Theft of Love

by Marina Oliver

  'You should have done as I said, and acted as lookout,' he snarled, putting his hands on her shoulders and shaking her unmercifully. 'Have you given us away? Who've you told?'

  'No one!' Linda gasped, her teeth rattling together as he shook her. 'I came to try and stop you! You're crazy, you'll never get away with it! Not with all these hundreds of people around.'

  She glanced at the other men. They were strangers, big, ugly-looking customers, but she breathed a sigh of relief. Neither Jake nor Bill was involved.

  'What'll we do with 'er, Pete?' one of them asked. 'We can't let 'er go, and 'ow'd we get 'er to the van?'

  'Bring her in with us. But gag her first. I've disabled the alarm. I've an idea how we can use her.'

  Linda slumped with frustration as one of the men thrust a piece of rag into her mouth and wound another strip to secure it. It tasted foul, and she almost choked. Pete turned back towards the window. Dimly she realised that the tannoy was no longer just an irritating background noise. Suddenly a blare of trumpets sounded, then a deafening roar of a huge gun being fired. Under cover of that noise Pete smashed one of the panes.

  He reached in, released the catch, and scrambled through. Before she could struggle Linda was picked up and thrust feet first into what she recognised as one of the small sitting rooms in the oldest portion of the house. It had, she remembered the guide telling them, been used by the present owner's mother before her death, and her collection of china Staffordshire figurines had been left undisturbed.

  'Where's the family?' one of Linda's other captors asked as he followed her in.

  'Away for the weekend. They're not fans of all the noise and the crowds. And all the staff are helping outside. We've the place to ourselves. We've all the time in the world to pick what we want, and then we can leave this little lady shut up for the rest of the weekend, regretting that she didn't agree to join in with us.'

  ***

  Chapter 2

  She fought then. Linda managed to scratch the cheek of one man before they captured her hands and bound them together behind her back. Kicking out wildly, she landed a blow on Pete's knee, causing him to wince before he slapped her viciously across her face. She fell onto a small two-seater sofa, her head uncomfortably jammed against one arm. With a snort of satisfaction one of the men grabbed her feet and shoved them together.

  'Keep still, or it'll be the worse for you!' he spat, helping one of the others to secure her ankles.

  How could it be worse, Linda wondered as they secured her, but the gag made it impossible to speak, and hampered her breathing. She struggled to draw air into her lungs, trying to twist her head so that the crick in her neck was less painful, glaring at them as they conferred. The room was small, but noise from the tannoy came in through the broken window, and made it impossible for her to hear what they were saying. Pete was pointing, then gesticulating, the others nodding in comprehension.

  He turned and grinned at her. 'Farewell, my lovely,' he sneered, and gave her a mock bow. 'Have a good weekend, and I hope someone finds you before it's too late.'

  He slid cautiously out of the room, and one of the other men heaved Linda onto his shoulders. Her head bumping uncomfortably against his back, she was helpless as he carried her out of the room, along a short passage, and up some twisting stairs.

  Linda forced herself to concentrate, though she wryly wondered whether it would do her any good to know where she was. On their tour last week they hadn't been allowed upstairs in this oldest part of the house. The present family, they'd been told, lived mainly in the newer wings, and these rooms were given over to storage. Her heart sank. If she were left in a room which was rarely visited, what would happen to her? Unable to move, to shout, in any way draw attention to herself, would she ever be found?

  Firmly she pushed the notion away. It wouldn't help. She was going to escape, somehow.

  The man carrying her reached the top of the staircase and hesitated slightly, then turned left, towards the back of the house. The passage here was narrow, the ceiling only just high enough for him to walk without brushing his head or Linda's body against the wooden beams. He opened several doors, and Linda could see trunks, stacked boxes, and old furniture within. Then, on opening another door, he chuckled and entered the room.

  'This should suit you down to the ground,' he muttered, dropping Linda to the floor.

