Lois Menzel (22 page)

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At five o’clock Anne and Jack left the home of Arelia’s mother and made their way back to the Great West Road. The sun was already sinking, but the fair evening promised a pleasant journey back to the city. Not more than twenty minutes into their drive they came upon a coach that had stopped at the side of the road. As Jack slowed the grays from a trot to a walk, he could see a lady standing in the road while two men stood near one of the carriage wheels.

“Should we stop?” Anne asked. “If the problem is serious, perhaps we could stop at the next inn and send someone back to help them.”

“I cannot imagine what could be wrong,” Jack said. “The wheel is not off, as you can see, nor has the axle broken.”

As Jack pulled his team to a stop he glanced again at the lady and realized his mistake. Her cloak hung a few inches short of the road and on her feet were boots—men’s boots. When the “lady” turned round and took hold of his leaders, Jack reached instinctively for the pistol he knew Tenbury kept beneath the seat, but even as he leveled it, one of the masked men fired first.

Startled by the deafening report, it took Anne a moment longer than Jack to realize what was happening. When Jack lurched against her and the pistol spun from his hand, she bent to retrieve it, but the second man was too quick for her. She had the pistol in her hand, but he had her wrist gripped cruelly. He increased the pressure until she cried out in pain, dropping the weapon to the floorboards. As he passed it to his companion, she turned to Jack. He had moved his left hand to clutch his right wrist, over which a red stain was rapidly spreading. Anne momentarily ignored the strange men, ceased to wonder why they had stopped the curricle, and why they should wish to shoot Jack. All she could deal with was the knowledge that he was injured.

“Jack,” she cried in despair, “What can I do?” She looked down helplessly at the tiny reticule hanging from her wrist. She had a flimsy handkerchief, nothing more.

“My neckcloth,” he said, “Help me get it off.” Anne was only dimly aware that the curricle was being led off the road into the shelter of the woods as she untied the long strip of fabric from Jack’s neck and wrapped it tightly around his wrist.

He placed his own hand over it. “Good, that’s good,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Good? What is good? You have been shot!”

“I am sorry I was not quicker,” he apologized.

Before Anne could reply, rough hands seized her, dragging her over the side of the curricle. She cried out in dismay. Jack shouted an objection, but was silenced as he was yanked down from the opposite side and thrown to the ground.

At this cruel treatment, Anne finally turned her anger and confusion upon the three strangers. “What is the meaning of this outrage?”

“We ‘ad not intended bloodshed,” one man, obviously the leader, offered. “The young fool should ‘ave known better than to loose a barker.” Then turning his back on her, he ordered, “Collect their baubles; we cannot afford to dally ‘ere.”

The men took Anne’s reticule and the cash from Jack’s coat pockets. They stripped Jack’s watch and rings, as well as Anne’s rings, her gloves, and the silver clasp from her cloak.

“I’ll ‘ave them pins from your ‘air, missy, if’n you don’t mind. My woman’ll fancy ‘em.”

“But I do mind, sir,” Anne objected. “I mind a great deal.”

“Give him the hairpins, Anne,” Jack said, his voice quiet and more severe than she had ever heard it.

She said nothing more, but pulled the pins out quickly and laid them into the man’s grimy outstretched hand.

“Could be the lady ‘as a necklace,” one robber told the other, “or mayhap a brooch.” He snatched the fur-lined cloak from Anne’s shoulders before she could object. Her gown was modestly cut, but the round neckline nevertheless revealed the gentle swell of her breasts and her delicate shoulders. She felt Jack stiffen beside her as the second man swore, “‘sblood, but ain’ she a pritty thing?” A gold necklace gleamed against Anne’s pale skin. Jack forestalled the thief by reaching for the necklace himself and detaching it from Anne’s neck. He also took the pearl brooch from her bodice and proffered both to the men.

“I hope you are content now; we have nothing else,” Jack said.

“Wouldn’ be to sure o’ that my fine sir,” the leader replied. “I fancy them boots you be sportin’, an’ I ‘spect the lady’s cloak might fetch a coin or two.”

While Jack sat to remove the boots, the man dressed as a woman spoke. “What ‘bout these ‘orses?”

