Tucker's Inn

by Tucker's Inn (retail) (epub)

  He would do it, I had no doubt. He was ruthless, he was, perhaps, half mad. And only I could prevent him from carrying out his ghastly plan. There was nothing I could do to save Louis – my heart contracted as I thought of the terrible, mortal danger he was in – but somehow I had to find a way to save his son.

  But how – how? How could I protect Pierre from Gavin’s murderous intent? From what I had overheard, he was as ready to take the boy’s life himself as to leave the dark deed to the man, Tench. That meant that Pierre would be in danger even here, at Belvedere. I had to get him out of Gavin’s reach, and quickly. I had to take him to a place of safety.

  The only haven I could think of was my old home, now under lock and key.

  I would take Pierre to Tucker’s Grave and pray that Gavin would not think of looking for us there.

  * * *

  I had to move quickly and stealthily, I knew. But how to do it? I could not ride, and I dared not ask Thompson, the coachman, to drive us, for I did not trust him not to inform Gavin of where we had gone. In any case, Thompson would most likely be in his bed by now – men such as he, who had to be up with the lark, retired early, especially during the winter months when darkness fell early. There was only one person in this house to whom I could turn for the help I undoubtedly needed – Antoinette. She was easy with horses, and for all her faults, she could keep a secret when it mattered. That much had been proved by the fact that she had not told Gavin of Pierre’s existence. Yes, I could trust Antoinette.

  But even given that she could harness the horses and drive the carriage, my problems did not end there. A carriage at Tucker’s Grave, and horses stabled there when the place was locked up and supposedly empty would immediately betray our presence. I was in need of other assistance too, someone who would take care of the carriage and horses once they had deposited us there.

  At once I thought of George. His loyalty to me was beyond doubt. He would know of a place to hide the carriage and he could house the horses in his own stables, just two more amongst so many.

  My mind made up, I went straight to Antoinette’s rooms. If I was to spirit Pierre away under cover of darkness, there was no time to lose.

  I found Antoinette and Pierre still engrossed in their game of draughts. They were surprised and, I think, none too pleased to see me. Already they were forming a tight-knit unit, the ties of their blood breaching the barriers of their separate upbringing, their anxiety for their parents forming a common bond.

  ‘You haven’t come to tell us it’s time for bed, I hope!’

  Antoinette said tetchily. ‘This game is at a critical stage. I am just about to beat Pierre soundly.’

  ‘I think not! You don’t concentrate, Antoinette. Your mind wanders, and… See!’ Pierre took three of Antoinette’s pieces in a swift swoop, grinning in triumph.

  ‘You have to listen to me,’ I said. ‘What I have to say is far more important than any game.’

  The seriousness of my tone arrested them; two pairs of green eyes fastened on me, puzzled, and even a little alarmed.

  ‘You are in great danger, Pierre,’ I said, and went on to tell them as much as was necessary of what I had overheard.

  ‘I knew it!’ Antoinette exclaimed when I had finished. ‘I knew Uncle Gavin was up to no good! Oh, he’s charming when he wants to be, and fun to be with, but…’ Her lips tightened. ‘I thought it was strange he was being so nice to you, Pierre. He was so angry when I first told him you were my brother! And he doesn’t like boys much usually. He’s nice to me because I am a girl, and no threat to him.’

  Her perception and her cool reaction surprised me. I had underestimated Antoinette, I realized.

  ‘I want to get Pierre away from Belvedere tonight,’ I said, drawing the subject back to its most important elements. ‘And I need you to help me, Antoinette.’

  I went on to explain my plan, but to my dismay Antoinette shook her head.

  ‘I’d never be able to handle the coach, Flora, and we’d never get away without someone hearing. Imagine the racket those great wheels would make on the gravel in the quiet of the night! We should almost certainly disturb Uncle Gavin, and he would catch up with us on horseback in no time at all.’

  She was right, of course. And if Gavin caught up it would be disastrous for all of us.

