Page 154 of The King's Man
‘Father … ’ Rebecca turned to her father.
‘Morton. That’s enough. Let her go.’ Roger had risen to his feet, his face ashen.
Morton laughed and raised the pistol to point at Rebecca’s head. His meaning was clear; if Roger moved, Rebecca died. Roger stared at his daughter with large, stricken eyes.
‘Father?’ Rebecca’s voice trembled and her eyes filled with tears.
‘You unspeakable animal,’ Thamsine said. ‘Let her go, she’s only a child.’
Morton glanced at Thamsine. ‘Jealous, my dear? Don’t worry, your turn will come later. We have all night–now, if either of you lifts a finger, the girl dies. Which do you prefer? The collar.’
With shaking fingers, Rebecca started to undo the knot on her collar.
‘Hurry up!’ Ambrose jerked the pistol at the girl.
‘’Brose! No!’
The jug of ale Annie had carried from the kitchen crashed to the floor in the doorway. She cried out like a wild animal in pain and hurled herself at her brother. Ambrose jumped to his feet and turned to face her. The pistol discharged, its sound muffled by Annie’s body as she fell on him.
Chapter 56
Kit dismounted and walked his horse up the long drive to the house. The rain had soaked him to the skin, and he longed for a warm fire and a hot meal. He was too soon out of his sickbed to endure this sort of a soaking.
Jem’s horse had lost a shoe and Kit, anxious to keep moving, had left him behind in Alton, a decision he now regretted. If Morton had gone to Hartley, it meant that he risked facing him alone again, and he had no confidence in his ability to survive another encounter with Ambrose Morton.
Kit’s soldier’s instincts prickled as the house came into view. Through the rain, the fine Elizabethan house seemed quiet. He crossed the front of the house, seeking out the stables where he could leave his horse. He found them with no difficulty and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of the rain-soaked, mud-spattered carriage that stood in the stable yard, no horses in the traces.
He led his horse across to the dark stables. Cursing, he groped around and found a lantern and tinder and struck a light. The carriage horses had been brought in but still wore their harness. They looked up and whinnied at him. He patted a soft nose.
‘Where’s your coachman?’ he asked.
Kit filled a bucket it with oats and another with water for his horse and the two coach horses. The horses’ ears twitched and their heads turned at the sound of a muffled noise emanating from behind a door at the end of the stables.
Kit crept down the length of the stables and leaned against the door.
‘Who’s there?’ he called.
A barrage of voices met him.
‘One at a time.’
‘Unlock this door!’
Kit looked at the massive padlock. ‘It’s padlocked and there’s no key.’
A stable yard expletive returned from the other side of the door.
‘Tell me, what’s happened here?’
A voice with a London accent spoke. ‘I was hired to bring a lady and gentleman here from London. As soon as I get here, he puts a pistol to me head and orders me into the stables … ’
A local voice broke in. ‘He then orders us all in here and bolts the door.’
‘How long have you been there?’
There was a momentary silence. ‘A couple of hours.’
‘And the man’s name?’ Kit asked, although he already knew the answer.
