Chapter Twenty-Nine

After pushing Samuel out of her room, Myfanwy got to business, mindfully dressing herself for the day with the kind of reverence and attention that a knight might have used before a major battle. Although she was sick of being alone, she needed this time to settle herself, to visualize how she wanted the match to go and identify the ways to make it happen. She always did this before a match. It calmed her mind and body, somehow creating a harmonious state within.

She would win today. Myfanwy knew it with complete certainty. She would win for herself and her team, for Aaron and Annabelle, for Benny and Joe, and she would win for Samuel. Because she wasn’t just playing for herself and the hopes of her future cricket club. She was playing for all the people who had believed in her and helped her along in this journey. She was playing for her family.

When that last thought settled comfortably in her mind, Myfanwy finally left her room. Aaron would have been mortified—it had taken her over sixty minutes to prepare. She’d been right to send the boys on their way. The poor child might have suffered apoplexy in the drawing room.

The house was quiet as Myfanwy ran down the stairs. Sarah must have taken Annabelle for a morning walk. She hoped the little girl enjoyed the match today. The plan was for her to come to the pitch later with Aunt Abigail.

Myfanwy stood in the foyer, twirling around, looking for signs of the butler. He always made a point to see everyone off when they left. “Benjamin?” she called. But only silence answered her.

No, not silence. Footsteps.

Myfanwy turned to the noise coming from the back of the house. They were a man’s footsteps, hard and forthright, and she fully expected to see the butler come into view in seconds—however, when the true figure formed in front of her, she blanched.

“Mr. Holmes? What…what are you doing here?”

The gaming hall owner’s crafty eyes danced as he sauntered closer, holding his walking stick. “Miss Myfanwy,” he said casually, as if he called on her home once a week. “It’s lovely to see you again. When I heard Samuel had already left for the match, I was worried that I was too late. I hurried over here as quickly as I could.”

He didn’t seem hurried. Harry Holmes looked as dashing and clear-eyed as ever at this morning hour. But everything about his casual manner set off a warning in her head.

“Where’s Benjamin?” Myfanwy asked, attempting to mimic his nonchalant affectation. Slowly, she took miniscule steps toward the door. “Did he let you in?”

Harry nodded. “Of course. He…ah…understood that I wouldn’t be turned away. I needed to see you.”

Myfanwy inched to the door again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes, this isn’t a good time. I’m running late.”

“I see that,” he said affably. “And I have to say, I’m in full approval.”

Myfanwy frowned. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She reached for the door handle, but Holmes’s walking stick shot out, blocking her.

He tutted, his expression wickedly convivial. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?” Myfanwy replied. “What makes you think you can come into my home and tell me what I can and cannot do?”

Harry Holmes’s smile curled from ear to ear. “Money, Miss Myfanwy,” he said. “A great deal of money.”

*

Myfanwy pounded onher bedroom door so hard that she nicked a gash in her knuckle. A tiny trail of blood trickled down the wood. “You can’t leave me in here forever!” she cried.

The bastard answered her with a warm laugh. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” he purred. “It’s only for the afternoon, a few hours at most, and then someone will find you and the others, I’m sure.”

The others.Holmes hadn’t come alone. He’d brought along two of his henchmen, and they’d been tasked with rounding up everyone, including Gertie, Benjamin, Sarah, and Annabelle and locking them in some other corner of the house. Myfanwy didn’t know where. She only knew that much because of the snippets of conversation she caught when Holmes had picked her up and dumped her in her room.

Myfanwy punched at the door again. “You are a vile creature. Doing all this over a silly game. I thought you were above this behavior, Mr. Holmes. I heard you were rich enough.”

His chuckle cut into her like shards of glass. “Only a viscount’s daughter would say something so stupid. One can never be rich enough. But just so you know, I’m not that vile. I was cheering for you. I like your energy, and on any other day, I would want you to win. But there’s just so much damned money to grab if you lose. Everyone’s betting on you and Sam and the single ladies. Your loss will fill my pockets quite nicely.”

Myfanwy huffed. “The team can win with or without me. I’m not that special.”

“Oh, that’s true,” he agreed readily. “But then I heard from a little bird that Miss Jennifer was also out. It seems that no one knows why; however, my sources have informed me that she’s recently made a little trip to Gretna Green. Scotland is lovely this time of year. I can understand the appeal.”

