Petticoat Rebellion

by Joan Smith

  “Just a bed,” Penfel said, as he didn’t want servants going to see he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

  He picked up the key, the proprietor directed him

  down the corridor, and he went toward the linen

  closet. In the corner, he saw a staircase leading up to the bedchambers. Without even opening the door of the linen closet, he darted up the stairs and began

  listening at the bedroom doors, opening them if they

  weren’t locked. All the unlocked rooms were empty.

  The men in the rooms didn’t want anyone taking them by surprise. Between listening at keyholes and listening through the walls of the empty rooms, he was soon convinced O’Leary was not in any of the regular bedrooms. The obliging proprietor had arranged some more private accommodation for O’Leary and Lady Susan. If it was as well concealed as his own room, he would have a difficult time finding it.

  He was beginning to think Farber must make an

  official entry. The “honest businessman’s” livelihood

  depended on defending his “guests.” He wouldn’t

  hand O’Leary over peacefully. There would be a

  huge brawl, gunshots, wounds, possibly even a

  death. The whole affair would be a local scandal by

  morning, and whispered about in London when the

  trial began.

  And he would have to marry Lady Susan. No, there had to be another way. But as he stood, racking his brains, he couldn’t imagine what other way was open to him. And there wasn’t a minute to spare. Lady Susan’s honor might even now be in terrible jeopardy.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I don’t believe O’Leary has her abovestairs,” Penfel reported to Farber and Abbie when he slipped out the cellar door and met them again outside the Duck and Dragon. “How could he have taken her in if she was protesting? She would have been hollering ‘The Duke of Wycliffe’ at the top of her lungs. I doubt the proprietor would stand still for that. It’s not as if O’Leary is one of his regulars.”

  “Perhaps she was drugged. He might have let on she was ill,” Abbie suggested.

  “The inn has some hidden rooms.” Penfel described his own hidey-hole to them, which was arranged just as the innkeeper had said.

  Farber nodded. “I’d best go in and make it official. We’ve no time to waste.”

  Penfel’s jaws locked in grim resignation. He could only look his desolation at Abbie, whose eyes mirrored the emotion. She read in his look that his feelings for her were not a passing fancy, not a flirtation, but the beginning at least of true love. Unspoken between them was the knowledge of how this would affect their romance. Abbie hardly knew whether she was more sorry for Penfel, having to spend the rest of his life amid the Wycliffes, or for herself, never seeing him again.

  She opened her lips twice, but no words came out. She cleared her throat and said in a strained voice, “O’Leary must be in a room similar to the one you have, Penfel, if only we could find it.”

  “How do we do that, other than asking the innkeeper where O’Leary is?” Farber asked. “That will make him demmed suspicious.”

  Penfel’s brow furrowed in thought, then he looked up with a beam of hope flashing in his eyes. “Not necessarily. Why could I not claim to be a friend of O’Leary’s? Birds of a feather, you know. I’ll mention hearing O’Leary’s Circus is playing hereabouts, and inquire about my old chum, O’Leary. It can’t do any harm to try. I’ve given the notion I’m fagged and want only my bed, but that is no matter. I’ll say I can’t sleep.”

  “Ask for a game of cards!” Abbie exclaimed. “I shouldn’t be surprised if they know O’Leary is a Captain Sharp.”

  “A good idea! I’ll go at once. Stand by, Farber, and keep an eye on Johnnie and Singleton to see they don’t do something foolish.”

  Penfel hastened back to the cellar door, which he had propped open to allow himself to reenter his hidey-hole. While Farber and Abbie stood, waiting on nettles, Lord John came creeping silently around the side of the building, wearing a broad grin.

  “I believe I’ve found them!” he whispered.

  “Where?” Abbie and Farber demanded in unison.

  “There’s a wee shack in the woods. I noticed a servant from the inn taking a bottle of wine into the woods, and followed him. He didn’t see me. I haven’t investigated yet. I thought I’d best tell Penfel. Where is he?”

  “He’s inside,” Farber said. “We’ll let him do what he’s doing, in case your wee shack is a red herring. Let us go and have a look at it.”

