Chapter Ten
Marvellous Treachery – Insubordination – Nothing But the Best – Blood Pressure – Scoping the Joint – A Proper Car – John Navigates – Alternative Transport – Caught – Speed – Skulking – Not Everyone is Mycroft Holmes – Danger – Cate Sees Red – Pas-de-Deux – Several Announcements.
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As their train pulled into Pulborough station without her getting a great deal more out of Landry, Blythe realised that either he really didn't know anything useful, or he was, in fact, a better liar than she'd given him credit for. What she did know, however, was interesting.
James Devereux worked in the NCA and while she knew her father didn't, at least not overtly, it was no stretch of the imagination to put the two men on the same committee somewhere or even at opposite sides of the table in an argument. Knowing how her father detested people who betrayed their own, as well as individuals who assumed their level of intelligence was sufficient to avoid being caught, Blythe was able to make a calculated guess, based on Landry's own behaviour, of what his father might be like under all that suave panache. Maxims about fruit not falling far from the tree breezed through her thoughts and she turned to the boy beside her and smiled, knowing he would probably end up in gaol at some point in his adult years. Not only was he morally bankrupt, but he was stupid about it as well. Hoping Landry's inevitable downfall might make the papers so she would be able to read about it, she smiled some more.
Landry wondered how his father was going to handle things. The girl beside him might be more open to a little fun than he'd previously imagined; she'd always been a little bit of a goody-two shoes, but her behaviour since he'd kissed her had been intriguingly different. Maybe all she needed was a little warming-up ... and who knows where this might lead. He noticed her smile and grinned.
The station wasn't terribly busy at this time of day, though once people started arriving home for the weekend it would be quite crowded for a while. The carpark was full, but he was able to spot his father's white Range Rover. Waving, he grabbed Blythe's hand and pulled her along in his wake.
"Hi, Dad," Landry brought his guest to stand between them. "You've already met Blythe Holmes," he turned to her. "Looks like my father is here after all," he said, a little lamely.
Blythe marvelled at his treachery. What a piece of work he was.
"A pleasure to meet you again, Miss Holmes," Landry's father wore the same half-smile of the previous evening, his light grey eyes and fairish hair making Landry's parentage clear. "The house is about a fifteen-minute drive from here, if you'd care to get in the back seat ..."
Though Landry held the door for her, Blythe wasn't terribly surprised when he closed it and got into the front seat beside his father, her place in the scheme of things becoming clearer by the minute. Thoughts of taking him down were increasingly attractive and the small smile on her face was a near-permanent thing. Blythe was glad her mother wasn't here as Mummy's wrath would probable end with the keys to the Rover accidently ending up on someone's roof or down the nearest drain. Sitting back in the seat, Blythe forced her face into nonchalance and watched the Sussex countryside fly past. She hoped that Jules wasn't having too bad a time of it all; she had pretty much dumped him in it and she knew there would be a reckoning at some point.
But not before she got the information she wanted. Nobody messed with a Holmes.
###
"Not without me," Jules stood in the kitchen doorway, his lanky frame curiously tense, even his hands were curled tight.
"Sweetheart, this might become a somewhat awkward situation and one of you in the middle of it is really quite enough, don't you think?" Cate looked into her boy's eyes and saw an unusual anger and ... something else she'd not seen before.
"She's my sister," Jules growled, for a second sounding exactly like his uncle. "Bly may be the biggest pain in my arse on a regular basis, but she's my twin and if anyone does anything to her I'm going to ... be very cross," he finished breathlessly as he caught his mother's gaze.
Cate knew they didn't have time for this and it was perfectly clear that Jules was not about to sit down and do his homework while he waited for them to get Blythe.
"Oh, very well then," she spoke tersely. "But you stay in the car unless I say otherwise, do you understand? You move one toe out of the Bentley and you'll be confined to quarters for the rest of the year, am I clear?"
"Clear as, Mum," Jules grinned madly, kissing her on the cheek as he went to grab his coat.
Turning to their trainee butler, Cate's expression was fierce. "My son is now part of your responsibility as well, Jack," she said. "If you help him to get into trouble, I shall be seriously unhappy with all sorts of things and we will be having a very earnest talk when all this is over, am I understood?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Jack nodded, his eyes alight with some emotion Cate couldn't place, but whatever it was, it wasn't remotely submissive. Rats. She had hoped to put the fear of god into both of them but appeared to have failed appallingly. She was even more surprised when Jack kissed her other cheek and tugged the car-keys from her hand.
"I drive really well," he grinned. "All those grouse-shoots I've been training for."
