Chapter 43

Arthur Cunningham looked nothing like Olivia expected him to. He was small and gaunt, and deep lines creased the skin around

his eyes and mouth. His thick white hair hung disheveled from beneath his wide-brimmed hat, and he walked with a limp, as

if in pain.

How on earth was this man supposed to apprehend a criminal, especially if he tried to escape?

Judging by the hard glare he fixed on her, she didn't meet his expectations either.

Mr.Cunningham jerked his thumb in her direction and turned to Lucas. "Who's this?"

Lucas, with exaggerated manners, pivoted toward her. "MissBrannon, may I present Mr.Cunningham, the magistrate of this area.

And, Mr.Cunningham, may I present MissBrannon of Brannon Antiquities and Company."

At first neither moved as they all stood in the shadowed stable just outside of Stoat Cottage. Even in the lantern's faint

glow, Cunningham's disapproval burned as bright as fire.

Lucas must have sensed it, too, for he continued, "Miss Brannon personally overheard the conversation between Russell Crane and Mrs. Milton's maid, and she is well acquainted with the porcelain pieces in question."

Mr.Cunningham looked back to the four constables behind him with a grunt before returning his attention to her. "With all

due respect, MissBrannon, these constables can take it from here. You'll be safer in the village. Mr.Avery will stay to

aid us, and one of the constables will escort you back to—"

"If it is all the same to you," interrupted Olivia abruptly, "I believe it's best for me to remain here."

Mr.Cunningham raised a shaggy eyebrow and noisily cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should rephrase that. One of my men will escort you back to town. You will be notified as soon as the situation is in hand."

She lifted her chin and obstinately shook her head. "That simply will not do, Mr.Cunningham. Mr.Crane has been in my family's

employ for over a decade. I'm not afraid of him, and I want to see with my own eyes that he is brought to justice."

Mr.Cunningham scoffed, and he looked toward Lucas as if seeking reinforcement. But Lucas gave none. Instead, he shifted the

topic. "When I returned from our meeting earlier today, I spotted Crane in the village. He's close, so I believe our time

would best be spent making sure we all understand the task at hand instead of debating where MissBrannon should be."

Olivia jutted her chin up in the wake of Lucas's words.

Mr.Cunningham narrowed his eyes at the subtle reprimand and mumbled under his breath before continuing. "I've given these

men an overview of what we are expecting tonight, but, Avery, share with them what you know."

Lucas turned to the four darkly clad constables. "Russell Crane is an antiquities agent out of London. John Wakes is a ceramist, as far as we know. Tabitha Martin is a lady's maid at Cloverton Hall. The three have been working together to swap out pieces from the Cloverton collection and replace them with replicas."

"Right." Mr.Cunningham pivoted to face the constables behind him. "And the easiest way to have charges brought against them

and make sure they are enforced is for me to personally see the illegal activity occur. Altogether, there will be us six men.

Since the meeting is expected to take place in the cottage, Avery, Patterson, Brown, Miller, and I will wait in the cottage's

loft. Armstrong, you will stay at the door in the back, just in case."

"What about me?" Olivia blurted.

Cunningham groaned. "You'll stay here in this stable in case anyone comes in here."

"But I—"

"I'm in charge here, MissBrannon," warned Cunningham. "What I say is how it will be. Are we clear?"

She pressed her lips together.

Mr.Cunningham tore his eyes away from her. "As I was saying, I've inspected the cottage, and there's not much to it. The

five of us will wait in the loft until the three offenders are present. Then, on my signal, Avery and Patterson will subdue

Crane. Brown and I'll subdue Wakes. Miller, you subdue the woman. When we have them, we will use the rope to secure them so

I can question them, and then we will transport them in the wagons. From there we will take them to the jail, and if the weather's

too murky for transport, Wainbridge said to hold them at Cloverton. Any questions?"

Questions?

Olivia could scream with frustration. Yes, she had questions. Many questions.

Mr.Cunningham extinguished the lantern, and darkness filled the stable. As the men started to exit the small building and

head toward the cottage, Lucas touched her arm and whispered, "It will all be fine. Just stay here, all right?"

Olivia huffed.

No, it would not be all right. But she didn't really have a choice.

So she begrudgingly leaned against the door to wait.

***

Lucas shook his head at the recollection of petite Olivia Brannon standing up to Arthur Cunningham. She may not have gotten

her way in that instance, but she'd caught the magistrate off guard. And Lucas was not surprised one bit.

He trudged through the wild, unkempt grass outside the cottage with the other men. The moorland night was dark and thick,

and murky fog hugged the uneven landscape. Barn owls hooted in the distance, and the wind barreled in from off the moor, whistling

in the grasses and rustling the leaves of the nearby copse of trees.

Cunningham had been right—there wasn't much to the cottage. The magistrate used a pocket tinderbox to produce enough light

for the men to climb the ladder to the loft, and when he did it shed light on two tables and a handful of chairs. Nothing

else was in the cottage.

Once they were up in the narrow loft, minutes rolled into an hour, and Lucas wondered if perhaps they'd been mistaken in their assumptions. But then the faint sound of distant wooden wheels rolling over wet ground echoed in the blustery night.

Lucas licked his lips in anticipation. Never before had he found himself in such a volatile situation, but now, as the possibility

of every outcome raced through his mind, his senses were alive with expectation.

Cunningham whispered an order for silence.

Lucas's heart beat wildly in his chest.

At length, the front door creaked open and scraped loudly against the cottage's dirt floor. A rough male whisper uttered,

"You said she'd be here at nine."

"And she will," responded Crane's voice. "Will you relax?"

"‘Relax,' he says," grunted the first voice, who could only be Wakes. "They know 'bout the counterfeits, Crane. I'll not relax

'bout nothin' 'til this is done."

