“England?” he asked, the color draining from his face. “No. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.”
“What in the world are you saying? What isn’t real?”
“You! All this!” He let her go and held out his arms, stretching them forward.
“I’m real,” she insisted. “You are the one who is dressed so oddly. What kind of breeches are you wearing? They…ehm…they appear to be made of one piece of heavy fabric, and they fit…well.”
“Look, Lady—”
“Charlotte,” she supplied with a well-practiced smile she almost instinctively gave him. “Lady Charlotte.”
He didn’t appear to be affected.
She looked around. If she ran away when he didn’t expect it, she could make it through the alleyway between the butcher and the mill. She could—
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled close to her ear and took hold of her arm again. “I’m not letting you go anywhere until I get my belongings back.”
She insisted she didn’t have them and then kicked him in the shin. As expected, he let her go and almost went down on one knee, gripping his shin.
She lifted her skirts and took off running. She almost made it to the alleyway when his fingers clamped shut around her wrist. She spun around swinging her free hand. “How dare you continue to put your hands on me!”
With little effort, he grabbed her other wrist and put both hands behind her back.
“Let me go!” she shouted at him. No one had ever held her so. “You jackal!” She saw a couple passing by and screamed out, “Help! Someone help me!”
They gaped at the brute manhandling her and hurried away. She shouted again when more people happened by. Soon, a crowd gathered.
“I need a policeman,” the man holding her called out. “This woman has my belongings. She may have robbed some of you, as well.”
People began to murmur about it and check their pockets.
Charlotte knew that at any moment the people she robbed would call out—so she did first. “He is deceiving you! He robbed you. I saw him. When I confronted him, he put his hands on me.”
Some of the people began hurrying away, hopefully to find the constable.
“You are going to regret meeting me, Stranger,” she promised on a warning whisper.
“I already do,” he replied succinctly.
“Look!” someone called out. “The others have returned with the constable. He’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Charlotte quickly thought of the death of her childhood cat, Ezzie, to bring tears to her eyes. She thought of every sad thing she could until tears streamed down her face.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the constable shouted. “Young man, get your hands off her this instant.”
“Officer,” her captor began then paused, looked a bit green, and then corrected, still not letting her go. “Constable. I saw her—”
“He is lying,” Charlotte wept. “I saw him picking goods from people’s pockets. When I stopped him, he made advances toward me. When I refused, he said he was going to ruin me.”
“Nice try,” the stranger said in a low, menacing tone.
“I can prove it, Constable,” she cried. “He has the things he robbed in his pocket.”
“Empty your pockets, Sir,” the constable commanded with his chubby cheeks burning red.
“You’re joking,” the stranger drawled in his emotionless accent. “This whole thing is a joke, right?”
“Empty your pockets,” the constable told him again.
