by Mary Brendan
‘So do you want to tell me all about it or are we going to fight some more?’ Drew went to the table and poured himself a drink. He emptied the glass before adding, ‘You blasted well owe me the truth, Luke.’
Luke couldn’t deny it, so as briefly as possible he outlined his business in Devon with the Duke of Thornley. He also told Drew why he’d missed their first appointment, and how he’d helped stranded travellers whose coach had come a cropper. But he stopped short of mentioning Fiona and her ordeal at the hands of the Collins gang. That was too private, and, Luke realised, too precious, for even an old friend to know about.
Drew poured two drinks this time and moved one in Luke’s direction.
‘It sounds like some melodramatic romance novel my sister would read.’ Drew shook his head in a mixture of mockery and despair.
‘I know.’ Luke crossed his arms over his chest. ‘But unfortunately, it’s no fiction.’ He speared a glance at Drew. ‘I’ll speak to Thornley and explain.’
Drew snorted a mirthless laugh. ‘His daughter’s already tried that several times.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She sent me a note telling me so.’
‘You’ve not blamed her in any of this, I notice.’
Drew shrugged. ‘Young women can be impulsive and excitable—’
‘Like Cecilia, you mean?’ Luke interrupted drily.
‘So, if you told the duke you were coming to see me, and he let on to his daughter about it, he’s at fault.’ Drew ignored the reference to his errant niece. ‘I didn’t have to escort Joan home, or put His Grace in the picture over what had happened. I could have packed her off in her trap and let her fall straight into Jeremiah Collins’s clutches.’
‘A point worth bringing to Thornley’s attention tomorrow at your meeting,’ Luke said. ‘And while we’re talking of gracious gallantry...no more did I have to bring Cecilia home from the Hancocks’ ball that night before she disgraced herself any further.’ He approached Drew, held out his hand in a peace offering. ‘Send her off to her aunt’s out in the sticks. Better still, send her off to finishing school somewhere.’
Drew took Luke’s fingers, testing their strength with his own in a single shake. ‘Do you think Thornley will send his daughter away? Not that he needs to—nobody knows but us and them.’
‘What does she say about it all?’ Luke asked. ‘Apart from sorry.’
‘I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man alive.’ Drew had squeaked his answer in a childish treble.
Luke gave a gruff chuckle. ‘Well, there you are, then. His Grace might huff and puff, but he’ll give in to her in the end. Unless Joan Morland decides she wants you, you’re quite safe.’
‘Well...go on, then.’
Luke frowned.
‘I know you’re itching to get away so you can meet a woman. And it’s not Becky, is it?’
‘Becky’s on her way back to London, as far as I know.’
‘I’m heading back that way in the morning,’ Drew said. ‘Perhaps I’ll catch up with the minx...’
‘Be my guest,’ Luke said.
‘So...tell me about the woman who’s got you dangling on a bit of string.’
Luke turned for the door, giving his friend no more response than a smile.
‘The lady you were with at the King and Tinker?’ Drew guessed. ‘I reckon you’ve rescued that fair maiden...and put yourself in peril instead.’
Instead of telling his friend to mind his own business Luke made a rather rude gesture, but, worryingly, he immediately understood what Drew had hinted at.
It wasn’t love...it was lust, he told himself, banging the door shut after him as he heard Rockleigh erupt in laughter.
Chapter Twelve
‘Oh, how lovely to see you!’
Fiona had spotted the Jacksons as soon as the Pig and Whistle’s creaking sign hove into view. She waved furiously in greeting, allowing Bob Robley to assist her down in the tavern’s courtyard, then sped towards the couple. They appeared to have been awaiting her arrival, so she blurted, ‘Did you know I’d be coming by today?’
Mrs Jackson took Fiona’s hands in her own and gave them a fond squeeze. ‘Indeed we did expect you, my dear! Mr Wolfson sent a note ahead of you to ask us to welcome you. Not that we needed him to tell us to do that! You cannot know how happy and relieved we felt to discover he had you under his care. It is wonderful to see you, you poor child.’ Overcome with emotion Betty Jackson sniffed and enclosed Fiona in a motherly hug. ‘Are you well, my dear?’ She gave the younger woman a significant look, then glanced about to make sure that nobody was within earshot. ‘You understand what I mean by well?’ she hissed, raising her eyebrows, but her weathered features were shaped by concern rather than prurience.
