'Riding pell-mell at dead of night is becoming a habit with us, Paul. I have a list of possible places they might have put up for the night. Patrick will no doubt be incarcerated in a suitable outhouse which should make it easier for us to release him.'
The two massive carriage horses were cavorting and rearing and it took two grooms to hold the head of his whilst he mounted. No sooner had they released their grip than he was subjected to a series of massive bucks. There was no time to take note of what was happening to his companion – the man was an expert horseman and would do as well as he.
His teeth were jangling in his head by the time he mastered the horse, but he was still aboard and fortunately, so was his companion. 'Paul, I'll follow as you can use the route you arrived by.'
This time there was a full moon which made their headlong gallop less dangerous. Wisely the man in front avoided massive hedges and ditches when possible as neither animal would have much experience of jumping having spent their working life pulling a heavy carriage.
A distant church clock struck one when he saw they were approaching a small town. When both horses were walking he was able to speak to his companion.
'Is this the first of the places you think Patrick might be?'
'It is, your grace…' The young man was obviously no longer comfortable addressing him as Richard as he was now his employer.
'Cut rope, Paul. I cannot abide being addressed so formally by someone I now consider a friend. If you can't bring yourself to call me Richard any more, then I'll answer to major instead.'
'Thank you, major. I'm comfortable with that. Mr Culley supplied me with four possible venues and this is the first of them. We both decided it was unlikely they would attempt to take him anywhere he might be recognised as your man of business. Therefore, all the addresses I've been given are for smaller inns off the main route to Colchester.'
'If we check the stables that will tell us immediately if Patrick's hidden here.'
He dismounted in a small meadow behind the inn they were going to investigate. The horses were tethered to the fence and seemed content to remain there whilst they recovered. Fortunately, there were no other occupants as this might have caused a problem.
This time he was in front and he walked soft-footed towards the rear of the outbuildings. The snuffling of other horses could be heard but, so far, no vigilant canines had set up a racket. He found the back gate and it was unlocked.
It was unlikely that any small establishment would have five similar horses in their stalls at the one time. Also, military tack would be easily recognised. Their search was fruitless and they were mounted and were on their way to the next place in minutes. He was confident their visit would remain clandestine.
They repeated the process at two more places without success. The next, the furthest from Ipswich, was their last hope of finding Patrick and effecting a rescue. Paul raised his hand indicating they should halt.
He leaned across and whispered. 'There are five horses in the field behind this inn, major. I believe we've found him.'
'Then we must be vigilant. A good commander would mount a guard however unlikely he thought a rescue might be.'
'I'm unarmed. Do you have a weapon?'
'Two loaded pistols.' From the light of the moon it was easy to hand one over, as well as the powder and shot. Satisfied the young man was competent he loaded his own and dropped it into his coat pocket.
The horses had travelled fast but would be able to continue after a short rest. They were cool as the distance between the four establishments had been short.
'There's a trough by the gate, Paul, let them drink before we begin our search. In fact, I think it might be wise to catch one of the others and get a bridle on it so we can make a quick exit.'
Voices carried in the night and they continued to converse in whispers. They were lucky that the paddock with the horses was some distance from the buildings allowing them to do what was needed without being overheard.
'The largest horse will suit. He can ride bareback as easily as on a saddle, which makes things easier. There are halters hanging from the gate – one of those will do at a pinch.'
The gelding was happy to leave the others and they tethered him alongside their own mounts before going in search of their missing friend.
*
Sarah was up and dressed early as she was eager to see how the puppies were doing. Reports from the stables had so far been encouraging but she wished to see for herself this morning if they were going to survive their unfortunate start in life.
The house was pristine, the floors still damp from being recently scrubbed, and there was already a footman on duty to open the side door for her. The noise coming from the stable yard indicated that the grooms were taking care of the numerous horses that were owned by the family. There wasn't room for all of them to be inside but she was sure they enjoyed the freedom of a field in this clement weather.
Her arrival had been observed and the head groom was waiting to greet her. He touched his cap and bowed. 'Good morning, my lady. You come to see the little pups? You'll not recognise them from the bedraggled specimens brought in two days ago.'
'They have recovered well?'
'They have that, my lady. Full of vim and vigour – pretty little varmints now they're free of crawlers and dirt.'
He led her to an empty stall at the end of the row. She could hear the excited yapping and increased her pace. All three were standing on their hind legs, tails wagging furiously, waiting to greet her as if she was an old friend.
'I can't believe the difference. I shall go in and become acquainted. I do hope his grace allows us to keep them.' In the excitement of the wedding there had been no opportunity to ask him.
'It's fresh straw, just done, nothing nasty to tread on.'
'That's a relief – but it wouldn't stop me going in.'
'I'll find you a couple of sacks, Lady Sarah. You don't want to mire your gown.'
The puppies were going mad with excitement and with a sack spread on the straw and another on her lap she sat down allowing them to scramble onto her.
