Fenella J. Miller (8 page)

This time of year she was certain the temperature of the sea was so low it would kill her long before she drowned. Then her uncle could claim innocence and her death be considered a tragic accident. Of course they would have to untie her arms before they threw her in, would that be her best chance of escape? How had things come to this? Her life had been miserable since her parents died, but she had never felt herself to be in any danger, now she knew she was fighting to stay alive.

The smell of the man sitting inside her made her gag, his rank breath and unwashed body permeated the air. He would not hesitate to knock her unconscious again if she made the slightest move. She thought about the time just before she had been taken, had she not told the young groom to meet her after one hour at the large five barred gate that led out from Home Woods?

If he had done so and she didn’t appear, surely he would have raised the alarm by now? A flash of hope made her pulse jump as something significant occurred to her.

 Mr Anderson was intending to return to the Hall before he set off for Kent to rescue Ann, he would see the note she has left and receive her message, she was sure he would check at The Black Sheep and discover there was no one staying there and understand that something dire had taken place. He would come in search of her, he would not let her be carried away by these rough men.

For a few moments she rejoiced in her imminent rescue, then her spirits sunk to their lowest point. How would he know which direction they’d taken? He would be expecting her to be returned to Kent, would never for a moment suspect that her uncle might wish to dispose of her permanently, that he had abandoned any hope of persuading her to marry his son and intended to gain access to her inheritance in the cruellest way.

The rocking and bumping was beginning to make her feel nauseous and she feared she would be sick and then be obliged to lie in the mess she’d made. The very thought of having to do that settled her stomach. Suddenly the carriage lurched more alarmingly, there was an ominous cracking and her world turned over and over. For a second time that morning she lost her senses as her head hit the side of the upturned carriage.

 * * * *

Jonathan galloped back to Martlesham Hall shouting to attract attention as he arrived in a skid of gravel. Within minutes he had explained to his valet, Samuel, and his estate manager, Peter Hodgkin, what he wanted them to do for him. He ran inside and snatched up his duelling pistols, also pushing a thin stiletto down the side of his right boot. It was wise to be prepared. He sent a groom galloping to Ipswich to raise the militia, and then with four men, all armed with pistols and cudgels, galloped back down the drive and through the woods.

All this had taken him less than one quarter of an hour to arrange. He had also had time to dash off a quick note to be taken posthaste to a friend in London, who was a member of the government. In it he asked for the a Bow Street runner and some constables to be sent down to Upton Manor in Kent to arrest Digby and rescue the real Miss Roberts.

Satisfied he had done everything he could, he concentrated on his urgent mission to recover Miss Forsythe. He told the group to dismount ten yards from where the abduction had taken place.

 ‘I want to see which way they went, I didn’t stop to look when I was here a little while ago. The ground is muddy, it should be easy to pick up their tracks. There was certainly one horse and two men, possibly more.’

Samuel remained where he was holding the reins of the five horses as the others, keeping to the grassy areas on either side of the path, headed for the coppice.

When he saw the bloodstained stone for the second time Jonathan’s rage increased. He had only known this softly spoken, beautiful girl for a few weeks, but already he was certain he had finally found the woman he had been waiting for all his life. At last he could put behind him the misery of his first marriage and begin again.

Tom, the head coachman, called out to him. ‘Sir, over here, I’ve found their tracks. I’m sure there were only two of them, but both mounted.’

Jonathan ran over to see what the man had found. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the dirt, and stared at the imprints. Yes, there were definitely two sets of horses hoofs and two different imprints made by down-at-heel boots.

 ‘Look, sir, the prints of this horse are deeper than they were on the far side of the track, I think one of them must have been carrying Miss Roberts.’

Jonathan straightened and shouting for the horses to be brought up turned to the three men and gave them their orders. ‘Tom, you lead, let’s see if we can follow these villains back through the fields. There’s scarcely a path at all, more a rabbit track than anything else. The hoof prints should be clearly visible, one will have been leading Bess.’

Remounted he set off close behind, they arrived at an open gate and outside he saw the wheel marks from a carriage.

