by Mira Stables
Sir Nicholas vouchsafed no reply other than a slight nod. He remained lost in thought for several moments, and then suggested that it might be as well if Rudd went off to buy food for the two of them. “We can scarcely expect any further developments for a couple of hours. By that time the tide will have turned, and I’ve no wish to be stranded here overnight without suitable provision. A blanket wouldn’t come amiss either. It can be devilish chill here after dark.”
Rudd objected that he would be obliged to purchase the necessary articles, and that he had not brought his purse, whereupon Sir Nicholas rather grudgingly handed over a couple of guineas. This being satisfactorily settled, Rudd went off on this domestic errand. Sir Nicholas, after contemplating his surroundings with growing dislike, went down to the cellar and succeeded, with considerable exertion, in hauling a small barrel up to the living-room. Upon this he established himself to keep watch through the window, rising from time to time and prowling the length of the room to peer through each window in turn. Nothing stirred. Indoors there was no sound from either of the captives. Without, the hillside drowsed in the late afternoon sunshine. Sir Nicholas resumed his uncomfortable perch, and fixed his thoughts on the bright prospect ahead, when he should have inherited his niece’s fortune.
Chapter Eighteen
It was past five o’clock when Sir Charles, on the newly shod Marshall trotted briskly into the stable yard to find the place deserted except for Giles, apparently sound asleep on a bench. At the sound of hoofs he opened his eyes, got up in leisurely fashion, and came to take the horse. But it was no sleep bleared face that looked anxiously up at Charles.
“Did you see aught of Miss Nell on the road?” he demanded at once.
Charles swung easily down from the saddle, to any watching eye a man conversing idly with his groom, but there was an overtone of anxiety in his voice as he said, “No. When did she go out, and with whom?”
“Soon after two. Young Cooke was driving her over to Springbourne in the gig. Seems he brought her a message from Emma, and she was fair set on going. But I’d have thought they should be back by now.”
Charles nodded. “I’ll give her a few more minutes. She may have stayed overlong with Mistress Woodstead. Women are the devil. I told her to lie close and not to venture out alone.”
Giles’s grin momentarily banished the anxious frown. “Yes, Sir. So she said. Also that she had done just as you bade her and waited in all morning, but enough was enough.”
Charles returned the grin. “Out of frame, was she? Dull work—just waiting. I meant to be back sooner, but I was delayed. How’s Marquis?”
They entered the stable together, leaving Marshall hitched to the ring outside, and moved to the far end, Charles’s keen glance verifying that no hidden listener lurked in the shadows. A brief inspection showed that Marquis was perfectly recovered, his eye bright, his skin cool and supple to the touch, his black head lifted proudly as he blew loving greetings in his master’s face. Charles nodded, well satisfied, and pushed the questing black muzzle gently aside.
“All right, old fellow. Your turn tomorrow. I’ll take Marshall,” he added to Giles. “We came along quite easily—plenty in him still. I had thought to be back by noon, but I had a visitor, a messenger from our friend Gressingham. Ostensibly to look over my grandfather’s stud, and certainly knows one end of a horse from the other. What he really wanted of course was a report on progress, and unfortunately there was very little I could tell him. He seemed to feel that Ransome’s attempt to murder me was a most encouraging sign, but was disappointed to learn that he was only a tool and knows nothing of value. I got all I could out of him last night after you’d gone. He was hired to murder me on the pretext that I was a threat to the smuggling fraternity, but out of some mistaken notion of loyalty to his employer he refuses to incriminate Sir Nicholas. My visitor—by the way he claims cousins with me somewhere far back on our family tree—thoroughly approves of Sir Nicholas as chief suspect. It appears that from time to time one or two thoughtful gentlemen have already wondered how he contrived to support the state that he considers appropriate to his rank. His own fortune is known to be modest—indeed scarcely more than a competence—and his wife’s portion was not large. But of course none of this is proof. I left my new cousin trying to wring a few more crumbs of information out of Ransome. I doubt he’ll not succeed, but he seems well content to ruralise for a day or two, and begged my permission to try out some of the young stock. He’s taken a great fancy to Marmion, and would like to buy him. Now”—with an abrupt change of tone and subject—“what do you think that dratted girl is up to? I shan’t be easy in my mind till she’s safe home. I’ll just take Marshall gently along the Springbourne road and make sure all’s well. You hold the fort here. No sign of activity?”