"Well, come on then," Jules shouted from the front door. "Things to do, people to upset."
Faced with such scandalous insubordination, Cate did the only thing she could. "I'll navigate," she shouted, following her two young men at a run.
###
"We should be getting into Pulborough in thirty-seven minutes," Sherlock checked his watch as he finished his phone call and returning the device to his coat pocket.
"Are there going to be any cabs?" John looked thoughtful. If they couldn't get out to the stables, they were sunk. "From the map, it's a bit of a hike to the Banister place."
"Better than that, John," Sherlock patted his pocket. "Just booked us some transport from the local car-rental franchise. A vehicle will be waiting for us the minute we get there."
"What, a Jeep or something?"
"The very best they have, John," Sherlock drew breath and nodded. "Only the very best."
###
There had been a collision on Vauxhall Bridge; a small van and a tourist bus. Both lanes of traffic had seized and all movement was at a complete stop. Unfortunately, before his driver had realised there was a problem, the Jaguar had already been hemmed in from the rear. There was no way forward and no way to reverse. Mycroft sat in the back of the quietly purring car and felt his blood-pressure start to rise.
###
The Banister Racing Stables and Stud had an elegant dark blue-and-white sign above a gateway flanked on either side with carved horse-heads and lucky horseshoes. The drive up a bit of a hill to the main house was quite a long one, with carefully white-fenced fields on either side, each containing several beautifully, sleek-looking racehorses, each one of which wore a distinctive coat to keep any chill away from their expensive and delicate hides. The various chestnut and bay animals lifting their heads curiously at the sound of the car, watching the Rover make its way up the slight incline towards the main clutch of buildings at the top. The paintwork of the fences was smooth and fresh, the edge of the drive was neatly trimmed and everywhere she looked, Blythe noticed the grass was lush and green. Someone had spent a great deal of time and money keeping this place in top condition.
Not Landry or his father, she was willing to bet. Which only left Mrs Banister, the real horse-lover in the bunch.
The afternoon sunlight was dappled by large trees as they got closer to the double-story building, a half-timbered Tudor country house, with several dark-painted outbuildings stretching away behind it. The same careful attention to quality and care seemed evident here too, and Blythe wondered what sort of person would have married someone like James Devereux.
As the Rover crunched to a halt on the thickly gravelled drive, the main front door opened to reveal a tall and slender woman in her mid-forties. Pale and blonde, her fair hair escaping from the knot at the back of her head, Sheila Banister frowned a little as she saw her husband and youngest son in the front seat of the car. She stood, tense, waiting.
Yanking open the rear door, Landry ushered his guest towards his mother. "Mum, this is Blythe Holmes," he announced slyly. "From school." As Landry reached for her hand yet again, Blythe had suddenly had enough and she stepped away.
"This is the most beautiful and well-kept place I have seen for a long time, Mrs Banister," she said, a real smile curving her lips. "Would it be possibly for me to have a look at some of the horses?"
Recognising a fellow spirit, Landry's mother relaxed and smiled back. "Of course," she said, "but shall we have tea first and then I can give you the guided tour?"
"Oh I can do that," as they walked into a lounge Landry gestured for Blythe to sit on a nearby sofa, frowning slightly when she took a single armchair and crossed her legs, resting her hands calmly in her lap. "I know all the places Blythe would like to see," he added, throwing her a wink.
"If possible, might I see around your house?" Blythe sounded hesitant. "It's such a lovely example of late Tudor architecture that I'd really, really like a quick tour if I'm not being overly demanding," she smiled back so pleadingly at Mrs Banister that the woman couldn't say no.
"Come along then," she said. "A whistle-stop tour before we sit down for tea, shall we?" standing, she led the way out of the room leaving the two males behind.
This was precisely what Blythe had been after. The house was typical for its period; low-ceilinged, narrow passaged and with a fractionally uneven stone floor. And somewhere in this house, James Devereux probably had an office of some description, and she wanted a look inside.
"So how do you have the rooms allocated?" she asked. "So many of these big old houses used to have animal pens on the ground-floor, with living quarters above."
"Quite right," Sheila Banister nodded. "But we converted the old internal stables ages ago into a large kitchen-family room, as you can see," she said, pushing open a door and stepping into one of the most massive spaces Blythe could remember seeing in someone's house, when the house wasn't an actual mansion.
"Wow," she breathed, looking around. "This is fantastic. Look at those beams," she added, admiringly. "What other rooms do you have on this floor?"
Standing in front of one of the great bow windows, Mrs Banister pointed towards the far wall. "Got my office through there," she said. "Then there's a staff room and office for my Training Manager where we keep all the studbooks. The lounge you've seen, so apart from this kitchen and some bathrooms, that's about all down here on the ground floor, but we've got more living rooms and my husband's office upstairs."
