Dedicated Villain (45 page)

Lambert eased the thrust of the pistol. “Answer, carrion!”

“I dunno the name of the place,” Hessell said hoarsely. “I could show you though, only I'm so weak, sir. Fair clemmed I be in me poor innards. Ain't et fer days'n days, and—”

The pistol struck hard again. “I'd as soon put an end to you now, traitorous dog that you are. You took my money and then betrayed me—”

“No, sir! Oh, no sir! I thought as you was working together, straight I did! I nigh got rid of yer uncle fer you, didn't I, sir? Own up.”

“You
missed
—filth!”

“I
tried
, guv'nor, you gotta admit, I tried. And I stole the lady, just like you told me. Then when Captin Otton made me take her and hide her agin, I thought it was what
you
wanted, too.
Honest
, Lieutenant, sir. Benjamin F. Hessell don't cheat them as what pays him! Only tell me what yer wants, and it's did, sir. I swear it, see this wet, see this—”

“I'll see your brains all over that wall behind you in about two seconds!
Where—is—Roland—Otton
?”

Hessell read death in those splendid blue eyes, and his knees
shook. “I dunno, sir! Honest! Oh, Gawd! I'd tell yer if I knowed. Cheated me, he did! I owes him one! He said he was goin' back ter London, only yer can't trust a word he—”

“Where did you see him? Where was he when he told you that?
Where
? Damn your eyes!
Where
?”

Hessell gulped. “You're chokin' me, sir. I can't—ah, that's better. Thank you kindly, sir. Thank you. Why, why it were up near some awful village. This side o' Chester, and—”

“Chester!” Lambert's lips writhed back from his teeth in a snarl that appalled Hessell. “
Chester
! Was he alone?”

“He was when I see him, sir. Only—I seen him agin. With a buncha actors, he was. And actresses, sir … tasty bits they was, just the kind you—” He struck in mid-sentence, beating the pistol from Lambert's hand. With the strength of desperation, he grabbed the tall rain barrel and brought it tumbling. It was only half full, but the flood of dirty water sent the fastidious Lambert leaping clear. Hessell took to his heels and ran for his life.

Cursing bitterly, Lambert searched for his pistol. The water had poured over it, thoroughly wetting the powder. He picked it up, but scarcely noticed the green slime that covered the fine weapon.

So Otton was with the acting troupe after all … ‘If
only
I'd gone to see that accursed play …! Damn! Damn! Damn!' Belatedly, he realized that there was slime on his hand. He drew his handkerchief and wiped his fingers, revolted. And then he stood very still, for the littered clearing was before his mind's eye. He could see again the abominable Sir Roger Innings offering his mocking bow. A fat man—yet the hand he extended was white and
slender
, with unusually long fingers. Had the two middle ones been of uniform length? Lord, how could he have failed to notice? Roland Otton bowed with that same graceful ease, that same Frenchified flourish! Stunned by his own obtuseness, he was struck by a new awareness that caused him to catch his breath.

“
Second … Innings …!
” The words hissed through his white teeth and his eyes widened into a glare that would have purely terrified one Benjamin F. Hessell.

For four days the weather had continued unseasonably warm, only the nights and mornings holding the chill tang of approaching winter. There had been no more rain, and they'd been able to travel at a good speed from first light until dark. Long days, full of effort, and all of them were tired, yet delighted by their rapid progress. Indeed, Fate seemed to smile on them. The horses had done well, for now they were able to change teams when the animals became tired; not once had they so much as glimpsed a scarlet coat; and the only threat had been presented by an irate farmer who brought his workers to drive “the dirty thieving vagrants” from his lands. His son had taken a fancy to Elizabeth, and his generous decision to favour her with his attentions had transformed the mild Thaddeus Heywood into a raging savage. Mathieson at once seconded him and a pitched battle might have ensued had not the farmer suddenly noticed that he and his men were outnumbered by a surprisingly militant group. The farmer beat a strategic withdrawal, the “vagrants” moved on, and the danger was averted.

By sending scouts ahead at dawn each morning they were able to avoid other hazards such as festivals and autumn fairs;
too busy roads that were likely being scanned by military; lanes so rutted and flooded as to be impossible for the caravans to negotiate; villages or hamlets where they would be eyed with suspicion. As far as possible they had kept to wooded lanes and secluded by-ways, and on this late afternoon had stopped to make camp beside a pleasant little copse of silver birch trees in the Clee Hills, a few miles north of Ludlow.

As soon as the fires were crackling, my lady settled herself in a chair beside one and began to make a dreadful botch of darning one of Bradford's stockings. Fiona brought her own pile of mending and sat with her, but Picayune put her good intentions to flight by snatching at the thread until, laughing, Fiona began to play with the little animal. Within minutes Freemon Torrey was sitting cross-legged at her feet. He said little, but watched the girl with such yearning worship that my lady became vexed with him and sent him off to fetch her a shirt that he said needed a button.

“I vow he stares at you like a perfect moonling,” she muttered as the tall young man went hurrying off. “Heaven knows why, for you are positively tanned by the sun and wind, which is unfeminine in the extreme.”

Fiona sent her a glance of sparkling mischief and said meekly that she knew she could never hope to compare with Elizabeth who had been so fortunate as to take after her grandmama.

