Hobgoblin Night: Mask and Dagger 2

by Teresa Edgerton

  Lord Skelbrooke sighed deeply and flicked the reins. There was plainly no time for them to argue the matter.

  But as they bowled down the road in the direction of Moonstone, with the cabriolet still a long way ahead of them, he said: "Once I have managed to regain your cousin, you may do all you like to offer her comfort. But until then, I beg you—nay, I must command you—not to interfere in my attempt to rescue Miss Elsie. Though you may mean to aid me, you will only hamper my efforts."

  "I am well aware of that, and I promise not to interfere," Sera said breathlessly. "Being 'only' a female, I have no experience of pistols or fisticuffs, or your other masculine sports."

  "Pistols and fisticuffs?" Lord Skelbrooke raised a shapely eyebrow, his hands tightened on the reins. "Is that how you imagine we men keep ourselves occupied: in duels and brawls? What poor creatures you must think us! Or is it only me you consider so lamentably violent in character?"

  The cabriolet had disappeared around a bend in the road, which skirted a hillock covered with low brush. As they, too, rounded the bend, they were astonished to see the cabriolet stopped in the middle of the road, apparently waiting for them. Lord Skelbrooke reined in and managed to bring the gig up at a safe distance.

  "The blinds are drawn. This looks very much like a trap," he said, pulling out a pistol and cocking it. "Are you quite certain that it was your cousin? I see that you are, and surely it would take more than an altered face, a mimicked walk, to deceive you.

  "But even if it is a trap, we can hardly leave Elsie to the mercy of her abductors," he added grimly. "And I believe I am equipped to handle Mr. Hooke and the two or three confederates he might have concealed in the cabriolet with him." Jumping lightly down into the road, he pulled out a second, larger pistol. "You, however, are not to follow me under any circumstances, and had far better occupy yourself with turning the gig around."

  "I will not increase your danger by disobeying you," said Sera, as steadily as she could. "But my lord . . . do take care!" As Skelbrooke advanced toward the ominously silent cabriolet, Sera climbed down, took the horse by the bridle, and coaxed him to turn back in the direction they had come. She was heading back toward the gig when the doors of the cabriolet suddenly burst open and Tynsdale jumped out, followed by two rough-looking men clad in buckskins and armed with stout wooden clubs.

  Sera watched over the broad back of the horse as Skelbrooke came up short, then gestured with one of his pistols. "Two of you are dead men," he announced coldly, "unless all three of you throw down your weapons immediately."

  A shot came whizzing out of nowhere, striking him in the shoulder, spinning him around with the impact, and knocking him to his knees. The larger pistol fell from suddenly slackened fingers, exploding harmlessly in the road. Sera felt as though all the blood had drained from her heart. As one of the ruffians stepped up beside him, Sera called out a warning, but Skelbrooke was apparently too stunned to react. The man in buckskins whipped around his cudgel, and brought it crashing against the side of his lordship's head. Sera watched impotently as Skelbrooke pitched face-forward and lay very still on the ground.

  Glancing frantically about to see where the shot had come from, Sera looked up the hill just in time to see a third man, standing in the bushes, discharge the second barrel of his flintlock rifle. Again, his aim was accurate. The gig horse collapsed in the traces, felled by a ball between the eyes.

  Sera swallowed a scream. She would not be so poor-spirited as to give in to hysterics. Instead she climbed hastily into the gig and snatched up Jed's fowling piece from under the seat. But then, realizing the futility of any attempt to hold off four men with a single weapon—particularly one loaded with bird shot—she threw down the gun, gathered up her skirts, and jumped from the carriage. Landing in the gravelly road, she stumbled, recovered, and took off across the fields in the direction of the town, which was not so very distant if one did not keep to the roads. There she might hope to find help to rescue her friends.

  She had run perhaps a quarter of a mile over the uneven ground, stumbling and tripping, hampered more than a little by her long skirt and petticoats, when she heard shouts and pounding footsteps closing rapidly behind her. She ran on without slackening her pace, still determined to outdistance her pursuers. Even as she heard the more solid fall of approaching hoofbeats, and guessed that someone had unhitched the lead carriage horse and come galloping after her, she continued on doggedly, though she could hardly catch her breath and she knew that she was nearly spent.

