Sanguinet's Crown

by Patricia Veryan

  She blushed with pleasure, but with unyielding honesty pointed out, “And I am held to be a bluestocking.”

  “You are?” His eyes twinkled at her. “I did not notice they were blue.”

  “Oh!” Her blush deepened. “How naughty in you to—to speak of that!”

  He laughed. “No, really, ma’am, we’ve travelled alone together for two days already, and it will likely be close to a week before we’re done. You’d certainly be ruined were we not married!”

  Her eyes wide and aghast, she gulped, “Oh my! I’d not thought of that!”

  “So I gathered. Perhaps my blunder was just as well, eh?”

  “But”—her eyes lowered, and she said hesitantly, “but you wouldn’t expect … I mean we are not really wed, so…”

  “A fine rogue you think me! I’ll not so much as steal a kiss from my bride. And so soon as this is over with, we’ll to our divorce proceedings and our shopping spree. A bargain, Madame Mulot…?”

  Her eyes searched his face. She smiled wanly and took the hand he held out. “A bargain—Mr. Redmond.”

  “That being the case…” He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, then reached for her left hand. “With this ring,” he murmured, and slipped an intricately carven and obviously old golden band onto her finger.

  Charity stared down at it until it blurred, and she had to turn quickly away. She really was married! How different her wedding from Rachel’s beautiful ceremony, how foreign to the holy joining of Justin and Lisette before the altar in St. George’s. She managed a stifled, “Thank you.”

  “Cheer up,” he said kindly. “Your next marriage will likely be as grand as this one is grim.”

  For some odd reason, his well-meant words only made it worse.

  Chapter 16

  Wherever they were now, the sun was going down, and so was she. The spirited animal Mr. Redmond had rented in Black Combe sidled about, eager to go, but Charity was just as eager to stop. She looked about for her husband and discovered him riding down the hill towards her, closing a telescoping glass. Mildly puzzled, she remarked that she’d not known he had a glass, and then shivered to the increasingly chill breath of the wind off the sea.

  “I thought it might come in handy,” he said, shoving it into his pocket. “Here…” He jerked something from the bulky parcel tied to his pommel and handed it to her. “Put this on.”

  The dark cloth bundle unfolded into a thick woollen cloak. Had he given her the crown jewels they could not have been more gratefully received. “How good of you to buy it for me,” she said, managing, with his assistance, to shrug into the warm garment. “But—” She reached up to investigate the folds of his cravat.

  Apparently much shocked, he drew back. “Madam! Restrain your ardour, I do entreat. We may be wed, but—”

  “Odious man! Where is your sapphire pin?”

  “No matter.” He shrugged. “Only think of the vast reward we shall win by saving your so admired Regent.”

  She knew him well enough by this time to be aware that he was trying to turn her attention. “Never mind all that. You pawned it. And that is how you were able to buy our lunch. And my ring, and—”

  “It is quite old,” he interposed hurriedly. And in a suddenly shy voice, “I had thought that although ours is such an, er, unplanned match, with your love of history you might like a ring that was happily worn, many years ago.”

  Touched, she thought, “Oh, and I paid so little heed!” Aloud, she said, “And you also bought a glass.”

  “Scafell is so very lovely. Would you care to come up the hill and see, ma’am? We can allow the horses a few moments more.”

  She fell into his trap and climbed with him up the gentle hillside. The sun was starting to sink now, but because they were so far north it would be a long sunset. The air was very cold and clear. Redmond adjusted the glass and handed it to Charity. She gazed out over the crimson-tinted sea. A sailing ship was bearing southwards, her sails pink against the darkening waves. Turning the glass to the east, Charity saw the upthrusting might of a great mass, majestic, but rather disappointing. “Oh,” she said. “Is that it, then?”

  Redmond reached around her to readjust the position of the glass. “I think you saw Scafell. It is a great sight, certainly, but look now and you should find Scafell Pike.”

  Leaning in his arm, she looked obediently and gave an exclamation of delight. The mountain rose, high and proud, its snowcapped shoulders warmed by the sun’s radiance and backed by the turquoise skies.

