Corinne could dredge up very little interest in Prissy Trueheart. “That’s too bad,” she said. “I wonder if Coffen asked Hodden to search her cottage. He mentioned it.”
“Hodden refused. So far as he’s concerned, the highwayman case is closed. I didn’t show Blackmore the satyr design for the dinnerware. He was heartbroken. He actually loved the wench. I abandoned him to his brandy and left him decently alone. It is all one can do in these cases. A broken heart must mend itself.”
“You’ll want to change before you go to the forest,” she said. “That’s a new jacket, isn’t it?”
“It is, but the left sleeve is poorly set in. It pulls when I raise my arm. I am hoping to ruin it beyond repair tonight. One hates just to throw away a good jacket, but really, it annoys me dreadfully every time I put it on. Even Weston is only human. Who would have thought it? I shall change my trousers and put on top boots, however. One does not ride in evening slippers.”
He pointed the dainty toe of his slipper, admired it a moment, then rose and went abovestairs to make his toilette. Luten came down, dressed in a blue jacket, buckskins, and top boots, and went into Otto’s office. Coffen returned a little later.
“Did you get the bloodhounds?” Corinne asked.
“Lafferty had hired them out to some other fellow. He was expecting them back at any moment, but I couldn’t wait any longer. He’s to send them along as soon as they come.”
Prance returned to the saloon at nine forty-five, outfitted in the black evening jacket, buckskins, and top boots.
“If anyone should see me like this, I would never hold up my head again,” he said, though he actually thought it looked rather well.
A moment later, Luten appeared at the door, carrying his insulated bottle of coffee, with a pistol bulging in his pocket, Luten, Prance, and Coffen held a hurried conversation.
“I think one of you should follow Otto,” Luten said. “Don’t let him out of your sight. It’s possible he’ll be held up on his way to the forest. The scoundrel knows he’ll be carrying twenty-five thousand pounds. Prance, you’ll do it?”
“Of course.”
“And you, Coffen,” Luten continued, “you come with me, but find some hiding spot on the outer edge of the forest.”
“I thought I’d go along a little later,” Coffen said.
“We might as well go together.”
“I don’t have any coffee.”
Luten rolled his eyes ceilingward. “You can take mine.”
Corinne knew Coffen was waiting for the bloodhounds and said, “Why don’t you go along now, Luten, and I’ll have some coffee made for Coffen. He’ll leave very soon.”
“Very well, but don’t get lost.” He gave Corinne a questioning look. She sensed that he wanted a private word with her and used the coffee as an excuse to accompany him to the front door. When the order had been given and they were in the privacy of the hall, Luten set his coffee bottle on the side table and seized her hands in his.
“Well, this is it,” he said. “With luck, we’ll have Susan and the money back tonight, and we can get on with ...”
“Go back to London, you mean?”
“I meant get on with our own lives.”
“Yes,” she said uncertainly.
“Aren’t you going to wish me luck?”
“Of course. Good luck, Luten.”
His fingers nudged up her arms. “That is not what I meant.” His head descended, and his lips brushed hers. Suddenly his arms were around her, crushing her against him.
The amorous attack came like a bolt out of the blue. Corinne was half-convinced Luten was in love with Susan, even that he had offered for her again last February. Doubt hindered her response. She put her arms on his shoulders and pushed him off.
“You—we shouldn’t be doing this,” she said stiffly.
He looked around the empty hall. “There’s no one to see,” he pointed out.
“Surely that’s not the only thing that matters!”
“Dammit, we’re practically engaged. If it hadn’t been for Susan, we would be by now.”
Her heart jumped into her throat. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean. We’ll discuss it later. Now, kiss me, dammit.”
Without waiting, he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her soundly. The imminent danger lent a poignant edge to the embrace. He kissed her as if he feared he would never have another chance. His lips burned on hers, while his arms riveted her to him, until she no longer doubted it was she and no one else whom he loved. She felt it in every atom of her being. Whatever was going on between Luten and Susan, it wasn’t what she feared. When the embrace was over, he held her at arm’s length and smiled wanly.
