Timeless (A Time Travel Romance)

by Jasmine Cresswell

  Chapter 21

  Twenty minutes after leaving Starke, Robyn had already begun to feel sick. By the time an hour had passed, she was wondering what sadistic fiend had first invented the torment of travel by horse-drawn, iron-wheeled carriage. She wished she knew, so that she could seek him out in hell and personally shovel a few extra coals onto the fire that doubtless burned beneath him. She felt sure he was already in hell. Even God’s mercy could not be sufficient to allow such a monster to escape his well-deserved punishment.

  Ever solicitous, William waved smelling salts under her nose, which revived her just sufficiently to remind her that she was undoubtedly going to throw up some time within the next thirty seconds. She vaguely remembered that at dawn this morning she had rejoiced in the prospect of traveling in the comfort of her own private carriage. Right now—a much wiser woman—she would willingly have swapped her seat among the velvet pillows for a dog kennel in the baggage compartment of any jet plane flying the friendly skies.

  “What ails you, my dear?” William tried to chafe some warmth into her freezing hands. “I have never known you to suffer such discomfort on a short carriage ride.”

  “Short?” she said faintly. “How far have we gone?”

  “Seventeen miles and it has taken us less than two hours. We are most fortunate to have such clement weather at this time of year.”

  Over the past weeks, Robyn had learned that it was not only modern Britishers who insisted that anything short of a howling gale was good weather. Their eighteenth-century ancestors had the same strange standards. She was too busy trying not to throw up to point out that it looked likely to sleet at any moment. Forty-three miles to go. At least six more hours of incessant jolting and swaying. Robyn wondered if anybody else had ever died of motion sickness or if she was going to be the first.

  “How long until we meet up with Mrs. Wilkes’s party?” she asked.

  Zachary spoke up. “Another five or six minutes, no more. We have passed the milestone for the Hare and Hounds.”

  Hallelujah! Less than a mile to the inn where they had arranged to rendezvous with Hannah Wilkes. Robyn closed her eyes and held her head completely still. If she didn’t move and didn’t look out of the window, she might possibly make it to the inn without disaster.

  When she heard the thunder of galloping horses and cries of “Halt!” and “Whoa!” she was momentarily delighted. They had arrived at their rendezvous quicker than she could have hoped. She sat up and opened her eyes.

  One look at William’s grim face warned her that they hadn’t arrived at the inn and that the noise of galloping hoofbeats was not merely the bustle of a busy stable yard but something much more ominous. William leaned forward and peered out of the carriage window while Zachary hastily retied the strings on his hood and slipped his too masculine hands into a pair of knitted woolen gloves. Robyn breathed deeply, swallowing over the dreadful sickness roiling in her stomach. She absolutely could not throw up now.

  “Is it soldiers?” she asked.

  “Yes,” William said, his voice crisp. “Captain Bretton’s dragoons.”

  He turned swiftly to his brother. “Zachary, for God’s sake stay as much in the shadows as you can, and remember to act like a servant. Fuss over Arabella and cringe every time an officer looks in your direction.” He turned back to the window. “Here comes Captain Bretton.”

  A gunshot exploded, obscenely loud in the pastoral peace of the countryside. “Halt in the name of His Majesty King George!” Even muted by the walls of the carriage, the bellowed command was harsh with menace. The coachman reined in and the canter of the carriage horses slowed to a trot before coming to a rocking, shuddering stop.

  “I cannot put you all in danger,” Zachary said. “I will jump out of the carriage and make a run for it.”

  “No!” William’s denial was low-pitched but absolute. “The carriage has been surrounded by dragoons. You will be bayoneted the instant you open the door, and we will be thrown into jail as traitors who aided your escape. Stay where you are.”

  Zachary’s face was pale. “I wish I could tell you both how bitterly I regret the trouble I have brought to our family. Bella, William, I beg you to believe that I would never have come to Starke if I had guessed the problems my return would cause.”

  “Where else would you have gone but to your home?” William asked. “Besides, don’t give up before you must. Take heart, Zachary, your disguise is good and the captain, I trust, is acting on false information I have supplied him.”

