by Joan Smith
He looked at her a long moment with a smile that it was difficult to read, but that she soon decided he regularly used to con women, as he had got it down so pat. She actually felt a flush of pleasure at his open admiration.
"Whatever you say," she answered meekly.
He cocked his head. "That's quite an about-face from your attitude last night."
"I did not quite trust you then," she reminded him.
“That was wise of you. To distrust everyone, I mean. A pity you had not saved some of your suspicion for Carlisle. Never mind. We'll take care of him." He reached out and squeezed her fingers. "Ready for the battle royal?" he asked. "We are about to come to serious cuffs, you and I, to give me an excuse to depart. I hope he doesn't find it too odd."
He arose abruptly to stand glaring down at her. In a loud, angry voice, he said, "I have been called a lot of things in my time, but this is too much!"
She blinked in surprise, and hastily considered some line to match this violent beginning. "Well, it's true!" she exclaimed sharply. "You are an impostor. Calling yourself a colonel one minute, and Mr. Kiley the next. You are a crook, sir, and so I tell you. If you pester me one moment longer, I shall call a constable."
He glowered over her, as though in a rage. "As to calling a constable, he might be interested in your other traveling companion, the gentleman who calls himself Mr. Carlisle." On this speech, he turned on his heel and departed the room.
This alteration in plans had to be explained to her companions, as soon as he was gone.
"Famous, Miss Bradford. You are up to anything!" Carlisle congratulated her. "Now we can proceed unhindered to Ipswich. Oh, this is much more exciting than going to a gaming hell with Edward Rafferty. I would not have missed it for anything. Gather up your diamonds, and let us be off."
She hastily considered developing a migraine and getting rid of Carlisle while she was about it. But he looked so perfectly innocent, smiling and speaking of Edward Rafferty in a way to make her think they were indeed old friends, that she took the quick decision to go on with him. His next speech confirmed her as to the rightness of her course.
"There's a back road that jogs toward Maldon—it is not so well surfaced as the other, but it cuts a few miles off the trip. We haven't gotten rid of Kiley that easily. He'll be skulking around Chelmsford, looking out for us. I don't doubt we'll arrive before him, as he is riding that wretched old nag from the inn. He's out in his luck if he thought to hire something better here. There isn't a piece of horseflesh to be had. I checked."
It was good to have a man to make these practical decisions in a way that was difficult for two inexperienced ladies. Vanessa would have wasted precious time poring over maps, and then probably have taken the wrong route. She was happy too to learn Kiley had not got a better mount.
"Let us go," she said, arising to place her hand on Mr. Carlisle's arm. Elleri did the same on his left arm, but he stopped them. "Hadn't one of us better pay the shot here?" he asked, laughing. "Innkeepers are so dreadfully commercial. They want to be paid for their services."
As he spoke, he pulled out his purse and called a servant, overriding all their polite objections. His every move was so polite and gentlemanly it was very hard to let any suspicion remain.
As the ladies joggled along a road noticeably inferior to the main road, they were agreed they had acted very wisely in the matter.
"And even if that nice Mr. Carlisle does turn out to be a rogue," Miss Simons declared, "I am sure you will handle him, minx, for you are up to all the rigs. I never knew what a cunning actress you were, till today."
Flushed with victory, Vanessa tended to agree. She had handled Kiley pretty well. It was not for a quarter of an hour that it occurred to her that if he were truly a spy, he would have that letter ripped open as soon as he was out of their sight. He would be back hounding them, but at least then she would know unequivocally that he was the enemy. If, on the other hand, he did not return, she had deprived herself of a real helper, the man sent to her by her father. Reconsidering the whole case against him, she conceded that his stories could be true. Her father could have sent him to her without giving him any identification; he could have talked Papa into sending the letter directly to London; he could even have had a French newspaper in his possession without being a French spy.
