by Mira Stables
“No. But I was hoping that Murdoch would be returned by now. A message was brought to him just after Nick left to say that his brother had met with an accident.”
He went on to explain that David – the brother – had broken a leg and perhaps suffered some head injury as well. To make matters worse, Margaret, David’s wife, was expecting a child and was near her time. Murdoch had not wanted to desert his post while ‘the young master’ was away, but he was naturally very anxious about his relations and Oliver had finally persuaded him to ride over to Wigtown, where his brother worked as bailiff on a large estate, and find out what was happening, since the lad who had brought the message had been unable to give them any further details.
“It’s not so very far, cross country on a good horse. I’d expected him back by now. I fear he has found matters more serious than we had hoped.”
They sat on in silence, both of them straining their eyes towards the lane as though the very intensity of their gaze could summon up the familiar figure of the steward. Suddenly Oliver gave a sharp exclamation.
“Look! Over there – to the right of the coach house. Can you see a glow? Yes, and flames too. Something’s afire. And it’s growing.”
Chantal sprang to her feet to get a better view. The glow was spreading rapidly, and now they could make out one or two black figures outlined against the flames. The grooms, no doubt, trying to extinguish the blaze and, so far as the onlookers could make out, with small success. For a minute or two they watched, horror stricken. Then Chantal cried out on a little whimper of mingled fear and pity, “Oliver! The horses. Pegeen! I don’t think they’ve got them out. We must have seen them if they were in the paddock.”
As Oliver’s shocked exclamation confirmed her fear, she said sharply, “I’m going across. We can’t just sit here and watch them burn to death. Though what the grooms are about – it should have been their first thought. Don’t worry about me. I promise to be sensible and not take foolish risks, but you must see that I have to go.”
“And I’m coming with you,” said Oliver. “I can’t be any help to you in getting the horses out, but I can row you across to the other side in half the time that you could do it yourself. Push me down to the beach – and hurry. Thank God the boat was just pulled up on the sand. Otherwise we’d never have made it in time.”
Even so it took all Chantal’s strength to drag the boat down to the water’s edge and steady it while Oliver, with a desperate effort, managed somehow to lever himself up on his arms and more or less fall into it. But once launched he easily made good his promise. From constant use his arms and shoulders were unusually strong, and the boat shot across the bay at racing speed.
Chantal sprang out as it nosed the landing stage. Oliver could do no more to help her. Without his wheel chair he was virtually a prisoner in the boat. He called a final warning as she ran for the stables. Something about covering the horses’ eyes. She remembered that from some tale she had read. If you blindfolded them, you could sometimes manage to lead a terrified animal to safety.
It was no more than two hundred yards to the threatened building, but on the loose sandy surface of the path it felt like a mile. As she struggled breathlessly up the slope there was time to realise thankfully that the fire posed no immediate threat to the stable. Thanks to the direction of the wind it was progressing more swiftly towards the coach house and the grooms’ quarters that stood beyond it, but it was also steadily eating back towards the stable block. Perhaps the threat to their homes and belongings accounted for the absence of the grooms, but it was inexcusable that they should not first have seen to the safety of their charges. She tugged open the heavy door, trying to control her breathing, to remember that now she must move steadily and calmly. Hasty movements, nervous hands, would only add to the terror of animals already frightened by the smell of smoke and the unusual noises outside. She was thankful that Dominic had taken Rusty, a powerful beast with a fine turn of speed but temperamental and difficult to handle. Gentle Pegeen responded at once to the familiar voice and allowed herself to be led out into the paddock with no more than a hand grasping her mane, though she snorted her dislike of the smoke and made at once for the far end of the paddock. The hackneys were more difficult. They were good tempered enough but they did not know her so well. She had to search for a halter and coax them all the way, but she got them out at last and left them to join Pegeen. Now there was only Lady Celia’s old cob, another awkward customer because his gentle owner had never really attempted to cross his will. Luckily he was frightened enough to be biddable and only too thankful to follow his companions into the cleaner air. Since Murdoch had taken the big black, Napoleon, into Wigtown, that was the lot.