  Abbie said, “No!” in a firm voice. “We shouldn’t all leave. Someone must stay here in case Penfel needs help. You stay, Farber. Lord John and I will investigate and let you know what we learn.”

  Farber considered her command and said, “Happen you’re right. But don’t try to apprehend O’Leary. Come back and let me know if he’s there.”

  “Right,” Lord John said, and he and Abbie ran off, with Lord John brandishing the pistol.

  It was not a look they had so much as a listen. Lord John led the way along a path into the woods, that were black as pitch. The only sounds were the menacing whisper of leaves overhead and the occasional rustle in the grass as a night creature went about its job of seeking food. After a few hundred yards, they came to a small cottage of weathered clapboard. Were it not for a sliver of light around the drawn curtains, it would have been invisible in the darkness of the surrounding forest. Its size suggested it was only one room. They went on tiptoe, making a circuit of the little house, trying for an open curtain to determine who was within.

  All the curtains were drawn tightly, but the window at the back was open an inch for ventilation. An echo of voices came from within.

  “You will certainly hang if you touch a hair of my head,” Lady Susan said, in her usual complacent accents. Abbie was never so glad to hear it in her life. She and John exchanged a triumphant smile, then applied their ears to the raised window to try to gauge the situation within. It did not seem Lady Susan was in any immediate danger.

  O’Leary’s voice was bored. “I wouldn’t touch you with a pair of tongs, miss. You are about as appealing as a dead spinster.”

  “That’s not what you said yesterday!”

  “You ain’t the sort that improves on acquaintance.”

  “The chief magistrate is my uncle. I have two cousins who are Supreme Court judges. Every Runner and constable in the country will be out looking for us. You will hang from the gibbet for this night’s work, O’Leary. And incidentally, a duke’s daughter is called ‘lady,’ not ‘miss.’ ”

  “Shut up, you shrew.”

  “Furthermore, my papa is not at Wycliffe or his smaller estate, Elmgrove. He has gone to Dugal Castle, his estate in Scotland, on business. It will be weeks before you could get your ten thousand pounds, even if he ever agreed to give you a penny, which he would not. He is against encouraging crime. If he paid you, not a lady in the land would be safe from such cunning rogues as yourself.”

  “He ought to pay me for taking you.”

  “You shan’t get a sou. I would like some cocoa, if you please.”

  “Drink your wine.”

  “It is horrid, sour stuff. Tastes like vinegar. Papa, the duke, would not allow such an inferior vintage in his cellar. I want cocoa—now.”

  “Shut up, you demmed clapperjaw.”

  There was a very brief silence, then Lady Susan spoke again.

  “I want something to read. Get me the journal.”

  Abbie deduced that Lady Susan was not tied up, or she could not drink or manage to read a journal. O’Leary must be holding a gun on her. This could make her rescue even more difficult and dangerous.

  In spite of O’Leary’s heinous character, Abbie began to feel a smidgen of pity for him.

  He apparently handed Susan a journal, for she said in a scoffing tone, “Not that one. It is weeks old.”

  O’Leary swore off a string of curses. “I’ll have to tie you
up if I leave.”

  “If you knew what you were about, you would have brought some laudanum.”

  “That wasn’t necessary, was it, Miss High and Mighty? I don’t envy your husband, whoever he turns out to be.”

  “I don’t envy you, when you are caught. Papa—”

  Abbie assumed O’Leary had lost patience and gagged her. There was a short silence, then the front door slammed. He must have tied her up as well, or he would not leave her alone.

  “He’s leaving!” Lord John whispered.

  They darted around to the front of the little building just as O’Leary headed down the path, muttering to himself.

  “He’s going to the inn!” Abbie whispered. “He’ll see Penfel! And he has a gun! Go and warn Farber, John.”

  “You’ll rescue Susan?”

  “Yes, of course. Hurry!”