"And are there more exposed original beams like these?" Blythe allowed her eyes to follow each blackened beam from one side of the expansive ceiling to the other.
"Oh, lord, yes," Sheila Banister grinned, wholly charmed by this young thing whom Landry seemed to like. "Entire forests of the things, come on up and see ..."
###
Jack heard himself whistle as Cate opened the built-in garage that had been replaced the side drive of the townhouse. There were automatic roller doors at both ends in case anything large was needed to be brought into or out of the rear of the house, but he'd not had any occasion to get into the garage itself yet.
As the front door rolled itself upwards, what greeted his eyes was a recent-model dark blue Bentley off-roader, with sparkling bodywork and windows that gleamed with an expensive clarity. He still had the keys in his hand but wondered now about driving such a valuable machine. If he did any damage at all, there would be no way he could ever afford to pay for it.
"No time to dawdle, Jack," Cate was already hauling herself into the front passenger seat just as Jules settled himself in the back. "Let's see some of this fabulous driving of yours, yes?"
"You trust me to drive this in London?" Jack felt the driver's seat cushion his body in a cloudlike fashion, wrapping its soft leather upholstery around him like a mother's arms. He'd had girlfriends who hadn't been this intimate. Even if he did nothing more than just sit in this vehicle, it was an experience he'd never forget.
"Turn left and left and then left again until we're back on Park Lane," Cate knew this much without looking at a map, though she was looking at the GPS anyway. "Then we need to take Brompton Road, then Fulham Road until we get to Edith Grove, at which point we head south then take a right down New Kings Road until we get to Putney Bridge, then we just head for Leatherhead," she looked up, wondering why the car was still stationery. "You are licenced?" she checked.
"Just a little nervous of scratching this lovely creature," Jack patted the dash gently as he pressed the ignition, smiling as the engine purred sweetly into life. Easing out of the garage, he vaguely heard the automatic door lower behind them, but he was already falling in love with the responsiveness of the thing. It was a dream. It was a proper car.
And he would be a proper driver for it. His face forming into an expression of some determination, Jack reminded himself of the reason behind all of this was to go and fetch Miss Blythe away from his own family's unpleasantness. He felt his jaw set in an uncompromising stiffness; he was not about to let either his brother or his stepfather do anything to upset the young Holmes child if he had any say in the matter.
"Hang on, back there," he muttered, tapping the accelerator to just this side of righteousness as he hit the road to Pulborough.
###
"This is it?" John stood with his hands on his hips. "This is the best they had?"
"I specified the newest and speediest vehicle they had on their books," Sherlock held the keys in his gloved hand as he inspected the vehicle he'd hired on the phone.
It was indeed a newish model and undoubtedly nippy ... but was, perhaps, on the compact side.
"A Mini?" John turned to inspect Sherlock's legs to see if he'd had them shrunk for the drive. "You know you're going to have your knees under your chin in that thing, don't you?"
"No time to waste, John," Sherlock stepped forward, grasping key and door-handle with admirable fortitude. "I shall manage."
Succeeding in keeping his features straight as he slid into the admittedly comfortable passenger's seat, John said nothing as he watched the tall man in the big coat push his own seat all the way back and still end up with a knee-to-chest compression that would have them off the road if he coughed too hard. "Want me to drive?"
"Not necessary, thank you," Sherlock started the car up and swung it into gear. Locating both the accelerator and the clutch, he wiggled himself around until he had reasonable control over all moving parts, including his own. "You may however, navigate," he added. "GPS is in the glove compartment."
"Right then," John got down to business, flicking the device into life and plotting their course. "We head right from here, down the road away from the station, then we cross Stopham Road and head out up the A29; the Banister stables are about fifteen minutes further on from that."
"Let's see if we can't shave that down a little," Sherlock looked determined as he engaged the engine and floored the accelerator. With a solid lurch of power, the Mini jolted forward and was already out of the station carpark before John had belted himself in.
###
It had been over thirty minutes and there had still been no movement on the bridge. There were now a number of police personnel, and there had been at least one ambulance drawn as close as might be possible, given the extended tailback of vehicles on the blocked and noisy bridge. After making discreet inquiries, Mycroft's driver returned with the unhappy news that there was unlikely to be any change in the situation within the hour.
After sitting and fretting for almost forty-five minutes, this was the final straw, and Mycroft scowled blackly. "Call Central and advise I am in need of immediate alternative transport," he ordered. "Something fast and direct. I will not be held up a second time."
