“In theory, I am against your coming,” Prance said. “But welcome to the chase,
cara mia.
Did anyone happen to notice which way Soames went?”
Coffen said, “I caught a glimpse of him through the trees. He turned right into the park. He’s either taking a shortcut home or he’s up to something. Ride carefully. He’ll hear three horses creeping up behind him. Why don’t you go along to the tavern by the main road as you planned, Reg? If he outwits me, you might pick up the trail and follow him.”
“Very well, but you must defend me if Luten cuts up stiff.”
“Don’t know who put him in charge anyhow,” Coffen muttered. A mutiny occasionally broke out in the ranks of the Berkeley Brigade, usually when Luten was not present, and usually amounting to no more than a few grumbling complaints.
“Nor do I, but you must own he considers himself our chief. You will have more need of this than I.” So saying, he handed Coffen a dark lantern. “Of course, you have a pistol?” he asked. They drew their mounts to a stop.
“Of course I have,” Coffen replied.
“With bullets?” Corinne asked.
“Tobin fixed me up.”
“Adieu, then,” Prance called. He dug his heels into the side of his showy bay mare and clattered on toward the main road, headed to East Grinstead.
Corinne and Coffen followed Soames, keeping a good distance behind him. In the shadowy night, Soames was more likely to hear them than see them. He jogged along at a canter for about a mile, obviously not in a great hurry, but not dallying either. Then he veered left behind a hedgerow.
“That hedgerow is the border between Appleby and McArthur’s farm,” Corinne whispered.
When they passed through an opening in the hedgerow, Soames had disappeared from view. Coffen scanned McArthur’s meadow. The moon peeped out from behind the clouds. Moonlight silvered the shivering grass and limned one ancient oak in charcoal against the sky. Trees at the far end of the meadow formed a dark, hulking shadow. Willows, they looked like.
“Must be a stream there,” Coffen said. “P’raps Susan has drowned. We’ll check it out tomorrow in daylight.”
“The whole area has been searched. There! He’s heading to that building!” Corinne exclaimed softly.
“I don’t see him.”
She pointed. “There. He’s riding along in the shadow of the willows.”
“I’ve caught him now. Oh, there’s a little house there, at the back of the meadow. It disappears against the trees.”
“It’s a shepherd’s hut. There used to be sheep in this field when Mr. McArthur was living here.”
“I mind Susan saying McArthur’s house burned down. I hope Soames ain’t hiding Susan in a shepherd’s hut!”
“Should we follow him or wait until he leaves and investigate?”
“We’ll watch a bit.”
They hadn’t long to wait. Soames went into the hut and came out again within a minute. He mounted his nag and galloped away, toward the main road, headed toward Oakhurst, or possibly East Grinstead.
“Now, what the deuce is he up to?” Coffen said. “Prance will pick up his trail on the road. We’d best have a peek at that hut.”
They wasted no time in riding to the hut. Nestled amongst the willows stood a simple earth building with a thatched roof in a poor state of repair. They heard the ripple of a stream behind the hut.
“I’ll go in first. You stand guard here,” Coffen said. Coffen was an awkward, ungainly fellow, but he was as graceful in the saddle as a swan in water. He handed Corinne the dark lantern, dismounted smoothly and silently, drew out his pistol, and tiptoed to the hut. When a loud neigh came from the doorway, he leapt a foot in the air and dropped his gun.
He snatched it up and scrabbled away from the doorway on his hands and knees, expecting to hear a shot ring in his ears. When no sound came, he crept slowly back to the hut, waited a moment, then peeked in. Another whinny sounded, but he was expecting it and didn’t leap or fall.
When no shot rang out, Corinne dismounted and followed him. She raised the door of the dark lantern and flashed the light around the hut. There was no one and nothing there save the horse, a saddle resting in one corner, and a mound of hay with a water bucket beside it.
“It’s all right. You can come in,” Coffen said over his shoulder.
She joined him. “What a beauty!” she exclaimed, examining the dark mare. She let the horse smell her hand, to establish contact. When she reached out to stroke the velvet nose, the mare tossed her head and whinnied in pleasure.
“I believe this is the nag that robbed us last night, if I’m not mistaken,” Coffen said, playing the lantern over the points of the mare.
“It could be the highwayman’s nag,” she agreed, for of course, she knew Coffen didn’t mean the horse had robbed them.
