Randall #03 - Sherwood Ltd. by Anne R. Allen Page B

pity.
    “I don’t care. Do whatever you like. Major Oak is Peter’s brainchild. If he wants to pay you, it will have to come from his own pocket. We can’t pay the staff we have as it is.” He handed me another pile. “No wonder he’s gone for a beach holiday.” He pounced on the copy of Damsels in the Dungeon and gave it an incendiary stare. “Bugger!” he shouted. “Bugger all. It’s identical. It’s the same cover he put on Dirk Scabbard’s The Naked Nanny , except for the stockings.” His upper lip quivered. “Where is Mowbray? He’s bloody useless…”
    I clutched the manuscripts. I figured I might as well read through a few. They’d provide me with something to do while I waited for Peter.
    The creep. At least Jonathan had bothered to think up excuses for going off on his escapades. I shouldered my purse, grabbed my laptop and pushed my stacked suitcases in front of me with a kick. But when I opened the door, Tom Mowbray blocked my way. He looked even angrier than his boss. He was flanked by Davey and Liam, ready to protect their mate.
    Henry waved them away. “Just him,” he said, pulling Tom inside. “You two might try doing some work.” He gave the door a slam.
    “Bloody hell.” Liam shook his scarlet head at the closed door. “Looks as if Henry needs a holiday too.” He eyed my burden. “Duchess, can you use a bit of help?”
    Davey grabbed both of my suitcases with surprising strength as Liam took my laptop and the manuscripts. We marched out into the noisy factory, where Meggy and two other young women, wearing noise-muffling head gear, operated a guillotine-like device and another that smelled of burning glue.
    “Where to, Duchess?” I could barely hear Davey over the roar.
    I sighed. “The Merry Miller, I suppose.”
    Davey’s eyebrows shot upwards as he put down the suitcases.
    “Not wise. Brenda won’t take another Yank for a good long while. What about the White Stag Inn? It’s pricey, but…” he scanned my Vuitton luggage.
    “Um, how much is it? I have…” I pulled out my wallet and counted the money I had left. “Twelve pounds and, um, three of these silvery ones.” I held out the coins.
    “Your American credit cards are good here,” Liam said.
    I took a breath, then blurted the truth. “I don’t actually, um, have any credit cards. I had to shred them…I’m in a program for debt consolidation.”
    Slowly I realized everyone was staring. Meggy had shut down her machine and taken off her headphones.
    Liam let out a loud guffaw. “You’re skint? Peter told us your mum’s a Countess and you’re married to a telly presenter.”
    “My mother died without a penny,” I said, fighting the catch in my throat. It felt so strange to be telling the truth at last. “There’s no money. Not anywhere. Her last husband stole everything she had. And my ex claims to be as destitute as I am since his drinking got him fired. He used to have millions, and I suspect he still does, but my lawyer couldn’t find anything and then I couldn’t pay the lawyer...oh, it’s all so tedious.”
    For the first time Davey looked at me without the dark hostility. He peered at the coins and let out a big laugh.
    “You hang onto that, Duchess. We’ll sort you a place to stay.” He looked at Liam, “What about Ratko’s hole?”
    Meggy shook her head wildly, but Liam nodded. “Why not? Ratko’s buggered off to his motherland. Who knows when he’ll be back, if at all?”
    I didn’t like the sound of this.
    “Onward to the hole. Otherwise known as the dungeon,” said Liam. “It’s quite nice, really. Ratko’s not a slob like the rest of us, and Davey’s wired it with a broadband hook-up. ”
    “The dungeon it is,” said Davey.

Chapter 21—The Outlaws of Sherwood
     
    Liam and Davey led me through the factory, past the bathrooms, up some steps and down a corridor where doors opened to small offices with views of the river.
    “Those are my digs,” Davey said as we passed a