Her mind was far away.
Jake Forrester, hanging on the gallows. Susan and her baby, due any day. And Charles Dawson. Would he be caught too? Would he hang? Or did he wait at a safe distance, his own cover still intact, directing these men to their doom?
Why? Why did he do it?
She paced back and forth a couple of times, the image of Susan and her pale, strained face, her hacking cough, constantly before her. When she had mentioned the cottage to her father at luncheon he had frowned. ‘I’ll speak to Joe Randall again about those hovels,’ he had said. ‘They are a disgrace to the parish. It wouldn’t have happened in his father’s day. He looked after his workers.’
And with that she had had to be content.
Twice more she paced up and down the room. She had to do something. She couldn’t let Jake be caught. His companions might have killed a man, and they should be punished, but would more deaths solve anything? Weren’t they all men driven to crime by poverty and despair? All except Charles Dawson, who had no such excuse. She was desperately angry. How dare he! How dare he send these men to their deaths?
Almost without realising she had done it she had slipped out of her muslin gown and reached for her riding habit. She would ride to see him. However much she detested him, she had to speak to him and force him somehow to call back his men; to warn them of the trap. She had to save Jake for Susan.
She paused outside her father’s bedroom door and listened for a moment as she tiptoed down the stairs. Sure enough she could hear the faint sound of snoring. He had retired to rest in the heat of the afternoon.
The groom was asleep too, on a heap of hay. It was several minutes before he could bestir himself enough to saddle Caroline’s pretty bay mare, Star, and lead her out of her cool shadowy box into the blinding sunlight of the stableyard. He offered to ride with her – part of his duties if she rode out alone – but with little enthusiasm and was obviously relieved when she turned down his offer.
Charles Dawson’s parish was some five miles away through narrow lanes and across trackways over the Downs. It seemed a long way in the heat. Time and again she slowed the sweating horse, letting her walk in the dappled shadows beneath the trees which bordered the lanes. There was plenty of time. The raid would not take place till after dark, but he had to have time to send messages to his men. The closer she got, the more slowly she rode. Her anger had evaporated slightly in the heat and she had to admit that she was a little apprehensive. She was not looking forward to meeting Charles Dawson again.
The Rectory at Pengate was a large Georgian house, set between two graceful cedar trees. As Caroline rode up the long drive she saw the curtains in the main rooms were drawn against the sun and her heart sank. It had not crossed her mind that he might be out. Dismounting, she pulled the bell and waited, Star’s rein looped around her arm. Her heart was thumping painfully now, and she found she was having to hold tight to her courage before it oozed away completely.
It was several minutes before the door opened and she found herself confronting the tall figure of Charles Dawson’s butler. The rector, she was informed, was indeed out.
‘He can’t be!’ she cried out in dismay. ‘He must be here.’
‘I am sorry, Miss. He is not expected to return until tomorrow!’ James Kennet was eyeing her crumpled habit and the dishevelled wisps of hair flying from beneath her hat. He frowned.
‘Then where is he? He was going to the Rixbys’ this evening, but surely not already?’ She knew she sounded desperate.
‘I am sorry, Miss.’ He tightened his lips in disapproval. ‘I do not know where he is.’
And with that she had to be content. Disconsolately Caroline turned the mare’s head back towards home.
The afternoon had grown hotter. The baked mud in the lanes was like stone; the air, as the horse left the shade of the deep lanes for the open downland, was stifling.
But she was not going to be defeated that easily. She would have to go to the Rixbys’ and lie in wait for him. That was the only choice she had left. She had no idea how late he would be – perhaps too late – but what else could she do? She was not going to give up. Not yet. Kicking the reluctant Star into a canter before she could change her mind and cravenly seek the cool shadows of her curtained bedroom she took the road that led towards the archdeacon’s house in the cathedral precinct.
