Theft of Love

THEFT OF LOVE

  BY

  MARINA OLIVER

  Linda's new boyfriend Pete enjoyed looking at stately homes. She was horrified, when they went to The Old Grange, where a big re-enactment weekend was taking place, to find he was planning to steal some of the antiques and expected her to help him.

  Furiously angry, she found help from a knight in armour, and together they determined to foil the crooks.

  Theft of Love

  By Marina Oliver

  Copyright © 2016 Marina Oliver

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Cover Design by Debbie Oliver

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  Previously published as Her Stolen Heart by My Weekly Story Collection and 2003 by Linford

  See details of other books by Marina Oliver at

  http:/www.marina-oliver.net.

  Author note.

  I'm fascinated by history, and love to watch these re-enacted battles, so was intrigued by the notion of combining a modern plot with a knight in armour. This novella is the result.

  THEFT OF LOVE

  BY

  MARINA OLIVER

  Chapter 1

  Linda stared at Pete in horror. This couldn't be happening. She swallowed hard.

  'Why on earth did you think I'd help you?' she demanded when she could control her fury.

  Pete shrugged. 'Well, your cousin Jake - ' he began, but Linda broke in, her words falling over each other in her effort to get out them out fast enough.

  'My cousin is nothing to do with me! I've barely spoken to him since we were kids! And how did you know he was my cousin, anyway? We don't advertise it more than we can help!'

  'Your brother told me,' Pete managed to get in when she paused for breath.

  'Bill's a fool, he always has been. Do you mean he's been seeing Jake? Mum will go spare if he has.'

  'He's not a baby, Linda, he can choose his own friends now. So you're going all high and mighty, are you? Miss Goody Two-shoes, curly blonde hair and innocent big blue eyes, butter won't melt in your mouth?'

  'You can sneer all you like, Pete Jackson, but I'm having nothing to do with it.'

  'Right, then. We're finished. But if you breathe a word to anyone it'll be the worse for you. And for Bill. Remember that, Linda my love.'

  He swung round and stalked away, and Linda stared after him. What should she do? She'd only known him for a few weeks, and until now she'd enjoyed his company. He'd been attentive, and she'd never before seen him lose his cool. He liked the same sorts of things she did, looking at gardens and stately homes and the antiques they contained. Every weekend they'd been somewhere new, and he seemed to know a lot about the various places, the owners, and especially the pictures. He'd impressed her with his knowledge of which were original paintings, and which copies.

  She'd been surprised when he suggested coming back to The Old Grange for a second week running. It wasn't a big or important house, and he'd said the paintings were all second-rate. But she found him attractive, she herself had enjoyed looking at the rooms, less formal and imposing than in some places, and she was happy to be with him. Until, that was, he'd made such an astonishing suggestion. She fumed anew. How could he ever believe she would agree? Just because her cousin Jake was a crook didn't mean she was too.

  His handsome face had been twisted with anger during their heated argument. His dark eyes had blazed, and she'd suddenly noticed how close together they were, and how thin and mean his lips had become when he'd been arguing. He wasn't so handsome after all, when he wasn't smiling, anxious to please.

  Linda shivered. Despite the hot sun she felt cold. She stared after Pete as he stalked across the field that sloped gently up towards the house. He paused and two other men, both large, beefy-looking, tough specimens, spoke to him, then they went off in one direction and Pete strode on towards the side of the house that overlooked the formal gardens. She took a hurried step after him, then halted. He meant what he'd said. She'd had no doubt about that. If she told anyone he'd take revenge, and not just on her. She didn't mind for herself, but how far was Bill involved? Would Pete cause trouble for him?

  She had to contact Bill. She cursed herself for not bringing her mobile, but she'd seen a telephone kiosk near where the lane leading to the Grange had divided from the main road through the village. If only she could catch Bill, speak to him, warn him.

  Spinning round Linda took a couple of steps towards the main gateway and collided with something large and hard and solid.

  'Steady, what's the rush?' a deep voice, oddly resonant, asked, and her arms were grasped by strong, gloved hands.

  'Oh, I'm sorry,' she gasped, hearing an odd metallic clanging close to her head.

  Fleetingly Linda wondered why anyone should be wearing gloves on such a hot day, and then she became aware of vividly coloured clothes, emerald green and scarlet stripes, only inches from her face, and stranger still, bright metal gleaming between gaps. She raised her head, and blinked. Was she dreaming? The man was wearing a helmet, a medieval headpiece which obscured all except his eyes. How could she be facing a knight in armour?

  *

  Linda struggled free of the clasp on her arm. 'I'm sorry,' she gasped.

  She felt an idiot. She'd forgotten for the moment that this weekend there was some special event at the Grange, a re-enactment, Pete had said, of some ancient battles, and living history displays where people lived in tents and pretended to be medieval or Tudor peasants and soldiers, demonstrating old crafts. This must be one of the performers, ready dressed in his costume, though she now remembered that the main historical event didn't start until the afternoon.

  'I need a telephone, I saw one in the village,' she explained, and tried to move past him. He was very tall, a head taller than she was, and she was above average. She tried to estimate how much the peaked helmet added to his height. Surely men were smaller that long ago.

