Sophia looked down into the glass. It looked and smelled like brandy. The last time she had drank this was after her rescue from Lord Percer, and then it had been a small sip. A very unpleasant one.
“Sip very slowly,” Lady Atwood instructed as she brought the crystal to Sophia’s lips.
Sophia obeyed, but when the bitter liquid burned a path down her throat she turned away. How did adults drink this vile stuff?
“Another sip,” Lady Atwood coaxed.
Her belly began to warm and though she did not wish to taste the brandy again, she obeyed Lady Atwood. The second sip wasn’t nearly as abhorrent as the first. Perhaps it was because she was prepared, or maybe she was getting better.
“Just one more.”
This time Sophia took the drink without hesitation.
“Now, I want you to sit on that bench beneath the tree.”
Sophia looked to where she was pointing. The lamplight cast a warm glow on the seat.
“Rosemary and Eliza will stay with you.”
She nodded and made her way to the seat.
“I won’t be gone long. I’m going to ask Cook to brew a calming tea and bring you a cup as soon as it is prepared.”
Sophia didn’t acknowledge her words, but plopped down, drawing her arms about her body and rubbing them as if to ward off a chill. Eliza and Rosemary settled beside her. She looked toward the path. “I need to help Miss Pritchard,” she whispered.
Eliza jumped to her feet and lifted the lamplight. “Then we shall.”
Anton pulled up on the reins. As requested, Miss Morris remained along the road, waiting patiently as he checked houses along the shore since exiting the woods. They had visited five so far and none contained Natasha. How much farther? He glanced down the road and noted at least ten more houses within sight. This search was taking too long. What if Natasha wasn’t even here? What if Vanko had loaded her into a carriage and they were half way to London by now?
A few houses were occupied, but Anton had not knocked on any doors. Instead, he peeked in windows along the ground floor. There was no evidence Natasha was being kept in any of them. Perhaps he should inquire if residents had seen anything.
“I scouted along the beach,” he told Miss Morris. “Only three more houses have fishing boats tied to a dock.”
She nodded.
“If she is not in any of them, I’ll begin knocking on doors and asking for information.” He studied the houses. One had lights on one side in the lower level but the upper stories were dark. A hint of foreboding settled upon him.
Natasha was being kept there.
There was no evidence to indicate this, yet Anton knew, in his gut, that is where she was. “I will go there,” he announced.
Miss Morris waited, as she had done, by the side of the road as Anton dismounted and made his way toward the house.
Silently, he crept forward, staying to the shadows the best that he could, but there were few trees and bushes to hide him from anyone looking out the windows. He slipped around the backside of the house and paused. Light from the lamps within spilled into the darkness. Anton edged along the house toward the window, careful to step lightly and not on anything that could alert those into the house as to his presence.
When he reached the window, he crouched low and slowly lifted to peek into the room.
His heart stilled at the sight. Natasha stood before the fire. Her stained lavender gown fell limply from her body and her usually vibrant auburn curls hung haphazardly down her back, dull and disheveled. He glanced back to see if anyone was close. The only person within sight was Miss Morris. He looked into the room once again to study the layout. There were two doors entering the long sitting room.
Anton clenched his jaw but kept himself from calling out when Vanko entered the room a moment later. He would kill the bastard as soon as he got the opportunity.
He didn’t wait to watch further and silently walked backward to peer through a small window beside the door. A long hallway ran from one end of the house to the other and light spilled from the two doors. There was no way to enter the room where Natasha was held without being seen by Vanko.
31
Compelled, therefore, to remain where she was, she sat in a state of fearful distress,
which no colour of language can paint.
A Sicilian Romance
Ann Radcliffe
“Ah, your husband has arrived sooner than expected.” Vanko announced as he marched back into the room and jerked on Natalie’s elbow before he none-too-gently pulled her toward the chair. He sounded pleased, as if he looked forward to the prospect of facing Anton.
Natasha strained to look out the windows, but the lights from inside prevented her from seeing anything beyond the glass.
“I can’t allow you to be free, thus in a position to get in my way when he comes for you.”
Her pulse sped. If she was tied to the chair once again she would be of no assistance to Anton. Once he entered the room Vanko would shoot him. Or, Vanko would shoot her before killing Anton. Neither situation was acceptable. Natalie struggled to yank her arm from Vanko’s hold.
His hand tightened and she nearly cried out at the pain.
“Do not choose to be difficult, Natasha.”
She clawed at his grip. She would not be willingly led like a lamb to the slaughter.
He chuckled. Her attempts had no effect on his grip even though the scratches on the back of his hand bled. If he held any tighter the bone would be crushed. Natalie had underestimated his strength and tears pricked her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or fear. Or, possibly both. Her heart pounded the closer they came to the chair. She didn’t care if he did break her arm; she was not going to sit there to be tied, waiting to be killed.
Natalie wheeled on him and brought her fist up, putting all of her weight behind the punch in an attempt to strike him in the nose. Vanko turned his head at the last moment and she grazed his cheek, doing little damage, if any. In an instant he had her off of her feet and slammed into the chair knocking all breath from her body. Natalie reared back, planted her feet on the floor and pushed up from the chair. Vanko shoved her back and brought a leg over her thighs as he grabbed a rope to tie one wrist.