  ‘We shall have to take horses,’ Antoinette said matter-of-factly. ‘That way we can cut through the park under cover of the trees and avoid the drive altogether.’

  ‘But I can’t ride!’ I exclaimed, horrified.

  ‘Of course you can!’ Antoinette said in the same matter-of-fact tone. ‘You can take Betty – she’s as gentle as a lamb. Anyone can ride her. It will slow us down, I admit, but if we do no more than trot, all you have to do is sit there. She’s like a comfortable chair.’

  ‘Oh – I don’t know…’ I hesitated.

  ‘It’s our only chance,’ Antoinette said decisively. ‘If you want to get to Tucker’s Grave tonight, you’ve no other choice.’

  Once again, I knew that she was right. But I quailed just the same at the prospect. If only I had taken up Gavin’s offer of riding lessons!

  ‘Very well,’ I agreed reluctantly. ‘But I shall give you the key to the inn, Antoinette, and if I should fall and injure myself, you are to go on without me.’

  ‘You won’t fall off,’ she said confidently.

  ‘But if I should… You must promise.’

  ‘Oh very well, I promise! I didn’t know you had a key though,’ she added.

  ‘No, but I know where it is. Get together what you need and can carry. Wait until the house has been quiet for an hour, then we’ll meet in the kitchen. Are you both agreed?’

  They nodded. Pierre looked frightened, but Antoinette’s green eyes were sharp with something like excitement.

  Soon after I had returned to my room I heard Gavin come upstairs and go to Louis’ suite. Hatred burned within me. If he had betrayed his brother, it was small wonder he felt so confident in sleeping in his bed, already assuming the trappings of the position he aspired to.

  I waited a few minutes, then crept downstairs. To my alert and straining ears, every little creak of a board sounded loud as a gunshot in the quiet house, and each time I froze, terrified in case I alerted Gavin. But I reached the study undiscovered and slipped inside.

  I had not dared to bring a candle with me, but the night was not so dark that I could not see well enough to make my way across to the casement clock, open the door, and slide my fingers inside. At once they encountered the thick key to Tucker’s Grave and I heaved a sigh of relief. I had been very afraid Louis might have changed its hiding place and so unwittingly foiled my plan to save his son before it had even begun. I slipped the key into the pocket of my skirts and felt inside the clock again. I had some idea of taking the book and documents with me, both to keep them out of Gavin’s way, and also in the hope they might provide me with information as to whom I could turn to for help, but search as I might, I could not find the key to the bureau. It was not there.

  And perhaps that was just as well, I thought, for though taking them for safe keeping was all very well if I could achieve that aim, should things go wrong, I could be delivering them straight into Gavin’s hands. As for help – I would have to rely on George for that. He would, perhaps, at my behest, go to Sir Jeremy when – if! – he returned from France. Sir Jeremy would know what to do.

  I crept back upstairs, got my few things together, wrapped myself in the warmest cloak I possessed, and settled down to wait out what remained of the allotted hour.

  Then and only then did I allow myself to think of Louis. With all my heart I prayed that he had escaped the Revolutionaries, but I had little hope of it. If Gavin had passed on details of his intended destination they would be waiting for him; the Lynx himself, a prize indeed. A great despair filled me, and though I was beyond tears they gathered just the same deep within me, a leaden lump that I thought would be with me to the end of my days.

&nb
sp; A clock chimed the hour; almost time to go. Somehow, I steeled myself to be strong. Whatever it cost me, I would thwart Gavin’s evil plans. Whatever it cost me, I would save Louis’ son. It was all I could do now.

  * * *

  When I crept down once more to the kitchen, Antoinette and Pierre were there before me, waiting with scarcely contained impatience. I gave the key to Antoinette, for though I could hardly bear to let it out of my hands again, I was convinced that was the best course of action. Then we all three crept out by the rear door and to the stables. Pierre saddled a horse for himself whilst Antoinette tacked up Perdita and Betty, the plump old mare she had selected for me to ride. Then she gave me a few hasty instructions, hoisted me up into the saddle, and placed the reins in my hands.

