Hell, damn and blast it! He could barely get past the image of Olivia, frightened and alone. In Farnham, he had done what was necessary to try to find her, but his brain—normally adept at seeing links and possibilities—had been lost under a wave of emotion.
It was the same now. Which is why he must not rush headlong into trying to find her. Remembering his futile trek through the hop lanes of Surrey, this time he would do better. He could afford to take a moment to search for information here, where she had been taken. He did not know what he was looking for—he had to be open to anything that might assist him.
There—was that blood on the ground? His stomach turned with anxiety. Had they harmed her? Dismounting, he led his horse to the dull red stain. Blood, for sure. His heart froze. A couple of feet away, more blood.
He followed the trail off the road, then lost it in the grass. Scanning around, he made for the undergrowth, leading his horse—which suddenly became skittish at something it could sense nearby. Then he saw something. A person, lying half-hidden under a row of hawthorns.
With a strangled cry, he dashed forward, Olivia’s name on his lips.
It was not Olivia. It was an injured man, unconscious but breathing, and he was wearing the faded livery of a coachman. Of course—it was the Mannings’ driver!
He gave a brief word of comfort to the man, but knew he could not tarry. The grooms would be here shortly and would carry the man back to the house, where he could be cared for.
He led the horse back to the road, pondering this. As he walked, he instinctively kept his eyes trained on the ground, seeking clues as to the driver’s unfortunate experience and Olivia’s abduction. The sun glinted off something ahead and he hurried to pick it up. A metal button, like those typically seen on military uniforms. It told him nothing—though something about it niggled at his memory. Had there been yet another person there? A soldier? Manning had no uniform, as far as he knew. Nor Gunn. Absently, he stowed the button in his pocket, then mounted his horse via a nearby tree stump.
His pause had taken no longer than two minutes. Now time was of the essence. It would be difficult to catch up with the carriage before the crossroad, but he had to try. His Olivia as in danger!
‘Gyah!’ He spurred the horse and it responded, galloping down the road with impressive pace.
As he rode, his mind was still working. Gradually, resisting the diversions into blind panic, he pieced together the most likely circumstances—that Gunn had ambushed the carriage, attacking the driver, then for an unknown reason commandeered it...or that Gunn was in league with the Mannings to kidnap Olivia again. But how could they have known she would ride that way? And why hurt the driver?
He could not imagine Olivia allowing them to take her without a struggle. He hoped they hadn’t hit her on the head again. Olivia! His heart ached for her. Despite himself, he could not help picturing her, being torn from her horse by force and—
A thought struck him. Using precious seconds, he slowed the horse to a canter. It would not do to overtire the creature anyway. Being careful not to drop it, he fished the button out of his pocket and looked at it again. This time, he recognised it. Not a military button, no. It was a button from Olivia’s dashing, military-style riding habit!
For some strange reason, this gave him hope. It was a tangible link to her—an object that had been on her person not long before. Reverently, he kissed it and replaced it carefully. She was alive—he felt it! Now, to reach the crossroads in time!
* * *
Inside the carriage, a tense silence had settled over them all. Olivia knew that she needed to think, to harness her energy and to plan. Perhaps her best option was to stick closely to Emma.
Despite her loss of temper earlier, Olivia believed that the woman was, in essence, a cold fish. She seemed to care for nothing and no one save herself and George. How could such a woman be reached?
Think! Olivia told herself.
She had had weeks of acquaintance with Emma. There must be something that might divert or interest her. Reviewing all the memories of her various interactions with Miss Manning, she began to form a vague plan. They both seemed to enjoy displaying their own cleverness—perhaps she could try that.
‘There is something I do not understand,’ she announced curiously. As she’d hoped, both George and Emma looked at her mildly—possibly relieved to break the tedium of the journey. Carefully cultivating a puzzled expression, Olivia addressed Emma directly, at the same time absent-mindedly fiddling with one of the buttons on the cuff of her riding habit. The matching button on the other sleeve was missing.
