The Spider's Touch

by Patricia Wynn

  His head felt a little better, but far from clear, and his greatest fear—even more than the fear of being recognized—was that he would lose consciousness along the way. This was why he had decided to take Tom. He had not exaggerated the danger of challenging Lord Lovett. A man who had killed twice would not be slow to kill again. Yet, if Gideon were to lose consciousness, Tom would have to go on in his stead, for he could not bear the thought of leaving Mrs. Kean in a murderer’s hands.

  Obviously, she had discovered something, and her knowledge of Lovett’s crimes had been revealed. Otherwise, Gideon could think of no reason for Lord Lovett to have taken her. Perhaps, she had heard about Colonel Potter’s murder that morning, and turning her suspicions towards the only suspect left besides her cousin, she had thought of something she had previously ignored. She might even have guessed about his visit to Walpole in the same way Gideon had, by putting together Lovett’s stop in Arlington Street with a motive for killing his Jacobite friends.

  But that would all be there to discuss when Mrs. Kean was safe. Gideon prayed for the chance to save her. He also prayed for the strength not only to find her, but to tear her clean away from the murderer’s arms.

  At least—and this piece of luck was by no means slight—it appeared that Lord Lovett had not gone through Surrey into Sussex, where he might have lost his pursuers in the tangled web of that county’s roads. He had chosen a smoother route, for after the blow he had dealt Gideon, he must have felt no reason to fear pursuit. True, a man on horseback would have no difficulty catching a coach, even a post-chaise and six, but who besides Gideon would have bothered to save Mrs. Kean?

  Lord Lovett had taken her from right under the noses of the Hawkhurst servants. Gideon doubted that anyone in either his or her family would have the brains to suspect the truth or go to the trouble of retrieving her, if they did.

  This thought made him furious, and his head began to pound anew, so he tried to calm himself and gather his resources. It was bad enough that he was growing anxious over the delay, while Tom made his inquiries. But they did not dare ride all the way to Sevenoaks unless they could confirm that the post-chaise had traveled this way. The gatekeeper might have mistaken another chaise for the one they were chasing, or he might equally have lied, though Gideon supposed that a fairly honest man had been chosen for that important post. Still, people made mistakes, and it would be a waste of precious time to ride in any direction unless they were certain that it was the correct one.

  Meanwhile, the shadows were growing longer. Lord Lovett’s lead was growing longer, too, and Gideon, who had not had a bite to eat since breakfast and did not dare spare the time to eat now, and who had a throbbing knot on the back of his head, could only pray that Mrs. Kean was all right.

  Tom came out of the inn yard, hurrying towards him, and Gideon’s heart gave a leap at his servant’s eager expression.

  “This is the way, my lord. They were seen passing through here at about five o’clock this evening.”

  “You’re sure?” While Tom repeated the details he had heard, Gideon took out his watch and studied it. “That was about three hours ago. That should be right.” Pulling in his reins then, he said, “Let’s go. He must be taking her to Rye, and they will have changed horses in Sevenoaks by now.”

  He did not wait for Tom to mount, but, doubting his own ability to keep up for once, set a measured pace for Bromley.

  Earlier, Gideon had wondered if Lovett might not leave her when he reached the end of the turnpiked road, but now he realized how unlikely that was. If he left her alive, she would certainly set a magistrate upon him and a posse would be raised in time. If he killed her before sailing away, the crime would quickly be discovered with the same result.

  As hard as it was even to speculate in such fearful terms as these, this logic gave Gideon hope. With his head in such a miserable condition, he would not be able to ride fast. But, after reaching the end of the turnpike in the town of Tunbridge, with a hostage, Lord Lovett would have to go on in a coach, instead of making better time on horseback. As long as Gideon could stay in the saddle, he and Tom would catch them before they got to Rye.

  * * * *

  The boost of energy he had got from being in his own country did not last. Before many miles had been covered, Gideon found his head splitting with pain, and his eyes began to play tricks.