‘Dammit, they have transferred her to coach. That means there must be more than two of them, a least three by my reckoning. Which way do you think they went, Tom? They will be heading for the Kent, but I doubt they’ll want to take the toll road to Colchester, they’ll have to go by back lanes to avoid being seen.’

Tom was examining the wheel marks a puzzled expression on his face. ‘I don’t think they’re heading south, sir, it looks like they’ve turned the carriage and are going straight towards the coast.’

Jonathan stared at him for a moment unable to think of a logical explanation. Then his blood ran cold as he understood the importance of this. ‘Good God! This is not an abduction, it is a murder attempt. We must ride flat out, Miss Roberts’ very life depends on us arriving at the coast before they do.’

As he raced pell-mell across the bleak countryside he was trying to understand why Miss Forsythe was being transported to the sea, obviously with a view of disposing of her permanently. He soon reached the conclusion that Sir John wanted her money so badly he was prepared to murder in order to obtain it. The man must be her sole heir and would stand to inherit everything if she was to die unexpectedly.

Drowning would be the perfect way, no suspicion could fall on the perpetrator if the event took place so far from his home. It would be deemed a tragic accident, and he would have achieved his objective far more easily than if he had continued to coerce a reluctant bride to the altar and then steal her money.

He had travelled several miles at a gallop, keeping one eye out for the wheel marks and hoof prints, the other on the road ahead, when from the superior height of his stallion he saw over the hedge something in the lane half a mile ahead. Slewed across the track was a carriage, it’s wheels still spinning in the air.

Instantly he reined back, wrenching his horse’s head around to block the road and stop the other four from continuing their wild ride and revealing their presence. In the resulting melee one of the grooms, Ned, was thrown into a deep water filled ditch that ran a long side the hedge. Tom vaulted from his saddle hauled his friend back out. They were none the worse for their ducking, but Jonathan feared the noise they’d made could have alerted the men barely half a mile ahead.

He dismounted tossing his reins to the dripping groom and shinned expertly up a convenient tree. Although it was leafless there was enough ivy twining amongst the branches to give him the camouflage he required. He looked carefully along the lane in the direction of the tilted carriage. It was clear what had happened, it had obviously broken the rear axle. He waved his hand and put his finger to his lips, indicating the rest of his party should remain silent so that he could listen.

Thank God he’d seen the carriage before they’d rounded the bend. He smiled grimly, he had been calling on his Maker rather a lot lately – was he finally getting over his lack of belief? Had meeting a lovely young girl restored his faith in God?

He strained his ears and could just hear the noise of one man shouting, the stamping of horses and jangling or harness, but nothing else. He dropped from the tree and drew his pistols, loading and priming them, before tucking them in to his belt. He watched his companions do the same. Cudgels were unstrapped from their places behind sandals, and then they were ready. He beckoned and they moved in closer.

‘We must approach on foot, Tom, you and Ned go through the hedge and creep along the side, try not to fall in the ditch again. Sam, you and Jim go through and approach from the far side of the lane. I shall ride directly to them. With any luck they will mistake me for a passing squire and allow me the time I need to get close enough to shoot.

He turned and mounted his stallion. He hoped his scheme would give his men time to be in shooting range as well. He kicked Bruno forward and as soon as he was in hailing distance he called out loudly. ‘Good day to you – can I be of some assistance? I do hope nobody has been injured in the accident?’

There was only one man visible, an evil looking fellow dressed in rough clothes and with a mouthful of black and broken teeth. The man scowled, making a rude gesture in his direction. ‘We don’t need you– clear off – what’s going on here is none of your business.’

Jonathan looked round frantically. Where the hell was Miss Forsythe? Then with a sickening lurch in his stomach he saw that the carriage was partially submerged in the water of the same ditch that Ned had fallen into.

 Forgetting he was supposed to be an innocent bystander he jammed his heels into Bruno’s side and, drawing his pistol, fired directly at the man – killing him stone dead. He didn’t wait to see him fall, just threw himself from the saddle, shouting for his men to come and assist him.