The roads were busy and a pall of dust lay over the city of Larchester as she threaded her way through the streets praying she would not meet anyone she knew, trying to decide how to go about reaching Charles before he got to the Rixbys. Now that she was nearly there, the practicalities of the situation faced her squarely. She was in Larchester, unchaperoned, looking for an unmarried gentleman whom she was, to all intents and purposes, about to accuse of murder! She bit her lip. So what! It had to be done. Jake had to be saved.
She halted her mare in the shade of some trees near the cathedral. Charles was expected in the evening. That was all she knew. Early or late? She had no way of knowing. He might have cancelled his visit or be there already for all she knew. At the latter thought she kicked Star on. If he was already there she had to find a way of speaking to him now.
Star solved the problem for her. As they walked towards the precinct Caroline realised that the mare had begun to limp painfully. Slipping from the saddle she ran gentle fingers down the sweating pastern – then slowly she coaxed her forward.
‘I am so sorry to intrude,’ she said to Mrs Rixby. ‘I couldn’t think what to do when she went lame, then I thought I could ask your groom as you were so close.’
In the stables Star had been fed and watered and bedded down in deep straw to rest the sprained tendon. Caroline had been ushered into the huge, cool drawing room and given lemonade and a fan and already she knew that the archdeacon would be returning in an hour and his wife had been unable to resist telling her that Charles Dawson was calling on him at six.
At six. Surreptitiously Caroline glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. She had over an hour to wait and she had gathered swiftly that her presence, if not exactly unwelcome, was certainly not timely.
‘Our groom shall drive you home, my dear, as soon as you have drunk your lemonade,’ her hostess said firmly as Caroline sipped from her glass. ‘Your horse can remain here until she is better.’
Caroline smiled, her brain working like lightning. Above all she didn’t want to be escorted off the premises. Somehow she had to make them let her leave alone. She put down her glass. ‘Thank you, but I can go home with our verger. He drove into town this morning and I can easily get a lift with him.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘There is no need to trouble your groom. But I’ll just say goodbye to Star …’
She smiled at Mrs Rixby’s haughtily raised eyebrow, said a firm goodbye and made her way, alone, back into the stableyard. To her relief the groom was nowhere to be seen. It took only a few seconds to slip into an empty stall and sit down on some straw bales in the deep shadows, out of sight.
She heard the cathedral clock strike the quarter, then half past. Twice she heard footsteps nearby and once a horse rode into the yard at a trot. Creeping to the half door, her heart in her mouth, she peered over, but it was a stranger.
She did not let herself think what would happen if Charles went straight up to the front door. Instead she concentrated every bit of her mind on praying that he would ride into the yard and that she could catch his eye before he shouted for the groom. If not she – and Jake and all the others – were lost. What Charles would say when he saw her here, of all places, she did not dare to think at all.
It was nearly a quarter past six when a sturdy black cob turned into the yard and stopped. The groom was at its head before Caroline could reach the door. Heart in mouth she watched as Charles, a tall figure in immaculate coat and trousers, strode towards the house without once glancing in her direction. It was the groom who saw her.
‘Oy! What are you doing in there? Come out of there!’ His voice echoed round the stabl
eyard as he caught a glimpse of her white face peering over the half door.
Charles stopped dead and looked round. Paralysed with fright and embarrassment, for a moment Caroline did not move.
‘Why, Miss, I’m sorry.’ It was the groom who recognised her first. ‘What are you doing in there? Your mare is over here.’ He seemed bewildered.
‘Miss Hayward?’ Charles strode towards her. He pulled open the stable door, his face full of suspicion.
‘I … I had to see you,’ she stammered. ‘I couldn’t think what to do …’
For a moment he stared thoughtfully down at her. Then he turned to the groom. ‘You may see to my horse. I shall look after Miss Hayward.’
‘I … I heard you were coming to ask for Marianne’s hand this evening …’ she floundered on. ‘I went to your house, but you had already left.’
‘I see. You couldn’t bear to think of me wedded to another.’
The sarcasm of his tone belied the sudden amused gleam in his eye.
