Entrelazado

Chapter 3: The victim

Unknown faces, lost looks, and no one there seemed to care what was happening or not happening in the high aristocracy. Did they know about his disappearance? Gladys asked herself, while traveling on the train, Heather guarded her on her left side. There was no escape, at the first attempt to escape, he would cut her throat. He looked out of the corner of his eye at the boy's features; he couldn't have been a little older than his younger sister Esme. He allowed himself to think for a moment about why a boy his age would end up k********g young people. Was he being manipulated by the other young man? What would be the reason that unites these two men in a misdeed like this?

—Don't worry my lady, it won't be long until we arrive. —whispered the young man with golden hair like the sun that was just now coming through the railroad window. —We hope you enjoy the trip.

—Where are we going? —she asked tremblingly. Gladys was making a huge sacrifice not to cry in the middle of the train. He feared that this would be his last cry.

In fact, she tried to stare at some of the passengers present, perhaps hold their gaze, and signal through them that something was wrong with the men accompanying her. But contrary to what she expected, no one looked at her.

—You'll see. —said the young man with a dazzling smile. Gladys observed his perfect countenance and soon wondered why a man of his kind would become a criminal.

But he silenced his childish thoughts and returned to reality; Would they be looking for her? Has the man Heather stabbed ever given the message? Will he still be alive? The train has stopped. The boy with brown eyes gets up from his seat and immediately takes her arm.

—Heather, I'll escort you now. —the young man added apocryphally. —Besides, I think that Miss. would rather be escorted by an earl, like all the daughters of high society. Isn't that right Gladys?

—As if you were going to be an earl. —she replied belligerently as she got off the train escorted in his arms.

—Ohh my lady, of course I am. Our inopportune meeting has not allowed us to present ourselves properly. I'm Howard Collingwood. Glagys, undaunted, remembered having heard that same surname a long time ago, when her father told her as a child that once they grew up they would have to aspire to families like the Woodgates or the Collingwoods. But some time later he stopped hearing his father name the latter. Could this young man really be a legitimate Collingwood? There would be nothing strange if he were, since his appearance was rather that of a prince.

''But princes don't kidnap young girls'' was answered instantly.

—Where are we going? —She asked when she saw herself heading towards the exit of the station.

—What is Gladys asking, of course outside. Where the coachman awaits us. —the count clarified, while placing his hand a little higher than her waist. Gladys tries to remove his hand, but is suddenly overwhelmed by so many people looking at her, or rather, looking at him.

The ladies smiled suspiciously as they directed all their gazes at the young man. Gladys even found it unseemly the way so many eyes were placed on him. She couldn't even have asked for help through signs, because her existence became totally or partially eclipsed by the presence of the two young men present there, who were currently escorting her to the nearest saloon. She allowed herself to rejoice, but only a little, and then ended up returning to reality, these young men had kidn*pped her. They were not at all gallant. And there was nothing happy about his situation.

—Get into the saloon, please. —young Heather cooed, perhaps with a tenderness that Glagys had not noticed in a boy for a long time. This one reminded him of his sister Esme, and for a moment he even forgot that the same young man had held a knife to his jugular the night before.

Gladys gets into the saloon and follows her, the young man captivating all the innocent glances of the young ladies of the station, perhaps the champion of all the fantasies of the young girls of the time.

—Has your show finished? —young Gladys commented ironically as she looked askance at her kidnapper, perhaps forgetting that fact.

—Don't be jealous, Miss Gladys. None of those young women would be of interest to me.

—And who does? —he asked, then blushed and returned to the current situation. -Excuse me. —he managed to say. —I don't even know why I'm apologizing!

—Because he has presented me with a scene of jealousy worthy of romantic interests. Do you want that? Of course you could be of interest to me, although in this case studying the roles we are carrying at the moment we cannot have something. —Howard commented.

— Of course I don't want that! —she clarified. His face was colored with something he never thought he would experience, shame.

—Well, I thought it was something very sweet on your part, Gladys. —he added without modesty.

—I don't want to have anything to do with you. I want to go home. What do they want? Money? —she commented assiduously. —If it's money you want, my family and even my fiancé's will give anything, just set a price.

—Gladys, you don't get it, right? —he asked, looking straight into her eyes. This time with a more solemn look, as if he had changed people, as if he were not the same person who was fooling around with her five minutes ago.

— Catch what?

—We don't want money. We want the count. —he said again.

''That's it again,'' Gladys thought.

—I already told you that my father is dead. What he's doing doesn't make sense. Just let me go! —she insisted. Heather takes out her knife and brings it to her jugular again.

—Miss, obey Count Howard, please. —Gladys observes the situation while swallowing a little saliva, it moved through her throat slowly.

—I don't like to get serious, Gladys. You. Do you want to see me serious? —he asked while staring at her, with a cold gaze, as if he had no problem cutting her throat if necessary. Gladys shakes her head slowly with a docile gesture. -I hope so. Gladys, I'm not afraid to kill her. Her life doesn't matter to me the same as the life of the coachman Heather stabbed the day we brought her with us. It's certainly necessary, but I have no problem ordering Heather to annihilate her right now. Please don't be stupid, and obey.

Gladys nodded her head. Howard gestures to Heather, and he removes the knife from near her jugular.

—We will arrive in a moment and I don't want any surprises. I don't like surprises. Do you understand, Miss Gladys? —Gladys nods her head again. —And please, speak. Don't be afraid of me. —he says smiling. Gladys can't help but cry, tears begin to flow.

