by Rebecca King
I forget when I last had a proper conversation with anybody except Jemima, and even those few brief words couldn’t be classed as a real chat.
“I need to get out of here,” she announced suddenly.
For a moment, Mallory completely forgot about where she was and that she had just announced that in front of the stranger.
He probably will go inside and tell them what I have said.
“Stay strong,” the man whispered suddenly.
Mallory blinked at him. At first, she wasn’t at all sure she had heard him correctly. She blinked at the sheet that was just inches from her nose before she tipped her head to look at him.
This stranger; this tall, dapperly dressed, incredibly handsome stranger, boldly and quite purposefully, winked at her. He smiled too, just a little. To add to Mallory’s consternation, there was a knowing look in his eye that warned her he knew far more about her situation than she realised.
“Who are you?” she asked suspiciously. “How do you know me?”
“I don’t know you,” the man replied.
He slid a look at the house. What he saw must have been reassuring because he edged closer.
“We will help you.”
“We? Who? Who are you?” Mallory frowned suspiciously at him.
A loud noise from within the house made the man step back several paces. Mallory tore her gaze away from him and dodged behind her sheet. She busied herself hanging several more items on the line before she turned to look at the man once more. Her stomach dropped to her toes beneath the weight of disappointment that slammed into her when she saw that the place where he had been standing was now empty. Glancing wildly about, Mallory looked for him, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He had vanished, as silently and swiftly as the gusts of wind that tore at her skirts.
Now where could you have disappeared to so suddenly? I cannot have imagined you, can I?
Mallory glanced at the ground but couldn’t see any indentations left in the grass by his booted feet.
“He hasn’t ever ventured into the kitchen before, even if he does work here,” she murmured thoughtfully.
She eyed the barn across the yard, the place where most of the master’s guards slept, but knew that the man hadn’t been dressed like any of the guards. The man had worn brown clothing whereas the guards all wore black. They strode around the perimeter of the property like ghouls waiting to capture the souls of the unwary. It was unnerving how they silently moved, as black as the night they usually inhabited.
“He isn’t one of them,” she mused.
But that left her to wonder just who in the heck he was? Moreover, how did he know about her situation? Who had told him about her if he hadn’t been into the kitchen to see for himself?
Mallory shivered, but this time it had nothing to do with the weather. She felt a deep well of foreboding begin to churn which was driven by the certain knowledge that something was amiss. Moreover, that something was going to happen that would change her life forever – again.
“Don’t be so foolish. Nothing is going to happen.”
But that reassurance fell flat because she knew that her circumstance couldn’t and wouldn’t carry on forever. At some point the master would send for her, just like he had with Jemima, and she wouldn’t return to the kitchen either.
“I don’t have a fear of dying. It is the fear of what I have to endure before death that is too hideous to face,” she muttered with growing alarm.
Mallory felt another wave of hunger-driven sickness slam through her. She sniffed and draped the next sheet over the washing line with hands that shook violently, this time because of the cold. Regardless, she continued to peg the washing out. As she did so, Mallory studied the yard at the back of the house.
Just beyond the kitchen gardens was a stable block, three sides of which opened out to a large barn surrounding which were fields. Miles and miles of open fields were interrupted by low stone walls and the occasional small group of trees. What concerned Mallory was that there was no place she could hide if she tried to run for her life. Someone would inevitably see her if she tried to leave during the daytime, of that there could be no doubt. There weren’t any buildings particularly safe to hide in if she left now and waited until nightfall.
“I have to go at night,” she murmured to herself as she lifted another sheet out of the basket. “I have to find a way out of the house once everyone has gone to bed.”
Shaking a sheet out, Mallory draped that over the line and pegged it into place as she tried to judge the distance between the barn and the low stone wall on the opposite side of the farthest field. The wall only came up to her hip. It would be impossible to hide behind. Still, it was the only physical barrier between her and watchful eyes within the house.
“I have to get out of here while I still have the energy. If I get influenza from being out here, I am going to be too ill to leave for a really long time.”
Mallory was so cold she was physically shaking yet was strangely starting to feel warm. It was inevitable she was going to be ill because of her inadequate clothing but suspected that was what Mrs Cummings wanted. The housekeeper enjoyed seeing people struggle through their heavy workload while battling illness. All the master’s paid staff seemed to enjoy inflicting as much misery on their victims as possible and didn’t care how depraved and physical they had to be to do it.
“I have to get out of here,” Mallory whispered only to wince when she heard the plaintive wail of her voice.
“I will help you,” came a disembodied whisper in reply.
Mallory jerked and glanced wildly about the garden she was in. The small hairs stood up on the back of her neck when she saw that she was seemingly still all alone. She knew that voice though. It belonged to the man. He was still around – somewhere – she just couldn’t see him.
“Where are you?” she whispered.
Heaving a huge sigh of relief that she hadn’t imagined him after all, Mallory tried not to be too obvious about what she was doing when she glanced around the empty garden in search of him.
