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Lloyd’s Mansion
The Kingdom of Fife
Bethany’s flight up the narrow steps was a blur as her temples pounded with her pulse. Her upper arm burned where Henderson retained his tight grip after dragging her up the stone stairs. The cracking of automatic gunfire repeated behind them while they retreated and collapsed on the wooden floorboards of the kitchen.
Donaldson flew out of the stairwell, his grey hair sticking up wildly and his expression grim.
“That wee haggersnash has retreated, but not afore snuffing the life oot of that young lad. My condolences at losing one of yer men, ma’am.”
Bethany stared at the stairwell, willing her thundering ears to recover.
“I’ll get more men to guard these stairs,” Henderson said. “No one will reach the top of them. Security will use their grenades to blow them if that door opens a crack without warning or signs of surrender.”
Henderson marched her to the front door. Outside, bullets had riddled the vehicle in which he’d previously insisted Bethany seek shelter. They withdrew to the main lounge room and Bethany scurried behind a substantial antique couch while the gun battle continued to rage outside. After Henderson had organised the guard at the entrance to the cellar, he returned and posted an armed defence force member who squatted beside Bethany, her weapon at the ready. They hunkered down behind the couch for the rest of the morning, with Henderson returning on occasions to check on her and report on his and Donaldson’s joint handling of the situation.
The room grew stuffy as the hours dragged, and Bethany’s foot cramped as she remained in a squat behind the solid couch. Her mouth dried but going to the kitchen for a glass of water wasn’t a safe option. Heavy footsteps stomped down the corridor leading to her room of safety. Donaldson entered; the reek of cordite hovered around him and Bethany pinched her nose against the sharpness. Henderson followed close behind.
“Bessie’s arrived!” Mr Donaldson said. “My men are occupying those black devils of Lloyds while we drag her round the side and set her up to pound the cellar wall.” He looked pointedly at Bethany. “Do I have your permission, ma’am?”
Bethany clutched the collar of her blouse at her throat. She’d never been involved in allowing—ordering—the demise of another human. But Lloyd had revealed his greed and his ambitions. He’d intended to take her life, displaying a total disregard for the leadership position she held.
Her neck dampened with sweat, soaking her collar.
“Yes,” she replied.
Donaldson left the room. She gazed at the carpet looming lush-red before her.
“Prime Minister...Bethany.” Henderson knelt beside her and placed his hand on her arm. “You have no choice. He would have killed you.”
She swallowed.
“He would have taken the prime-ministership for himself. Who knows what he would have done next? You’re not only saving yourself; you’re saving Scotland.” He rose and followed Donaldson.
Twenty minutes later, one of Donaldson’s kilted men entered.
“Ma’am. Mr Donaldson wishes ye to remove yoursel’ from the hoose. We are completing Bessie’s set-up. It’ll no’ be safe when we start pounding the wall o’ the hoose with the cannon, ma’am.” He dipped a bow and waited expectantly for her to move.
Bethany stirred from the shelter of the solid furniture and, glancing sideways at her defence force minder, accompanied the young man. Gunfire battered the front of the mansion, answered instantly with retorts from the Tummel House Army’s firearms, plus those of Government personnel and bandit allies. Bethany followed the soldier’s lead and clambered out the bay window of the breakfast room.
A group of Tummel House Army personnel gathered around a cannon on wheels, directing its muzzle at the rear wall outside the cellar. Heavy horse pulled an empty cart away, and a neat pile of cannon balls sat nearby. As they headed over, a soldier was carrying a wide, cylindrical leather case to the cannon and the artillery crew.
Henderson approached Bethany. “It’s best we get you away from this, Prime Minister.” He gently grasped her elbow and steered her to the outer sheds.
Bethany strode into the larger shed and turned to the nearest window where she could see the Tummel House soldiers in charge of Bessie. Mr Donaldson had called this cannon light artillery. The soldier who had been carrying the leather case now opened it to remove a small package wrapped in material and he loaded this into the cannon’s mouth. A cannon ball and a coil of rope followed. The soldier standing at the other end lit a large taper and the soldiers all stood back.
A whoosh and a bang echoed up and around, followed instantly by a thunderous clap reverberating off the house and through the shed. It rocked Bethany. She stood staring out the bare window, rubbing her ears, unable to take her eyes off the scene before her. The crew manning the cannon set about immediately preparing for the next firing.
Rubble crunched and clattered to the ground. After less than a minute of flurried activity surrounding the cannon, another boom ensued. Bethany covered her ears, aching tinnitus predominant in her head.
Two more booms, then shouts, all dulled by her hands over her ears. Someone tapped her shoulder.
“Prime Minister.” Henderson turned her to face him and she lowered her hands. “The end wall has collapsed. They’re checking for survivors.”
More shouting came from the yards outside. Men milled around the pile of rubble and debris at the base of the rear wall; jagged sections of brick framed an internal view of the chimneys of the Victorian kitchen.
Xian ran to Bethany. “They’re retreating, Prime Minister. Lloyd’s men know it’s over.”
Donaldson strode toward her, his brow creased, but his shoulders sat wide and proud.
“Pursue them,” Bethany ordered Mr Donaldson. “They must be brought to justice.”
“Aye, ma’am.” He saluted, then called over one of his men and gave orders.
Moments later, mounted men tore past her, led by Mr Donaldson’s son. Kilts flew, exposing bare legs as the men waved their guns, their voices roaring a Highland battle cry. Bethany shrank back into the shed, curbing the bolt of fear at the deep male voices saturated with battle-lust. A sense of pity for Lloyd’s men flashed through her.
A government security member ran to where she stood with Henderson.
“Ma’am, sir.” he gulped for air. “We’ve confirmed there’s only one body. It’s that of an old man.”