Coffen nodded. “Looks like it is only you and me, Corinne. Shall we be off? If we hurry, we might catch up with Luten. That’ll be two carriages. And Luten is a famous shot.”
“My blessings on you, children,” Prance said. He found nothing worthy of emulation in their exit as they scuttled across the broad flagstoned pavement to Corinne’s small but elegant yellow brick mansion, protected by an iron railing.
Before parting, she and Coffen discussed the details of the trip.
“Will you bring Ballard with you?” Coffen asked. Mrs. Ballard was Corinne’s companion, an obsequious cousin of her late husband.
“No, there can be no impropriety in my visiting Appleby without a female companion. I am a widow after all, not a green girl, and you know they aren’t accustomed to much company at Appleby. The trip should not take more than three hours.”
“I wager Luten will be there in two. He seemed pretty cut up, didn’t you think?”
“Yes,” Corinne said, and fell into a silent pondering.
Luten’s state suggested that he was in love with Susan. If he were to marry anyone other than herself, then Susan was about the only lady Corinne could approve of. She was sweet and innocent, unlike Luten’s usual high flyers. Susan had just turned seventeen that year after deCoventry’s death, but her provincial upbringing made her seem younger. She had looked to Corinne as a model, asking questions about London and beaux and balls. Mrs. Enderton had been alive then, but she was a country lady and could not give Susan the sort of information the girl wanted. Corinne had not been exactly a second mother to the girl, more like an older sister.
When Mrs. Enderton had died, Susan had taken over as mistress of Appleby Court, with her mama’s brother, Otto Marchbank, handling the estate business. Corinne had visited Appleby Court twice, and Susan had visited her three or four times in London—but not for some time now. It must be a year since her last visit. How quickly the time flew! Could Susan have found a beau in the last twelve months? Her beauty, her sweet disposition, and her dowry of twenty-five thousand would have made her entirely desirable. Could it be her cousin Jeremy Soames? It was he who had written to Luten.
“Will you be ready in an hour?” Coffen asked. “I’ll have to pack and send for my traveling carriage. I’ll take my team of four. Fitz won’t like being roused out of bed at such an hour.” Coffen’s groom, indeed all his servants, had their master firmly under their collective thumb. His house was pretty well run for their convenience.
Remembering the highwaymen, Corinne said, “Tell Fitz to bring a pistol.”
“Since that time we was held up right in London, I always make sure there is one under the coachman’s box.”
Corinne darted into the house, calling to her butler as she ran, “Send Mrs. Ballard up to me at once, if you please. I am leaving for Appleby Court immediately with Mr. Pattle.”
Black was not surprised at the trip, but he was surprised that her ladyship had left Sir Reginald’s party so early. What occurred to Black was that one of her chums had become involved in a duel and was being smuggled out of town before the law got hold of him. Someone had made a slighting remark about her ladyship, very likely. Her friends would not allow that to go unpunished. This being the case, Black was highly desirous of accompanying his beloved mistress to Appleby Court to see her name was avenged. Sir Reginald Prance, he fingered for the likeliest one to be caught up in a duel. Coffen was too good-natured and Lord Luten too sensible, despite his toplofty ways.
“I can dress myself, Mrs. Ballard,” Corinne said when her mousy companion came bustling into the bedroom. “I want you to have a small trunk brought down from the attic. Pack me a couple of muslin dresses—my new rose sprigged and the blue one. And one—no, two gowns for evening wear. I shall not be going out or entertaining.”
As she spoke, she removed her jewelry and pulled off the jonquil-colored gown she wore. “Will you put my jewels away for me? I shan’t be taking any with me.”
When she explained where she was going, Mrs. Ballard said, “I’ll pack your good cashmere shawl. Many’s the evening I have sat shivering in that drafty place. But won’t there be any parties? Miss Susan is at that age
—”
Corinne daubed at her eyes and said in a choked voice, “She’s been kidnapped, Mrs. Ballard.”
Mrs. Ballard gasped in alarm. “Oh my goodness. The poor child! I did wonder at your setting out in the middle of the night. That would be why Lord Luten’s footman went darting out of the house. He was going for the carriage.”
