by Wilma Counts
This was a skill that Annabelle had mastered only very recently. She still could not write the entire alphabet without an error or two, but she knew the letters of her name. Hero handed over the paper and, in a mixture of lowercase and uppercase letters of various sizes, Annabelle laboriously wrote out the nine symbols of her name.
“There. Is that all right?”
“It is perfect,” Hero assured her.
“Can you have someone take it to him right away?”
Hero did so, but not before taking the letter downstairs and adding her own postscript to it. Lord Sterne: Please do consider Annabelle’s invitation, to which I sincerely add my own and those of my family. Today is Tuesday. I shall arrange for Annabelle to join the Whitby adults for supper on Thursday evening, and I hope you will be able to join us as well.
She signed the missive and sealed it with wax, then called for a footman. Davey answered the call. Hero gave him the letter and instructions to deliver it to the Abbey and wait for his lordship’s response. Davey returned within two hours. Lord Alexander Sterne would be most pleased to accept Miss Annabelle’s kind invitation. And that of her Auntie H’ro as well.
Hero delivered the news to Annabelle as the child was preparing for bed. Annabelle squealed with delight, and all the next day she pestered anyone who would listen with the news that she was to dine with the “big people” the next night and that her friend Lord Alexander would join them.
Hero tried to tell herself that her own reaction was just that Annabelle’s excitement was contagious, but she knew that was not the full story as she anticipated the visit with as much—albeit more subdued—excitement as the child. She spent a good deal of time on Wednesday mulling over what she would wear the following evening. It couldn’t be too formal, but she wanted to look her very best. She finally settled on an apricot Indian muslin which she’d had made in London last year when she visited her friends Harriet and Retta. It was designed very simply with a deep V-neckline and elbow-length sleeves.
After the evening meal that night and after Hero had seen the excited Annabelle to bed, she joined her father and Michael and Monique in the library. Hero and the two men were engaged with whatever authors had captured their attention this night; Monique was doing some fancy needlework. Her father retired about an hour and a half before midnight and soon afterwards Monique yawned politely and announced that she would do so as well.
“I shall be right up, my dear,” her husband responded. “As soon as I finish this chapter.”
“And another and another,” his wife said indulgently.
“You know me too well, my love.”
Monique had scarcely had time to get up to their room when there was a loud knocking at the front door. Hero heard Stewart rushing from the back of the house to answer the door. There was muffled talk, then Stewart knocked at the library door and entered as Hero called, “Come.”
“That boy, Trevor Prentiss, is here, Miss Hero, Dr. Michael. He insists that it is urgent that he speak with you.”
With a glance at Michael, Hero put aside her book. “Show him in.”
Stewart opened the door wider and the boy came in, shyly holding his cap in his hand, but he seemed rather agitated. And his clothes were wet, for it had been raining off and on all afternoon.
“What is it, Trevor?” Hero asked, rising from her chair.
“I didn’t know what else to do, so I come to tell you,” he said.
“Tell us what?” she asked.
“It’s about Mr. Wainwright—I mean Lord Sterne.”
“What about him?” She felt a chill of apprehension. “Has something happened to him?”
“I-I ain’t rightly sure, miss. Probably not yet.” The boy looked distraught and twisted his cap furiously.
Michael too had risen. “Here. Sit down and tell us what is going on.”
When they were all seated, Trevor said, “I know I wasn’t s’posed to be there, but I had a terrible row with my ma and my sister this afternoon. I just had to get away, you see. So I went out to the Thompson farm. Ain’t been anyone living there for months, don’t you know?”
“What has this to do with Lord Sterne?” Hero asked impatiently.
“I’m getting to it,” Trevor said.
“Don’t rush him, Hero,” Michael said.
She gritted her teeth and kept quiet as the boy went on.
“We used the barn there—you know—when I was with Teague’s gang.” He seemed embarrassed at admitting this in front of Michael. “So I thought I’d spend the night in the loft there—just let my ma and sister worry a bit, you see. I know it was wrong, but I was just that mad at them.”
