“Why that’s no trouble at all. He’s here to talk to them other fellas. He’s talking to them right now, in the private room off the common room. You can talk to him yourself when he finishes with his business.”
“Thank you. I will wait for him in the common room with my maid,” replied Emma. Only a few people were in the main room—a pair of older gentlemen playing chess in a corner and two women knitting near the window. It all looked rather mundane, a relief from the excitement of the past day. She sat at the table nearest to a closed door on the far side of the room, which she assumed led to the private room. Sally stood beside her, looking miserable.
“Why don’t you ask the staff here to prepare a tray for Mr. Anders,” Emma suggested.
“Mr. Anders?” Sally clearly forgot the assumed name they had used when they checked in.
“Yes, my husband who is sleeping upstairs,” said Emma in an undertone with a knowing look.
Sally continued to stare at her for a moment before realization dawned on her face. “Oh yes, of course, miss.”
“‘Missus’ or ‘madam,’ if you please,” hissed Emma.
Sally frowned and slunk off without another word. Emma sincerely hoped Sally would not blurt out the wrong information at the wrong time. A waiter left the private room, accidentally leaving the door open a few inches. Emma did not intend to eavesdrop, but she could not help hearing the raised voices coming from the private sitting room.
“That is unconscionable,” exclaimed a voice she did not recognize. “You say this happened along the main road?”
“A horrible circumstance. Robbed us of all our worldly goods. Shot me in the arm and murdered our poor friend in cold blood,” said the gravelly voice.
Emma froze. She knew that voice. It was the man in black who had attacked them while they were stranded. She remembered his voice, his face, the stench of his body when he came close.
The brazen highwaymen were at the inn. And had gotten to the magistrate first.
Fourteen
Emma froze, not knowing what to do. Should she rush in and defend herself? No, that would only reveal herself to the men who had threatened her and shot Dare.
“There were two of them you say. A man and a woman?” asked an unknown man whom she assumed was Sir Gerald, the magistrate.
“Yes, indeed. A sad day when a woman goes bad like that,” replied one of the robbers.
“I say, I am shocked, shocked by what you have related. These are troubled times, troubled times indeed. What did they look like?”
The man with the gravelly voice gave apt descriptions of her and Dare and mentioned there may have been a maid with her. They even reported that Dare had been shot in the attack. Emma wanted to run but could not resist trying to learn more about the men.
“I shall inquire for a man and a woman with her maid who may have arrived yesterday. This is a small hamlet. We should be able to find strangers if they are here. We shall hold them for trial,” said Sir Gerald ominously.
The man in black growled. “If you can locate them, we will assist to bring in these dangerous criminals.”
“A generous offer, sir,” said the magistrate. “Do not fear. We shall catch these villains.”
Emma had no doubt that if the blackguards found him, Dare would not have long to live. The sound of wooden chairs scraping on the stone floor got her legs in motion. If they walked out the door, they would trip over her. There was no hope of going to the magistrate now, poisoned against them as he was.
She rose and walked calmly but quickly toward the stairs. She had almost made her escape when she remembered she had sent Sally to prepare a tray. If they saw her, Sally would be in danger, and the killers would know Dare was here. Emma hustled toward the kitchen.
“Can I help you?” A red-faced cook, two kitchen staff, and Sally, all stopped what they were doing and stared at her. Emma knew for a patron of the inn to suddenly run into the kitchens was most unusual, but she could still hear the voices of the highwaymen in the common room behind her.
“I do apologize. I need to speak with my maid. Most urgently.” She hoped they would go back to their business, but instead, the kitchen staff all continued to stare, foregoing their work for unabashed curiosity. This was not good. “Mr. Anders would like some tea, but he is particular. I feel I must prepare it myself.”
Emma knew this was a very poor explanation for her behavior, but she could think of none other.
“I got the hot water, miss. You can prepare the tea how you like,” said Sally, completely unable to play along. And she called her “miss.” A slip Emma hoped would not be noticed by the staff.
“Did you get the biscuits? You know how he likes biscuits.”
“Yes, miss. I got biscuits.” Once might pass, but calling her “miss” twice? Sally was clearly no help in a crisis.
“Miss? Why, Sally, have you forgotten the wedding? We are such newlyweds my maid is hardly accustomed to it.” She smiled at the kitchen staff, hoping they would accept her explanation. The staff regarded her coolly.
“Hey there, wench! We’re thirsty!” The man with the gravelly voice shouted from the common room. Emma had hoped the brigands would move along, but instead, they seemed to be staying for a meal.
“New customers?” she asked one of the kitchen maids as she moved to go out to serve the men.
The girl shrugged. “They came last night, shortly after you did.”
“Ah, a busy night for you, I see.” Emma tried to make the circumstance not seem as desperate as she feared it was. The men who were hunting her were staying at the same inn! They had convinced the magistrate she and Darington were the wrongdoers, and now she was trapped in the kitchen with a curious staff. Lord, help me to know what to do!