  There was no time to ask what he meant. The jingling of harness and spurs grew louder, vying with the stomp and snort of the horses. Surprisingly, despite her extreme nausea, Robyn’s senses seemed exceptionally acute, and she could hear each sound with distinct, threatening clarity. She heard the soldiers dismount, heard the thud of their footsteps on the frozen mud road as they walked toward the carriage and banged on the door panels.

  “Open in the name of the King!”

  William let down the window. “What is the meaning of this outrage? Have you run mad, stopping a peer of the realm as he proceeds about his lawful business? Who authorizes this criminal interference?”

  “I authorize it, my lord, with the explicit permission of the Duke of Cumberland.” Captain Bretton rode up, his bay gelding foam-flecked from the speed of his travel. “My orders are here.” He leaned down and handed a sealed letter through the carriage window, which William broke open and read in silence.

  When he had finished reading, he took his time refolding the flaps of the letter. “You have been very busy, Captain,” was all he said.

  “Indeed.” Captain Bretton inclined his head in a mocking bow, then leapt from his horse and unlatched the carriage door. “Now, out of the carriage, my lord, and the Lady Arabella, also.” He noticed the third figure in the carriage. “And you, woman, whatever your name is, out of the carriage.”

  With deceptively languid movements, William positioned himself in the doorway, blocking the captain’s view of the carriage interior. “In the interests of bringing this absurd search to a speedy conclusion, I am willing to accede to your demands.” William stepped down from the carriage. “However, my wife does not feel well—”

  “Alas, she would feel even less well locked up in Poole jail. Move aside, my lord.” Captain Bretton pointed to the seemingly cringing maidservant. “You, didn’t you hear what I said, woman? Out of the carriage, and look sharp about it.”

  Head hanging, face averted as if equally afraid to meet the gaze either of her mistress or of the captain, “Mary” climbed down from the carriage and scuttled away, ducking under the captain’s outstretched arm. Captain Bretton spared the maid no more than a single scornful glance before turning his attention back to Robyn. For her, he swept his hat from his head and held it to his heart in a parody of formal etiquette.

  “Now, my lady, it is your turn. Descend from the carriage, I pray you, so that my men may locate the secret compartment in which you carry the Jacobite traitor. Unless, of course, you would prefer to save us all some time and tell me where your husband has hidden his brother?”

  “I would prefer never to see you or speak to you again,” Robyn said.

  The captain’s pretense of courtesy vanished, to be replaced by a look of sheer hatred. He leaned inside the carriage and grabbed Robyn’s arm, clearly intending to drag her outside.

  William was between them in an instant, hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes glittering. “Unhand my wife, sir.” He spoke with deadly, icy calm, indifferent to the fact that twenty dragoons had leveled their muskets at him the instant he approached their captain.

  Captain Bretton flushed, but he realized that he was within seconds of being run through by William’s sword, dragoons or no dragoons. He dropped his hand and ostentatiously moved himself and his horse a foot or so from the carriage.

  “Do not touch my wife again, Captain Bretton.” William pushed his sword back into its scabbard with a resounding click. He turned to
Robyn, stretching out his arms. “My lady?”

  She placed her hands in his and jumped down, landing shakily because the nausea made her feel weak-kneed. William smiled at her as if they were alone, rather than surrounded by a platoon of armed soldiers. “At least you have a few moments respite from the jolting of the carriage. Are you warm enough, my dear lady?”

  She forced her voice steady. “Yes, thank you, quite warm.”

  “Good.” Confident that she was in command of herself, William turned and bowed ironically to the captain. “Search my coach, sirrah, but a word of warning. Damage it or destroy so much as a single cushion, and I will personally ride to London to lodge a complaint with His Majesty.”

  “Brave words,” the captain sneered. “But the King does not listen to the complaints of traitors.”

  “You are more arrogant than usual, Captain Bretton. May one inquire why?”

  The captain smiled. “Certainly, my lord. I have firm information that your treacherous brother left Starke Manor this morning concealed behind a secret panel in your traveling coach.”