‘I’m very well,’ Fiona answered quietly.
Mrs Jackson persisted. ‘Mr Wolfson caught up with you in time, before those fiends...?’
‘I was...am...perfectly fine,’ Fiona interrupted with a faint blush. ‘My dignity came off the worst,’ she quipped. ‘I was tossed about like a sack of potatoes.’
‘Savages!’ Mr Jackson interjected. ‘I’d like to get my hands on those two.’
‘Did they take you to that monster, Jeremiah Collins?’ Betty Jackson whispered, aghast.
‘I did meet him and he’s a very insipid individual in the flesh.’ Fiona gave her opinion of the notorious criminal.
‘It’s the quiet ones you have to watch,’ Peter Jackson growled. ‘The sooner the devil’s at the end of a noose the better.’
Fiona nodded, feeling a little shiver race over her as she recalled Jeremiah’s boast: I’ve money to make and pleasure to take before I swing on Gallows Hill. She sincerely hoped that the law caught up with him soon.
‘Mr Wolfson is so brave!’ Mrs Jackson’s clasped hands were pressed to her bosom. ‘How could he attain victory against such ruffians?’ she asked rhetorically, eyes glowing with admiration.
‘He is a military man, so used to employing tactics when skirmishing,’ Mr Jackson opined. ‘Nevertheless, praise where it is due for the feat of rescuing you so quickly, Miss Chapman.’
Fiona smiled faintly, wondering what the couple would think if they knew their hero was, or had been, a colleague of the wretch they’d see hung. And how would these fine people take knowing she’d come closer to being ravished by her saviour than by any gang member?
But Fiona knew she’d never discredit Luke Wolfson to anybody and not simply because of the service he’d done her. She sensed, deep within her heart, that he was a good man despite indications to the contrary and so little time spent with him to judge. But more than that, she felt oddly loyal to him, in the way she did to her mother. Maude had chosen to go ahead and marry Cecil Ratcliff despite her daughter’s warnings about the man. Even before the banns had been read Cecil had tried to insinuate his fingers beneath Fiona’s bodice on two occasions. Yet her mother had been angry to have her complain, insisting Cecil had simply been overzealous with his hugs. Now Maude knew the truth about the man she’d chosen to believe over her daughter, but it was too late. Maude had failed her child and no amount of bitter regrets would ever put things back as they’d been between mother and daughter.
‘Mr Wolfson made us promise to keep quiet about your kidnapping,’ Mrs Jackson whispered.
‘Not that he needed to tell us to do that, either,’ Mr Jackson emphasised. ‘We would never have risked a slur on your reputation. We had faith in him when he promised to put things right.’
‘Thank you for being so considerate...’ Fiona said huskily with tears in her eyes. ‘I have been worried about gossip.’
‘We have spoken to nobody about what happened to you,’ Mr Jackson quickly reassured. ‘Obviously the Beresford sisters and Toby and Bert know, but I’m sure they’ll heed Mr Wolfson’s w
ords on it and button their lips.’
‘How is Bert? All of you have been constantly in my thoughts,’ Fiona said earnestly.
‘Bert is on the mend. Toby has travelled back to the Fallow Buck so he might be reunited with his own vehicle, if not his stolen nags. I doubt he’ll see those again.’ Mr Jackson sorrowfully shook his head.
Fiona realised that the loss of the coachman’s animals would be a great blow to him.
‘Toby planned to get Bert quickly home to his own bed from the Fallow Buck. On his last visit the doctor said the lad had made a remarkable improvement and should fully recover.’
‘That’s wonderful news,’ Fiona breathed. ‘And the Beresford sisters?’
‘Oh, I imagine they’re back at their own fireside now. They left with us their very good wishes for you.’
Fiona smiled on hearing that. All had turned out better than she had dared hope. If her employer were to be understanding about her delayed arrival, then her life would be no better, or worse, than before calamity struck.