All three attempted to lick her face and rolled about in ecstasy as she stroked them. She picked up the bitch that she'd brought back. 'Look at you now. Your coat is the colour of chestnuts and as soft as silk. What a pretty little thing you are.'
She put this one aside and picked up one of the males. 'Well, young man, you're the biggest but certainly not the handsomest.' He was almost twice the weight of the female, had one cocked ear and one flat, his coat was rougher to the touch and a mix of chestnut and black.
The third puppy, also a male, was sitting politely waiting for his turn to be examined. She snapped her fingers and he threw himself into her embrace. He didn't attempt to lick her face but buried his head in her shoulder as if he belonged there.
He too had long silky fur but it was a non-descript mouse brown. In that moment she decided this one would be hers. Whatever Richard thought about the matter she was determined to have him inside with her once he was house-trained.
She leaned against the side of the stall cradling the sleeping animal. The other two curled up in her lap and were soon slumbering as well. Jonah, the head groom, was leaning on the edge of the door watching with interest.
'I reckon they'll not be going anywhere. You need to think of names for them, my lady.'
'This little boy is mine and I'm going to call him Mouse. Lady Beth shall have the female and can think of a name for her – and I'm hoping that the new duchess will lay claim to the third.'
'He ain't going to be no mouse, my lady, I reckon he'll be bigger than the other one if the size of his paws is anything to go by.'
She ran her hand over his soft fur and he stirred and whimpered slightly. 'I don't care how big they get. We've plenty of room and when the new house is built, we'll have even more.' Without waking any of them she slipped them gently onto the sacks and stood up. 'I'll bring Lady Beth down later. Thank you for taking
such good care of them.'
Her gown had pieces of straw sticking to the hem but this was soon removed with a brisk shake. The time was still too early for there to be breakfast available so she headed for the library and began to make notes of her plans for the garden party and dance to show to Paul when he next visited.
As expected, her sister was overjoyed to be given a puppy to take care of herself. Sarah thought that Dr Peterson would approve of her decision. It wasn't quite the same as becoming a devoted aunt but would do very well in the meantime.
Tomorrow morning she was determined to ride to the Dower House and discover why neither Mr O’Riley nor Paul had been to collect the post. That afternoon the factor arrived in search of them. When Sarah heard he was enquiring she went to speak to him.
'My lady, I had an appointment to see Mr Marchand this morning and was told neither he nor Mr O’Riley had been seen since yesterday. Do you have any notion where they might be?'
'I do not, I expected them here myself this morning. No doubt he will contact you on his return.'
Mama looked up from her periodical when she entered the drawing room. 'Is something amiss, my dear?'
'I'm not sure. Mr Marchand and Mr O’Riley didn't return to the Dower House last night. Do you think we should send word to Richard?'
Beth was sitting by the window with Miss Westley and her squeal attracted their attention. 'Come and look. Amanda's coming home again. I don't see Richard sitting with her.'
This information was sufficient to get their mother on her feet and the two of them hurried to the window to see for themselves.
'You're right, Beth, she's on her own and returning five days earlier than expected. Something catastrophic must have occurred for Richard to be absent so soon after their marriage.'
Mama was right – Sarah was certain it had something to do with the missing gentlemen.
Chapter Fourteen
Richard's initial fury at being disturbed on his wedding trip had long since dissipated and was now replaced by the exhilaration he always felt when in action. Rescuing Patrick was a mere bagatelle compared to some of the things he'd done in the past.
He indicated to Paul that he turn up the collar of his coat. It was unfortunate they hadn't been wearing mufflers as these would have been ideal to cover their faces. A flash of white flesh at night was often the death of an unwary soldier.
He crouched and, keeping his head lowered, crept forward alert to the slightest sound. His companion was equally proficient at night manoeuvres and if he didn't know he was behind him would have thought himself alone in the darkness.
Shooting a serving soldier would be a hanging offence even for a duke. The weapon should be enough to deter all but the most foolhardy. There was a slight noise ahead. He froze. There it was again.
He identified the sound as a boot scraping against the cobbles. No groom would be around at this time of night so it had to be a guard.
If he'd heard the noise then he was certain Paul would have done so too. He gestured that they split up. One of them would approach from the front and the other from the rear. His companion moved past him silently and Richard waited for a few minutes to allow him to get into position.
They must overwhelm the guard without him raising the alarm. He reversed his pistol so he was holding it by the barrel and could use the butt as a weapon to knock the man senseless.
They hadn't discussed exactly how this rescue was to be accomplished. Then he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the yard. For a moment he was horrified then recognised the muttering was coming from Paul.
He was masquerading as a groom come outside to relieve himself.
'What the buggeration do you want? Shove off. There's a privy round the back – use that.' This was the soldier speaking.
Richard was now inside the yard pressed hard against the wall where he couldn't be seen, awaiting his opportunity.
'I ain't going nowhere. This wall will do me just fine.'
There was the unmistakable sound of someone fumbling to unfasten their breeches. His mouth curved. This was a perfect diversion.
The soldier was now on his feet and moving towards Paul with the intention of physically removing him. This was his chance. In three steps he closed the distance and cracked the unsuspecting man on the back of the head. He collapsed without a sound.
