The Reluctant Countess (34 page)

“Because the Earl of Coulter and Viscount Sumner are very powerful men with many resources. Do you really want to make an enemy of them?” Amelia said, thrusting out her chin. “Still, it would be a pleasure to see you eventually hanging from the end of a noose.”

“Indeed, even I would pay to see that. Of course Lord Coulter will see them all hang,” Sophie added with a smile in her eyes as she looked around at the men, all of whom had stopped their activities to listen.

“Perhaps all of London will come to watch?”

Sophie studied her surroundings as Amelia continued to harangue their kidnappers. The house was huge and oddly shaped; wings seemed to jut out in every direction, maybe added over the generations of families who had once lived inside. However, there was no doubting it was empty now; signs of neglect were everywhere. Sophie could imagine Jack Spode in a place like this. The air of sinister menace was only made stronger by the tall bushy trees bordering the property, their shadows forming a dark canopy over the building.

“Get them inside!” the man bellowed, rattled by Amelia’s taunts.

Both ladies forced laughter from their lips as they were led toward the house. The inside wasn’t in any better condition, the neglect obvious wherever they looked. Amelia tripped on the broken steps that they were forced to mount.

“Keep going up, then take the second door on the left.”

“Please,” Amelia mocked as she reached the top beside Sophie and turned to the left. The room they entered was cold, dirty, and damp, with only a small bed for their comfort.

“Water and food, at once!” Amelia bellowed as she looked around her. “And blankets,” she added. “This room is a disgrace.”

“You are bloody prisoners, not guests,” the man said from his position by the door, but he dropped his eyes as Amelia glared at him and quickly scurried from the room.

As the door closed, Amelia turned to face Sophie, who had sunk onto the bed. “Now I believe you have something to tell me, Countess?”

Sophie did not hesitate. She told Amelia everything, from her birth to her eventual escape by marrying Lord Monmouth, and then she told her about Jack Spode.

“Timmy is your brother?”

“Yes,” Sophie whispered, waiting for the look of horror to settle on her friend’s face.

“Fine. Now we have to plan how we are going to escape from here.”

Stunned, Sophie could not speak for several seconds. Had Amelia not heard her correctly?

“I heard you, but it matters not to me where you came from, only that you are now my friend.”

“Oh, Mellie,” Sophie cried, launching herself at her friend. The girls hugged, then Amelia spoke.

“So what do you have in your sling?”

“A knife,” Sophie said, pulling it out and showing it to her.

“Excellent. Let’s hope we don’t have to use it,” she added, tucking it back inside the sling.

They were brought a bowl of warm water and some rags, but no soap, which Amelia scolded them for. Later they received dry bread and water, and, surprisingly, a small cup of whiskey that Amelia had also asked for.

“Your neck will probably not break instantly, but you will keep swinging from the rope for several minutes and die a slow, painful death,” Amelia said to the man who brought the tray.

Sophie snorted when the man cast Amelia a wild look as he ran from the room. “You have a wicked streak, Miss Pette.”

“We will show them no fear, Sophie—it only makes them believe they have the upper hand.”

Sophie did not point out that their circumstances dictated exactly that.

“Your stitches have opened,” Amelia said removing the knife and the sling and then moving behind Sophie to unbutton her dress and ease it down her shoulders. “I need to give this a good cleaning, Sophie, and I am going to pour this whiskey over it, like Stephen told me he did when you were first shot.”

“If I live for a thousand years I will never forget that moment.” Sophie shuddered and then gritted her teeth as Amelia dabbed cold water over the wound. She was thorough, Sophie would give her friend that much, and by the time she lifted the cup of spirits to sluice the injury Sophie was in agony.

“What a baby.”

“Am not,” Sophie snapped, then cursed loudly as the spirit burned through her arm.

“I’m impressed, Countess. Even Tom the cook’s son did not teach me that one,” Amelia said as she rebound Sophie’s arm and refastened Sophie’s dress, then replaced the sling.

“Since when do you converse with Tom the cook’s son?” Sophie hissed through gritted teeth. Her arm hurt like the devil.

“Since my mother would not let me play with other children, I had to find my own friends.”

“I’m sorry, Mellie.”