  A strong arm came down and swept her up, onto a broad grey back. Sera scratched, bit, and gouged at her captor's eyes.

  "I have only to release my grip on you, you deplorable vixen, and you will undoubtedly break your back, if not your neck, falling from the horse," hissed Mr. Tynsdale.

  Realizing that he spoke the truth, Sera ceased to struggle, and instead clung tightly to Tynsdale's coat while he brought the horse around with some little skill (they were riding bareback) and headed back toward his confederates. But when the pace slowed and the horse came to a halt, when Tynsdale prepared to dismount, Sera squirmed out of his grasp—unfortunately landing in the arms of one of the bearded roughnecks, who not only stank of bear grease but handled her none too gently in his efforts to subdue her. He finally succeeded by the simple expedient of wrenching her arms sharply behind her and maintaining a hard grip.

  Moses Tynsdale dismounted at his leisure and looked her over with an appreciative eye. "What a glorious creature you are!"

  Sera, with her hair tumbling down, the right side of her face smarting from an open-handed blow, her arms jerked nearly out of their sockets, and her dress ripped and falling off her shoulders, did not feel glorious. "If you dare to lay so much as a defiling hand on me . . . !"

  Tynsdale only grinned at her, in a thoroughly insolent manner. His hat had blown off and his dark hair was ruffled by the wind of their ride; his white teeth flashed in his sun-browned face. He did not look at all like the clergyman she knew, but like an unknown and altogether wilder, more elemental and dangerous individual entirely.

  "I believe that a rape—of sorts—is intended. But I, alas, am not the man destined to enjoy you. Do hasten to bring me the spirits of mandragora, Hancock, before the young lady does herself any serious damage."

  "If you are not abducting us on your own behalf," said Sera, trembling with indignation, "then who is responsible for this outrage?"

  Again there was that flashing smile. "Miss Elsie, in fact, has not yet been abducted," said Tynsdale, as one of his henchmen produced a reeking piece of cloth. "As for you: I am taking you to Stillwater Hall at the behest of a gentleman who admires you most ardently. A gentleman by the name of Jarl Skogsrå."

  Someone shoved the rag over her face, and the world began to grow grey around the edges. Tynsdale's voice continued on mockingly, as the darkness enveloped her. "Only fancy, Miss Thorn . . . or should I say Miss Vorder? You are soon to be a bride!"

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Which finds Sera and Lord Skelbrooke in Desperate Straits indeed.

  Sight and sound returned slowly, and with them came a whirling vertigo. Sera lay quite still until the room settled around her; then she sat up slowly and carefully and studied her surroundings.

  She had been lying diagonally across a big four-poster bed, as though someone had brought her there and simply tossed her down. The bed was in a dim, high chamber, very warm and humid, and the velvet bedcover smelled strongly of mildew. The only light came filtering in through a tall lattice window, mostly obscured by thorny blackberry vines.

  "And so you finally awake. How do you do, Miss Vorder?" The voice, so cold and precise, was familiar, though Sera could not immediately place it. In a deeper patch of shadow across the room, a lean figure rose from a chair and glided in her direction.

  "Thomas Kelly . . . it is Kelly, is it not?"

  For answer, the sorcerer bowed his head. "I apprehend that it was Caleb Braun who told you that, after the regre
ttable incident with the poker. How does Mr. Braun, I wonder?"

  "I have not the least idea," said Sera, removing a damp strand of dark hair that had fallen across her face. "I've not set eyes on him since that day you mentioned. Though I am naturally relieved to discover that you know no more of his whereabouts than I do." She stifled an urge to ask about Skelbrooke, to plead for reassurance that he was still alive. She knew that any such show of weakness would do neither of them any good. "But really, Mr. Kelly, this is most unexpected, though I can hardly call it a pleasure. I understood that I was to meet Jarl Skogsrå."

  Kelly continued to regard her with those odd eyes of his. "Mr. Hooke told you that, did he? I had no idea he had such a loose tongue. But yes, you shall meet Jarl Skogsrå presently. Skogsrå, the Duchess of Zar-Wildungen, and I have recently joined forces, a natural enough consequence of our shared objectives.

