The man on the left didn’t smile but his eyes gleamed. A shock of dark hair fell over his brow and a large, crooked nose overwhelmed his lean face. “Ain’t nothing for you to worry over, gel. Francis and me just be escortin’ you on a journey.”
With this last sentence the one on the right stiffened in indignation and glared through the dimness at his partner. “I told you not to call me Francis! It’s Frank I am.” He swung his eyes back to Victoria and she could have sworn he was pleading with her when he said, “I’m Frank, miss!”
“Yes, of course. Good morning, Frank.”
How completely absurd. She was observing the niceties with someone who obviously meant her harm. But at least it gave her time to calm herself. She needed information; she needed to know what this was all about.
The carriage continued to travel quickly even though they were on city streets. Just then they rounded a corner and Victoria was flung into the wall. She rubbed her shoulder then opened her mouth to question her captors when the pistol-holder spoke again.
“You can jus’ call me Spade.” He spoke with finality and lapsed into silence.
For the next few minutes, as the vehicle lurched from left to right, never slowing its speed, Victoria tried desperately to think of what to say, what to ask. She heard shouts and yells from the street and one frighteningly loud crash.
Spade planted his feet in front of him and clasped the bench with one hand in order to keep himself upright. Frank had a harder time keeping his seat and Spade threw him dirty looks whenever their persons came into contact. However, Victoria noticed they both managed to maintain a steady hand on their weapons.
As for herself, she tried to anticipate which way the carriage might careen but didn’t have much success. Once she even ended up on the floor, landing painfully on her hip. Neither of her companions moved to help her up, so she shot them both a blistering look as she struggled back onto the bench, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt as best she could.
Eventually the carriage stopped its swaying, though its speed never varied. Through the slightly askew curtain she saw greenery instead of brickwork. They were heading out of London. Victoria glanced toward the carriage door and thought about hurling herself through it. She could not let these two ruffians kidnap her.
Kidnapped.
Just her luck. Bad fortune had been shadowing her the last three and a half weeks and had finally caught up to her.
“Don’t be thinkin’ ‘bout makin’ a quick exit,” Spade said softly while waving his pistol towards the door. “I wouldn’t want to have to shoot ye afore we get to Scotland.”
“Scotland?” Frank echoed the question in Victoria’s head. He turned his egg-shaped head toward Spade. “We ain’t supposed to take her to Scotland. It’s Wales as we’re headin’ for.”
“Wales? What kind of a sapskull are ye, Francis? Ye don’t kidnap a body and take her to Wales. It’s Scotland. That’s what I told Sam.” Spade pointed his pistol at the ceiling, indicating the coachman, dismissed Frank with a condescending look, and stared at Victoria.
“It’s Wales, I tell you! And don’t call me Francis!” Frank shouted at Spade’s profile as his partner refused to look his way.
Victoria just stopped her eyes from rolling. Not only had she been kidnapped; she had been kidnapped by lackwits. While their argument strangely fascinated Victoria, she reluctantly looked away, trying to focus on escaping. Why had they kidnapped her? She was a penniless orphan on her way to her...
Her wedding to the Duke of Taviston. Of course. These two scoundrels meant to hold her for ransom, obviously thinking His Grace would pay a high price to have his bride returned. Victoria wasn’t so sure. Taviston might consider the disappearance of his bride to be a fortuitous event.
Taviston! Panic hit her. She was supposed to marry him. Soon.
She tried to calculate how much time had already passed. At least twenty minutes, putting the time well past nine. If she didn’t appear at ten o’clock surely Taviston would come looking for her. Wouldn’t he?
An image of his handsome face, etched with betrayal, took root in her mind. No, he would think she had cried off, left him at the altar. She took short breaths of air. It was essential she make it to the church. She couldn’t wait around for Taviston, or anyone else, to rescue her.
Victoria turned her gaze back to the villains before her. With all her worries about getting to the church, she had somehow succeeded in ignoring their stench, but now the odor of unwashed bodies hit her again. Ignoring it, she trained her attention back on their conversation. Or rather, their disagreement, for they still argued.
“Look ‘ere, you lout! I know what I know. We’re to cart her to Wales ‘cause nobody would think of lookin’ for her there!” Frank passionately stated his side of the argument while vaguely brandishing his knife toward Spade.
Perhaps they will turn on each other and I can make an escape. But Spade’s next words chilled her.
“I were given exact orders, Francis. Take her to Scotland and kill ‘er.”
“Kill her? We ain’t to kill her!” Frank sounded as horrified as she, so horrified he forgot to insist on being addressed as Frank.
Whatever the truth might be, she favored Frank’s variation of the plan and hoped his voice would prevail. However, Spade had already told the coachman to head to Scotland. That was neither here nor there because she had to get away from these two long before they reached either Scotland or Wales. As she kept an ear open to their argument, Victoria tried to devise an escape plan.
Spade heaved a huge sigh and threw his hands in the air. “I tell ye true, ye yapping little ninny, we take ‘er to Scotland an’ end ‘er pretty little life. I ‘eard it from—” he cut a sharp gaze toward Victoria and stopped before he revealed anything more.
“No, no, no, no. I don’t do killin’. I spefically told that to—” Frank too stopped short.
Victoria gritted her teeth. For