Rose Cottage was not what she’d been raised to, but that life had turned out very badly. This life was so much better. She had her own home, friends, and she provided a vital service for this remote community. With no physicians nearby, she had become more than a midwife. She set bones and treated wounds and minor illnesses. Some claimed she was better than the doctors in Carlisle. Certainly she was cheaper.
Though her trip to London several months earlier as Mariah’s chaperone had left her restless, she was mostly content in Hartley. She would never have a child of her own, but she had many children in her life, as well as the respect of the community. She took pride in the fact that she’d built this life for herself with her own hard work.
The front door opened and a young woman bustled in, a toddler on one hip and a canvas bag slung over her shoulder. Julia smiled at the other two members of her household. “You’re back early, Jenny. How are Mrs. Wolf and Annie?”
Jenny Watson beamed. “Happy and healthy. Since I delivered Annie myself, whenever I see her I’m as proud as if I’d invented babies.”
Julia laughed. “I know the feeling. Helping a baby into the world is a joy.”
Jenny reached into her bag. “Mr. Wolf sent along a nice bit of bacon.”
“That will go well with Ellie Flynn’s eggs.”
“I’ll fix us our tea then.” Jenny headed into the kitchen and set her daughter in a cradle by the hearth. Molly, fourteen months old, yawned hugely and curled up for a nap.
Julia watched the child fondly. Jenny was not the first desperate pregnant girl who had shown up on Julia’s doorstep, but she was the only one to become part of the household. Jenny had married a man against her family’s wishes. Her family had turned their backs when he abandoned her, saying that she’d made her bed and must lie in it.
Near starvation, Jenny had offered to work as Julia’s servant for no wages, only food and a roof over her head. The girl had proved to be clever and a hard worker, and after Molly’s birth, she became Julia’s apprentice. She was well on her way to becoming a fine midwife, and she and her child had become Julia’s family.
Jenny had just called, “Our tea is ready!” when the string of bells that hung on the front door jangled.
Julia made a face. “I wish I had a shilling for every time I’ve been interrupted during a meal!”
She stood—then froze with horror at the sight of the three men who entered her home. Two were strangers, but the burly scar-faced leader was familiar. Joseph Crockett, the vilest man she’d ever known, had found her.
“Well, well, well. So Lady Julia really is alive,” he said menacingly as he pulled a glittering knife from a sheath under his coat. “That can be fixed.”
Whiskers hissed and dashed into the kitchen while Julia backed away from him, numb with panic.
After years of quiet hiding, she was a dead woman.
The pretty maid who answered the door of Hartley Manor bobbed a curtsy as she recognized the caller. “I’m sorry, Major Randall, but the Townsends are away from home. A niece of Mrs. Townsend is getting married down south, so they decided to attend the wedding.”
During Randall’s pleasant fortnight in Scotland with his friend Kirkland, he toyed with the idea of visiting Mariah’s family, but he hadn’t made up his mind until he reached the road that followed the Cumberland coast west to Hartley. He liked the Townsends and there was no harm in calling on them, even if he wasn’t interested in courting Sarah. And if he chanced to see Julia Bancroft—perhaps that would cure him of his unfortunate attraction.
Impulses didn’t always work out well. He gave one of his cards to the maid. “Please let them know I called.”
The girl frowned at the card. “It’s getting late, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Townsend will be right unhappy with me if you don’t spend the night here as a guest of the house.”
Randall hesitated only a moment. There was a decent little inn down in the village, but he’d had a long day, his leg ached, and he was traveling alone since his servant and former batman, Gordon, was visiting his own family. Randall and his horses deserved a rest. “Does Mrs. Beckett still reign in the kitchen?”
The maid smiled impishly. “She does indeed, sir, and she’d be pleased to have a hungry man to feed.”
“Then I accept your kind invitation most gratefully.” He descended the stairs to take his light travel carriage and horses around to the stable. While he wouldn’t be seeing Sarah Townsend, surely manners dictated that he pay a call on Mrs. Bancroft in the morning before resuming his journey south.
