An Impetuous Miss

  Cat cautiously followed the passage downward until she reached the kitchen level. Resting her load on one hip, she was able to free a hand. Slowly, she slid a slot backward to peek at the room before entering. All was dark. She cautiously engaged the lever which shifted back an apparently stationary cupboard to form an entry to the room. Setting down her burden with relief, she found a lamp and lit it, crossed to the pantry and opened the door. There she saw several meat pies, rounds of cheese, and some fresh custard creams. Surely this repast would keep the little gluttons sufficiently engaged while she went about her business.

  Swiftly, she set about freeing the basket from its bonds; indeed Mr. D'Ashley must have been in mortal dread of the little dogs for she eventually was forced to resort to the use of a stout kitchen knife to complete this task. When she finally opened the basket, the sight that met her eyes prompted a most unladylike oath, for not only had the dogs been confined within the basket, but their muzzles and paws had been bound as well. Only fury restrained the tears which Cat felt pricking at her eyes. Snagworth and D'Ashley would pay dearly for this, she vowed, as she set the little fellows free, fetched water, and tried to reassure them. She was much heartened to see that the pair responded with resilience, particularly when they happened to spot the proximity of the meat pies, and with some measure of assurance she reviewed the rest of her plan.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hazelforth had no real assurance that following the road to Sparrowell Hall would afford him anything other than the opportunity to interrogate Snagworth. Whether or not he would find any sign of Cat was another question altogether; nevertheless, the need to take action, to follow some lead, however remote, spurred him desperately on. The Bow Street Runners had been summoned, of course, but to have sat about and waited for their investigation to yield information would have been intolerable for him.

  He had taken care as he progressed along the road to question travelers, innkeepers, and various others he met about any encounters they might have had with a party which seemed excessively pressed or secretive. Several thought that they had perhaps heard a coach rattle by at some speed during the night, while others vowed they had heard nothing. At one inn, however, the proprietor admitted that just such a coach had passed through, changed horses and gone on its way. None of the occupants had descended. There was nothing remarkable about it, the man professed as he spit into the dust, except for the paltry tip. Besides, the light had been quite dim and he doubted he would be able to recognize the driver again in any case.

  This information, while fragmentary and conveyed with an expression of rude boredom, was enough to give Hazelforth a new burst of energy. Quickly changing horses, he sped on down the highway, endeavoring to keep a rein on his imagination, which minute by minute painted more and more dire scenes of Cat's distress. Again and again he cursed himself for having done so little, to protect her. He should have investigated this D'Ashley. He had had misgivings and ignored them. It was inexcusable, he berated himself. Criminally stupid. As the miles passed beneath him, however, he was at least heartened at the knowledge that one man traveling on horseback had a fair chance of overtaking a carriage, even if it had the benefit of a sizable head start.

  He had not gone much further when he encountered another horseman, similarly intent, proceeding toward him from the opposite direction. As soon as the features of the other were clear, each brought his mount to an abrupt and dusty halt.

  “Mr. Hazelforth!” the rider called out as he reined in.

  “Chumley!” he returned in surprise, for it was indeed the butler of Sparrowell Hall. “Quickly! Tell me what brings you this way?”

  “I've come to warn Miss Cat,” he panted breathlessly. “There's something ill afoot at Sparrowell. These last weeks, I've been watching Mr. Snagworth rummaging around in the papers, receiving mysterious callers, digging up the rose garden. And when Mr. Bagsmith calls, he keeps a close watch on him and wont leave him alone for a minute with any of the staff. Now he's told us all to take a little holiday—all but turned us out, that is. There are those that took advantage of it quickly enough, but some of us have our suspicions.”

  At this disclosure, Hazelforth quickly revealed the events that had taken place in the last few hours. Without another word, Chumley turned his horse about and the two set forth together toward Sparrowell.

  ****

  Just as Cat was about to leave the pantry, she heard the voices of Snagworth and his nephew approaching the kitchen, and her heart seemed to stand still for an instant. It was well, she reflected after a moment, that Caesar and Brutus were too quietly and steadily intent upon their dinners to sound their yapping alarm, for she was not quite ready for an encounter. Quickly extinguishing her lamp, she stepped back into the shadows as the wavering glimmer of their light approached, and she strained to hear what passed between the conspirators.