‘You say that you have need of money. Yet your clothes are of the finest quality and are clearly new and fashionable. This dress, for example—’ she indicated Emma’s mauve silk overdress ʻ—I have not seen anything so fine before. That lace trim is exquisite! How could you possibly afford it?’
‘Ah!’ said Emma, preening slightly. ‘It is rather fetching, is it not?’ She smoothed her skirts, gliding her hands lovingly over the fine fabric.
‘Indeed, it is the height of fashion,’ Olivia agreed, ‘and I confess most women I know would not wear something so fine or delicate for a journey. I always wear cotton or wool when travelling, never my finest muslins and certainly not any of my silks! If I were worried about money, I imagine I would be even more concerned about protecting my best dresses by stowing them carefully in a trunk.’
‘You have never known hardship,’ said Emma, her gaze hardening, ‘or known what it is to be short of money.’
Olivia held her breath. She should not have mentioned money!
‘But,’ Emma continued, ‘I shall explain. Yes, we are always in need of money. Both George and I have a fondness for fine clothes, comfortable surroundings and jewels.’
‘And I have always admired your eye for fashion,’ said Olivia. Was that too much? She wanted to flatter and soothe the woman, but if she was too obvious about it, Emma could turn against her.
Emma smiled serenely. ‘I know. I have moved in the finest circles in five countries, yet nowhere have I met anyone with my impeccable taste. That is why I deserve the money to display my talent. I would not have been given such genius simply to spend my life as a seamstress.’
A seamstress—so that was how she had started out! Making fine dresses for wealthy ladies.
‘You wanted to wear the dresses, not just make them.’ Olivia spoke softly.
‘Yes!’ Something blazed in Emma’s eyes. ‘So I found myself a patron. He was old and disgusting—’ she made a face ‘—but it was worth it. I had silks and furs, and a maid to wait on me. And for the first time, I felt as though things were right. Eventually I met George—’
‘And I worshipped at your feet!’ said George gallantly, on cue, like an actor in a play. Reaching across Olivia, he again lifted Emma’s hand, kissed it, then smiled unpleasantly at Olivia. She almost retched. Oh, how had she ever taken this evil man seriously?
‘We discovered that we were suited,’ Emma continued. ‘George and I have made our money in a dozen different ways these past years.’ She smiled, a cruel smile. ‘We find ourselves with barely a shilling at present and, this time, it is you who will suffer. An Earl’s sister, born to wealth and position. We shall enjoy humbling you.’
Olivia shivered. There was, then, no protection to be had from Emma.
‘We have used our intelligence and our skill to make a living everywhere we go. We ran a gaming house in Paris for a while and lived off a decrepit count in Italy for a year before that. That was when we first pretended that George was my brother. The old fool had no idea!’ She laughed harshly. ‘We know exactly the sort of weak-minded people to focus on. Mrs Buxted was ideal. She and her daughter have fed us and housed us for nigh on three months now. They even gave us the opportunity for George to try to seduce one of you into marriage.’
‘I should have gone
for Miss Ford or Miss Turner instead,’ said George sulkily. ‘This one is too opinionated.’
This one! It is as though he does not really see me as a person, Olivia thought. The notion repelled her. Keep them talking! she told herself.
‘But—where did you get the clothes?’
‘We ordered them from the finest modistes and tailors in London,’ said Emma airily. ‘The bills will be presented to Mrs Buxted. Of course, if George had by then been engaged to be married to a woman of wealth and consequence, we would have explained that it was simply a mistake.’
Olivia gasped at their audacity. ‘Mrs Buxted believes you have betrayed her.’
‘Pah!’ Emma waved this away. ‘Mrs Buxted will recover!’
Olivia glanced out of the window, still fumbling absently at her sleeve. Recognising her surroundings, she realised they were nearly at the crossroads. Her heartbeat picked up pace again.
