The Heir's Proposal

by Maggi Andersen

  Monty hunkered down.

  Bryce made his way cautiously around the perimeter. The front door looked of solid oak. The ground-floor windows were closed. He checked the back door, not as solid as the one at the front, both it and the small window beside it securely locked.

  Back with Monty, Bryce studied the upper story. “We have only two options,” he murmured. “One of us can get into the house now, or we’ll wait until Hirsch goes for his morning walk as we initially planned. But if he’s leaving for Berlin first thing, we can’t rely on his routine trip to the shop. He could be on the way back to Berlin in a few hours.”

  “Then we’ll take him now.” Monty rummaged in his bag for his pistol. He tucked it into his belt with his knife.

  “Best you don’t use the gun unless you have to,” Bryce said. “The noise from a gunshot can travel for miles.” His gaze returned to the upstairs windows. “One of those casements is open. How’s your tree climbing? Much experience?”

  “Yeah. Fell out of a tree and broke my arm when I was ten.”

  “Let’s hope your technique has improved. Shouldn’t be too difficult to get in through that window from a branch. I’ll cause a disturbance down here which will bring Hirsch out of the study, and you can tackle him when he answers the door.”

  “What sort of disturbance?”

  “I’ll knock on the front door.”

  “What a strategy,” Monty muttered. “How long have you worked on that? Besides which, it will rouse his sister. And he will hold that Lugar on you.”

  “I’ll call out to him in German, use his name. Say it’s an urgent message from Berlin.”

  “Wouldn’t he expect a car?” Monty frowned. “Too dangerous.”

  “The wall blocks the road from sight. He’ll smell a rat, but let’s hope you can deal with him before he shoots me. Maybe he’ll want to find out who I am. Can’t get answers from a dead man.”

  “And maybe he won’t give a damn. Sounds like the sort of chap who…look,” Monty’s voice went sharp. “The study light’s gone out. What now?”

  Clamping down his jaw, Bryce searched the windows. A light flickered somewhere within. After a few minutes, a light appeared from an upstairs room.

  “He’s gone to bed,” Monty said. “Best I dispatch him while he’s sleep.”

  “Yes. Now we know which room he sleeps in. This is all starting to look a little too easy,” he said worriedly. “Take care, for God’s sake, that open window will probably be the sister’s bedroom. Let’s give him an hour to settle down.”

  “I hope she’s a sound sleeper. My orders aren’t to kill a woman. I don’t care for it.”

  Bryce said nothing. He knew Monty would if he had to.

  Resting their backs against the wall they waited.

  The bedroom light went out after ten minutes. As Monty made to rise to his feet, Bryce laid a hand on his arm. “Another ten.”

  There was no sign of movement within the cottage.

  After a few minutes, Monty stirred. “Right. Let’s get this over with.” He stood up. “If I fall out of that damn tree and break a leg, just drag me away out of sight and leave me there.”

  “You’re too heavy to drag about. Hang on tight.”

  Monty made a rude noise under his breath. They crept forward through the gardens, avoiding the path. At the base of the tree, Bryce gave Monty a leg up, and he grasped hold of the lowest branch.

  Bryce backed off out of sight to watch.

  Monty scaled the trunk like a monkey. Bryce caught his breath as he reached the branch opposite the window and slid along it. It bent alarmingly under his weight.

  He grabbed the window frame to steady himself, hooked a leg over the sill and disappeared inside.

  Suddenly, a woman’s scream rang out.

  Bryce cursed, pulled out his gun, and ran to the corner of the house, making for the back door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The handsome Felsted mansion built last century was constructed in the neo-Gothic style, painted white with arched windows and a round tower at one end. It was half the size of Langley but would lack the disadvantages of poor plumbing and aged timbers. Addie thought it also lacked Langley’s historic charm. She sighed. Langley needed so much money spent on its upkeep, it was becoming impractical to keep it going. And staffing had become a worry. She wondered again what Bryce had planned for it. They’d never discussed it with the future so uncertain.

  Mrs. Felsted greeted them in the great hall. An elegantly dressed woman in her mid-fifties, she wore a dove gray ensemble with a string of magnificent pearls at her throat. “Lady Adelaide, how good to meet you at last. You are the first to arrive. We have just finished setting things up.”

  “How many of the wounded do you house here?” Addie asked she accompanied her up the crimson-carpeted staircase.

  “Thirty-five. We’d like to have more, but we only have three suitable reception rooms to turn into wards. We have a major and a captain in the bedchambers on this floor. But it’s impractical to bring the men up here.”

  At the top of the stairs double doors opened on the ballroom, a long columned room with an elaborately plastered ceiling.

  Injured soldiers lay on cots or sat in wheelchairs around the walls. Some men heavily bandaged, others pale and subdued as they waited for the concert to begin. Three nurses in uniform attended them. A forlorn air hung over the room. They had made the men as comfortable as was possible, but many had lost limbs, and others had suffered terribly.