A sound of horses and wheels in the street caught Corinne’s attention, and she went to the window. Luten’s shining yellow curricle with silver appointments stood at his front door now. Even as they spoke, Luten came pelting out and hopped into the driver’s seat, while his tiger handed him the reins. He had not stopped to change out of formal clothes, nor to have Simon pack a change of linen. His valet would be following then, in the closed carriage.
“He will find Susan, milady,” Mrs. Ballard said. “Now, dry your tears. I will ask Black to make you up a nice cup of tea while I pack your trunk.”
Corinne changed into a green worsted traveling suit while her trunk was being packed, then went below, just as Black came up from the kitchen with the tea tray. He revealed his eagerness to accompany her, but the offer was declined. Coffen made excellent time. She had taken only one sip of her tea when he arrived at the door, sweating at every pore.
“I figured if I rushed, we might join up with Luten,” he said.
“Too late. He has already left.”
He gave a longing look at the tea, said, “We’d best be off, then,” and rushed her out the door.
Chapter Three
The footmen secured her trunk to the roof, she and Coffen studied his map and chose their route.
“Looks like the Great West Road to Twickenham Road and on to Hampton Court Way is our best bet. It will take us right past Hounslow Heath, but there’s no avoiding it. I have left my cravat pin at home and wrapped my blunt up in this handkerchief,” he said, showing her a knotted piece of muslin.
“Susan made this handkerchief for me,” he continued, gazing at it fondly. “Gave half a dozen of them to me for my last birthday. The cloth is a little funny. Seconds, she called it. Something went wrong in the weaving, but as it was stitched with her own dear fingers, I treasure it.”
Corinne had encouraged Coffen Pattle in his laggardly pursuit of Susan. She thought they would make a good pair, both so friendly and undemanding. She had believed that nothing had come of it, but if Susan had sent him a birthday gift, perhaps she’d been mistaken.
“Should you not cut a slit in the lining of your hat and hide the money inside?” she suggested.
“What, destroy my hat? It’s one of Baxter’s finest curled beavers. I value it as much as the blunt I’m bringing. I’ll just hold the hankie in with a pin. You wouldn’t happen to have a pin on you?”
“No.”
“Then I will put it under my shirt, hold it in the pit of my arm if we are stopped. Where have you hidden yours?”
“In different places—pockets, the toes of both shoes. I folded some bills under the ribbon of my bonnet and some in ... more private places.”
“Ah, in the top of your stocking. I hope they don’t look there.”
“I doubt he will find all my hiding places. And I am wearing this little glass brooch that I don’t mind losing. He might mistake it for a diamond and be content with that. We’ll have footmen riding with us as well.”
“Just one, I fear. The others didn’t care to come,” Coffen said sheepishly. “I asked Raven—my valet, you know. I would like to have him along, but he don’t care for travel. Young Eddie will ride with Fitz on the box.”
When the trunk was stored and the driver given the map, Coffen called, “Spring ‘em,” and they were off.
The trip out of London was executed with no problems. Once beyond the bustle of the city, the road stretched dark and menacing before them. A fingernail of star-dogged moon floated high overhead. It did not even begin to dissipate the shadows. When they reached the deserted heath, a tension crept into the carriage. Coffen sat with his eye trained out the left window, while Corinne peered out the right side. A low-lying fog curled close to the ground, with darker forms of shrubs and an occasional tree protruding above. At one point they entered a tunnel of trees. A breeze moved the leaves with a soft, hissing sound.
“This is where he’ll get us,” Coffen said in a tense voice.
“Stop it, Coffen. You’re making my flesh crawl.”
In the darkness of the coach, a ray of moonlight caught the gleam of metal from his pistol.
“Don’t point that thing at me,” she said.
“It ain’t loaded.”
“Coffen! You came without loading your pistol! What is the point of that? Charge it at once.”
“I didn’t have any bullets at home. I thought the gun might scare him off.” He heard a distinct sigh of frustration.
“I hope Fitz and the footman have loaded guns,” she said.
“Just told you, I didn’t have any bullets.”
They soon came out the other end of the tree tunnel, fortunately unscathed, and continued their perilous journey. Once they were clear of the heath, the worst of the trip was over and they could devote their worries to Susan.