The sedan had stopped and that was increasingly a sign that he was very far from home. He felt that they would be his last moments of life. Right now she was disconcerted, longing to hug her mother and her sister Esme, who of course must have been very worried since her disappearance. He wondered if young Woodgate, Carlisle, was angry. Perhaps after her pre-engagement disappearance, the Woodgates might be very upset about losing the wife to their only heir. But that certainly wasn't a problem. Carlisle was very handsome, he could get someone better than her to do the wedding. Now what worried him most was how his mother and sister would continue after his disappearance, he was already predicting the pitiful looks of his acquaintances, or the less than accurate and not very syrupy comments from the Brownings.

—Why are you crying, Miss Gladys? —young Heather asked. Gladys, suffocating behind a barrier of phlegm, stops at him for a moment.

- Why am I crying? Well, because of this, because more. —he said sedately. Howard gets out and goes around the saloon so he can open the door for Gladys.

—My master will not hurt her. -whisper. —But stay calm, we don't want to make you angry.

''My master?'' Gladys emphasized, but Howard was already opening the door with a polite gesture.

"Miss..." Howard says, offering his hand to help her get down. Gladys wipes her tears with one hand while she receives the gesture with the other.

She gaped at the place, it was nothing more and nothing less than a port. A few steps away were among the largest cruise ships of the time, the cruise ship with which he returned from America. It didn't take him long to recognize the port where they were. He exhaled a cloud of mist. Finally a familiar scenario. It couldn't be that far from town.

—And what are we doing here if I may ask? —he asked Heather, whom he now seemed to trust the most between the two. Heather looks down without answering.

-Ms. You have won a cruise trip. No need to thank me. —Howard responded vehemently.

—Cruises make me nauseous. —Gladys manages to say in a poor attempt to deceive them. In fact, she had been used to traveling on cruises since she was little, when she started going to America with her father. Aware that they were not that far from the town, their purpose was clear, not to go any further. Perhaps she feared that they would not find her once she got on the ship.

-Ms. Gladys, fear not, you won't even feel like you're in one. My boats are usually very welcoming. —added Howard as he linked his arm with hers and escorted her to the nearest ship.

—My ships? —she asked.

—They are just one of the many acquisitions as the sole living heir of the Collingwoods. —he clarified with pretensions.

''Only living heir? Is it really a Collingwood? It just can't be. Because a Collingwood would be doing this.'' Gladys said to herself again as she was escorted to the next cruise ship and said goodbye to her last chance to escape when she saw that the port was empty, again, as if the world was conspiring against her and bringing her a lot of misfortunes in a row.

The ship was worthy of being called a cruise ship, Gladys watched overwhelmed, the curtains that fell delicately in the main room letting in a thread of light. The ceiling of the ballroom, with painted and detailed drawings perhaps by a painter of the time. The portraits of people I didn't know. He wondered if they were some Collingwoods. Marble floors everywhere, which gave the sumptuous touch. The stairs with carved details on the railing. Step by step and even since they entered the cruise they did not meet anyone.

— A cruise without passengers? —he urged.

—You can call it my personal cruise. —Howard responded with a smile on his face.

—And who drives the boat?

—Oh, don't worry about that. We have a captain. But it certainly won't be seen. —Howard says, as he takes her by the waist and whispers something in her ear. —And don't try to look for it.

The chill invaded Gladys' body. Submissively, she nodded her head trying to say "Yes..."

—Heather, accompany Miss to her room. —Howard said, saying this the boy with the brown eyes hurries to guide Gladys through the hallways. —Fear not, you are in good hands. —He smiled happily. ''That man is crazy'' she managed to think.

He followed the young man through the hallways, while observing the closed doors on his sides, he wondered if they were locked. During the rush he inspected each of the possible escape routes until they reached the main room.

“This is Miss,” Heather says, motioning for her to come in. Once inside, Gladys rolled her eyes all over the stage.

"No windows ehh..." he joked.

—By orders of the master, I must secure the door. The room has a separate bathroom, so you won't need to go out. If you need anything, just knock on the door. I'll be on the other side. —Heather explained and then closes the door and locks it.

—Huh...so this is the situation...

Gladys enters the bathroom looking for something that might help her defend herself from her kidnappers, but on the contrary, the bathroom didn't even have mirrors. He discarded the idea after seeing that the room had probably been emptied before his arrival, so as not to leave any loose ends.

Overwhelmed with the disappointment of not being able to find, once again, a way out. He decides to lie down on the bed that lay in the center of the room. She lay down looking at the ceiling, and wondered if her father was watching her from wherever he was. He prayed to him, and entrusted him with finding a way to arrest him. But he didn't hear her. And not specifically because he was not in heaven, but, perhaps, because he was not dead.

Dunster, 1873. Saturday. 1:15 am. Bar Los Sombreros.

—A young girl was kidn*pped in London. And then one regrets being poor...—explained a man while drinking a beer and reading the newspapers from the previous day.

—What would be the good side of being poor? —His companion answered, laughing, while taking a sip of beer.

—Look, man, I am the father of two girls. And at least they are safe milking cows the same age as these girls, who are then forced to marry guys our age just for appearance. —the man said as he put the newspaper aside. —A toast, to us, compadre. For our families. Even if you are far from yours. -outline.

The other man was laughing, his cheeks pink from the effects of the alcohol. He took the newspaper to read the news and understand what his drunk companion was talking about, then he read between the lines and couldn't help but read the last name of the affected family; ''The Hamilton Family''.

Your family.