‘Well, let’s find a quiet spot to sit down inside the inn. There’s lots to talk about and I expect something to eat wouldn’t go amiss.’ Mr Jackson held out an elbow to both ladies and the trio proceeded into the Pig and Whistle.
* * *
‘The duke would like an audience, sir.’
‘I have an urgent appointment, but you may tell His Grace I will be back this way and will call in tomorrow to see him at Thornley Heights.’
‘But it is of the utmost importance, Major Wolfson, he bade me impress that upon you.’
Luke walked out of the farrier’s into warm sunlight so he might converse privately with Thornley’s steward. He’d been forced to break his journey towards the Pig and Whistle because the mare needed shoeing. As well as heading there for Fiona’s sake he had to return the horse to its owner and collect Star, full of beans no doubt after his enforced rest in a strange stable.
But Luke was being dogged on all sides by holdups. He cursed beneath his breath in frustration. He realised his obsession with Fiona Chapman was illogical, and out of character, yet still his mind persisted in returning to the spinster he barely knew, but desired so ardently that every fibre of his being seemed to have grown uncomfortably tense. He accepted, with wry self-mockery, that his desire for her company was probably not reciprocated. Indeed, he’d got the impression when they’d parted at the King and Tinker that she couldn’t remove herself from his presence quickly enough. But he’d also noticed that she’d glanced at Becky with an amount of female pique and he’d enough experience with the fairer sex to recognise a jealous woman.
The smith walked out of his workshop, leading the mare. Having paid the fellow for his work, Luke turned again to the hovering steward. About to send him on his way by repeating the message he’d already delivered, he thought of Drew. His friendship with Drew had stood the test of time, but it might not outlast this crisis. He owed it to Rockleigh to speak up on his behalf and make the duke see sense about Joan’s folly. Luke couldn’t believe that Alfred Thornley would shackle his cherished daughter to a fellow she didn’t want. His Grace, despite his undoubted fine intelligence, tended to act first and think second when in a passion over something. Luke had first-hand experience of the man’s arrogance. He guessed that Joan’s father had already calmed down enough to see the flaws in an enforced marriage. But he was too obstinate to admit he’d been wrong and was seeking a way out that would leave his pride intact.
If he rode hard for Thornley Heights then back again, he’d be delayed by no more than a few hours, Luke realised. He trusted the Jacksons to care for Fiona in his absence. And he did at least have the comfort of knowing that she’d arrived safely: he’d quizzed Robley’s sons and been assured they’d seen her go inside the Pig and Whistle with a middle-aged couple.
Luke gave Thornley’s man a brief nod. ‘Very well—you may tell His Grace I will arrive by two of the clock this afternoon.’
* * *
Maude had never travelled on a mail coach before although she was no stranger to the hired cab. With a public hackney one had the chance to be private, rather than assailed by the touch and odour of strangers’ bodies. She hoped the infernal bone-shaker would stop soon so she might get off to have some refreshment and cool down.
It was late April but the atmosphere seemed as hot as the month of June and the interior of the coach was smelly and steamy. Maude cast a jaundiced eye on her maid; Rose seemed unperturbed as she snored with her chin resting on her chest. Irritated, Maude realised that her servant had a better seat than she did being next to the window with air stirring her wispy brown hair. Maude wondered whether to wake Rose and tell her to change places, but of course that would entail bumping into the other occupants of the congested coach and Maude would sooner suffer cramps than risk physical contact with any of them. Stiffly, she straightened her legs beneath her skirts to ease their position.
She stopped fidgeting on hearing the blare of a horn. She avoided the eye of a labourer seated opposite who’d given her several lewd winks and beneath her breath muttered a little prayer which was answered: the vehicle slowed down and pulled into a wide tavern courtyard.
* * *
‘Might we have a pot of tea, my girl, and some biscuits or cakes?’ Maude asked the servant as she and her maid settled down in chairs by the hearth.
‘I’ll fetch scones and bread and butter with your tea, madam, if you like.’
Having received an agreement to her suggestion, Megan headed off with the order, her rosy lips forming a kiss for Sam as she spotted him through the window. She sashayed towards the kitchens, knowing her beau was watching her while using the currycomb on a horse.
