For Love Alone (A New Adventure Begins - Star Elite 8)

‘I would rather die than go anywhere with them,’ she hissed beneath her breath.

She hated her father’s thugs because they would take great delight in being able to do what they had come to Windwidger to do: force her to return to her father, Horace’s, house. Determined to do everything in her power to stop that from happening, Carlotta shouldered her way past two fishermen who were wrestling with crab boxes in the middle of the path and disappeared into the bakery. Unfortunately, being inside didn’t make her feel any safer. She knew she was even more vulnerable because there was no way of escaping if the thugs appeared. Moreover, she was with

villagers who had noticed the arrival of a newcomer to the area and wanted to know everything about her. Even so, being in the bakery was better than being outside where the entire village could see her.

‘Good morning, Mr Tabernacle,’ she called to the man behind the counter.

‘Good morning, my dear. So, you have decided to stay a while have you?’ The baker smiled kindly at her as he handed a loaf of bread to an elderly customer.

‘For the time being, yes,’ Carlotta replied, aware that she had the curious gazes of several customers on her. She didn’t lift her eyes and smile at them mostly because she didn’t want any of them to engage her in conversation and ask questions she didn’t want to answer. It hurt that she had to keep them at arm’s length. It left her feeling isolated and alone, but she had no choice. It worried her that so many people knew she was in the area; a stranger amongst them. To tell them anything about her situation would make her situation worse. If the thugs asked the locals about her the villagers would invariably point them in her direction and her quest for freedom would be over.

But I must eat so I have to risk it.

With her stomach growling hungrily, Carlotta eyed the delicious pastries on the counter and mentally counted the coins in her pouch. As she contemplated what she could purchase, she listened to the gossip.

‘I heard from Agatha that several of the boats have been shot to pieces. The men can’t go out for their catch because there is so much damage the boats aren’t seaworthy. Families are terrified because their homes were hit by the bullets. They woke up to carnage. The villagers are furious. Of course, that fool Jenner can’t catch them. He tried to tell them that the holes could be repaired, and that he had the matter under control, but he doesn’t. Where were his men last night? Eh? How come so many strangers were in that village and most of them died? Who were they fighting, that’s what I want to know? Nobody knows who those men were, where they came from, or what they were doing there, that’s the problem. None of us are safe in our beds. Nobody can sleep soundly at night. Why, there are bodies everywhere this morning. All the villagers know is that they were woken up at some God forsaken hour of the night by the sound of gunfire. Old Cuthbert Reynolds stuck his head out of his window to tell them to shut up and nearly got his bed cap blown off.’ She nodded with self-righteous importance at the women who all gasped in shock and horror at what they were hearing.

‘I had heard that several of the local men were struck by bullets when they tried to intervene. Some of the fishermen went down to see if their boats were alright and got caught in the gunfire. I don’t know. It makes you wonder what the world is coming to,’ another woman announced.

‘What’s happened?’ Carlotta interrupted before the women could denounce the whole world as doomed to failure.

‘Have you not heard?’ Another woman asked. ‘Well, you probably haven’t seeing as you are a stranger around these parts. There was a gun battle in the next village. In Bladley Weeks. Many men are dead, but nobody knows who they are.’

‘They aren’t locals?’ Carlotta immediately dismissed any notion that her father’s thugs might have been responsible.

‘No, they aren’t.’ The woman squinted suspiciously at her.

‘God, how awful,’ Carlotta whispered. ‘Where was the magistrate? Why was he not called?’

‘He was,’ the woman snorted. ‘But he is busy helping the War Office or something. God only knows what he is doing. He has been down to the harbour this morning, eventually, but seemed to be looking for someone. When he had checked all the bodies he apparently lost all interest in what had happened and told the men that they could repair their boats and it would all be all right. But it isn’t all right. It won’t be alright until the bounders responsible for the damage are caught and put behind bars. They have caused so much damage livelihoods have been damaged.’

Carlotta pointed to the village next door to Windwidger, a smaller port called Tillington. ‘The fishing village that way?’

The woman shook her head. ‘Bladley Weeks,’ she repeated. ‘It’s about three miles the other way. The magistrate lives high up on the cliffs above the village there, but didn’t see fit to leave his bed chamber to go and see what all the kerfuffle was about. He had to be fetched by Marvin Richards. He nearly got shot as well.’

The disgust on everyone’s faces was enough to warn Carlotta that the magistrate was not a popular man. ‘Incompetent is he?’

Her heart sank when the women guffawed and began to regale her with the man’s inability to catch someone who kept stealing fish from the market, and sheep from the Lord’s estate. It was the villagers who found the thieves on both occasions, but the magistrate still didn’t arrest them as promptly as the villagers felt he should have. Carlotta realised then that it would do her no good at all to call the lawman if she had a problem with the thugs her father had sent to fetch her. She was well and truly on her own, not just at the house but in the predicament she was in.

Carlotta stepped forward when the woman ahead of her in the queue took her purchases and scurried out of the shop to spread her news a little wider. While she waited to be served, Carlotta listened with little interest to the women discussing whose boats had been damaged, and if they could be repaired or not. All the time she watched pedestrians on the street outside, searching for her father’s thugs to appear. She knew they were out there – somewhere – watching – waiting.

‘Oh! I am sorry,’ Carlotta gasped when she saw the baker waggle his fingers in front of her face. ‘A loaf and two of your buns, please.’

While the baker went to fetch her order, Carlotta dug around in her pocket and placed the coins on the counter. At that moment, the tinkle of the bell above the shop door made everyone fall silent and turn to look at the new customers. Carlotta threw a wary glance over her shoulder and immediately felt her stomach sink to her toes when she saw the thugs she was trying to avoid just a few feet away. They were distracted by the customers they had to side-step around and didn’t see her face. Carlotta quickly turned her back to them and tugged her shawl higher while keeping her gaze on the ground. By making sure her back was turned to them, she hoped they wouldn’t notice her.

When Mr Tabernacle handed her the bread and buns, she smiled her thanks, shoved the coins at him and hurried out of the shop. She felt sick as she stepped outside and sucked in a deep breath of the crisp, sea air to try to steady her churning stomach. Carlotta was physically shaking so badly that she wasn’t sure she could make it to the end of the street. There was no place she could hide, though. The only options she had were to go into the grocery shop or straight back to the house.

‘But I cannot do that. If they follow me they know where I am staying. I will be leading them straight to my door,’ she whispered.

When the tinkle of the shop’s doorbell behind her interrupted her thoughts, Carlotta glanced worriedly over her shoulder. The relief that flooded her when she watched a woman step out of the shop was strong enough to make her move. Hurriedly, she made her way toward the grocery and tried to remember what she needed.

‘Good morning, my dear. I had heard that we had a newcomer to the village. It is a pleasure to meet you,’ the man behind the counter called gaily.

‘Thank you,’ Carlotta whispered with a nervous smile. ‘I am glad to be here.’

The grocer, clearly not as easy to distract as the baker, leaned on the counter before him and smiled at his wife. ‘This is Mrs Strong, my wife.’

‘Pleasure to meet you,’ she replied nervously. ‘Mrs Trelawney. Mrs Regina Trelawney.’