“I know. I heard you telling him. He isn’t dead, although if I had a gun I would shoot him. Now, turn your back to me, Owen, I must dress.”
It was quickly done, her cloak covering her ripped bodice.
“What are you going to do, Caroline?”
“What do you care, you spineless worm?”
“I’m not spineless. I was coming to save you. He’ll come after you, Caroline. He won’t stop. He needs the money. He will have you.”
She gave him a long look, then tossed the rope to him. There was blood on the rope, her blood. “Tie him up, Owen, and I mean do a good job. If you don’t, I’ll hit him again on the head with this stool. Then I’ll hit you and it will hurt.”
Owen did as he was bid. Indeed, if she wasn’t mistaken, he appeared to be enjoying it. Suddenly his father’s eyes popped open and he looked up at his son, then at his bound wrists. “Owen, my dear boy, what have you done? Have you subdued that damned bitch? Untie me now, boy, quickly. Ah, a son shouldn’t see his father unclothed. Give me my dressing gown.”
“No, Owen, I will need that dressing gown. Your dear father in all his fat glory will cause a good deal of consternation, depending upon who comes here first, but that is just too bad. Yes, Mr. Ffalkes, I realize we’re in the stables in a miserable storage room that hasn’t seen the light of day for years. But it’s good. I rather hope every servant at Honeymead Manor gets this treat. You may be certain that I’ll leave the door wide open.”
Mr. Ffalkes looked over at her, his eyes red with fury. “You damned bitch, you’ll not get away with this. I’ll have you and then you’ll regret doing this.”
She laughed. This time it wasn’t clogged with fear. She laughed freely and for a nice long time. Then she looked over at Owen. She blinked then, for he was holding a pistol loose in his hand. Bless him, he had come to stop his father. But why had he pulled out that pistol now? Quick as a snake, she grabbed it from his hand and shoved him back.
She turned back to Mr. Ffalkes. She enjoyed having him at her feet. “You actually put a bed in this poor storage room. How enterprising of you. I thank you for it. Now, Owen, I will say this only once. You will go back to the manor. You will doubtless find my valise in my bedchamber. Fetch it and bring it back here. I will expect you in five minutes. If you don’t come back or if you bring someone, I will shoot your father. Then I will come after you. I’m feeling very mean, Owen, believe me.”
“She won’t, Owen, she’s a female, they have no appetite for killing, don’t believe her—”
She raised the pistol, saw that it held two bullets, aimed it and fired. Mr. Ffalkes screamed. The bullet tore up the wooden floor not two inches from his slippered feet.
“Go, Owen, now!”
She turned and looked down at her erstwhile guardian. “I wonder, sir, if my finger were to slip, then who would be my trustee?”
“You’ll not get away with this savagery, Miss Derwent-Jones. I’ll send the Bow Street Runners after you. They’ll haul you back here—”
“Why?”
“Why what, damn you?”
“Why would anyone—other than you, of course—want to haul me back here? I’m now nineteen and I will deal with you to gain my inheritance after I’ve settled into my new, ah, home.”
“What home? You don’t have another home. Where do you think you’re going, you idiot girl?”
“You honestly think I would tell you? I would be an idiot if I did.”
“It won’t matter. I’ll find you quickly enough, and then you’ll be sorry.”
“You sound like a child making silly threats,” she said, staring down at him, “but you’re not, are you. How I wish the pistol held three bullets.”
Owen suddenly appeared in the doorway, holding her valise. He had also pulled on a pair of boots and a cloak. He’d pulled an old felt hat over his ears.
“Now, Owen, you and I are going to do a bit of riding.” She turned to Mr. Ffalkes. “I’m taking your son as a hostage, sir. If you try anything, I will remove his right arm. Owen needs his right arm. He needs everything he’s got. Even missing one part, he would be in bad shape. Do you understand, sir?”
Roland Ffalkes cursed.
“Father, really, you shouldn’t speak so in front of a lady.”
Caroline thought Mr. Ffalkes would expire in apoplexy right then, but he didn’t.
Owen just shook his head and preceded Caroline from the storage room, the pistol aimed at his back.
Owen said nothing for a full two hours. They were riding along a country lane, the air dry, just a bit chilly, but very fresh from the rain of the past days, the silence absolute. He said at last, “I shouldn’t have left my father lying there naked. The servants will find him and it will be awful, both for them and for him. He is not a pretty sight, Caroline.”