“Linsdale ahead,” Deverell called down. “I can just see the bridge beyond it, but only because I’m up here.” After a moment, he added, “It looks perfect for our purposes.”
David slowed the carriage as they entered the small country town. Inside, Linnet, Logan, and Charles quickly got ready, buckling on sword belts, checking knives. Linnet doffed her cloak. Glancing out of the window, she saw the town square to one side. “It’s market day.”
“An added bonus,” Logan said. “It’ll slow the four behind us, and the other four behind them, just a bit more, which won’t hurt.” They’d confirmed at Aylesbury that their pursuers were adhering to the same pattern as the day before.
David had to tack through the crowded street bordering the square, but then he was through. Linnet, Logan, and Charles all stood, settling weapons, Logan and Charles grabbing up the two ropes as David followed his orders, whipped up the, horses, and drove out of the small town to the bridge beyond as fast as he possibly could.
“Almost there,” Deverell called down, “and I still can’t see our followers.”
“Good,” Linnet replied. That was critical for their plan to succeed.
Abruptly the carriage slowed. Charles went out of one door, sword on his hip, rope in one hand. On the other side of the carriage, Deverell dropped down from the box. Linnet saw him come out of his crouch and run toward the pillar at the town end of the bridge’s stone side.
The horses lunged forward. Linnet and Logan clung to the racks as the carriage rocked across the narrow bridge, then once again David reined the horses in.
Logan met her eyes as he turned to the far door. “Good luck.”
“And you.” Linnet grasped the handle of the door on her side, opened it, stepped down onto the carriage step, waited until the carriage had slowed just enough, then dropped down to the road.
The pillar at this end of the bridge was mere paces back; she raced for it as David flicked the reins and the horses leaned into the traces again. There was a curve just ahead; David would drive on as if nothing had occurred, and halt once he was around it, out of sight of the bridge.
Under the bridge, the River Ouzel ran swiftly, full and tumbling, its noise masking all other mundane sounds. The banks sloped steeply down from the pillared ends of the bridge’s stone sides, but were thick with dock, bracken, and grasses. Beside her pillar, Linnet looked across the river and could barely see Deverell crouched by the pillar on the other side, and then only because he had his back to her.
A short whistle jerked her attention across the road. Frowning at her, Logan sent the rope he’d carried snaking across. She grabbed the end, and swiftly, keeping as low as she could, looped it around the stone pillar, then cinched it, tight with a sailor’s knot. The free end in his hand, Logan sank down out of sight by his pillar.
Linnet did the same, crouching in concealing bracken. She strained her ears, trying to hear over the river’s incessant burbling.
One thing she hadn’t foreseen.
But then she heard the sharp clop of galloping hooves on the bridge’s flags. Immediately after came a shriek and a clatter.
Glancing up, she glimpsed a rider above her, looking back.
Knew before she saw his shocked face that the two cultists riding behind, sent flying from their saddles by the rope Charles and Deverell had abruptly raised, were being dispatched.
The first pair, already on the bridge, wanted to help their comrades, but the bridge was too narrow for them, riding abreast and now pushed on by their comrades’ freed mounts, to turn. They had to get off the bridge first. As she’d predicted—hoped—they yelled and spurred their horses on.
Logan jerked the rope he’d held up and tight, just high enough to pass over the horses’ heads and sweep the second pair of cultists from their saddles.
They hit the ground and their horses raced on, followed by the horses of their comrades; the cultists curled up tight to avoid being trampled.
The instant the horses were past, Logan was on the bridge, hauling his cultist up and manhandling him onto the road. The cultist yelled, struggled, but was no match for Logan. He used the hilt of his saber to knock the man out, then lifted him, swung around, and slung him toward the second cultist who, sword in hand, was facing off against Linnet.
The pair went down in a tangle of limbs. Linnet picked her moment, stepped in and with her cutlass hilt neatly clouted her cultist—the one still struggling—over the head.