Suddenly, the carriage lurched to the left and they all grabbed the straps to avoid falling over. Before Olivia could even work out what was happening, they passed a lumbering cart, coming from the other direction—Gunn had clearly only just managed to avoid a collision. The farm cart, Olivia saw as they flashed past, was teetering towards the ditch.
‘Gunn is as useless a driver as he is a kidnapper!’ Emma snapped.
George was also taking stock of their surroundings. Using his cane, he rapped the roof of the carriage to draw Gunn’s attention. ‘Drive more carefully, man! And at the crossroads turn left,’ he ordered, ‘towards Godalming!’
Soon, thought Olivia. Wait until he has made the turn...
She tensed, then, at the right moment, she sprang for the door. She managed to get the door open before George, with an expletive, grabbed her from behind. Emma helped subdue her, slapping her painfully in the process.
‘Idiot girl!’ George snarled, when they had forced her back into her seat. ‘You will pay for this stupidity later, when we have you to ourselves.’ His tone changed. ‘Emma, please look out of the window for a moment.’
Emma nodded regally and slid to the edge of the seat, staring fixedly out.
Slowly, deliberately, George advanced. Gripping Olivia’s chin painfully with one hand, he forced his mouth on to hers. It was a blessedly brief demonstration of anger and power. There was not even, Olivia realised dimly, any lust in it. George simply wanted to punish her. And she felt it. Humiliation. Fear. Powerlessness. And, somewhere deep down, anger.
After only a few seconds he pushed her away, satisfied. Olivia wiped her mouth with a trembling hand, wrapped her arms across her body and cried.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nearly there! Jem dashed along the road, knowing that the crossroads was very close. He rounded a bend in the road and pulled up with an expression of dismay. A farm cart had overturned and the cart, the horse, the farmer and a large amount of hay was entirely blocking the road. One wheel of the cart was in the ditch and the axle was broken.
‘What happened?’ he called out.
The farmer, who was still untying his prancing horse, launched into a convoluted explanation, in which ‘cow-handed carriage drivers’ featured prominently.
‘When? When did this happen?’ Jem interrupted, tersely. Normally he would have every sympathy for the farmer and would stop to help, but right now he could not.
He must reach Olivia!
‘Not more’n two minutes ago,’ replied the farmer. ‘And what I’m s’posed to do now, I know not! I shall have to ride the horse bareback to Little Norton and fetch someone to take the cart away.’
Jem was no longer listening. Backing up, he spurred the stallion to a full gallop, then leaped over the pile of hay, landing sweetly and safely on the other side.
Just two minutes ago. So close! He pushed his mount harder and, thankfully, the crossroads came into view. Reaching the junction, he pulled up, looking left, then right and straight ahead.
There was no sign of the carriage.
No! This cannot be!
His mind fought the reality. He would have to choose and had only a one-in-three chance of choosing correctly. He looked to the right. That was the most obvious choice. There were any number of towns and villages along the route and plenty of side roads for them to hide themselves in. And yet...he looked left. Past Godalming was the road to Guildford, and beyond that, London. Or Maidstone and Dover.
Olivia! he thought. Where are you, my love?
As he spoke the words in his mind, the sun emerged from behind a cloud, glinting on something small and metallic on the Godalming road. Turning the horse, he trotted directly across to it, leaning over to look carefully at it.
It was a small silver button, in the military style. Its twin rested in his pocket.
‘Oh, Olivia!’ he said aloud. ‘You are an absolute genius!’ He straightened in the saddle. ‘Let’s go!’
Foxley’s stallion, a gem of a horse, responded instantly. Jem galloped down the Godalming road, constantly scanning the way ahead.
There! In the distance, a lumbering carriage, with two saddle horses tied behind, one a familiar-looking skewbald. Slowing to a canter, Jem opened his saddlebag and took out a pistol.
