by Rebecca King
‘We just want the girl,’ the oldest thug snapped.
‘She isn’t here. I would warn you that kidnapping is illegal in this country. Try to snatch her against her will, to return her to her father or not, you will be arrested. Now where are you staying?’
‘The Dockside.’
‘Expect a visit from the magistrate,’ Phillip assured them. ‘For now, get off my land and don’t come back here.’
The thug eyed Phillip’s wound. Phillip expected questions but when their gazes met, the thug read the hidden warning in his gaze and didn’t bother to ask. Silently, the men turned and left. Phillip followed them to their horses and watched them mount.
‘If you see her tell her that her father wants her to return home. She has stolen some money and he wants it back.’
‘So, he has sent out armed thugs to get it back,’ Phillip snorted, not believing the story for a second. ‘How much has she stolen?’
‘Ten pounds.’
‘Twenty pounds,’ the thugs replied in unison.
Phillip threw them a sceptical look and shook his head. ‘Be sure of your facts before you try to lie about your supposed victim. If you are not sure what she has stolen you cannot prove that she has stolen anything, can you?’
He watched the thugs frown at each other. Despite giving them a moment or two to think that one through neither thug was intelligent enough to understand that he meant.
‘God, you are both brutal and stupid, aren’t you?’ he growled. ‘You don’t know how much she has stolen so you cannot accuse her of stealing anything, can you? What do you tell the magistrate that she has stolen, ten pounds or twenty? There is a big difference. If you don’t know, how would he know what to charge her with?’ Phillip braced his hands on his hips and glared at each man in turn. ‘But I don’t suppose that men like you would take her to the magistrate for theft. You are the kidnapping kind of thug. The ones who are inclined to force women to go somewhere they don’t want to go even at gunpoint. Before you go, both of you can tell me what you know about Claude Smidgley.’
The older thug scowled at him. ‘That’s the one who is all over the newspapers, isn’t it? I have heard them talking about him in the tavern. He is wanted for kidnapping people. We don’t have anything to do with him.’
‘Really?’ Phillip mused suspiciously. ‘So why are you trying to snatch young women off the street and lying about them supposedly stealing money?’
‘We probably have the wrong house,’ the other thug said with a searching look at the still and silent property behind him.
‘Yes, you do have the wrong house.’ Phillip waved the men toward the driveway. ‘Get off this property and don’t come back. You are not welcome here.’
He remained perfectly still and watched them leave. When they had gone, he too turned to look at the house but didn’t go back inside. Instead, disappeared into the trees to look for Claude Smidgley.
CHAPTER THREE
Carlotta cleared the work surfaces in the kitchen and put her precious supply of food back into her basket. Tucking it neatly back into the dresser, she closed the door with a quiet click and turned to study the room. It was very much like it had been the day she had arrived several weeks ago. At first glance it was difficult to believe that anybody had been living there but it was now occupied by two people.
‘I wonder where you have gone,’ she mused as she studied the tidy kitchen.
Rather than stay in the kitchen and worry, Carlotta went in search of the route Phillip had used to get into the house. She wanted to know how someone could get inside with all the windows locked and shutters drawn. Had he smashed a window? Would her father’s thugs be able to see the damage and use it get inside as well? The prospect of them coming into the house was enough to make her hurry as she checked every window, lock, door, and shutter.
Half an hour later, Carlotta returned to the kitchen, a little stymied by the fact that she hadn’t found anything amiss. Everything was as she had left it that morning when she had set off for the village. ‘So how have you gotten in?’ she whispered. ‘I haven’t imagined you.’
She huffed a laugh and tried to find some evidence that he had been in the property only to realise that there was none.
‘You cannot be a ghost.’
Curious, and becoming increasingly concerned that the house might not be as safe as she had though it was, Carlotta retraced her steps and checked everything once again.
‘How?’ she asked in consternation several long moments later.
It was annoying that he wasn’t there to ask. She had to wonder why he had gone into the woods when he knew there was a crazed man in them. What was he hoping to do? Was he the man’s friend?
‘Please do not bring him back here,’ she hissed.
Carlotta began to wonder then if Phillip intended to come back at all. Had he used the man in the woods as an excuse to leave? If so, why? What had he been in the house to do? Had he stolen anything? She hadn’t rummaged through the cupboards to know what they contained so had no idea if anything had disappeared with him. What she did know was that she hadn’t found any way he could have gained entry to the property and that worried her more than anything, partly because she had no idea when he would be back.
‘He can get in here whenever he wants apparently. I can only hope that nobody else can,’ she whispered aloud.
It was only when she had settled in a large chair in the library that Carlotta began to contemplate the man who brought her questions. ‘You must have something to do with those thugs of fathers. You left together. Maybe you have gone somewhere else to have a conversation with them without me seeing you. Maybe you wanted to get in here to find out what this house is like so when you do break in here you know where to find me.’
If he did return with the thugs, Carlotta knew she would never be able to outrun the three of them. The idea that someone like Phillip would betray her made her feel sick, but as much as she found the prospect disturbing, Carlotta knew it was wise to contemplate it.
