He walked quietly down the steps on the far end of the balcony and strode into the Lanscombe garden toward the back gate. He didn’t have a gun, curse it, and perhaps this wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done in his life, but on the other hand, there was a chance this was news about the man who wanted to kill his father. There was no choice really. Besides, who would want to hurt him? No, it was his father they were after. The lights from the ballroom dimmed until he was in blackness and saw only the outline of the narrow gate some fifteen feet in front of him. He wasn’t stupid. He looked all around him for possible danger, listened, but it was quiet. The man he was supposed to meet was waiting for him by the back gate.
What sort of information did the man have? James hoped he had enough money on him to meet his price.
He heard the rustling of leaves just off to his right. He whirled around but saw nothing, no movement, no light, nothing at all. Surely there would be no lovers this far away from the mansion. He waited, listening. Nothing. He was alert; he was ready.
It was at least ten feet to that narrow gate with ivy climbing up it, cascading wildly over the top, rather like that silver cascade over Titan. The eight-foot-high stone walls of the Lanscombe garden were also covered with ivy, miles of the stuff, thick, impenetrable. His steps slowed. He scented danger; he actually smelled it.
Suddenly a man came out of the shadows to stand at the end of the path, right in front of the gate. In a deep rolling voice, the man said, “Lord Hammersmith?”
“Aye, I’m Hammersmith.”
“I have information to sell ye, me lord, all about yer pa.”
“What do you have?”
The man pulled a sheaf of papers from his old black jacket. “I want five pounds fer the lot of it.”
He had five pounds, thank God.
“Before I give you anything, tell me what you have.”
“It’s names, me lord, names and places the gentleman what gave me the papers said yer pa would want to see. Some letters too.”
Five pounds. Even if it was worthless, it was worth the five pounds, to be sure.
James was reaching into his pocket for money when the man dropped the papers, jerked up a gun, and said, “Ye don’t move now, me fine lord. Ye just stand there nice and straight and don’t ye even wink an eyelash.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Life is simply one damned thing after another.
ASCRIBED TO ELBERT HUBBARD
JAMES WAS ALREADY in motion. His leg shot out, clipped the gun, and sent it flying into the ivy against the garden wall. The man yelped, grabbed his hand. James was nearly on him when a thick blanket came flying down over his head and he heard the voices of two men, one of them whispering, “No, don’t yell, ye fool. We’ll jest bundle him all up like this so’s he can’t kick out and break our necks.”
“I want to kick ’is balls off, Augie, kickin’ Billy like that, nearly broke ’is wrist the bastid did.”
James was jerking at the blanket, trying to find a corner, when a gun barrel nicked him on the shoulder, then another one hit him hard on the head. He was cursing loud enough to bring the watch when the pain bowed him to his knees. Another blow on the head. He fell, swaddled in the thick wool, and knew no more.
Corrie’s scream never came out of her throat. There was nothing she could do except yell and jump on them and likely get herself banged on the head with a gun, and what good would that do James? She looked on, horrified and enraged, and stuffed her fist in her mouth.
She watched them gather him up, then one of the men, much larger than the others, heaved James, still wrapped in the blanket, over his shoulder.
“Not a feather, this one. Let’s git our braw lad out o’ this place, quick.”
Her heart was pounding loud enough for the Lord to hear, but she followed, her slippers light on the cobblestones as she ran toward the back garden gate. She watched them push the gate open, saw a carriage in the alley, two bays harnessed to it, standing quietly, heads down, at rest. One of the men climbed onto the bench and picked up the reins. It was Billy. He leaned back. “Git moving, Ben, ye want to tie our gent up good. He’s a strong ’un, kicked me wrist so sharp it sent pins through me fingers. I ain’t niver seen a man move like that. We’ll keep an eye on ’im.”
She watched them toss James onto the carriage floor, then jump up after him.
A man leaned out the window, hissed, “Go, Billy, scrabble ’em, now! We’ve gots a ways to go.”