And now that the job was done, of course, here came help. She turned eagerly if a little crossly to the dark hurrying figures that came through the mirk, an enquiry as to their progress on her lips. But the first man to reach her was not one of the Dorne grooms. It was the tinkler man that she and Lady Celia had seen hanging about in the lane. Doubtless the tinklers had seen the fire from their camp and had come to help. At the same moment a hoarse voice behind her enquired in Doric accents, “Is this the lassie?”
The tinkler grinned, teeth gleaming white in his dark face. “Aye, that’s her. And a fine chase she’s led us. Easy now. We don’t want her hurt. But make sure of her.”
A hard powerful arm was flung round Chantal and a rough hand went over her mouth. There was no chance to cry out, though she had belatedly recognised the tinkler when he grinned. One of Cousin Giffard’s watchdogs, who once had herded her back to the house when she had tried to pass the gates. She fought and kicked, resisting with all her might, but she was only a girl and slight of build while the man who held her was immensely strong. She heard him give a gruff chuckle as though her struggles amused him.
The pseudo tinkler said impatiently, “Hurry up, man. We’ve to get her away before she’s missed. You’re not here for your own pleasuring. Give her a tap on the head to quiet her. But not too hard, mind. He wants her in good shape.”
Chantal heard the gruff voice say, “Easy now, ma wee beauty. Lie ye still, so’s ye’ll not get hurt,” and renewed her struggles. The voice said on a note of apology, “Don’t seem right to go a-hitting of a lassie, and ye sae bonny, but it’s an order, ye ken.”
Something struck her a stunning blow on the side of her head and her world vanished in a maelstrom of spinning bright lights.
Chapter Nine
When she came to her senses she was in a carriage which, by the feel of it, was travelling fast. Someone had wrapped a heavy mantle over her evening gown. Her hands were lying in her lap but her wrists were tied and, for good measure, her arms had been lashed to her body so that she could not lift them to drag away the scarf that had been bound tightly over her face. She could scarcely breathe, let alone cry out, but she must have made some attempt at speech for a hoarse voice that she remembered all too well remarked on a note of satisfaction, “That’s the dandy, missy. Just you bide quiet a wee while and you’ll soon feel more the thing. Got a headache, ain’t you?”
She made no attempt at answer and her captor lapsed into silence. Gradually the pain in her head subsided, but she found if difficult to think clearly. The scarf-gag covered her eyes as well as her mouth so she could not tell whether she was being carried north or south, nor had she any idea how long she had been unconscious since she could not see the sky to estimate the time.
Her thoughts ran round and round like small trapped creatures vainly seeking some avenue of escape. All too easily she could guess the identity of the ‘he’ who wanted her ‘in good shape’. How stupid she had been to have underestimated Cousin Giffard. Perhaps he had known her whereabouts from the beginning. It did not signify. At any rate he had allowed sufficient time to elapse to lull her into a false sense of security so that she had walked unsuspecting into his trap. Both Dominic and Murdoch had, she made no doubt, been lured away so that her abduction could be carr
ied out with the least possible fuss. Her cousin had known her well enough to calculate that the threat to the horses would inevitably draw her out of the safe shelter of Dorne.
She wished that she knew what time it was and whether the alarm had been raised over her disappearance. Her dependence here was on Hilda, who would probably be the first to miss her. But no one would have a clue as to how she had vanished, still less where to start looking for her. And when it came to organising a search party they would be in sore difficulties. For the first time she regretted the lack of resident male servants at Dorne. Lady Celia found it simpler to manage with only female servants indoors, and until today Chantal had been inclined to agree with her. But now, with Dominic and Murdoch both absent that left only Bateson to come to her aid. She scarcely dared wonder what had happened to the grooms. It seemed unlikely that her cousin could have bribed them all to forsake their duty – some of them came of families that had served Dorne for generations – and surely he would not risk being involved in wholesale murder, but she feared that at best they must have been very roughly handled. So far as rescue was concerned she could see very little hope.
