Page 13 of The Boys of Summer
Panic hit her then. She realized that her father had gone entirely mad. Clarissa tried to shut the door, pushing him back into the corridor. Despite his age, he was terribly strong. Try as she might, he would not budge. Then he simply grabbed her hair and used it to smack her forehead firmly against the door. It rattled her, sent her staggering backward.
“Good thing no one ever wants a woman for her wits,” her father said with a smirk as he entered the room fully.
Clarissa stumbled, off balance and struggling to stay upright. She tried to get away from him, but the blow to the head had left her dazed and disoriented. When he grabbed her once more, shoving a handkerchief in her mouth and tying it in place with a cravat, she tugged ineffectually at his arms, only to have him yank them behind her, twisting her wrists painfully. Then her hands were bound next. A heavy cloak was draped over her, the hood pulled down low and she was ushered from the room.
He didn’t take her down the main staircase, but utilized the servants’ stairs. No one would dare question him as a guest, even an uninvited one. As they neared the kitchens, Clarissa’s thinking had cleared enough that she knew all hope would be lost if he managed to get her out of the house entirely. It was her last chance. She shook her head gingerly, trying to dislodge the hood. But at even that slight movement, he turned and she felt the sharp press of a pistol barrel at her ribs.
“Mark me, Girl… I’ll see you dead before I see you married to the duke. And if you’re going to be of no use to me, I’ve no reason to let you live.”
Except that he was her father. Except that he was supposed to love her. But he was incapable of such emotions. He was a man of no honor, with a black heart and no morals. She’d always known he was cruel, but she hadn’t grasped the full implications of just how depraved he was.
She wanted to shout, to scream, but with the gag over her mouth and the dark hood pulled low over her face, there was no hope for it. If there was one thing she knew for certain, her father was capable of violence. He wouldn’t hesitate to do just as he said. Her only hope was that Augustus would come for her. So she prayed silently for that. She prayed for some intervention to halt her father’s insidious plan. But even as she prayed, she worked diligently on the knot that secured her wrists. If she could free her hands, at least, she might not need to be rescued by someone else. She might manage to save herself.
*
Augustus was checkingthe pistols he’d primed and loaded. If they were heading out into the night, even if it was only from Haverton Abbey to the nearest village, being armed was a necessity. Clarissa’s father was not the only danger, after all. Thieves roamed the coach roads with regularity, after all.
There was no knock on his door. It simply burst open and Lady Helmsley staggered in, breathless and near to fainting. She was waving a note in her hand.
“Oh, dear heavens!” she gasped. “You’re still here. Where is Clarissa?”
“She was to wait for me in her chamber,” he said. “Is Clarissa not in her room?”
Lady Helmsley shook her head. “No. And there were signs of a struggle. Things were in disarray. I had hoped she might simply have left in a rush, but she’s very tidy by nature. I fear Edward has done something truly unforgivable.”
It was all the impetus he needed. Brushing past Lady Helmsley, he was in a full run by the time he reached the stairs. Leaving the house, he made directly for the stables. The stable master was still there, tidying up. “Did Milson take his carriage out?”
“He did, your grace,” the man answered. “Took a pair of his lordships finest horses to pull that bit of kindling!”
“How long ago?”
“About a quarter-hour, I think. Asked for the cheapest places to change horses between here and London,” the man said with a sneer. “Anyone what wants cheap horseflesh—”
“Was he alone?”
The stable master blinked in surprise at his sharp tone. “No. Had someone with him. Wearing a heavy cloak. Thought it might be the old fellow what he come with. Stood shivering in the yard the whole time before they was ushered in. Cold-natured. Likely not long for this world. Weak blood.”
Rather than ask the man for assistance, Augustus saddled his own horse. He did it quickly and efficiently and didn’t need to spout a soliloquy to do so. He rode cross-country, heading over the fields at the fastest pace he could manage in the wet grass without breaking his neck or the horse’s leg. It would be faster than Milson’s relic of a carriage. He would get ahead of them and put a halt to the nonsense.
When he reached the road, he simply waited in the shadows. At last, he heard the rumble of carriage wheels. They were slow, muffled by the mud and muck that sucked at the horses’ hooves. Easing out into the road, he drew both pistols from his pocket and shouted at the driver.
“Halt, or so help me I will shoot!”
The driver, clearly valuing his life more than the pittance Milson paid him, tugged on the reins until the horses came to a standstill. He didn’t linger. He climbed down from the box and ran back along the road toward Haverton Abbey.
“Milson,” Augustus called out, “let her go and I will not kill you.”
“I will kill her myself just to deprive you of her,” Milson shouted back.
“How much?” Augustus asked.
“How much what?”
“How much do you owe?” Augustus clarified. “I’ve no wish to kill you. I can’t have you arrested for abducting your own daughter—sadly. But I can certainly pay you enough to walk away from Clarissa at this very moment.”
A cloaked head emerged from the carriage. Recalling what the stable master had said, Augustus noted how suspiciously the person moved. It took only a split second for him to know that it was not Clarissa beneath that garment. So he raised his pistol and took a shot.
Milson cried out and dropped to the ground next to the carriage, clutching his upper arm. The pistol he’d been concealing in the folds of the cloak fell to the ground, splatting in the mud.