Useful things, manners.
Joseph Crockett stepped close and touched the tip of his knife to Julia’s throat. As she stood rigid, wondering if she was going to die right here and now, he growled, “You’re going to take a ride with us, your ladyship. You know who will be at the end of it.” He applied enough pressure to pierce the skin. As a drop of blood oozed down her neck, he added, “Mind you behave, or I’ll cut your throat. No one will blame me if I have to kill a murderess.”
A horrified gasp sounded from the door of the kitchen as Jenny appeared, drawn by the voices. Crockett cursed and spun toward her, raising the knife.
“No!” Julia grabbed his wrist. “For the love of God, don’t hurt her! Jenny can do you no harm.”
“She might raise the alarm after I take you,” he growled.
Molly wobbled into sight, her round face scrunched with worry as she grabbed her mother’s skirt. Jenny scooped up the child and backed into the kitchen, her eyes terrified.
“Get her!” Crockett snapped.
The younger of the other two men moved after Jenny and took her arm so she could retreat no further. “Killing a mother and her babe would raise a hue and cry for sure,” the man said. “I can tie the lass so she won’t be able to escape till tomorrow. We’ll be far away before anyone notices anything wrong.”
After an agonizingly long pause, Crockett said grudgingly, “Very well, tie the chit up. We’ll leave as soon as you’re done.”
Voice not quite steady, Julia said, “Since I’m not coming back, I’d like to write a note saying I leave the cottage and its contents to Jenny.”
“Ever the lady bountiful,” he said brusquely. “Be quick about it.”
After she scrawled the two sentences that were her last will and testament, Crockett scanned the paper to see if she’d said anything about her fate. Satisfied, he dropped it on her worktable. “Get your shawl. There’s a long journey ahead.”
She did as he ordered, collecting her warm, shabby shawl and bonnet. Was there anything else she should take?
Dead women needed nothing. Ignoring Crockett, she went to the Windsor chair Jenny was tied to and gave the girl a hug. “I leave you my cottage and everything else.” She bent and kissed Molly, who hid behind her mother’s skirts. “You’re a good midwife, Jenny. Don’t worry about me. I…I’ve had more good years than I expected.”
“What is all this about?” her friend whispered, tears on her cheeks.
“Justice,” Crockett snapped.
“The less you know, the better. Good-bye, my dear.” Julia wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and turned to the door.
Crockett raised several coils of chain. “Now, to make sure you can’t run off, your ladyship.” He snapped a manacle around her left wrist and jerked her toward him like a leashed animal.
The chain came near to breaking her. She would drop to her knees and beg for her life if she thought it would do any good. But Crockett would laugh at her weakness. Since death was inevitable, she’d face it with her head high and her dignity intact.
She had nothing else left.
Julia walked outside, chain clanking. A plain closed carriage waited, a driver on the box. Four villainous men to one undersized midwife. There would be no escape.
Crockett opened the door and pointed her to the corner seat on the far side from the door. Then he sat next to her, the chain firmly in his grasp. When Crockett and his minions were in place, the carriage
set off.
Numbly she gazed out the window as they drove through Hartley. When the village fell behind them, she closed her eyes and suppressed her tears. She’d been happy here at the far edge of the world.
But it hadn’t been far enough.
Chapter 3
Randall was halfway through a plate of Mrs. Beckett’s chops when he heard pounding at the door of Hartley Manor. The sound was so frantic that he considered answering the door himself, but the chops were excellent.
A few moments later, voices sounded from the front hall as the door was opened. Hearing the name “Mrs. Bancroft” yanked him from his chair and sent him striding to the front hall. Emma, the pretty maid who had invited him to stay earlier, looked shocked as she talked to a young woman with anxious eyes and bloody wrists. Something was very wrong. He snapped, “What has happened to Mrs. Bancroft?”