* * *
‘Oh, do stop snivelling!’ Emma, with no sympathy whatsoever for Olivia’s plight, handed her a handkerchief. ‘Cry all you like, but do it quietly. This confounded snuffling and ragged breathing is irritating my nerves.’
‘Well, tell him not to make me cry, then!’ Olivia retorted, blowing her nose loudly. She offered the snot-filled linen back to Emma, who looked at it in disgust. Olivia tucked it into her sleeve—which now, like the other one, had a button missing.
She had thrown it out of the door just after they’d turned at the crossroads, in the hope that whoever came after her—Adam, Harry, or possibly Jem—might see it and know her direction. She had known that she couldn’t possibly escape that way herself—not with two of them to haul her back—but, she reasoned, throwing the button without them realising might possibly help.
Discreetly, she was already working on loosening another button—this time from the front of her habit. It would be more noticeable once it was gone, but that couldn’t be helped. She needed to have it ready to throw out, the moment they left the main road.
Logically, she knew that the buttons might never be seen and might not help her rescuers at all. But it helped her to feel better now, to do something which gave her a tiny sense of control over the situation. Remembering how she had rescued herself from the cellar, she made herself feel better by repeating confident words in her mind.
I am strong, she told herself. I am resourceful. I have family who love me. They are coming for me.
She refused to listen to the tiny voice inside that told her it would likely be at least another hour before anyone found her. Yet, when she heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching from behind at the gallop, she could not help but hope.
On either side, she felt George and Emma tense. ‘If you say the wrong thing,’ hissed Emma, ‘we will get Gunn to kill you!’
If I get the chance, Olivia resolved bravely, I will tell this rider exactly what is going on!
They all waited, keen to see if the rider would maintain his hurried pace and pass them with a nod, or whether he would slow down for a conversation alongside the carriage.
He was slowing. He was definitely slowing! He was going to pass on George’s side of the carriage. George sat up straighter and hummed a little. He looked every inch the gentleman traveller, accompanying two ladies on a journey to Godalming.
‘Good morning!’ said the rider jovially, as he pulled up alongside.
Olivia’s heart leapt—she knew that voice!
‘Good mor—You!’ George replied, with loathing.
‘Yes, me,’ confirmed Jem. ‘Oh, dear, you sound disappointed! Never mind. I am come,’ he continued i
n a pleasant tone, ‘to fetch Lady Olivia back to Monkton Park. She has an appointment there, you see.’
Olivia’s heart swelled. How had he caught up with them so quickly? His eyes met hers and his softened briefly. She nodded to signal that she was well and ready to do his bidding.
Jem quickened his pace and drew level with Gunn, briefly disappearing from view. A moment later, the carriage slowed, then stopped altogether, in a clatter of heaving wood and jingling reins. Without dismounting, Jem leaned forward and opened the door. ‘Olivia,’ he said. It was a command.
Olivia rose and climbed out of the carriage. ‘Just a moment!’ George, following, grabbed her arm. ‘I say she stays with us, or I will have Gunn shoot you!’ He put his arm around Olivia, then, looking insolently at Jem, he laid a wet kiss on Olivia’s cheek.
Jem’s eyes blazed. Without even dismounting, he leaned forward in the saddle and swung his fist hard at George.
Olivia distinctly heard the crack as George’s nose broke. In the same instant, as he recoiled under Jem’s blow, she found herself free to move. George lunged forward towards Jem, then pulled up short.
Jem seemed unperturbed. He held a lethal-looking pistol, now aimed at George. ‘Gunn, unfortunately, is no longer in possession of his shotgun. When he saw my pistol just now, he decided to throw his shotgun to the ground, then pull up, at my request. He was sensible. Now, are you equally sensible, or must you go down as the one man in history who is more stupid than Mr Gunn? Hmmm?’ He raised the pistol slightly and George, blood flowing freely from his nose, stepped back.
The Makings of a Lady Page 23