“We takes ‘em back to the road and turns ‘em loose,” the leader replied. “They be no use to us. Any o’ us seen with a blooded prad ‘ould find ourselves swingin’ from the nubbin’-cheat in a fortnight.”

Within a few moments the “woman” entered the coach and the second man climbed onto the driver’s seat. The leader collected his horse and mounted, then paused beside Jack and Anne. “With no boots an’ no carriage you’ll not be reportin’ this little mishap right soon. ’Twas a pleasure, sir, ma’am.” Catching one of the curricle leaders by the bridle he trotted off toward the road while Anne and Jack stood in silence, watching him go.

Neither of them spoke until the highwaymen disappeared from view, though Jack immediately removed his cloak and placed it around Anne’s bare shoulders.

“We should go,” he said quietly. “I don’t wish to be here if they decide to come back.”

“Why would they come back? They have taken everything we have.”

Jack did not answer. He considered their plight to be grave enough without enlightening her about something a young woman had that three rough men would want.

Chapter 17

The landlord of the Blue Swan, a large and prosperous posting inn on the edge of Hounslow, was called to the door by one of his ostlers. The man had managed to stop an empty curricle as the horses trotted down the road past the inn.

As some people pride themselves on never forgetting a face, Jerry Weaks prided himself on never forgetting a horse.

“I know this team, Harry,” he said to the young man. “Give me but a moment and I will remember ... the Earl of Tenbury ... they are his grays, I would wager a shilling on it. Take a horse back along the way they come. See if you find any stranded travelers or any sign of foul play. Ben, help me stable these beasts.”

As Weaks began unbuckling harness he noticed sticky blood on the edge of the carriage. “Harry!” he exclaimed, “There is blood on the seat here. Best take Ben along with you and a cart as well, should you find the poor soul whose blood this here is. I think I had best drive this team on into London and test my theory about their owner.”

“They look more than tired, sir,” Ben offered.

“And a good thing. I doubt I could handle them if they was feeling prime.” Weaks checked the traces to be certain they were clear, then climbed into the driver’s seat.

Arriving in Mayfair, Mr. Weaks spoke to several pedestrians before one was able to direct him to Lord Tenbury’s residence. It was nearly dark by the time he turned into Grosvenor Square. He tossed a penny to a boy in the street to hold the team and knocked loudly on the door of Tenbury House.

Already concerned that Mr. Saunders and Miss Waverly had not returned when expected, Kimble did not slam the door in the face of this man, nor direct him to the servants’ entrance. Instead, he asked him to state his business.

Mr. Weaks gave his name and his occupation before he revealed his reason for being there. “I have a team in the street that I believe to be his lordship’s. Would you have someone about who might know them?”

Kimble glanced quickly at the horses, then directed the man to the stables and hurried in search of Lord Tenbury.

“Excuse me, my lord,” he said, finding Tenbury in his bedchamber and interrupting him in the delicate process of tying his neckcloth.

“Yes, Kimble, what is it?” Tenbury asked irritably.

“The landlord of the Blue Swan at Hounslow has brought a gray team to the stables, my lord. He found them running loose. He believes they may be yours.”

“Did Jack take the team today?”

“He drove Miss Waverly to Bedfont. They were due back more than an hour ago.”

Tenbury was instantly on his feet and out of the room, leaving his valet holding the coat he had been about to put on.

He ran through the house, down the service stairway, and out the back door to the stables, heedless of the stares of his servants. The team would not be his. Jack and Anne would arrive at any moment; they had merely stayed longer than they intended. He stopped at the stable door as the gray horses stood before him. He did not want them to be his, but they were.

“Your name?” he demanded of the stranger who stood there.

“Jerry Weaks, m’lord, of the Blue Swan, Hounslow.”

“How came you by this team?”

“One of my lads caught them as they trotted past on their way toward town. They are yours, then? I thought as much. I seldom forget a team as impressive as this. There is blood here on the seat, sir, as you will notice. I sent two of my men back along the road to see what they could find. I assumed you had been driving with your groom, and I thought you would want your people here to know of the loose team right off.”

Tenbury had not seen the blood. He stared at it now, barely hearing what Weaks was saying. It must belong to Jack or Anne; neither possibility was acceptable to him.