“Thing to do, look for clues,” he said, and began poking under the straw.
Corinne examined the saddle. “It’s just an ordinary man’s saddle,” she said.
“Nothing here. I was hoping to find my watch.”
“Here’s something!” she exclaimed, and picked up a small piece of cloth that was sticking out from beneath the saddle. “It looks like a dust rag.”
Coffen took it and examined it by the lantern. “By the living jingo, it’s my hankie! The one Susan made me.”
“The one you had your money tied up in last night?”
“The same one. I can still see the creases from the knot. We’ve stumbled onto the highwayman’s lair. We’d best get out of here. He might come back.” He tucked the handkerchief into his jacket.
“Do you think Soames is the highwayman?”
“It looks like it, or how did he know the nag was here? He was checking up on it.”
“Should we tell the constable or go after him ourselves?”
“Thing to do, I believe, is tell Luten. I mean to say, it don’t look as if he’s planning to rob anyone tonight. He’s gone home and left the nag here, so there’s no rush. What I’m thinking is, if he’s got Susan, then we can threaten to report him for being the highwayman if he don’t give her back.”
“If he has her, she’s not here. Where would he keep her?”
“P’raps he’s on his way to check up on her next. I’ll go after him. You go back to Appleby. Tell Luten what we found, and that I’ve ridden after Soames, toward Oakhurst.”
“Very well, but don’t do anything dangerous, Coffen. If you see him go into a house or whatever, wait until he comes out, then rescue Susan.”
“I’ll take no chances. I’m no good to her dead.”
* * * *
Corinne returned to Appleby at a gallop. She was frightened, alone in the countryside at night. Tall trees growing along the roadside cast menacing shadows on the road. A breeze stirred the branches, causing a rustle that lifted the hairs on her arms. A highwayman, or a kidnapper, could be hiding behind any tree. She kicked her heels into Dancer’s flanks and was home in minutes.
“Has Lord Luten returned yet?” she asked the stableboy when she took Dancer to the stable.
“No, milady. He’s only been gone less than an hour.”
“Of course. No need to tell him I have been out,” she said. The stableboy smirked knowingly.
She went back into the house by the front door to avoid encountering Mrs. Malboeuf. Once in the saloon, she began to think about Soames and the highwayman’s mount in the hut. Just before he left, Soames had said, “I have a little something I want to check up on tonight.” Perhaps he was checking up on the highwayman, looking for the place he had concealed his mount. The robber wouldn’t want to leave it at a public stable in case one of his victims recognized it. There was a reward of five hundred pounds for the highwayman’s capture. Soames would be happy to get that.
On the other hand, Soames hadn’t been at home last night around midnight when Luten called on him, and when the highwayman had held up Coffen and her. That looked suspicious. They should ask Soames where he had been. If he had an alibi, then he wasn’t the highwayman. But he might still have kidnapped Susan.
She was restless and fidgety, worried about Coffen, and as time passed, also worried about Luten. She wanted tea, but any small request was taken as a great imposition in this house. She poured a glass of wine instead and paced back and forth in the gloomy saloon. Catching a glimpse of herself in the dim mirror over the sofa, she saw her hair was all askew after her ride. She tidied it up, mindful of Luten’s taunting “Lady Medusa.”
Prance was the first one to return. “I saw Susan’s mare in the stable. Have you lost Pattle?” he asked in alarm.
She told him the tale of the shepherd’s hut. “It’s been an hour now,” she said. “Do you think we should go after him?”
“He should be safe. Soames was at the tavern.”
“Oh, is that where he went? That doesn’t look very ... dangerous.”
“Of more concern is Luten’s prolonged absence. It doesn’t take this long to have a peek at a few barns and a stable. If he’s not back in fifteen minutes, I shall go after him.”
Luten returned in ten minutes. Prance noticed that he wasn’t looking quite as cocky as usual. Luten refused to look him in the eye. There was almost a tinge of sheepishness about that proud face.
“You got caught!” Prance said, and laughed in delight. “I would give a monkey to have seen that! The toplofty Marquess of Luten apologizing to Blackmore.”
“One of his stableboys saw me. I was just sticking my nose into his icehouse when Blackmore himself appeared at my elbow and asked me if I’d like to borrow a lantern. He was quite gracious about it. Realized our concern for Susan, et cetera. He insisted on giving me a tour of all the buildings.”