“Don’t be. Making friends with the servants and their children was fun; they taught me many skills,” Amelia said, looking anything but innocent.

“Well then,” Sophie replied, lifting a crust of stale bread. “It seems our captors have indeed met their match, as I learned some fairly handy skills myself as a servant. I would like one of Mrs. Stigg’s pies now though,” she added as she struggled to break off a piece of the stale bread. “Or even one of Grandma Puckett’s.”

“Was she the one whose mouth seemed to be folded inside her face?”

“Yes,” Sophie said, then yawned loudly.

“Sleep, I think,” Amelia added, moving to the bed. “We must keep up our strength if we are to beat these men.”

“Yes.” Sophie climbed from the bed and circled the room. She tried the window and then the door, but both were locked solid. The windowpanes had been removed and replaced with boards. Placing their tray and the water against the door, she joined Amelia on the bed.

“Very clever. When they return, the noise from the tray moving over the floor will alert us.”

“Oh, I have lots of clever tricks up my sleeves,” Sophie said, yawning once more.

They cuddled together for warmth. Sophie talked of Patrick and how pleased she was that she had apologized to him and he to her, because if she did not return to him, then …

“No! I will not listen to you if you say anything about not returning, Sophie!” Amelia insisted into the darkness.

“I am so sorry to have got you into this, Mellie,” Sophie clutched her friend’s hand. “Forgive me.”

“You have saved me, Sophie, saved me from my life that was so filled with misery and sadness that sometimes I wondered if I would ever escape.”

Sophie listened as Amelia talked about her life with her mother and then she spoke of Stephen. He made her friend laugh and cry and seemed to genuinely care for her, Amelia Pette, the woman that was inside this newly wrapped package.

“He will have to answer to me if he does not treat you well.”

“Perhaps you should wait till your arm is healed before you take him on, though, Soph,” Amelia said in a tone that was as dry as wood chips.

Sophie giggled, then snuggled close to her friend. “I like you as my sister,” she said softly.

“Me too,” Amelia sighed.

Eventually, both exhausted from the day’s events, they fell into a deep sleep, only to be woken several hours later by a loud clatter and several heated words.

“Come, now!”

Amelia opened one eye and glared at the man standing rigid in the doorway; around his ankles were puddles of water and dishes. Yawning, she rubbed her eyes. “Did your mother not teach you manners? It is important to knock before entering a room and say please when asking someone to do something for you.”

“Just get moving,” the man grunted.

Sophie’s eyes flew open as Amelia shook her awake. She instantly looked for Patrick and instead found her friend, and then the events of yesterday came flooding back to her in a ghastly rush.

“Come, Sophie, we have been summoned,” Amelia said gently.

Climbing to her feet, she stood silently while Amelia checked the knife was tucked inside her sling and out of sight, but handy if Sophie should need it, and then, taking her hand, Amelia led them from the room. They followed the man back down the set of worn steps, along a dark hallway, until they stood before another door.

“This place is really unpleasant,” Amelia said loudly as she looked at the thick ropes of cobwebs lining the walls.

Sophie nodded, but still did not speak. Jack Spode was behind that door, she just knew it, because her whole body suddenly felt cold and nausea churned in her stomach.

“At last we are reunited, my love.”

Sophie stiffened at the drawled nasal words as they entered the room. She had always been very afraid of Jack Spode. Before, when she was younger, she had shown him her fear, but not now; now she had Patrick.

“Love?” Sophie snorted, then lifted her chin to rake a scathing look over the man seated behind the desk in front of her. “Love implies a certain depth of character, Mr. Spode, and you most
definitely do not have that.” Sophie wanted to laugh as his expression changed to one of surprise, but she kept her features neutral.

He looked no different from the last time they had met. Long, dark, slicked-back hair, brown eyes that could undress a woman in seconds, and a thin, pointed, olive-skinned face. It was said his mother was French and his father English and it was through the latter that he had inherited his evil streak.

“Mr. Spode? So formal, Sophie Beams,” Jack said, laughing at her. “I could hardly believe my good fortune when a mutual acquaintance asked for my help in getting rid of you. It seems you have indeed done well for yourself. Although …,” he said, running his eyes over her body. “Once a guttersnipe always a guttersnipe.”