  The next thing he knew, it was dark, and a man was lowering him to the ground. He struggled to sit up, but Tom’s voice quickly came to him. “Just you take it easy, Master Gideon! You’ll never catch up with the young lady this way! Not if you can’t ride without falling into a fainting fit.”

  Gideon soon felt his sense. Frustration with his weakness made him angry, but relieved to find himself in Tom’s care, he allowed himself to be lowered into the grass by the side of the road. He lay there beneath a hedge until his head was clearer then asked, “How long since I swooned?”

  “I’m not really sure, my lord. Likely, a ways back. I didn’t notice you were in a faint until you were halfway to the ground.”

  “What a hellish juggle this is!” Gideon tried not to clench his teeth. “If I do it again, you must leave me, take both pistols, and stop them yourself.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I don’t want you hurt, but you will know what to do. Just do not underestimate Lord Lovett. He’s capable of anything.”

  “If needs be, my lord. But, mayhap, you’ll do better if we don’t ride quite that fast. Even if we walk the horses some, we ought to catch them before Rye, what with all the stops and the changes they have to make. We’re nearly at Tonbridge now, so they’ll soon be moving at a snail’s pace. And the horses will last a mite longer if we go easier, too.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but my head is too cloudy to reckon the time. We must have gained an hour on them, though, mustn’t we, Tom?”

  “I’m almost sure of it, my lord.”

  Gideon pushed himself up in a sitting position. When he’d sat until his head had stopped spinning, he stood carefully with Tom’s help.

  “We’ll try it your way then.” He reached for Looby’s reins. “I want you to tie me to the saddle. Then, if I lose consciousness again, you can keep us moving on towards Rye.”

  * * * *

  Their pace was slower after that. With his hands secured to his horse’s neck, Gideon was jerked awake more than once as he slipped to the side, but he allowed himself to doze as Tom pulled his horse through the night. Eventually, as the night air cooled, the pain in his head grew less, and his wakefulness improved. They stopped a couple of times to rest the horses, and Gideon ventured to drink. The water revived him, and by the time they reached Lamberhurst, he could take charge of his reins and abandon all thought of Tom’s going on alone.

  As they neared the village of Hawkhurst and Rotherham Abbey, however, they did not dare to ask for news about Lord Lovett’s coach, for they both were too well-known in these parts. They could only persevere in the assumption that Lord Lovett would be heading for the nearest port.

  When another hour passed, and they had not caught up with the post-chaise, Gideon’s sense of urgency pushed him faster, for soon they would pass into Sussex and then only a few miles remained before Rye. He could do nothing but hope that he had not mistaken Lord Lovett’s intentions.

  They had just crested a hill, with the pale sky of the short summer night revealing the village of Newenden below, when he saw a post-chaise with only one postillion threading its way down the road. He signaled for Tom to stop.

  “There they go.” As Tom pulled up beside him, he pointed. “We’ll have to follow until we find a safer place to stop the carriage. We dare not use a pistol near the village or we’ll have men from both counties chasing us.”

  “Are you sure you can manage this, my lord?”

  Gideon gave a brief nod then scouted the landscape ahead. Now that the prey was in sight, excitement and relief had infused him with strength.

  “We should ford
the river. I don’t want to run into the Watch in Newenden, and the fewer people who see us, the better. Someone in the village will likely be stirring soon.”

  “I misdoubt Beau won’t like that ditch.”

  “That can’t be helped. We’ll have to surprise them at just the right moment. There are only about six miles between Newenden and Rye with little open land between.”

  He dug into his pack and drew out his mask and his blue silk cape. “Get ready to cover your face.”

  Tom obeyed, pulling a knotted kerchief over the bridge of his nose. “If anybody sees us dressed like this, they’re sure to start a hue and cry.”

  “That well may be. But if we’re going to succeed, we need to frighten the postillion. Come on, let’s go.”