  “Well, Jeff,” came Snagworth's aggrieved voice, “you've botched things right enough now. Beefwit! You was supposed to charm the chit, make her fall in love with you, elope with her. Then we'd have had twenty years to find that treasure. I've dreamed of that treasure since I first heard of it two years ago when I come here. But, no. Not only do I have to make a damned fool of myself playing the highwayman so you can be the gallant, but then come to find it's all been for naught.”

  “Well, Uncle,” D'Ashley sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “if you'd been a halfway creditable highwayman, I could have passed the whole thing off. But up I ride just like we planned, all ready to rescue the damsel in distress, only to find you put to rout by the creature. You know I only agreed to this knot-headed scheme because you told me she was a sweet, biddable thing. A regular Bath miss you told me. Instead, I find a tyrant ordering everybody about like an overseer. No, I tell you, Uncle, I pity the poor man that ends up with that Tartar. Not only that, but I get myself injured into the bargain. I warrant this poor ankle will never be right again.”

  Unmoved by his nephew's catalogue of sorrows, Snagworth continued to fume. “Only look how I've wasted my hard-earned money getting an education for you so's you could talk right and all. Then what do you do, I ask you? Ignore the lady and saddle yourself with a kitchen maid. So here we sit,” he snorted in disgust, “with a kidnapped heiress—a hanging offense mind you—and no closer to that treasure than a poxy beggar to the queen's chamber. And just what do you propose we do?”

  “It's simple,” D'Ashley snorted. “We just force her to tell us where the treasure's hid.”

  “Just force her, he says!” Snagworth squealed, tearing at his hair. “You've said yourself a hundred times she's as vile-tempered as an ogress!”

  “You forget, Uncle, we've got those scurvy dogs hostage, and she thinks more of them than most people do of their own children. Mark me, all we need do is tickle them with a knife and she'll tell us anything we want to know. What's more, I don't have to spend the rest of my life leg-shackled to her. And after we find that treasure, we just ride ourselves down to the harbor, get on a boat—yes, I've checked, there's one bound for Barbados—and we live like kings forever.”

  As Snagworth scratched his chin and pondered this scenario, Cat, too, was deep in thought as the small mysteries which had nagged at her fell into place. If she had known the legend of Sparrowell's treasure would ever bring about such difficulties, she'd have posted a notice explaining the particulars long ago. Moreover, young D'Ashley's comments as to her suitability as a wife reminded her all too intensely of poor Mr. Hazelforth. If any good could come of her predicament, it was that that gentleman's noble plans had been interrupted. Hearing herself described so candidly was humiliating, but effective. More than ever, she was determined to release him from his promise, for she loved him far too much to burden him with her shrewish nature.

  “Now, Uncle,” D'Ashley went on, “you sent me the all-clear signal two days ago—how long have we got to find the treasure?”

  “Till midday tomorrow at least. I sent the servants off yesterday�
��what a charitable and harmless old fool they think me for such a holiday. That fellow Bagsmith came by four days ago, so he won't be back for at least another month.”

  “That settles it,” his nephew concluded. “We'll have to look sharp, though. I want this beastly business over and done with and ourselves well on our way to sunnier climes before anyone's the wiser. Let's go and wake her up and have it out.”

  “What about that other one, that Audrey?” his uncle asked suspiciously. “What's to be done with her?”

  “Her usefulness is just about done. That ugly baggage fancies I'll marry her,” he snickered cruelly, “but maybe there's a chore or two for her to take care of before I leave her weeping at the dock.”

  On hearing this conversation, Cat determined that she, too, would do well to act quickly, for aside from the musket she held gingerly in both hands, surprise was her best weapon. She had been watching through a crack in the pantry door and as they rose and turned to go upstairs once again, she stepped from her hiding place.

