by Mary Nichols
‘On one of the spares. Had to gallop it a fair distance and circle round you, but you weren’t going at any great pace.’
‘If you’ve harmed it...’
‘I don’t expect it to be fit for anything for a few days, but it’ll recover.’
‘But why?’
‘Why, Miss Paget? Now, if you were meaning why did I take a horse from your stables and go hell for leather to get ahead of you, that’s simple. According to the Major’s plan and yours too, I was supposed to ride Warrior to the inn. That suited me fine, but you had to go and change everything, didn’t you? You had to bring the stallion yourself, so you’ve only yourself to blame for the fix you’re in.’ He paused and favoured her with a tigerish smile and she wondered how she had ever come to trust him. ‘On the other hand, if you mean why was I intending to take possession of Warrior and hide him up until after the race, then that’s another story.’
‘Where have you put him?’
‘He’s safe enough. You have to admit, Miss Paget, whatever I am, I know how to look after a horse.’
‘And after the race is over? I assume you did it to prevent the Major winning?’
‘True.’
‘And from that I infer you have been paid by Lord Barbour.’
‘Oh, he’s only part of the lay. It goes a great deal deeper than that, Miss Paget, a very great deal.’
‘What do you mean?’
He tapped the side of his nose. ‘There’s some, closer to home than Lord Barbour, as wouldn’t be averse to seeing Richard Baverstock come a cropper.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘You do not need to, not if you’re a good girl and keep out of it. Settle down here and it’ll soon be over.’
‘I will pay you generously to let me go on with Warrior as if nothing had happened and I won’t deliver you up to the law, provided you leave the district.’
‘Very tempting, Miss Paget, but I know how strapped you are; you could not afford to match his lordship’s offer. Besides, I’ve put a monkey on the outcome of the race at fifteen to one and that’s not to be sneezed at.’
‘Where did you find that much money?’
‘Now that would be telling, would it not?’ He took out his watch and noted the time. ‘The contestants will be at the Barley Mow very soon. Who do you think will be the first away?’
Furiously she picked up the plate of hot food, threw it in his face and made a dash for the door. He yelled to warn his accomplice and sprang after her. The boy stood in front of her and blocked her path. She tried to push past him, but Jem had her by the arms and pulled her back into the room. He slapped her face hard with the flat of his hand, first one way then the other, then he threw her on to the bed. ‘Now, Miss Paget, you have cooked your own goose. Matt, bring me a rope; we’ll have to tie her up.’
‘No,’ she shrieked.
‘Yes. I have to go out and I can’t be sure you’ll not find some way of hoaxing Matt, here, into letting you go.’ He took the rope from the boy and tied her up very thoroughly, finishing by knotting the end around the bed head. Then he and the boy left the room and the door was bolted on the other side.
‘I’m off on to the high road to meet your pa,’ she heard Jem say. ‘Just you make sure she don’t get away. Don’t open the door to anyone but me or Charlie, do you hear?’ She heard a door slam and after that there was silence.
Richard had made good time, though he had often been hampered by the spectators who would keep running out into the road to get a closer look and by young bloods on horses trying to ride alongside him. The stewards were doing their best, but they couldn’t be everywhere.
But there was one big advantage to having the route lined with people; many of them carried lamps and torches and the road in many places was well-illuminated. He could see the lights of Baldock ahead and risked a look over his shoulder. There was no sign of Lord Barbour, but he knew he was not far behind. He really ought to increase his lead. He dug his spurs into the mare and raised her speed a fraction. The next section would be done on Warrior and that should give him a great advantage.
The Barley Mow loomed up, emblazoned with light and as crowded as if it were broad day. He pulled up and slid from his horse’s back. Already his thighs and buttocks were crying out for a rest and he was hardly a third of the way. Someone ran forward to take his horse, someone else thrust a tankard and a leg of chicken into his hands. He drank the ale in one or two strong pulls and nibbled at the food. ‘Where’s my next mount?’