"We've got no choice but to stay the course, do we?"

Footsteps sounded outside, and then the door rasped open once more.

"What took you so long?" Crane sneered.

"I did m' best," a feminine voice hissed. "If ye think it's so easy t' sneak these out o' t' 'ouse wit' no one seein' ya,

then ye try it."

"No sense getting all worked up." Crane sniffed. "Do you have it all?"

"It's 'ere. Take it." Some sort of fabric rustled, and the sound of porcelain clinking captured his attention. "'ere are t'

originals for t' ones ye brought, and 'ere is t' next piece for you to replicate."

"I thought we said no more," Crane growled. "This stops now."

"I can make that," Wakes said after several moments, ignoring Crane's comment. "I'll need a drawing."

Light emanated from the floor below and cast shadows on the ceiling as a candle was lit. Lucas listened intently as Crane

outlined the specifics of the piece that would need to be forged—the details of the images. The size of the handles. The thickness

of the rim.

Motion caught Lucas's attention from the corner of his eye. Cunningham gave the signal.

It was time.

Lucas and the constables flooded from the loft, and havoc erupted.

"Listen up!" shouted Cunningham over the confusion. "You are under arrest for larceny and conspiracy to commit fraud."

Men shouted. Tabitha screamed. Porcelain crashed.

Using all his weight, Lucas rushed into Crane, pushing him back against the wall. The constable named Patterson lunged forward

and slammed his fist into Crane's jaw.

Somehow in the midst of the shuffling and shouting, shoving and heaving, Lucas braced his knee against Crane's back on the

ground, and the constable bound his hands behind his back.

Chest heaving from exertion, Lucas looked over his shoulder to see Wakes in a similar situation.

Then someone shouted, "Where's the girl?"

***

Olivia paced the damp, dark stable. With each step her boots sank farther into the soggy mud. She grimaced at the strong scent from the constables' horses, which were secured behind her, and rain dripped on her from a hole in the ceiling's thatch.

She'd agreed, reluctantly, to remain in place. But how could she possibly do that? She'd heard the wagon wheels approach.

She'd observed a glow coming from behind the cottage's thin window covering. She'd heard voices blurred by the night's wind.

But nothing was happening.

Minutes slid by at such a glacial rate that she completely lost track of time, and frustration at not being included pressed

her. Of course she understood Mr.Cunningham's reasoning behind making her stay in the stable. She was not daft. If the altercation

became physical, she had little hope of defending herself against a man. But here in the stables doing nothing, Olivia felt

helpless.

She hated it.

Yet in the very same heartbeat, she also knew she wasn't helpless. What was more, she knew she wasn't alone. She did have

a partner... in Lucas. She trusted him, more than she had trusted anyone since her father. Had he not proven that he believed

in her, that he valued her?

Her own reservations were crumbling. Her stubborn desire to become completely self-reliant was diminishing, and in its place

blossomed a dream of building a future with Lucas. But even though she cared for him, and she knew he cared for her, she did

not want him to fight her battles for her.

She paused again in front of the window and peered out, fully expecting to see naught but darkness. But this time, the glow

coming from the window was brighter, and shadows darted wildly behind the thin curtain.

She hurried to the door and flung it open. Cold gusts and bits of rain met her, and she squinted to see in the distance.

Indecipherable shouts carried on the wind. A woman's scream.

Then, as quickly as the clamor had started, a door opened and a figure ran out, with hair streaming and a woman's cloak billowing

behind her.

Tabitha.

The maid ran out of the cottage at an angle, toward the open moor on the other side of the stable. Alarm flared. No one was

following her.

Olivia did not think. She only acted.

She burst at a full-speed run toward Tabitha.

Tabitha, no doubt distracted by the commotion Olivia had created, looked over her shoulder. As she did, she tripped and, with

a cry, tumbled to the ground.

Olivia lunged at her and, with her own body, pinned the girl to the ground.

Tabitha flailed. Fought. "Get off me!"

Never in her life had Olivia physically tried to hold someone, but she employed every bit of energy to prevent the young woman

from rising to her feet.

Tabitha pulled at Olivia's hair. Grabbed Olivia's arm and tried to push it back.

But Olivia held firm. She might not have been allowed to help the men, but this was her contribution, and she'd not fail.

Voices and harried shouts approached from behind them, and strong arms pulled her away just as two men yanked Tabitha from

the ground.

The entire episode seemed to be over before it started, and Olivia gasped for air. She turned to who had pulled her up, and Lucas was just behind her. Dirt smeared across his cheek. His hair hung in damp, haphazard clumps.

But he was the most wonderful sight she'd ever seen.

Chest heaving, she lifted her gaze over Lucas's shoulder, and in the faintest bit of moonlight she could make out Russell

and another man being bound, and the constables' wagons being pulled from the stable to transport them.

"We did it," she gasped, pausing a moment to allow air to reenter her lungs and her breathing to properly resume. She returned

her attention to Lucas. Upon closer inspection she saw that a scratch marred his cheek. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He lowered his voice. "But I'm a little worried about you. Did I really just witness you accost that woman?"

Olivia gave a little laugh, breaking the night's heavy tension. "I suppose it was not a very ladylike thing to do."

"Well, it worked." He draped his arm around Olivia's shoulder.

Tabitha's shouts of protest carried on the night wind, and the constable's harsh instructions should have given Olivia more

delectation than they did. It would be easy to think they'd accomplished their goal. But now the three culprits would have

to answer for their criminal actions. She would undoubtedly speak to Mrs.Milton again. And she would likely come face-to-face

with the memories of her past and her father.

As they walked back toward the stables, she tucked her hand in Lucas's.

At least she would not have to face it alone.