“So you are in the loft of the barn on the Thompson place,” Michael prodded.
“I thought the place was deserted after that mess with the militia an’ all.” Trevor gulped. “But pretty soon, it wasn’t. I’m up in the loft and I hear these horses and men come in the barn. I’m real quiet, because it’s Mr. Teague and two of those men he brought from Bristol. Those fellows can be real mean. I think they’d been drinking, too. They was talkin’ real loud.”
“And—?” Hero could not help herself; she motioned for him to get on with it.
“And they were planning to hurt Lord Sterne. ‘Teach that bastard a lesson once and for all—tonight, then we head out of here,’ Mr. Teague said. Sorry about the language, Miss Whitby. ‘How you gonna do that?’ one of the others asked. ‘Yeah. That house is a fortress, Will,’ the other one said. Mr. Teague, he just laughed an’ said, ‘You’ll see.’ Then he said something about getting some food first and all three of them went into the farmhouse ʼn’ I lit out o’ there. I guess they been hidin’ there all this time, ʼcept they went somewhere to get that drunk today.”
“But you don’t know how they plan to storm that fortress?” Michael asked.
“No, sir. I ain’t never been in the Abbey. Only that farm an’ some caves.”
“I know,” Hero said. “Michael, we have to stop them. We can’t let them harm him. Again. These are the people behind that awful beating he took. They could kill him this time.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Michael said. “You just tell me how they are gaining entrance. Stewart and I will warn him.” He went to the bellpull to summon Stewart.
“I am coming too,” she said.
“Hero, this could be dangerous. It’s no place for a woman.”
“I am coming,” she said adamantly. “You cannot stop me.”
Stewart arrived and addressed Michael, who was still standing. “You wanted something, sir?”
Hero jumped to her feet. “Stewart, we are going on a rescue mission.” She explained the situation much more briefly than Trevor had. “Will you help us?”
Stewart said, “For Lord Sterne? Anything.”
“Have Perkins prepare mounts for us—a regular saddle for me—and ask him to come along. We will need lanterns. And weapons. Michael, those are in the gun safe in Papa’s office.”
“My God, Hero, just tell me what you have in mind and I’ll do it. There is no reason to put yourself at such risk.”
“Please, Michael, this is no time to argue with me. I. Am. Going. I cannot lose him.” She scarcely realized what she had said.
Something in her manner convinced him. “Just let me tell Monique what’s happening.”
“Hurry.”
Michael and Stewart left the room.
“Miss Whitby,” Trevor asked, “can I come too? I-I sort of owe his lordship.”
“Yes, you do, Trevor,” she said gently, “but actually what I would like you to do is ride back into town and tell Mr. Porter what is happening. Ask him to get some trustworthy men to come out to the Abbey and take Teague and his bully boys into custody. Colonel Phillips and his men all left Weyburn yesterday.”
“Yes, ma’am. I can do that.”
>
Hero did not take time to change into a riding habit, but she did slip on a pair of pantaloons under her skirt to protect her legs as she rode astride. She grabbed a cloak, and within minutes, she and Michael met Stewart and Perkins in the stable, and they distributed lanterns and weapons.
“We are heading for the beach below the Abbey,” she told them.
“Whoa!” Michael said. “Why don’t we just approach the Abbey directly? It would be quicker.”
“And those scoundrels might see us coming a mile away and do something drastic,” she said. “Now—please—let’s just go!”
They headed for the beach.
“We will ride to the bottom of the Abbey cliff,” she explained. “The cave there has a tunnel that leads up to the cellar of the Abbey. That’s how Teague will get in. He should be already through the tunnel by the time we arrive, but let’s hope he has not done any real harm to Alex or any of the Abbey staff.”
“You missed your calling, little sister,” Michael told her. “Wellington could have used you among his staff officers.”