"Sir," his driver nodded. "Bessborough Gardens are about a hundred yards back there," he indicated over his shoulder.
"An excellent suggestion," Mycroft nodded and made to exit the Jaguar. "Make the arrangements and advise them, please, that I am in no mood to be trifled with."
"Sir," the driver was already on the phone as Mycroft eased his long frame upright and began walking at a moderate pace back the way they'd already come. With luck, his wait would be minimal.
###
Conveniently, there was a bathroom not far from the end of the house where Sheila Banister had pointed out her husband's office. It had been a spur of the moment idea for Blythe to ask if she might use the facilities, at which point Mrs Banister left her with directions to come downstairs for tea when she was ready.
Waiting until she heard the woman's footsteps fade away on the stairs, Blythe was already at the office door, which was, naturally, locked. There were three slender pieces of metal in her fingers before the same number of seconds had passed; Uncle Sherlock's lessons would not be wasted. Still not clear what she was looking for, Blythe entered the room and carefully closed the door behind her estimating she had three or four minutes before Landry came looking.
She observed a large central wooden desk covered with documents of all shapes and sizes, several of them bearing what seemed to be large red wax seals. They appeared important. There was also a modern-looking desktop computer as well as a sleek laptop; neither were switched on and Blythe realised she daren't risk doing so in the time that she had.
Moving to the rear of the desk, she quickly scanned the opened documents for any names of people or places; headings and capitals were the easiest things to see in a hurry. Was the name Holmes anywhere in sight? Not that she could see, although the word Esgair seemed to be repeated an awful lot. Who or what was Esgair? Taking out her phone, Blythe clicked off a dozen photographs before her elbow nudged a piece of paper, uncovering a second document beneath it.
Except it wasn't actually a document as such, but a copy of one which, in itself, was a copy of a photographed letter. Now why would anyone keep a copy of a photographed letter? A moment later, she had taken another set of images, sending the whole lot to her father's phone. If anyone knew what these things were, he would. Bending closer, she was momentarily engrossed with the curious papers and thus failed to hear the footsteps outside the office door.
"Blythe?" the muffled voice beyond the office door was undoubtedly that of Landry Banister. Would he come looking for her in his father's office, she wondered. Probably not, as he would assume it was still locked. But there was no way she could leave the room now without being discovered and that was something she would rather not happen. She looked around for an alternative exit.
There was no other door, though there were two large windows, each overlooking the front of the house; no way she could climb down though either one of those without being noticed. And even if she could, there was no way to explain how she had suddenly managed to get outside. The only thing she could do was wait by the door and, as soon as Landry seemed to have gone, was to slip out and pop downstairs. She could always claim she got confused in her directions, not even Landry would think to question her. Leaning close to the doorframe with her ear against the gap between door and jamb, she held her breath and waited to hear Landry's footsteps to go away ... which they did.
Heaving a small sigh of relief, Blythe counted to five before opening the office door and stepping through.
Right into the arms of James Devereux.
###
It was when they headed down the A24 towards Horsham that Cate remarked this route would take them directly past Deepdene.
"You'd like Deepdene, Jack," Jules commented from the back seat. "Nice old place, tons of history and style. There's even suits of armour in the dining room."
"I'd love to see it some time," the blond man's tone was neutral but even from the back seat, Jules detected a note of resignation.
"I'm sure we can arrange something before you have to leave us," Cate checked her watch. It was already four and Blythe and the Banister boy must have arrived by now. Her face tightened at the idea that something other than an innocent afternoon tea might be taking place at the Banister stables. If anything were to happen to her daughter ... clearing her throat and trying to clear her thoughts, Cate looked pointedly at the road ahead. It was empty as far as the eye could see.
"Jack," she paused, delicately. "Hypothetically speaking, how do you feel about speeding?"
"As in breaking the speed-limit and risking possible arrest and a heavy fine?" Jack's gaze searched the horizon for other traffic.
"That would be a major part of it, yes," Cate nodded thoughtfully.
"I feel surprisingly open to new experiences at the moment," Jack smiled a little grimly as he depressed the accelerator. "I assume everyone's belted in?"
Silence greeted his question and so he touched the power a little more. The speed limit had recently been reduced here to fifty miles per hour and he was already doing seventy. The road was clear and dry; a few more horses under the bonnet wouldn't hurt.
Calculating, he realised they'd reach his mother's house in less than twenty minutes.
He touched the accelerator just a fraction more.