Emma spied a small door leading outside from the kitchen. “I know what we need—some nice flowers to brighten up this tray.” Everyone in the kitchen stared at her as if she were mad, and she remembered it was January. “Or perhaps some evergreens. Have you anything green outside?” she asked the cook.
The cook shrugged. “Suppose so.”
“That will do nicely, I’m sure. Sally, please come with me and we will decorate this lovely tray.” She smiled so hard her face hurt, as if the fake grin could make up for the nonsense she was spouting.
“But…why…” stammered Sally.
“Come along now.” Emma grabbed the arm of the recalcitrant maid, who was still holding the tea tray, and firmly guided her out the door. It was freezing outside, and she shivered in the cold.
“What are you doing?” complained Sally as they were enveloped by the damp chill.
“Hush now. The men who attacked us last night are in the common room. We must get back to our room and quick.”
Emma’s pronouncement did not have quite the impact she intended, for instead of moving faster, Sally stopped dead in her tracks and began to shake. “They are going to find us and kill us.” Sally’s teeth chattered along with the clattering of the china, which vibrated as she trembled.
“That is why we need to move a little more quickly,” said Emma, taking the tray from the girl’s hands. “Come along now.”
Emma led them around the building, stepping in more than one freezing puddle along the way as her foot broke through the thin layer of ice to the frigid water below. They finally got to the edge of the building facing the road. Emma handed the tray back to Sally and flattened herself along the stone side of the building, then peeked out to make sure the men were not out on the road.
She could not see very far without revealing herself, and she knew she would have to take a chance that one of the highwaymen would not step outside the inn or look out of the common room and see her walk back inside.
Emma had a sudden desire to run away. She could hide until the mail coach returned, then flee to Portsmouth and sail away to America. She could leave
Darington and all this behind her.
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.
—2 Timothy 1:7
The verse came powerfully to mind, and she knew she could never live with herself if she abandoned Darington in his hour of need. She would not be bound by a spirit of fear. With a silent prayer for help, Emma squared her shoulders, took the tea tray back from Sally, and boldly walked onto the road.
Emma walked as confidently as she could holding a tea tray and strode to the door of the inn. Emma held her breath as Sally opened the door. The entryway was empty and she breathed a sigh of relief. She wasted no time in hurrying up the stairs and down the corridor to her room, Sally following closely behind.
Emma launched the tray onto the table, spilling some tea, and locked the door behind her, collapsing into a chair. Sally returned to her stool in the corner to sulk silently, where she sat with arms folded and an accusing glare on her face.
“What happened?” asked Dare with a frown, struggling to sit up.
Emma wanted to pretend it was all nothing so as not to worry him, but this was not something she could keep from him. She wasted no time in conveying to Dare what had happened.
Dare did sit up this time and grimaced in pain. “We must leave.”
“And go where? Where can we hide? And how could we leave without drawing the attention of those brigands? We have no carriage, so we would have to leave either on foot or hire a coach. Either one would be sure to attract notice.”
As she spoke, she plumped the pillows behind him so he could lean back. She tried not to notice his bare chest, but it was unavoidable. His form was chiseled perfection. She pulled up the blankets to preserve his modesty…and her ability for rational thought.
The Earl of Darington glowered at her in return, and she feared he recognized her errant thoughts regarding his pleasing appearance.
“Besides, someone might notice that you are less than fully clothed,” said Emma in a breezy manner, as if looking at perfection of the male form was a perfectly natural part of her day. “Surely it would lead to an awkward conversation at the very least. Already the staff here think I am quite mad. I fear that our presence and the descriptions the men gave the magistrate cannot go unnoticed for long. I suspect they will soon come to ask questions and I am not sure what we are going to say.”
Even as she spoke, a knock came on the door. Emma felt her stomach sink to her cold, wet toes.
“Yes?” she called, stepping near the door.
“This is Sir Gerald. May I have a word with you and your husband?” said the voice from the other side of the door.
She glanced back at Dare. What were they going to do now?
Fifteen
“I am sorry, but my husband is ill. May we speak to you at a different time?” called Emma, in a desperate attempt to put off the magistrate.
“I won’t keep you long. Just a few questions will do.”
“Yes, all right,” said Emma, for what else could she say? “One moment while I make ourselves presentable.”
She ran back to Dare’s side. “Do we dare trust him?” she whispered.
Dare frowned and shook his head. “Too great a risk he would tell those men. If they should learn we are here, they could kill us at their leisure. I fear I am in no condition to protect you.”
“We need to convince him you are sick,” whispered Emma. “Not shot. The pox would do. That would keep everyone away. What can we use to make red spots?”
“Miss St. James,” Sally interjected, head down.
“Yes, Sally?”
“I…I…” She turned quickly to her small bandbox and rustling through it pulled out a small case. “Here.”
Emma took the case from her and stared at the lid. “Pear’s Liquid Blooms of Roses? Why Regina was furious looking for her rouge.”