  “How superb!” She turned against him, her glowing eyes uplifted.

  He smiled. “Now you see why it fascinates me.”

  “I do. May I look again?”

  “Be quick, then.”

  She was very quick. She swung the glass to the northwest and the way they had come. “This is really why you bought it, to see if anyone follows!”

  He reached around and took back the glass, saying nothing.

  She put her hand on his arm and, scrutinizing his face, accused, “You have seen someone! Tell me!”

  “If I had, you would have seen. The road is clear of any but an occasional carriage for as far—”

  “I don’t mean now. What did you see?”

  “I always heard that wives were vexatious at times—”

  “I am not your wife! I am your comrade! I face the dangers with you, Mr. Redmond.”

  He was silent, his head bowed. When he looked up, his eyes were very grave. “You are the best comrade any man could ask,” he said quietly. “Very well, then, Madame Mulot. I saw a group of riders when we were on Hadrian’s Wall. That was why I fell. I was looking at them, not where I was walking. And that is why I turned to the west. I had intended to strike eastward to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and then head south through Yorkshire, instead of taking this interminable loop. But I thought, if we turned back, they might not expect that. Either I was right, or they were simply a group of friends bound somewhere together.”

  “Or else,” she murmured, “we have made such good time we have eluded them.” Watching him, she said, “You believe they still follow. What do you want to do?”

  He said hesitantly, “I know how tired you must be, poor girl. But if we could just get across the sands before full dark, we could rest in Morecambe.”

  Across the sands! Oh, she could not ride so far! She could not! “You are the best comrade any man could ask.…” She drew a deep breath. “Mr. Redmond, I’d not have you think you married a drunkard, but…”

  Grinning broadly, Mitchell led the way back to the horses, threw her into the saddle, then handed his flask up to her. “Not too much, wife.”

  She took two swallows, coughed, and returned the flask. “Now,” she said bravely, “Lead on, MacFudd!”

  “That’s Macduff,” he said, peering up at her. “And I don’t think the word was ‘lead.’”

  She thought, blushed, and said, “Never mind!”

  Chuckling, Redmond swung into the saddle and led on.

  * * *

  They crossed Morecambe Bay sands under a bright moon, the horses making heavy going of it and Redmond glancing back frequently to be sure his exhausted bride had not toppled from the saddle. He was just in time to catch her on his final check, and rode the rest of the way with her in his arms.

  Charity opened her eyes as she was being carried up some stairs. She blinked and ascertained that it was Mitchell who carried her, which seemed a satisfactory arrangement. Her mumbled enquiry elicited the information that they were at a farmhouse, and she slept again.

  She awoke to a room bright with moonlight. What had jolted her from sleep she did not know, but she was completely awake. She lay in a soft feather bed in a strange room. Bulky furniture loomed darkly here and there. The casement windows stood open, admitting the smells of hay and horses and the sounds of voices raised in dispute. Her muscles were stiff and sore, but not so painful as yesterday, and slipping from the cosy bed, she pulled the eiderdown about her and crept to the window.<
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  Two men, holding the reins of weary-looking horses, were arguing with a stalwart figure, the farmer probably, who wore a coat over his nightshirt, his nightcap still on his head. “In the normal course o’ events, I could, genelmen,” he was saying doggedly, “but I’ve me best room taken, as I said, so it’ll be the back parlour or nought, and no amount o’ money to change me mind.”

  One of the new arrivals said something in a grumbling way. The farmer gave a hail and a youth staggered sleepily from the barn, holding up a lantern. By that light Charity saw the faces of the riders, and her heart seemed to stop. Their names were unknown to her, but those hard, lean features were impressed on her memory. They were Claude Sanguinet’s men; one of them in fact had been at that last dreadful luncheon, so he must be of some importance. She shrank away, watching, trembling, as the boy led their mounts into the barn and the farmer brought his new guests into the house.

  Charity spun from the window. She must find Mr. Redmond! Running for the door, she stumbled over him, outstretched on the floor, a blanket wrapped about him.

  “What … the…?” He yawned, sitting up.

