“Write something?” She must have misunderstood. Why sedate and abduct her to have her write something? And what? A letter? “I hope you don’t expect me to pen a letter of recommendation.”
Reggie took several threatening steps in their direction. “You’ll write wot we tell ya, or else.”
Lana suspected she could write Hark, Hark the Dogs do Bark twenty times and he would never know the difference. “But I have no writing materials, and my hands are tied.”
Betsy scrambled up from the floor and moved into the shadows. The sound of crinkling paper reached Lana’s ears followed a few moments later by the scratch of a match and pop of its spark. The maid’s face lit to reveal her features while shadows hid the rest of her body. She put the match to the candle, catching the wick. The room glowed around her and Betsy while the man retreated into the blackness of an adjoining room.
“I packed a sheet of foolscap from your desk, miss, and a quill and ink.”
How thoughtful. Lana held her bound hands in front of her. “I must be freed to write.”
The maid sat the candle and holder on the floor and worked the knots that held her wrists together.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Reggie said, reinforcing his warning with the click of a pistol. He seemed to have a peculiar aversion to ideas. Perhaps because he had none of his own.
Once the rope fell away, Lana grasped her right wrist and rubbed.
Betsy held the foolscap out, and she took it with a shaking hand. “Do you wish me to write on the floor?”
The maid held out the ink jar and quill. “It will have to do.”
Lana settled the paper on the floor to her side. With her ankles still bound, she had no choice but to stretch her legs out in front of her. She rolled to the left to brace her elbow by the paper and reached across her body with her right hand to dip the quill in the ink.
“I’m ready.”
“Let’s see… Start with, ‘Dear Mr. Hillary,’” Betsy began.
“Not dear. She ain’t invitin’ ’em to tea.”
“Let me handle this, Reggie.” Her maid returned her attention to Lana. “Actually, since this letter is from you, Miss Hillary, you may want to start it with, ‘Dear Father.’”
“Do you expect me to write my own ransom note?” Lana took a wild guess. “Because having one compose one’s own ransom note seems rather lazy.”
“Jus’ do it,” Reggie snarled.
“We’ve already written our demands, Miss Hillary. This will provide proof that we have you.”
Lana licked her lips and dipped the quill once more. She touched it to the paper and scribbled as Betsy instructed. “What more do you wish me to write?”
“Tell your family you are safe and will remain unharmed.”
“Am I… safe?” She held her breath waiting for the answer.
Betsy patted her shoulder. “Of course you are, miss. There’s no need to be frightened. No one will hurt you.”
That was a relief, if she could believe her maid. Unfortunately, Betsy had just recently proven herself to be untrustworthy.
Lana composed the note as requested, tempted to ask Betsy how to spell numbskull out of spite, but thinking it unwise to antagonize the armed numbskull standing in the shadows. She held the letter up to proofread.
“Jus’ take it,” Reggie snapped at his sister.
Her maid took the letter and glanced at it. “Thank you, Miss Hillary.”
Lana cleared her throat. The gnawing pain in her belly was almost more than she could bear. “Betsy, do you have any food?”
“Tie ’er ’ands, then get back to the ’ouse. Leave the notes and don’t let anyone see you.”
When the maid moved to bind her again, Lana grasped her sleeve. “Please, don’t leave me with him,” she whispered.
Betsy pried Lana’s fingers from her arm. “The sun will rise in a few hours. I cannot wait any longer.”
“But I have need of the necessary.”
“Devil take it!” Reggie stomped to the door. “I ain’t helpin’ with no necessary.”
Lana cringed when he slammed the door.
Betsy untied the rope at her ankles and assisted her to her feet. Lana’s belly cramps returned. As the maid helped her on the chamber pot, the intensity of her cramping doubled her over. She panted as a wave of pain washed over her, leaving her shaky, cold, and ready to toss up her accounts. Closing her eyes, she waited for the pains to recede.
