Page 114 of A Whisper and a Curse

He moved first toward the parlor, letting his pistol lead him. Quickly scanning the room, he determined it was empty. But there was an unmistakable sound of someone making noise. It came from the other side of the settee.

Stepping toward the center of the room so he could see around the piece of furniture, Hadrian saw the source of the noise just as Tilda did. Mallory’s father was trussed up with rope and gagged, his eyes wide as he watched Tilda and Hadrian approach. Blood stained his side.

“Captain Vale!” Tilda was careful not to speak too loudly, but neither had she whispered. She set her pistol on the settee and dropped to her knees next to the man. Pulling off her gloves, she tossed them next to the pistol, then pulled the fabric away from his mouth. She reached behind his head and untied the gag.

“You must hurry!” Vale said, tears pooling in his eyes. “He has Thaddeus upstairs. I fear he’ll do the same to him as to the other poor man.”

“You’re hurt,” Tilda said, her hand hovering over the bloodied area of the captain’s midsection.

“He stuck me when I caught him. I’d just seen him stab the lad.”

“Who?” Hadrian asked, fearing he already knew.

“Tuttle was his name,” Vale said as tears leaked from his eyes. “You must go save Thaddeus before the madman stabs him next! If he hasn’t already.” The man practically sobbed the last word.

Whilst the captain spoke, Tilda had loosened the ropes binding the captain’s hands and feet. She grasped her pistol and stood. “Stay here.”

The captain nodded as he leaned against the settee, his face pale. Hadrian tried to give him an encouraging nod but feared his own apprehension was etched into his features.

Tilda preceded him from the parlor, and Hadrian hastened to grab her arm. “Let me go first, please.”

She nodded, her gaze steady but fraught. Hadrian stepped into the staircase hall and looked up to see exactly what he’d feared. Tuttle hung from the railing, but the rope had not been painted to look like the wood.

“This wasn’t planned,” Tilda whispered. “It’s not the same as the others.”

Hadrian agreed. “It doesn’t seem as if Mrs. Griswold was aware this was happening.”

They went to the stairs and ascended cautiously. Tilda followed Hadrian as he paused on the landing to determine where to go. Muffled sounds seemed to be coming from a room to the right.

Hadrian moved as quietly as possible toward the door which stood ajar. He carefully pushed the door open and surveyed the room. It was a sitting room, and Mallory was trussed up like his father had been. However, he wasn’t bleeding yet.

Before he stepped into the room, Hadrian looked again carefully. Where was Crocker? Mallory was gagged, his dark eyes wide. He tried to say something, but only muffled sounds emerged from behind the cloth shoved into his mouth.

“Go help him, Hadrian,” Tilda said from behind him.

Hadrian did not lower his pistol as he moved into the room. In fact, he would feel better if Tilda helped Mallory whilst Hadrian watched for Crocker.

Pivoting on his heel, Hadrian opened his mouth to tell Tilda to untie Mallory, but no sound came out. He was too late. He watched in horror as Crocker grabbed Tilda from behind and wrested the pistol from her hand.

He fired the weapon at Hadrian.

No, no, no.

Tilda would not allow Hadrian to be shot or stabbed or hurt in any way. She was nearly oblivious to the grip of the man who now held her against his solid chest. Nothing mattered more than clawing her way to Hadrian.

Her father’s pistol clattered to the floor, now useless. Crocker—she assumed the man holding her was the murderous butler—pressed something against Tilda’s neck. “Stop moving.”

Stomach churning with fear, Tilda stopped trying to escape his grip. She tried to take a deep breath to calm her racing heart, but she could not inhale as deeply as she wanted with the man holding her so tightly. His left arm curled around her upper middle and lifted her so that her feet barely grazed the floorboards.

“Do not come toward us or she will die,” Crocker said, his breath hot against Tilda’s neck.

Tilda blinked and realized that whilst Hadrian had dropped to the floor, he was now standing. And he appeared unhurt. Relief flooded her, and she had to suck in a breath to keep from sobbing.

“I’m fine, Tilda,” Hadrian said, his tone carved in ice. He still gripped the pistol, but it was not pointed at them. Tilda understood why—if Hadrian fired, he would hit her as Crocker seemed to be using her as a shield.

Hadrian’s eyes glittered with malice. “Crocker has terrible aim, thankfully. And he has nowhere to go.”

Crocker snorted. The sound was loud in Tilda’s ear, given his proximity. “I’ve an excellent hostage, Ravenhurst. I can go anywhere I like.”