  Winded, she glared impotently, and then narrowed her eyes. Surrounding her were several suits of armour. In one corner there was a pile of bows stacked against the wall, and quivers full of arrows hung on pegs nearby. Stored incongruously in a Victorian umbrella stand were half a dozen swords, and arranged against another wall, supported by wooden racks, lances, long spears and what Linda thought were pikes.

  The man departed, and a key grated in the lock. Linda's heart sank. Even if she could free herself of her bonds, could she open the door? But at least she would be able to make a noise, and someone might hear her.

  Although her wrists and ankles were tied she could use her hands and feet to lever herself into a sitting position, and then edge slowly along the floor. She made a circuit, testing everything she could reach, but nothing was sharp enough to cut the bonds round her wrists.

  Pausing for a rest she thought back to her time with Pete. She'd met him through her brother Bill, when the two men had come into the wine bar where she and some of the girls from the office had been having a drink after work.

  'Hey, long time no see, sister,' Bill had greeted her.

  He had his own flat, as she did, but he never seemed to visit their parents when she was there. Her mother hadn't complained, but Linda knew she worried. Bill never seemed able to keep a job for long, and some of the friends he had, her disreputable cousin Jake, for instance, were not the type of men her mother approved of.

  Pete Jackson had seemed different. He'd only just arrived in town, for one thing, having been transferred to a new branch of his firm. Bill was a casual acquaintance, met in their local pub a few days before. So he'd said, but now she began to wonder. Since that day two months ago he'd never again mentioned Bill, and as they'd spent most of their spare time together after work and at weekends, he'd had little time to cultivate Bill's company or meet Jake.

  Why had he been so attentive? Surely not just to entice her into helping him by acting as lookout while he committed a robbery? If, as she suspected, he meant to steal the miniatures, he didn't need two other brawny helpers. They'd have slipped easily into his pockets or the knapsack he carried.

  Was that all he meant to steal? Linda recalled the horseboxes. If they loaded one of them with bigger items, some of the other pictures he'd dismissed as worthless, for instance, who would suspect? It wasn't like an ordinary lorry or van. There were many horses here today. It could have been the reason Pete had chosen to swoop this weekend, not simply that the family were away and the house closed to visitors.

  The thought galvanised her into renewed action, but she moved too swiftly, and fell sideways, banging her shoulder hard on the bare wooden floor. As she wriggled to pull herself upright she heard her shirt tear, and felt a prick in the back of her shoulder.

  'A nail,' she muttered, and moved cautiously again. There it was, quite sharp.

  Desperate not to lose it, she manoeuvred cautiously, and was able to saw away at the cord holding her arms bound. It loosened enough for her to yank them apart, and Linda thankfully tore the gag out of her mouth and then, having waited for the agonising pins and needles in her arms to subside, she freed her ankles.

  Stiffly she got to her feet. There was a small window, but it gave her only a limited view of the farmyard and barns, set a good distance away behind and to one side of the main house.

  She turned to the door. Surely Pete and his men would be too busy in the main part of the house to notice her moving around. They could even be gone, they'd surely want to move as fast as possible. How long had she been here? The event had just started, at half past one, when she had been captured
. She glanced at her watch, then shook it. Surely it could not be only half past two? It seemed like hours since she'd come rushing round the house and seen them preparing to break in.

  She'd tuned out the noise of the tannoy, but it could be heard clearly. Now she heard the announcer explaining the development of bows and saying they were to see several types in this display. That had been due to start at two-thirty, she recalled. The parade and the jousting would be over. But she still had to escape from this room.

  She tried the door, rattling it in her frustration, and heard a dull thud outside. For a moment she didn't recognise the sound, then she realised it was the key which had fallen out of the lock.

  Linda knelt down and inspected the bottom of the door. The floorboards had warped slightly, and if only the key hadn't fallen too far away and she could fish it through the gap, she would be able to get out.

  She looked at the weaponry stored all around, and decided to try a sword. Carefully abstracting one from the umbrella stand, and drawing it from the scabbard, she poked the blade beneath the door. It was thicker than she'd expected, and the hilt made it impossible to lay it flat, so that idea was a non-starter. She replaced the sword, inspected several others to find they were no more suitable, and then decided to try an arrow.