Reaching the slumped bodies, Logan hefted one and turned to the river. Taking a few careful steps down the, bank, he hoisted the unconscious cultist up and flung him into the middle of the swiftly moving water. The current caught the body all but instantly, swirled it, then carried it swiftly off. Turning, he found Linnet dragging the other body to him.
He lifted the limp form and sent it the way of the first. Charles and Deverell had already done the same with the pair they’d taken down. Grabbing up their rope, they came pelting over the bridge. The rope Logan had used already in her hands, Linnet turned and started running after the carriage.
Regaining the top of the bank, Logan glanced swiftly around. No blood, no mess. Nothing to trigger alarm in the other four cultists, those currently off-duty, when they shortly rode along.
Satisfied Linnet’s plan had worked like a charm, Logan grinned as the other two joined him, and they set off at a run after Linnet.
They caught her up as she reached the carriage. Logan yanked open the door, held it while she climbed up and tumbled in, then followed her.
Charles and Deverell came through the other door.
David didn’t wait for the doors to close before he whipped up the horses. The cultists’ four horses had already thundered past; it didn’t matter where the loose horses went as long as they were out of sight of the road.
Slumped on the carriage seat waiting to catch his breath, Logan knew he was grinning widely; he saw the same jubilant expression on Charles’s and Deverell’s faces. Even Linnet was smiling as she shook out the map, glanced over it, then raised her head to shout up to David, “Left—meaning north—at the crossroads in Leighton Buzzard, David—hold steady on the course we discussed.”
“Aye, aye, capt’n ma’am,” came floating down from above.
Linnet laughed, and then they were all laughing, exhilaration and exuberance bubbling free.
Their action—”the bridge outside Linsdale” as Charles took to calling it—proved a total success. As they rattled on through the fading light, they detected no hint of continuing pursuit.
Even after they reached Bedford and the Swan Hotel, and Charles and Deverell hung back to keep an eye on the road to see if the latter four cultists had succeeded in picking up their trail, no pursuers of any stripe appeared.
They were all in excellent spirits as they sat down to dine in the private parlor Wolverstone had reserved for them. They had a pair of large rooms on the inn’s first floor, one on either side of a corner. One room overlooked the banks of the river, the Great Ouse, while the other boasted an excellent, uninterrupted view of Bedford High Street.
They’d opted to dine early, intending to set out before dawn the next day. Although they weren’t about to celebrate what each of them knew was merely a temporary reprieve, their mood was relaxed as they satisfied their appetites with the inn’s excellent fare, then, when a well-stocked cheese platter and bowl of fruit had been set before them, and the men supplied with glasses of an excellent port, they settled to discuss the orders from Wolverstone that had been awaiting them.
“So.” Tonight Charles was doing the honors, reading from Wolverstone’s dispatch. Sitting back in his chair, he took a sip of port, then focused on the pages in his hand. “As usual, the latest happenings first, up to this morning, when Royce wrote this. Yesterday’s action at Ely resulted in Delborough and the Cynsters tripping their trap, and although Larkins, Ferrar’s man, was killed, presumably by Ferrar himself, the villain got away unseen, with Delborough’s copy of the lette
r, a decoy as we’d surmised.”
Logan nodded. “As I said, Ferrar’s clever, and careful never to be seen. That said, it sounds like a close call for him. It might have rattled him.”
“We can but hope.” Charles read further, then continued, “Hamilton and company reached Chelmsford last night, and will be heading north today with at least eight cultists bringing up the rear. Royce, Delborough, and the Cynsters plan to be in Sudbury by lunchtime to assist, assuming any major ambush will occur after that, on the more open stretch to Bury.”
Charles frowned. “Royce writes that he’s asked Hamilton, who is traveling with a lady, a Miss Ensworth—”
“Miss Ensworth?” Logan looked stunned.
“Who’s she?” Deverell asked.
“The Governor of Bombay’s niece. She was visiting from England—she was the lady MacFarlane was escorting from Poona, the reason he was there and found the letter—and she was the one who brought it on to Bombay when MacFarlane stayed behind.” Logan shook his head. “What the devil’s she doing with Gareth?”