Chantal was a soldier’s daughter, bred to keep a brave face when disaster struck, but even her courage quailed at the prospect before her. There would be no mercy at her cousin’s hands. She had evaded him once. There would be no second chance. Then, with rescue ruled out of court, her only hope was to escape from her captors before they handed her over to him. Coldly, deliberately, she set herself to study the chances.
He would probably have fixed a rendezvous at some distance from Dorne – a distance that would make it appear impossible for him to have been implicated in her abduction. She certainly hoped so, since it would give her more time to effect her escape. Bribery was hopeless. She had no money with her and promises would have small value in the circumstances. Besides, no man who knew her cousin would dare play him false. His vindictive disposition was too well known. On the other hand she did not think her present guards bore her any particular ill will. The one who was sharing the coach with her had seemed quite sorry for his share in her misfortunes, though it had not stopped him from carrying out his orders. She was not too happy about the attitude of the other man – the one who had been sent to identify her and who was presumably driving the carriage. But if she was to have any hope of escape, the first requirement was to win free of her bonds. Would it be possible to persuade her present guard to take away the muffler? Even, perhaps, to free her hands.
She did not even know if he could see her, but she allowed her head to droop dejectedly against the squabs. And at least he must be able to hear her – unless he was asleep – so she essayed the effect of a few long-drawn shuddering sobs. She found it suprisingly easy to sob convincingly. It might be more difficult to stop.
Fortunately she was not obliged to persist for long in her efforts. The effect surpassed her hopes.
“Puir wee hen,” said the rough voice compassionately.
Inspiration prompted her to twist her bound wrists as though they pained her.
“Ye’d sit easier if ye were free o’ they bonds,” ruminated the voice. “And ye’ll no risk jumping out o’ the carriage and it going at this pace. Will you gi’ me your promise that ye’ll no raise riot and rumpus if I let ye loose?”
Chantal nodded vigorously and sought to compose her face into a suitably woebegone expression that belied rising spirits at this easy success. Clumsy hands wrestled with knots and pulled away the muffling scarf. She made a play of rubbing her wrists, which had not really been bound so cruelly tight, and thanked her benefactor in a husky, shaken little voice that required no acting ability at all and was quite unlike her usual clear confident tones.
He grunted. “Aye. Ye’ve a bonny wheedling way with you. But mind now, no mischief, or I’ll have to tie ye up again,” and settled back into his corner averting his gaze from her as though he feared to be further beguiled.
She studied him surreptitiously as she rubbed and flexed her fingers and twisted about in her place as though to disperse the stiffness in her limbs. He was a giant of a man, as tall as Dominic and a good deal broader, with a rough-hewn craggy face and a thatch of reddish hair. The lines about the mouth seemed to indicate good humour, but the face, at the moment, wore a sullen expression as though he was ashamed of having been betrayed into showing kindness. If she did not tease him too far, he might serve her further, she thought.
She turned her attention to the passing scene, and was startled to discover that dawn was near. It must be four or five hours since she had been struck down. In that time they could have travelled a considerable distance, and her heart sank at the thought. From the lightening in the sky she judged that they were travelling roughly north-east, but the countryside was completely unfamiliar. She was sure that she had never seen it before, not even on her first journey north, but she dared not display too much interest in it, still less question the sullen giant. Her role must be that of crushed and helpless captive if she hoped to win further indulgence, and study of his expression suggested that she might now press her approach a little further.
“You were very kind to let me loose,” she told him shyly. “I am much more comfortable now. Thank you. And I will be quiet, I promise.”
He grunted again, but he was obviously pleased. The sullen look vanished, to be replaced by an expression of guarded amiability, and presently he volunteered a remark of his own.
“We’ll be stopping in a wee while to rest the horses and get a bite to eat. Ye’ll be glad o’ that, I daresay.”
Chantal’s face blanched. “My cousin?” she breathed, fixing huge frightened eyes on the man’s face.
Again he was stirred to compassion. “Nay, lass, nay,” he soothed, and actually leaned forward to pat her hand. “No need to look like that. He’ll not be there. Trust that careful customer to keep well out o’ the way when there’s risks to be run.”