'Patrick, we're here to fetch you. Which door are you behind?' Richard waited but there was no response. 'We'll have to unbolt every door and do it quickly. We don't know when they change the guard.' He opened the door in front of them but this was full of a miscellany of what looked like gardening implements. 'I'll go left, you go right. He has to be close to where that man was standing.'
His friend was obviously injured, or gagged and trussed up like a chicken, if he couldn't let them know where he was.
He pulled open the second door and at the far end of the narrow space a shape was slumped. 'Patrick, Patrick, can you move?'
There wasn't even a groan and a flicker of unease ran through him. They would hardly be guarding a corpse so he must be alive, but unless he'd been given a sleeping draught, he was severely concussed.
He dropped to his knees beside him, removed the stiletto he carried in a small sheath inside the top of his Hessian, and slashed the bonds that bound his friend. Patrick's breathing was shallow but steady – thank God.
'He's damned heavy. A dead weight – it's going to be difficult getting him out of here and all but impossible getting him onto a horse.'
Paul had removed the gag from Patrick's mouth. He turned the air blue. 'He has a serious head wound. My fingers are sticky with gore.'
They each put an arm of the unconscious man over their shoulders and heaved. By the time they'd negotiated the narrow doorway they were breathing heavily.
'There's a wheelbarrow, major, in the corner. Not dignified, but it'll do.'
After dumping the patient into the barrow, they dragged the unconscious soldier into the shed that had been Patrick's prison and tied and gagged him with the same ropes that had been used before.
Pushing Patrick was a damn sight easier than carrying him. They'd never have made it to the horses without this rickety vehicle.
'We'll have to tie him across his horse until we can get him away from here. If they discover he's missing the others will easily overtake us as we'll have to travel slowly.'
'I'll turn their mounts loose, sir, with luck the horses will follow us and that will slow them down sufficiently to allow us to escape.'
Every extra minute it took to secure Patrick and release the horses they were in grave danger of being apprehended. However, he was calm – well used to dealing with danger. He was impressed that Paul was equally composed.
As soon as they were a few miles away he drew rein and swivelled in the saddle to check that Patrick was alive. Having his head hanging one side of a horse and his legs the other was hardly conducive to good health.
'If we take him to Radley he'll be discovered as that's the first place they'll look. I hope the bastard who hit him so hard was the one that I knocked out. I noticed a broken gate back there. I think we should construct some sort of carrier which we can attach to one of our mounts as they're used to pulling a carriage and won't object.'
They carefully lowered Patrick to the ground before removing the gate from its hinges. It was made from poles cut from nearby trees and was light enough for his purpose. The farmer had attempted to keep it together with rope and string which, when unravelled, was ideal for their purpose.
It took them half an hour but he was satisfied his friend would be safer and more comfortable lying prone and being towed along rather than hanging head first from a horse.
They tied him securely to the travois using their three stocks and the remainder of the rope. He thought he was the more proficient horseman so would be the one to ride bareback. They'd used the saddle of his horse to tie the ropes to.
Paul volunteered to lead the animal behind
which Patrick was lying. They travelled slowly but their makeshift transport was working as he'd hoped. After some thought and discussion with his companion he decided Patrick would come home with him after all. They would put him in the servants' quarters and swear the staff to silence.
Just before dawn they turned into the tradesmen's lane that led to Radley. He cantered ahead and roused the butler. By the time Paul appeared there was a trestle, with half a dozen sturdy men to carry it, waiting for Patrick.
*
'I'm capable of temporarily dealing with his head wound,' the major said. 'I've sent someone to fetch Peterson from Ipswich. We can rely on his discretion.'
By the time Patrick was transferred to a bed that was barely long enough for him Paul was seriously concerned about his friend's lack of response. He remained in the room, from which an unfortunate senior footman had been evicted, and assisted the major with removing clothes and bathing the wound.
'That's going to need several sutures, sir, I don't suppose you're proficient with those as well?'
'I've done it from necessity but I don't think Patrick would thank me for doing it now. The pad I've applied to the wound is securely tied to his head and should prevent further bleeding.'
'I'll try and spoon some of this watered wine into his mouth.' Paul managed to get some down him and stepped away satisfied they'd done as much as they could.
The major had decided the fewer people who knew that Patrick was in the attic, being tended to by a reliable man, the better.
'I'm for my bed, Paul. Stay here – there's no need to ride back to the Dower House.'
Several hours later Paul was woken by the sound of water being poured into a basin in the dressing room. He sat up, yawned, stretched and threw back the covers. He'd slept unclothed and had nothing clean to put on as all his belongings were elsewhere. He didn't relish putting on the soiled garments of yesterday.
'Good morning, sir, I have everything ready for you. His grace provided the necessities. Do you wish me to shave you or will you do it yourself?' The speaker was a man of about his own age and he thought he might be the footman who had lost his bed to Patrick.
The Duke's Decision (The Reluctant Duke Book 2) Page 13