  Charity knelt beside him and put her hand over his lips. At once, his drowsy eyes were alert. He removed her hand and, watching her intent face, whispered, “What now?”

  “Outside. Two of Claude’s men. The landlord, I mean the farmer, brought them into the house.”

  Mitchell threw off the blanket. He was fully dressed except for his coat and boots, and he paced swiftly and silently to the window. Following, Charity saw another man walking with a weary stride towards the house, but the youth was leading three more horses into the barn. She thought, “Five!” and her heart sank. “The farmer said they could have the back parlour,” she whispered.

  Mitchell sat on the edge of the bed and began to pull his boots on, his eyes fixed on Charity’s face. “I allowed us two hours here. I’m sorry, but—”

  “Of course.” She discarded her eiderdown and realized belatedly that she was in her chemise. Her eyes dilating with shock, she snatched up the eiderdown again.

  “Too late,” said Redmond with a grin. “I’m the villain who removed your habit.”

  “Oh!”

  “My apologies. Our worthy farm wife was very willing to help, but she has a frightful cold, and I decided we could not ride all the way to Brighton sneezing!”

  “Hmmnnn,” said Charity rather feebly. She kept the eiderdown more or less about her as she ran to take her habit from a hanger behind the door.

  “Hurry.” He trod softly to the window and swung one long leg over the sill.

  Checking, she gasped, “Good God! You’re never going out that way?”

  “We are going out that way. But not just yet. I’ll have a look around, first. Do you get our things together. We have to depart in a hurry, monsieur.”

  She smiled faintly, but held her breath as he quite suddenly disappeared from sight. Running to the window, she saw him staying in the shadow of the buildings as he ran swiftly towards the barn.

  Watching, breathless, until he was inside, Charity waited for shouts and the uproar that must waken the house, but none came. He had told her to gather their things. She forced herself to leave the window, finish dressing, then collect their belongings. Mr. Redmond’s parcel rustled loudly. She removed the contents and was appalled by the sight of three long-barrelled pistols, a smaller pistol, two boxes of shells, and a bag of powder. She next unearthed a lady’s hair comb, two toothbrushes, and a box of tooth powder. The latter items brought a smile to her lips. She placed everything in a pillowcase and carried it over to the window. Outside, all was still. An angry dispute somewhere close by sent her heart leaping, but then she realized the voices were inside the house, not in the barn, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  The moments dragged past, and at length she saw a movement in the yard and Redmond’s slim figure reappeared. He was carrying a large wooden crate which he upended beneath the window. Climbing onto it, he looked up at her. She saw the quick gleam of white teeth and he said, “Time to elope, ma’am!”

  She lowered the pillowcase to him. He eased it to the ground, caught the coat and cloak she tossed down, then commanded, “You next, Madame Mulot.”

  She bit her lip. It looked so far down. She sat on the windowsill as he had done and swung her legs over the side.

  Redmond hissed, “Turn around and hang onto the ledge. I’ll catch you.”

  She did as he instructed, lowering herself, her heart pounding with dread, and horribly aware that he must be getting another splendid view of her undergarments. Strong hands caught her ankles and slid up to her hips. Even in the darkness she felt her cheeks blaze.

  “All right,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Let go.”

  “No! I dare not! I shall fall!”

  “Mrs. Redmond,” he growled angrily, “let go!”

  Clinging to the sill with all her might, she wailed, “Oh, I cannot!”

  “Good God!” he groaned. “My first elopement and we’re to hang about all night!”

  Perhaps because she was so terrified, she found this excruciatingly funny. Laughter bubbled up, weakening her. Redmond gave a sudden tug, Charity fell with a little yelp of fright and was caught in a steely grip. He staggered, and she heard a whispered oath as they jolted downwards. Then her feet were on the ground.

  “You’re heavy … as any pound of feathers,” he muttered, retrieving the cloak and throwing it around her shoulders. He shrugged into his coat, took up the pillowcase, and together they ran to the barn.

  Inside, two fine horses were saddled, and eight others were haltered together. The farmhand, a big loutish boy, was tied to a post, a gag in his mouth and his eyes terrified. Startled, Charity glanced at Redmond.

