Goodly and Grave in A Bad Case of Kidnap

Mr and Mrs Goodly stood either side of Lucy, each with an arm round her. “Of course not, dear girl,” said Mr Goodly. “I’m sure his Lordship will see reason.”

But Lord Grave didn’t want to see reason. He didn’t want to so much as touch it with the tip of his cigar. “I’m not going to allow you to wriggle out of it.”

“You can’t make us give Lucy up,” said Mr Goodly.

“Perhaps we should call the parish constable to sort out the matter.”

“We’ve done nothing wrong!” cried Mrs Goodly.

Lucy sat down. Her legs were trembling too much to hold her up. It was true. Her parents had done nothing wrong. But they were just ordinary people struggling to make their way in the world, while Lord Grave was rich and powerful. His sort always got what they wanted. And if he did call the parish constable, there might be an investigation into how a girl her age was managing to win so many poker games. And what if somehow they found out about the card? All three of them could end up in prison for fraud. They might even lose Leafy Ridge. Or perhaps everyone would think Lucy was a witch. They used to burn witches once. What if they still did?

Lucy sighed despairingly. She had no choice.

“Stop arguing. I’ll go with him,” she said in a quiet voice.

A hush fell over Mrs Milligan’s Gambling Den. Lucy’s parents stared at her, their eyes wide and frightened.

“He’s right. He won the bet, fair and square,” she said firmly, even though her insides were quaking.

“Wise decision! Mrs Milligan, my things, if you please!” boomed Lord Grave.

“Course, my Lord.” Mrs Milligan shambled off, returning with a purple cloak and a silver walking stick.

Stupid show-off, thought Lucy. “Why didn’t he have a black cloak like a normal gentleman?

“Come along, girl, don’t shilly-shally. Mr and Mrs Goodly, I suppose you must be allowed to come and say goodbye.”

The three Goodlys followed Lord Grave out of Mrs Milligan’s Gambling Den and on to the street. Mr Goodly had a bad limp and used a walking stick. Unlike Lord Grave’s, his was made of plain wood and wasn’t just for show. He moved clumsily, stumbling down the worn steps. Lucy put out a hand to help him, but found her own feet were none too steady.

At the bottom of the steps, Mrs Goodly sobbed as she hugged Lucy. Mr Goodly put his arms round both of them.

“You mustn’t worry, my loves,” he said. “I’ll sort this out. We’ll be back together soon, I promise.”

Lucy wanted to believe him, but her father wasn’t known for sorting things out. Nor her mother, for that matter. The only reason they hadn’t all ended up in the workhouse – or dead from starvation – was because it was Lucy who had sorted things out. With the help of her card, she’d transformed the Goodlys’ fortunes. She’d sort this mess out too, somehow.

“Goodbye then,” Lucy said. She smiled bravely at her parents before climbing into the silver-grey carriage. Lord Grave climbed in after her, and slammed the door shut. Lucy huddled herself up in the corner of the black leather seat, as far away from him as she could get.

Lord Grave banged the roof with the top of his walking stick. The wheels creaked and the carriage bounced a little as it began to move over the cobbles. Lucy twisted in her seat so that she could wave a last goodbye to her parents through the narrow slit in the rear of the carriage. Although they were hopeless, she would miss them terribly. But Mr and Mrs Goodly didn’t return Lucy’s waves; they were already climbing up the steps back to Mrs Milligan’s.

They’re going to try and win enough money to get me back, Lucy decided. But how would they manage that? Without her around to take care of them, would they just land themselves into trouble trying to find a way to bring her home? The thought brought tears to her eyes.

Once her parents were out of sight and she had quietly dried her eyes, Lucy turned back round and stared out of the side window. After a while, she sneaked a glance at Lord Grave. He was doing some staring out of the window too, his head turned away from Lucy. Taking advantage of his distraction, Lucy subtly tried the door handle.

“It’s locked,” Lord Grave said, without even looking at her.

It was no use. She was trapped. Except perhaps for the time a few years ago when she’d had to use six slugs as a pillow because all the bedding was at the pawnshop, Lucy had never felt so miserable.

They soon left the grimy streets of London behind. Houses and buildings grew fewer and further apart until the horses were thundering along through the pitch-dark of the countryside with only the carriage lanterns to light their way.