“I told you he was charming.”
“What you didn’t tell me is that he’s a Captain Sharp.”
“You played cards with him?”
“He invited me in for a glass of brandy after the guided tour. The cards were on the table. We had a few hands. Within half an hour, he had taken me for a hundred pounds.”
“And you are no Johnnie Raw.”
“Did he use shaved cards?” Corinne asked.
“Really!” Prance scoffed.
“They weren’t shaved, but he might have marked them in some manner. If he did, I couldn’t discover how he was doing it.” He looked around and said, “Where’s Coffen?”
“He’s standing guard at Soames’s place,” Prance said, and related the tale of the hut, implying without actually saying that it was he and not Corinne who had been with Coffen.
“When I went on to the tavern,” Prance said, “I learned that Soames had been there for a quarter of an hour. He must have gone directly from the hut to the Rose and Thistle.”
After they had discussed the possibility of Soames being the highwayman versus his trying for the reward, Luten said to Corinne, “And what have you been doing all evening, Countess?”
“Waiting,” she said.
His steely gray eyes slid to her slippers, which had picked up some traces of mud in the meadow, and to the hem of her gown, which was also soiled.
“You really should have changed into that charming habit of Susan’s before riding. The groom was brushing down Dancer when I returned.”
She bristled, angry with herself for feeling guilty. “I decided to go with them,” she said. “What’s wrong with that?”
His gimlet eyes bored into her. “Why bother to lie about it if there’s nothing wrong with it?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Prance. “Other than that slight evasion, your story is true?”
“Absolutely. My congratulations, Luten. You are awake on all suits. One can only wonder that such a sharp fellow got caught by a stableboy,” he added mischievously.
“It’s interesting that Blackmore has his boys on the
qui vive.
They were looking for someone.”
“And found you.” Prance smirked.
“Coffen wanted me to tell you what he had discovered, Luten,” Corinne said. “What should we do about it?”
“As you hadn’t the wits to stay at the hut and see who came for the horse, and as it apparently didn’t occur to Prance to go there when you told him you had found the highwayman’s mount, then I expect I shall go now and hope it’s not a case of shutting the barn door after the horse has bolted.”
On that leveler, he rose and walked stiffly from the saloon.
“He can make one feel such a fool,” Prance said to Corinne, then rose and went after Luten. “Shall I go with you?” he asked.
“I can manage, Prance. If you’re feeling brave, you might speak to Mrs. Malboeuf about having some tea ready for our return.”
“Discretion is the better part of valor. I shall transmit your message via Tobin.
He
does not bark.”
Chapter Thirteen
“The whole affair was badly botched,” Luten said testily. He and Coffen had returned just as Tobin carried in the tea tray. Corinne poured the tea, and they all took up a place around the grate. “You really ought to have known better, Prance. If you had gone with Coffen as you were supposed to, one of you could have stayed and watched the hut while the other followed Soames.”
“Is one to assume that the horse was gone when you reached the hut?” Prance asked.
“There wasn’t a sign of it.”
“We know that Soames didn’t take it,” Corinne said. “He was in the tavern.”
“I went there as soon as I saw the hut was empty,” Luten said. “He wasn’t there. He’d left half an hour before. Plenty of time to get to the hut and gallop off.”
“And he wasn’t at home either,” Coffen added. “We called on him.”
“Shouldn’t someone be out looking for him if you think he plans to rob an innocent traveler?” Corinne asked.
“We didn’t come to Appleby to catch a highwayman,” Luten snapped. “We notified Hodden and suggested he send to London for a Bow Street Runner as he appears incapable of catching the fellow himself. None of this has anything to do with Susan.”
“Red herring,” Coffen said wisely.
“A red herring is a conscious effort to divert attention from the real matter at hand,” Prance informed him. “Luten is right. The highwayman is an irrelevance. We’ll leave it to Hodden.”
Coffen rubbed his ear. “If it ain’t Blackmore that’s got Susan, and it ain’t Soames, then that leaves only Stockwell.”
“Or the obvious person, a stranger,” Prance added.
Corinne listened to their arguments, then said, “Soames is not eliminated. If he’s turned highwayman, he’s obviously desperate for money. He might very well have kidnapped Susan.”