Appeal, indeed.

Holmes went on. “Maybe you alone wouldn’t make much of a difference, but with Jennifer also missing…that creates a rather sizeable loss on your team. They can still play, but the odds would definitely be against them. It’s too bad, really. I thought this would be the single girls’ year.”

Myfanwy laid her forehead against the door. Her knuckles were red and throbbing. Punching was fruitless; she was only hurting herself.

“Just take a nap,” Holmes advised. “When you wake up, this will all be over. I’ll leave the key downstairs to make it easy for everyone.”

How could he sound so magnanimous? Like at the end of this villainy, he was still providing a favor? “Samuel will come for you,” she seethed. “He’ll never let you get away with this.”

“Oh, I’m no idiot, Miss Myfanwy. I’m well aware of Samuel and what he might do.” It was more difficult for her to hear him; Holmes must be walking away from the door, toward the stairs. “Caution him, will you? He’ll listen to you. No good will come of his vengeance. I’ll be more than ready for him. Have a good day, miss.”

The slimy, foul miscreant! How could Holmes do this to her? He’d seemed so pleasant when she met him before! He’d spoken so warmly about her father.

What was she thinking? Holmes was a gambler at heart, and Lord knew what else. Just because he appeared respectable, that didn’t mean he was. Harry Holmes would only ever think about Harry Holmes.

“Help me!” Myfanwy cried, hitting the door with her palms. “Please, someone, help me!” But it was a lost cause. There was no one to hear her. She couldn’t even scream out her window. Harry’s men had nailed the sash, jamming it shut.

Myfanwy was good and locked in. Alone. Tears flooded her eyes when she thought about her team. The ladies would be so confused—so furious. She couldn’t bear thinking about how abandoned they would feel, how betrayed.

She slid down the door. After a while, she didn’t know how long she’d sat there. Long enough to come to the realization that it wasn’t possible to run out of tears. They just kept coming, like a bottomless bucket of misery.

Her sobs were so loud and graceless, she almost didn’t hear the little patter of footsteps creeping down the hall.

“Sissy?” came a small, worried voice. “Where, Sissy?”

Annabelle!The bastards hadn’t locked her up with the others after all. Myfanwy’s heart broke for the child; she must be so worried and anxious as she wandered the house calling for—

Sissy?

Sister.

Calling for her older sister. Calling for Myfanwy.

She scrambled to her knees. “Annabelle! Annabelle, darling. It’s me. It’s Sissy. I’m locked in my room. Can you hear me?”

“Sissy? Sissy!” Annabelle cried, high voice growing louder as she ran to Myfanwy’s door. The handle rattled. “Sissy, open!” the little girl ordered her in a panic.

“I can’t, darling,” Myfanwy replied evenly, trying to allay the girl’s fear. “But you can help. I need you to find something for me. A key. I don’t know where it is, but I think it’s downstairs. Probably in the drawing room or library. Can you do that for me? Can you find it? It will be just like the game we always play.”

A pause. Then a little thump, and Myfanwy could picture Annabelle folding her arms and dropping to the ground on her bottom, just the same as she did whenever she was frustrated with her older sister. “Sissy not nice. No key. Not a fun game.”

Myfanwy closed her eyes, praying for patience. She knew all those times she’d sent Annabelle on wild goose chases would come back to haunt her. Served her right. “No, darling, there is a key. I promise. I’m not fooling you this time. And I won’t ever again.” Still, she heard no rustling on the other side. “Sissy wasn’t good. You’re right. Sissy wasn’t fun, but she will be from now on. She’ll play more, and she’ll be the best big sister she can be.”

It was small, but something shifted on the other side. The handle rattled again as if Annabelle was using it to rise back to her feet. “Sissy isn’t bad. Sissy is a good sissy,” the little girl said. “I love Sissy.”

“And I love you too,” Myfanwy choked out, having never known how important it was to hear Annabelle say those words. “I love you so much.”

Hands clapped, and Annabelle jumped up and down. “A game. A game. A game.”

“Yes, a game,” Myfanwy replied, smiling despite her circumstances, wiping away her tears. “Find me the key and you win.”

“Do I get dessert…with cherries?”

Myfanwy’s laughter turned into a hiccup. “Darling, if you win, you can have cherries every day for the rest of your life.”