Charles raised an eloquent shoulder. “Possibly the same thing Linnet’s doing with you.” He smiled at Linnet. “Got involved too far to be safely left behind.”
Linnet pulled a face at him. She was hardly some delicate governor’s niece.
“Anyway”—Charles returned to their orders—”Royce has asked Hamilton to make another copy of the decoy letter Hamilton’s carrying, so that if necessary Hamilton can sacrifice his scroll-holder plus decoy copy, but Royce and the others at Elveden will still be able to study the letter and assess its contents. With Delborough sacrificing his copy, Royce has yet to read this oh-so-important letter.”
Deverell grinned. “That won’t have made Royce happy. An ex-spymaster denied the vital piece of intelligence.”
“Indeed, but he writes that as he will have a copy through Hamilton, we can, if necessary, sacrifice our copy should there be an advantage in so doing. He notes that the Cobra appears to be behaving as expected and going after all the copies, as he can have no notion which of the four couriers, is carrying the original.” Charles paused, then read on, “Our specific route tomorrow is exactly as we’d expected—from here straight to Elveden via St. Neots, Cambridge, and Newmarket. About sixty-five miles, apparently, and he advises us not to halt, but to come straight on. The Cynsters will be lurking around Cambridge and beyond, but depending on the enemy’s movements, we might not see them.”
Charles looked at Linnet. Smiled. “We’d better order a luncheon hamper.”
She raised her brows haughtily, by now unruffled by his teasing.
“That’s it.” Straightening, Charles tossed the missive on the table. “So it looks as if our notion to leave before dawn and go hard for Cambridge is indeed our wisest course.”
They all agreed. Deverell pointed out that with their early departure, their consequently early appearance in Cambridge, about thirty or so miles on, might catch the Cynsters unawares.
Charles considered, then shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. We have to leave early—there’s no question about that—but even if we fly straight through and our escort misses us, they’re unlikely to miss any cultists who give chase.” He grinned. “Knowing the Cynsters involved, they’ll be happy to mop up.”
Deverell nodded. He left to confirm their departure time with David and order the required hamper. Logan got to his feet, prowled to the window, and stood looking out.
When Deverell returned and shut the door, Logan swung back, halted by the table. “We’ve lost our pursuers, but the cultists will be hunting us. With luck they won’t find us before we leave, but I’ve learned never to take the Black Cobra for granted. He always has plenty of men, and previously when pressed, he’s shown a tendency to do the utterly unexpected—to act in ways so outrageous we would never think of them, much less make preparations to counter them.” He met the others’ eyes. “We still need to set pickets.”
“Agreed.” Charles pushed back from the table. “But given our early start, we only need three watches—why don’t you and Linnet take the first, I’ll take the middle, and Deverell can take the last?”
They all nodded in agreement.
“At least,” Logan said, as Linnet rose and led the way to the door, “in such a solid building, with the general dampness plus the river so close, we don’t need to fear them setting the place alight.”
Bury St. Edmunds
“You do understand that he had to die, don’t you?” In the drawing room of the house they’d made their headquarters in Bury St. Edmunds, Alex topped up Daniel’s glass from the decanter of fine brandy Roderick had liberated from the locked sideboard.
How very apt, Daniel thought, as he took a healthy swallow. As usual, Alex was abstemious, but tonight was also sipping from a glass.
“Poor Roderick.” With a shake of the head, Alex replaced the decanter on the sideboard. “So … sadly ineffectual.”
“Indeed.” Daniel took another swallow. He was still a trifle shocked, although not by Roderick’s death itself—that had been coming for some time, and it was his idiot half brother’s lack of thought for consequences that had landed the three of them in this mire after all. Still, he hadn’t seen it coming—hadn’t seen Death in Alex’s eyes until the dagger had slid home.
But Alex had been right. Roderick had had to die, then and there, in that moment. Thanks to Alex’s quick thinking, the pair of them had got clean away.
Daniel raised his glass, locked eyes with Alex, now seated on the sofa nearby. “To Roderick—the idiot—who was convinced to the last that our sire would always save him. He was a fool, but he was our brother.” He drank.