“Three men came and took her away!” The young woman wiped at her teary eyes. “I’m Jenny Watson, her apprentice. My baby and I live with her. The men who took her tied me up. When I managed to get free, I came here hoping for Mr. Townsend’s help, but Emma says he’s away. I don’t know what else to do!”
Randall’s fear kicked up higher. “Do you know why they took her?”
“The man called her Lady Julia, but that might just have been to be mean. He said they were taking her for justice.” Jenny swallowed hard. “He said that…that she was a murderess. But that’s impossible!”
Randall also had trouble imagining that, but no matter. His first consideration was to rescue Julia from her kidnappers. “What exactly was said?”
The girl took a deep breath, then recounted the conversation she’d overheard. “They’re taking her on a long journey,” she ended. “And…and she doesn’t expect to come back alive. She wrote a note leaving her cottage and everything in it to me.” The tears started again. “I don’t want the house! I want Mrs. Bancroft back safe!”
“How long is it since they left?”
Jenny furrowed her brows. “Maybe an hour, or a little more.”
He glanced at her bloodied wrists. “How did you escape your bonds so quickly? You dragged your hands out?”
“They didn’t tie my Molly,” Jenny explained. “She’s only fourteen months so they left her free. After they left, I had her bring me a knife so I could cut myself loose.”
“Clever girl,” he said approvingly. “Were the accents English or Scottish?”
“English. Southern English.”
“So they’ll probably take the road east to Carlisle, then head south into England rather than north to Scotland.” He turned to Emma. “Mr. Townsend had a fine blood bay, Grand Turk. Is the horse here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll take him then. Have the horse saddled.”
“Be careful, sir,” Jenny said. “They’re dangerous men. I…I don’t want to think what they’ll do to Mrs. Bancroft.”
“If they wanted her dead, they would have killed her when they found her. She is safe until they reach their destination, and I will find her before then. I promise you that.” He spun on his heel and headed to his room while he thought about what he needed to take. Money and his hat and cloak, plus a pack with bread and cheese and ale so he wouldn’t have to stop to eat.
Luckily, he always traveled well armed.
On his way through Hartley, Randall paused to talk to old Mrs. Morse, who was working in her garden and saw all the local comings and goings. After getting as many details as he could of the carriage’s appearance, he headed east toward Carlisle. Grand Turk was as good a horse as Randall remembered, his long strides eating up the distance.
There were no posting houses on this road, so the kidnappers would be unable to replace the horses tired by the drive to Hartley. With luck, he would catch up with them before they reached Carlisle. Once the devils reached a busier road, they would be harder to track.
They must know that pursuit was unlikely. Even if Charles Townsend, the most prominent man in the area, had been home, he wouldn’t have been able to do much. Plus, the poor road would slow their pace. A pity that Randall’s servant Gordon was visiting his family. Randall was quite capable of looking after himself on the trip to Scotland, and Gordon had certainly earned a holiday. But he was a good man in a fight, and his presence could be useful here.
No matter. Randall had surprise on his side. With luck, he could get Julia away with no one getting killed. Though if killing was necessary…
He settled into the horse’s ground-eating trot. His leg ached like the devil and would get worse, but it would last for as long as necessary.
As he rode into the darkening sky, he wondered what Julia would do after he rescued her. Her kidnappers knew where she lived, so she would never be safe in Hartley again.
Another solution must be found.
Julia’s captors rode steadily on as night fell. In the dampest, cloudiest corner of England, why did this particular night have to be clear?
There were no inns or posting houses, but a couple of hours along the road, the carriage stopped briefly and the youngest man, Haggerty, retrieved a sack of food and a jug of ale from the luggage area in back.
As the carriage started up again, a cold meat pie was thrust into Julia’s hands. She tried to eat the dry pastry, but it was like clay in her mouth.
“Here, your ladyship.” Crockett offered her the jug. She shook her head. Though she was thirsty, she didn’t want to drink from the same jug he’d used.