“It’s been a hell of a visit, hasn’t it?” he said. Then he put on his curled beaver, picked up the coffee, gave her a peck on the cheek, and went out the door.
She waited a moment to collect her thoughts before returning to the saloon. Glancing in the mirror, she saw the moonish smile on her face and schooled her expression to indifference. But her heart was light. She couldn’t quell the happiness in her eyes. She thought of Susan and managed a suitable face, or thought she had.
Prance scrutinized her and said, “I have been wanting to run upstairs and change. I have decided after all that I cannot appear in such a mixed ensemble, even if there will be no one but felons to see me. I shall see myself. Lucullus dining with Lucullus, you know.” She obviously didn’t know what he was talking about, or care. “I only waited as I feared to interrupt the lovemaking. If you tell me that wretch has come up to scratch
now,
after not doing it in time for my party, I shall— Well, don’t expect another party from me, Countess. I hope you noticed I called you ‘Countess.’ I am very vexed with you.”
“We’re not engaged,” she said. “You will be the first to know when—if that happens.”
“I heard that
when,
sly puss!”
He flounced out of the room and went upstairs to change his jacket.
Coffen squeezed his forehead up like a washboard and said, “I hope them bloodhounds get here before I have to leave.”
“Are they really necessary?”
“We were fools not to have thought of them before.”
“They would only have run in circles. Susan’s scent would be all over the park.”
“That’s as may be, but the kidnappers’ scent won’t be.”
“You need something that belongs to the person you want to find, a scent for the dogs to follow.”
“I know that. I’m going to set it up with Otto now, douse the corners of the valise with vanilla, pour a bit on my own hankie to let the hounds sniff, so they’ll know what smell they’re after.”
“I doubt it will work,” she said.
“I don’t see why not. Why, vanilla smells so strong I might be able to follow the smell myself.”
Coffen went and was gone for some time. When he returned, he said, “It’s done.”
“I can smell the vanilla from here,” she replied.
Tobin came with the bottle of coffee and left.
“Still no dogs. What should I do?” Coffen asked. “I don’t suppose you’d care to bring the dogs along for me when they get here?”
“I can’t go alone!”
“You wouldn’t be alone. You’d have two big dogs. Safe as a church. I figured you’d be sneaking out to follow us anyhow, or I wouldn’t ask you.”
Corinne wondered why she hadn’t planned to follow them. She hated being left out of things. Was it only because she had been angry with Luten? That must be it, for she was suddenly very eager to be part of the excitement.
“All right. I’ll do it.”
“Good girl. Well, I’m off, then.”
Corinne still had plenty of time to kill. Prance and Otto were not leaving until eleven-thirty. She had a private word with the butler about the bloodhounds. When they came, they were to be hidden behind the stable and brought to the front door with Susan’s mount after Otto had left. Tobin looked askance, but he didn’t ask any questions. He knew dire doings were afoot and preferred not to know too much, lest Hodden pay a call in the morning.
When Prance and Otto left, she was alone. She ran up and changed into Susan’s too small riding habit. When she came down, Tobin told her the bloodhounds had arrived and were waiting outside, along with the mount.
“Thank you, Tobin,” she said, and sailed out the front door, into the dark silence of the night.
Chapter Twenty-two
The air was cool, the waxing moon bright above, but a mist hung over the ground in low-lying areas when Luten left Appleby. Ashdown Forest was due south. Moonlight and mist silvered the bushes that grew along the road. No one else was out, not a carriage, not a gig, a mounted rider, or even a pedestrian. He had the road to himself. He cantered along at a fast pace, eager to reach his destination and get the lay of the land. After a quarter of an hour’s ride, the edge of the forest loomed in the distance, a black cloud, blurred by fog.
Otto had given him directions to the blasted oak. One entered the forest road, and then left the road after a hundred yards, turning left. Luten had not thought it would be so dark. The fog was thicker here, and the trees met overhead, robbing the forest of moonlight. He decided to tether his mount on the right side of the roadway, well hidden by trees and well away from the blasted oak.
When this was done, he returned to the road and quietly picked his way through the forest, looking left and right for the blasted oak. It was nowhere to be seen. He forged on, taking little side trips to left and right, being scratched by thorn bushes and barking his shins and once being poked in the eye by the pointed end of a bare branch.