Corrie watched Billy click to the horses and wave the reins. The carriage slowly moved toward the entrance of the alley, behind the mansion, onto Clappert Street.
She didn’t think, didn’t weigh consequences. She simply ran after the carriage and leapt lightly up onto the back runner, grabbed the straps and pulled herself close to the carriage. It was the tiger’s perch, and she knew it well. When she’d been younger she’d loved to ride in the tiger’s perch behind James or Jason, singing at the top of her lungs, feeling the wind tearing at her old leather hat and braid, tearing her eyes.
The only difference between now and then was that she was wearing a beautiful white silk ball gown, lovely white slippers on her feet, and no old leather hat. Nor did she have a wrap.
It didn’t matter. Three bad men had kidnapped James. Where were they going to take him?
She had to keep down, keep quiet, not fall off, and not let the men see her. Well, she’d certainly hidden from James and Jason enough times, following them, even plastering mud on her face so they wouldn’t see her in the bushes, and they’d never known she was there, watching them wrestle, throw knives at targets, practice cursing. But this was different, she’d agree with that. What would she do when they stopped, well, something would come to her, it had to.
Why had they taken James? To get to his father, of course. The note that waiter had pressed into James’s hand, all a ruse. He shouldn’t have come out into the Lanscombe garden alone, the idiot.
Thank God she’d seen everything. She drew in a deep breath as the horses lengthened into a trot. The streets were nearly empty. Thank God for the half moon. She would figure out something. She had to save James. It was that simple.
She had no idea which direction they were going because they’d gotten nowhere near the Thames. Suddenly she saw a sign to Chelmsford. Ah, they were going east. Wasn’t Cambridge in this same direction?
Corrie didn’t know how much time passed. Her arms ached, her fingers were numb.
Whining never helped unless you did it to another person, so she gave it up and hummed to herself. She held on to those straps, that was all she had to do.
She remembered when James had picked her up and tossed her into a pond near the back of her uncle’s property. Unfortunately, her breeches, stolen from the charity clothes in the sexton’s closet at the vicarage, got snagged on a tangle of reeds underwater and she’d nearly drowned. She would remember until she croaked how white his face had been when he’d realized what had happened and pulled her out. He’d nearly crushed her ribs he’d pressed down so hard to get the water out of her lungs. And he’d held the eight-year-old Corrie, rocking her back and forth, begging her to forgive him, until she’d vomited up the nasty pond water all over him.
Corrie didn’t remember if she’d forgiven him or not, the miserable sot. Of course, the next week, he’d tied her to a tree when he wanted to take Melissa Banbridge for a walk in the woods and he’d seen her following them.
She’d gotten the rope untied, but couldn’t find them. She’d slipped a half dozen frogs into his boots standing downstairs to be cleaned by the boot boy. Unfortunately, she’d heard one of the footmen say that for some reason they’d found a wagon load of frogs flying around in the mudroom and how had that come about?
Hang on, hang on, don’t think about anything but hanging on.
The temperature dropped as the night deepened. How late was it? She had no idea.
They skirted Chelmsford. She saw signs for Clacton-on-Sea, and the carriage turned sh
arply to the right. They were going toward the English Channel.
She heard occasional voices from inside the carriage, but she couldn’t make out any words. Had they unwrapped James? What if they’d killed him with those blows on the head? No, that was crazy thinking.
Was he conscious? Was one of the voices she’d heard his? He was all right. He had to be all right. He was fine; he’d have a headache, but he’d be fine. She had no idea what she’d do if he weren’t fine. She’d take care of him, that’s what she’d do, and then she’d kill him herself for being such a fool to go out into that garden alone.
The carriage suddenly pulled off the gutted lane onto one even smaller, so narrow that a branch hit her arm, nearly jerking her to the ground.
She pressed herself closer and prayed. She heard a noise and nearly expired on the spot. It was her own teeth chattering. Good God, was she going to freeze to death before this bloody carriage got to where it was going?
Finally, the carriage slowed. She saw a small weathered cottage at the end of a lane. The horses were now walking, then Billy pulled up.