‘Not arrived yet,’ an ostler told him. ‘We sent out to see if it was coming but there was no sign of it.’
Richard swore comprehensively and looked about him. His lordship’s next mount was already saddled and was being walked slowly about the yard to keep it warm. It seemed to be the only animal in the yard except for the one Richard had just brought in. ‘Have you got a spare mount?’ he asked.
‘No, sir.’
‘Anything will do. An old hack, a carriage horse...’
‘Not a one, sir. Everything that can take a saddle and some what can’t have been let out. People want to see the race from the best vantage point, you know.’
Richard strode out to the crossroads and looked along the lane in the direction of Rowan Park. The moonlight flooded down on to trees and bushes and the ruts in the road, making them look deeper than they really were, but of Warrior and his groom there was no sign.
He could not believe that Georgie would let him down like that. She must have mistaken the time or misinterpreted his instructions, or the groom had. He tried to remember which man had been given the task of bringing the horse. It was that new chap - Jem, he thought his name was. Wasn’t he the one who had found Bright Star injured in her stall? It was no good standing about in the road; the horse was not there and there was nothing else he could do.
He hurried back to the inn and ordered his previous mount to be re-saddled. He was waiting for it to be brought out when Lord Barbour rode up and dismounted. Ignoring Richard, he called for ale, limping about the yard to ease his stiff limbs. ‘Blister me, but it’s saddle-sore I am.’ Then, seeing his adversary, he smiled. ‘Well, well, no mount, Major?’
‘Of course I have a mount.’
‘But not the one you were expecting, eh? I wonder what can have become of it? Let you down, did she? I could have told you she would.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Why, that stiff-rumped, horse-dealing ape-leader, she promises one thing, does another.’ He was grinning from ear to ear, but Richard, conscious that everyone within earshot was listening, would not allow himself to be goaded, though it took all his self-control.
‘I expect there has been a delay; the horse will be here directly.’
‘But too late, eh?’ He took a look at the mare being led forward for Richard; someone had made a start on rubbing her down, but had not finished, and her coat still gleamed with sweat. ‘That one is spent. Are you ready to concede defeat? I must admit I should be glad of it, for I can hardly stand upright.’
‘No, my lord, I ride on.’
‘Pity,’ his lordship said, handing back his ale pot and taking the reins of his new mount from a groom, motioning the man to hold his hands for him to mount, for he was in no condition to spring into the saddle. ‘I wonder how many other problems you will have to encounter before the night is out? I am persuaded Lady Luck is not with you.’
Richard watched him ride out of the yard, reluctant to follow if there was any chance of Warrior turning up. His lordship was right; those last few yards of hard galloping had as good as finished the mare and he was reminded of his promise to Georgie that he would not ruin any of the horses. But what else could he do? Give up?
One of the official referees appointed for each stage approached him. ‘You must go on, Major, or concede defeat.’
Reluctantly he got back in the saddle and walked his horse slowly out of the yard. He would have to nurse her carefully for the next stage and h
e didn’t see how he could ever overtake his opponent, unless he too had a stroke of bad luck. The lights of Baldock faded behind him and the road became darker than ever as he entered a wood. There were a few spectators on this particular stretch and he was alone with his thoughts.
As far as Richard could remember, no one had told Lord Barbour that Warrior had not arrived, so how had he known? And he had been gleeful about it. Had he been responsible? Had the stallion never left Rowan Park? It was a logical step from there to wonder if anything had happened to Georgie. He remembered all the so-called accidents that had happened at the stables and how distressed and exhausted she had been.
Walking his horse steadily along the Great North Road in the dark, he could not shake off the feeling that Georgie was in danger. He was reminded of Maria, who had died because she had tried to help him. He had always blamed himself for that and if anything had happened to Georgie he would feel ten times worse. His passion for Maria had faded to nothing but a fond memory, but Georgie was here and alive and he loved her. Maria had known the dangers, but Georgie... She was more important to him than anything else in the world, including a race. He reined in and turned back.