Alex sipped. “Half brother.” Alex’s lips curved. “Sadly, he missed the better half—the cleverer half.”
Daniel tipped his glass in acknowledgment, but said nothing. He and Alex shared a father, but their mothers had been different, so the cleverer half Alex alluded to he had missed as well. He looked at his glass, and decided he’d better stop drinking.
“But Roderick no longer matters, my dear. We do.” Alex’s voice was low but clear, as always compelling. “And we need to take steps to ensure our necks remain free of the hangman’s noose.”
“Indubitably.” Setting down his glass, Daniel met Alex’s eyes. “As ever, I’m yours to command, but I suspect I’d better go and check on Monteith. We need his copy of the letter.”
Alex nodded. “While you’re doing that, I’ll organize another move. Sadly, here, we’re too close to where Roderick met his end. Our opponents might think to search. I’ll have somewhere else organized—not too far away—by the time you get back with Monteith’s letter.”
“And then we’ll need to get a welcome in place for Carstairs.”
“Indeed.” Alex’s eyes glittered. “I’ll start work on that tomorrow, too. Now we know he’s coming down the Rhine, and at speed, then it’s all but certain he’ll pass through Rotterdam. I’ve already sent orders to all those on the other side of the Channel to ensure he runs into a very warm reception. But given that the other three have all come this way, what are the odds, do you think, that he’s making for either Felixstowe or Harwich? They are, after all, the closest and most convenient ports to this part of the country.”
“He’ll be carrying the original, won’t he?”
Alex nodded. “Just the fact he’s coming in on the most direct route … our puppetmaster isn’t trying to draw out cultists with him, but to give him the shortest and safest road, the best possible chance of reaching the puppetmaster. That’s why he’s the last, and also why Monteith is coming in from the opposite direction.”
“So Carstairs won’t be long.”
“No, but what I have planned in Rotterdam will at least slow him down, which is all we need.” Alex looked at Daniel. “You take care of Monteith, and leave me to put our welcome for Carstairs in place. By the time you get back with Monteith’s letter, all will be set.” Alex smiled, viciously intent. “Whoe
ver our puppetmaster is, I guarantee Carstairs will never reach him.”
Daniel nodded and stood. “I’d better get going if I’m to join the men tonight.”
“Where exactly are they?”
“In a deserted barn outside a village called Eynesbury. I left them with strict orders to keep watch for Monteith and make sure he doesn’t reach Cambridge. They’ll know where he’s spending the night.” Daniel smiled, envisioning carnage. “I believe I’ll pay Major Monteith a midnight visit.”
Alex understood what he was planning. “Very good. And who knows what possibilities tomorrow might bring? Take care, my dear—I’ll see you later tomorrow, once you have Monteith’s copy.”
Daniel saluted. “Until then.”
He turned away and strode for the door, and so didn’t see the way Alex watched him.
Didn’t feel the cold, piercing weight of those ice-blue eyes.
After he’d passed through the open doorway and disappeared, Alex sat staring at the vacant space.
Debating.
Several minutes ticked past.
Then Alex turned and looked toward the doorway at the far end of the room. “M’wallah!”
When the fanatical head of Alex’s personal guard appeared, Alex coldly said, “Have someone saddle my horse and lay out my riding breeches, jacket, and my heavy cloak. I expect to be out all night.”
Turning, Alex looked again at the door through which Daniel had gone.
Daniel was, Alex knew, entirely trustworthy.
Yet sometimes trust wasn’t enough.
Alex had a very bad feeling about what was going on. About the quality of their opponents.
Pale eyes still fixed on the doorway, Alex rose, set down the barely touched glass of brandy. “I do hope I’m wrong, my dear. I do so hope I’m wrong.”
Once bitten, twice shy. Alex left the room to change and ride out.
December 21, 1822
The Swan Hotel, Bedford
Linnet sat beside Logan on the top step of the main stairs on the hotel’s first floor. All about them the house was quiet, settled, already in slumber. Darkness enveloped them; rather than keep a candle burning, marking their position, they’d let the night embrace them and let their eyes adjust.
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