Caroline went scarlet. ‘It’s not that at all!’ She exclaimed indignantly. ‘I had to warn you –’ she put her hand to her lips and as she glanced over her shoulder, her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Oh, please, don’t you see? I had to find you. My father says you have been betrayed. The excise men will be waiting tonight on the coast. Your men will all be taken –’
He cut her short in mid-sentence with a sharp gesture of his hand. Behind them the archdeacon had appeared. He was staring at Caroline in astonishment.
Charles forestalled his questions. ‘You will have to forgive me, archdeacon. Miss Hayward has brought me an urgent message. She has met with someone from my parish who needs my services. It seems to be a matter of life or death. Would you forgive me if I return to see them at once? Perhaps we could discuss our business tomorrow?’ He smiled.
The archdeacon’s brow had furrowed sharply. He looked far from pleased. ‘If you feel you must, then of course, I cannot prevent you.’
‘Quite so.’ Charles’s answering smile did not quite reach his eyes as he beckoned his horse forward once more. He turned back to Caroline. ‘Is there more to your message?’
She nodded, aware suddenly of eyes watching them from the windows of the drawing room beyond the rose garden to the north of the stableyard.
‘Then please excuse us, archdeacon.’ Charles turned to their host.
At his imperious tone Joseph Rixby’s expression froze. He was looking extremely angry. ‘I won’t detain either of you,’ was all he said however and with a stiff bow he turned away.
‘Well?’ Charles turned back to Caroline, his horse’s rein in his hand.
‘They know. They know who leads them,’ she whispered.
‘They know?’ he looked at her in astonishment. Then his face darkened. ‘And was it your father who told them, I wonder?’
‘I didn’t tell him,’ she flared. ‘I don’t break my word.’
She turned away sharply, aware suddenly that there were pieces of straw clinging to her skirt. She wondered if the archdeacon had noticed them and knew immediately that he had. ‘I don’t know how they found out, or even if they are right in what they think. Papa didn’t tell me who it is they suspect. All I know is that you must hurry. You have to. I just pray you are in time to save Jake and the others. It’s them I care about.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ He paused. ‘Who else knows about this?’
‘I don’t know. The authorities. Papa came into Larchester this morning to meet the other magistrates –’
‘And they told him I was involved?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘So, why am I still free? Why were the soldiers not waiting for me here?’
‘Perhaps because they want to trap you all together. I don’t know. Oh, please hurry. You must warn them …’
‘If I am being watched I must avoid them – how did you get here?’ He spoke sharply.
‘On my mare. But she’s lame.’
‘Then we’ll borrow one for you. Here, boy.’ He shouted behind him into the yard. ‘Saddle Miss Marianne’s mare quickly –’
‘But you can’t – what will the Rixbys say?’
‘Nothing if they think I want to marry their daughter.’ He spoke with strange bitterness suddenly. ‘You shall ride beside me. If they are looking for a man alone or a group of men they certainly won’t stop a woman and a clergyman.’
‘You mean I’m to come with you to warn your men?’
‘Why not? It was Jake Forrester you were worried about wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘Then you can help me save him.’
He turned as the groom led an elegant grey horse out of one of the boxes. There was a glint of silver as some coins changed hands. ‘No word of this loan, my friend,’ Charles winked at him. ‘We’ll have the horse back by dawn. I doubt if Miss Marianne will want it tonight. If she does you’ll have to think of an excuse and find her another mount.’
Charles turned and with scant ceremony swung Caroline up onto the side saddle. The groom was grinning as they turned and rode out of the stableyard. Behind them the curtains in the archdeaconry twitched and fell into place. In the drawing room Marianne subsided into tears.
Charles set a fast pace south and the grey mare, fresh from her stable, kept up with ease. He glanced at the horse approvingly. ‘She makes a good ride, I’ll wager,’ he shouted above the drumming of their hooves.
Caroline turned and glanced over her shoulder. To her relief the road behind them was empty. She had half expected to see the glint of the sun on bayonets and the glow of red coats. With an effort she reined in the excited horse. ‘You don’t need me now. We’re not being followed. I must go back,’ she called.