“Hello?”
“Don’t look around. They are watching you and will only make you suffer if they think you aren’t doing your job properly. Carry on. Hurry up, and then you can get inside where it is warm.”
But Mallory didn’t want to return to the house. In fact, now that the time had come for her to have to walk through the back door, Mallory suspected that even wild horses could not drag her into the kitchen, back to the cruelty that was life within.
“I hate it,” she moaned. “I don’t belong here. I was kidnapped.”
The man didn’t reply. His lack of response made her wonder if she had just made a colossal error of judgement by confiding in him. The horrifying thought that he might have been sent outside by Mrs Cummings to mess around with her stole the rest of her breath. Mallory’s heart began to ache at the thought that anybody could be that cruel.
But I know they can be.
“Hello?”
There was no answer. It left Mallory feeling alone and more scared than ever before because it wasn’t just the man who had gone. He had taken his gentle tone and quiet reassurance with him.
“Go back inside.”
Mallory jerked once and closed her eyes to steady herself when relief swept through her. Slowly, despite the violence of her trembling, she leaned down to pick up another sheet. Snapping it crisply almost knocked her over, but she sniffed and forced herself to ignore the wild swirling of the world around her and focus on hanging the last of the washing out to dry.
“I am being held here against my will,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Who are you?”
“Just hurry up.”
“Why?”
“They will be out here to see what is taking you so long and will see us talking.”
Mallory knew he was right. If she was honest, she was surprised that nobody had come out to drag her back inside already. More importa
nt, Mallory knew that each moment she wasted chatting to the stranger was a moment she failed to make a break for freedom.
Could she? Should she? Dare she? What if it all went wrong? What would she do if she did manage to get away? Which way should she run?
“How do I leave? Which way do I go?” she gasped.
“You don’t.”
“I am going to.”
“Just wait.”
“Whatever for? They will kill me if I wait for much longer.”
“I know.”
Mallory gasped and swallowed. She felt sick, light-headed, detached, upon hearing that, and hopelessly stuck in her situation. She wasn’t at all sure what she should think or feel anymore. Refusing to contemplate it, Mallory flicked another sheet. When she turned to drape it over the line, she saw movement in the kitchen window. It was Mrs Cummings, checking on her.
“Mrs Cummings is nothing short of a witch,” Mallory hissed in disgust.
“Just focus on getting back inside where it is warm. Don’t make a run for it now. They will send the staff after you and make you disappear, just like they did with Jemima.”
“She is dead, isn’t she?”
The answering silence was unnerving.
Mallory was glad that the stranger didn’t reply. The vocal confirmation would only add to her fears about her own future survival.
With one last look around the garden, Mallory turned to look at the house. The door, as black as Mrs Cumming’s dress, stood out like the open maw of a mouth.
“The gates of Hell indeed,” Mallory whispered.
There was no answer from the man.
“Hello?”
Once again, Mallory wondered if he had left.
“I am still here.”
“I am not going to sit here and wait to be murdered.”
“You won’t be. You will be fetched.”
“By my captor.”
“No. By someone who is going to get you out of here. When he does turn up, trust him. He will keep you safe.”
“Who is he? Who are you?”
“Just wait.”
“Please. Just tell me. How long do I have to wait?”
Mallory waited but the wild wind swirled around her and brought with it an acute silence that was deafening. She sniffed and shivered and studied every nook and cranny in the garden but was painfully aware that she was now definitely all alone. All alone, scared, confused, and now more determined than ever to make a break for freedom regardless of what the man said.
With the washing now pegged out, and her basket empty, Mallory reluctantly returned to the house. When she was about to close the door, though, she spotted what she felt was a route she could take when she did try to escape.
“At nightfall,” she promised herself before quietly closing the door.
CHAPTER TWO
Callum cupped his hands over his mouth and blew into them before making a noise that was decidedly owl-like. He then waited for an answering call. Without moving, his gaze slid slowly over his surroundings. Covered from all sides by trees, he was relatively certain that the patrol slowly stalking the perimeter of the large house beyond the trees hadn’t seen him. They were, however, still far too close for him to be able to relax, so he stood, watchful and wary, while he waited for his contact to arrive.
Several minutes after his hoot, Callum sensed he was no longer alone. He was still surrounded in silence, but the air shifted and became almost palpable while the small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Callum tensed and waited for the attack. Without moving, his gaze slid swiftly over the woods once more, searching out the danger that had turned the atmosphere within the dense woods sinister.
Damn, he is good.
“For the love of God, don’t do that,” Callum breathed with a disgusted huff when his gaze landed on a man who was standing just three feet behind him.
Callum knew who that shrouded figure was even when Sir Hugo had his face almost completely obscured by the thick muffler and large hat. The only person Callum had ever met who could move so silently through woods was the boss of the Star Elite; Sir Hugo. It was unnerving that even when Callum acknowledged his presence, Sir Hugo didn’t move or speak. He appeared beside Callum silently, like a ghoul, and remained unnervingly still for several long and tense moments. It was only when Callum glanced over his shoulder that he realised Sir Hugo was watching a guard approach them.