“Guttersnipe?” Sophie said quietly. “I think you have us mixed up, Mr. Spode. Surely it is only you who have existed in such a place, not I.”

“Bitch!” he snarled, losing all pretense of politeness and leaping to his feet. “I will teach you manners.”

“Tut tut, Jack, do not let the lying little whore get to you. We have a plan and must keep our thoughts unmuddled to see it through to the end.”

“Viscount Dumbly!”

“In the flesh, Miss Pette, and may I say how distressed I am to see that you are involved in this sordid little mess.”

Sophie almost gagged as Myles walked past her and touched her cheek; she slapped his hand away.

“You sniveling little rat, Myles. Patrick will kill you for this.” Myles jumped back as she lifted her hand to strike him again and Sophie relished the fear she saw in his eyes; it gave her power.

“Their hands should be tied!” he cried to Jack.

“They cannot escape.”

Straightening his jacket, Myles took a deep breath, then—once again in control of himself—he spoke to Sophie. “Your husband will not kill me, Countess. He will be too busy mourning the death of his wife.”

“You always were a weak-kneed little rodent, with no friends and an inability to form a rational, sound thought without assistance, Lord Dumbly,” Amelia said, stepping forward to stand close to Sophie.

“Get Miss Pette out of the room!” Myles squealed as he took several steps backward, to the delight of both women.

“Scared, Myles? Tsk tsk,” Sophie said, moving closer to him. She kept an eye on Jack Spode, however; he was not to be trusted and it was he whom she feared the most. Myles was a brainless twit. Spode, however, was anything but.

“I will kill you and then your distraught husband,” Myles said desperately, eager to regain the upper hand. “Then I will kill your brother,” he added. “I thought drowning would be the most humane way.”

Sophie launched herself at him—raking her nails down his cheek as she drove her knee into his groin, hard. Not to be left out, Amelia grabbed a handful of his hair as he bent double and pulled.

“Get them off! Get them off!” Myles screamed.

Sophie felt hands pulling her off Myles and screamed as one touched her injured arm. “Patrick will see you dead, Myles. Unlike you, he is no fool!” Sophie spat the words at him.

“Get a grip, man,” Spode growled at Myles, who was cowering and whimpering on the floor even though the women were no longer on top of him. “Take them to my rooms and watch over them until I am ready,” he added to the man who still held Sophie.

Sophie felt some of her bravado slip as they were led away. Should they have acted submissively? Had they merely forced Jack Spode’s hand by angering him?

“It will be all right, Sophie,” Amelia said with a tremulous smile as they were once again forced up the stairs. This time they turned right instead of left at the top, and this time they were pushed into a different room.

Sophie felt sick to her stomach as she looked at the large bed, which was the only furniture in Jack Spode’s room. Dear God, what was to become of them, she wondered, fighting back the tears that burned behind her eyes. She was injured and weak, and Amelia could not do much on her own.

“If the chance presents itself, you must run for help, Mellie,” Sophie said, unable to hide the desperation in her words.

“I will not leave you, Sophie.”

“This is no game, Amelia. Jack Spode has killed, raped, and maimed to achieve his ends and I will not have you meet the same fate.”

“But I am to let you?” Amelia whispered, her eyes holding Sophie’s.

“Yes, you …” Sophie did not finish the sentence as Jack walked into the room.

“Ladies! How lovely it is to see so much beauty in one place and all waiting for me.”

Pushing Amelia behind her, Sophie watched as Jack Spode signaled the other man to leave. Then he turned the key in the lock and pushed it into the pocket of his trousers. The blood literally drained from Sophie’s face as he prowled toward her.

“Let Amelia go, Jack, it is me you want.”

“It is too late for that, my dear,” Jack said, nearly on top of Sophie. With lightning-quick moves, he grabbed Amelia from behind and towed her to the bed.

“No!” Sophie screamed, lunging for her friend, but Jack just clenched his fist and knocked her to ground.

“Sophie!” Amelia cried as she struggled for release. Before her eyes, her friend hit the wall and crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. Her wrists were bound to Jack Spode’s bed before she could inflict any damage on him. She then watched, horrified, as he turned and started toward Sophie.