At Primrose’s reply, Richard’s gut turned to ice.
“Where is she?” he said roughly.
Primrose frowned. “I don’t know exactly. When I woke up just now, she was gone. Earlier she couldn’t sleep and was keeping everyone awake with that dashed crossbow of hers. Maybe she went outside to practice?”
Panic roared through Richard. “She went outside?Alone?”
“I-I’m not certain of it,” Primrose said, her voice quivering. “It wasn’t like I told her to go—”
“Concentrate, Rosie,” Kent cut in. “What time did Violet leave the room?”
“Maybe… an hour ago? I don’t know.” The girl’s bottom lip trembled. “I was half-asleep, Papa.”
Unable to wait a moment longer, Richard turned and strode to the nearest exit. He heard Kent saying behind him, “Keep the girls with you, Marianne, and lock the door. Strathaven will be arriving shortly to escort you all back to Traverstoke.”
Outside, Richard jogged along the perimeter of the inn, McLeod going in the opposite direction. They met at the side of the building. McLeod crouched, staring at markings in the dirt.
Peering over the other’s shoulder, Richard said grimly, “Footprints?”
“Two sets. One larger, one smaller, the latter leading from the hotel. And look here, see how they’re smudged?”
“A struggle.” Richard’s heart kicked against his ribs.
“There’s fresh carriage tracks, too.” McLeod pointed to the markings as Kent joined them. “Wheels are wide, a heavy conveyance. Wouldn’t go faster than five miles per hour, I’d guess.”
Kent followed the tracks to the end of the drive. “Looks like they’re headed to London.”
“We can catch up to them,” McLeod said.
Richard sprinted to his mount. Grabbing the reins from the stable hand, he leapt into the saddle.
“Go, Aiolos,” he urged. “We’ve got to get to Violet.”
The Thoroughbred whinnied, tossed its mane in understanding.
They took off, dust churning in their wake.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Violet opened her eyes… and let out a groan as pain stabbed through her temple. By Golly, her head hurt like the devil. And why was the world bumping up and down? Come to think of it, where on earthwasshe? She made out velvet squabs, dirty windows, swaying straps…
It returned to her in a flash:Goggs.
He’d hit her on the head—and shoved her inside the carriage. Goggs, whom she’d believed was a friend, hadkidnappedher! Why would he do such a thing? Stunned, she could think of only one explanation: he was the villain. He’d killed Monique, stolen the necklace. Now he was making his escape, and he’d taken Violet as a hostage.
Thebounder.
Indignation cleared her head, gave her strength. Grabbing hold of a passenger strap, she leveraged herself up to sitting position. One of the wheels hit a rock, and her head whirled, but she took a breath and tried to focus.
Think, Violet. Figure out a way to get out of here.
She reached for the door handle. It was jammed, wouldn’t budge.Crumpets.She looked to the windows. Goggston had smeared them with mud, presumably so that no one could see her inside. What a time for him to turn out to be clever!
Running her hands along the frames of the largest windows, she discovered that they, too, were locked shut from the outside.Drat.
Without much hope, she tried the small, narrow window next to the main one—and excitement surged in her when it budged. She pushed harder and was rewarded by a blast of cool wind against her cheek. The window was too tiny for her to climb out of, but she could poke her head out to assess her situation.
She could see Goggs’ profile on the driver’s perch, and just the sight of him made anger quicken inside her. Focused on the rock-strewn road, he didn’t notice her. Surveying the passing fields and woods, she didn’t see any farmhouses, any people who might hear her if she cried for help.