###
Given the lower than normal chassis of the Mini, the hedgerows and trees seemed unusually high around them as they sped down country lanes towards their objective. At times, it felt as if they were enclosed in an emerald tunnel as the over-arching branches of green-leaved trees met and interlaced over their heads. It was all rather scenic.
"So what's the plan when we get there?" John kept his eyes open for any signs suggesting they might have reached the Banister place. "Bang on the front door and demand that Blythe comes with us this instant?"
"I thought I might take the occasion to have a little look around the place while we're here, actually," Sherlock began to reduce speed. "Undoubtedly, there'll be some sort of gate or formal entryway to the property, so I suggest we take a little stroll up to the main dwelling and consider an informal recce of the joint."
"While we're here, ostensibly rescuing your niece, you want to break in to Devereux's office in broad daylight and see what you can find relevant to the case?"
"Something along those lines," Sherlock smiled faintly as an ornate gateway hove into view. The wide, off-road entrance to the Banister Racing Stables and Stud offered a reasonable spot for them to park the Mini and head up the long drive on foot.
"It's got to be almost half-a-mile up to the house," Sherlock made no bones about keeping them both out of sight as much as could be managed, hugging the shadows of low trees, walking as close to the fences as possible. With luck, they might make it all the way to the house unnoticed.
The old Tudor building appeared over the crest of the hill in front of them, but as they were still skirting the far side of one of the tall fences, it was the work of a second to slip into denser shrubbery framing the more open parking area in front of the house. There were already a couple of vehicles there; a banged-up old Ford and a much flashier white Range Rover.
"Guess which one belongs to Devereux," Sherlock whispered as he bent closer to the ground to stay in the cover of the bushes.
"Given the man's hubris, I doubt it's the old banger," John cast a wary glance towards the house as they managed to reach around the side of the building without being discovered. "So far, so good."
About to make some smart quip about not speaking too soon, Sherlock heaved both he and John back around the corner as a previously unnoticed side door opened right in front of them.
###
Choosing to stand in a spot just off-center in the small park known to the local office-dwellers as Bessborough Gardens, Mycroft resisted the impulse to check his Hunter for the time. He knew very well what the time was and exactly, almost to the minute, how long ago it was since he had left his office in order to reclaim his daughter from the unwanted attention of both Devereux and younger son. And once Blythe and, if possible, Sheila Banister was away from that unpleasant side of the family, he would unleash his people, allowing them to do what they did best.
Mycroft felt his jaw tighten as he thought of Blythe with Devereux and his young offspring. If she were in any way upset or ... hurt, there would be an accounting of the most fearsome variety of which, he would ensure, there were no witnesses.
The next batch of seconds ticked past in his head and he maintained his immobility by sheer force of will. His phone beeped indicating an incoming text from an unexpected origin, frowning, he opened the communication, his eyes widening fractionally. Almost immediately, he forwarded the details to a second number.
And then he heard his transport. It was unmistakably his; not everyone in this area would be expecting the arrival of the latest in British Army small helicopters to drop down in their local park to give someone a swift lift over to Sussex.
But then, not everyone was Mycroft Holmes.
###
"You little bitch," Devereux's face darkened and fell into a violent scowl, his hand already reaching out and grabbing hold of Blythe's long hair, digging his fingers in deep and pulling hard until the pain made her eyes water.
Realising there was little point retaliating just yet since the moment she put this man on the ground, Blythe knew she'd have both Landry and Mrs Banister to deal with as well, and unless she could somehow get the keys to one of the cars parked outside, there was nowhere for her to run. Accepting she might get smacked around a little, she doubted anyone was likely to go any further than that ... and if push came to shove, Uncle Sherlock had taught her things her mother hadn't. Like how to use knives for things other than carving chickens.
"The door was open and I wanted to see the view from the upstairs windows," she yelled, grabbing at the fingers curled cruelly into her hair. "I'm sorry I went somewhere you didn't want me to go but I didn't know! Let me go!"
"Don't lie to me, you little tart," James Devereux yanked hard, pulling her almost off her feet. "I think you and I better have a bit of a chat about what you're really doing here," he muttered between gritted teeth. "I didn't think you'd come all the way down here just for tea," he made for the stairs, his hand still gripping her hair.
Stumbling down the stairs after him, Blythe didn't need to pretend to cry; the pain from her abused scalp was enough to make her eyes water for real, though her mind was already racing through situational permutations.
Devereux probably had the keys to the Rover in his pocket. If she were able to get him outside, she was fairly confident she could at least put him on the ground, maybe even long enough to grab the keys and lock herself into the car. Both she and Jules had been driving a ratty old farm-wagon around the fields at Deepdene since they were able to reach the pedals, so driving held no mysteries for her. If she could get into the Rover, she'd not only be safe, but she'd be able to get away and call her father.