  He shrugged wryly. “Nuisance. He wouldn’t let me just pay him for our hacks and leave, and started yelling he was going for his master, so I’d no choice.” He tied the pillowcase to his saddle, then bent to stick two flimsies into the youth’s pocket. “My apologies for your discomfort, lad. I’ll leave the horses in Warton.” He helped Charity mount, and waved her ahead. Swinging into his own saddle, he took up the lead rein and followed her through the open back door of the barn, the eight appropriated horses clattering after him.

  * * *

  They skirted the environs of Lancaster as the sun rose on a damp, cloudy Monday. Redmond turned his string of horses loose on the south side of the town, and he and Charity rode steadily southwards until at half-past nine o’clock they came to the outskirts of Preston. To her delight, he stopped at a reputable appearing hostelry and made arrangements for a post chaise and four to convey them to Warrington.

  Settling back in the vehicle she would, a month ago, have apostrophized as shabby, but that now seemed the height of luxury, Charity ventured a mild remonstrance. “Can we afford such magnificence, Mr. Redmond?”

  He climbed in beside her. “Certainly not. But these hacks look to be good goers. I’ve promised the postboys a guinea apiece if we reach Warrington by noon. And also, this may be a less conspicuous mode of travel.”

  The horses leaned into their collars, the chaise lurched, and they were off.

  “If you wished to be inconspicuous, Mr. Redmond, why did you tell that farmhand where you meant to leave his master’s horses?”

  “I told him I’d leave ’em in Warton. Warton’s north, ma’am. I chanced to hear the farmer speaking of it when we first arrived. Did you think I was so daft as to leave ’em where I’d said I would?”

  “I didn’t know the name of the place where you did abandon the poor things.”

  “Don’t worry yourself into a state over the beasts. I fancy they’ll be rounded up, soon or late. And now, Madame Mulot, if you could see your way clear to cease criticizing my poor efforts and instead compose yourself to sleep—” His eyes were quizzing her. “You had precious little before our elopement.”

  She laughed. “No, but I feel quite comfortable, thank you, kind sir. Indeed I
do believe I am becoming hardened to our hectic journey, and I should like to see the countryside.”

  Leaning his head back against the squabs, he scanned her animated little face. “You have managed remarkably well. Are you sure you were not hoaxing me with your tales of illness and invalid chairs?”

  “I wish I had been. The thing is that so soon as I was able to stand, well, it was such a joy, you know. I could not bear to let a day pass without walking or riding, however inclement the weather. Perhaps all that exercise helped prepare me, to some small extent, for—for this.”

  “I would judge it to have prepared you very well indeed. Nevertheless, I wish you would sleep, m’dear. I’ll not be able to afford another such luxury as this chaise. After we pay off the postboys it will be bridle and spur the rest of the way.”

  His praise had delighted her; his concern was heartwarming, but his final words brought a tremor of fear, and she asked anxiously, “Are we going to be in time, do you think? Can we hope to stop Claude’s murderous plot?”

  “We’d best have a hope of doing so, after all this! And if we are able to keep on steadily until dark today, with luck we should reach Brighton by Wednesday afternoon.”

  “How I pray we shall. And surely we will be able to stop along the way and ask for help? There must be someone in London who’d believe us?”

  He frowned. “I’d not care to hazard a wager on it. Frankly, ma’am, I doubt it. Claude did his work well and is everywhere regarded as a close friend and admirer of our sterling Prince. If we could get to Wellington himself, perhaps. But he’s likely to be already en route to, or in, Brighton, by the time we could reach London. At all events, with Claude’s bullies so close on our heels, I think we dare not take the time to apply for assistance that would more than likely be denied us.” He glanced at the window. “Blast! I think it means to rain. Your view will be spoiled, my mouse.”

  A light drizzle was falling, the misty air quite effectively shortening the view. “Oh, well,” said Charity, “I saw Hadrian’s Wall. I had hoped to see the cathedral in Carlisle. Did you know that Sir Walter Scott was—” She broke off, biting her lip.