And if he were innocent, then Carlisle was likely guilty. Someone had knocked her out and searched her body for the letter. Was it possible she had placed herself undefended in the enemy's hands? She would soon know, as soon as Kiley caught up with them again. And if he had not done so by Chelmsford, then she would know Carlisle was the spy, and take whatever steps occurred to her. The remainder of the time was spent in conjuring with which "steps" to accomplish this end.
Chapter Nine
The morning passed in this troublesome fashion. The weather at least was good—bright and warm, and while the road was not so well surfaced as the main route, neither was there heavy traffic to slow them down, nor such an absolute lack of vehicles as to feel dangerously isolated. Carlisle had spoken of reaching Maldon for luncheon, but with an early start and a light breakfast, they were more than ready to take a break when they were still two miles short of the town.
"Just as well to stay away from the cities," Carlisle pointed out when he had pulled alongside their stopped carriage. "If Kiley takes into his head to come looking for us, he is less likely to find us at a small spot like this."
"Do you think he will do so?" Miss Simons asked.
"He isn't likely to give up on a diamond necklace only because Miss Bradford threatened to call a constable on him, is he?" he asked. "He is setting some trap probably. He thought we would be following shortly behind him. If we're lucky, he'll cool his heels at Chelmsford, waiting for us to come along."
This picture was amusing enough to set them all smiling as they descended to have their carriage and curricle stabled at the small roadside in. "We'll have a quick bite and be well north of Colchester before we stop for the night," Carlisle said, lending his arm to the ladies to mount the brick stairs to the doorway.
The small hostelry boasted no private dining room, but in such an out-of-the-way spot, and before the common lunch hour, there were no other customers. They ate cold meat and cheese, to save waiting for hot food. They were just finishing their coffee, prior to leaving, when the front door of the establishment opened.
Vanessa felt a churning of apprehension within her chest. She knew instinctively who it would be, knew now for a certainty he was the enemy. Within thirty seconds, Mr. Kiley's tall form loomed in the doorway of the dining room, his face a black scowl.
"A clever trick, miss, but you will have to get up earlier than six o'clock to fool me!" he said angrily.
She laid down her cup and regarded him with a calmness that taxed her acting ability. "I cannot imagine what you mean, sir. I threatened to call a constable if you did not leave me alone. I thought you had heeded my warning, but as you have not, I shall summon him here if you direct one more word to me."
"You don't get away that easily."
"Try if you can stop me," she answered. She pushed back her chair and arose majestically. Carlisle jumped to his feet in a belated effort to come to her assistance. Kiley looked as if he would like to say a deal more, but something held him back. She half wished he would do something to enable her to have him placed under arrest. Carlisle threw a bill on the table, and with an insolent stare at the intruder, ushered the ladies from the room.
Kiley sat down and ordered a tall glass of ale. When it arrived, he walked to the window and drank it there, watching to see which direction the party took. He frowned to see Carlisle stop to scribble a note and send it off with a stable boy.
"What is that you are doing, Mr. Carlisle?" Vanessa asked.
"I am sending a note to the constable in Maldon to take a tour along this road, just in case we have any trouble with Kiley," he explained.
"A wise precaution," Elleri Simons said. "He looked ready to ki
ll us all."
As soon as they had left, Kiley was out the door after them, without waiting till he had eaten. He looked to see their direction, then sent for a fresh mount.
When the carriage and the curricle had taken the first bend in the road, Carlisle pulled ahead and signaled for them to stop. He alit and went to their door. "I have been thinking about what Kiley said, back at the inn. What did he mean, Miss Bradford, a clever trick?" he asked, with natural curiosity.
She was strongly tempted to tell him all her business, but remembered her father's warnings. "I suppose he refers to our change of route," she answered. "He must have been looking for us along the other road."
"He has plenty of brass to as much as tell you his plan," Carlisle answered, looking dissatisfied. He regarded Vanessa with a close scrutiny. "Are you sure you're being quite frank with me, ma'am?" he asked with a trace of diffidence. "Come now, can't you trust me? I know you come from Hastings, where your father, a colonel, is active in the defense against Napoleon's probable invasion. If you are engaged in some more important job than delivering diamonds, I think you ought to tell me."