If anybody suspected that her sweetheart was a member of the Collins gang, they knew better than to say so outright. Most local people took the view that the less said openly about the smuggling trade, the better. Turning a blind eye to nocturnal visits by fellows carrying kegs was accepted behaviour in this neck of the woods. Megan knew that her employer filled his cellar with contraband, but instead of personally taking deliveries, he’d leave the barn door ajar on an appointed night. So that he could honestly claim not to know the criminals he’d hide payment behind a brick in the wall for furtive collection. Since the landlord of the Cockerell had been found stabbed, no innkeeper had reneged on paying up for supplies brought on trust.
Megan had no family living close by; she’d left home in Exeter at sixteen to make her way in the world. The landlord and his wife provided her board and lodging and she had nothing but tips from the customers to put into her purse. So Megan appreciated that her Sam was often flush from running with a powerful man like Jeremiah Collins. In the past Sam had treated her to lengths of smuggled French lace and perfume.
Of course, Sam’s parents suspected what he did to boost his meagre regular wages, and made no bones about it. With five younger brothers and sisters to feed they were grateful for whatever merchandise their eldest boy brought home. They asked no awkward questions as to how Sam came by sudden riches.
Maude gave the servant a gracious smile; the girl seemed keen to please, she thought, as Megan put down the tray filled with food and tea things and offered to pour.
Megan’s pleasant expression turned sour when the maid started pouring tea and waved her away without offering her a tip.
‘I do hope we find my daughter quickly.’ Maude sighed as she watched Rose replace the teapot on the tray. ‘How am I to know where to look for Fiona? It was bad of her to go off without leaving me her proper direction. Devon is a vast place.’
Rose gave her mistress a sympathetic look, but refrained from pointing out that Miss Fiona had probably been reticent so her stepfather didn’t discover her whereabouts. Not that Mrs Chapman—Rose refused to think of her mistress as anything other than the late master’s spouse—would have willingly betra
yed her daughter. Rose knew Cecil Ratcliff for a bully. If he’d wanted to have Fiona brought home, he’d have eventually got out of his wife where to look for her. But Rose reckoned that Cecil had bigger fish to fry: she had opened the door to duns a few days ago. Now Cecil had almost emptied the house of furnishings, the property would be sold off next. In Rose’s opinion, even if Mrs Chapman decided to return to the thieving wretch with her tail between her legs, she’d have nowhere to call home.
‘I wonder if my daughter stopped here for refreshment?’ Maude looked about the interior of the heavily beamed tavern. ‘I’m sure she would have broken her journey as we have. Mayhap the serving girl might remember her,’ Maude ventured brightly. ‘It would not hurt to ask—she seems an obliging young woman.’
‘More tea, madam?’ Megan had quickly responded to the customer’s beckoning finger. A few coppers as a tip could yet come her way.
‘Do you know if Miss Fiona Chapman stopped at this hostelry? It would have been quite recently—she is my daughter, you see...’ Maude tutted as the girl began loading crockery onto the tray as though deaf to her question. ‘Did you not hear what I said, miss?’
‘I... I don’t recall that name,’ Megan lied, flustered. ‘Sorry... I’ve to wash up.’ Picking up the tray, she hurried off.
‘Well...really! It was a simple enough enquiry,’ Maude huffed loudly. ‘I’ll ask the landlord instead.’
Megan heard that threat and immediately reduced her pace to begin mulling things over. She stopped and put down the tray on an empty table, then glanced over a shoulder at the two women. Pursed-lipped, she thought harder about things. She didn’t like the fact that her Sam was involved in holding up coaches, or that he threatened people with guns to rob them. But he’d sworn to her that it was Fred Ruff who’d fired the shot at Bert Williams, winging him. Megan had been mightily relieved when Toby Williams and Bert had turned up yesterday to collect their repaired coach. Bert had looked poorly, but at least he was again on his feet; he’d even managed to give her a wink and she’d teased him, what with him being a married man. But neither of the Williamses had said a word about an abduction and naturally Megan couldn’t say she knew one had taken place when the coach had been held up. So she’d realised that the two men were being respectful of the victim’s reputation.