  Addie hated this war with a vehemence which threatened to make her ill. She had not been entirely untouched by it, losing Diana and not knowing if Bryce and Monty would survive, but nothing equaled what these men had gone through. What they and their families had lost. It was unthinkable. Her stomach tightened. She must do more. She had toyed with starting the magazine up again but had no heart for it. It had always been Diana’s dream. And it didn’t seem enough. She wanted something which directly helped those in need. That made a difference. Langley, she thought suddenly. Why not? Langley was far bigger than this. It could house many more patients. Would it be suitable? Might she get the approval to turn it into a hospital? There was so much to consider. They would need nurses and doctors, and they would be in short supply with so many over in France. She would discuss it with the doctor here tonight.

  On a table covered with a white cloth sat a large urn, cups and saucers, plates of food, sandwiches, cakes and pies, milk, cutlery and napkins. Facing the stage were rows of wooden chairs.

  “This is wonderful, Mrs. Felsted,” Addie said warmly. “Will it be all right for me to speak to the men?”

  She smiled. “Most will be pleased to talk to you. But those suffering shock are hard to reach.” Her smile faded and she turned away. “If you’ll excuse me, I must return to the door. People are arriving.”

  Addie roamed the room, chatting to some of the men while Fran, pretty in her blue dress, talked to others. She was tactful and sympathetic and made one or two laugh, and some even attempted to flirt with her.

  “You appear to be a panacea for many ills, Fran,” Addie said.

  Spying the doctor, Addie left Fran talking to a soldier who’d lost his leg. She’d made him smile.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Bryce aimed several kicks at the kitchen door. When it flew back on its hinges against the wall with a resounding bang, he ran inside. Pale light filtered in to show the room empty. He moved forward his gun aimed in front of him. The hall was empty. Bryce went cautiously into the parlor. A man lay stretched out on the carpet, face up. Bryce flicked his light. It was Hirsch, his pale eyes staring.

  Monty was on the carpet beside him, gasping.

  “Are you okay?” Bryce whispered.

  “Yes.” Monty climbed to his feet. The bastard hadn’t gone to bed. He’d been sleeping on the sofa. When the sister screamed, I had to deal with her. He came up behind me with a knife from the bottom of the stairs. The light that went on upstairs must have been a ruse.”r />
  “What about the woman?”

  “I knocked her out. What will we do with her?”

  “Let’s find somewhere to lock her up.

  “Should we tie her up? Gag her?”

  “No one will hear her. They’ll find them in the morning.”

  “She didn’t see my face, not that it matters. They’ll still come after us.”

  They climbed the stairs. The woman was still unconscious, her pale hair spread out beneath her. “She’s pretty,” Monty said.

  “Keep your mind on the task at hand,” Bryce said crisply. “There a cupboard in the hall with a key.” He examined her. She was breathing well. “She’s okay. Help me.”

  Bryce took her arms and Monty her feet. The carried her out of the room and placed her inside the cupboard, locking it.

  “Let’s get the hell out,” Bryce said dropping the key.

  They erupted out of the backdoor and ran back to the wall. Snatching up their knapsacks, they made for the gate.

  They headed down the road again to the shore. As Bryce ran, Monty fell slowly behind. They reached the water and pulled up, gasping. “What’s the matter?” Bryce watched Monty collapse onto the ground.

  “He was on to us, damn it. Entire thing went belly up.”

  Bryce squatted down beside him. An ominous patch spread over Monty’s side. “Hell. Is that all your blood?”

  “Some of it.”

  “He stabbed you?”

  “I had a preconceived idea of a scientist. A frail, myopic man with glasses. He was as wiry as a goat. Got him though.” Monty made a swiping motion across his neck. In the moonlight, his hand looked black with blood.

  “Good on you.” Bryce grinned at him; vaguely aware of how pleased he was that the man had died a gruesome death. Not as gruesome as soldiers hit by the gas. And they’d at least delayed or maybe even put a stop to this frightening invention, which was even more potent than the gas now taking so many lives. Whatever happened to him and Monty after this didn’t matter nearly as much as what they had achieved for their country.

  “It would have been good to have one more day before they discovered them. But as we don’t, we need to put some distance between us and them. Wash the wound in the sea and then I’ll tie a rough bandage around it. Can’t do much more now.”

  Monty climbed slowly to his feet and made his way down to the water.

  After Bryce did what he could with the wound, they walked for an hour, turning south toward the dull glow of lights above Emden. The ship works, churning out minesweepers.

  Monty sank onto the ground. “Have to stop.”

  “I’ll take another look.” Bryce pulled the small torch from his bag.

  “You can’t use that light,” Monty protested. “Don’t risk it.”