  “Wait just a moment, if you please, gentlemen,” she requested with apparent composure in spite of her quaking heart. Advancing a bit further into the room, she leveled the musket at them. Had Cat felt the inclination to laugh at such a juncture, the faces she now met would have provided an admirable diversion, their eyes almost starting from their heads with incredulity and anger. “I believe, sirs, that I shall be forced to put an end to your very interesting plans.”

  “Botched it again!” hissed Snagworth, his face crimson with wrath. “You worthless runt! Good for nothing ninnyhammer! I always knew I should have drownded you when you was a baby!”

  “Muzzle yourself, Uncle,” the other snapped in equally foul humor, “and let me handle this or we shall both swing. Well, Miss Catherine,” D'Ashley went on with seeming ease, “I see that useless Audrey has fallen down on the job. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. But you don't really imagine I would have left her alone with a loaded musket, do you? She'd have blown her own foot off before too long. Now just give that musket to me and sit down here nicely. Just do as we say and no harm will come to you.”

  Cat did not know whether to believe D'Ashley or not, for indeed she had not thought to check the musket and dared not look down to do so now. As she stood frozen, weighing the consequences of possible actions, D'Ashley began to approach her cautiously, one slow step after the other. Well, she thought to herself, if this musket is so harmless, why does the villain approach so warily? Experimentally, she raised the weapon and put her thumb to the trigger. D'Ashley froze. Cat smiled.

  “Now do step back, Mr. D'Ashley—or whatever it is you are really called.” Cat advanced some paces further into the room as the two conspirators, their brows now beaded with nervous perspiration, retreated hastily before her. “Now, we shall have to see that the two of you are made harmless. Just how shall we do that, I wonder? Sit down at the table and let me think for just a moment.”

  Just then, a noise issued from the direction of the pantry and Cat's split second of inattention was all D'Ashley needed to make a lunge for the musket. He flung himself forward, grabbing her arm and pointing the weapon away from himself. It discharged at once with a deafening crack. As Cat struggled to regain control of the weapon, it went off once again. This time its thunderous report was combined with the piercing cries of Mr. Snagworth, who had sought refuge under the table at the sound of the first explosion.

  “Oh, I am killed!” he cried out in anguish. “A sorry end to a sorrier life.”

  As the wound, which was indeed quite insignificant, appeared to be restricted to Snagworth's posterior region, Cat felt but little apprehension for his well-being. D'Ashley, however, had sprung away when the musket had discharged its second load and she now faced him holding only the useless weapon in her hand. She considered momentarily that she might attempt to beat him about the head with it, but she doubted she could muster that sort of brutality.

  Cat felt in desperate straits indeed just then, her heart pounding. Without a weapon, she could not conceive how she might contrive an escape, even in light of Snagworth's wound and D'Ashley's incompetence. Soon enough, she would surely be overpowered and forced to who knew what ends? If only she could put her hands to a knife or cleaver, the match might be made more equal. Already she could see D'Ashley's eyes casting furtively about for just such a weapon. As his gaze returned to her, he seemed to be evaluating her capacity to flee him in the restrictive yardage of the costume she still wore. It was, therefore, with a good deal of surprise and relief that Cat observed Mr. D'Ashley's expression change to one of horror. Growing gray in the face, he backed away from her in untainted terror,

  “Keep them away from me!” he screamed shrilly, jumping up onto the kitchen table. “I'll do anything! Just keep them back!”

  In utter confusion, Cat had not the least idea what to make of this sudden and inexplicable change in D'Ashley's demeanor. When she discovered the source of his panic, however, it took all the self-control she could command to refrain from laughing out loud, for advancing stiff-legged and growling viciously came Caesar and Brutus, their beards and mouths quite covered with custard and cream.

  “Keep the rabid beasts off!” D'Ashley cried, beside himself. “Don't let them bite me! I'll do anything you want!”

  “Lord help us,” Snagworth chimed in tearfully. “First to be shot to death in the arse, then to perish of the rabies! It's all your fault, you witless cawker!”