“None, Sir. Sir Nicholas went off early this morning, riding the bay. He took the Winchelsea road and is not yet returned. Rudd went off to one of the farms—Tilstowe—which may have been unfortunate, if Dunn talked. He sent back a message that he wouldn’t be home till nightfall. I reckon,” went on Giles shrewdly, “there’s a run on tonight. Moonset’s about midnight. They’ll be getting ready for it. But Master Rudd’ll be safe back indoors afore the lugger puts in. He don’t have no truck with smuggling.”
“There might be more to it than just plain smuggling,” said Charles thoughtfully. “If Sir Nicholas comes back, don’t let him out of your sight. Follow him if he goes out again. I’ll be back myself as soon as I can, but I must make sure that plaguey brat of mine is safe.”
With the words he was in the saddle and trotting out of the gate. Giles stared after him, his eyes crinkled in amusement. So that was how the land lay. The speech had scarcely been loverlike, but Giles knew his master. Well—he had already guessed what was in the wind. The girl was all right, and came of good stock, even if her uncle was a queer nabs. She’d make a good bride for a soldier. It was to be hoped they could hush up the scandal that was like to break over her when her uncle’s dealings were revealed. If the worst came to the worst the Captain must just marry her out of hand and carry her out of the country till the talk died down.
Having thus settled his master’s future to his own entire satisfaction, Giles stretched his powerful body luxuriously and turned to his own affairs. It looked like being a busy night. A good wash and a shave and a hearty meal would set him up nicely for his labours.
It was fortunate that he put his programme into action immediately, and that Miss Smithson, with no other claim upon her services, was able to set upon the table without delay the sizzling rashers of home cured ham, flanked by friend eggs and fortified by a loaf of newly-baked bread, that were his fancy. For he had scarcely savoured the last delicious mouthful, and was still wondering whether or no it would be judicious to top off his repast with a crust of bread thickly spread with Miss Smithson’s celebrated apricot preserve, when his gastronomic dilemma was promptly settled by the thunderous clatter of approaching hoofs. He sprang to the kitchen window to see Marshall coming down the road at full gallop, his rider barely steadying him before they leapt the yard gate and slid to a halt by the stable door. With a speed and neatness surprising in so large a man, he was out of the kitchen and catching Marshall’s bridle as Charles flung himself out of the saddle, grim-faced and shaking with fury.
“Emma’s not set eyes on her,” he said curtly. “She never sent any message, and hasn’t spoken with Jim Cooke this sennight.”
“And Sir Nicholas and Rudd both gone from here all day,” rejoined Giles quietly. “Abduction?”
“Yes. I don’t think—They wouldn’t dare,” he said, determined to banish by reasoned argument the fear of an ultimate horror that could only sap his courage and good sense. “They must know I’d be hot on their trail, and unlike poor Ransome, my credit is pretty good, and my evidence against them would be believed. I think her life must be safe until they can dispose of me, though God alone knows in what case we shall find her.” This was a thought that d
id not bear prolonged contemplation. He must concentrate instead on possible action.
“Now, where will they have taken her?” he said, keeping his voice cool by determined effort. “If she left here in the gig she can’t be far away, unless they transferred her to a hired chaise, for Sir Nicholas’s own carriage is still in the coach house. They’d not have an easy job either, once she realised she’d been tricked. I suppose it’s too much to hope that she had her pistol with her?”
Giles shook his head. “I don’t know, Sir, but I don’t think so. She wasn’t wearing a cloak, and I don’t see how she could have been carrying a pistol on her without me noticing. She had a sort of little bag on her arm, but not big enough to hold a pistol.”