  Lord John scampered off after O’Leary, and Abbie tried the front door. It was not locked. She peered in to make sure O’Leary didn’t have an accomplice before entering. When she saw the situation was safe, she walked into a little cottage that lacked only a fire in the hearth to make it cozy. It had a stove, a cupboard, a table holding a bottle of wine and two glasses, with chairs and a horsehair sofa in the corner. Lady Susan was tied to a straight-backed wooden chair at the table. She had been gagged with O’Leary’s cravat. Her eyes were not rolling in distress, nor was there a sign of a tear. Abbie rushed forward and untied her, then Lady Susan ungagged herself.

  “It took you long enough!” was her first speech.

  Abbie grabbed her hand and hurried her from the cottage.

  “There is no rush now,” Lady Susan said. “I expect the law is waiting to take O’Leary into custody.”

  “Yes. Susan, are you all right? He didn’t—”

  She stopped and regarded Abbie with a curious frown. “No, he didn’t touch me—in that way, I mean. He didn’t try to kiss me, or maul me, though he had me alone, at his mercy. Why do you think that is, Miss Fairchild?” She sounded almost offended. “I sensed he is a passionate man.”

  “Oh, his mind was only on business.”

  “Yes, of course that’s it,” she said, but she still wore her frown.

  Abbie threw a blanket over her shoulders, more to be rid of it than anything else, for Susan’s clothing was not much disheveled, and they continued on their way. Lady Susan displayed neither gratitude nor curiosity as to how she had been found and rescued. When they reached the back of the inn, they saw Singleton standing over an inert body on the ground. He removed his spectacles from his pocket and placed them on his nose.

  “Recognized him,” he said, tossing his head at O’Leary. “Milled him down.”

  Lady Susan just looked at O’Leary, sniffed, lifted her nose in the air, and walked away. She didn’t thank Singleton, or even look at him.

  “Well done, Singleton! I’ll get Farber,” Abbie said, and hastened to the front of the inn. where Farber was pacing and staring at the tavern window. She gasped out the story of Susan’s rescue. “Penfel hasn’t come out?” she asked.

  “Nay, do you think we ought to fetch him?”

  “Singleton will do it,” she said, as he was obviously a stranger to fear.

  They went around to the back of the inn. O’Leary was put into manacles and stood silent, with a sneering smile on his face, but a desperate gleam in his eyes. He looked at Lady Susan, then turned to Abbie and smiled.

  “I think I chose the wrong lady,” he said.

  “Miss Fairchild has no money!” Susan said. That curious frown was back on her haughty face.

  “There’s more to life than money and titles, milady.”

  “Idiot!” she scoffed, then she turned to study Miss Fairchild, wondering what O’Leary meant.

  Abbie outlined what Penfel was doing inside the inn.

  Without being asked, Singleton said, “I’ll fetch him.” He walked off and returned a moment later with Lord Penfel, both of them unharmed.

  Apparently, Singleton had not found words to make the situation clear. “You mean it’s all over?” Penfel asked, staring from Lady Susan to O’Leary to Abbie.

  “It is, and not a shot fired,” Farber said with satisfaction.

  Penfel took an involuntary step toward Abbie, then recalled his duty and made the necessary inquiries for Susan’s well-being first. She was not the sort to minimize her suffering. O’Leary listened, shaking his head in disbelief, while she outlined the trials of her capture and incarceration.

  “I should have brought a muzzle” was his only comment.

  “Most unfortunate,” Penfel said to Lady Susan, placing a protective arm around her unyielding shoulder. “I’m extremely sorry this happened while you were under my protection. I shall endeavor to make it up to you, Susan.”

  Lady Susan nodded her forgiveness.

  This done, Penfel joined Abbie. “It seems Singleton is the hero of the piece. I had hoped I might play the role, to impress you.” His hands clasped hers in a strong, warm grip. He was encouraged by the directness of her gaze back at him. All her uncertainty had evaporated. She smiled with the full warmth and love she felt for him.

  “Heroes are only for a day,” she said, thinking of her uncle, whose one heroic effort grew so dull when it had to last him a lifetime.

  “How did you get so wise?”

  “From living with a hero,” she said.

  “A mischievous statement!” he exclaimed, but his expression held more pleasure than jealousy. “I trust this is the colonel you are referring to. You must tell me all about him. It occurs to me we don’t know much about each other.”

