Anna Jacobs (15 page)

Would kill to get it, if that’s what it took.

As he passed the inn, he saw Matthew Lawrence’s manservant, Chadding, come out, which suggested the man had been watching out of the window. Elkin slowed down and inclined his head in greeting, noting the bruise on the man’s forehead with a grim smile. Seth said the fellow knew how to handle himself. His groom and Chadding had shared the money they’d taken from the young groom, which should keep them both happy for a while. As for the stable lad, he should be grateful they’d let him live.

Pascoe was stupid to send someone so young and inexperienced to fetch the old women. The young idiot had been easy to capture and rob.

“If you have a moment, sir, perhaps we could have another little chat?” Frank asked.

“Certainly. Walk on briskly and I’ll meet up with you on the other side of the village. No need to show everyone that we’re continuing to do business with one another.” Elkin went into the inn on the pretence of expecting a letter by the mail, but the dolt of an innkeeper showed him no respect, so he left again without ordering anything to drink. He sauntered down the street as if he hadn’t a care in the world, smiling gently even though rage simmered within him—as it had done ever since that damned will was read.

The landlord watched him go and summoned his son with a snap of the fingers. “Mr Pascoe wants to know what that fine gentleman does with himself when he comes into the village. Can you follow him without being seen, Sam lad? I daresay you’ll win yourself a copper or two if you find out what Elkin is doing.”

Young Sam brightened up and left at once by the back door.

John Thompson went back to stand at the front of his inn and watch that peacock figure saunter away. You got them in every family, wrong ’uns. They were all glad Elkin hadn’t inherited Marymoor House, because he’d not have made a good landlord.

* * * *

The young groom spent the day lying down in Jem’s room above the stables, nursing an aching head, a black eye and a sore spirit. George had been set upon by two rogues and robbed of all the money he was carrying just after he’d left the district, and the shame of that still smarted. Fine way that was to serve his new master.

Jem said you only learned to be careful by getting caught out. Well, George would know to take a lot more care next time. He couldn’t imagine Jem Newton, a man he admired greatly, ever falling into an ambush so easily.

George had been so surprised he hadn’t even given a good account of himself when two men jumped out at him, which added to his shame. Though he’d struck a blow or two, of course, and had heard one of them curse when his fist connected. But after that someone had hit him over the back of the head, the coward, and everything had turned black.

He’d not regained consciousness for a while, until the sun was quite low in the sky. Then he’d turned and made his way back on foot, to find that his horse had got home before him and Jem was pacing up and down behind the stables, worried sick.

But his master and Jem trusted him enough to send him off again tonight and he wouldn’t let them down this time, he swore to himself. He’d find the two old ladies and bring them back safe, or die trying.

Jem peeped in a little later and saw that George’s colour was better and he was sleeping soundly. If the matter weren’t so serious, he’d smile at what had happened. It was a pity there wasn’t an older man to send on this errand, but there were two old ladies who needed rescuing quickly, it seemed, and there were people who didn’t want them rescuing. The whole situation was far more serious than anyone had realised.

He saddled a horse and chose his moment carefully, when the folk at the big house were eating supper and even that Seth was sitting stuffing himself in the kitchen like the pig he was. He walked the animal out to the stream and tethered it to a convenient tree. George could set off from here during the night without waking anyone in the house or village.

Like his master Jem didn’t believe the attack had happened by sheer chance. Masked men didn’t suddenly appear from the bushes and drag a young man off his horse near Marymoor. This wasn’t London, after all. He reckoned someone had known George was on an errand for his new master and had set out to stop him. Which made him think immediately of Seth.

And the stranger at the inn was sporting a bruise on his cheek today, young Sam had told him when he brought a message from his father, so likely the stranger had been the second robber.

He and Matthew hadn’t told anyone what had happened, but Jem was worried about his master’s safety. Elkin had brought one ruffian with him, planted another in the village. How many men did he have at his disposal? Even a strong man like Matthew couldn’t fight off several others.

And anyone could be shot at from a distance.