  This was far better, and after some tricky moments Linda was able to pull the key beneath the door.

  Heaving a sigh of relief she stood up and inserted it in the lock. It turned smoothly, indicating that the key was used often and the lock oiled.

  Linda looked cautiously out, but saw and heard nothing. She went into a room on the opposite side and craned to see into the courtyard. One of the horseboxes was still there, but the one Pete had been standing on had gone. That probably meant he had gone too.

  Still taking every precaution not to make a noise, Linda crept down the stairs. Had Pete stolen the miniatures? She had to find out. On the lower floor she got her bearings and moved slowly along towards the rooms where they had been. There were no other sounds, the house was eerily quiet.

  In the Great Hall, where light came in only through some windows high in the wall, there were deep shadows, and it was astonishingly cool. She edged round the room, ready to dive into hiding behind the heavy oak furniture if anyone appeared, and finally reached the newest portion of the house. This was the door into the main drawing room, where the miniatures were displayed.

  She opened it and looked inside. There was no one there, but there were also no pictures, and the doors of the display cabinets where the porcelain and silver had been housed swung open. Pete had taken more than the miniatures.

  Linda moved into the room and stared round in dismay. What else had he taken from other rooms? Then a noise caused her to spin round in alarm, her heart racing with fear.

  'You should have left with your friends, my child. Or were you about to telephone for assistance?'

  *

  He was tall, dark eyed with short dark hair, and familiar. Instead of his armour and surcoat he wore brief white shorts and a skimpy tee-shirt, which showed the muscles of his bronzed legs and arms and left little to the imagination. Linda swallowed.

  'Who, who are you?' she managed to croak when her breath returned.

  'Ladies first, your name and an explanation of what you are doing in private property which has, apparently, been stripped of many valuables,' he replied, a grim smile on his lips. Well-shaped, eminently kissable lips, Linda couldn't help noticing, despite her shock.

  'I'm Linda Slater, and I was caught and imprisoned by the men who did this,' she said slowly. It sounded so melodramatic. Things like that didn't happen, but they had. 'We must phone the police.'

  'Don't worry, they know. No doubt you'll be answering their questions soon.'

  'How can they know? Who told them? Have they been caught?' she demanded, her hopes rising.

  'No, they haven't been caught, unfortunately. I phoned the police, as soon as I realised the security system had been tampered with. I'm Simon Cottrell, my father owns The Old Grange.'

  'They went off in a horsebox,' Linda said slowly. 'It was in the courtyard at the back, Pete - one of the men - was on top doing something to the security box, when I found them.'

  He regarded her with raised eyebrows. 'Have you decided to rat on them?'

  'Rat? You think I was part of the gang?' Linda demanded indignantly, understanding his hints.

  'Aren't you? How do you know their names?'

  'I came here with Pete today. We - we've been seeing one another for the past few weeks,' Linda said slowly. 'I had no idea he was - well, a thief. How could I?" she demanded. Suddenly she didn't want to think about that. How could she have been so taken in by Pete's superficial charm?

  'Well, I might believe you,' he said slowly.

  'Might!' Linda was furious. 'I'm telling you the truth, and if you don't believe me you can come and see where I left the cords and rags they used to tie me up!'

  Without waiting for his reaction Linda sped from the room, taking him by surprise. She was half way across the Great Hall before he caught up with her. He grasped her arm and swung her round so that she stumbled and fell against his chest.

  'It's true! Let me go!' she gasped, sudden panic making her tremble. She'd had enough of being man-handled by large men, and for a moment feared he meant to imprison her too.

  'Just calm down. Where were you going?'

  'The room in the old part, where there are lots of suits of armour,' she explained. 'They tied me up and gagged me, and left me there, locked in. I escaped.'

  He regarded her with a mixture of amusement and suspicion in his eyes, and Linda almost stamped her foot in frustration.