  D'Ashley could but quake by way of reply, for, quite understandably, the much-abused dogs had taken him in even keener dislike in the hours since their ordeal began. They stood bristling and snarling before him, their eyes glowing almost red. Now, with the wrathful pair holding her assailants at bay, Cat was able to search about the kitchen, fetch a knife and a length of stout rope with which to bind them.

  “I promise I shall keep them back, Mr. D'Ashley,” she promised, “but you shall have to bind your uncle. I doubt he's in any sort of danger, for I see the musket ball is lodged in the table leg. It must only have scratched him a little.”

  D'Ashley stared at her speechlessly for a moment so that Cat was forced to brandish the blade before him in what she hoped was a menacing manner. It clearly served her purpose that he already thought her such a monster that he considered her capable of anything. Without further ado, he picked up the rope she had tossed him. Although Snagworth winced and groaned and vowed it felt more like a mortal wound, D'Ashley wasted no time in complying with Cat's request, even tying double and treble knots. Cat was quite pleased with the threat offered by Caesar and Brutus who growled threateningly whenever either gentleman so much as looked in their direction.

  “Very good, Mr. D'Ashley. I am sure that will do quite nicely. Now pull up a chair next to this post. Good. Bind your feet securely to the legs. Excellent. Now I shall just ask you to put your hands behind you.” Placing her knife on the floor, Cat set about binding his hands as well. Then, she checked all the knots D'Ashley had made and redoubled them, just to be sure. With sudden inspiration, she fetched a pitcher and carefully poured water over the ropes to tighten them still further.

  This accomplished, Cat set about making herself a cup of tea. While she waited for the pot to boil, she took a wet cloth and cleaned the custard off her dogs' faces, much to the outrage of her captives, whose furious profanity she could hear for some time after she had made her way out of the kitchen.

  It was still some hours before dawn, and, now that danger was no longer imminent. Cat felt the fatigue of the last several days settle inexorably upon her. Yawning, she decided to get what sleep she could before riding to the village in the morning to inform the magistrate. She took a moment to look in on Audrey, who was still sleeping soundly in the library. Poor girl, she thought, I shall have to do something to set her straight. In spite of her sympathy, however, Cat did take the precaution of locking the library soundly to prevent any intervention on the girl's part. Then she wearily climbed the stairs to her chamber, thin
king that it had indeed been a most tiring last two days.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Upon reaching her own chamber, Cat was filled with a sudden, piercing nostalgia and overwhelming relief. She was home at last. She was drawn toward the window and stood there, candle in hand, contemplating for a time the serene moonlit grounds and the distant glimmer of the sea. So much had happened in the last months that she felt almost a stranger to her former self. Finding herself in these surroundings prompted a longing for the past, so simple and uncomplicated. Meanwhile, Caesar and Brutus seemed wholly unperturbed by their adventures and soon found then-way onto her bed with little difficulty. They quickly curled themselves up there and went to sleep as if the terrors of the last thirty-six hours had never taken place.

  Cat was finally at leisure to remove her costume, and she did so with a good deal of relief, taking comfort in the simple familiarity of a crisp cotton nightrail. Before snuffing her candle, she bolted her door securely, just in case, and gratefully crawled into the lavender-scented eiderdown. Even though the events of the last two days had jostled about in her head for several moments, she nevertheless fell into a deep sleep, accompanied by the gentle snores of her loyal canine companions.

  When Hazelforth and Chumley finally reached the gates of Sparrowell Hall, they dismounted and secured their horses quietly; then, crouched low, they proceeded toward the Hall taking cover in the shadowy shrubberies. As the silhouette of Sparrowell came into view, the men saw that one of the rooms on the upper level was lit.

  “Look there, Mr. Hazelforth!” Chumley whispered. “That's Miss Cat's chamber.”

  The two advanced stealthily toward the manor house, keeping well within the darkened perimeters, and taking care to make as little noise as possible. All about them, the night was calm, the silence broken only by the low hum of crickets. They were just below the lighted window when they were rewarded with the sight of Cat herself who stood on the terrace for a moment holding her candle, looking out wistfully over the moonlit landscape. After a short time, she quietly turned and went inside.