Run.Clara shoved her hands in front of her, breaking into a haphazard dash.
Arms clamped around her waist, hefting her off the ground.
No, no, no! Screaming with all her might, Clara thrashed and kicked and clawed, but the arms only squeezed all the tighter. She wasn’t fast enough. Wasn’t strong enough.
“Get over ’ere quick, so I can shut ’er up.”
The burlap sack smashed into Clara’s face, drenching her senses in a sweet aroma that weakened her knees. Doused her will to fight.
Overpowered, overwhelmed, overcome, she sank into the darkness.
Clara awoke to blessed air caressing her face. Air cool, fresh, and perfumed with orange blossoms. Perhaps she might pick a few flowers to tuck in her bonnet. She strained to lift her head. Why was it so heavy? Her eyes fluttered open, lashes catching on long locks. Why was her coif in disarray? She tried to brush aside the hair tickling her nose, but her arms were sore and ... restrained. Her spine stiffened as gooseflesh prickled her skin.
She was bound to a chair.
And her favorite bonnet was gone!
With a huff, she blew a curl out of her eyes. Oh, those odious ogres would pay for this. Although, from the sound of things, someone was already giving them a tongue-lashing.
No doubt the very someone whose name sent shivers up her spine.
Don’t so much as think his name, Clara. Not yet. Not until you’ve gottenyour bearings.Blinking, she took in her surroundings. A single lantern glowed upon a rustic wooden table littered with dirt, clay pots, and a gardening trowel. She appeared to be in a potting shed, windowless and cobwebbed withneglect. Faint silver moonlight crept through gaps in the wooden boards, so evening must have fallen long ago. An assumption confirmed by an empty pang in her stomach.
On the other side of the shed door, male voices exchanged volatile whispers.
“A deal’s a deal! We’re ’posed to stay with ya until the machine’s back in London.”
The ogre overlord. The one who’d struck Mum. Clara grimaced. She hoped the coward wouldn’t sit right for a month.
“Aye, Grimes told you, ‘You can ’as an extension if and only if the boys tag along. There and back.’ There and back, ’e said!”
And there was the ogre with half an onion for a brain.
“We would’ve been there and back already if it weren’t for you bumbling idiots slowing me down at every turn!”
Mr. Forrester.Even in thought, the name left a bitter taste on Clara’s tongue. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Part of her had known he was in league with the ogres, but oh, how she’d wanted to be wrong.
“I’ll not have another day wasted because of you lot. I’m done! Go back to London and tell Grimes he’ll have his money as we agreed, but from here on out, I’m doing this my way. Alone.” The latch turned, and Mr. Forrester stepped into the potting shed, the pair of ogres fast on his heels.
“Oi, ya can’t be ordering us about!”
“Not on your life!”
As Mr. Forrester started to close the door, one of the ogres attempted to shove his way into the shed. Mr. Forrester whipped out a pistol and fired. The bullet burrowed into the doorjamb and scattered splinters as the ogres bolted into the night, spewing curses.
“Next time I won’t miss!” Mr. Forrester slammed the door with a frustrated growl. He faced her then, dark eyes rimmed with shadows. His countenance was haggard, shoulders taut and slumped, as if he carried a heavy load. Wrinkles creasedhis ostentatious suit, the crown of his bowler hat had been dented, and his hair and chin whiskers were devoid of their usual gleam of pomade. But the most startling change in his appearance was the pistol in his hand.
“I’m sorry it has come to this, Clara, but you left me with no alternative.” Raking a trembling hand through his hair, Mr. Forrester lowered his gaze to the ground, as if pained by the sight of her. “I hope those brutes didn’t rough you up too much, and I ... I apologize for how forcefully they handled your mum. That wasn’t part of the plan, I assure you. But they’re gone now. So ... so things will be different. From now on, things will be handled onmyterms. And if you and your mum cooperate, I promise no one else will get hurt.”
The condition on that promise rendered it of little comfort. Clenching her muscles, Clara willed the tremors coursing through her veins not to give themselves away. “When did you start carrying a pistol?”
He took note of the gun in his hand, now hanging lax at his side, and heaved a ragged sigh. “When I found myself forced to travel with half-witted henchmen.”
Henchmen who worked for Mr. Grimes, the unscrupulous creditor he’d brought into her home under false pretense. “Was it wise to send them back to London? I can’t imagine your creditor will be—”
“Grimes wasFather’screditor, not mine. The debt was Father’s shame, not mine! I’m not the weak-willed louse who couldn’t keep away from the card tables. I’m not the sorry excuse of a man who had to rely on his frail wife and young child to work his way out of debtor’s prison. I’m not the one who looked his son in the eye and swore on his wife’s grave to quit placing bets, only to skulk back to the gaming house. The burden of debt might’ve landed on my shoulders, but I’ll not be held responsible for its making. And I’ll not go back to that rat-infested prison where she died!”
Clara’s shallow breath caught in her throat. In all the years she’d known him, Mr. Forrester had never once mentioned his dead mother, and she’d never once suspected the poor woman had perished in debtor’s prison. “Why did you never tell me any of this?”
