Page 84 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

MissTaylor smiled. “It’s the least I could do. Mr.Sutcliffe is the one who made the contribution.”

“Yes, yes.” Merritt turned to his father, and for all his nonchalance and masks, he seemed awkward. “Thank you again. I’ll pay you back.”

“It’ll be tight for a bit, but it needed to happen,” Mr.Sutcliffe said.

To MissTaylor, Merritt added, “I am never letting you go anywhere ever again. Even if I must write a thousand books and purchase a new magicked house to keep you on staff.”

MissTaylor chuckled. “That will not be necessary, Mr.Fernsby.”

He let out a long sigh. Met Hulda’s eyes and smiled. “Well, we’re not done with this mess yet. I suppose we’ll need to find a hotel, if we can’t leave the county. And sort out the rest of it.”

Hulda nodded. “If I can just speak to Mr.Walker alone—”

“Stop!”

All four of them jolted as one of the prison guards ran down the stony passageway, holding an open letter in his hand. Two more guards, including the one who had released them, tailed behind.

“Stop this instant!” he bellowed. “You may not leave this building!”

Hulda’s heart thrust up into her throat, nearly suffocating her. She retreated by instinct, backing into Merritt, who felt stiff as the walls around them. He put a hand on her shoulder.

Mr.Sutcliffe asked, “What’s the meaning of this?”

The shouting guard stopped a few paces in front of them and motioned with his hands, sending the other to seize Hulda and Merritt—and none too kindly. Hulda felt stitches tear in the shoulder of her dress as the man wrenched her forward and pinned her wrists behind her back.

“Merritt!” she cried.

“Let us go!” Merritt shouted as his father repeated, “What’s the meaning of this?”

A cold wind rushed over Hulda as the prison doors opened, but her captor had her pinned and turned so she could not see if a gale had burst them or if MissTaylor had run for help.

The guard held up the paper, which had an inked seal at the base of it. “There isno bail for murderers.”

“What?” Hulda gasped. “Are you mad?”

The guard merely scowled at them and turned the paper around, reading from it, “Merritt Jacob Fernsby and Hulda Larkin are hereby under arrest for the murder of Myra Haigh.”

Hulda’s blood pooled in her feet. She went limp in the guard’s hold, making him falter.

Myra ... dead?

“Myra Haigh is well and alive!” MissTaylor said.

The guard looked over her to the doors. “We’ll deal with you later! Stand back—this is official business!”

But just under his sharp comment, Hulda heard Merritt say, “Baptiste?”

Thanks to her captor’s misstep, Hulda was able to swing around just enough to see the rain-soaked chef standing in the doorway, breathing heavily. “He is no killer.” His voice was cold as the November sky.

The guard ignored them. To the others, he said, “Take them back to the cell.”

“No,” Hulda pleaded, but it sounded more like a dying breath. There would be no way out of this. Myra couldn’t be dead ... Hulda couldn’t accept that. And if she was ... there was no way to prove they hadn’t killed her. The situation was ineluctable—no bail, no escape, no life after imprisonment. No mercy.

How ... How was this happening? Did Mr.Baillie hate them so much? Who had he manipulated to sign off on that warrant?

Her guard shoved her back down the hallway, back to her cage—

And a dog barked.

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