That was the last talking they did until they reached the cave. They took the horses as far into the cave as they could, then dismounted. Hero was not surprised to see three other animals tied up in the cave at that point. She conferred with Michael and they agreed to strip all the mounts of saddles and bridles and simply turn them loose. Perkins assured them that the animals would all likely find their way home. He would send a stable boy to retrieve the gear the next day.
From that point, crude stone steps led steadily upward, until they encountered a door into what had once been an immense storage area for an abbey that served a small community of religious brothers. It was virtually bare now, with only some empty sacks and broken boxes lying around.
“There’s a door along one wall,” Hero said softly.
They held the lanterns high to search for the door, but actually muddy footprints showed them the way.
Chapter 23
Alex had had a busy day. Somehow the word had leaked out that he was hiring men to do such things as mend leaky roofs, rebuild damaged fences, lay cobblestones around the entrance to the mine, and myriad other tasks, large and small. Moreover, the applicants seemed to have learned that Lord Alexander Sterne—formerly Major Lord Alexander Sterne—was likely to give priority to former soldiers. Alex had caught two would-be roofers and fence menders trying to pass themselves off as veterans merely to obtain a job. One had been so stupid as to confuse Brown Bess—the nickname of the army’s muzzle-loading musket—with the name of a cow! Alex and Mac had laughed heartily over that, even as they recognized the desperation of men seeking work—any paying work.
He had also met with Sir James Horner, a man with more money that wit, whose imprudent loans to the Prince Regent had brought him an undeserved knighthood—and the position of local magistrate. Apparently Teague had intimidated the poor man to the point that the judge automatically released any of the former steward’s cronies who happened to be caught at cross-purposes with the law—regardless of the severity of the charge. Alex assured him that his life was not in danger, and his comely young granddaughters would be perfectly safe while visiting their grandparents, and therefore he could begin to uphold the law properly. And—Alex had gone into the mercantile store to drop a hint to Mr. Wellman that it might be a good idea if he no longer tampered with mail to or from the Abbey. Wellman seemed perfectly agreeable to that plan.
Thus his lordship had that night gone to bed early, though not before looking in on Mac to ensure that the Abbey’s impatient patient was faring well. Alex awoke sometime after midnight with a vague feeling of unrest that he somehow felt was not tied to his usual round of reliving battlefield scenes. He had gone to sleep with his lamp still burning brightly and his book across his chest. There! He heard it again. Something, or—more likely—someone moving stealthily in his dressing room. The only person besides himself who would have reason to be there was Mac—and he knew Mac to be sleeping soundly, for Alex himself had delivered the dose of laudanum.
He pushed the book aside and raised up enough to reach for the pistol that he kept by habit in a drawer of his nightstand. Before his fingers fastened on the weapon, the dressing room door burst open and Teague strutted through it with a pistol in one hand. He stepped into the middle of the room and pointed the weapon at Alex.
“Don’t even think of completing that move, your ever-so-noble lordship,” Teague said with a sneer. Without taking his eyes from Alex, Teague called out, “Bring them in here. I want them to see what happens to those who cross me, who are disloyal to me.” Mr. and Mrs. Mullins, both clearly scared out of their wits, were shoved into the room.
“Meet my in-laws,” Teague said with a nasty laugh. Alex raised an eyebrow at this information and Teague added, “Hah! Didn’t know that little detail, did you?”
“Please, my lord,” Mrs. Mullins cried. “He said we would never see our grandchildren again if we didn’t help him.”
“I told you to keep quiet,” Teague said and backhanded her in the face with the hand not holding his pistol. She cried out and staggered. Her husband tried to go to her aid, but one of the other men touched a gun to his brow and the butler went very still. Alex quickly swung his legs to the side of the bed and started to rise.
“Uh-uh. Just sit right there, Sterne. You move again and they die.”
“I’m the one you seem to be after here,” Alex said. “Why not let them go?”
“I’ve a few bones to pick with them as well. Meddling old fools—incapable of following orders. Even worse, they lack a sense of loyalty. After all I’ve done for them.”