“It fell behind the cabinet and I found it cleaning. She threatened anyone she caught stealing it, so I was afraid to give it back.”
“This carmine color will work nicely for the illusion. You probably should have returned it as soon as you found it, but I am glad you did not, for it will render us a service. Thank you, Sally.”
A knock came again on the door, causing Emma’s heart rate to climb. She was a country girl. She could not lie to a magistrate and pretend to be someone else. What was she doing?
“It will be fine. You can do this.” Darington’s low voice broke through her worries.
She realized she was trying to open the rouge with trembling hands. “Yes, of course.”
The knock sounded again, louder this time.
“One moment please,” called Emma. She opened the carmine rouge and dabbed her pinkie finger into the dark-red paste to apply spots to Darington’s face and hands. It would not serve under close inspection, but she counted on a fear of smallpox to prevent anyone from coming close. She tossed the case to Sally as she walked to open the door.
She opened the door halfway, blocking entry into the room, though the large man before her would have no difficulty barging in if he so chose. His mouth and eyes were grim, and he looked her up and down as if weighing her worth. He was wearing a wool hunting jacket and riding boots, clearly called away from an intended day of sport.
“Yes, may I help you?”
“I am Sir Gerald, the magistrate here. Do I have the honor of addressing Mrs. Anders?” The man spoke in a deep voice and had a salt-and-pepper mustache that almost completely hid his mouth. His tone was reserved and she was certain he was irritated at having been kept waiting at the door.
“Yes. How can I help you, Sir Gerald?”
“There has been a report of a serious nature. I need to speak with your husband.”
“I fear my husband is not well.”
“Forgive this intrusion, but my business cannot wait.”
“I do not wish to raise alarm, but my husband is quite unwell.”
“I hate to be blunt, Mrs. Anders, but a man is dead. Three men report the culprits are individuals fitting your description, who would have come to this hamlet around the same time as you. Now I will speak to your husband.” He stepped forward, and there was nothing she could do but step back.
“As you wish, but I fear my husband’s illness has taken a turn for the worse. We were traveling by post, and he took ill. I am not familiar with this but…” She lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned closer to the magistrate in a conspiratorial manner. “You do not think it could be smallpox, do you?”
Emma’s heart was beating so fast she hardly had to act to give her tone a tremble of anxiety. She stepped aside to reveal the patient. Dare was doing an excellent job at looking ill. Of course, he was already pale from his ordeal and the smattering of small red dots across his face was convincing. He lay still, eyes closed, mouth slightly ajar.
“The fever burns him so,” added Emma, hoping to keep the man away.
Sir Gerald took a step back and put a handkerchief over his mouth. “Yes, well, I see, very ill indeed.” He backed up as he walked until he had removed himself from the room and was standing in the hallway, still staring at Dare. “He is clearly not the man we seek. Thank you for your time. I wish your husband well. I will notify a doctor for you.”
Emma had been relieved to see the man go, but a new danger gave alarm. She was about to protest the sending for a doctor when the magistrate continued.
“Though I know he is visiting his sister. Probably won’t be able to get him until tomorrow morning.”
“Please, do not trouble yourself. I am sure he will be well.” She gave him a nervous smile. She certainly did not have to fake her concern.
Sir Gerald looked over her shoulder at Dare in the bed. “I’ll send for the doctor,” he said in a low voice. He shook his head and walked back down the corridor.
Emma closed and bol
ted the door and breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, at least that has bought us a little time.” She smiled at Dare and Sally.
Dare revived himself and passed a hand over his eyes, smearing his spots. “Won’t be long before those men hear of us and come to look for themselves. Wish I knew who they were or why my sister and I were targeted.”
“Come now. Do not fret. You are smearing your spots.” Emma took a handkerchief, dipped it in water, and proceeded to scrub the red off of his face. He might have been able to do it himself but put up no resistance to her ministrations. “I am sure help will come or we will think of something.” He had encouraged her and it was her turn to do the same. Hope was the one thing she was not about to give up.
He nodded in agreement.
“We must find a way out of here without being noticed.”
“Indeed, we must,” Dare agreed. But how this feat was to be accomplished, neither of them knew.
* * *
Eustace Ludlow stared at the overturned coach. He had arrived late to Waverley Hall the day before only to find the house in chaos, his mother frantic, and Emma St. James gone. He had questioned the staff, threatening more than just their positions if they did not tell him everything, but everyone pleaded ignorance. The missing coach, however, was a clear sign of Emma’s escape.
He had left early the next morning to find the brat and drag her to an asylum, where she belonged. He could not believe that such a little country nothing had the power to destroy his whole life. It was entirely unfair. It had taken him most of the day, but he had finally found the coach, crashed in a gully on the side of the road. The scene had gathered a small crowd of rustics, who had come to gawk.
Eustace tramped through the muddy slush, cursing Emma under his breath for ruining his polished Hessian boots. They had cost him dear and now were a complete loss. He looked through the smashed window, hoping to find evidence of a bloody demise, but none could be found.
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