  "I hardly need to tell you that the Jarl is very eager to see you," Kelly went on, leaning closer. The smell of him was indescribable. "But I wanted to speak with you privately first. Poor Skogsrå is likely to become rather emotional—one might almost say irrational—at the thought of your approaching nuptials. And we had hoped to welcome you here much earlier. So inconsiderate of you not to go into Hobb's Church for the Midyear's festivities, or again on Sunday for the holy services. You put poor Skogsrå into a fever of impatience. "

  Mr. Kelly smiled mirthlessly. "But then, I need not tell you. You were present, as I was not, when he sought to marry your cousin Elsie. I have been told that his actions on that occasion were exceedingly rash. But what, after all, can one expect from a troll in the grip of his overmastering obsession?"

  "I hope," said Sera, putting her feet on the floor and managing to stand, though her knees still felt deplorably weak. "I hope that you are here to tell me exactly what I may expect of this one."

  Kelly inclined his head. "I must suppose you mean to inquire about the wedding ceremony itself. You could hardly wish to discuss the intimacies awaiting you in the bridal chamber afterwards. Well then, I shall—"

  "I want to know by what persuasions Haakon Skogsrå imagines that he can possibly induce me to consent to marry him?" said Sera, reaching for the support of a bedpost. This action brought her much closer to Kelly than she would have liked, and she nearly gagged at the stench. As soon as she was steady again, she stepped away.

  "Since Elsie's narrow escape two years ago, I have studied the subject of troll weddings and I am well aware that the species of matrimony which Skogsrå intends requires a consenting bride. And I believe that I have already proven myself immune to Jarl Skogsrå's powers of suggestion.

  "I hope you do not mean to threaten me," she added, dark eyes flashing, "for the truth is, I would far, far, rather—"

  "—die," the sorcerer finished for her. "That is the usual response, I believe, though I had expected more originality from you. Pray do not play the heroine with me, Miss Vorder. Perhaps you would rather die than suffer the troll's loathsome embraces, but I remind you that Miss Elsie Vorder is also in our power, to say nothing of your paramour, Lord Skelbrooke. I feel certain you would not wish to see harm come to either of them."

  Sera shook her head—which was a mistake, as it made her feel giddy, and caused her to reach for the bedpost once more. "I am not altogether certain that you have Elsie, and as for Lord Skelbrooke: your ruffians may have killed him, for all that I know."

  "Miss Elsie is here and Lord Skelbrooke has so far been spared. The greatest care was taken to capture him without killing him," said Kelly. "I think you might at least be grateful for that."

  "Nevertheless, I will not discuss the matter further," Sera insisted, "until I have first seen both of them alive."

  "Very well, if you would have it so," said Kelly. He crossed the room, opened a door, stuck his head outside, and issued some low-voiced orders. Meanwhile, Sera glanced desperately around the shadowy bedchamber, looking for anything she might use to defend herself.

  Kelly turned away from the door. "You search for some heavy object with which to strike me over the head. That trick will not work a second time, you know, for there is nothing here you might use. I am become more cautious, you see. And you possess an indomitable spirit, Miss Vorder, but just at the moment, I think not nearly the strength necessary to make an escape. You will feel much better if you will take a seat on the bed and await further events."

  Recognizing the sense in this, Sera did as he suggested. A minute later, the door opened wide, to admit Jarl Skogsrå and Elsie, then a moment later, a very pale and shaken Lord Skelbrooke, who came in with his hands shackled together in front of him, at the end of a pistol in the steady grip of the rugged Mr. Hancock. Skelbrooke was in his shirt sleeves, with one arm in a sling, and Sera could see that his brocade vest and linen shirt had been stained by a copious flow of blood.

  Because Tynsdale had alerted her to some possible deception, Sera took a closer and more careful look at the young woman in white. She realized, with a shock, that it was not Elsie, after all. "You attempt to deceive me, but I know my cousin better than that. This woman does resemble her, indeed, the resemblance is quite remarkable: she even stands and walks like Elsie. And yet—"

  "Yet, on closer examination, your every instinct tells you that this is not she," Skelbrooke finished for her, leaning wearily against the wall.

  Jarl Skogsrå made a sound of disgust. "I told you how it would be. They are more different, Elsie Vorder and my Cecile, than you and the Duchess like to imagine."

  Mr. Kelly fixed him with a hard gaze. "Lacking your intimacy with the monster, I am not disposed to contradict you."