Appleby Court lay in a sheltered glen of the weald at the northern edge of Ashdown Forest. As they drew near, the farms and estates were familiar to them. When they heard the clatter of hooves come thundering out of a meadow, they took it for some local buck on his way home from his late night revels. Even when the rider cantered alongside their coach, they felt no real fear. It was not until a shot rang out and the driver slowed to a stop that they heard the fatal words, “Stand and deliver. You two, on the ground, facedown.” The carriage lurched as the driver and footman followed orders. One lone masked rider suddenly appeared at the carriage door, leveling a pistol at them.
Corinne sat, frozen as a statue with fear, clutching at Coffen’s sleeve. It was the second time she and Coffen had been held up in his carriage. But on the other occasion, the coachman’s gun had been loaded, and he had managed to scare the thieves off.
“This is it,” Coffen said in a hollow voice. “If I don’t come out of this alive, Corinne, I want you to tell Susan ... well, you know. Very fond of her. Love her, in fact.”
With this heartfelt speech he opened the door and stepped out, holding his left arm suspiciously close to his chest. His coachman and footman were already on the ground, facedown.
“The lady as well,” the rider ordered. He pitched his voice low to conceal his normal speaking voice.
Corinne felt sick with fright. She was by no means sure she could stand, but somehow she got out and stood, clinging to Coffen for dear life, while her heart throbbed in her throat. She noticed that Coffen had forgotten to bring the uncharged pistol with him, which was perhaps just as well. A pistol might frighten the highwayman into firing.
“Take off your hats and shoes and hand them up to me,” he ordered, and they complied. With one hand he examined Coffen’s hat and tossed it aside. Then he took the bills from beneath the ribbons of Corinne’s. While they removed their shoes, she tried to gauge the highwayman’s size and shape, but as he never dismounted, it was difficult. Every inch of him except his hands and chin were hidden, by either hat, clothes, mask, or boots. Neither hands nor chin were unusual in any way. He wore no distinguishing rings. If he walked into her saloon the next day wearing no disguise, she would not recognize him.
“Shake them out,” he ordered.
They both shook their shoes. When the bills fell out of Corinne’s, he ordered her to pick them up and give them to him. “I’ll have the brooch as well, milady.”
She unpinned the brooch and handed it to him. He ran one finger around its edge, felt the roughness of glass, and tossed it aside. Then he cocked his pistol at Coffen.
“No one travels this light. Your money or your life, sir,” he said, in a voice that raised goose bumps, although it was perfectly civil. Perhaps it was the pistol, aimed at his victim, that made the whole affair so terrifying.
Coffen felt cold all over, as if his heart had turned into a block of ice. He reached into his shirt. The handkerchief had slipped down to his waist. He fished it out and tossed it to the man, who caught it with his left hand, weighed it in his palm, then stuck it in his pocket.
“A pleasant journey to you both.” He kicked his heels into the flanks of his dark mount, tipped his hat, and galloped off in a thunder of hooves.
Coffen and Corinne exchanged a frightened look, then drew a deep sigh of relief.
“No point going after him,” Coffen said. “By the time I had a nag unharnessed, he’d be miles away.”
“Let him go. It’s only money.” They picked up their hats and brushed the dirt from them.
“Not much I could do, when the pistol was unloaded,” he said.
“I’m glad you didn’t try anything foolishly heroic— but next time bring a loaded pistol. I wonder if he got Luten as well.”
“No such luck. Not that I wish Luten ill, but there’s no denying a few knocks would do him the world of good.”
While they talked, the groom and footman got up off the ground and came forward.
“He just seemed to come from nowheres,” Fitz said apologetically. “I made sure we was safe once we got clear of the heath.”
“It’s not your fault, Fitz,” Corinne said. “He didn’t harm you?”
“No, milady. I picked up this rock ready to heave if he touched you.” He held out a largish rock.
“That was well done,” she said. “We had best continue on our way before another of them comes along.” She glanced around the ground, but seeing no sign of the brooch, she left it there. They recovered their shoes and took them into the carriage to put on there.
“I still have ten pounds in my stocking,” Corinne said, as the carriage rattled along the now familiar roads. “How much did you lose, Coffen?”
“Fifty and my watch. It’ll leave me short, no denying.”
“It’s not much to pay for our lives.”