She held his gaze steadily. “When?” she said.
“Tonight,” he mumbled with equal simplicity. And the despair on the little white face so moved him that he added, on a burst of expletive incomprehensible to Chantal though its general sense was clear enough, “Ah’d never ha’ taken a hand in the business if Ah’d kenned ye were such a canny wee doo. But he’s a hold on me, ye see, so we maun e’en thole it. Ah’ve a wife and a wee lassock to think of. Ah darena cross him.”
Chantal was aware of a faint flicker of pity for him, even in the midst of her own anxieties, but he seemed to be her only hope of escape and she could not afford to spare him for fear of what might be his fate at her cousin’s hands. She asked about his little girl, and although she could not always understand his speech, gathered the impression that he was a devoted father. She wondered what crime he had committed that had given her odious cousin the power to blackmail him, for she was sure that money alone would never have persuaded him to the task. He seemed a kindly sort of man and plainly disliked the dirty business in which he found himself involved.
By the time that they stopped for breakfast the sun had risen and the oddly assorted pair in the carriage had established friendly relations, though Chantal was well aware that she must not trespass too far. The man’s very virtues would prove her undoing. His devotion to his wife and child would prevent him from helping her escape. But at least he would grant her such measure of freedom as he considered safe, so long as he did not suspect her intention.
It was soon to be seen that her other jailer was of a very different kidney. He cursed vigorously at the discovery that Chantal was free of her bonds and rated Rab – the giant – for his folly in yielding to the girl’s pleas.
“Nor she didn’t ask me to,” growled Rab, the lowering expression of his brow promising trouble if he was baited further, “not being in no case to talk, the way you’d gagged her. Said he wanted her well treated, didn’t you? Why – she might well have choked to death.”
“And you an’ me might well choke to death, me lad,
if she gets away and raises the countryside,” retorted his fellow, illustrating his remarks with gruesome pantomime.
Rab winced, but put a bold face on it. “She’ll not do that, will ye, ma wee hen?” he said confidently.
Chantal smiled back at him. “I have given my word that I will be quiet and biddable,” she said soberly, “and I will keep it. It’s Perkis, isn’t it? Were you not long enough at the Court, Perkis, to learn that the Delaneys keep their promises? Though perhaps those who live there now are of a different breed.”
The man scowled angrily at her recognition. “Hoity-toity ways’ll do you no good here, milady. It’s my turn to call the tune, and if I says you’ll be tied up, tied up you’ll be.”
“And if I says she won’t, she won’t,” announced Rab pugnaciously. “She can come and break her fast with us. She’ll be needing to stretch her legs, with a long day ahead of us, and you’ll not tell me she can escape from two active men and both of them watching her every move.”
Perkis looked sour and resentful, but Rab was definitely a force to be reckoned with. If it came to fisticuffs he could pound the smaller man to a jelly, and Perkis knew it. He scowled, but he yielded.
Chantal was thankful enough to scramble out of the coach – unaided, because Rab was unused to such courtesies and Perkis would not so far demean himself. She looked about her curiously. The coach had been driven into the yard of a small deserted farmstead. It was plain that no one had lived here for years. In fact the roof was off, so Chantal could only be glad it was not raining. There was no furniture, and she wandered listlessly through the filthy mildewed rooms, peering through the grimy windows and finally seating herself on a low, deep window sill. The men went swiftly about their tasks. They had obviously been well drilled, for while Perkis saw to the horses and pumped water from the well, Rab lit a fire on the yawning hearth and brought in a hamper of provisions. For a man so large he was surprisingly neat and quick, and Chantal noticed with approval that after he had lit the fire he washed his hands before he handled the food. She wondered if it was his wife who had taught him to be so handy about the house. He hung a kettle on a hook over the fire and balanced a frying pan on the blazing logs. Cups and plates came out of the hamper and the hamper itself was used as a table. They had even remembered milk, thought Chantal in weary surprise, and recalled inconsequently the number of picnics when the milk, or some equally vital adjunct to the meal, had been forgotten.