As the coach rattled onwards, Lucy tried to work out what had really happened back in Mrs Milligan’s Gambling Den. She patted her jacket pocket, checking that the card was safely there. Did Lord Grave have a card like hers too? If so, where did he get it from and did he know she had one too? Did he realise that she had seen what he’d done to win the poker game?

Lucy leaned back and closed her eyes, worn out with misery and thinking. She must have fallen asleep for a little while, because when she next opened her eyes the sky was turning from black to a deep blue.

At last, the carriage slowed down before clattering to a halt. Huge iron gates, set into a hedge of fir trees dozens of feet high, loomed ahead through the thin, early morning mist. The horses snorted and shook their heads.

The two footmen riding on the back of the carriage jumped down. Or rather clanked down. They were wearing suits of armour. Another of Lord Grave’s stupid show-off ways, Lucy thought, as she watched them lumber over to the horses and put black cloth bags over the animals’ heads. She wanted to ask Lord Grave what they were doing, but she was determined to stick to her resolve and not speak to him. Ever. So she sat quietly while the armoured footmen finished hooding the horses, opened the gates and clanked through, leading the horses by their reins.

“It’s going to be a glorious day once this mist clears,” Lord Grave said, opening the coach window on his side.

Lucy folded her arms and looked straight ahead.

“Now listen, my girl,” Lord Grave said. “I know you don’t want to be here, but—”

The coach door on Lord Grave’s side rattled. Two huge black paws hooked themselves over the top of the window and to Lucy’s horror an enormous black animal lunged through it, grabbing the silver chain that fastened the neck of Lord Grave’s cloak in its teeth. The coach door flew open. Lord Grave crashed to the ground. Then the beast growled, pounced and grabbed his Lordship’s head between its massive jaws.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_bd2fc1ff-2ff7-57cb-b5d0-b2cf41d21aa9)

BATHSHEBA (#ulink_bd2fc1ff-2ff7-57cb-b5d0-b2cf41d21aa9)

Lucy scrambled out of the coach doorway that Lord Grave had been dragged from, skinning her knees and palms on the drive’s sharp gravel.

Lord Grave made a choking noise.

The two armoured coachmen were still standing holding the horses’ reins. They had their visors down. Couldn’t they see what was happening?

“Do something!” she yelled at them.

His Lordship’s face was still trapped between the beast’s jaws. The growls took on a squelching quality. Lord Grave stopped making the choking noises, but his legs waggled up and down in mid-air, like a fly in its death throes.

A shaft of early morning sunlight pierced the mist and glittered on something red against the animal’s neck. Not Lord Grave’s blood, but a jewelled collar. Lucy hurled herself towards the collar and grabbed it. The jewels dug into the palms of her already sore hands, but she ignored the pain and tugged as hard as she could.

“Help me!” she screamed again at the two footmen. She wrenched at the collar desperately. With a wet plop, Lord Grave’s head slid from the beast’s jaws. But then the beast turned its gaze towards Lucy. Wide yellow eyes stared into hers. The half-open mouth revealed long white fangs dripping with frothy drool. In one smooth move, the creature curved round to face Lucy and thumped its paws against her shoulders, pinning her to the ground. It opened its mouth even wider, breath hot against Lucy’s cheek, dipped its head …

“No!” Lucy said in a voice that was smaller and squeakier than normal. “Please …”

The beast began licking Lucy’s cheek, its tongue a thousand times scratchier than her father’s beard when he kissed her goodnight.

“Bathsheba!” Lord Grave bellowed. “Get off her. Now!”

Bathsheba sprang away from Lucy. Lord Grave was on his feet again, brushing gravel and dust from his cloak. His eyebrows were pointing in different directions. Bathsheba leaped once more, locking her paws round Lord Grave’s neck, who staggered backwards, but didn’t fall this time.

“Help the girl up,” Lord Grave ordered, in a strangled voice.

One of the footmen clanked over to Lucy and helped her to her feet, while Lord Grave took a piece of dried meat from somewhere underneath his cloak and threw it for Bathsheba to pounce on. She snarled, held the leathery strip of meat down with one paw and tore at it with her fangs.

That could have been my face, thought Lucy.

She began to tremble all over. She was so shaken up, she allowed Lord Grave to help her back into the coach.