  He stepped sideways when she did, his armour clanking, and to her amazement she saw him holding out a mobile phone.

  'Use this,' he offered, and Linda, bemused, took it from him. This was getting odder and odder.

  She tried to gather her scattered wits. He could be as tall as he liked, he was a modern man dressed up in medieval costume. She hadn't done any time-travelling. It was quite normal for him to be carrying a mobile. She thought the whole idea of grown men playing at being soldiers was ludicrous, but this would save her ten minutes, and that might be enough to catch Bill, perhaps to stop him doing something stupid, even by his standards.

  'Thanks,' she muttered, and turned away as she dialled.

  The ringing tone went on. Come on, Bill, she thought. You usually stay in bed all Saturday morning. You must be there.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the armoured knight. He was close beside her. How could she tell Bill what Pete was planning with him able to hear her every word?

  There was no reply, not even the answerphone clicked in. What was Bill doing?

  'No reply? Perhaps they're out,' the knight said, and Linda turned to find he'd removed his helmet.

  Abstractedly she noted that he was very good looking, dark haired, olive-skinned, with eyes that were almost black. He was much better looking than Pete, though there was a superficial resemblance. But she was off dark, handsome men.

  She dialled again. If Bill were out, unlikely though that seemed, he might have remembered to switch on his mobile. Again there was no reply, and after a while she switched off and handed back the phone.

  'Thanks. Maybe I'll try again later.'

  '
You look worried. Is there any way I could help?'

  Linda shook her head. 'No. But thank you.'

  She turned and began to follow in Pete's tracks. Perhaps she could talk to him. He must have been having her on, he couldn't have meant what he'd said. Then she recalled the anger in his face, and shivered again. She'd be a fool if she tried to kid herself it was all a joke. He'd meant it all right. And now she was deeply worried that Bill was involved too. If he and Jake had got together again, and it seemed all too likely, Bill could end up in prison. She had to try and stop them.

  Pete had threatened her. He'd threatened Bill, but if Bill were involved too, he'd be in trouble either way. She couldn't let them do it, couldn't stand by and do nothing.

  A distant church clock chimed. Linda glanced at her watch. It was half past twelve, she had an hour before the first display started. According to what Pete had said, he intended to make his move during one of the battle scenes, when there would be cannon shots to drown out the noise he would make.

  She scrabbled in her shoulder bag for the programme she'd bought, and hastily scanned it. The first set battle re-enactment was timed for two o'clock. Her knowledge of weaponry was minimal, she had a vague idea that guns and cannon had been invented some time in the middle ages, but she didn't know which of the battles listed would feature them.

  Suddenly her stomach rumbled, and she remembered that she'd had no breakfast, and their picnic lunch was in Pete's car. She could hardly go and demand her share. Nor would she have a lift home, but that problem could be dealt with later. Perhaps if she had something to eat she'd be able to think a bit straighter.

  There was a map in the programme, and on the far side of the house there were, she was thankful to see, several refreshment stalls. Slowly she made her way through the people who were already settling themselves on the slope overlooking the arena marked out with fencing in the field below. Mostly they were family parties with picnic baskets, cool boxes, folding chairs and rugs. Behind the house Linda joined the first queue she came to. It was a burger stall. As she waited to be served she tried to arrange the facts she knew in some sort of order which made sense. What could she do to stop Pete?

  *

  Supplied with a burger-filled bap and a bag of chips, she found a shady spot underneath an ancient chestnut tree. Sitting with her back to the trunk she tried to recall their visit the previous weekend.

  'The house was originally just a large farmhouse,' Pete had explained. 'Then it was enlarged by building the big hall, in the centre, and this short wing to join them. Later, in the reign of Elizabeth, it was extended again, so that it had another wing and all now in the shape of a capital E.'

  'As a compliment for Elizabeth,' she'd added, pleased to recall that much from history lessons.

  'The family live in the whole house, it's not actually very big.'

  'Who owns it?

  'Their name's Cottrell. One of them made a fortune in the nineteenth century from coal and iron works, and then went into steam shipping. They haven't had to sell up like many old families, and they farm and breed horses. I think there's the old couple, he's retired now, and two or three sons who run the farm and the stud.'

  'You know a lot,' she'd said, admiringly.

  'I like to bone up on the owners before I visit a place.'

  Linda had been impressed by his preparations, but now she cringed as she thought of the real purpose behind his studies.

  They had been able to wander from room to room at their own pace. Instead of following a guide, struggling to hear what was being said, they had been able to ask the volunteer guides stationed in each room whatever questions they liked.

  'Do you swap rooms? Ever get tired of being asked the same things over and over again?' she recalled Pete asking.

  'No, sir, we have our own patch most of the time, we only swap if there's an emergency,' he'd been told. 'We know all there is to know about our own rooms, I suppose,' the elderly man had replied.

  Linda had been too busy to take much notice of the conversation. She'd been admiring the pictures, the porcelain and silver in several large display cabinets, and the lovely furniture. Some of this dated from the same periods as the house, oak settles and huge refectory tables in the Great Hall, but most of it was eighteenth century, more delicate and often made of walnut and rosewood.