“I am finished,” she murmured at last. Her eyes stung and her throat ached. The discovery that she did not carry Drew’s child should have given her a sense of relief, but instead it produced a flood of tears. Betsy hauled her to her feet. Sniffling, Lana roughly wiped away the evidence of her disappointment with the backs of her trembling hands.
Betsy patted her shoulder in a misguided attempt at comfort. “You have no cause to fret, Miss Hillary. I will return posthaste, just as I promised. I’m sorry, but I must bind your feet and hands again.”
Lana thrust her hands forward, wrists together. “Forgive me for doubting your sincerity.”
Reggie returned as Betsy tied the last knot. She wheeled around to face him. “You will feed her, Reginald.”
Lana’s hunger was the least of her concerns when it came to being under the man’s care. An evening of snarls, snaps, and barks sounded exceptionally unpleasant. And she remained unconvinced Reggie didn’t bite.
Forty
It was a torturously long time after Betsy and her brother left Lana alone before heavy footsteps approached the cottage. The door swung open on a blast of wind. The candle flickered and blew out, leaving Lana in darkness with her captor. Moonlight cast a bluish glow over his body, but there was not enough illumination to see his face.
The door creaked as it closed. He loomed within the threshold, silent. Prickles chased along her skin. Could his eyes penetrate the blackness? The idea that he might be able to observe her like some nocturnal creature while he remained hidden increased her disquiet. Maybe he knew this and intended to torment her. She refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing how he frightened her.
“C-care to play a game of whist?” she asked, trying to control the tremor in her voice.
He stayed frozen in the dark. The only sound in the cramped room was her rapid breathing. She closed her eyes and attempted to slow her heart’s pounding. She must survive this night, just this one, and then she would be home again, safe with her family and beginning her life with Drew.
Reggie’s sudden move made her jump. “Never learned,” he said at last.
“I-I could teach you. Do you have a deck of cards?”
He clomped through the cottage, the sound fading as he entered another area. She would take that as a no. A few moments later, a glow filtered into the room where she curled on the floor.
His body filled the doorway, blocking most of the light, his features cast in shadow.
“Eat this.” He crossed the room in two steps and bent to shove something into her hands, something hard and crusty.
Lana sniffed his offering. It was bread. She devoured the stale hunk in three bites and longed for more, but she wouldn’t request a second course. At the end of this ordeal, if her kidnappers were to comment on her person, she would not be known as the disagreeable captive.
Reggie approached again and when he thrust the metal flask into her hands, she was prepared for the burning pain of the alcohol. Lana sipped only enough to wet her tongue and ease the rasping dryness in her throat.
“Thank you.”
When she passed it back, Reggie screwed on the top then yanked her bound hands with terrifying speed to haul her from the floor. With her legs lashed together, she couldn’t get her feet under her, but he was undeterred. He dragged her across the rustic floor, ripping her stocking above her ankle.
Blast and damn. That was the last time she would waste courtesy on the likes of him.
Lana quivered and bit the inside of her jaw to keep from screaming out when he tos
sed her on the bed, if one could call the lumpy thing a bed. Shoving her hands above her head, he secured her bindings to the iron bed rail. He tugged the ropes then climbed from the bed.
“That ought ta keep ya from runnin’ away.”
Lana bristled. The cottage housed a bed this whole time and the idiots had dumped her on the floor?
Without another word, Reggie spun on his heel and left her alone without a fire or even a blanket to keep her warm.
Lana frowned. Her kidnappers had much to learn when it came to hospitality.
***
The sky began to wake with shades of pink and purple. Drew sighed. He was weary from walking the streets of London most of the night. The odds of finding Lana in the overcrowded city had been slim, but he couldn’t sit and do nothing.
Jake had joined him for the first four hours, but with no sign of Lana, they had returned to Hillary House to see if there was any news. There was nothing, so instead of pacing a trench in Mrs. Hillary’s floors, Drew walked the streets.
When he rounded the corner, Hillary House stood lit like a beacon in the gray dawn light, guiding him back. Hope flickered inside him when he entered the house, but extinguished as soon as he saw Mr. Hillary’s drawn face.
