The Gallows Bride

by Rebecca King

  The change in her demeanour was so swift, so drastic, that the men weren’t sure what had happened.

  Peter remembered Jemima’s warning that her friend was eccentric and somewhat withdrawn with men in particular. Only then did he realise why Jemima had made a point of mentioning Harriett’s oddities. The sudden change in her demeanour warned him that she wasn’t going to be amenable to anything they wanted, for no other reason than they were men.

  Shaking his head, he stood back and watched as Harriett turned and pushed open the door to her cottage. The loud wailing grew louder and was accompanied by loud thumps and bangs that made Edward tense in readiness.

  Peter placed his hand on his pistol and waited. He didn’t care if they had to shoot the damned cat; they weren’t going to remain outside in plain view for much longer. He mentally began to count to ten, his gaze locked on the doorway.

  He got to five and watched the door swing inward. A dishevelled Harriett appeared, reluctantly beckoning them to enter. Wicked looking scratches had bloodied the sleeves of her dress, which were now torn beyond redemption. Peter shared a look with Edward, who just shrugged and grinned, and followed everyone inside.

  “Before we go, I just have to take a look at that beast,” Edward whispered, smirking at the thought of Hugo wrestling it out of the door.

  Peter snorted. “You’re forgetting, my dear man, the beast has to go with us!” He was aware of Edward’s horrified stare as he moved into the house after the ladies.

  Harriett Ponsonby wasn’t what he was expecting, either. Peter was about to turn away when a movement outside the window caught his eye. He frowned and nodded to Edward who moved to stare out of the window at the new arrival before moving to the door to let him in.

  Within moments Hugo entered, shaking branches and leaves off his great coat as he stomped through the door, a dark scowl of foreboding on his face.

  “God, why are things never simple?” he grumbled, glaring at Edward as he passed.

  He was about to turn to Peter, when his spotted the third lady in the room.

  The very beautiful, dishevelled, but very intriguing, lady who must be Harriett Ponsonby.

  Surely this can’t be the witch, he thought, wondering if he had missed something in Jemima’s description of her friend. He had been expecting to escort an aged harridan out of her house, not the startling redhead staring openly back at him. This stunning goddess before him; this epitome of perfection, was a witch?

  “Hugo, I’d like to introduce my dear friend, Harriett Ponsonby,” Eliza said, nodding toward Harriett, who made no move to approach any of the men. “Harriett, this is Sir Hugo Dunnicliffe, the man who has arranged Scraggan’s downfall, and this is Peter Davenport, Lord Harlec, and Edward Cavendish, my fiancé.”

  “Good morning, Harriett, please excuse Eliza’s formality,” Peter said softly, making no attempt to approach her. Clearly she was uncomfortable with being presented with not only one male, but three in one go. Despite her unease, if they had any chance of getting her to leave with them, they all had to be at their charming best.

  In deference to Jemima, he tried his level best to ease her wariness. “Please call me Peter.”

  He pointed to Edward. “That’s Edward, and he’s Hugo. We don’t bother with formalities, so first names will do.” With that he moved to stand next to Jemima, openly placing her hand in his.

  He caught the look of gratitude Jemima threw him, and gave her a quick wink in return.

  “Good morning,” Harriett murmured, uncertain how to greet three strange men with aplomb while wearing a dress that had been shredded.

  She jumped and rolled her eyes at the loud thump on the door leading to the front of the house.

  As one, the men came to attention, all frowns and masculinity. Sensing their disquiet, Harriett looked at Jemima before turning back to the men.

  “Don’t worry, that’s Harrold,” she hastened to reassure them. She wasn’t fearful for Harrold’s safety, but for theirs. If any of them went to open the door, they would get far more than they bargained for.

  “He must be quite elderly now,” Jemima murmured, her brows arching as the door shook again.

  “He is, but it doesn’t slow him down,” Harriett replied. She missed Eliza’s muttered, “Pity” and the sharp elbow she got from her sister for her rudeness.

