a wicked knife from the intriguing sash around her middle. She turned the handle and stepped back, using her fingertips to slowly open the door.

  Cora’s gaze met Catherine’s across the short distance and she raised a staying finger. Catherine nodded and held her breath as the agent slipped into the too-silent room. She had no intention of lingering in the corridor while the other woman put her life in danger. After three full seconds, she inched her body around the open doorway until she found herself facing Castle Dragonthorpe. Her mother’s shoulder bumped into hers.

  The two of them stood side by side, shaking with fear but determined to save their girl, the one who brought sunshine into their lives each and every day.

  Castle Dragonthorpe yawned before them, occupying half the common room. The other half consisted of a school desk, a small bookcase, and an assortment of more feminine toys littering the floor. Two doors framed the common room, the right one an entrance to her daughter’s bedchamber and the left one spilling into the nurse’s small chamber, which was currently occupied by Sophie’s faux governess.

  Cora was nowhere in sight.

  Foregoing the nurse’s chamber, Catherine veered right, her mother at her heels.

  “Mrs. Ashcroft,” Cora yelled from Sophie’s room. “Come quickly.”

  Blood fired through her veins. Catherine barreled across the short distance and skidded to a halt inside her daughter’s bedchamber. “What?”

  An answer was unnecessary, for the pool of blood at her daughter’s bedside said it all. Terror gurgled up into the back of her throat, and Catherine released it in one long never-ending breath.

  Twenty-three

  Teddy closed the barn door, exhausted to the bone. Guinevere and Gypsy had made a right mess out of their stalls while he was away. And if that wasn’t enough, one of the sheep had managed to wedge its head in between the rungs of an old cartwheel, forcing Teddy to chase the bleating animal all around the barnyard. He hadn’t been gentle when he popped the wheel off the blighter’s head.

  Lifting his arms high above his shoulders, he stretched his aching muscles before turning toward the dark, shadow-ridden lane. He didn’t care much for this part, although given the same choice—play with Sophie Ashcroft or finish his chores on time—he would make the same decision again. Being the focus of her pretty smile all day was worth every hair-raising step he was about to take.

  Not for the first time, Teddy regretted his family’s reduced circumstances, as his mother liked to call their lack of funds. According to his parents, they once lived in a grand house like Winter’s Hollow and had scads of servants seeing to their every need. Teddy recalled only small glimpses of their former life, yet it was enough to make him yearn for more than their single-room cottage and meager table fare.

  Especially now that his mama was sick. Money would pay for a doctor and medicine to make her better. Money would allow them to hire servants to see to her comfort while he and Papa were at work. Money would mean he could go home tonight and melt into a plump, warm bed, rather than having to fix dinner for his papa and care for his mama.

  Night sounds closed in around him, growing louder with every meter he distanced himself from the barn. The sunny day had given way to a partly cloudy night, and at times, Teddy could barely see the hard-packed road beneath his feet. Hunching his shoulders, he shoved his hands in his pockets and wrapped his fingers around the wooden piece Sophie had given him. He drew comfort from the small, solid piece of Dragonthorpe. Even still, he picked up his pace, not daring to look left or right for fear of encountering a pair of bright eyes.

  Had it not been for the distinctive jingle of a horse’s harness, Teddy might have toddled right into the back of the motionless carriage. As it was, he’d stopped not six feet away. Fear flashed like a frigid breeze across his flesh before plunging beneath the surface to lock around his pounding heart.

  Some instinct urged him to hide. Ducking low, he scrabbled for the knee-high weeds along the side of the lane and crouched there. From this position, he could make out the carriage’s black-as-night panels and carved trimmings. Four matching bay horses stood quietly at the lead, their driver faced forward in the same state of readiness.

  Readiness for what?

  Teddy glanced down the lane, from where he had just come, but the lack of moonlight prevented him from making anything out. The silent wait did funny things to his body. Sweat slicked down his back and his stomach gurgled. With each passing second, the gurgling grew in intensity, an unpleasant sensation that would normally have sent him running for the nearest privy. But he dared not move, even though he was in danger of soiling himself. Something didn’t feel right about the carriage sitting on the dark lane, with no lamplight.

  With Sophie’s papa gone, there was no one to protect her but him. Teddy recalled the new people staying at her house. People she refused to talk about but always watched with a wary eye. No one knew them, and they seemed to just show up one day. When he asked Carson about the new people, the groomsman had told him to mind the shite and not the goings-on at the big house.

  Teddy began to squirm, and his face flushed with heat. When he thought he would have to rush into the woods, the air around him stirred and a hint of foul odor assaulted his senses. Out of the darkness emerged the most hideous creature, one he’d encountered several times in the last sennight.