There was a tiny pause, each man pursuing his own uncomfortable thoughts, Giles guilt-stricken because he had allowed Nell to stray from his guardianship, Charles picturing the defiant courage with which she would face her captors, and the brutality with which it would be crushed. Then Giles said, “What about this house Rye way that Sir Nicholas spoke of? Belonged to his wife’s aunt didn’t it? Would he have taken her there?”
Charles shook his head. “I doubt if it even exists. And I’m pretty sure he would never have mentioned it if he intended to use it. Emma said to ask Miss Smithson to help us—to tell her what has happened. It seems she has already been trying both to protect and to warn Nell, as far as she dared, poor soul.” And he moved with long impatient strides towards the kitchen where Miss Smithson was engaged in clearing the débris of Giles’s meal. She too had heard the desperate flurry of arrival and loked up from her task as they came in, her face white and strained with anxiety as she sought to read their news on their faces.
“Miss Easton has been abducted,” said Charles without preamble, “and we believe her uncle to be behind the affair. Emma Woodstead bade me ask your help, and vowed I could trust you as I would her. Have you any notion where he might have taken her?”
At first it seemed as though she did not understand. She sank down on to a stool and pressed her hands against her face as though to still some intolerable ache, and her hoarsely muttered words seemed to have no connection with his question.
“Oh dear God! That poor young man! Not again. Oh no! Not again.”
Charles’s eyes widened at this unexpected revelation, but he spoke quietly enough. “Gareth Penderby? No, Meg. God helping us, it won’t be like that this time. They won’t dare go to those lengths. But that poor child is in their hands, and they will not be gentle. Please help us.” He knelt beside her and laid an appealing hand on her wrist.
Without conscious thought he had used Ransome’s name for her. Meg. It brought a puzzled look into her eyes, and for a moment she stared at him as though he were a stranger. Then she brushed one hand wearily across her brow and said, “I wasn’t really sure before. But they were both gone all night that time. He said they’d been trapped in the passage by the tide; that it was only the smuggling, and if I told anyone I’d get the whole village into trouble. But next morning—” Her voice died away and she shivered, and hugged her arms around her shaking body. “I can’t bear it.” And then, abruptly, “What do you want to know? I’ll tell you anything I can.”
At the back of his mind Charles was aware that she had already told them a good deal. But it must wait. The rescue of Nell was of more urgent importance.
“This passage that you speak of. Where does it lead? Could they have taken her there? Or is there any other place that you think we should search first?”
She eyed him doubtfully. “There’s only the passage,” she said at last, slowly, “and the old ruined house that stands above it. Crow’s Nest, they call it. There’s a way up to the house from the shore. I don’t know of any other place where they might have taken her.”
Charles had sprung up eagerly, and was striding about the kitchen. “I know the place you mean,” he said. “On the coast, just beyond Winchelsea. God! I had thought it tumbled into the sea long ago. If they have indeed taken her there, then I know what to do. Indeed—” he laughed, a strange hard sound that held nothing of merriment—“I doubt I know the place a good deal better than either Sir Nicholas or Master Rudd.”
He continued his leashed-panther pacing, and presently began to jerk out instructions to Giles. “I want a rope. Thirty feet of it, thin and strong. A good sharp axe—a dozen cleats—iron ones would be best, but I’ll make do with wood at a pinch. Timing’s important too.”
The restless prowling stopped. One foot absently hooked up a stool to the kitchen table, and he sat, elbows on the scrubbed deal, chin on his clenched hands, thinking aloud.
“Full tide at—say—eight o’clock. No time to do anything before then. Nor will they expect it. But as soon as it falls far enough, let’s say by midnight, they’ll be looking for me. No doubt they’ve left some helpful clue to make sure I find the place. Now if I were Sir Nicholas, I’d wait in the living-room. A man lifting that trap is completely vulnerable. Yes. That’s what they’ll do. And they’ll expect me as soon as the entrance is clear. So—we go beforehand and surprised them. I’ll ride Marquis—he’s fit and fresh. You get over to Springbourne, Giles. You can ride Marshall—plenty in him still—acquaint Jasie with the situation and our plans, and muster what gear you can. And bring back Galoon. I may need your help with the first escalade.”