"I didn't mean to go into your office, honestly," Blythe wailed, realising the family might not be so keen to see her being so nastily treated. She managed to squeeze out a few extra tears.
"What the hell's going on, Dad?" both Landry and his mother had come to investigate all the noise, and he stopped short, horrified at what he saw. Taking advantage of Blythe's naiveté was one thing, but this looked a lot more serious than that. "What's happening?"
"James, let the child go," Sheila Banister pushed her son to one side, clutching at her husband's arm. "You can't manhandle someone just like this no matter what you think she might have done. Let the girl go, for god's sake!"
"Shut up and get away from me you whore!" Devereux roared, his face distorted with fury, as his fingers clamped even more tightly around Blythe's hair. "You don't tell me what to do in this house, do you understand? You never tell me what to do!" he was almost screaming as he headed for the main front door, dragging Blythe after him.
Though shaken by his father's intimidating outburst, Landry followed, his mother hesitant about what to do next, half-tempted to call the police. She'd been at the receiving end of his foul moods herself. One of these days, he'd go too far.
Storming out through the main kitchen area, still pulling Blythe after him, Devereux slammed though the main back door of the house, heading across a small courtyard towards the nearest stable block, too far away from the house for sound to carry. Watching his father go, Landry had a pretty clear idea of what might happen next. He couldn't possibly let his father attack Blythe, could he? Deciding that if someone was there to see what he was doing, his father might calm down a bit, Landry headed towards the side door of the house and slipped silently through, intending to get to the stables from this direction. If it seemed like his father was going to be too rough, he'd have to step in. Bringing Blythe here to get her to answer questions was one thing, physically attacking her was something else entirely and he wasn't sure he was up for that. Exiting through the side door in order to head around to the stables, he was in the process of closing it quietly, when a strange man's voice sounded in his ear.
"Don't scream and don't make a fuss, just turn around and tell us who's in the house and where they are."
His heart pounding in shock, Landry swivelled on the spot to see a shorter blond man staring at him with cold blue eyes; eyes that suggested he'd better do exactly as he was told.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" he whispered, his throat dry in sudden fear. "What do you want?"
"James Devereux, Sheila Banister," another man, tall, dark-haired and in a dark coat, emerged from around the corner. "They are inside. Where?"
"My mother's inside but my father's ..." Landry hesitated, unsure of what to say next.
"Your father's where?" the tall man frowned, his tone abruptly chilled. "And where's Blythe Holmes?"
Not even thinking to query such questions, Landry almost stuttered a response. "Dad found her in his study and he's taken her to the stables. I think he's going to be doing a lot of shouting and didn't want anyone else to hear. I was on my way there to make sure he didn't ..."
Sherlock's phone rang, almost masking the faint sound of an approaching car. He made a face but pulled the device out of his jacket anyway.
"Didn't what?" the ice-cold tone of the shorter blond man suddenly sounded far more frightening that the tall man did, despite the difference in stature. Landry felt his options narrowing down to one.
"My dad gets very angry sometimes and ... and anyway," the boy pointed to the end wall of a long building further around form the house. "That's the old stable block; he's taken Blythe in there."
Without another word, the blond man shoved him hard against the wall and took off towards the stables at a fast run.
###
"The turn-off's just around the corner," Jack, demon-driving ace and new-age butler, leaned forward in the Bentley's front seat to peer up the drive through the windscreen; he didn't want to bump into anyone coming down before he got to the top. There was a strange Mini parked at the side of the entrance; probably tourists. Touching the accelerator, he was pleased at the car's responsiveness to the slightest pressure. It almost flew up the gradual incline towards the Banister residence, where there were already two vehicles parked in the main courtyard.
Cate was out and striding towards the front door even before the engine had quietened. The sooner she found Blythe, the sooner they could all be gone from this place. After Jack's revelations, she had little doubt being here wouldn't be his first choice either. She banged on the front door with a closed fist. There was a wait of several seconds before it was opened by a flustered looking woman whose hand went to her mouth, as she seemed to recognise Cate even before she spoke.
"Oh … are you Blythe's mother?" she asked, a faint and preoccupied expression on her face. "She is the image of you."
"And where is my daughter exactly, Mrs Banister?" Cate felt in no disposition to smile back: the drive down from London had given her ample time to work up a very healthy mood, and it wasn't a good one. "She accompanied your son here against specific advice and I'm quite concerned for her."
"Blythe is actually …" Sheila Banister paused, clearly unhappy. "Oh dear … I've already called the police …"
Police?