  Hugo went to the door and threw it open.

  “Wait!” Harriett shouted, spinning on her heel toward him, her face a mask of horror.

  Chaos ensued.

  An exceedingly large ball of fur launched itself through the door in a streak of hissing fury.

  Hugo briefly caught sight of feral yellow eyes glaring balefully at him through a cloud of black fur before the wretched beast latched onto his chest. His swore imaginatively as he jostled the animal, trying to unleash its claws from the tender flesh of his chest.

  “Get this damned thing off me now!” he demanded, wondering frantically just how many legs the cat hat. It felt like thirty. In fact he was sure it was more like forty. He could feel every claw piercing his flesh. The pain was searing, as he spun, twisted and swore his way around the kitchen.

  Harriett flapped around, gasping soothing nonsense at Harrold while trying to avoid being stood on.

  Edward, rendered practically useless by laughter, made no attempt to help prise the animal off, and watched as Harriett grasped the creature around the body and began to tug, to Hugo’s consternation, who was still swearing and ordering her not to pull the bloody thing because it was still attached to him!

  In the end, it was Peter who came to the rescue. Calmly easing Harriett to one side, he grasped the beast by the back of the neck and pulled it upwards.

  Realising he was losing his grip, Harrold began to squirm and protest against being held so rudely by the neck, his hisses and yowls so loud that Jemima was certain half of Padstow could hear him.

  “Where do you want him?” Peter asked Harriett, holding the scrapping beast aloft like a hunting trophy.

  Harriett motioned toward the door, glaring at Hugo as she stomped past. Outraged at being attacked by her cat, Hugo merely glared back and began to dab the dots of blood on his chest.

  “That damned thing should be shot,” he declared flatly, one lip curled in contempt as he glared at the cat hanging from Peter’s hand.

  “He is my ‘damned thing’, as you put it,” Harriett cried, “and if anyone is to blame, it is you.”

  “Me?” Hugo demanded, outraged. He had been the one who had been attacked by her damned thing. He should be angry. What was he thinking? He was angry.

  “You let him out!” Harriett scolded, wagging a finger at him.

  “There is no way that damned thing is coming with us,” he snarled, ignoring her to glare at each person in turn, daring them to object.

  “Go where with you?” Harriett asked, her anger swiftly replaced by alarm. She turned to look at Jemima, who was looking uncomfortable, then at Eliza, who was studying her feet with far too much interest.

  An awkward silence settled over the room until Jemima realised she had to be the one to broach the subject.

  “Harriett, we need you to come with us,” Jemima stated carefully, aware of the dark frown that settled over her friend’s face. “You are in grave danger at the moment.”

  “Why?” Harriett demanded, flicking each of the men a careful glance. Although she didn’t like men, or trust them, there was something about these three standing in her kitchen that made her feel safe and protected somehow. She wasn’t sure what to make of them, but trusted Jemima and Eliza to be intelligent enough to know who they could trust. Clearly they trusted the men now commanding most of the tiny space in her kitchen. Although Harriett wasn’t entirely comfortable with them being there, she couldn’t find any cause to demand they leave.

  Casting them a wary glance, she was about to put a pot of water onto the fire to boil, when Eliza touched her arm.

  “We don’t have time for that. It will be saf
er if you don’t leave your fire burning while you are not here,” she said, her eyes full of sympathy for her friend.

  Harriett’s hackles rose and she realised something was dreadfully wrong. Clearly both Jemima and Eliza were struggling to find a way to tell her.

  “Although it is wonderful to see you, do you mind my asking why you have come together?” Harriett asked, motioning for everyone to sit at the table.

  “Hugo works for the War Office, Harriett,” Eliza began once everyone was seated. Although it had been agreed she would do most of the talking, now she was there she wasn’t sure of the best way to broach the subject they needed to discuss.

  She threw Jemima a beseeching look and was relieved when Jemima immediately stepped in.