He shouted back down, “This is the place, gots to be. Not too bad atal, nice and comfy, all ’idden away. Get ’is bleedin’ lordship all ready, don’t want no trouble from the lad! Oh aye, an’ watch ’is bloody feet!”
Augie stuck his head out the window. “We’ve got ’m all tied up, the boyo ain’t going nowheres, Billy.”
“Good. If we croaks our fancy cove, we don’t get no groats.”
They’d taken James so they could blackmail his father into an exchange. Augie and Ben were talking, grumbling, and she realized they would see her for her gown was stark white and would shine like a beacon beneath that half moon.
Thank God Billy climbed down and kept to the front of the carriage. When he opened the carriage door, she slipped around to the other side and tucked herself against the back wheel. Her legs nearly buckled, and she was clutching at the wheel to keep herself upright. She was numb, frozen, more frightened than she’d ever been in her life, and she was going to save James.
“The lad weighs as much as me mither, only she weren’t tall like this fellow, jest a little fat pigeon wot liked to smack me noggin.”
“Shut up, Billy. Okay, bring ’im into the cottage. Funny thing how the lad jest fell unconscious again. Take care, this boy’s a wily ’un. I wants to ’ave me a boy like this ’un some day.”
“That’d mean gettin’ yer pecker up an’ stiff,” Augie said. “When’s the last time that ’appened?”
Ben said, “It ’appened when ’is landlady beat ’im with a shoe, made him all lusty.”
The men laughed and grunted as they carried James, evidently still unconscious, into the cottage. Corrie remained hugging the wheel, watching. They would have to do something with the horses. She waited until they all went into the cottage, then stumbled on numb feet into the trees and began to work her way around to the side of the cottage. At least moving made her thaw a bit and got the feeling back into her feet.
She crouched down outside the filthy window and looked in. It was just one room, with a narrow cot along the back wall. There was a battered table and four chairs and a very dilapidated area where it appeared they cooked. The fireplace was off to her right.
She watched them dump James on the narrow cot, then pull the blanket away from him. She nearly fell over she was so angry. Blood had snaked down the side of his face.
Billy slapped his face a couple of times, then stood straight, looking down at him. “Still under the willow, our lad. Augie, ye said ’e came back to ’is wits in the carriage?”
“Aye,” Augie said. “Then when I tapped ’im a couple of times, jest to get ’is attention, our lad ’as the nerve to collapse again. ’E’ll come around in a bit. I’m ready to gnaw off me elbow, Ben. Ye fix us somethin’.”
Settling in, she thought, they were settling in. For how long? Closer to the sea, it was colder, but at least she was out of the wind. Suddenly it was dark. She looked up to see black clouds covering the half moon.
It was Augie who came out in a couple of minutes and led the horses to a small shed on the other side of the cottage.
She watched James, then watched Billy carry logs to the fireplace.
What to do?
She continued to watch James, and finally, she saw his hand move. She felt such relief she nearly shouted. She had the feeling he was looking at the men, his eyes barely slit open. He was thinking, trying to figure out what to do.
It was so cold now she was ready to tear a strip off her gown and go into the warm cottage waving a white flag.
She gritted her teeth, waited. The three men were speaking low, of nothing at all, really. She saw Augie rise and go check on James. “Still out, our boy is. I don’t like this. We’re to give ’im off to the bloke wot’s paying us our groats and give ’im off alive.”
“Ye think this bloke’ll slit ’is throat, or ransom ’im?”
Augie shrugged. “Don’t know. Ain’t none o’ our business. Mighty ’andsome young man, ’e is though, ’tis a pity whatever ’appens to ’im.”
She watched Augie check the ropes that bound James’s wrists and ankles. At least they’d tied his hands in front of him. Augie walked back to the fireplace where the two men were stretching out on the floor. “Aye, I knows I gots the first watch. Billy, I’ll roust ye in two ’ours.”
And Augie sat in a chair, looking at the fireplace. He looked all toasty warm, the bastard.