“Done for us?” Mullins muttered, despite the gun still against his temple. Alex admired his courage, even as his own mind worked furiously for a way out of this situation.
“Drove our sweet Letty to her death is what he did,” Mrs. Mullins said, with a sob and a hand to her reddening cheek.
“Let them go,” Alex said. “What is it you want? Money? Is that it? I haven’t much on hand, but you can have it.”
“Oh, I’ll have it. But first I’ll make you pay in pain for what you’ve done to me. I think we’ll start with the right knee. What do you say, Tom? The right one?”
“Ah, I don’t know, Will. They’re both so purty, ain’t they?” Tom was the one holding the gun at Mullins’s head. He leered at Alex. “But let’s get on with it, Will. You told us there’s a couple of pretty little maids we could have. And there’s that lovely cellar we came through.”
Teague gave an evil laugh. “Right one first, then. You do it, Joe. I want to watch as he absorbs the pain.”
Joe, who had been standing next to Mrs. Mullins said, “Sure thing, boss.” He stepped away from her and took aim, but before he could pull the trigger, she grabbed his arm and the shot went wild.
Tom, the other gunman, moved the angle of his gun to take the shot, but Mullins thrust a sharp elbow into his ribs, knocking him off balance. Tom fell to the floor, dropping the gun as he took Mullins with him. Before any of them could recover from that surprise, the door to the hallway burst open and Michael Whitby said rather calmly, “That will be enough of that kind of fun, I think.” Alex’s heart jumped as he saw Hero right behind him.
Teague instantly turned his gun toward the two in the door. There was another shot. Teague uttered a cry, grabbed at his chest, and fell to the floor. Everyone stared in wonder for a split second, then looked to see who had fired the shot. All eyes centered on Mullins. Somehow, he had managed to wrest control of Tom’s weapon and fired from the floor.
Stewart and Perkins burst into the room, their pistols ready. Joe, apparently seeing the futility of pursuing this venture, dropped his weapon and he and Tom raised their hands. As Michael bent to check Teague’s pulse, Hero ran to the bed to enfold Alex in her arms.
“Are you all right?” she whispered. “Please
tell me you are all right.”
“Naked and embarrassed,” he said against her chest, “but I think I am going to be fine—that is, we are going to be fine.” He held her tightly for a moment, then pulled her down to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.
Michael stood and shook his head. “He’s dead,” he said.
“I wish I could say I’m sorry,” Mrs. Mullins said. “He was an evil man. Handsome devil, but evil. Letty was just so taken with him.”
“That was some shot, mister,” Michael said to Mullins.
“I served in the colonies in the seventies,” Mullins said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Haven’t shot a gun since. ’Til now.”
His wife went to put her arms around his waist and lay her head on his chest. “It’s all right, my dear. Our nightmare is over.”
“If you all will take these two miscreants down to the library and watch over them, I shall endeavor to get dressed and join you there,” Alex said, reluctantly releasing Hero’s hand, which he’d been holding. “I’m sure Mullins can find some rope to restrain them,”
“Yes, sir,” Mullins said.
Alex dressed hurriedly in the first garments that came to hand—his buckskins and a cotton shirt that he did not bother to tuck in at the waist, though he rolled up the cuffs of the sleeves. Nor did he take time to wrestle with his boots, opting for his slippers. Well, it isn’t a fashionable affair, he told himself.
Downstairs, he found his library quite crowded. Samuel Porter had arrived with five townsmen. They were disappointed at having missed the action, but they readily took charge of the two prisoners, and the dead body as well, though not before they had learned the details of this night’s sorry business. Alex knew it would be all over the town and into the countryside by midday.
As the townsmen departed, Alex, standing with Hero at his side, made a point of thanking Trevor Prentiss. “I think your father would have been proud of you for this night’s work, Prentiss.”
“Thank you, sir.”
With that lot gone, Michael said, “My lord, if you will lend us a means of transportation, the Whitby party will leave as well.”