It was ten minutes before he found the blasted oak. There was no mistaking it. Its diameter was over a yard, and the leaves on its branches were still unwithered. He peered into the mist for a hiding spot that would let him see Otto and the kidnapper without being detected. The fog dictated that he be close to the tree. He chose an elm whose trunk was wide enough to hide him and took up his position. With a couple of hours to wait, he decided to sit down. It was demmed uncomfortable on the damp earth. He should have brought the horse blanket. He’d had such trouble finding the spot that he was reluctant to leave it to get the blanket.
He tried to get comfortable. As he became accustomed to the quiet, he began to notice small sounds. The whisper of leaves overhead as the wind stirred through the branches, the occasional rustle of marauding night creatures in the undergrowth. Time passed slowly. He was sure he had been there an hour. When he drew out his watch, he discovered to his consternation that he couldn’t read it in the darkness. Had he been here an hour? Perhaps it was only half an hour. There was no way of telling. He thought of Susan, and Corinne, and of the many things that might go wrong with this night’s work.
When his muscles became cramped, he rose and stretched his limbs. He heard a shot in the distance, so far away he assumed it was poachers. They must have eyes like owls to spot their prey in this fog. He decided to have a cup of coffee to pass the time. Simon had flavored it just as he liked, no cream, but plenty of sugar. It wasn’t as good as his own coffee. Malboeuf must use some inferior sort. She would. How did Susan put up with the slovenly creature?
Yet with all her faults, she was apparently faithful to her mistress, according to Simon. And according to Corinne as well. His thoughts turned more happily to Corinne. He rested his head on his chest and sat, daydreaming.
Suddenly he felt very tired. He rose to shake off the lethargy and found that his legs couldn’t hold him. He stumbled, clinging to the tree, and fell to the ground. His last thought was that the coffee had been drugged. Who ...?
The most nervous man on the prowl that night, with the possible exception of the kidnapper, was Sir Reginald Prance. Violence had its place in the world, and that place, so far as he was concerned, was the stage of a theater. He enjoyed watching a good theatrical sword fight. As to the current craze for bruisers! He had never set foot in Jackson’s Boxing Parlour and never intended to. He did not attend boxing events, cockfights, or any other sort of senseless cruelty. Most particularly, he avoided physical confrontations himself.
He did care for his reputation, however. He could not refuse to follow Otto to the forest and keep an eye on him, but he did hope and pray that the kidnapper would be true to his word and wait until Otto had passed under the care of Luten before showing his face—or mask. Of course, he would be masked. Prance’s mind strayed to the masks of Greek drama, and from there it flitted to a dozen other passing thoughts.
He rode several yards behind Otto, losing sight of him at an occasional bend in the road, but always keeping his ears wide open, ready to rush forward at the first ominous sound. When he heard the telltale clip-clop of a horse on the road behind him, he jerked to attention. He became extremely nervous. He drew out his pistol, wondering if he would have the pluck to use it. The rider behind him did not seem intent on overtaking him, however. The desultory gait of the animal—just one, wasn’t it?— sounded like a mule. Still, he was relieved when the rider turned in at one of the farms along the road.
Prance kept a steady pace. When he saw the dark outline of the forest ahead, he drew a great sigh of relief. There! There was Otto riding his gig into the forest. Prance rode closer until he was at the edge of the tree line, then he found concealment in the shadow of a tall elm. Coffen should be here by now. He had left over an hour ago. Prance heard a rustle behind him and leapt a foot from his saddle.
“It’s only me,” Coffen said softly. “Nothing going on here. The kidnapper hasn’t come yet.”
Prance was so relieved to have human company (and a helping hand in case of trouble) that he actually smiled at Coffen. “You saw Otto going in?”
“I did. The kidnapper hasn’t come yet. I wonder how long we’ll have to wait for him to show up, or if he’ll even come this way. More likely to slip up behind Otto through the trees, I should think. I wonder what time it is. I hope I get my watch back from the scoundrel. He might have sold it by now.”
“It must be close to midnight.”
“Yes.”