  Skelbrooke drew in a sharp breath. "This is not some woman you have disguised by your arts: it is Elsie's double, a figure of clay that you have animated in her image with a few drops of Elsie's blood. No wonder you were fooled, Sera, if only for a time."

  Kelly bowed stiffly from the waist. "You are very knowledgeable, very perceptive. Indeed, I wonder that a man so clever and experienced as you chanced to fall into our simple little trap. I must suppose that it was over-confidence that brought your downfall."

  Lord Skelbrooke, meeting Sera's anxious gaze, shook his head. "My arrogance rather," he said, sick with the knowledge of his own failure. "I cannot ask your pardon, Sera, for I do not deserve it. But I do offer my most abject apologies for bungling the matter so thoroughly."

  "Pray do not regard it, my lord," said Sera, attempting a brave smile. "I do not hold you in any way to blame."

  "Very touching," sneered the Jarl, throwing himself down into the chair that Kelly had vacated earlier. "Oh, but exceedingly moving. Well, as you have guessed, we do not have Elsie in our power. But as for your lover, you see that we have him entirely at our mercy. He shall die if you do not consent to marry me."

  "He lies," said Skelbrooke. "They cannot mean to kill me themselves. There can be no doubt that I am reserved for the Duchess's personal revenge."

  "We do not act on the Duchess's orders," said Skogsrå, ignoring Kelly's signal for silence. "The Duchess was called away, her servants have been dismissed during her absence, our own men brought in."

  "In that case, I am as good as dead already," Skelbrooke said bitterly. "You will hardly leave me alive to tell the Duchess what you have been doing while she was away. She has her own plans for Sera, Elsie, and me, and I fancy that you are spoiling them all." He looked across at Sera, and his eyes grew tender. "Dear heart, you must decide for yourself whether you wish to prolong your life—and perhaps gain some narrow chance of escape later—by marrying Lord Skogsrå, But do not do anything of the sort on my behalf, I beg you. I am fully resigned to die."

  "You are a fool," Kelly told the troll. "Pray hold your tongue after this, and allow me to arrange the matter, as I have promised. You are quite right, Lord Skelbrooke, you are doomed in any event. But the manner of your death is still open to question. It can be quick and merciful, if Miss Vorder chooses wisely, or else lingering and painful, if she refu
ses to cooperate. I hold no personal malice against you, but do not imagine on that account that I would hesitate to put you to the torture to gain my ends. As for Jarl Skogsrå: I think you comprehend the warmth of his regard!"

  "Miss Vorder," said Skelbrooke, speaking through his teeth. He grew paler with every passing minute, and beads of perspiration formed on his brow. "Whatever they do to me, you must not regard it. Believe me, I have suffered far worse, in the past, than anything they could possibly contrive for me."

  "Do you think so?" said Kelly. Reaching into a pocket in his waistcoat, he brought out the little box that was not a snuffbox. "But we do not intend to exert our persuasions immediately. Yes, I know what this box contains, as I know something of the action of the drug. I can see that you miss it already.

  "We can afford to wait another four-and-twenty hours. By the end of that time, your mind and body will betray you, your senses will become so extremely heightened that even the mildest discomfort will trouble you exceedingly, while as for the exquisite tortures we mean to inflict on you . . . well, I leave you both to imagine."

  On Kelly's orders, the buckskin-clad Hancock produced a second pair of fetters and fastened them on Sera. Then she and Skelbrooke were escorted down two flights of stairs to the cellar and into a storeroom.

  The room was dirty and smelled of damp, lit only by a barred window high in the wall, at ground level. There was a straw tick on the floor, stained with blood, some blankets, and a bowl of bloody water. Sera realized that while she had rested unconscious up above, his lordship had been less comfortably confined down here.

  "I wish you joy of each other's company in the time remaining to you," said Kelly, standing in the doorway. "Comfort each other in whatever manner seems best to you; the strength of your attachment can only aid our purpose. But do not deceive yourself, Lord Skelbrooke, that you can rob Jarl Skogsrå by depriving Miss Vorder of her virtue, for I must tell you (and you will pardon me for speaking so plainly) that though he certainly intends to make her his wife in every sense of the word, he will take her with or without her maidenhead."