  Silas.

  Teddy’s eyes narrowed. The skeletal man’s body looked larger than normal, misshapen. Teddy hunkered down as the man drew near. The large, deformed lump at his shoulder materialized into a body. Sophie’s body.

  She dangled over the man’s shoulder, unmoving. Teddy nearly gave his hiding spot away at the sight of his friend. She did not struggle or scream or curse her captor to perdition. She simply hung there.

  Silas tapped on the carriage door, and Teddy’s heart stopped in shock when the window curtain parted.

  A man inside said, “I see the governess held up her end of the bargain.”

  “Yes, sir,” Silas said.

  “And the governess?”

  “Taken care
of, as you instructed.”

  “My message?”

  “Delivered.”

  “Very good, Silas.” The carriage door opened. “Place the girl on the bench and let us be off.”

  After Silas completed his task, he shut the door and climbed up into the driver’s box. Once he was settled, the coachman flicked the reins and the carriage lurched forward.

  Teddy rose from his crouched position and glanced toward Winter’s Hollow. He heard no sounds of rescue. Swinging his gaze back to Sophie, his knees almost buckled when the ambling carriage disappeared behind a wall of impenetrable black.

  With one last look toward the big house, Teddy took off and he did not slow until his fingertips touched the metal rail of the carriage’s luggage boot. Having climbed rickety ladders all his life, it took little effort for him to maneuver himself onto the small ledge.

  He folded his arms around his raised knees and winced when he felt something sharp prick his hip. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the wooden archer Sophie had given him. The carved piece stood with his legs splayed, one hand holding a bow and the other drawing back an arrow. He had been drawn to this figure from the first moment he saw it standing atop Dragonthorpe’s parapet, a brave soldier protecting his princess with nothing more than a bit of iron and willow.

  At the crossroads, the carriage veered toward London and Teddy squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face into his upraised knees. He prayed his mama and papa would be all right without him.

  Twenty-four

  “Daughter,” Catherine’s mother said in a harsh voice. “The blood is not Sophie’s. Look, child. Look.”

  Catherine blinked hard, her narrowed vision slowly expanding outward to include the governess’s body, with Cora hunched at her side. “Is she—”

  “No.” Cora’s voice was grim, and the look she cast Catherine conveyed it was only a matter of time.

  Catherine’s gaze slashed to the four corners of the bedchamber. “Where’s Sophie?”

  Cora nodded toward Mrs. Clarke. “Perhaps she can tell us.”

  Her mother tore a sheet off the bed and knelt on the other side of the governess. She looked at Cora. “Since my daughter is not trying to claw your eyes out, I take it you are a friend.”

  The agent nodded. “Cora deBeau.”

  “Evelyn Shaw,” her mother said. “Remove Mrs. Clarke’s hands, if you will.”

  After Cora pried the injured woman’s bloody hands away, Catherine’s mother pressed the bed sheet to the oozing wounds at her stomach and lower back. The governess cried out and tried to curl into a ball. “None of that now,” her mother said. “We must stop the bleeding.”

  Catherine dropped to her knees to assist, even though precious seconds ticked away.

  “S-sorry.” Mrs. Clarke fumbled for Catherine’s hand. “Had no choice—” A wet, rattling cough seized her and spittle, thick with blood, sprayed the floor and splattered their clasped hands. “My son.” Her voice grew weaker and a single tear curled over her nose. “Giles.”

  Earlier today, Catherine had sensed a kinship with this woman, but no amount of coaxing would lure her to share a confidence. Now she knew why, and felt a stab of guilt for her shabby treatment of this suffering mother. “Mrs. Clarke, where are they taking my daughter?”

  “My son. Find him. London boys’ home.” She coughed again.

  “Mrs. Clarke, please—”

  “The bleeding won’t stop,” her mother said. “You must try not to cough, Mrs. Clarke.”

  More tears streamed over the bridge of the governess’s nose. “Tell Giles I l-love him, tell him I wanted to do what was right—” Another wave of coughing, this one far worse than the last, halted her confession. When she finished, she could barely lift her eyelids. “His father—danger…” Her dying body sagged onto the floor like an inflammable air balloon losing its heat. The dead woman’s grip on Catherine’s hand loosened.

  Pounding feet sounded in the outer room a moment before Sebastian stormed into the small chamber, his eyes wild and his hair disheveled. Catherine’s vision blurred at the mere sight of him. Relief like nothing she’d ever known poured into her limbs.

