Caught in a Cornish Scandal by Eleanor Webster (top novels of all time .txt) 📗

air. The landlord opened the door almost before they had knocked.

‘I saw you out the window,’ he explained as they stepped into the dimly lit passage way. ‘In fact, Sir Anthony is wanting to see you. Most particular like.’

‘He is?’ They exchanged glances as the landlord led them down the corridor.

‘Here we are then.’ The landlord flung open the door, with almost theatrical aplomb, before shifting back.

‘Thank you.’ Millie smiled as they stepped forward into the warm, well-lit room.

Briefly, everything was disjointed, as though only seeing pieces of a disconnected scene, impossible to comprehend. She saw Mrs Ludlow. She saw her smile and soft violet gown. She noted the inviting fire and glowing lamps.

Mrs Ludlow’s tone was calm, almost gentle, and the greeting gracious. ‘Welcome, I have been expecting you.’

Millie’s lips twisted into a smile of greeting as she heard Mrs Ludlow’s words, even as her heart thudded like a wild thing.

Chapter Twelve

Millie tried to make sense of the dichotomy: Mrs Ludlow’s smile of welcome and the pistol’s barrel aimed at them.

‘Mrs Ludlow? What are you doing?’ Sam demanded, finding his voice first. ‘Put that down before you hurt yourself.’

‘Do not worry, I am quite skilled,’ she said with that pleasant smile.

‘Why?’ Millie pushed out the one word through stiff lips.

‘So I can look after my son. It is a mother’s duty.’

‘Where...where is Sir Anthony?’ Millie stared at the comfortable chair. It was empty. ‘Did you k-kill him?’ She stumbled over the word, the simple one syllable hard to form.

‘Of course not. He is quite fine. Cartwell put him upstairs to sleep. I will have enough bodies to dispose of as it is.’

You will? Millie said or thought she said. Goose pimples prickled her skin despite the room’s heat.

Mrs Ludlow reached for the bell pull, while still keeping the pistol levelled at Millie. The landlord entered, holding on to a rope, which he twisted nervously within his hands.

‘Good,’ Mrs Ludlow said. ‘I am glad you brought the rope. Miss Lansdowne, you look very tired. Come over here, dear, and sit down.’

Millie stumbled into a chair which was quite close to where Mrs Ludlow stood at the hearth.

‘That’s better. You must be exhausted. You have been walking your feet off these last few days. So very adventurous.’ She moved so that she stood directly behind Millie’s chair, placing one hand on Millie’s shoulder. Even through the cloth of her serviceable gown, Millie could feel the hard tightness of the woman’s fingers.

The pistol was pressed flush to her temple. She could feel the chill metal.

‘Mr Cartwell, if you could tie them up, please? Start with him.’ Mrs Ludlow nodded towards Sam.

‘Cartwell, are you mad?’ Sam demanded.

‘No,’ Mrs Ludlow said. ‘I think not. It makes absolute sense as I am paying him well and I hold the pistol, a winning point in any argument.’

‘Mrs Ludlow, please, you cannot get away with this. Do not condemn yourself to Jason’s fate,’ Sam said.

Millie felt Mrs Ludlow remove her hand from her shoulder and felt transitory relief, inhaling as though the clamp of the woman’s cold fingers had impacted her ability to breathe. This sense of respite dissipated almost immediately as the older woman leaned over, so close that Millie could smell the cloying scent of lavender and the tickle of her hair against her skin.

‘Isn’t Mr Garrett kind?’ Mrs Ludlow whispered against her ear. ‘I thank you for your concern. Now, please, co-operate with dear Mr Cartwell as I do not want to become unpleasant.’

There was a rustle of cloth behind her and Millie felt metal at her throat. At first, she thought it was the pistol, but winced at the sharp prick of a knife’s point.

‘Do not hurt her,’ Sam said quickly. ‘This has nothing to do with her.’

‘I believe you involved her when you invited your mad sister to Miss Lansdowne’s domicile. Still, I won’t hurt her now, if you co-operate.’

Sam put his arms behind him as Cartwell moved towards him.

‘That’s better. Isn’t everything so much easier when you co-operate?’ Mrs Ludlow said, moving the knife so gently that it tickled Millie’s skin as she ran it up her neck and along her jawline.

The older woman bent forward, her tone becoming almost affectionate as she moved the cold metal tip of the knife over Millie’s skin in an eerie caress. ‘Poor Millicent is not considered the pretty sister, you know. They underestimate her, I think. Of course, society always likes blonde hair and blue eyes. I believe you were quite taken by a blonde, blue-eyed miss yourself once, Mr Garrett. Little Annie Whistler, as I recall, but I quite like Miss Lansdowne’s looks and her skin is perfect. Not as pretty as Lillian, but more interesting... Society is not kind to women, you know. They discard us when our chins sag and our skins wrinkle.’

Her tone softened into melancholy. Millie felt the whisper of her breath and its smell mixed with the scent of lavender. She pressed her back into the chair, as though this slight movement might give her some respite from the woman’s proximity.

Then, with lightening rapidity, Mrs Ludlow’s mood changed. She straightened, prodding the pistol at Millie’s temple with sudden irritation. ‘Good heavens, Cartwell, you’re making a meal of it! Stop playing with the rope and get the man tied. Feet as well, but not too tight. They need to walk. And for goodness sake, do not take all day.’

The landlord bent, kneeling beside Sam, looping the rope about his ankles, effectively shackling him.

‘Much better. Now tie her up, too. Stand up, Miss Lansdowne. You may be tired, but we cannot have you sitting about all the time, you know.’

Millie stood, dazed. It seemed incongruous to be bound within this snug room—The Rising Dawn had provided a more appropriate location for such a misadventure. And the Captain, with his pockmarked face, had been more suitable as a captor. This middle-aged woman with her violet dress and salt-and-pepper hair was wrong. She had walked into the wrong play and was