It was time. She had to do something. She smiled. As she skirted the back of the cottage, she saw now that the cottage was only about thirty yards from a cliff that gave onto a narrow dark beach. She ran to the shed and crept in. It was small and ramshackle. There were some old blankets piled in one corner, some farm implements, and piles of moldy hay. One of the bays lifted his head, but he didn’t whinny, just snorted, thank God. She patted his great head, and he blew into her hand. “You’ll suit me, my beauty, and your brother there will do nicely for James,” she said against his warm mane. She saw that Augie had given them each a bucket of oats and water. Good. Now, all she had to do was get James out of that miserable cabin. She sorted through the rusted tools, stopped, and smiled.
James watched Augie walk back to sit in his chair. Soon Billy and Ben would be asleep. But how to get to Augie without waking the others? Could he take all three men?
He wasn’t sure. His head ached, but other than that he felt all right. He knew he had to get his feet free, then he’d have a chance. But Augie would notice if he sat up and began working the knot around his ankles. He settled for loosening the knots around his wrists. Thank God they believed he was still unconscious, otherwise they would have tied his hands behind him, likely tied him to the bed as well. It was then he caught a flash of movement. He looked at the dirty window behind Augie’s back. He saw something white waving back and forth, like a truce flag.
He blinked and refocused. Yes, it was still there. Augie’s head was slowly falling forward on his chest.
James saw a face.
Corrie.
He stared at her as he slowly raised his hand so she could see that he had his wits together. He wiggled his fingers.
He saw that grin of hers, white teeth shining through the dirty windowpane across the room.
Then she was gone. She was going to do something, and whatever she was planning, he had to be ready.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
One good head is better than a hundred strong hands.
THOMAS FULLER
HIS EARS WERE on alert. He heard something on the roof, a light scurrying sound, or perhaps it was a branch of a tree swishing against the wood.
No, that was no tree nor animal up there. It had to be Corrie, light on her feet, but what was she doing? His brain seized up at thoughts of how she’d gotten here.
His question was answered in the next instant as smoke started billowing out of the fireplace. She’d bought him time to get the ropes off his ankles. James immedi
ately sat up and began working the ropes. It took a couple of minutes before Augie, Billy, and Ben began coughing, and by then, the room was filling up fast with smoke.
Augie jumped out of his chair, yelling, “Boys, it’s fire! Tar and damnation, this jest ain’t fair! Quick, quick, we gots to grab up our cove and git out o’ this bloody ’ell ’ole!”
In that instant, the cottage door burst open and a furious, whinnying horse pounded into the room, rearing, snorting, Corrie on his back, aiming a pitchfork right at Ben, who was standing closest to her, struck dumb with shock and horror.
Then all three of the men were yelling, trying to get out of the room, trying to avoid the horse and the pitchfork, its long tongs rusted but still sharp. Ben wasn’t fast enough. She got him through the arm. He yelled and pulled out his gun, but James was on him, his leg slicing through the air, his foot kicking that gun right out of Ben’s hand. Then James was rolling to get the gun as Augie fired at him. Corrie and the horse turned and rode Augie down, sending his gun flying toward the door. Augie was crawling as close to the wall as he could get, toward the open doorway and into the night. At the last minute he managed to snag the gun and stuff it into his pants.
The horse was maddened by the smoke, and wanted out. “James, throw me one of the guns!”
He grabbed Billy’s gun right out of his hand and threw it to her as she stuck the pitchfork into the wall and rode out of the cottage on the horse.
James had only Billy to tend to, and it was easily done despite the choking, blinding smoke.
He was leaping over Billy, stopping just a moment to lean down and smash his fist into his jaw.
Corrie was sitting bareback atop the horse, the other bay just behind, waiting for him. She was covered in soot, grinning like a fool. “Hurry, James, hurry!” Even as she spoke, Augie fired from the cottage door, and the bullet whizzed by the horse’s ear. The horse jerked back and reared on his hind legs, hurling Corrie to the ground. Both horses reared and bucked, running madly back along the rutted road, away from the cottage, and away from them.
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