  “Sebastian,” she said through trembling lips. “They took Sophie.”

  He stepped forward, and Catherine flew into his outstretched arms. They curled around her, holding her close. Between whispered promises to find their girl, he kissed her eyes, lips, cheeks, anywhere he could reach. She wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that everything would be set to rights. But thoughts of Meghan McCarthy intruded, and it was only a matter of time before her active imagination replaced the carpenter’s daughter’s death mask with her daughter’s sweet face.

  Her stomach heaved, and she jerked out of Sebastian’s arms.

  He touched her shoulder. “Catherine—”

  “Please don’t,” she whispered, fighting back the nausea.

  Cora moved between them. “Chief, I found this by the woman’s body.”

  Sebastian tore his gaze away from Catherine’s quaking back to find Cora holding out a blood-spotted letter. He accepted the missive, ignoring his too-perceptive agent’s gaze. “Mrs. Clarke?”

  “Dead, sir.”

  “Let us remove to the outer chamber.”

  He waited for the women to file out, disappointed when Catherine kept her eyes downcast.

  “Did the governess provide any clues to Cochran’s destination?”

  “No,” Cora said. “She spoke only of her son and of regrets. Given the fact that we found her alive, Cochran can’t be that far ahead. London, do you think?”

  “Would be a logical assumption,” Sebastian said, reading Cochran’s letter. “According to Jack, they have twenty—thirty minutes’ lead on us.”

  “What of Bingham?” Cora asked.

  “Alive, but badly injured.”

  “Do you need me to fetch Guy and Ethan?”

  “Jack’s on it,” Sebastian said. “But we must bring Bingham inside to have his injuries looked after.”

  “Mother,” Catherine said, “I’m sure the servants are hovering nearby. Can you ask Edward and a few other male servants to bring in Bingham?”

  “Yes, of course.” Her mother looked relieved to have something to do.

  “May I assist, Mrs. Shaw?” Cora asked.

  “By all means. I welcome the help.”

  “What does Cochran’s letter say?” Catherine asked.

  Sebastian refolded the paper. “He wants an exchange.”

  “What sort of an exchange?”

  Tension rippled along the muscles in Sebastian’s shoulders. He did not want to hurt or frighten Catherine any more than she already was, but he could see no other way around telling her the truth.

  Catherine’s mother, sensing what was to come, stepped to her daughter’s side and wrapped an arm around her waist.

  “Sebastian,” Catherine said. “What does Cochran want? The list of agents?”

  He nodded. “In exchange for your daughter’s life.”

  “Dear God.” Catherine turned into her mother’s embrace.

  Sebastian’s jaw clenched, wanting to be the one she sought for comfort. But after his insensitive remark on the path, he understood why she would not want to invest any more emotion into an affaire with an end date. “Bloody stupid bastard,” he said beneath his breath.

  Cora stared up at him with understanding shining in her eyes. “Does Cochran’s letter say anything else?”

  “For us to stay put, that he will send more instructions, and to keep the authorities out of it.”

  Cora raised a brow. “Is that all?”

  “I cannot wait so long,” Catherine said, swiping at her cheeks. “Mother, please see to Bingham.”

  “What are you planning, daughter?”

  “I’m going after Sophie.”


  “Don’t be ridiculous—”

  “Chief, do something—”

  “No, you’re not,” Sebastian said.

  Determined brown eyes met his. “You can’t stop me.”

  If she only knew the many ways he could stop her, she would run from the chamber and never look back. “Very well, Catherine. But we ride hard and we ride fast. With any luck, Cochran’s using a carriage, thinking he had hours before anyone would notice your daughter’s absence.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Cora said.

  “No,” Sebastian said. “Assist Mrs. Shaw with Bingham and have the others follow when they return.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” Sebastian could see the toll this situation was taking on her. Cora hadn’t fully recovered from her near-death experience in a French dungeon. Being thrown in the midst of another lethal mission so soon after the last would not help with the healing process. “I can take care of Cochran and his fiendish assistant.”

  He strode away before his agent could argue further, grasping Catherine’s hand on his way by.

  Twenty-five

  “Whoa!” the driver yelled.

  Teddy had enough of a warning to brace himself before the front of the carriage bucked high into the air and came crashing back to the ground. Horses screamed, wood splintered, men cursed. Teddy rubbed his bruised bottom.

  The carriage door flew open. “Driver, what the hell happened?”

  “Pardon, Mr. Cochran,” the driver said. “A large branch in the road. With this godforsaken blackness, I didn’t see it in time.”

  Teddy heard a loud click.

  “Silas, take a look.”