"Oh," she said, distress on every line of her face, that he had hit upon her secret. She had never had to decide anything more important than what gown to wear, or what gentleman to stand up with at a ball. Her whole life had been sheltered, giving her no opportunity to become decisive. While she hesitated, he spoke on.
"I thought as much! I shan't pry. It is none of my concern, except to do what I can to see you make your trip safely. I do wish you had trusted me completely," he added with a little offended glance.
"I do," she assured him. "Truly I do, it is only that Papa said—said not to trust anyone, or tell anyone, you see."
"Is it a verbal message you carry?" he asked.
She looked at him, unable to suppress a little jab of suspicion at the question. "What I wish to discover is just how great a danger you are in," he pointed out. "If you carry some documents, that is one thing. You may be held up and robbed of them, but if you carry the message in your head—well, that is a different matter entirely, isn't it? A much more dangerous spot for you to be in, and greater precautions must be taken for your safety. I come to see this Kiley does not mean to give up."
"He can't do anything in broad daylight," she pointed out. "Let us get back on the main road at once, before he comes after us."
"The constable should be along shortly," Elleri reminded them.
"You haven't answered my question," he said. "You have trusted me this far. Tell me the rest, and let me decide what must be done to protect you and the message." He looked worried, and completely innocent, with his frank blue eyes and open face.
She knew if she admitted she carried a letter, he would want it to safeguard himself, and her desire was to retain it on her own body. "The message is inside my head," she told him. He turned a shade paler, and looked extremely worried.
"Write it down and let me deliver it. You too carry this message in your head, Miss Simons?"
"Fiddlesticks!" was Miss Simons' answer, given with an impatient, accusing glance at her niece. "Mr. Carlisle has been a great help to us, Nessa, and it is time to tell him the truth."
He nodded his head. "I see. You still don't trust me," he said to Vanessa. "I had better travel in your carriage, and bring my pistol along with me." The ladies exchanged a frightened look but made no demur. Carlisle went to his curricle and extracted from under the seat a black leather pistol case.
"It is odd he happened to have a pistol with him," Vanessa said, her brow furrowing.
"Thank your lucky stars he has. You may be sure that villain of a Kiley, or colonel, or whoever he is, has one," Miss Simons answered.
"Lucky I had this along with me," Carlisle said as he came back to them. "I hardly ever carry a pistol, but Edward Rafferty and I had planned a spot of shooting at Manton's Gallery in London. Let us go at once."
He opened the door of the carriage and hopped in without bothering to have the step let down. The pistol, still in its case, was stowed in the side pocket of the carriage, where its bulge brought less assurance of safety than dread that it might have to be used. Carlisle's tiger happily took over the reins of the curricle, and was the happiest member of the party for the next several miles.
Within the closed carriage, spirits were low. Carlisle was naturally curious to discover where the message was secreted. He was quite as persistent as Kiley in the matter. At length Vanessa said, to silence his questions, "I have it hidden under the lining of my valise. It is quite safe. One would have to know exactly where it is to find it. The lining has been glued back over it."
She was becoming uneasy at his hard questioning. Doubts began to assail her as to his trustworthiness, but once she had told him her lie as to where it was hidden, he settled down to lighter conversation.
"I had to know, you know, in case anything happened to you. I don't wish to frighten you unnecessarily," he added apologetically. "I shall do everything in my power to see nothing does happen, but it is best to be prepared for any contingency."
"Yes," she agreed, and settled back to try to relax.
"Let us speak of other things," he said, trying manfully to amuse them, but his next speech was hardly one to bring ease. "Is Kiley following us? I hope the constable I sent for has stopped him."
They looked back down the road, where the dust from his curricle whirled into a cloud with that from their own carriage, making the view very murky indeed.