  ‘Hold them like this. And remember to keep your heels down. You do not need to do anything else. Betty will follow where we lead.’

  After the initial terror, when, as Antoinette hoisted me up, I felt certain I would slide straight out of the saddle on the opposite side, I felt surprisingly safe. Betty’s back was broad – she did indeed feel like a comfortable chair. And even when she began to walk out of the stable yard and across the park, I felt myself moving with her. Only once did I almost lose my seat, when I risked looking around to make certain we had got away unobserved, and then, by grabbing her solid neck and tightening the grip of my knees, I was able to regain my balance. It was not a very ladylike way to ride, but necessity is a hard taskmaster. I clung on, and even felt a strange little surge of exhilaration.

  It was short-lived. When we were clear of the park and the trees, and fairly certain we were not being followed, Antoinette urged Perdita to a trot and, just as she had promised, Betty followed suit. Oh, the discomfort of it as I bumped up and down on the hard saddle! Oh, the sheer terror that at any moment all three horses might break into a canter! And sure enough, when we reached open moorland they did, though I learned to my surprise it was actually easier and smoother. But mindful of my pathetic inexperience, Antoinette did not allow the horses to gallop, and whenever the going was rough she took them back to that bone-shaking trot.

  It was, just the same, a nightmare of a journey that I thought would never end, and by the time we reached Monksmoor village and George’s forge, and Antoinette helped me down out of the saddle, my legs were trembling so violently they almost gave way beneath me, and my buttocks were so sore that every step was agony.

  The forge was, of course, in darkness, and I knew George and Alice would be in their beds. But I also knew that Alice was a light sleeper. A few handfuls of gravel tossed at their bedroom window and she was there, peering out, her expression almost comical, so startled did she look.

  ‘Flora?’ She threw the window wide. ‘Flora – is that you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I called back softly. ‘I need your help.’

  They came down at once, both of them, Alice as sharp as a little bird, George so bleary he scarcely knew what was happening. But by the time I had explained he was fully awake and ready for action as I had known he would be.

  ‘Lawks, I knew there was something terrible going on!’ Alice said. ‘It’s even worse than I thought!’

  ‘You’ll help us then?’ I asked.

  ‘You know we will! But you can’t go to the inn this time of night! You’ll stay here with us.’

  I had been prepared for this.

  ‘We can’t bring danger to your door,’ I said firmly. ‘And so long as no one knows we are at Tucker’s Grave, we’ll be safer there. Word would travel like wildfire if it became known we were here with you. All I ask is that George should ride with us to the inn, then bring the horses back here and conceal them amongst his own. We’ll see no one at this time of night, and we can hide out there until you can get word of our plight to Sir Jeremy.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s for the best,’ George said slowly.

  Whilst he went to his room to get dressed, Alice prepared a parcel of food – cold meats, cheese and a loaf of bread – and made us a hot drink, for we were all three chilled to the bone. Then George saddled up his own horse and hoisted me painfully back on to Betty.

  ‘I never thought to see you on horseback, Flora,’ he mused.

  ‘And I hope never to be again!’ I replied, wincing at my sore nether regions and aching muscles.

  We did indeed see no one on the short ride out to Tucker’s Grave. When it came into view, sparse and square on the dark skyline, my heart lurched. However terrible the circumstances, I was home. We all dismounted, and Antoinette handed me the key I had entrusted to her.

  ‘Will I come in with you?’ George asked.

  I shook my head. ‘The sooner you get these horses under cover, the safer we shall be. Dawn will soon be breaking, and it’s vital you are not seen.’

  ‘Very well.’ He gathered the reins of the three tired mounts together. ‘Take care, Flora. I’ll come back by night tomorrow to bring you fresh supplies.’

  ‘Bless you, George.’ All I wanted now was to get inside my old home and close the door against the world.

  George waited until I had turned the key in the lock and pushed open the heavy door. Then, with another soft farewell, he was off, the hoofbeats of the four horses quickly fading into the night.