"Where is Blythe?" Cate felt her insides compressing into anger. Something was clearly very wrong and Blythe was probably right in the middle of it, as usual. If she were in any danger …
"Jack?" Sheila Banister caught sight of her eldest son standing behind Cate. "What are you doing here?"
"Where's Blythe, Mum?" the tall blond kept his voice calm though he didn't feel it.
"Your father took her out to the old stables; he says she was in his office and I think he's going to tell her off …"
Turning and grabbing Jack's lapels with both hands, Cate's face was a study in controlled wrath. "Stables?"
"Jack!" the Banister woman tried to speak.
"This way," ignoring his mother, Jack took off around the far side of the house, Cate and Jules on his heels.
###
She had been shoved down to the dirty, straw-strewn floor, her head aching with pain and her eyes still blurred with ears, but this had all been expected and the situation, thus far, was still within her control. Pushing herself up to her feet, Blythe wiped her eyes hurriedly, clearing her vision.
"My father was right," she husked. "You really are a total bastard," she threw the words at the tall man standing and staring at her. "And stupid too," she added. "No wonder you're going to gaol," she hissed. "I hope Daddy lets me watch them sentence you … I can imagine you in the dock of the Old Bailey, terrified and pissing yourself in abject fear like the coward you clearly are," she was yelling now, provoking Devereux into making a move, something she could use to turn his own weight against him.
"You nasty little …" Devereux lunged forward, his hand a club to beat her down. In an instant, Blythe had grabbed his arm, ducked backwards inside his grasp and sunk a sharp elbow into the man's solar plexus. He went down to the cobbled stone floor with an agonised gasp just as Blythe tore away, heading for another door at the far end of the stables. In moments, she had unlatched the old door and was sprinting out the other side among all manner of different outbuildings and trees and overgrown greenery. She heard the banging of the door as Devereux charged out soon after her, his footsteps muted now on the grass.
"Blythe?"
She heard her name being called, and knew it was Uncle John's voice. But she had no idea where Devereux was anymore and didn't want to end up having to deal with him again until she had something heavy in her hands. Maybe she could circle back towards the old stables.
"Blythe?"
Oh god … what was her mother doing here? Had she and Uncle John come looking for her? Daddy was going to have an apoplectic fit.
There was a loud rustling in the shrubbery directly behind her and from the corner of her eyes, Blythe saw a clawed hand descending to grab her again. Rolling sideways and kicking upwards, she was back up on her feet before Devereux had regained his balance. Running back the way she had come, she saw John first, his expression livid as he looked first at her and then beyond, over her shoulder, but she didn't stop running, having also seen her mother.
Cate's face was pale and tight, but she relaxed a little upon seeing her daughter was essentially unharmed. "Find your brother and get in the car," she said quietly, as Devereux staggered into view.
"But Mummy …" Blythe wanted to debate the issue.
"Now!" Cate rarely ever shouted at her children, and only when their own safety had been at risk. Ducking her head and without another word, Blythe headed back towards the old stables where she saw Jules and Jack waiting. Jules wore a very odd expression and Jack simply put an arm around her shoulders as she leaned on him in some relief.
Devereux had stopped his wild stagger as soon as he saw John's face. Though the blond man was shorter and a little older, he was also stocky and there was that in his stance which spoke of danger.
"Like to beat up little girls, do we?" John's voice was gentle and almost lilting as he stalked closer. There was a feral smile on his face. "Like to make them cry, is that it?" he walked even closer to the now-stationery man. "Big man with the ladies, eh?"
"Leave it, John," Cate's voice was soft and flat just behind his shoulder. "I want to have a little word with Mr Devereux in private, if you don't mind."
"Not this time, Cate," John shook his head, his eyes never leaving the man not six feet away. "He's mine."
"You can have what's left," Cate stepped forward, level with her old friend just as Devereux's temper got the better of him again and he charged forward as if to bowl them over by sheer weight and inertia.
In a balletic pas-de-deux of grace and conserved energy, John's fist made substantial contact with the man's jaw at the precise moment that Cate swept Devereux's legs from beneath him. He hit the ground simultaneously horizontal and unconscious.
Tempted to do a little more damage, Cate's breath came fast as her temper raged. How dare this man try and hurt her child! But wisdom stepped back in and she calmed, leaning against John's side. Time to be a sensible adult again.
That and she knew the twins were probably watching everything.
"Blythe?"
Cate and John turned simultaneously as they heard the younger Banister boy call out, just in time to see Blythe and Jules turn to face Devereux's son.
"You shit, Banister," Jules bristled, a sudden fury on his face. "You brought my sister here under false pretences, you bastard!"
