Page 24 of The Heart’s Choice (Cotton Cops Mysteries #1)
Chapter 23
Abduction
B ea was dismayed when Peter entered the sitting room. She might have known he’d bring his pal along. She’d taken a dislike to Odlum on the journey north. Now, she found him more than a little intimidating.
“You don’t seem pleased with the horse,” her cousin whined.
She’d hoped her father would open the conversation, but he gaped, seemingly as thrown off balance as she felt.
“We don’t wish to discuss horses, do we Papa?” she tried.
“Er … It’s not that we’re ungrateful,” her father replied.
She clenched her fists. Odlum would take charge of the conversation if her father didn’t put his foot down.
“Certainly seems that way,” the fop said belligerently.
Thankfully, her father didn’t back down. “We want to discuss Peter’s marriage to Beatrice.”
“Good, yes,” Peter replied. “Three weeks is necessary for the banns to be read. I can’t wait.”
Bea couldn’t allow the farce to go on. “I told you before, and I’ll tell you again, Peter. I won’t marry you.”
Her cousin scowled and opened his mouth to retort, but Odlum put a restraining hand on his arm.
“That’s that, then,” James said. “Nothing more to be added. Come along, Peter.”
They left the room without a backward glance.
Smiling his relief, her father slumped into a chair. “Well, that was easy.”
“Too easy,” she replied, as the knot of disquiet tightened in her belly.
* * *
As Midnight galloped along, Roger swore he’d never ride again if he got to the Grange in one piece. His hat flew off before he and the devil horse even left the cobblestone streets of the town center, but he didn’t dare stop to retrieve it. The beast likely wouldn’t have halted if Roger had tried to rein him in.
It was a good thing he’d worn gloves, else his hands would have frozen. As it was, he might never straighten his stiff fingers again. His jaw might remain permanently clenched.
They’d stayed on the right road, though that certainly wasn’t thanks to any guidance Roger had provided. It was as if the horse knew where they were headed.
At the edge of the moor, he passed his brougham returning to town. His driver gaped as Roger galloped past, too much of a coward to raise a hand in salute.
The horse tossed his head but didn’t slow as the terrain grew more rugged. Roger feared he might end up broken and bleeding in some moorland ditch, but it gradually dawned on him that Midnight was enjoying himself. Unfortunately, that didn’t make the experience any less terrifying nor the chafing any less painful.
If he ever managed to stop the horse and dismount, it was doubtful his legs would keep him upright.
* * *
Feigning nonchalance, Bea watched over Glenda’s shoulder while the maid whipped up the batter for scones.
“Patience,” Glenda urged. “I thought you’d have grown out of wanting to scrape the bowl when I’m done.”
“No,” Bea teased. “In fact, it gets more enticing as time passes.”
Glenda smiled indulgently. “If you don’t let me get on, these scones won’t be ready for luncheon.”
When the baking was in the oven of the ancient wood stove, Glenda handed the bowl to Bea. Using a spoon, she scooped out the remaining batter clinging to the sides.
“Delicious,” she declared, popping the bowl in the sink when there was no more batter to eat. “I’ll get the men to come to the table.”
“Yer cousin’s still outside playing with his new toy.”
Sucking the sticky sweetness from her fingers, Bea wandered outside, hailing the visitors. “Luncheon’s nearly ready,” she called, absently wondering why the decrepit horse was still harnessed to the carriage. “Glenda baked scones.”
“My favorite,” Peter replied. “Don’t you want to see how we’ve fixed up this old thing?”
She looked back at the house. “Perhaps after luncheon.”
“It will only take a minute,” he insisted.
Against her better judgement, she strolled over to inspect the exterior of the ancient conveyance. As far as she could tell, it looked no different from before. “Are you planning to refurbish the outside?” she asked.
“All in good time,” Peter replied. “The interior is where you’ll see a big difference.”
“Probably not,” she replied. “I’ve never been inside.”
“All the more reason to look,” he said. He opened the creaky door and climbed inside.
Joining him would be completely inappropriate, but Odlum stood right at her back. “I don’t think…” she began.
Without warning, she was shoved into the musty-smelling carriage and landed in Peter’s arms. She struggled to free herself when Odlum slammed the door, but her cousin held firm.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, as the carriage rocked. Fear closed her throat. Odlum had climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Taking you to Gretna, my sweet,” her cousin replied when the carriage lurched forward.
When she made to protest, he covered her nose and mouth with a rag. She inhaled a sickly aroma and quickly surrendered to dizzy oblivion.
* * *
Roger finally reached Belmont Grange without injury, but when Midnight came to a screeching halt, his breathless relief was short-lived. Arthur was standing outside the house, consoling a weeping Glenda. He’d come too late. Something dire had happened to Beatrice.
Arthur hurried toward him. “They’ve taken Bea,” he rasped. “It’s all my fault for encouraging my nephew.”
A question nagged at Roger. There were no horses at Belmont Grange. “How did they take her?”
“In the old carriage. They bought a horse, though it’s a poor specimen. I should have sensed.”
“Never mind that now,” Roger said, his hopes renewed. Midnight had galloped hard but should have enough left to catch up to the dilapidated vehicle. “Which direction did they go?”
“We don’t know,” Glenda wailed. “I came out looking for Miss Bea and they were gone.”
Roger had to make a decision. Far to the south lay London, Peter’s home town. To the north … “Gretna!” he exclaimed, urging Midnight to set off again.
Wondering if he should have shared the new information about Leigh and Odlum’s possible involvement in the murder, Roger decided he was glad he hadn’t. Parker and the maid were distraught enough without being told Beatrice was in the clutches of killers.