  ‘Oh thank God!’ I closed and locked the door behind us. ‘It will be cold, and the beds may be damp, but at least we can get some rest…’

  My voice tailed away as I said it. To this day I do not know what sixth sense warned me. Some unfamiliar scent, maybe, or the fact that the chill did not strike me as it should have done. I froze, every nerve ending suddenly alert.

  And then I heard it. Unmistakably the tread of a footfall on the stairs. I looked up and saw a figure silhouetted against the casement, and my heart seemed to cease beating.

  Someone was here, in Tucker’s Grave Inn.

  We were not alone.

  Sixteen

  The figure on the stairs might almost have been a ghost, so ethereal did he look in the flickering light of the candle he carried. But I knew he was no ghost. For all the stories associated with Tucker’s Grave, I had never encountered an apparition from the spirit world, and I was not encountering one now. This man was flesh and blood, though there was little enough of him – thin, frail and grey, from his wispy powdered wig to his silk breeches. In that first startled moment shock robbed me of my senses, then I grabbed at Pierre’s cloak, meaning to push him behind me, for my first coherent thought was for his safety.

  Pierre, however, wriggled from my grasp and took a step towards the foot of the stairs, staring up as if transfixed. And the apparition spoke.

  ‘Pierre?’

  ‘Uncle Armand! What are you doing here?’ He spoke in French, but there was no mistaking what he said. Even I, with my limited grasp of the language, understood it, though the man’s rapid reply was beyond my comprehension.

  Somehow I found my voice. ‘Who are you?’ I demanded.

  ‘I am Armand du Bois,’ he replied in English. ‘I am Pierre’s great uncle, the uncle of his mother, Lisette. May I ask you the same question? Who are you, that you come here in the middle of the night – and bring Pierre with you?’

  * * *

  We repaired to the kitchen, where the shuttered windows and the absence of anything but the wild moors beyond made it safe to light a lamp.

  By its light I could see how unkempt he was, his fine clothes rumpled and stained, the powdered wig, which had no doubt once been the finest money could buy, hanging in ragged strands and furred up in places so that it resembled the spines of a porcupine. His face was thin and sharp, the cheeks hollowed, his eyes small and hard. Instinctively I disliked him, this man who was secretly occupying my home and who must be a fugitive from the Revolution.

  ‘Did Louis bring you here?’ I asked, though I believe I already knew the answer, for I was remembering the lost day that had elapsed between the time his boat had reached harbour and the time he had reached Belvedere on the last occasion he had come hom
e from France.

  ‘Incarcerated me here, more like.’ There was bitterness in the reedy tones. ‘I suppose I should be grateful to escape France with my life, but I could have wished for better treatment. The cells of the Bastille cannot be much worse than this.’

  I bristled. ‘At least you will not be taken from here in a tumbril,’ I said spiritedly. ‘At least you will not meet your end on the guillotine.’

  He laughed slightly, a dry cackle with no humour in it.

  ‘That’s true, I suppose. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if Louis had his own plans for me when I’ve served my purpose.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ I demanded.

  ‘Louis has no love for me. Quite the reverse. I could almost believe he saved me for the express purpose of taking revenge on me…’

  ‘That is not what I meant,’ I said. ‘What is your purpose, as you call it?’

  ‘Why, to give Louis the information he was seeking, of course. As to where he might find Lisette and Pierre. He would not have risked his life for me, I assure you, if he had not needed me to discover their whereabouts. And in that, at least, it seems I have been of some use. Pierre is here. Where is your mother, Pierre?’

  ‘Still in France,’ I said, answering for him. ‘Louis has gone back for her. She had gone, I understand, to stay with friends.’

  ‘Ah!’ A smile cracked the thin face. ‘Still the same Lisette! And this, I suppose his eyes, narrowed and speculative, went to Antoinette – ‘is her daughter.’

  Antoinette drew herself up with a hauteur beyond her years. ‘I am Antoinette, yes. But I still do not understand who you are.’