She struggled against him, but his weight was too much, as was his strength. She pounded on his shoulder with her free hand, but it had about as much of an effect as a fly. Panic surged and she fought harder, wiggling and trying to dislodge him from her body. Nothing she did caused to him to shift even a muscle.
Once the first wrist was tied he turned to the other, grasping her arm with a crushing fist and forcing it down on the arm of the chair before he knotted the rope around it. His movement allowed her legs to be free and she kicked out at him. Her skirts tangled with her feet, making it impossible to strike him with any noticeable force.
Vanko simply chuckled. She glared up at him. “It is a shame I must kill you.”
Natalie opened her mouth to scream. Surely, Anton was now close enough to hear her. Before any sound could emerge, Vanko tied the gag around her head and she was silenced. Despite being tied and muzzled, she continued to struggle against her bindings to no avail.
When the front door opened, Vanko straightened and Natalie stilled. She waited to hear the familiar footfalls of Anton. No other sound came.
Vanko lifted the pistol from the table and silently walked toward the opening into the room and paused before he flattened himself against the wall just inside the door and waited.
There were guns and she was seated in the center of the room. Her situation was precarious and she could only pray that when bullets did fly, as they surely would, that she was not struck in the cross fire, or anyone for that matter, except perhaps Vanko. She didn’t care if he was shot.
The brush of a foot against the floorboard outside the parlor drew Natalie’s attention and she watched the opening, waiting for Anton to appear. Her breath lodged in her throat as Vanko stiffened and lifted his gun.<
br />
Anton tried five windows in the darkened portion of the house before he found one that was not locked. He had not relished the idea of climbing a tree and trying the upper level, nor did he want to waste such time. He stared into the dark room, waiting for his eyes to adjust and began to make out the shadowed furnishings inside. It appeared to be a library of sorts with a desk off to his left. Just inside the window was a small table and two chairs.
He climbed silently on the edge and stepped into the room and onto one of the cushioned seats. He steadied himself before sliding to the floor, holding his breath and hoping the wood did not creak beneath his weight. A strong wind blew off of the sea, bellowing the curtains inward. A crystal vase was knocked by the curtain and Anton barely caught it before it crashed to the floor and placed it back on the table. He quickly turned and closed the window before something else was disturbed that would alert Vanko to his presence in the house.
Snaking across the room, watching for anything in his path that might disturb the quiet, he finally reached the door. He cracked it open and peeked into the corridor. This room emerged out into the hall he had viewed from the window beside the front door, but located beneath the wide stairs, and had not been visible to him. Anton slipped out and soundlessly closed the door behind him. Light spilled from the entrance to his right.
Vanko and Natasha had been toward the front of the house. He leaned around the stairs to the left. Shadows from movement inside danced on the floor. The figure appeared to be that of a man. The silhouette moved then turned and became definable for a moment before it disappeared. Vanko held a gun. Anton flattened himself against the wall, closed his eyes and listened. There were no sounds from the room, but someone opened the front door. The slightest breeze blew through the hall and the quiet footsteps were barely discernable on the wood floor.
Who else was here?
He took a deep breath, slid a gun from the pocket inside of his coat and stepped forward, enough so he could glimpse around the wall of stairs. His heart pounded and then ceased for a moment when he saw who had entered.
What the bloody hell was she doing here?
Anton flattened himself against the wall once again and waited. It would be impossible to rescue both and he would be forced to wait until Vanko was occupied to make his move.
32
When at length this unwelcome truth is received into the mind, we are first reject, with
disgust, every appearance of good, we disdain to partake of a happiness which we
cannot always command, and we are not unfrequently sink into a temporary despair.
A Sicilian Romance
Ann Radcliffe
Natalie couldn’t breathe for fear of what Vanko would do when Anton emerged. She couldn’t bear to see her husband killed. It didn’t matter how angry she had been at him just a few short days ago. She wanted a future with him. Needed her future with Anton. Two years had already been wasted and she would not allow him to be taken from her now.
If only things had been different. If he had been able to escape when they first married, she would have had two wonderful years with him. Would they have had children? Surely at least one would have been born.
They would have been happy. Now all possibilities and dreams were going to be stolen from her, just as they had been the night Anton had been shot and arrested. She wouldn’t stand for it. It was too unfair for her to lose her husband just when she had gotten him back! Tears escaped her eyes.
Vanko straightened his arm, aiming the gun at the intruder and stepped into the hall. “Ah, Miss Morris, this is unexpected.”
Natalie blinked. What was Claudia doing here? She was certain Anton had arrived. Oh, she wished she could see into the hall from this position.
“Where is Anton?” Vanko demanded.
“Searching another house.”
Natalie admired the calm in Claudia’s voice. She wasn’t sure she could sound as unflappable if Vanko was holding a gun on her.
“I saw him walk toward this house.” The click of a gun echoed in the silence.
“You did.” Anton’s voice came from farther down the hall.