Corporal Daniel Batson was patrolling the stretch of road alongside the wood, eyes and ears alert, just as he had done many and many a time in the Peninsula, musing on the turn his life had taken and looking forward to a pot of ale and a good meal in the Barley Mow when he had finished, when Lord Barbour rode towards him, not galloping as he had expected, not even cantering. He was walking his horse as if he had all the time in the world. Daniel could have sworn the Major would reach him first, so where was he?
His service had made him a cautious man; he darted nimbly behind a tree and watched. Not fifty yards away, a man stepped out from the bushes and approached the rider, who dismounted to speak to him. There was definitely something smoky going on. The watcher moved, silent as the grave, from tree to tree, and was soon within listening range.
`Well, man?’ Lord Barbour stood slapping his crop against his boot, impatient to be off again. ‘Why d’you stop me? You got it, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, my lord, though it didn’t go exactly according to plan.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I didn’t have the bringing of the animal. Had to set up a bit of a diversion, so to speak.’
‘Who did bring it and what have you done with him?’
‘It ain’t a him, it’s the long meg herself. She’s our guest. I took her to the woodman’s cottage; she’s tied up right and tight with your boy on guard.’
‘Where’s your partner?’
‘Charlie? He’s keepin’ watch up the road aways. What do you want me to do with the article?’
His lordship did not speak again for a minute and Daniel, who could see very little, thought he might have gone away. He was about to risk a look, when Lord Barbour went on. ‘It’s no tragedy. We’ll just have to change our plans, that’s all.’
‘Well, I tell you now, I ain’t in the business of topping women.’
‘You don’t have to, but she’ll make capital bait; he’ll take it hook, line and sinker. Just arrange one of your little diversions for him. Stop him, tell him she’s had an accident, you know the sort of thing.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Back at the Barley Mow, but if I know him he’ll find himself a new mount or ride the old one; either way he’ll be along directly. If he isn’t, you’ll find him at the inn.’ He paused. ‘Where’s the old fellow?’
‘Tucked up in his bed. He’s out of it.’
‘Good.’ There was another slight pause. ‘I’m glad about that, you know; didn’t fancy putting his light out; we used to be friends in our younger days.’
‘You could ha’ fooled me.’
‘Needs must when the devil drives, but the son is another matter. I shall enjoy that. Now, I’ve got a race to win.’
The man laughed. ‘Race with only one runner?’
‘I’m not to know that the other contestant has met with an unfortunate accident, am I? Now, get back and do as you’re told if you want the blunt at the end of it.’
‘And the woman?’
‘Bring her on to Melton Mowbray with you.’
‘How? We can’t put her on a stage trussed up like a chicken and she won’t go no other way.’
‘You can persuade her, can’t you? Tell her the Major’s had a fall and needs her; she’ll come easy enough then.’
Daniel waited until the sound of the horse’s hooves faded and cautiously peered out from his hiding place. Lord Barbour had gone, as he’d expected, but he could just make out the outline of the other man walking away from him in the other direction. But there was a third man and he didn’t know exactly where he was. Apart from the soughing of the wind in the trees and the distant call of an owl, there was no sound, and no light either. But the Corporal was used to moving about stealthily in the dark, as many a French bluecoat had learned to his cost, and he was not going to wait until the Major rode into the ambush.
Darting silently from tree to tree along the edge of the road, he made his way back in the direction of Baldock, two miles distant. Once clear of the wood, he stepped out into the road and walked smartly along it, expecting to meet Richard at every turn.
But there was no sign of the Major and he arrived back at the inn without having set eyes on him, only to find him in the yard, impatiently questioning the ostlers and anyone else who might be able to throw some light on the stallion’s disappearance. The Corporal lost no time in recounting his tale. ‘They’re lying in wait for you about two miles up the road,’ he finished.