  “Pull up your clothes.” Bryce knelt beside Monty. He shone the torch light over his chest. Blood seeped slowly from a long cut. It wasn’t pretty. “Let’s hope it’s missed any vital organs.” He rummaged in his bag for a clean handkerchief. “I’ll tie a pad over it with my jersey.”

  After he’d finished, he flicked off the torch. They sat on the sand and ate the last of the hard bread and cheese Hans had given them.

  “Damn it.” Monty groaned as he climbed to his feet. “If we have to make a run for it, leave me.”

  “That won’t happen,” Bryce said through his teeth.

  “Right! We’ll get shot together. Great to have a buddy,” Monty said grittily. “Even if he is dimwitted.”

  Bryce brushed the sand off his hands and picked up his bag. “It won’t come to that,” he repeated. But empty reassurance was useless when it just might come to that. “Can you walk?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then let’s get going. We must go find that boat before more people are up and around.”

  “You think the German army are all tucked up in bed?” Monty said, pain deepening his voice.

  “Let’s look on the bright side.”

  “What bright side? I stuffed up. And I’m not about to let you pay for it.”

  “Stop whining and save your breath. We still have a fair way to go. You are the most God-awful company a fellow could wish for. And if you’re planning something heroic and self-sacrificing, save it until it matters.”

  Monty gave a feeble chuckle.

  They trudged on; the silence broken by Monty’s occasional expletive. His wound needed stitching. Bryce didn’t know how bad it was, but it worried him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The doctor in charge of the soldiers at Sutley manor had been encouraging. He told her to write to the Red Cross. As soon as Addie arrived home, she set her plan in motion with a detailed letter ready to post the following day. Fran was enthusiastic. She enjoyed working with the patients. She’d settled in well at Langley and was popular with the staff and with Grace and Lionel. Every afternoon, she visited them at their cottage and took Goldie for a walk.

  Bryce left several weeks ago and there’d been no word from him or Monty. She’d telephoned Gordon Phillips-Smythe. He hadn’t received word but assured her he would ring her immediately if he did. Addie refused to believe anything bad had happened to him. He’d be caught up in important work, and the mail was unreliable. She pushed her fears away and immersed herself in the enormous task of turning Langley into a convalescent hospital.

  Bryce had left a letter with the solicitor to give Addie complete control of Langley in his absence. She knew he would approve. When he came back, he could live as they did in one of the empty cottages on the grounds until the war ended. Or his flat in London. The major problem was money. As Addie did not receive her inheritance for four years, she had only her allowance. She worried that even if the government supported the idea, it would require a good deal of money to convert the house into a hospital. They only had one proper bathroom, and it was on the ground floor. Rooms would have to be turned into wards. They’d need more cleaning and kitchen staff. She would engage more gardeners to work under Lionel. She had decided on that course before she knew of his poor health, wanting to lessen his load.

  Addie considered what would need to be done: the gardens tidied; furniture arranged on the lawns for men well enough to enjoy fresh air and sunshine. Surely the government would help with the expenses. Addie desperately wished Bryce were here to advise her. She missed him terribly.

  Rising after a sleepless night, she came down to breakfast late. On the way to the breakfast room, she checked her mail as she always did. Nothing from Bryce, but she found a letter with the name of a solicitors firm on the envelope. As it was not her father’s solicitor who dealt with matters pertaining to Langley, she was curious and took it to the breakfast room where Fran sat eating a slice of toast.

  “Morning, Addie.” Fran rose to pour Addie a cup of tea. “I went for an early morning walk. The army is moving out.”

  “It will be quiet without them.”

  “Sergeant Morris asked me to write to him.”

  “Did he? I don’t recall him. Where did you meet him?”

  Fran flushed. “When I took Goldie for a walk in the woods.”

  “Don’t wander around the woods, alone, Fran. Stick to the grounds. There’ll be some soldiers here for a while.” Addie gazed up from the letter. “Will you write to him?”

  “Yes. It’s not a romance, but I said I would. I’ve already promised to write to some others. Five actually.”

  “Five?” Addie supposed there was safety in numbers. “It will cheer them to receive a letter. As long as you don’t make any promises or lead them to believe you want to marry them.”

  “Oh no. Nothing like that. It’s mostly the soldiers at Sutley Manor. Some are being sent back to the front as soon as they recover.”

  “That is kind of you, Fran.”

  She bit into her toast with small white teeth. “I like to help people.”

  “You’ll be of great help to me when, or if, I can set Langley up as…”

  The wording on the letter caught he
r eye. “Goodness.”

  “What is it?” Fran leaned closer.

  “Diana has made us beneficiaries in her will. A letter will be sent to you too. You’d best write and give them your new address.”

  Fran’s blue eyes widened. “Diana has left me money?”

  “Yes. All the staff from the publishing house.”

  Fran’s blue eyes looked troubled. “Fancy Diana thinking of us. But why would she do that? Make a will? She was young. She didn’t expect to die.”

  “I guess we all fear it now, Fran.”