‘I have to leave now, before he comes back and brings someone with him,’ she whispered.
Her reluctance to leave the house was strong but Carlotta forced herself out of her chair. She made her way to her bed chamber and began to gather her meagre possessions. While she packed she thought about Phillip and what connection he had to the man in the woods. Had the man in the woods hurt Phillip? Or had the man in the woods asked for her help because Phillip was after him and had hurt him?
The thought that she might have handed the man over to Phillip to harm was enough to make Carlotta shake. It was only the mental image of Phillip that made her hesitate to condemn him as brutal enough to inflict injuries on someone. There was something about Phillip that wasn’t like her father, who she knew from experience was brutal. Phillip had been calm and had not done anything overly worrying.
‘Just because he didn’t hurt me doesn’t mean I should trust him. I have to leave before he comes back,’ she muttered.
When she had everything she needed, Carlotta reluctantly donned her shawl and let herself out of the house. It worried her more than she could even comprehend to have to leave. The house had been her sanctuary. Even if she hadn’t been using it to hide from her father, Carlotta loved the house. It was a large, sprawling place battered by the sea winds but resolute in its elegance. It was opulent yet understated like an stoic old lady who was sturdy enough to withstand the test of time.
Leaving was the hardest thing Carlotta had ever done, especially when she opened the back door and saw a large fog bank rolling steadily toward the coast. She had already learnt how fast fog banks could descend the world into an eerie dullness that was frightening. Dare she risk being caught out in it? She had two choices: she could either go to the beach and walk along it now that the tide was out and hope she could get up the cliffs further along the rugged coastline to safety before the sea returned. Or, she could venture back into the woods but head in the opposite direction to
the village, away from the area where the man had accosted her. She knew that she was then heading toward the Bladley Weeks, the place where the thugs had raged the gun battle last night.
But surely the gunmen who had survived the battle had left the area by now.
‘I hope so because there really isn’t anywhere else I can go,’ she sighed.
Squaring her shoulders, Carlotta stared hard at the trees she stomped toward. Everything within her was screaming at her not to leave the house; to turn around and return to the warmth of the fireplace, but she kept walking. Inside, a small voice was asking her if she was really running because of her distrust of Phillip or because of her attraction to him. He was, by far, the most handsome man she had ever met. He was powerful, tall, solid and strong. There was something about him that made her shiver, and it wasn’t because she felt threatened or worried by him. She sensed he was a lethal adversary but also the kind of man who would fight to the death for those he cared about.
‘God, now I am going too far,’ she muttered.
Once in the woods, she found a small trail hidden in the undergrowth. It ran parallel to the jagged cliff edge. While it helped her try to find Bladley Weeks, the fog bank was going to make her journey perilous if the path became difficult to see. Regardless of the danger, Carlotta knew she had to follow it.
‘Not again,’ she breathed a while later when she began to get the distinct feeling that she was no longer alone.
At first she tried to ignore it, but with each passing moment the sensation compelled her to run. She could feel the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and a burning sensation between her shoulders began to build. Carlotta clutched her bag until her fingers ached. It was the only thing she could use to defend herself if anyone tried to grab her. She forced herself to keep going but was eventually forced to stop because the fog bank had reached the coast. Within seconds, the sun was blocked by the thickness. The woods became still and silent as even the wildlife found shelter. The only noise she could hear was the rasp of her own breath. Somewhere behind her, the dull thud of what sounded like a boot breaking the claustrophobic silence made her jump. She spun around but could see nothing except swirling fog. Within that fog though was a dark figure, she was sure of it. As she watched, the fog swirled and parted enough to reveal the hint of a man. It wasn’t Phillip. He was far taller than the man behind her who was also stouter. Thankfully, the man in the fog didn’t see her. He had his back to her but was looking for her, she was sure of it. Carlotta didn’t move until the fog swirled and blocked her stare. She took that as her cue to leave.
Before she could find the path the sound of cracking twigs nearby broke the silence again. She gasped and tried to see where the man was. Her heart pounded as more twigs snapped, this time much closer. Carlotta turned to run only for something to wrap around her ankle. She slammed onto the floor with a heavy thump that stole her breath. Gasping for air, all she could do was stare blindly at the undergrowth before her while listening to the sound of the boots disappearing. When she did find the strength to lift herself upright, Carlotta found a particularly thick strand of bramble clinging to her boot. With an uncharacteristic curse, she released herself and stood up.
‘I must stop being such a goose,’ she hissed before looking for her bag.
Carlotta found it at the base of a tree. She reached out to pick it up only to realise that there was something else shrouded in the fog. It was swinging at head height beside a tree just a few feet away. Stepping toward her bag, she snatched it up and leaned forward to peer through the gloom. At first, her mind refused to focus on why a man’s boots were hanging three feet off the ground. It was only when the fog swirled again that her gaze fell upon the pair of breeches, ample girth, thick chest, and mottled face of the man who had a large fresh scar down one side of his face. One glance of his purpled face, those bloodshot eyes, the foam from his mouth above a body that was hanging lifelessly by the broken neck and still swaying was something that would remain with her for the rest of her life. Carlotta backed away and turned to leave only to slam bodily into something soft and warm but unyielding.