* * * *

Deborah sat up in bed, an old shawl she’d found in Ralph’s room around her shoulders, waiting for her husband to come up to bed. It seemed a very long time.

She’d checked on Mrs Elkin before retiring and found the maid a trifle more helpful this time. But the old lady still seemed afraid to speak to her. However, the doctor’s draught was helping, so Deborah was hopeful that the Elkins would be able to leave soon.

When she heard footsteps she leaned forward, but they lacked Matthew’s briskness and sure enough, they stopped at Elkin’s door.

It was a while before her husband came up to bed.

“You’re still awake, then,” he said as he set down his candlestick.

“Yes. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

“I wasn’t walking out with Elkin today,” she said bluntly. “He followed me. Before he joined me, I overheard you and Jem talking. Matthew, what happened to George? I thought he’d have reached Newgarth by now.”

He sighed and sat down on the bed. No avoiding telling her, then, but the information would only add to her worries. “He was attacked and robbed.”

She gasped and stared at him. “A highwayman? Near Marymoor?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? We haven’t had any attacks round here before, though there have been several over Rochdale way.”

“Who knew George was going?”

“Half the village, I suppose. We didn’t make any secret of it, though we told him not to say exactly where.”

She was silent. “Then my mother’s been at the mercy of my uncle for several days. And he’ll have been in a foul mood.”

“I’m sorry. George is leaving again tonight. Secretly. He’ll fetch her back in a day or two.”

She nodded. After all, her uncle couldn’t stop his sister leaving Newgarth. Could he?

“Are you still stiff?” he asked.

“A little. Nothing to worry about.”

“And how’s Mrs Elkin?”

“Somewhat better.”

“Good. Maybe we can get rid of them tomorrow.”

He began to take his clothes off, putting on a nightshirt, then easing into bed beside her. She was hoping he would take her in his arms, kiss her—maybe seal their marriage. But he only sighed and slid down under the covers.

Within a minute or two he was breathing deeply. He seemed to fall asleep very easily. She felt tears come into her eyes. Was he so indifferent to her?

When he heard her breathing deepen, Matt stifled a sigh. It was hard to pretend indifference with such a lovely young woman laying beside him—and that woman his wife! His body was crying out for her, and his spirit was, too. He was growing more fond of her each day. A woman after his own heart, Deborah.

He eased himself into a more comfortable position and waited for sleep.

* * * *

In the middle of the night, Jem woke George with food and a glass of ale and took him to where the horse was patiently waiting.

“Take care how you go this time, lad.”

George nodded, his young face serious in the moonlight. “I’ll die before I fail again, Jem.”

“Don’t you dare get yourself killed. Just do what you’ve been asked carefully. Mrs Pascoe is worried about her mother. But you should stay out of the way of her uncle, if you can, and whatever you do, tell him nothing and offer him no incivility. He’s a nasty type, by all accounts.”

So George trotted off into the darkness, burning with determination to do better this time, while Jem made his way slowly and carefully back to the stables, where a fellow he trusted was waiting for him, eager to earn extra money by keeping watch for them that night.

* * * *

George arrived in Newgarth at eleven o’clock in the morning, having travelled through the night and pushed on as fast as his horse could manage. He made his way straight to the cottage on the green, which had been described to him, and knocked on the front door. While he waited for an answer he kept his eyes open. People had stared at him open-mouthed as he crossed the green. Why? And an old woman had stopped to watch when he tied up his horse outside the cottage.

But no one had come near him. Why not? Normally people exchanged greetings with strangers and asked their business.

When there was no answer he knocked again and this time heard footsteps shuffling towards the door. An old man opened it and scowled at him.

“Yes?”

“I’m looking for Mrs Jannvier.”

“She isn’t here.”

“Is this her house?”

“Used to be. Isn’t any more.”

“Well, how can I find her?”

The man shrugged. “How should I know? You’ll have to go and ask Mr Lawrence. He’s her brother.”

George backed away, puzzled. He had instructions to avoid the landowner, if possible. After standing outside for a moment, he took hold of the reins and led his horse across to the inn. The poor beast was tired and would be the better for a feed and rest, as would he.