Neither man moved while they waited for the unsuspecting guard to amble past on his half-hourly patrol. When he had disappeared, Sir Hugo turned around and glided into the darkness. Callum cautiously followed him and made sure he stepped into his boss’s footsteps, so he too made as little noise as possible.
“We have a huge problem,” Sir Hugo began without preamble when they had found a place sufficiently distant from the house that they could chat without being overheard.
“What?” Callum eyed the house.
It stood silent and unblinking, like a huge slumbering beast coiled to readiness to strike at anybody who ventured near it. Callum knew it was Melrose House. What he didn’t know was why Sir Hugo had asked him to meet with him there.
“Did you find her, the girl I told you about? Jemima?”
Callum mentally winced and nodded.
“What did you find?”
“Her throat had been cut, but only after she had sustained a severe beating,” Callum whispered. “They left her in a ditch about ten miles from here.”
He roughly shoved aside the brutal memory of that battered feminine face which had been covered in moss, dried blood, and dirt. As far as he was concerned, the discovery of Jemima’s body was a stain on the Star Elite’s credibility. They had failed to find her before Melrose, her kidnapper, had murdered her.
“There is another kidnap victim in the house,” Sir Hugo informed him. “She has to be freed. I cannot get inside the property to find out what they have planned for her. What I have learnt is that she has been here for a while.”
“She won’t be kept for much longer here then.” It wasn’t a question.
“Jemima had been here longer and was murdered last week,” Sir Hugo hissed. “They will gradually murder all of the women they cannot rehouse. Melrose and his gang know that we are not far behind them,” Callum informed him. “I doubt they will take Mallory with them when they leave here. She is extra baggage they don’t need. They could kill her at any moment. Have you heard anything about Melrose’s intentions? Is he planning to move on?”
Callum nodded. “Rumour has it that his contacts in London are expecting him to return next week.”
Sir Hugo hissed an epithet.
“Oliver has discovered that Argent has accommodated one of the kidnapped women in his hunting lodge. We have sent men to investigate and try to retrieve the woman if she is there,” Callum added.
The men paused once more for a few minutes while they watched another guard pass.
“Be careful out here. They have dogs,” Sir Hugo warned.
“What do you know about the woman?”
Sir Hugo sighed. “She wants to leave. I have warned her not to run for it, not least because I don’t think she would survive the ordeal. They are brutal here, Callum.”
Having seen the state of Jemima’s body, Callum didn’t doubt it.
Sir Hugo told him about Mallory being sent outside to peg the washing out while wearing nothing more than a light summer dress.
“It’s bloody winter,” Callum growled.
“Maybe they are hoping she dies of illness before they have to beat her to death too?”
Callum closed his eyes and cursed bitterly.
“They steal lives, Callum. They don’t care of those lives are stolen out from underneath the victim or beaten out of them. Anybody who steals another person’s life is condemnable. Melrose, and his staff, are to face the harshest of punishments.”
Callum wholeheartedly agreed. He rocked on the balls of his feet to try to get some warmth into his frozen toes.
Callum suspected he already knew but wanted his orders so he could get on with his job.
“I am going to need your help to get her out of here, Callum. With Jemima’s death we must assume that Melrose intends to dispose of Mallory next, assuming he doesn’t want her to go to London with him,” Sir Hugo began.
“That is her name? Mallory?” Callum lifted his brows and mentally ran through the list of women who had been snatched. “She is one of the recent victims.”
“It isn’t recent for her,” Sir Hugo warned. “Six months is a very long time for a person to be missing out of their life. Does Oliver know I have summoned you here?”
Callum nodded. “He received your note.”
“I sent the missive for just you,” Sir Hugo breathed. “The last thing I want is the men traipsing through here.”
“They are discrete,” Callum protested, being very quick to defend his colleagues.
“I know, but with the dogs-” Sir Hugo shook his head and sighed heavily.
Callum understood but still felt that they needed the men’s support to get a kidnap victim out of such a heavily fortified building, and away from Melrose and his brutality for good.
“Melrose definitely has something inside that house worth protecting, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, the proof of his guilt of the kidnapping and false imprisonment of several innocent young women,” Sir Hugo snorted coldly.
They watched the patrol pass by once more.
“He is even more on edge now that Argent has been put behind bars.”
“It has been three months now,” Callum growled.
“Melrose has been here for three months,” Sir Hugo warned. “While it would have taken time for him to hear of Argent’s fate, he would have heard about what happened from his friends weeks ago.”
“So why has he only just decided to do something about getting rid of the victims?” Callum challenged. “Why kill Jemima now?”
“Because he is moving on,” Sir Hugo said. “He can’t traipse to London with a kidnap victim, especially after Argent’s arrest.”