He stepped forward, waving two sheets of foolscap. “We’ve received word. A ransom note and a message from Lana.”
Drew raced to grab the papers from his grasp. Never was one object so despised and welcomed at the same time. He scanned the contents of Lana’s letter first. She promised she was safe and would remain unharmed. Nevertheless, the kidnapper’s demands provided little comfort.
“The cemetery? Is this an ill-conceived joke?” He tossed the notes on a side table. “I’m delivering the money.”
Lana’s brother bolted from the overstuffed chair where he had been slumped. “Now wait a moment, Forest. We are her family. We’ll decide how to handle the situation.”
Drew stalked across the room to stand toe to toe with him. His fist itched to bloody Jake’s lip. “Lana belongs to me as much as anyone. I’ll not rest until I have her back safe.”
Mr. Hillary placed a firm hand on Drew’s shoulder. “We all want the same thing, Lord Andrew. We want Lana back, and we’ll get her back. But not if we fight each other.”
Drew backed up a step and dropped his raised fist. Lana’s father was right. Jake wasn’t his enemy. His enemy, the man holding his peach captive, was in for a thorough beating, and Lana’s brother might be just the chap he wanted on his side. He possessed a wicked right jab.
“My apologies, Hillary.”
Jake nodded. “We are all wound tight.”
Drew scooped up the letter and read the demands again before handing it to her father. “I have most of the funds, sir.”
Mr. Hillary shook his head. “Save your money, my lord. You will need it to care for my daughter. She has exquisite taste in gowns, or so the shopkeepers inform my man of business when he settles the bills.”
Lana could have a ballroom filled with gowns, for all Drew cared. He just wanted her home.
“We’ve come up with a plan,” Mr. Hillary announced. “I will be the one to drop the ransom.”
Before Drew could protest, Mr. Hillary held up his hand. “That’s not all. You and Jake will go to the cemetery several hours before the appointed time and wait. If the damned blackguard shows without Lana, I want you to follow.”
“You won’t be involving Bow Street?”
Mr. Hillary’s jaw twitched. “The fewer people who know of her disappearance, the better.”
Drew cared nothing for society’s acceptance, but he was glad to hear Lana’s father intended to follow her abductor’s instructions not to involve the runners. Besides, he had more faith in Lana’s brother and himself.
Mr. Hillary glanced at Drew and his son. “You should leave within the hour to find a spot to observe the ransom exchange. I’ll leave the money at the grave of Carter Daniels, as directed.”
Drew raised his brows. “A man of your past acquaintance?”
Mr. Hillary shook his head. “I’m assuming he’s no one of importance. I sent a man earlier to locate the grave. It lies in a secluded area on the south side. Once I drop the money, I’ll leave the cemetery as I entered, in case he is watching.”
It seemed foolish to recover the ransom in daylight, but perhaps the kidnapper thought it would be easier to detect someone waiting to give chase.
At the cemetery, Drew and Jake chose a spot behind a crypt partially hidden by mature trees and settled in for a long wait. The crypt was a distance from the gravesite, but this section of the cemetery was open with the gravestones coming no higher than Drew’s hip. It would have been preferable to split up and take positions closer, but there was no help for it.
They sat in silence. Drew’s muscles tensed and twitched with every sound, preparing to chase the blackguard.
“There’s Father,” Jake murmured.
Drew craned his neck. When Mr. Hillary reached the grave, he dropped the full bag in front of the tombstone and moved away. Then they waited.
A flash of movement caught Drew’s eye. “Someone is coming.”
“It’s just a boy. Stay down.”
Jake was correct. A small youth tugged his hat over his face and glided through the cemetery, appearing to have a destination in mind. Perhaps he visited a relative’s grave. Yet, instead of moving past the designated grave as Drew expected, the boy stopped.
“Could that be him?” Jake whispered. “He appears too fragile to capture a kitten, much less hold Lana.” He shifted his position, cracking a small stick under his boot.