  Pete had been more interested in the pictures, and Linda wished she'd paid more attention. There were lots of portraits, she recalled, but Pete had scoffed at them.

  'They're just copies, I bet the originals were sold long ago. The only genuine ones of any value,' he'd added, 'are those miniatures in the big drawing room.'

  Linda recalled her surprise that such tiny paintings, some no more than a few centimetres in diameter, could be worth more than the huge panoramic battle scenes which practically covered some of the walls.

  Small paintings, however, would be easy to carry away. Pete could even slip them into his pockets. He might have tried to do that last weekend, but the guides clearly knew their business, and would have spotted any gaps in their treasures at once, in time to give the alarm before a thief could escape.

  A thief! She shuddered. How could she have been so taken in? But then, how could she have possibly guessed that Pete, who had a good job as a computer engineer, would also be a criminal?

  *

  Linda decided she didn't know enough history. The first item on the programme was a grand parade of all the participants, then came a display of medieval jousting. After that was some archery, and then the Battle of Lewes, in 1264. After this there was a hunting and falconry exhibition, and then the Battle of Flodden in 1513, and finally an Elizabethan dance in which everyone was invited to join.

  The question she needed answered was when guns would be fired. Looking around she saw a small group of performers sitting on the grass, eating what looked like lumps of bread and cheese, and drinking from either horns or rough pottery mugs. The women wore long gowns of wool and their hair was covered. The men wore short belted tunics and soft leather shoes.

  She walked across to them. 'Hello. You eat authentic food, do you? What is it?'

  'Unleavened bread, baked on a hot stone,' one of the women replied.

  'And ale we brewed at the last event a month ago,' a man added. 'Sit ye down, lass. Is it your first time here?'

  'Yes, and I'm confused. My history's not very good,' Linda replied. 'Is it going to be noisy? I believe there are cannon and guns.'

  'Only at Flodden, later than us. We're the peasants at Lewes. The only noise you'll hear will be the trumpets and so on. Though the commentary over the tannoy can be pretty loud,' he added.

  Commentary? Tannoy? Would that be loud enough to mask the noise Pete would make breaking into the house? Probably.

  Linda looked round her. Today the house was not open to the public. Long side towards them, it overlooked the slope. Behind, well out of sight from the main arena, were the legs of the letter E, forming two courtyards. The refreshment tents and stalls were beyond these, in what she thought had once been a stable yard. There would be plenty of hiding places in the courtyards, and plenty of windows leading to small rooms, probably kitchens and storerooms, which would not be used today.

  Suddenly certain that Pete would wish to have the deed done as early as possible, Linda rose, thanked her new friends, and hurried round the house towards the back. She had to stop them. It didn't matter what they did to her, and Bill, if he had been foolish enough to join them, would have to take his chances. If she could stop them, she told herself firmly, he would not have anything to answer for.

  It was difficult to get through, since most of the people were going the other way, eager to find places from where to watch the displays. As she approached the archway which led into the stable yard, and from there to the courtyards a steward stepped in front of her.

  'Stay back, please, there are horses coming through in a moment. Leave space, please.'

  Linda, with a few other people, pr
essed back against the wall. Her eyes widened as she saw several horses, gaily caparisoned in multi-coloured tournament finery, trotting towards her. The heads of the horses were covered apart from holes for the eyes and ears, and there were skirts draped all round, so that only their tails and the bottom part of their legs were visible. Men dressed in armour similar to that of the knight she had encountered were riding them, each with striking, brightly patterned tunics over the armour and shields decorated with the same patterns and colours as their tunics and the horses' gear.

  She saw her knight, one of the leading pair, and turned aside. It was unlikely he would recognise her. She wore jeans and a simple white tee-shirt, which was almost a uniform for the girls and young women here today. Besides, she crossly told herself it didn't matter if he did.

  When the horses had gone, the crowd surged after them, and for a few moments Linda could not push against them. Soon, however, they were gone, and she heard the applause as the horses reached the parade field. The tannoy suddenly burst into life, and Linda ran into the first courtyard.

  It was empty. Last week she'd looked out of the windows and admired the intricate pattern of the knot garden which almost filled the space. Full of herbs, their scent wafting towards her now, the bushes were too low to conceal anyone. She ran on, past the massive central block and into the second courtyard, where some of the older buildings had been converted into coach houses. Two horseboxes stood in front of the open doors, and on top of one of them, which had been backed up to the wall, a man was doing something to the discreet alarm box.

  Beyond, huddled round one of the small windows which led into the domestic quarters, were two more men.

  'No! Stop it!' Linda shouted, and then realised her mistake. She should have gone for help.

  She backed away, and turned to run, but her foot slipped on some hay which had drifted out of one of the horseboxes, and she fell to her knees. Before she could struggle to her feet they were on her.

  Strong, rough fingers bit into her arms, and she was hauled to her feet and dragged across the yard. Pete, scrambling down from the roof of the horsebox, stalked across and stood glaring at her. Linda wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome, been attracted to him. His eyes were like slits, his nose pinched, and his mouth twisted in a cruel smile.