"We cannot very well forbid him the highway," he went on. "Don't worry. I can handle him." He glanced to the bulging side pocket, while Miss Simons fanned herself with her gloves and wondered what she was doing, mixed up in such desperate goings-on. She had not thought of the ball since morning. How very odd!
The afternoon dragged on more slowly than the morning. There was a constant peering out the back window to see if Kiley was coming. With the denser traffic of the main thoroughfare, it was impossible to tell, but when they stopped to change team and take a glass of wine in mid-aftemoon, he was observed to enter the yard not long after them. When they left, he drained his glass.
"Can't we do something to lose him?" Miss Simons begged their escort. "My nerves are on edge, always seeing him there behind us, hovering like a vulture."
"He hasn't done anything," Carlisle pointed out. "If he so much as speaks to either of you at the next stop, I shall beat him. Or call a constable," he added, perhaps more realistically. Carlisle was well enough set up, but a few inches shorter than Kiley, and smaller across the chest.
"I know he will break into our room again tonight," Miss Bradford worried. During the trip, she had told Carlisle of her being hit on the head and searched.
"By God, he won't, if I have to sleep outside your door with a pistol in my hands," he said hotly. "Is there no friend in the area you can go to, as you did the Raffertys last night?"
"No one. He would only make an excuse and barge in after us if we did. Maybe we had best get a fresh team and travel all night," she suggested. She was immediately talked down by her aunt, who raised the same objection as the previous night, with the same result.
"Why don't you let me keep the valise that holds the letter?" Carlisle asked. "I hesitated to suggest it when it was diamonds you spoke of, but a letter is another matter. I could have no possible interest in it, except to see it safely delivered. Kiley would not likely look for it in my safekeeping.
"An excellent idea," Miss Simons thought.
As the valise was innocent of anything but her clothing, Vanessa agreed to it. This was the plan set on. He would take the valise, guard it with his life, while still keeping an eye on the ladies from the next room. It was their hope to get three rooms all in a row, possibly even adjoining.
"We must stop in a city, where a constable is within easy call," Nessa insisted.
"That means Colchester," Carlisle said. "We had hoped to get a little farther before we stopped."
"No, I won't be stran
ded in some country inn on a dark road, away from civilization," she insisted.
"By all means, stop at Colchester. My head will split wide open if I don't get out of this carriage soon," Elleri moaned. "We are certain to get rooms there. If we go past it, there is no saying we will be in luck. We might end up driving through the dark ..." She gave an involuntary shiver.
"Both the Red Lion and the Three Cups, at Colchester, are decent places," Carlisle mentioned.
"I have eaten at the Three Cups," Elleri said, nodding her approval. "They have a fine Renaissance dining room, with a musicians' gallery all around. I wonder if they still have music."
"This is not a social outing," her niece reminded her.
They stopped at the Red Lion, an old half-timbered inn. They could not get exactly those accommodations they wanted. Carlisle had to take a room across the hall, but for the women, a pair of adjoining rooms was hired. When the clerk shoved the register toward them, Vanessa reached for the pen, and wrote "Miss Forrester." With a sly smile, Elleri inscribed in her dainty hand "Mrs. Forrester" below it. "I know what put that name in your head, sly puss." She laughed.
"I just wanted to put some other name than our own," Vanessa said.
"That will be the White Rose Suite, ladies," the cleric said, handing them their keys.
"I'll take up the valises," Carlisle said. "I signed myself up as Mr. Pettigrew. I assume it was your hope to fool Kiley by using an alias."
"Yes, of course it was."
"You had better give me your valise," he reminded her.
"Let me get my nightclothes out of it first," she said, to allow opportunity to rip up a corner of the lining and glue a paper under it, to give an air of authenticity to her story. And where was she to get glue at a public inn?
It was better luck than she expected when the serving wench told her she would bring up a bottle.
"I hope our luck is changing," she said wistfully to her aunt.
"You'll change your mind when you try that bed," was the glum reply. "The mattress is stuffed with sticks and stones."