The boy’s head shot up to scan the area before he bent to retrieve the purse and took off at a run.
“He has taken it. Catch him.”
The lad had at least twenty paces on them, but they both flew after him. Jake’s footfalls pounded the ground close behind Drew. Gaining on their quarry, Drew increased his efforts, but a heavy thump followed by a sharp cry of pain made him glance over his shoulder.
“Keep going,” Jake’s muffled voice commanded.
Where the bloody hell had he gone?
Drew forgot Lana’s brother and pushed himself harder, but his hesitation had allowed the boy to escape the cemetery and head for the streets of London.
He reached the street as the boy darted into traffic, taking no notice of a carriage barreling down the opposite side of the road. A high-pitched scream pierced his ears. The driver jerked the reins.
The boy’s abrupt appearance spooked the greys, causing one to rear up. The boy crumpled to the cobblestone road.
More screams rippled through the air.
“I didn’t see ’im, on my honor,” the driver wailed. “Came from nowhere, ’e did.”
Drew shoved his way through the pandemonium, kneeled beside the boy, and turned him to his back. Hell’s teeth. The lad must receive merciless teasing, for he looked every bit as delicate as a girl.
“It’s Betsy, Lana’s maid,” Jake stated, limping toward him. Dirt covered him head to toe.
“What happened to you?”
“Some blasted idiot left a hole in the cemetery.”
“And you didn’t see a hole large enough for a man?”
Jake sniffed. “I saw the hole fine. It was the shovel I failed to see. Is the girl alive?”
Drew checked for breathing and shook his head. Standing, he dusted off his trousers. A servant in the Hillary household had betrayed them. Who else might be involved? He turned on his heel and started back to Lana’s home.
“Where are you going?” Jake asked.
“The maid wasn’t working alone. I intend to find out who has Lana.”
Forty-one
Drew nailed the butler with a glare as soon as the doors to Mr. Hillary’s study closed. “Get every servant down here at once.”
Jake tossed the bag of money on his father’s desk. “Every single one of them, Father.”
Mr. Hillary gave a sharp nod. “Do it,
Hogan.”
“Yes, sir.” The butler hurried to do his master’s bidding.
“Tell me what transpired.” Mr. Hillary drummed his fingers against his desk as Drew retold the events of the last hour.
A timid knock sounded at the door. Lana’s brother half-hopped, half-walked to the door and yanked it open. A hair-raising, spine-shivering screech ripped through the air.
“Hellfire and damnation!” Jake leapt backwards, knocked his elbow against a marble pillar, and careened into side table.
The young maid slapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes as round as shillings.
“Why were you blasted screaming?” Jake’s dark brows lowered dangerously.
“I don’t know,” she mumbled from behind her hands.
“Well, stop it.” He rubbed his elbow. “You’ll take ten years off a man’s life running about shrieking like a banshee.”
She dropped her hands from her mouth and curtsied. “Forgive me, sir. My nerves are a bit frazzled, what with Miss Hillary and all.”
“Yes, well, try to contain yourself.” Jake waved her inside. “My apologies for my lapse in manners. Enter.”
The maid ducked her head and scurried into the study.
Jake grumbled as he limped to the settee and lowered his battered frame.
“Come here, girl,” Mr. Hillary said.
She shuffled to stand before her employer with her hands clutched.
Lana’s father crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. “What do you know of Betsy March?”
“Not much, sir.” Her voice quavered. “She mostly kept to herself.”
Drew stepped forward. “Did she mention any family or friends?”
“Not to me, my lord.” With a shaky hand, the maid tucked a wayward curl under her cap. “Is she in trouble, sir? She seems like a nice girl.”
Further questions revealed nothing of importance, and the scullery maid was dismissed.
The next interview ended with the same results, and then the next and the next. No one knew anything about the reclusive Betsy March.
“Damnation.” Drew rammed his fingers through his hair.
Miss Hillary Schools a Scoundrel Page 27