‘Why? Don’t you like the sound of our adventure?’ He slowed down beside her and patted the neck of his sweating mount. ‘I would have thought that a woman who walked through churchyards and visited haunted castles at night would enjoy such an excursion.’
She coloured. ‘It’s not that. But Papa will worry. He may even suspect –’
‘That you consort with criminals?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Her retort was sharp. ‘But I am not supposed to leave the house alone. He doesn’t know where I am –’
‘He will within the hour.’ He laughed grimly. ‘Do you think the Rixbys won’t send after you to find out what you were doing in their stableyard? Your reputation may well be ruined when the world hears you rode off with me.’ His expression was unrepentant.
‘It may well be when the world knows you are a smuggler and a murderer, sir,’ she retorted tartly.
Slowly he reined in his horse. ‘I am not a murderer, Caroline. Nor are any of my boys out there. They are all good men, like Jake Forrester. The man who died last night was killed by one of his own comrades in the skirmish. None of my men had firearms. It was a tragic mistake, but not of our doing.’
‘Not of your doing?’ The wave of relief that flowed over her at his words did not stop her turning on him. ‘Being a smuggler is a usual and acceptable second occupation for a country rector I suppose?’
‘No.’ He urged his horse on once more.
‘Then why do you do it?’ They were riding side by side now, their horses striding shoulder to shoulder in the narrow lane. ‘Why?’
‘I have good reasons.’ He kicked his mount into a trot. ‘Come, we must get on. We pass close to Hancombe soon. You can go home, if you wish. I’ll go on over the Downs.’
‘No!’ Suddenly the thought of returning to the claustrophobic atmosphere of the Rectory was unbearable. Besides, she sensed a challenge in his words. ‘I’ll go with you. As you say, they are not looking for a woman.’
For a moment he looked at her closely, then he gave a tight smile. ‘You know what you are risking?’
She nodded.
‘Then you are very brave.’
Before she could think of an answer he had pushed his horse forward into a gallop and she found herself kicki
ng the grey frantically to keep up with him.
They did not stop again until they could see the sea below them – a ribbon of brilliant blue, gilded and coloured by the westering sun. Charles was breathing hard as he slipped from his horse. ‘It’s early yet. The boys won’t gather till dark. There will be plenty of time to warn them then. The ship comes in with the high tide in the early morning. And the soldiery won’t gather till late if I know them. A night spent getting drunk in Larchester to keep their courage up is more to their taste than a cold beach at dawn and by then we’ll have signalled the Marie Blanche to return to France with her cargo untouched, and my boys will all be tucked up in their beds.’ He turned to where she still sat on the high side saddle. ‘You must go back now, before your father calls out a search party. Tell him the bishop’s son asked you to do an errand for him.’ He gave a ghost of a smile. ‘If he questions it, send him to me. I’ll pacify him. It’s better if you go. There’s no more for you to do here. I’ll be better alone.’
She looked down at him. He still appeared immaculate, scarcely a hair out of place beneath his hat, every inch the elegant churchman, escorting his lady to a Sunday picnic. Only his eyes didn’t fit. They were silver in the tanned face – alive, excited, seeing danger ahead, and, she realised suddenly, enjoying it.
‘You didn’t tell me why you do this,’ she said quietly.
‘No, and I’m not going to.’ He smiled. ‘Take care of the horse, Caroline, or we’ll have the Rixbys after us. This will take some explaining tomorrow, I fear!’ He did not look the slightest bit afraid. ‘I will see to its return in the morning.’
‘It was a matter of life and death, didn’t we say?’ she murmured. She didn’t want to go. To ride alone through the dusk and go back to her stifling room and learn a passage from the Bible … it was unthinkable. Impulsively she pulled off her bonnet and shook her head, feeling her hair slipping from its combs. ‘Will I see you again?’ She meant: to get their story straight.
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