  William looked astonished. “I can assure you, Captain, that your information is false.”

  “I believe not.”

  William yawned. “It would, I suppose, be quite useless to tell you that you will find nobody concealed anywhere in my carriage, much less behind a secret panel.”

  “Quite useless,” Captain Bretton agreed. He beckoned to his lieutenant. “Look beneath the seats. I have been told that one of them is hinged and that there is a space hollowed out fully large enough to hide a man. The lock is probably a spring, concealed within a decorative carving. Take one of the men inside with you and work systematically. The carriage is no great size. You should require no more than a few minutes to find the hiding place.”

  Somewhat relieved that Captain Bretton’s attention was so securely focused on the wrong thing, Robyn sneaked a look at William. To most people, his expression might have seemed no more than a mixture of boredom, outrage, and irritation. Robyn detected a faint hint of satisfaction along with the inevitable tension, and she began to realize that the captain had been deliberately duped. William had seemed almost cavalier when she had suggested that Jackson might prove troublesome. Was it possible that he had once again used his valet to set Captain Bretton hunting along a false trail?

  Two minutes later a gleeful shout came from inside the carriage, followed by thirty seconds or so of intense silence. Then the lieutenant appeared in the doorway, jumped down, and saluted smartly. He did not look a happy man.

  “Well?” Captain Bretton demanded. “Have you found the traitor?”

  “We have found the secret compartment, sir.” The lieutenant swallowed. “The seat bench is hollow, sir, as you suggested. However, there was nobody hidden inside the compartment, sir. It was empty, except for a small chest.”

  “Empty?” Captain Bretton was slack jawed with astonishment. “What do you mean, it was empty?”

  The dragoon came out of the coach, a studded, tooled leather chest in his arms. He shifted the chest to his left arm and managed an awkward salute. “This is what we found in the secret compartment, sir. No traitors, sir, nary a one.”

  “Open the chest!” Captain Bretton bellowed, beside himself with rage.

  “I think not, Captain.” William stepped forward and took the chest from the corporal. “As you can plainly see, this box is scarcely large enough to contain a kitten, much less a full-grown man. My lady wife and I are making a shopping expedition to Bristol. Naturally, I require money to pay for our purchases. That chest was hidden away from the marauding hands of thieves and highway robbers in the secret compartment I designed especially for that purpose. I do not intend to give your men access to the monies I would not give to highwaymen.”

  The captain swung around, his eyes black with loathing. “You deliberately misled me,” he said, spluttering with the force of his rage. “You had your estate carpenters working for three days on that secret compartment—”

  William’s gaze was bland. “How in the world do you know that, Captain Bretton? I expressly ordered them to keep their work secret. There is no point in having a hiding place for one’s valuables if all the neighborhood riffraff knows the hiding place exists.”

  The captain looked as if he might choke on his own anger. “You expected me to come chasing after you,” he blustered. “You made sure that I knew of the secret compartment you were having built.”

  He suddenly stopped, horror momentarily depriving him of breath and speech. “Oh, my God!” he said and swung himself onto his horse. “Follow me!” he yelled to his men. “We have to get back to Starke before his brother escapes!”

  The dragoons sprang into their saddles in an impressive display of speed and horsemanship. Captain Bretton might not have much success in capturing traitors, but his men could certainly ride. They flicked spurs to the flanks of their mounts and galloped off down the road, a brilliant cavalcade of scarlet, white, and gleaming brass.

  Robyn watched their departure in silence for a moment or two, almost too relieved to speak. She was joined by Zachary, who hung his head and shuffled his feet in a convincing portrayal of a maid who knows she deserted her mistress in a time of need.

  When the thunder of hooves had faded to a muffled thud, William held out his hand. “Shall we return to the carriage, my lady? Mistress Wilkes will be wondering why we are so delayed.”

  “Certainly, my lord.” Robyn laid her hand on his arm and stepped up into the carriage. Outside, she could hear the coachmen and the postilions scrambling to get back into position. William pulled the cord and the coach lumbered into motion.