Natalie struggled against her bindings. She had to get to him. Had to help.
The report of a gun and then a second explosion echoed in her ears along with Claudia’s cry. Natalie struggled harder against the ropes. Please don’t let Anton or Claudia be hurt. What if Vanko killed them both? She would be next?
No, she couldn’t think that way, but why wasn’t anyone saying anything? Why was there such silence all of a sudden?
Someone groaned. Natalie strained to determine if it was a man or a woman, and from where it had come.
She would cry out but the gag kept her silent.
More tears escaped down her cheeks. What was happening? Who was hurt? Who was dead? Where was Atwood? Hadn’t they come with Anton and Claudia? Why wasn’t anyone moving, or talking, or coming for her?
Glass shattered at the back of the house before something slammed against the wall. Had someone come in the other door?
“Bloody hell.”
That was Atwood’s voice. Natalie tried to call out but it was impossible.
“Miss Prtitchard?” he cried. “Where are you?”
As much as she struggled and tried to work the tie from her mouth, it only resulted in making her gag. She couldn’t choke to death now that she was about to be rescued.
Atwood stepped into the room, glanced around and when he spotted her ran forward. He dragged the tie from her face first.
“Anton?” she cried.
“In the hall,” he answered.
Natalie’s eyes stared into Anton’s. “Is he dead?”
He said nothing and pulled a knife from his pocket and began sawing against the ropes at her wrist.
“Is he dead?” she screamed.
He paused but a second and looked up. “I don’t know.”
“Go!” she ordered as one rope loosened and she was able to free her wrist. “Save him and I will get myself free.”
Atwood jumped to his feet and rushed from the room. Natalie grabbed the knife that he had dropped into her lap and tore at her bindings.
More groaning came from the hall and she prayed it was Anton and Claudia and not Vanko.
“Help me,” Claudia called weakly. “Get him off of me.”
Footsteps pounded down the hall closest to Natalie, where Claudia had been just on the other side of the wall. Her second binding came loose as Atwood grunted. Something thumped against the floor.
Natalie didn’t stop to determine the cause but ran through the room and out the other door, where she expected Anton to be. She slid to stop and went down on her knees before his prone body. Blood covered the side of his face and began to pool on the floor beneath his head. There was so much she was afraid to wipe it away for fear of what she would find. What if there was a deep hole into his head? He could never recover from that. “Anton! Don’t you dare die on me now!”
His eyes twitched.
“Anton, wake up!”
His head moved slightly to the side.
“Wake up! Do you hear me?” Tears spilled down her cheek as her heart raced with fear. She couldn’t lose him now, not again. He was hear heart and she could not survive his death a second time.
Anton’s eyes opened ever so slightly. “You are screaming loud enough to wake the dead. Of course I hear you,” he groaned.
“At least it woke you. That is all that matters.” She blew out a breath as she was swamped with relief. He was going to recover. He had to.
His hand come up to his forehead and he winced when his fingers encountered the injury. She pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped around the area that appeared to be the source of the blood. A wound, still bleeding, ran from just above his temple along the side of his head. Her hands began to shake when she realized how close Vanko had come to killing him, but it appeared to have only broken the skin. He would live, as long as the wound didn’
t fester.
“My head is killing me.”
For the first time in over a day Natalie smiled. He was going to survive. “As it should, but I will take care of you.”
His eyes opened wider, their blue depths locked with hers. “I may have to linger in bed as long as possible if you are to see to my every comfort.”
Unable to help herself, she chuckled. “Now I know you are going to recover.”
Anton struggled before pushing himself into a seated position. Natalie held the handkerchief against his head, though it wasn’t doing any good, already soaked through.
“Hold this,” she instructed. Once he had his hand against his head she lifted her skirt, tore a piece from the underskirt, folded it into a thick pad and replaced the ruined handkerchief.
“Miss Morris, are you injured?” Anton asked with alarm.
Natalie turned to look toward her friend. The front of Claudia’s dress was covered in blood while Atwood supported her with an arm around her waist.
“No.”
Vanko’s body lay slumped to the side on the floor. From what Natalie could tell he was not breathing.
The girls had run through the woods. They had gone this way before, not that their teachers were ever aware. When they reached the road the stopped and looked, trying to determine where the adults had gone.
Sophia jumped when the shots rang out. While Rosemary and Eliza took off running in direction of the sound, she couldn’t move. What would they find? Did she want to see?
“Come along,” Eliza insisted.
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can,” Rosemary said as she came back to grab Sophia’s arm.
“What if we are needed?” Eliza suggested.
Yes, they may be needed. Sophia took a deep, fortifying breath and allowed Rosemary to pull her to the house where the shots had come from. The crept along the back because the front door was shut, and looked into the windows of the light room, but nothing could be seen. As they came to the rear of the house, the door was open and they peered in. Mr. Kazakov sat on the floor, his head covered in blood with Miss Pritchard beside him. Farther down the hall was Lord Atwood and beside him stood Miss Morris, also covered in blood. Sophia gasped and all four adults turned in their direction.
Ghosts from the Past (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies) Page 21