  'Don't you believe me?' She wriggled round to look over her shoulder. 'Look, I tore my tee-shirt on a nail, and cut my arm using that to cut the cords. Luckily they were only thin ones, and not very strong.'

  He lifted her hands and studied the scratches and dried blood on her wrists.

  'Come with me, these need attending to.'

  Without giving her time to protest he took her hand and led the way back through the drawing room, out of a door at one end, and up a flight of shallow stairs. Along a passage he entered a large bedroom whose windows overlooked the front of the house. and Linda suddenly realised the events outside were still continuing. The tannoy was clearer here, and announcing the Battle of Lewes.

  'Oh hell, I am supposed to be taking part in this. They'll have to do without me.'

  Linda felt absurdly guilty, and began to apologise. He laughed.

  'Don't worry, I'll survive, and so will they.'

  Simon Cottrell led the way through the bedroom and into a spacious bathroom.

  'Sit on the stool. Tell me what happened,' he said as he opened a small cabinet and took out ointment and plasters.

  He was beginning to believe her, thank goodness. Linda took a deep breath and began to explain.

  As he took her hands and washed the scratches she flinched, but it was more from the feel of his warm hands on hers than the sting in the wounds. She forced herself to concentrate on essentials, explaining how Pete had expected her to help, how she'd refused, and tried to stop him, but been caught instead.

  'Were they wearing gloves?' he asked, pressing a plaster over one of the scratches that was still sluggishly oozing blood.

  'Not that I could see.'

  'Then later you can show the police exactly where this fellow took you. Did he open doors?'

  'Yes,' she recalled, 'he opened several until he found the room where he left me.'

  'Then we'd best not disturb that now, he may have left fingerprints or other traces the police could analyse and might identify him. Can you describe them? And where does this boyfriend Pete live? Do you know?'

  'He's not my boyfriend!' Linda protested. Her feelings for Pete had suffered such a reversal she didn't want to think about how much she'd liked him until today.

  Simon moved behind her and Linda twisted round to watch him. He wa
s regarding the tear in her tee-shirt.

  'Take this off, you've bled on your back.'

  'Take my tee-shirt off?' she demanded indignantly. 'No thanks, It's no more than a little scratch.'

  He grinned suddenly. 'As you wish. You can preserve your modesty. Though I've no evil intentions, you needn't worry I'm about to attack you. I've better things to do, such as trying to find those thieving friends of yours.'

  She fumed. Did he believe her or not? He'd appeared to accept her explanation, and now he was referring to her friends as though he still thought she was part of the gang.

  'Come on, the police will be here by now.'

  She followed him downstairs and through a door at the back of the Great Hall into the courtyard. Several police cars had arrived and men were examining the ground and the broken window.

  A man in jeans and a thin anorak walked across to them. 'I'm Inspecter Stone, in charge. Stay here, please, Mr Cottrell, Miss. The Scene of Crime officers have work to do. I'd like to talk to you both, and anyone else who was around, later on.'

  He turned away and Simon leant against the wall. 'Who were you trying to telephone?' he asked casually.

  Linda glanced at him. 'Why? What does it have to do with this?' she asked in as controlled a voice as possible.

  'I don't know, but you were in a rather frantic state. Who were you so desperate to contact?'

  Linda thought swiftly. Her own mobile wasn't a state of the art one, but she knew some stored numbers which had been dialled. She dared not lie.

  'It was my brother, his flat and then his mobile,' she replied, turning to look enquiringly up into Simon's face. 'Why do you want to know?'

  'Why the urgency?' he insisted.

  'I'd had a row with Pete. I needed a lift home, since I'd come with him. I wanted Bill to come and pick me up.'

  'So quickly? Couldn't it have waited?'

  'Why should it? I didn't want to stay and watch this play-acting on my own,' she snapped.

  He chuckled. 'But then you decided to stay and try to prevent the burglary. Why did you decide to confront your boyfriend on your own instead of telling someone who could have brought in the police? There are several uniformed men controlling the traffic, here for emergencies, and so on.'

  'I - I didn't think,' Linda said.