  * * * *

  Long past midnight, when the chaise had bumped its way into Hawkhurst and continued through without even a pause, Hester had given up her last hope of escape. She was already more than a little sick from the incessant swinging and lurching of the carriage over the rutted roads. The spring rains had dug grooves so deep that, without six horses to pull them, the vehicle would often have been stuck.

  She had not thought it possible to sleep in such uncomfortable circumstances, but exhausted by emotion, she had occasionally dozed off. Each time, she had soon started awake and found Lord Lovett keeping a close watch on her.

  At the end of every posting-stage they had got down to change the carriage and horses. At the first one, she had hoped to convey the desperation of her situation to someone at the posting-house. But soon she had learned that Lord Lovett had no plans to leave her alone, except for the minute it took her to relieve herself, and even then, he remained in the parlour with her until the chamber pot was brought, and stood guard outside the room so that she dared not call out.

  Hester had never known how oppressive such a confinement could be. Never to be out of hearing or out of sight of a murderer. Her disgust with him had increased throughout the night, so that sleep had become her only deliverance.

  But now they had entered a part of Kent that was foreign to her. And, foolish as it was, she realized that as long as she had recognized the villages and towns they passed, she had nursed a glimmer of hope that someone she knew would stop them before they reached the coast. She was not sure of the distance remaining, but she knew enough to guess that no one would be able to stop them now.

  Several miles, and more than an hour later, they crossed a river, which she supposed was the Rother. That meant that they had come into Sussex, and not knowing anything of that country, she wondered who she would find to help her, even if Lord Lovett could be persuaded to let her go.

  She had not quite given up the thought that he might leave her behind in England, in which case she would still be lost. Without either money or acquaintances, she did not know how she would make her way back to Rotherham Abbey. But, at least, if she were abandoned in Rye, she would be able to ask for help of the rector or vicar. If she could persuade the cleric to send a letter to the Abbey, the steward would send money and a servant to fetch her, surely.

  But being abandoned in France would be entirely a different story. She doubted she would find her schoolroom French sufficient to the task of explaining her predicament. Suspicious of a foreigner, people would assume the worst, and she should be ruined, if she did not starve. She did not even know if the Catholic Church would extend charity to Protestants.

  One thing she had decided, though, was that no matter how desperate her situation might be, she would never accept Lord Lovett’s proposal. She would rather die than submit to a man who might have murdered St. Mars.

  Her belief in his recovery had taken a negative turn. She could not help feeling, that if he were still alive, he would have found her by now. Fear of his death brought a painful ache to her throat.

  Lord Lovett spoke, interrupting her thoughts. “When we arrive in Rye, I shall have to negotiate our passage.”

  “I have no passport. And I doubt that the French authorities will permit me to enter without one.”

  “That would be a reasonable assumption if we were sailing on the packet, but we shall be taking a different boat. There are always ways of crossing into France without alerting the authorities. But do not concern yourself over the arrangements. I shall see to everything. Sadly, however, that will mean tying you up at the inn until I’ve found us a means of conveyance.”

  Hester tried again to convince him to leave her by the side of the road, but he said, wryly, “And suppose that bad weather prevents me from sailing today? No, my dear Mrs. Hester, I shall not take that risk, particularly when I look forward to your eventual cooperation.”

  She was on the point of retorting that he should never have it, when he moved closer to her on the seat. She could not see his face clearly in the dark, but a sudden change in his breathing made her pulse flutter with fear.

  “I did not enjoy killing Humphrey. I only did it because I had no choice. Just consider what a superior life we could lead at St. Germain, you and I! You could not prefer to be friendless and penniless in Calais—when you might live at the height of elegance—all for a few foolish scruples.”

  “A foolish scruple? Like honour? How paltry a thing honour is when compared to elegance, to be sure! I can certainly see your point. Strangely, though, I should rather starve to death in a French port than live with you in the manner you describe.”

