The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,76
Amelia, disgusted at the constable’s rough treatment of the child. She stepped forward and brushed past two men. “That boy knows no more about who kidnapped Lucy and the nurse than you do, Mr. Singleton. Can’t you see that he is frightened?”
The constable smirked. “He’s not frightened. Are you, boy? He’s just mad he got caught.”
Captain Sterling stood and stretched to his full height, towering over the boy. “I’ll know if you are lying, so don’t try it. Who gave you this letter?”
The boy tugged away from Mr. Singleton and scowled when the man jerked him back. “I done told ye. A man on the road give it to me. Don’ know who he were. He just give me money and told me to take the note to the kitchen, quick, like I done. So let me go!”
Amelia pushed even closer. “What letter?”
They all ignored her question. Singleton stood and pulled the boy to his feet. “You’re going to show us right where you saw this man, am I clear?” He motioned to the other men to bring horses around.
Amelia chimed in again, louder this time. “What letter?”
After Singleton mounted his horse, Captain Sterling flung the boy up on the saddle in front of the constable as if he weighed no more than Lucy. He waited for Singleton to secure him before walking over to Amelia. She searched his face for any indication of emotion, but the lines of his tanned face were hard, determined, and his turbulent gray eyes were cold. Dark whiskers covered his chin and cheeks, his very presence intimidating.
But Amelia would not be intimidated, not where Lucy was concerned. “I demand to know what is going on.”
“The boy has delivered a ransom letter.”
She positioned herself in front of him, insisting on his attention. “What did it say?”
“Whoever has them is demanding money. Stay here. We’ll be back.”
“But what if the boy tries to mislead you?”
“He won’t; you can rest assured of that. I need you to wait here in case there is another attempt at contact. Carrington will stay with you and help keep an eye on things.”
She glanced at the older man before returning her eyes to the captain.
“I need you to stay calm,” he said, “and I ask you to trust me.”
Trust him? Amelia didn’t trust anyone at this point.
But how could she tell him that his request was for more than she could give?
A cheery fire crackled in the drawing room fireplace, the flames hissing and popping.
Amelia tightened the rough wool shawl around her shoulders and lifted the edge to wipe the rain from her face. Even with the fire, damp cold permeated everything, and she indulged in a shiver.
Jane stood next to a small table to Amelia’s left, poured a cup of tea, and handed it over. The steaming liquid heated the delicate china cup and warmed Amelia’s trembling fingers. The curling steam heated her face. Normally a cup of hot tea would soothe her nerves and calm her agitated spirit. But today her stomach turned at the very thought of swallowing anything at all. Amelia placed the teacup back on its saucer.
A frown crossed Jane’s face. “You must eat or drink something, Amelia. You’ll be of no use to anyone if you faint dead away.”
Amelia shook her head and stood. “I’m fine, Jane, really.” She rubbed the ache in her temple and stared toward the window. The rain increased, icy drops hitting the wavy glass like small pebbles. Her chin trembled. What if her baby was out in this weather? What if Lucy was hungry, or scared? Or worse?
Amelia pushed herself up from her chair and began to pace. “They should have allowed me to accompany them. If they do find Lucy, she will need me.”
Jane laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You don’t need to be traipsing around the countryside. Leave such things to the men. They will find her, I know.”
“But what good am I here? So useless, sitting here, waiting.”
A shout from Mr. Carrington at the far window startled Amelia. “Ho there!” he said. “They’ve returned.”
At the words, Amelia darted from the room. She flung herself through Winterwood’s entrance and out into the cold, damp morning.
A throng of horsemen lined the horizon. The thundering hooves pounded the soggy landscape, flinging up bits of dirt and sod. She lifted her hand to guard her eyes against the elements and strained to make out the figures on horseback.
Mr. Tine. Uncle George. Edward. Mr. Singleton. One by one she identified