“Well, you are quite right,” said Lady Clorinda, her own eyes bright. “Although Beth is one of your fair beauties, whereas I had the benefit of dark hair. Which will teach you, my love, not to twit your elders!” She laughed, swooped to kiss her granddaughter's smooth cheek, and drew back saying fondly, “I'm proud of you both, I'll admit, though I shouldn't for 'twill make you vain, and there's nothing less attractive than a vain woman. But, I will own, my love, that the tan makes your eyes like emeralds. Small wonder Roland and poor Torrey are so bewitched.”

Fiona blushed. “Captain Mathieson has been very good, Grandmama. You will own he has posed no threat to us.”

“Far from it! He has been splendid and of great assistance. But,” my lady's eyes grew stern “years of folly cannot be wiped away, however one might wish they could. I'll not see your name besmirched by an alliance that could only bring shame to you, however ‘good' the boy has been for a few weeks. Or however sincere he may be—at the moment.” She saw the sparkle fade from the green eyes, and as Fiona started to protest, added hurriedly, “Speaking of Mathieson, where is he?”

“He is one of our scouts today, ma'am. He left before dawn.”

“And is not back yet? Lud!”

“Never fret, Grandmama. Ro—Captain Mathieson always stays out longer than the other scouts, have you not noticed? I think 'tis partly because his horse has such wondrous endurance, and partly because …” she hesitated, her lashes drooping “—because he is so extreme—dedicated.”

“Hum,” said Lady Clorinda. “Let us hope his dedication finds nought to disturb it, though I fancy there is small cause for alarm on that count. One is persuaded the hunt must be waning at last, for we have not so much as glimpsed a dragoon.”

Despite his customary optimism, on this particular occasion Mathieson did not share Lady Clorinda's sanguine views. At first elated by the absence of military coats, that very absence began to disturb him, and as day succeeded day with never a sign of soldiers, his unease deepened into apprehension. All the way from Sussex there had been troopers everywhere. Lord knows they'd been thickly dispersed throughout Cheshire. Yet now it would seem they all had been recalled. So sudden and complete a withdrawal was illogical, to say the least of the matter, and Mathieson had learned to mistrust illogical developments.

As a result, he took to ranging ever farther afield, and today had crossed the River Teme, and ridden on as far as the Lugg, still with no sign of danger—at least not military danger. And still he was plagued by a deepening sense of peril. The lovely Herefordshire woods and valleys, the rich farmland and fields dotted with sheep and fat cattle, basked under the warm sun.
Mathieson had crossed the Teme with a wistful sigh for the trout and grayling that abounded there. Now the Lugg, home of similar temptations rippled and sparkled and sang to him. He dismounted, allowing Rumpelstiltskin to drink. The very thought of fresh trout sizzling in a pan made his mouth water. Surely, the Avon Travelling Players would welcome such an addition to their dinner table. He had no fishing pole, but there was, of course, a length of twine in his saddle bags … Ever the optimist, he unsaddled the stallion, told him he was allowed to graze, and wandered about, twine in hand, searching for a likely branch. He came to an inward curve of the river-bank where a weeping willow cast its lacy shade out over the water. Starting forward, he halted as low-pitched voices drifted from within that large green sunshade.

“'Course we could've! You think we're scared of a buncha dirty traitors? Thing is, the Lieutenant says there's some of 'em sailed off on a boat with some of the treasure. He's got it in his mind they're all going to meet again in a special place, which is where this lot's going, and where we're tippy-toeing after 'em.”

“If you was to ask me, Sergeant,” said a younger voice, “he'd do better to take what he's got now, 'stead of playing a waiting game and risking them slipping through his fingers. Wouldn't be the first time, by what I—”

“
Ssshh!
You perishing fool! If he heard you—cor! I'd think you'd had enough of his tongue! 'Sides, I won't deny as he's a sight too eager to get his rank back, but this little game of his is working right nice, I must admit. Here they comes, tripping so tidy as you please—right into his snare, and then—” There was the sound of a sharp clap. “Gotcha!”

Mathieson started to move back very slowly, but paused again as the younger voice said, “And how if they stop tripping into his snare, and go hopping off where he don't expect, and get clean away?”

“Don't be such a silly blockhead! They got damned great caravans to haul about. Where they going to ‘hop off' to when we got a troop between them and the west coast, and another
just to the north of 'em, watching every move they make? The south road is so clear as a bell, Lambert's seen to that, and if they should smell a rat and try to run anywhere else, why our fellas is ready and can move a sight faster than them caravans.”

“Um. Then he's got them, fair.”

A pause, then the sergeant muttered, “He's got 'em all right. Those poor silly bastards is running like scared rabbits just where he wants. And Gawd help the trooper what lets one inch o' his uniform get seen. Our lovely Lambert'll peel him alive! A slice at a time!”

Very grim and silent, Mathieson crept away. As he retreated, the younger voice drifted after him. “Y'know, I can't help but feel sorry in a way. Did you see the girls they've got with 'em? Poor little things …”

“You look absolutely worn out, dear,” said Elizabeth, eyeing Fiona anxiously. She glanced around the camp, a bright spot against night's dark curtain, and added softly, “I know how you feel about Captain Mathieson, but
must
you rise so very early? These past three days you've been up long before the rest of us. What time was it this morning?”

Fiona stifled a yawn. “I am not sure. Before dawn.”

“And here it is, almost ten o'clock! Small wonder you can scarce keep your eyes open. No really, we'll have you ill do you not get some rest. Surely he does not expect you to see him leave each day?”