Giving up on the meat pie, she stared out the window at the empty landscape. The rough, mostly bare hills were pale and uncanny. Though not yet full, the moon was bright enough to light the road as long as the pace was moderate.
How long would this journey take? A week, perhaps. She tried not to think of what awaited her at the end. A quick death, she hoped. Torture was unlikely—but not impossible. She had no faith in her enemy’s restraint.
After another hour, she said, “I’d appreciate a stop, Mr. Crockett.”
He laughed. “And here I thought ladies like you never needed to piss.”
Hopelessness made it easy to keep her voice steady. “I am a woman like any other, Mr. Crockett.”
“We’re a good distance from that grubby village of yours, and the horses wouldn’t mind a rest.” He signaled the driver. They were rounding a hill, so the carriage rumbled to a halt after reaching the straightaway on the other side of the curve.
The men climbed out first. Haggerty headed to the back of the carriage to get more drink while Crockett jerked at Julia’s chain. The manacle bit into her raw wrist, drawing blood. She stumbled outside, muscles stiff and shivering from the cold.
As she stretched, Crockett jerked at the chain again and said with calculated menace, “You should be more afraid, Lady Julia.”
“Why?” she said coolly. “Fear is pointless when there is no hope.”
Crockett laughed. “Death may be inevitable, but there are better and worse ways to go.” He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her hard against him.
Revolted by his touch, she spat in his face.
“Bitch!” Crockett slapped her cheek so hard she fell to the ground.
Not, unfortunately, hard enough to break her neck.
Tracking the kidnappers was dead easy when there was only one road, and his quarry made no effort to be inconspicuous. Randall caught up with them when they halted for a rest. Luckily, his horse whickered when it sensed other horses so he could stop before he was on top of them.
He listened and heard casual voices. After tethering his mount in a copse, he pulled a battered wool scarf from his saddlebags. It was a relic of his army service, dark gray and smelling of horse, but useful on cold, windy roads. Tonight it would do for concealing his light hair and most of his face.
He pulled his carbine from its holster and checked that it was ready to shoot, then silently made his way around the bend in the road. These rugged hills were mostly sheep pasture, but there were enough trees and s
hrubs along the road to let him stay in shadow.
Moonlight made it easy to see the carriage, horses, and passengers who had climbed out. His heartbeat accelerated when he saw Julia Bancroft step down from the vehicle. The bastards had her leashed on a chain, like an animal. As he considered the best way to free her from her captors, one of the men made a taunting remark and dragged her into an embrace.
She spat in his face. The man bellowed, “Bitch!” and struck her.
Damnation! Randall’s carbine was trained on the man’s skull before Julia hit the ground. He barely managed to stop himself from shooting. In battle, he had always been cool, using his anger as a weapon, but seeing a man beating a woman half his size shattered his control.
He didn’t doubt that he could take all four men, but a mass killing would be awkward to explain, and there was the risk that Julia would be injured. It would be best to extract her with a minimum of violence.
Not Julia. Mrs. Bancroft.
Narrowing his eyes, he weighed the possibilities.
Chapter 4
Swearing, Crockett handed the chain to Haggerty. “Take her damned ladyship into the bushes before I strangle her.”
He took a swig from the jug and passed it to one of the others as Julia struggled dizzily to her feet and followed Haggerty into the nearest clump of shrubs, a hundred yards or so from the carriage. At least the chain was long enough to allow her a measure of privacy, and her captor turned away as she went behind a bush.
When she emerged, the young man said awkwardly, “I’m sorry, my lady.”
“Probably not sorry enough to set me free,” she said dryly.
“No, ma’am,” he said with regret. “Even if I did, you wouldn’t get far.”
He was right. The hills were mostly plain pasture, and the moonlight would make her easy to chase down.
Wishing she had worn her shawl, she was turning toward the carriage when she saw a dark shape loom up behind Haggerty. An instant later, the young man collapsed, Julia’s chain rattling as it dropped to the ground.
Never Less Than a Lady Page 2
