If those bees attack my uncle one more time, the old keeper will be dragged away in chains for treason, my cousin whispered as we stood on the portico of Elmwood Manor.
The rain intensified, turning the dusty grounds of Elmwood Manor into a slick, muddy mess. The dark clouds mirrored the storm raging within me.
I watched, helpless, as Dr. Finch was led away in shackles, his medical satchel confiscated. Ebenezer, still protesting, was tossed into the back of the supply wagon. The smell of sulfur and burning timber filled the air as the provost guards set the first piles ablaze.
Pryce’s men then escorted me, not to the wagon, but to the small washroom attached to the hospital tent. “You will remain here, Nurse Albright,” one of the guards stated, locking the door from the outside. “Until your transport can be arranged.”
I heard their footsteps recede. The lock clicked, a solid, final sound.
I was trapped, but not for long. My eyes scanned the small, cramped space. The washroom had a single, narrow window, set high in the wall. It was small, but the glass was cracked from years of disrepair.
With a surge of desperation, I wedged my shoulder against the frame, pushing with all my might. The rotten wood groaned, splintered. With a final heave, the window gave way, falling outward with a soft thud onto the wet grass.
I squeezed through the opening, scraping my arms, landing silently in the driving rain. The thunderstorm had truly begun, masking my escape.
I knew where Julian would be. The library. He loved to revel in his victories.
I crept through the estate woods, the heavy rain plastering my hair to my face, the wind whipping through the trees. The manor stood dark and imposing against the stormy sky, only a few lamps burning within.
I found my way to the conservatory doors, which led directly into the library. They were unlocked, a testament to Julian’s overconfidence.
I slipped inside, dripping wet, hiding behind the heavy mahogany desk. The room was illuminated by a single, flickering gas lamp.
Julian sat at the desk, a satisfied smirk on his face. Opposite him sat Major Pryce, his uniform damp.
“The old man is gone,” Pryce stated, his voice low. “The bees are being dealt with. And the doctor and nurse are securely detained. No one will contradict your claims now, Montgomery.”
Julian chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. He reached for a heavy leather pouch on the desk.
“Excellent work, Major,” Julian said, his voice smooth as velvet. He opened the pouch, revealing stacks of federal banknotes. “As promised. Four thousand dollars for your… expedited services.”
Pryce’s eyes lit up, glinting in the gaslight. He snatched the pouch, quickly stuffing it into his jacket.
“And the death certificate?” Pryce asked, his greed barely concealed. “When can I expect the draft for the General?”
Julian smiled, a chilling expression. “Soon, Major. Very soon. With you handling the paperwork, I anticipate no further… complications.”
My heart pounded. Four thousand dollars. This was the proof. A direct bribe.
As Pryce stood to leave, he pulled out a small, leather-bound receipt book from his uniform pocket, signing something quickly before tucking it back. He left it lying on the desk for a second too long as he adjusted his jacket.
My chance.
As Pryce turned to follow Julian out of the library, I lunged from behind the desk. My fingers closed around the receipt book, cold and clammy with sweat.
I ducked back just as the library door opened again. Two provost guards entered, searching the room, their boots squelching on the rug.
I held my breath, the receipt book clutched tightly to my chest. They passed within feet of me, their rifles glinting in the dim light. They found nothing.
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