Ross Tucker hadn’t failed to note the arrival of a stranger, or where he went. He chose to serve the young man himself. “Were you looking for Mrs Jannvier?” he asked.

George studied his companion. An open face, eyes that didn’t flinch from yours. “Yes. Do you know where she is?”

“I could probably find out.” He went to bring back a tankard of ale and set it down before the young man, choosing to approach his subject obliquely while he assessed the newcomer. There had been such goings-on in the village in the past few days! Strangers riding off with young women. Old women sneaking off secretly without telling anyone where they were going. Well, most of the villagers, including Ross, were on Mrs Jannvier’s side against Mr Lawrence, though they didn’t dare show that, of course. What sort of man talked about his sister being deranged, about locking her away in a lunatic asylum, as Mr Lawrence had been doing for the past two days?

Shameful, that’s what it was. If Mrs Jannvier really was deranged, then there was enough room at the manor to look after her there.

And Ross’s cousin Bessie definitely wasn’t deranged, so if she’d left secretly there had to be a good reason for it. What’s more, if anyone tried to lock her up, the Tuckers would want to know why, whether he was the landowner or not. By hell they would. They looked after their own, the Tuckers did.

“I’m a cousin of Mrs Jannvier’s maid Bessie,” he announced suddenly, deciding to trust the open-faced young fellow. “She’ll be with her mistress.”

“Ah.” George looked at him, then admitted, “I have a letter to deliver to Mrs Jannvier from her daughter. I was told she lived at that cottage across the green.”

“She did, but she left two days ago.”

George stared at him. “Left? What do you mean?”

Ross lowered his voice. “She and my cousin Bessie ran away.”

It took George a minute to digest this. “Why?”

“Because of that brother of hers, Mr Lawrence.”

George took a good pull of ale, then looked sideways at the innkeeper. “Do you know where she’s gone? Her daughter’s married my master and is living at Marymoor now. I’m supposed to take Mrs Jannvier and her back there.”

“Married? Miss Deborah’s married?” the innkeeper gaped at him and was about to ask for more information when he noticed two horses stop outside and their riders dismount. “Be careful. This is Mr Lawrence,” he muttered, then said loudly, “Something to eat, did you say, young sir?”

A choleric gentleman erupted into the inn even as he was speaking and marched across to George, shoving the innkeeper aside.

“What does Deborah want?” Walter Lawrence demanded, slapping his riding crop on a table.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” George said cautiously.

“You were inquiring for my sister. You could only have come from my niece, so I want to know what Deborah wants, and I want to know now, or you’ll find yourself in the stocks for insolence.”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

Walter poked him in the chest with the riding crop. “Answer me at once.”

“I’m on my master’s business,” George said stolidly, already looking for the best way to get out of the room, as Jem said you should do in a sticky situation. “It’s not up to me to say what that is. I just do as I’m told.”

“Insolence!” The crop thwacked down towards the side of George’s head and he put up one arm to defend himself, feeling its sting.

“The fellow’s attacking me!” Walter yelled at the top of his voice. “Stop him!”

The groom moved forward, anticipation gleaming in his eyes.

But before they could catch him George dived for the back door.

The innkeeper, who had been eavesdropping on the other side of the door, shoved George in the direction of the kitchen and hissed, “Tell ’em to hide you!” then fell through the doorway as if he’d been pushed, yelling in supposed shock and getting in the way of the two pursuers.

George ran in the direction of the pointing finger and dived through the door at the back of the room. “The innkeeper says to hide me!” he gasped.

A man sitting by the fire gaped for a moment, then jumped to his feet and led the way outside at a run.

By the time Walter Lawrence’s groom came in, the two of them were across the stable yard and out of sight.

He glared at the innkeeper’s wife, who was placidly stirring a stew. “You! Where did he go?”

She stopped stirring to look at him disapprovingly. “Who?”

“The fellow as ran through here.”

“Oh, to the privy, I suppose. I thought he’d been took short. I wasn’t watching. I didn’t want this stew to burn.”