When she opened her mouth to scream, Phillip slammed a large hand over her mouth and scowled heavily at her. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered: ’Shut up. Did you see him?’
Carlotta blinked owlishly at him and stared at him with wide eyes. A shiver swept through her, but she had no idea what caused it. All she could think about was that he was there, before her, holding her upright: Phillip.
Phillip had never seen anything as pretty as her unusually long lashes all damp and wet and cupping her large, revealing eyes. It took effort to ignore the limpid stare she was giving him and focus on what was going on around them. ‘Don’t make any noise. He heard you and tried to find you but missed you by about six feet. Don’t move.’
‘Do you know him?’ she whispered.
‘No, I don’t,’ Phillip replied. ‘I thought he was one of the thugs after you.’
‘Why would he hang himself?’ Carlotta frowned.
Phillip froze and snapped out of his thoughts. ‘What?’ His scowl deepened at the confusion on her face.
‘Him.’ She turned and pointed to a tree.
Curious, Phillip stepped toward the tree, and cursed when he looked up into the face of the last man he expected to see. ‘Mother of God,’ he breathed in disbelief.
‘Do you think the other man did it?’
Phillip scowled. ‘I don’t see anybody else in this fog, do you?’
Carlotta backed away from him. He looked incredibly forbidding when shrouded in fog as he was. Sinister and worrying. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘It wasn’t me who did that to him,’ Phillip snapped, affronted that she would think he would. When he saw her doubtful look, he scowled deeper at her. ‘I am the kind of man who would shoot him rather than hang him.’
Carlotta gasped and took another step back.
‘Move again and you will drop off,’ he informed her bluntly. Rather than turn away, Phillip braced himself in preparation to lunge for her before she fell to her death.
Carlotta turned to look behind her only to hurriedly step away when she found herself at the edge of the cliff.
Phillip waited until she was a little closer and dropped his gaze to the bag in her hand. ‘Are you going somewhere?’
Carlotta mentally winced because she had forgotten about her escape. It didn’t seem all that relevant given the dead man she had just found. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was on my way to Bladley Weeks, but this damned fog came in. Now, I can’t see a damned thing. The only person I have seen out here was you and that man. I doubt you could get Smidgley up there, so the stranger must have filled him. He was looking for you so must think you saw what he has done.’ He mentally cursed because that changed everything. ‘Look, we have to get out of here, preferably before the killer returns. I don’t know which way to run if he does come back and would prefer not to wrestle with him in this fog. Let’s go.’ Phillip turned away but was aware that Carlotta didn’t follow him. ‘What?’
Carlotta pointed to the body. ‘Shouldn’t we cut him down or something? We should go to Bladley Weeks and notify the magistrate.’
‘Do you want to explain to the magistrate why your father wants you back so desperately? What you are doing in the area? Moreover, what you are doing in that house and out in the fog?’ He lifted his brows and waited. He knew her answer even while she tried to find the right words to answer him without revealing too much about what kind of trouble she was in.
‘We have to report a murder,’ she whispered, trying hard not to panic at the thought that the killer might be Phillip. Something deep within was telling her that it couldn’t be him. He wouldn’t be that horrid to another person. But she didn’t know him well enough to be able to confidently say that. He certainly looked dark and dangerous enough to be a murderer. He certainly was angry and had an air of
menace about him that was inherently sinister. But Carlotta also knew that he wouldn’t hurt her.
‘How do we tell the magistrate that we found him without having to explain why either of us are here? I cannot tell him. I cannot have anybody find out where I am,’ Phillip hissed. ‘Can you? Feel free to go by yourself only I am not going to cut him down for you. You do know that the cloaked figure you saw might want us to cut Smidgley down for him. While we have gone to fetch the magistrate, he might just decide to roll him over the cliff and let the sea carry the evidence of his crime away with the tide. Have you thought about that?’
Carlotta stared at him. In all honesty, she hadn’t thought about that. She had turned her back and forced herself not to look at the dead man again. While she had no intention of touching him, or going anywhere near him, she didn’t see why he should just be left hanging there. It seemed cruel.
But then murdering someone by hanging them is cruel.
‘We cannot get involved in this, Carlotta. The man’s name is Claude Smidgley and he is a known criminal who was going to spend his life behind bars. He was a bastard who stole young women’s lives.’ Phillip ran a hand through his hair and willed himself to calm down. ‘Look, we have to get out of here. We don’t know if your father’s thugs are around here, or if Smidgley’s killer is watching us. The fog bank is a problem, but we need to use it to our advantage and get out of here while nobody can see us.’
‘I can’t go back to the house,’ she whispered.
‘We need to leave the area, Carlotta. Neither of us are safe to stay in that house anymore. But, given the bag in your hand, I think you know that already. Might I ask where you think you were going?’
‘I don’t see that it is any of your concern. Nothing about me has anything to do with you,’ she hissed, tipping her chin up and staring hard at him with eyes that defied him.