Blythe had never heard her brother so furious, nor had she ever seen him punch anyone quite the way he swivelled and punched Landry Banister. Both her mother and Uncle John were excellent teachers.
Looking down at the now-prone figures of father and son, Cate's ears caught the sound of an approaching engine, though not that of a car. Her eyes reached upwards.
A small army helicopter was approaching from the north.
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"And so the documents were conclusive proof of Devereux's involvement with the blackmail and his pathetically obvious plans to take over the barony through his wife's claim," Sherlock sounded more than a little bored as he sipped his tea.
Jack handed round a plate of biscuits.
"These are rather good," the younger Holmes wrinkled his brow in approval.
"Glad you like them, fresh made this morning," the tall blond smiled and continued handing the plate around.
"But how did you know to go and get them from Devereux's office?" Cate poured more tea for herself and Mycroft.
"That was Blythe's doing, my love," Mycroft nibbled on one of Jack's special little cakes. "She had the foresight to email me the photos she'd taken of Devereux's desk, and since I knew Sherlock and John were already in the vicinity, it made perfect sense to bring my brother into the fold, as it were."
"Wait a minute," John paused, looking confused. "How on earth did you know we were anywhere near Pulborough? We had taken every precaution to make sure you knew nothing about our involvement from the very beginning."
"GPS," Mycroft smiled easily. "My brother's phone has a particularly attractive GPS signal."
"So you knew where we were all the time?" John sat back, eyebrows raised.
"Mycroft's obsessive need to know all things has only increased with his advancing years, John," Sherlock sighed. "Although in this instance, it did seem to be of some minimal use for once."
"So, if Devereux isn't the strongest candidate for the barony, then who is?" Cate was curious and she lifted her gaze to meet Jack's "Is it your mother?"
"Have you any idea how many Sheila Banisters there are in Britain?" Jack grinned. "My stepfather's claim would never have held water under full scrutiny, which is why he wanted the whole thing sorted out in secrecy."
"Yet he thought you were the real claimant?" John took another biscuit.
Jack shrugged. "Devereux is a maniac, always has been a bit weird," his face grew solemn. "The police told mum the other day that they were also looking into my real father's death In South Africa … they're starting to think it mightn't have been an accident after all."
"Oh Jack, I'm so sorry," Cate was immediately concerned.
"Water long under the bridge, really," the young man shrugged fatalistically. "But they say things happen for the best."
"And you're still positive you don't want to go off and find some grand country house and buttle your heart out?" Mycroft assessed the trainee butler with a practiced eye. He needed to be sure.
"And leave this place?" Jack grinned widely. "I've lived more here in a week than in the last six months," his grin got even wider. "And besides, if ever a family needed a butler, this one does."
"Well, that's all rather convenient, actually," Cate dunked her biscuit before munching it slowly.
Mycroft, Sherlock and John exchanged a brief glance in an unusual moment of male camaraderie.
"Care to enlighten me as to why that might be, darling?" Mycroft kept his tone light, though his slightly narrowed eyes focused entirely on his wife.
"I've followed up on your suggestion as to the university best suited to take the twins on an advanced-entry program," she nodded, absently. "And I agree completely," she turned and smiled beatifically.
"But ..?" Mycroft knew without question now that something was afoot.
"I agree entirely that my old university, right here in London, is probably going to offer them both the best opportunities for study and learning than anywhere else," she said. "Plus, being so close to home, they can continue living here with us until they're old enough to legally make their own choices about things ..."
"But ..?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow. There was still more. His lips were already curving slightly into a smile. Cate so loved to be dramatic.
"But I still don't like the idea of two fourteen year-olds attending University College in Gower Street by themselves, at least not until I'm sure that they're going to be able to handle everything."
"And so?" Sherlock felt compelled to join in the conversation. "Really Mycroft, if this is the tenor of all your connubial conversations, I'm frankly amazed you made it beyond the first month," he turned back to Cate, disgruntled. "And? So?"
"And so I'm accepting the university's offer to become their Writer in Residence for the next two years," she concluded, grinning madly. "That way I'll at least be in the neighbourhood if there's any problems, but not breathing down anyone's neck," she sipped her tea.
"Presupposing, of course, that either of the twins are remotely interested in such a program," Mycroft added, dryly.
There was a muffled squeal of enthusiasm as the open door to the lounge was flung wide and Blythe dragged Jules in behind her.
"When do we start?"
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THE END
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As always, many, many thanks to everyone who enjoyed the story so much that they felt able to leave a review.
It's very pleasing to know that so many people enjoyed reading it.
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