“I’ve made inquiries about your Sheriff Pratt,” the earl warned, “so I know where he lives. Tell me where he’s taken her and save me the trouble of tracking him down.”
“I will tell you nothing,” Oscar hissed. “If punishment is imposed on the petty harlot, it is no more than she deserves.”
Lord Stafford was very strong. With one arm, he threw Oscar away, and Oscar crashed into a table covered with vases of flowers and burning candles. A mix of hot wax and fetid water dripped onto his vestments. He tried to stand, but his limbs wouldn’t obey.
The earl loomed into view. “Emeline Wilson is my—”
“She is a whore!” Oscar insisted.
If he hadn’t been so flustered, he might have seen the blow coming, but he didn’t. Nicholas Price punched him in the face. Oscar embarrassed himself by whimpering and slumping to the floor.
“Emeline is my tenant,” the earl started again, “and my dear friend, and my affianced bride.”
“She is not.”
“She is, you pathetic swine. How dare you insult her with your slurs and lies.”
Lord Stafford grabbed Oscar by his clothes, pulling him up until they were nose to nose. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out what you’d done? Did you think I wouldn’t care?”
Suddenly, Lt. Price was there, saying, “Let him go, Nicholas. Let him go.”
“No, I intend to kill him.”
“We have to get her home,” Lt. Price said. “Focus on that. We’ll locate this sheriff, and once she’s safe, we’ll deal with Blair.”
Lt. Price pushed his brother away, as Mr. Templeton piped up from out in the pews. “May I speak now, milord?”
“What is it?” the earl asked. “Please make it fast. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“While you’re questioning this sheriff about Miss Wilson, could you also ask him about the vicar’s sister?”
“Mrs. Merrick? What about her?”
“She’s disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Yes. On the day that Blair and Mason took Emeline and the twins, Mrs. Merrick learned of it. She confronted the vicar, and they had a dreadful quarrel. No one’s seen her since.”
“What do you suspect happened to her?” the earl inquired.
“He was always awful to the poor woman. His maid and cook have described how he browbeat her, locked her in her room, and the like. Folks are wondering if he hasn’t finally killed her.”
Lt. Price grabbed Oscar—just as his brother had a minute earlier—and yanked him to his feet.
“What have you done to her?” Lt. Price shouted.
“Me? I’ve done nothing!” Oscar said.
“Where is she?” Lt. Price bellowed so loudly that Oscar’s ears rang.
The earl approached Oscar and seethed, “You have one chance to tell me the truth. Admit your crime, and it will go easier on you.”
“My crime!” Oscar huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
The earl peered out at Mr. Templeton. “You’re sure she’s missing?”
“Vanished without a trace, milord. We’ve been pestering the vicar as to her whereabouts, but he won’t say.”
“Then there’s no hope for it, Blair.” The earl sighed. “I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of your sister.”
“Of all the ludicrous, insane, fantastical—” Oscar began to protest, but Lt. Price cut him off.
“Shut up,” Lt. Price threatened, “or I will rip your head from your shoulders.”
“Mr. Templeton,” the earl called, “could you escort the vicar to the jail for me?”
“I’d be delighted, Lord Stafford.”
“Release me!” Oscar snarled. “I am a servant of the Lord. I am the vicar of your church. I will not be treated like a common—”
Lt. Price clasped Oscar’s wrists and pinned his arms, as the earl retrieved a kerchief from his coat and stuffed it in Oscar’s mouth.
“I believe,” the earl said, “that my brother told you to shut the hell up.”
“Mmm . . . mmm . . .” Oscar was unable to talk, but the two brothers perceived his message: I’ll kill you for this, I’ll kill you for this. Under the circumstances, it probably wasn’t the best of sentiments.
“Until I return,” the earl ordered, “I want him held on bread and water rations.”
“I’ll see to it,” Mr. Templeton said, appearing gleeful at the prospect.
“Now I have to go,” the earl said. “Save me some time, Blair. Where has Sheriff Pratt taken Emeline?”
Oscar glared, his loathing clear, but the earl simply grinned.
“If we can’t convince an executioner to hang you,” the earl said, “I’ll be happy to pull the rope myself.”
“You’ll have to get in line ahead of me,” Lt. Price retorted.
“As to you, Vicar Blair,” the earl sneered, “you’ve preached your last sermon in my church. And if Emeline or her sisters has been harmed, you’ve drawn your last breath too.”
The earl and his brother raced out.
“Sheriff Pratt!”
Emeline used her breakfast plate to bang on the bars of her cell, but she wasn’t sure why she bothered. He hadn’t responded to any of her summons.
She hated the uncertainty over her future. Throughout her days in his jail, Pratt had been the only person she saw. Despite how she questioned him, he wouldn’t provide the tiniest detail of what was to occur. Nor would he divulge any information about Nan and Nell.
Emeline had no idea where they were, so even if she managed to escape Pratt’s clutches, she hadn’t a clue where to search. It wasn’t as if she could rush to Stafford and ask Mr. Mason or Oscar Blair.
“Oh, Nicholas,” she murmured, “do you know what happened? Do you care?”
She was positive he didn’t. He was married and off on his honeymoon. Emeline was at the bottom of a very long list of topics that wouldn’t cross his mind, and it bordered on insanity that she would even wonder about him.
Since he’d left, so much had transpired that she didn’t feel they’d actually met. He could have been a character in a novel or a warrior in a poem. He didn’t seem real anymore.
Pratt’s footsteps sounded, and she struggled to remain calm. She was terrified that—on one of his visits—he would escort her to the gallows.
He lumbered to the door, and to her surprise, he unlocked it and