Somehow he scrambled up the side of the coach and pulled the door open, for a moment he could see nothing, then in a tumbled heap he saw two bodies, one Miss Forsythe, the other a man. Had his wild ride been in vain? Was he too late to save his love?

Chapter Eight

Jonathan didn’t wait for his men to arrive, just tipped himself headfirst into the interior of the coach. He fell into the darkness, managing to stop his fall before he crushed the young woman half submerged in the freezing water that half filled the coach.

Frantically he scrabbled and grasping two handfuls of her dress heaved her up, he couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead, all he knew was that she was limp and unresponsive. He ignored the body of the rank smelling man, if he was dead, it was no more than he deserved and saved him the trouble.

He righted the limp shape until her head was against his shoulder – he felt under her chin for a pulse and thought he detected a steady beat, but he couldn’t be sure, his hands were shaking so much it could be he that was moving and not the corpselike girl he held in his arms. Where the hell where his men?

 He roared for assistance and he felt the vehicle rock and Ned’s head appeared in the square of sky above him. ‘Hang on a minute, sir, Tom has a rope round his waist is just unwinding it. We’ll have you out of there in a jiffy.’

Ned’s face disappeared and seconds later a rope snaked in, the end dropping beside him. He quickly wrapped it round his wrist and grasping it firmly before shouting to his men. ‘Right, haul away, but remember there’s two of us so you’ll have to brace yourselves.’

Inch by painful inch he was pulled upwards, his arm feeling as if it was tearing from his shoulder socket. Initially he was able to use his feet, first against the sides the coach and then the roof, to assist them, but at the end he was swinging free, supporting all the weight with his one arm.

Hands reached in and he was heaved to safety and his precious burden taken from him. He fell headlong, barely getting his arms down in time to break his fall, his injured shoulder protesting at the brutal treatment. He didn’t care about that, he had more pressing concerns, whether his beloved lived or died.

‘Give Miss Roberts to me. No, my coat is wet, I need a dry one.’ Jim removed his riding cape and gave it to him, happy to be of service. Jonathan walked away from the carriage, and waited for Jim to spread his coat on the ground, only then did he release his burden. He saw she had massive bruise on her temple and a gaping cut, he also realised that the shoulder upon which her head had rested was darkened by her blood.

He reached round behind her face and his fingers came away red and sticky. He lowered his ear to her lips, and to his profound relief he felt the gentle expiration of breath. She was deeply unconscious, but by some miracle not drowned as he had feared. He didn’t understand how she could have been submerged head first in the water for so long and not be dead. Closing his eyes, for the first time in several years he thanked God, and meant it.

Knowing that time was not on their side, there were only a couple of hours of daylight left, he had to get her back to Martlesham Hall and get the physician to attend to her injuries. He wrapped her tight in the warm dry coat and, scooping her up, wincing as his shoulder protested, he turned to survey the wreck of the coach.

‘I’m sure there were three men, has anyone seen the third?’ He knew two of the villains were dead, but he didn’t want to be shot at by the third. Tom had been busy cutting free the terrified horses whilst Jim had been looking around for Bess. It was his voice that called back the information he needed.

‘There’s a corpse over here, sir, it looks like he was thrown from the coach and broke his neck. Bloody good job I’d say.’

Jonathan echoed those sentiments. ‘Good, I need to get Miss Roberts back home as quickly as I can. Jim, come over here, you’re the only one that’s dry.’ He handed his precious girl over whilst he mounted. He then leant down to take her and settling her across the pommel, he enveloped her with the top of his cloak which had somehow managed to stay dry.

‘Jim, I need you to stay here, and wait for the militia to arrive. They should be on their way before dark.’  He realised that he had this man’s warm coat around Miss Forsythe; the young man would freeze left out here without protection. Tom handed his cloak down to Jim.

‘Here, lad, take this. I’ll be home in half an hour, you’ll be standing out here for a while yet.’ The older man groped in his jacket pocket and removed a tinderbox. ‘Gather some wood, use the coach if you can’t find any, and make yourself a fire. I reckon you’ll need one before this night’s done.’