`Are they, by God? Then I think we’ll have to turn the tables on them.’ He turned back to the ostler. ‘Find me another mount. I don’t care where you get it from, just get one.’ And as the man went to obey, muttering to himself that he weren’t no magician, Richard turned again to Daniel. ‘If he’s hurt a hair of her head, by God, he’ll pay.’
‘What are you going to do? Walk into the trap?’
‘No, let them sweat a bit. I mean to find Miss Paget first.’ Then to the ostler who was leading a very small cob with a well-worn saddle, ‘I want to find the woodman’s cottage; do you know where it is?’
‘In the wood,’ the man said, making Richard fume with impatience.
‘I know that, man. How can I find it?’
‘Go down the back road; it’s easier to find from there, and quicker. There’s a track, just wide enough for his cart. It leads straight to it.’
Richard looked at the cob and could hardly suppress a smile. ‘Is that all you could find?’
‘Yes, it belongs to the landlord’s daughter.’
‘I can’t ride that; I’ll break it’s back. Corporal, you ride him; you’re a deal lighter than me. I’ll take my mare again.’ And so the mare was once more pressed into service and the two men rode out of the yard.
Richard was silent as they rode. There was something very sinister going on; this was no simple race to win a wager; the stakes were higher than that. Someone had wanted him dead. Why? And why involve Georgie, brave, resourceful, vulnerable Georgie? Just what was going on?
They found the track they were looking for and dismounted to lead their mounts, walking cautiously. In a very few minutes they discovered a clearing and in the middle of it, bathed in moonlight, was a dilapidated cottage with smoke coming from its chimney. ‘That’s it,’ Richard whispered, tying his mount to a tree. ‘Leave the horses here.’
Daniel was tethering the cob, when Richard put a hand on his arm and he froze. Coming towards the cottage from the opposite direction was a man Richard recognised. ‘Jem,’ he whispered. ‘Is that the man you saw?’
‘I reckon so, though I didn’t get a good look. He must ha’ got tired of waiting for you.’
‘He maybe thinks I’ve given up. He’ll be going to the Barley Mow to look for me and lure me out here with some Banbury tale.’ He grinned in the darkness as the man disappeared in
side the building. ‘Wonder how many of them there are?’
‘If they’re the same ones as held up his lordship’s coach, there were three to start with and I slipped the wind of one o’ them. And maybe this Charlie he talked of is another. He’s likely left him on the road to watch out for you.’
‘He’s got a long wait, then,’ Richard said grimly. ‘But we won’t take any chances. I’ll take a look first.’
There was a shack near by which was probably used for storing logs, for there was a pile of them next to it and an axe stuck in a chopping-block. They crept forward and, once they were out of the shelter of the trees, darted for the cover of the logs. Behind them, in the shack, they heard the restless chomping of a horse. Richard left their hiding place to take a look. ‘It’s Warrior,’ he said, returning. ‘You keep under cover while I go and take a look around.’
He looked about him, then quickly crossed the open ground until he was in the shelter of the wall of the cottage. Bending low, he moved along and peered in the window. Jem and Lord Barbour’s son were sitting at a table, deep in conversation. There was no one else to be seen.
He ducked down and went round to the back. The window there was shuttered. He peered through a crack and could just make out the figure of someone sitting on a bed, someone in a woman’s riding habit. He was just about to pull it open when he saw Jem come into the room and untie her from the bed. Then, with her hands still bound behind her, he pulled her roughly into the other room. Richard returned to the Corporal.
‘She’s there. One man and the boy. You let Warrior out. Make as much noise as you can to draw them out. Lead them away; give me a bit of time.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Daniel was once more the soldier, obeying orders; he felt comfortable with that.
‘Wait for me to get into place. I’ll throw a stone as a signal.’ Then he was gone again, scampering to the cover of the cottage wall.
‘Sit down,’ Jem commanded Georgie, pushing her into a chair at the table. ‘He ain’t come; seems he couldn’t get another mount after all, so we’ll just have to invite him here.’