London Shadows (#1 Penderry's Bizarre)

Chapter Eighteen

Swords sheathed at their sides, Westman and his team marched to the front door of Crowthorne Towers and banged the iron knocker. Night had fallen, but lights burned brightly in several windows. Movement caught his eye and Westman looked to the side. Sitting on the short pillar beside the door was a brown mouse, cleaning its face with its paws.

"I swear it's that same mouse again," he muttered.

"What's that, sir?" Blinks glanced around them.

The mouse stopped washing and scurried away through a gap in the masonry.

"Never mind." Westman turned back to the door when it opened.

The butler appeared. "Are you expected, sir?"

"I should say so," Westman replied and forced the door wide.

The butler's protest died as they filed in after Westman. Blinks tapped the handle of his sword threateningly while Jack growled low in his throat. Millicent and Sophie strode in, armed with blades, and George followed last, arms folded and a scowl like thunder darkening his face.

Lord Crowthorne emerged at the head of the staircase and a delighted smile stretched his lips. He descended the steps to greet them.

"Miss Penderry, what a pleasant surprise," he gushed and boldly swept up her hand. His mouth barely brushed her glove before Westman seized him by the shirt-front.

"Don't touch her," he warned the lord and shoved him up against the banister, crushing his neatly tied cravat in the process. With a backward glance, Westman caught the butler sneaking out of the hallway to raise the alarm. "Blinks, subdue that man."

Quick off the mark, Blinks tackled the butler from behind and put a cloth over the man's face. "Don't worry, it's just a bit of chloroform," he told him, grunting when the other servant struggled. "Won't hurt. You might wake up with a stinking headache, though."

The fumes took hold and the butler slumped against Blinks, unconscious.

"George, help tie him up," Westman instructed.

Wide-eyed, Crowthorne looked at the group and their weapons. "Is this a robbery?"

"Hm, so that's how you want to do this, is it?" Westman narrowed his eyes. "Let's not pretend, Crowthorne. You're in on your sister's plot. Now, where is she hiding?"

"Henriette?"

"You'd best tell us, your lordship," Blinks added, leaving George to finish binding up the butler. "I never did like spilling blood in front of ladies."

Crowthorne tensed in Westman's grip and recoiled further against the wooden stair rail. "What's this all about? What do you want with Henriette?"

Westman grew impatient with Crowthorne's pretence and thrust out a hand. "Blinks, rope."

"Aye, sir." Blinks handed him a coil and Westman tied Crowthorne to the Banister.

"You don't have to tell us," Westman said, tugging the knots painfully tight. "We can just search the house. Every square inch. And believe me, we'll tear this place apart to find her."

"And when we do find her ladyship," said Blinks, drawing his glinting blade, "we won't be sitting down for tea and cakes."

Westman fixed the lord with a hard stare. "I suggest you drop this charade and tell us where she is."

Crowthorne's chest rose and fell nervously. "Well, Mr Westman, I can say with certainty that I'm crossing you off the Christmas ball guest list. This is outrageous."