  He slowly leaned back against the side of the chaise. “And I had thought you an intelligent woman.” His tone was hard. “Well, my dear, perhaps you shall have your way.”

  Hester had turned her back to him again, when a shot rang out. The postillion gave a frightened cry, as the horses started to weave and plunge.

  Hastily lowering his window, Lord Lovett called out, “What is it?”

  “Highwaymen, my lord!”

  A pulse that was beating in Hester’s stomach leapt into her heart. She had never heard a more beautiful phrase.

  “Impossible!” Turning to peer out, Lord Lovett drew a pistol from inside his coat. “What highwayman would be this far from London?”

  The sight of his gun banished the joy from Hester’s breast. She could not bear to see St. Mars shot. She would ten times rather struggle with Lord Lovett alone.

  “Stand and deliver!”

  Regardless, the sound of the familiar voice sent a thrill down her spine.

  “Stay here!” Lord Lovett commanded. “I shall not keep you waiting above a few minutes.”

  Hester did not like his confident note. She saw him tuck the pistol in his waist and cover it with his coat.

  With her heart in her throat, she watched him open the door and step down. He turned towards the horses, then started to reach in his coat as if to draw out his purse.

  Before he could do more, she threw herself through the door and tumbled out. She glimpsed St. Mars, dressed in his black mask and blue satin cloak, as the highwayman Blue Satan, sitting astride a horse, and aiming a pistol at Lord Lovett’s heart.

  She cried out, “Beware! He has a pistol hidden!”

  Then, several things happened at once.

  St. Mars spurred his horse forward. Tom, who had been out of sight, came crashing through the undergrowth towards his master. Surprised by her cry, Lord Lovett recovered quickly and, grasping her by the waist, pulled her in front of him again. Hester felt the cold steel of his pistol pressed into her cheek.

  St. Mars reined his horse, stopping on the head of a pin. He called out, “Stop!”

  Tom pulled hard on his reins, too, spinning his mount in a circle before bringing it to a halt.

  For a moment, no one spoke. Over the pulse in her ears, Hester could hear Lord Lovett’s laboured breathing.

  St. Mars sat frozen upon his horse. In the pale dark of morning, she could see how tensely he held himself. His gaze was mostly fixed on Lord Lovett, but occasionally he darted a glance her way, as if he could not prevent himself from checking to see that she was all right.


  He wore no hat. His long fair hair was tied in a queue down his back. The top of his shirt was damp and open, revealing the lean muscles of his neck. He looked nothing like the fop who had burst into Lord Lovett’s withdrawing room yesterday afternoon.

  Lord Lovett was the first to speak, and he did it with a vicious hug of her waist. “Now, this is more like, my love! And still you’ve surprised me. I should never have guessed that you would take a common highwayman for a lover.”

  Frightened by the jealousy in his voice, Hester said, “You are mistaken. I do not know these men.” She was afraid that he would shoot St. Mars.

  “Truly?” he asked. “Then, how strange that they appear to know you! If they did not, then I doubt that they would have lowered their weapons.” He gestured briefly at the ground with his pistol. “Throw them down. Then dismount.”

  “You wouldn’t dare shoot,” St. Mars said. “If you did, then we should be on you in an instant.”

  Lord Lovett pressed the barrel against Hester’s throat so hard that she gave an involuntary cry. “That may be correct. But I doubt that you will test me.”

  Hester could see St. Mars clench his jaw, but he made a sign to Tom, and they both obeyed, keeping a wary watch on her captor.

  “Now, drop your reins, and move away. I am weary of traveling in this manner, and besides, the boy seems to have fled. Either of these horses should suit us. Wouldn’t you agree, my dear? And I doubt that your friends will follow us into Rye, not after we inform the constable that the infamous Blue Satan is working this road.”

  St. Mars had tightened his hands into fists. He looked pale, and Hester thought she could see confirmation in his eyes. He could not risk riding into town without a disguise, for Lord Lovett would be sure to describe him well.