The voice was crisp, incisive. His eyes were bright and keen, with a look that Giles knew well. Only the prospect of imminent and preferably hazardous action so stirred him. Uninvited, Giles too drew up a stool and sat facing his master.
“Be a little plainer, Sir, if you please,” he drawled in his broadest Sussex, which had the desired effect of making Charles grin as he glanced up impatiently. “How do you propose to ‘go beforehand and surprise them’ if the water’s in the gallery? You’re no merman, as I do know of, and there’s no other way into that place.”
Charles’s grin widened wickedly. “Oh yes there is. Shame on you Giles! After all the years you’ve rubbed shoulders with the Regiment! What do cleats and a rope suggest, cloth-head?”
Giles accepted the insult with an amiable twinkle. “An escalade, Sir, like you said, though myself I’d rather choose a good sound ladder. But just what you’re proposing to climb has me foxed. If it’s Crow’s Nest, you’ll be wasting your time. The only windows that aren’t blocked up are the ones in the living-room, and like you said, they’ll be expecting you there. And a man climbing through a window is just as badly placed as one coming through a trap door.”
“Hardly, Giles, hardly,” returned his mentor critically, “but I’ll allow it’s not a good attacking position. You must do better than that. Think again.”
“You could knock out one of the loopholes easy enough,” decided Giles, “but they’d not accept a stripling. Besides, you’d be heard. So what—” he broke off, his eyes widening in indignant, half humorous surprise. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”
“Perhaps because you never scrambled all over the place when you were a youngster, as I did. The whole of one summer that place was my castle—my frigate—my pirate island. I know every stone. My only doubt is whether the chimney which gave such easy access to a ten-year-old urchin will give me such smooth passage now.”
They got down to working out the details. Giles thought there would be no difficulty in getting the necessary equipment from Jasie, but was puzzled that pistols were not included.
Charles hesitated. “Perhaps I should carry a pistol. I don’t somehow see it as a shooting affray. All I want is to bring Nell off safely, and if possible to avoid a scandal that would cause her a great deal of distress. The other affair must wait. It would seem that Miss Smithson may well be able to help us there, at least in the matter of Gareth Penderby’s death.”
“All the same, Sir, I’ll feel a lot easier if you’re armed.”
Charles nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. Though it means I shall be cumbered about like the knights of old, for the rope and the cleats I mu
st have, and the axe is likely to be more use than the pistol.”
“Not so much between the two of us,” said Giles cheerfully. “You’d better carry the pistol, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Now what can have given you the notion that you were coming with me?” wondered Charles pensively. “I know I said I might need your help on the first escalade, but once that is safely accomplished you will keep well clear of the whole affair. No”—as Giles broke into expostulation—“that’s an order. Perfectly sound, too, from the military point of view,” he added in soothing tones, as Giles looked distinctly mutinous. “You are my line of communication and my reserves. So far, what is happening inside Crow’s Nest, even if it is indeed the place we are seeking, is all surmise. If both of us go in, our whole strength is committed. I may need you to mount a rescue operation. Also I reckon they won’t murder me unless they can make sure of you too, so we are safer apart. Now”—ignoring Giles’s continued mutter of protest—“what do I wear for this foray? The devil’s in it that I was never taught the proper rig for chimney climbing. What do you suggest?”
“That you let me do it,” exploded Giles once more.
Charles, already under considerable strain from natural anxiety, lost patience. “Damn it, man—look at yourself,” he snapped. “Are you the build to go sliding down chimneys? I may even stick myself.” Then, relenting at the sight of Giles’s crestfallen countenance, “And if I do, I’m relying on you to come and haul me out. Besides, this is a private matter between myself and Sir Nicholas. It’s no part of my military duty. And your duty is perfectly plain—to mount a patrol on the outskirts of Crow’s Nest, so that you can report to my cousin at Trevannions if anything goes amiss. It’s a pity we haven’t got him here. I’ll go bail for it he’s a good man in a crisis, and he’s a much better figure for the job than either of us. But we’re wasting time. Off you go to Jasie, while I finish my preparations here.”