  “Scraggan set me up for murder, Harriett and thinks I was executed for it in Derby Gaol just over a week ago,” Jemima told her. It felt strange to talk about such an important day in her life with such detachment.

  Harriett gasped, her eyes immediately going to the pale, unmarked flesh of her friend’s throat before turning to the tall, protective man now holding her hand.

  “Scraggan?” Even saying the man’s name made her feel sick. She hated Scraggan and everyone associated with him, and not only because he was a man.

  “So how come you are still alive?” she asked, trying not to throw too many questions at them. “What happened? What did he do?”

  Jemima quickly described what had happened to them since they had left Padstow all those months ago, culminating in her rescue from the gallows.

  “How were you saved?” Harriett gasped, not sure whether she should be cheering her friend’s cleverness, or booing at Scraggan’s evil intent.

  “We knew she was being set up, and made plans to rescue her,” Hugo replied, shooting an apologetic glance at Jemima for interrupting. He quickly briefed Harriett on the events in Derby, Jemima’s survival and the hurried journey to Padstow in a quest to save her from Scraggan’s fury.

  “But why do I have to leave? I mean, I don’t think Scraggan suspects it is me. I have given him absolutely no cause to suspect it is me. None of his men have come anywhere close. This is my home; I can’t simply walk away.” Harriett’s voice was laden with distress at the thought of leaving the only thing in the world she held dear, besides the two ladies now seated opposite.

  “Because one or two of his men have said they’re suspicious that it is you.” Hugo ignored her startled gasp and continued explaining. “Although we have gone over the plans time and again, and have a backup plan if something should go wrong, we still have no idea how the next few hours will work out. Redcoats are converging on Padstow as we speak, and for the next day or so, it is going to be a very dangerous place to be. Not only are you isolated and alone, but if someone does decide to find somewhere to hide, we don’t want it being here with you. For your own safety, you need to come with us.”

  Although he had agreed to allow Eliza to do the explaining, he was aware that it was taking too long. If they didn’t hurry things along a little, they would all be stuck in the little cottage, and that was something Hugo wasn’t prepared to let happen, especially with that feral feline on the loose. They would all be sitting ducks. Briefly Hugo wondered if they should just send Harrold after Scraggan, then they would all be certain who would come out the winner, but decided it wouldn’t be fair on Scraggan to be at such a disadvantage.

  “So what do I do? Leave for a couple of days and then return when it is all over and done with?” Harriett frowned at Eliza who was staring at the man seated opposite - Edward - far too intently.

  “If you like,” Hugo replied noncommittally. “We cannot leave you behind. Besides, there is the important issue of Scraggan.”

  “What about him?”

  “Do you know him?” Hugo’s voice dropped a notch, and became hard and vaguely threatening.

  “Of course not. We hardly move in the same circles,” Harriett snorted. If she was honest, she didn’t move in any circles. The resident witch didn’t usually get too many invitations to parties and the like, but she wasn’t about to announce that fact to a room full of strangers.

  “You have been watching him, though.” His eyes met and held hers.

  Harriett felt a flicker of awareness deep in her stomach and shivered at the strange sensation that swept through her. Something, some innate sense of self-preservation warned her not to let this man too close. Although he wouldn’t physically harm her, he posed a threat to her way of life, and she felt it went way beyond the need to leave the village while Scraggan was captured.

  “I haven’t been watching him, but rather the activities of the ships and the gangs,” Harriett argued, throwing Jemima a careful look.

  “When we left here, Eliza and I each took two of the sheets of information you gave to Father. We have kept them safe while evading Scraggan and Rogan since the day we left. When Eliza felt it was safe, she gave her papers to Edward and I gave my papers to Hugo. With the help of the information you have so painstakingly gathered, they have put arrangements in place to arrest Scraggan, but need as much evidence as possible to ensure he is tried and given the death sentence.” Jemima hated even saying the word, or condemning anyone else to such a fate as the one she had faced, but since the man concerned was Scraggan, she felt she could at least try to make an exception.