“Could there have been an accident?” he asked Weaks. “Are the horses injured? Were the traces tangled?”

“No, m’lord. Not a bit. Looks to me as if the travelers might have been set upon by highwaymen. If they were asked to step down, and the horses not held ... well, a high-spirited team like this one might have just walked away. Perchance your friends have been simply left afoot.”

“That would not explain the blood.”

Weaks’s brow clouded. “No. I s’pose not. I can’t think what else to tell you, m’lord. I’d be willing to drive back with you and help you look, assuming my men haven’t already found them by the time we get back.”

Found them, Tenbury thought. How? As two bodies lying alongside the road?

His first thought after Kimble’s announcement was that Anne had been abducted, and as horrible as the prospect was, he hoped now that it was true. At least, then, she would be alive. If she and Jack had been stopped by highwaymen, they could both be dead. Suddenly remembering the pistol kept beneath the seat, he reached for it, only to discover it gone.

His mind raced on, considering possibilities. If Anne had been abducted, who was responsible? It could have been Blake, or Farringdon, or even Crilley. It could also have been one of half a dozen other desperate fortune hunters, not foolish enough to advertise their intentions by placing a wager in a public betting book.

Weaks broke in on these thoughts to ask, “Who was it, driving in this vehicle, m’lord?”

“My younger brother and a young woman.”

“A woman, you say. Well, now, that’s an unfortunate thing. Mayhap we should go back to the Blue Swan, sir. Who knows but what my lads may have found them by now.”

“Murdock, saddle Orion,” Tenbury ordered, “and a strong horse for Mr. Weaks, and one for yourself. We leave in ten minutes.”

Hurrying back to the house, Tenbury found Kimble hovering inside the door, the obvious question on his face.

“Yes, Kimble, it is my team. I am going to Hounslow with this innkeeper. Stay by the front door, and keep a man posted at the back as well. If any news or message should come from Miss Waverly or my brother, send a rider immediately to the Blue Swan. If a written message should come, read it before you send it on, in the event it should go astray and not find me. I will check back with you as soon as possible.”

“What do you think happened to them, my lord?”

“I don’t know. The innkeeper thinks they may have been stopped by highwaymen.”

“I don’t know if you will consider this important,” Kimble offered. “I thought nothing of it at the time, but when Mr. Jack was late returning, I did wonder.”

“Wonder about what?”

“Mr. Jack and Miss Waverly took a small trunk with them. A footman carried it down from upstairs, and Mr. Jack had it strapped to the curricle.”

“What was in it?”

“I have no idea, my lord, and it was not my place to ask. But Mr. Jack is usually punctual, especially when he is escorting a lady.”

“What are you suggesting, Kimble? A flight to Gretna Green? What possible reason could Jack have to elope?”

“I am suggesting nothing, my lord. I am only considering possibilities based on the information we have. What of Miss Waverly’s household?” Kimble asked sensibly. “They will be concerned before long.”

“We must invent some story to take her out of town. Send a note to Mrs. Boone. Say that Miss Waverly will be spending the night here and has decided to accompany Lady Tenbury and Mrs. Saunders to Tenton Castle in the morning. I doubt anyone in Charles Street knows they have already gone. Instruct Cassie to pack what her mistress will need for a two-week stay in Wiltshire. Have the coach collect her, then keep her here with the baggage until you receive word from me.”

Tenbury quickly retraced his steps to his bedchamber. Once there he hurriedly changed into riding clothes. When his valet went to fetch a driving coat as protection against the cool of the evening, Tenbury placed a heavy purse of gold in his pocket then extracted the special marriage license from a shallow drawer in his desk and slipped it into an inside pocket of his coat.

* * * *

Jack led the way east for some time, leaving the Bedfont road behind. The highwaymen had chosen their location well, for Jack and Anne found themselves in a vast heavily wooded area with few paths, no lanes, and no signs of habitation. Only after a goodly stretch of woodland lay behind them did Jack stop. “The sun will soon set. Once it is dark, the moon will light our way and keep us headed in the right direction.”

“Which direction is that?”

“East. If I remember correctly there is a middling village somewhere east of here. If we keep walking east, we should cross the road. Only thing is, once we do, I am not certain which direction we should go—north or south.”