At first neither moved as they all stood in the shadowed stable just outside of Stoat Cottage. Even in the lantern’s faint glow, Cunningham’s disapproval burned as bright as fire.
Lucas must have sensed it, too, for he continued, “Miss Brannon personally overheard the conversation between Russell Crane andMrs. Milton’s maid, and she is well acquainted with the porcelain pieces in question.”
Mr.Cunningham looked back to the four constables behind him with a grunt before returning his attention to her. “With all due respect, MissBrannon, these constables can take it from here. You’ll be safer in the village. Mr.Avery will stay to aid us, and one of the constables will escort you back to—”
“If it is all the same to you,” interrupted Olivia abruptly, “I believe it’s best for me to remain here.”
Mr.Cunningham raised a shaggy eyebrow and noisily cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should rephrase that. One of my menwillescort you back to town. You will be notified as soon as the situation is in hand.”
She lifted her chin and obstinately shook her head. “That simply will not do, Mr.Cunningham. Mr.Crane has been in my family’s employ for over a decade. I’m not afraid of him, and I want to see with my own eyes that he is brought to justice.”
Mr.Cunningham scoffed, and he looked toward Lucas as if seeking reinforcement. But Lucas gave none. Instead, he shifted the topic. “When I returned from our meeting earlier today, I spotted Crane in the village. He’s close, so I believe our time would best be spent making sure we all understand the task at hand instead of debating where MissBrannon should be.”
Olivia jutted her chin up in the wake of Lucas’s words.
Mr.Cunningham narrowed his eyes at the subtle reprimand and mumbled under his breath before continuing. “I’ve given these men an overview of what we are expecting tonight, but, Avery, share with them what you know.”
Lucas turned to the four darkly clad constables. “Russell Crane is an antiquities agent out of London. John Wakes is a ceramist, as far as we know. Tabitha Martin is a lady’s maid at Cloverton Hall. The three have been working together to swap out pieces from the Cloverton collection and replace them with replicas.”
“Right.” Mr.Cunningham pivoted to face the constables behind him. “And the easiest way to have charges brought against them and make sure they are enforced is for me to personally see the illegal activity occur. Altogether, there will be us six men. Since the meeting is expected to take place in the cottage, Avery, Patterson, Brown, Miller, and I will wait in the cottage’s loft. Armstrong, you will stay at the door in the back, just in case.”
“What about me?” Olivia blurted.
Cunningham groaned. “You’ll stay here in this stable in case anyone comes in here.”
“But I—”
“I’m in charge here, MissBrannon,” warned Cunningham. “What I say is how it will be. Are we clear?”
She pressed her lips together.
Mr.Cunningham tore his eyes away from her. “As I was saying, I’ve inspected the cottage, and there’s not much to it. The five of us will wait in the loft until the three offenders are present. Then, on my signal, Avery and Patterson will subdue Crane. Brown and I’ll subdue Wakes. Miller, you subdue the woman. When we have them, we will use the rope to secure them so I can question them, and then we will transport them in the wagons. From there we will take them to the jail, and if the weather’s too murky for transport, Wainbridge said to hold them at Cloverton. Any questions?”
Questions?
Olivia could scream with frustration. Yes, she had questions. Many questions.
Mr.Cunningham extinguished the lantern, and darkness filled the stable. As the men started to exit the small building and head toward the cottage, Lucas touched her arm and whispered, “It will all be fine. Just stay here, all right?”
Olivia huffed.
No, it would not be all right. But she didn’t really have a choice.
So she begrudgingly leaned against the door to wait.
***
Lucas shook his head at the recollection of petite Olivia Brannon standing up to Arthur Cunningham. She may not have gotten her way in that instance, but she’d caught the magistrate off guard. And Lucas was not surprised one bit.
He trudged through the wild, unkempt grass outside the cottage with the other men. The moorland night was dark and thick, and murky fog hugged the uneven landscape. Barn owls hooted in the distance, and the wind barreled in from off the moor, whistling in the grasses and rustling the leaves of the nearby copse of trees.
Cunningham had been right—there wasn’t much to the cottage. The magistrate used a pocket tinderbox to produce enough light for the men to climb the ladder to the loft, and when he did it shed light on two tables and a handful of chairs. Nothing else was in the cottage.
Once they were up in the narrow loft, minutes rolled into an hour, and Lucas wondered if perhaps they’d been mistaken in theirassumptions. But then the faint sound of distant wooden wheels rolling over wet ground echoed in the blustery night.
Lucas licked his lips in anticipation. Never before had he found himself in such a volatile situation, but now, as the possibility of every outcome raced through his mind, his senses were alive with expectation.
Cunningham whispered an order for silence.
