The Cedar Cutter (41 page)

Roisin flew through the front door and down the steps. ‘Slinger! Slinger! We have to leave now. Hurry.' She scrambled into the buggy.

Slinger gazed up at the house and ambled across the driveway as though he was enjoying a Sunday picnic.

‘Slinger, please. Hurry!'

He jumped up into the buggy and tipped back his hat. ‘If those toffs are givin' you a bad time, I'm more than happy—'

‘Slinger just go, please! Dankworth is out riding and hasn't come home. Jane and Ruan are alone.'

Whether it was the mention of Jane or the panic lacing her voice, she'd no idea, but Slinger picked up the whip and brought it cracking down across the back of the poor horse and they took off up the road as though the angels of hell were after them.

Roisin clung to the sides of the buggy, bouncing and twisting with each and every pothole. Having listened to Lady Alice's story, she had no doubt Dankworth intended to snatch Ruan. He could have him in Morpeth in a matter of hours and Sydney not much longer after that and then, Holy Mary, onto a boat and heading back to England or even Ireland.

‘What makes you think Dankworth'll make a move now?'

‘He's got a lot to lose. He believes if he can prove he has a son he will inherit a fortune in Ireland.'

Slinger turned and threw her a bemused glance. ‘And what's it to do with Carrick?'

‘That I don't truly understand, Slinger. I can only think that Dankworth must have seen Carrick with Ruan and thought he'd stand in his way, prevent him taking Ruan.'

‘A gentleman don't set a cedar cutter up for murder because he thinks he'll stop him getting hold of his son. Carrick wouldn't get a leg in. There has to be another reason.'

The buggy jostled and bumped along in silence. Slinger chewed his lip while she sat wringing her hands, trying to overcome the puddle of dread pooling in her stomach. ‘Maybe it was because you were taking the tree from his land.'

‘Nah. No need for that, he had the law on his side. We're illegal cutters, everyone knows that. That's not a hanging offence, though. Just a bloody great fine—more than those constables down at the courthouse earn in a year. There's more to it than that.'

He picked up the whip and licked it across the poor horse's back, trying to squeeze the last bit of speed out of the animal. Dankworth couldn't prove Ruan was his son. She clung onto the thought as tightly as her fingers curled around the edge of the buggy. With Lady Alice on her side he couldn't do anything. Oh yes, he could, a nasty voice reminded her. He could do whatever he liked. He believed he had some God-given right to manipulate everyone's lives.

‘Ireland, you say.'

She turned to Slinger. ‘Yes, Ireland. Dankworth was an agent for Lady Alice's father's estates. He got a reputation for cruelty for evicting the tenants and …'

‘Dankworth's the English arsehole Carrick's intent on murderin'? The one who killed his wife and child, branded him and got him transported? Jesus fuckin' Christ. Beggin' your pardon.'

‘One and the same.' She grasped the side of the buggy as they careered into a huge pothole. ‘Carrick told you about Ireland?'

‘You don't live and work with a man for ten years without learning some of his secrets, no matter how hard he might try to hide them.'

She could understand that. And hide them Carrick did. ‘I believe Dankworth saw Carrick and Ruan together and thought Carrick was taking revenge, taking his son the way he'd taken Liam.'

‘Jesus.' The whip came down with a heart breaking slash across the horse's back and it leapt forward, taking the bend over the bridge and slithering to a halt amidst a crowd of people outside the inn.

‘What's going on?' Roisin gathered her skirts and leapt down from the buggy.

‘No idea. I'll find out. You go and find Jane and Ruan.'

A nameless dread colonised her insides. She couldn't think, she wouldn't think. Not now. She flew up the road, forcing her way past the people crowded around the inn, scanning the throng for Ruan and Jane.

‘Roisin, come 'ere.' It was Maisie's voice. She couldn't stop, couldn't turn back. All she could think of was Ruan. Dankworth would take him. With her sides splitting and her breath rasping she slithered to a halt. Elsie stood, barring her way. She tried to barge past the wretched woman, who stood like some stone carving refusing to budge. ‘Get out of my way.'

‘He's not there.'

Her heart began to thud in her chest, the answering echo beating in her head. ‘Not there?'

‘He's gone.'

‘Where?' A sheen of sweat raced over her skin, hot then cold, and the nausea rolled up in one long, sick crest from her feet to her stomach and into her throat.

‘I don't know. They're organising a search party down at the inn. Jane raised the alarm. He was playing out the back, searching for treasures. She was keeping an eye on him out the window. Next thing she knew he'd vanished.'

‘It's Dankworth.' She gritted her teeth and fought back the waves of sickness.

‘Dankworth?'

‘Lady Alice's husband, he's taken him.' A scream tore at her chest, wanting to rip out of her, instead a long, slow keening sound built in her throat and a thundering noise roared in her ears as the ground spiralled up to meet her.

Her head throbbed and her vision cleared to reveal Elsie standing over her. ‘What …'

‘You took a turn. Haven't got time for that. On your feet.'

Feet. She couldn't even feel her feet. All she could feel was the great swelling lump in her chest. Her heart breaking. ‘Ruan.'

Elsie grabbed her shoulders and eased her back into the middle of the road. ‘You need to get down to the inn. Find out what's happening. It doesn't feel right to me.'

It wasn't right. She'd known from the moment Lady Alice had said Dankworth was out riding. Known in her bones Ruan would be gone. ‘Why did I leave him?'