  “I’m delighted the captain and his troops have gone,” she said, once they were safely under way. “But why was he seized by a frantic desire to get back to Starke?”

  William smiled. “That’s easy to explain, my love. He suddenly feared that this trip to Bristol might be no more than a clever diversionary tactic. He thinks I have drawn him here to the Hare and Hounds, whilst Zachary is making a dash for freedom back at Starke.”

  Robyn chuckled, her sickness momentarily conquered. “That’s such an ingenious escape plan, it’s almost a shame we didn’t think of it.”

  “With all due modesty, my love, I must point out that I did think of it. I merely decided we would be a lot safer if we worked a double deception upon the too eager Captain. He was so busy searching for that secret compartment, he barely glanced at your maid.”

  Robyn was impressed and said so. “I wonder how long the captain will spend scouring the countryside around Starke before he realizes that he has made a dreadful mistake?” she asked.

  William’s smile sobered. “Long enough, I trust, to see all three of us safely to Bristol.”

  “And me on board ship for France,” Zachary said.

  * * *

  The seven hours of travel between the Hare and Hounds and the city of Bristol were seven hours of unredeemed torment for Robyn. The nausea that had vanished during their brief encounter with Captain Bretton soon returned with renewed force. She had thrown up so many times that when they finally arrived in Bristol she was too exhausted to feel triumph or even lingering anxiety. Zachary and William would have to make their trip to the harbor alone because walking was temporarily beyond her. She got out of the coach with William’s assistance and waited in numb misery for someone to direct her to the blissful, immobile comfort of her bed.

  The brothers jointly escorted her up the stairs to the inn’s best bedroom, and Hannah Wilkes went off to the kitchens in search of weak tea and dry toast. Robyn was so absorbed in her own wretchedness that it took her a moment or two to realize that Hannah Wilkes was supposed to be spending the night with her uncle, a Bristol merchant. It took another few minutes for her to realize that Hannah’s presence at the inn was a major calamity. Zachary and William would never be able to slip off to the harbor if Hannah was in the room, observing their every movement. What excuse could a husband and
a personal maid give for deserting a woman who was prostrate with nausea?

  When Hannah returned from the kitchens bearing a wooden tray, laden with all the trappings for tea, Robyn forced herself to sit upright in the chair and take command of the situation. She accepted a cup of tea and even managed to choke down a bite of bread. Then she smiled at the kindly widow, thinking that in normal circumstances, her amiable, restful presence would have been very welcome.

  Hannah Wilkes took the cup from her. “Tea seems to cure a multitude of ills, does it not? You look much refreshed, my lady.”

  “And I feel much better,” Robyn said. And that was true, thank heaven. Her stomach no longer seemed determined to practice skydiving every time she moved her head. “Mrs. Wilkes, I am most truly grateful for all your help, but you mustn’t deprive your uncle of the pleasure of your company. Please go to him before it gets dark. I shall be more than adequately taken care of with William and my maid to see to my needs.”

  “Lady Arabella is entirely right,” William chimed in. “You may rely on me, Mistress Wilkes, to see that my wife is given the most tender care.”

  “My lord, I know why you wish me to leave.” Hannah turned an agitated fiery red. With the Bowleighs watching in astonishment, she tiptoed to the door and checked to see if anyone lurked outside in the corridor. When she was sure the four of them were alone, she shut the bedroom door and drew in a determined breath.

  “Lord Bowleigh, my dear Lady Arabella, I wish you both nothing but success in your attempt to outrun Captain Bretton and his overzealous troops. Believe me, my lord, you can count upon my absolute discretion if you and... er... the maid wish to depart from the inn sometime soon on an urgent errand. However, Lady Arabella should not be left alone. I am sure that her sickness is definitely not part of your plan, and she needs help.”

  William looked worried. “Mistress Wilkes, I beg you to reconsider. This is a time for you to be safely at home with your uncle, not here with us. Please accept that Mary and I will be able to provide my wife with all the comfort she needs.”