Page 66 of Her Heart's Rightful Earl
Arabella and Charlotte peered out the carriage window and saw, to their alarm, a band of brutish-looking men approaching the carriage. A couple was still standing in the middle of the track, presumably where they had been positioned to stop the carriage from passing.
The sisters froze in horror as they watched from the window.
‘Robbers!’ Charlotte whispered in panic as the men advanced closer. Arabella blinked disbelievingly as they all converged to surround the coach so there was nowhere to escape. They were all dressed in black, and most had dark beards and moustaches. A tall, rotund man lumbered over with an unforgiving scowl on his face.
Arabella urgently whispered to her sister. ‘Give them any jewellery you have, any money. Whatever they want to take, allow them it, that we might safely escape this.’
Arabella wondered momentarily if Timpkin might intervene, but he was an old, rather frail man, and against this band of robust, younger men, he would not have a chance of defending the women, so it was unlikely he’d try—Arabella hoped he wouldn’t, or the situation could escalate quite considerably.
The burly man who reached the carriage first pulled open the door without a word. He did not make any demands like Arabella expected he might but simply grabbed her by the top of her arm and dragged her out of the carriage. Arabella obscenely thought that her arm felt as feeble as a twig in this giant man’s hand and that he could easily snap her in two, should he choose to.
Charlotte began screaming. ‘No! Arabella!! Bring back my sister, please!’
The sound of animalistic anguish was excruciating to hear, and Arabella found herself remaining silent, in the hope that she would not anger these men. She did not want to antagonize them so they might hurt Charlotte.
She heard another man talking as she was dragged away.
‘Give this note to Lord Thomas Carrington!’
Straining her neck to see, Arabella witnessed a sealed envelope being handed to Charlotte, whose hand extended shakily. It seemed the men were not stealing from her, nor were they intent on attacking her.
This is not a robbery,she realized.This is a personal assault.
Despite her own terrifying experience, Arabella felt grateful that they appeared to be closing the carriage door and sending it on its way.
As her feet tripped over some shrubbery, the two men, now pulling her by her arms, did not pause for her to regain her stance, but continued dragging so her legs were scratched by rocks and her skirts became caught upon gorse bushes as she flailed, trying to get her feet to catch up.
She heard the man in the carriage again; it sounded as though he were addressing Timpkin, who sat timidly at the helm of the horse. Arabella hoped frantically that they would not hurt the old man.
‘Turn around,’ the broad man bellowed. ‘Return to the estate and make sure she gives that note to Lord Carrington.’
Timpkin must have silently agreed because Arabella heard the horses’ hooves move about in the rubble and the trundling of the wheels as the carriage was turned around.
Arabella herself was being bundled into the back of another carriage, where two burly men sat awaiting her. She turned to look once more as her own carriage passed, and she could hear Charlotte’s protests as Timpkin followed the order to return her home.
‘Arabella! No!’ As Charlotte’s window passed Arabella’s carriage, the sisters caught a momentary glance of one another. Charlotte’s mouth was open in a loud cry upon her terrified face, but Arabella felt relieved she was being sent home.
Arabella’s journey was short and silent, but tense as the men watched her through cruel, narrowed eyes. She daren’t speak, and only a squeak escaped her lips as they bundled a sack over her head to remove her from the coach and guide her into a building, which was cold and echoing.
The sack was ripped away as the men left, closing a door behind them with a slam.
Breathing through panicked little gasps, Arabella looked around at her surroundings. She was sitting on a cold, damp, chalky floor, and the walls were thick stone. There was one window,which was securely boarded up, allowing in only a thin chink of light.
Arabella’s hands had been tethered behind her back with a neckerchief, and when she fidgeted in a bid to release her hands, it only seemed to tighten the knot.
Arabella forced herself to calm her breathing—she knew that her only hope of salvation was to remain calm and keep her composure. She scanned the room in search of any weak spots that may pose an opportunity for escape. It seemed to be a stone box, with no features that could lend themselves to assist her.
A pile of abandoned wooden crates stood on the floor next to her, but she could imagine no use for them. It was an inescapable fortress. Just as Arabella felt a tear of despair appear on her cheek, she heard the gang of men in the next room, speaking in hushed tones.
‘… Nobody will find her here …’ she heard and, looking about at the veritable vault she was sitting in, she had to agree they were most probably correct.
… ‘The letter …’ she strained to hear one of the men.
‘… He’ll come …’
Arabella frowned to herself. She wondered if the letter would summon Thomas or if they were speaking of somebody else.
‘… Follow the plan …’ were the last words Arabella heard before the room fell silent.