  They became aware that Farber was jiggling from foot to foot in impatience. He called, “Let us get off from this place before the lads inside realize what has happened and come after us.”

  It was decided that Penfel and Farber would deliver O’Leary to the roundhouse in the curricle, to await his hearing in the morning. Lord John and Singleton would take the ladies back to Penfel Hall.

  Lady Susan had a great deal to say about how abominably O’Leary had treated her—lying to her, rough handling, jiggly ride in a gig, smelly old blanket, bad wine, being tied, gagged, and held at gunpoint—but not a word about how she had fallen into his hands.

  “How did he get hold of you?” Lord John asked, when she stopped to draw a breath.

  After a little hesitation, she began uncertainly. “It was at—at the refreshment booth,” she said. “I mentioned how sour the lemonade was. O’Leary overheard me and said he had some better refreshment in his wagon. Champagne, actually.” Her nervousness lessened as she continued her tale. “Naturally, I refused to enter his wagon, but I agreed to accept a glass if he brought it out to me. He hadn’t the wits to put some laudanum in it—imagine! However, while I was drinking it, he pulled my arms behind my back and dragged me inside. He tied me up and left me there while he went to bring his gig to the back door. He dumped me in the bottom of it with a dirty old blanket over my head, and drove off.”

  “Did no one see you?” Abbie asked. “O’Leary’s wagon is in plain view of the circus.”

  “He chose a moment when no one was looking.”

  “Could you not have called for help? Someone would have heard you and gone to your rescue.”

  “It—it was all done very quickly. Papa will be furious when he hears.”

  The story had to be told again in full, several times, when they reached Penfel Hall. Kate and Annabelle hung on her every word, oohing and ahing as she described being dumped in the wagon with a filthy blanket over her. “And a gag in my mouth,” she added, looking around nervously. No one questioned her tale, however.

  “How horrid!” Annabelle exclaimed.

  “I wish it had been me,” Kate said. “It sounds wonderfully exciting, just like a novel.”

  “At least there is one good thing,” Lady Susan said. “I shan’t have to return to Miss Slatkin’s boring old school now that I am engaged. I shall just stay here until Penfel and I ge
t married. I daresay Papa will have to sanction the match. He won’t like that Lady Eleanor business.”

  Everyone stared at her. It was Lady Penfel who said what they were all thinking. “Has Algie proposed?”

  “Of course. And, in any case, it is taken for granted when a lady has been so dreadfully abused at the hands of her protector, he must marry her. I trust Penfel will do his duty. Indeed, he has already said he will make it up to me.”

  Kate looked a question at Abbie, who sat, stunned. She knew Penfel had exerted every effort to avoid having to offer for her, but if Lady Susan insisted, it would be difficult to get out of the match.

  “How nice,” Lady Penfel said in a weak voice, but her fallen face said “Catastrophe!” as clearly as if she had shouted the word.

  Singleton muttered something that sounded like “Rubbish” into his collar.

  Abbie became aware that all eyes were on her. How did they know she and Penfel cared for each other? She cleared her throat and said, “We have not wished you well on your engagement, Lady Susan. I hope you will be very happy.”

  “Penfel must write to Papa tomorrow and ask his permission. Under the circumstances, there can be no question of his refusing. The dancing party Penfel plans can be our engagement party.”

  Having decided these details unilaterally, she said, “We shall be leaving for Wycliffe as soon as Papa returns, Lady Penfel. You are perfectly welcome to come with us, if you are free.”

  “Very kind of you.” Lady Penfel stared hard at Abbie and said, “We shall see, Susan. We shall see.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lady Susan soon retired to her chamber with a paregoric draft to recover from her ordeal. Kate and Annabelle, hoping to hear more details of her kidnapping (and more importantly, her approaching marriage) before the draft took effect, accompanied her abovestairs. During the intervening hour until Penfel returned, those remaining in the saloon had plenty to keep the conversation lively, yet the hour seemed very long.

  “Go to Wycliffe, indeed!” Lady Penfel snorted. “I would as lief go to court and watch old Queen Charlotte stuff snuff up her nose. Both places are mausoleums.”