‘It's too late for that now. Everyone's searching.' Elsie tucked her hands under Roisin's armpits and dragged her towards the crowd outside the inn. Surely there hadn't been that many people when she and Slinger had returned. The buggy still stood unattended in the middle of the street. A couple of the Paterson cutters were waving their arms, one of them standing on a barrel, then Slinger moved through the crowd, towing Jane behind him, forcing his way to the back.

‘Roisin. I'm so sorry I don't know …' Jane's face, ravaged by tears, peered up at her. ‘One minute he was playing and the next he'd gone.' Jane tried to slip her arm around Roisin, but she shrugged her off.

‘How could you? You knew. I told you.'

The tears tracked down Jane's face. ‘Ruan wouldn't have gone off with him. He must have forced him, dragged him away.'

Roisin didn't care. Dankworth had Ruan, that was all that mattered.

A buggy skidded to a halt and Jane grabbed her arm and pulled her aside just before the wheels ran over her feet. Mr Winchester, hatless, his dramatic mane of silver hair flying in the breeze, and Lady Alice, her hand clamped over her hat, tumbled out. The crowd swirled around them. With an imperious wave Mr Winchester gestured them aside and strode up to the courthouse.

‘Constable! Oi, Constable!'

‘Quit your yelling, what's the problem?'

Carrick jumped down from the window and turned to the door, forgetting his chains, and landed in a crumpled heap. ‘What's going on outside? Half the bloody town's out there.'

‘Nothing to do with you. Least ways nothing you can do anything about. You're stuck here until the magistrate comes. Now quit your hollering.'

Carrick climbed back onto the bed and pressed his nose to the bars. Maisie and Elsie stood in the middle of the road. No sign of Slinger, that was good. He'd have everything under control. He was a good bloke, could be trusted in a pinch. He'd keep Roisin and Ruan safe. The Paterson cutters clustered around the big bloke, the ringie from the two-up game, as he clambered onto the barrel and spread his arms. Silence fell.

‘Start from here and work your way around. We'll check the brook. Others out that way.' He waved his burly hands in the direction of the school. ‘And anywhere else you can think of, anywhere a boy might go and hide.'

A boy? What boy? Where the hell was Slinger? ‘Constable!' Carrick yelled at the top of his voice.

The keys rattled in the lock and the door swung open.

‘Mr O'Connor?'

Carrick stared the toff up and down. His long white hair all awry and his face redder than one of Roisin's silks. ‘And who'd be asking?'

‘Winchester, James Winchester. Magistrate.'

Carrick opened his mouth to tell the sodding magistrate what he could do with his justice system, and then stopped when the keys in the man's hands rattled.

‘Please lift your hands. I'm releasing you. I can see no reason to detain you. I would, however, request you stay within the town limits. You will be called when this matter comes to court. You might wish to assist in the search for the boy.'

‘What search? What boy?' The fool fumbled with the key, taking his time. It'd be easier to rip the bloody cuffs from his wrists than endure this. ‘What boy?' he repeated.

‘Ruan Ogilvie. The boy's gone missing and we have reason to believe …'

‘Me lad's missing?' He wrenched his wrists free of the open cuffs.

‘We have reason to believe Gideon Dankworth may have taken him.'

Dankworth had done it again. Not a second time. He couldn't give a shit if he swung, he'd get Dankworth. Grind his bleedin' face in the dirt and take Ruan back. He elbowed his way past Winchester and out through the courtroom into the swirling crowd.

‘Carrick.'

‘He's out.'

‘Good one, boyo.'

He pushed through and made his way to the barrel, where the ringie stood brandishing his arms, orchestrating the search, sending people in all directions.

‘What's going on?'

‘The dressmaker's boy's gone missing. Some say he's been snatched.'

‘Where's his mother?'

The ringie nodded to a group of women clustered to one side. The green of Roisin's jacket stood out like a beacon as she sat crumpled on an upturned crate. She lifted her head and gazed at him, her eyes dulled with pain, tears streaking her bone-white face. He knelt beside her and took her freezing hands.

‘Dankworth's taken him.'

‘We'll find him.'

‘I left him. Left him with Jane to see Mrs Winchester. I thought …'

‘Where's Slinger?' He'd throttle the bloke when he got his hands on him. He was supposed to be looking out for her, looking after the lad, taking them away so this didn't happen. ‘Why didn't he come to see me?'

‘Slinger was with me. He took me to—'

Carrick shot to his feet. ‘Slinger!'

He ran back to the ringie and held up his hand. The burly bloke hauled him onto the barrel and he scanned the crowd. ‘Seen Slinger?'

‘Nope. Useless good for nothing …There he is.' The ringie pointed to the back of the crowd where Slinger stood with two saddled horses and a grin from ear to ear. Jesus, the fool was enjoying himself. Carrick leapt off the barrel and returned to Roisin. ‘We'll find him. You stay here with Jane.' He grabbed her in his arms and planted a firm kiss on her lips. To hell with the audience, let 'em think what they like.

She sank into his arms, her lips opening softly beneath his and the world retreated until there was nothing except her silken hair beneath his fingers and her arms encircling his neck as she rose on her toes to meet him.

‘I'm coming with you,' she murmured and drew out of his arms.

‘You can't, my love. Stay here.' He ran his fingers across the smooth skin of her cheek, catching the last of her tears. ‘What if we're wrong and Ruan comes home? There has to be someone here.'