  “Have you been keeping track of comings and goings since Jemima and Eliza left?” Hugo asked hesitantly. He didn’t want to offend her, but he was practically bristling with urgency not only to have the valuable information she had so meticulously gathered, but to get everyone out of the area.

  Harriett nodded, rose from the table and motioned everyone to follow her. She led them to a small room at the front of the house. Although lace curtains at the windows blocked her from view, she had a perfect view of the harbour at the bottom of the hill, and could even see the main thoroughfare that ran around the harbour. Several streets veered off in different directions, through shops, past the Revenues office, up toward the fishermen’s cottages. It was all laid out below her in clear view.

  Hugo studied the scene carefully and shook his head in wonder. He looked in admiration at Harriett and took the opportunity to study the room.

  It was clearly some sort of work room. Rows upon rows of jars, bottles and storage containers lined one wall, each neatly labelled in the same, small scrawling script that had so painstakingly detailed the smuggling activities, and each filled with something different.

  They all watched as Harriett moved to a small cupboard at the back of the room, nearly invisible because it was located in the darkest corner of the unlit room behind a large tree-like plant. She pulled out a large wooden box and placed it carefully on the table. Inside were copious hand written sheets that looked very similar to the papers Jemima and Eliza had carried that they could have been copied from them.

  “Oh, lord,” Peter whistled, staring at page after page of parchment, each clearly detailing shipments, people and times.

  “How do you know the contacts?” Edward asked, tilting the sheet of parchment he held to study the tiny script.

  Harriett stared blankly at him, momentarily lost for an answer. Clearly she had someone who was supplying her with information, but who?

  “Harriett?” Hugo persisted when she made no attempt to answer.

  “Does it matter? We have done nothing wrong. After all, these papers are what you need to bring Scraggan to justice. Take them. I have no use for them. I will be glad when I don’t need to make such detailed notes, and can get on with my life,” and her voice became almost defensive as she tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

  “You have done an excellent job as always, Harriett.” Sensing her friend’s disquiet, Jemima hastened to reassure her. “Can you thank your helper the next chance you get? They have done a commendable job.” She hoped her soft voice would mollify her friend, and shot a warning glance at Hugo.

  If they hoped to get out of here before the Redco
ats arrived, they couldn’t afford to antagonise her. Clearly she wasn’t prepared to identify who had provided such a valuable source, and that was that. They couldn’t force her. If her contact was a smuggler, then he would be rounded up with the others and would face his own justice. Though Jemima didn’t tell her friend that, she wondered if Harriett already knew. Clearly something was bothering her friend, and she wasn’t prepared to talk about it.

  “How do we get this out of here?” Edward sighed, studying the size of the box warily. “We certainly can’t carry it on foot, and we don’t have the time to sift through it to pick out the most important pieces. This is incredible,” and he waved a hand toward the table in general, still shocked at the sheer volume of information they had been given, and the painstaking hours it must have taken to write such notes.

  Hugo bit back an impatient curse and wearily rubbed a hand down his face.

  “There is nothing else for it,” Jemima replied, picking up a large sheaf of parchment and tucking it into the deep pocket of her cloak. “We each take some. That way, if we do get caught up in anything, not all of the information is compromised.”

  Peter felt a surge of pride at Jemima’s logic, and took his own share of the parchment. He stood back and watched as the remainder of the box’s contents was split between Harriett, Hugo, Eliza and Edward. It seemed that Miss Harriett Ponsonby had decided to go with them after all.

  “I want it known that as soon as the Redcoats leave, I am coming back,” she mumbled, her voice trailing off, lost in the heavy cloak she was dragging across her shoulders. “I am not going too far away either,” she added, tucking her own share of the papers into her pockets. “I need to water my plants before I go.”

  Hugo felt his patience snap. “You secure the cottage, I’ll water your damned plants!” He ignored her protests and stomped moodily toward the back door. He didn’t like the feelings that the witch was stirring in him and had the sudden urge to get her off his hands.