How little he knew about her household. Perhaps it was just as well to let him continue thinking that. “You never said you planned on us being away overnight. I would have brought a change of clothing and my companion or grandmother to accompany me.”
Now, she was thankful he’d let Joseph off. If he could kidnap her this way, he was probably not above being ruthless with a child. Luckily, she’d had the sense to wear her blue pelisse. Her pistol was concealed in the inside pocket and her knife was strapped to her thigh. Foster would never know how grateful she was, at this moment, for all his rigorous training.
“You needn’t worry about that.” He assured her.
His words had the exact opposite effect. Her worry mounted by giant steps. But what was she to do? Leap out of the moving vehicle? If she didn’t kill herself in the process, she’d at the very least suffer serious injury, thereby impeding her chance to escape and weakening her ability to fight him off should he try to have his way with her. Best not do anything rash, yet. She’d bide her time and see what happened. At the first opportunity, she’d move her pistol to an outer pocket so she could more easily retrieve it.
* * *
Reed was almost certain the driver of the rented carriage would choose the Great West Road. Aside from being in better repair, it would increase the number of rental hours and, thus, his fee.
Foster was in Mason’s carriage. It slowed them down a bit, but until they reached the meeting place with the others, where they would plan out which roads they needed to cover among them, they couldn’t go much faster, especially not at night. It they had been rescuing only Tally, Reed would have carried her up in front of him. (If she was well enough… was the worried thought that followed that idea.) But if Monsieur was still alive, they’d need a vehicle to bring him back.
Help was close on their heels. A reply to his note reached him before they left Town, telling him his brothers had volunteered a family carriage to carry supplies and extra weapons. They were accompanying it on horseback, joined by Jace, Max and as many Spares as could be found. No one knew what was awaiting them at the Abbey, so they were coming well prepared with men, food, drink, warm clothes and sleeping rolls.
One thing was definite. If Dubuc harmed Tally in any way, there was no chance in hell Reed was walking away without killing him like the reptile he was.
* * *
The further they traveled, the less Mr. Dubuc, (Dio! Enough of Mr. Dubucing this and Mr. Dubucing that! She was going to call him Victor in her head, at least!) was behaving like his usual self. He’d lapsed into sullen silence, was exceedingly agitated, and he constantly cracked his knuckles, until she wanted to crack him over the head with her sketch bag!
His unusual sign of nerves was not good. All her senses were screaming that this was not going to end well.
The first time they stopped to change horses was at a non-descript Hostler’s Inn. She was grateful to disembark. Her growling stomach was grateful too because, it seemed, she was to be fed.
Victor was in no hurry, which at first surprised her. Refusing to talk to him, she pondered this as she ate. He knew her sisters had left for Paris early this week and obviously thought that, even if Joseph sounded the alarm, there was no one to mount a rescue if she didn’t return. He must have forgotten about her grandmother. Grandma had been out with friends when he’d come for Tally. Even if he did remember her, the foolish man probably thought an elderly woman like that would be powerless and incapable of organizing a search. He had no idea what her Grandma was really like!
Nor had he any notion of who and what Foster was to her.
It was after they’d finished eating that the idea came to her. She was outside, sitting on a bench, sketching the Inn, to calm her nerves while waiting for their carriage to be brought round. Victor had told the driver to keep an eye on his wife because “these places can be dangerous for defenseless women”, and then had gone to have a quick ale, “for the road” he said. To her he’d said, “Don’t forget. Uncle will be so pleased to see you, my dear.”
Little did he know that she had no intention of escaping until she knew where Monsieur was in Sussex. When Victor had said his uncle was there, he’d sounded menacing. She was filled with trepidation at the thought that Monsieur had most likely not gone there willingly. But why would Victor hurt his own uncle? Monsieur Moreau was a kind, gentle soul. He would have been a good uncle to his young nephew.
She hurried to finish her drawing and, forcing herself to walk casually back into the Inn. The driver watched her and shrugged. He must have thought she wouldn’t go back into the inn if she was trying to escape. She held out the sketch to the Innkeeper’s wife, a round-cheeked, round-bodied middle-aged woman with kind eyes.
“I wonder if you’d like to have this.” She gestured to the picture. “You can pin it on the wall beside the reception desk, but please wait until after we’ve left.”
At this odd request, the woman gave her a puzzled look, until Tally added, “I’m a little shy about putting my work up in public, but once I’m gone, I won’t mind.”
The wife finally glanced down at the drawing and Tally saw the woman’s stunned surprise. She was now reasonably certain the picture would be prominently displayed the minute they departed.
How fortunate she always carried her sketch paper. At home in Evesham, it was her custom to bring it with her at all times. One never knew when a scene would present itself that just begged to be drawn. And now that her paintings were all gone, she had to begin new work. She sighed sadly at the thought of her precious paintings being reduced to a pile of ashes.
Buoyed by her successful ploy, she tried it again at each place they stopped. No one had refused her offer after they saw her work. If Victor didn’t intend to bring her home — a notion she was increasingly certain of — she hoped her drawings would point the way to those searching for her.
Now, she had to make sure she lived long enough to find Monsieur and for her rescuers to find her.
* * *
“Look! There!” Foster’s excitement seemed misplaced after his subdued behavior most of the afternoon. Tally wouldn’t be sitting here in an inn awaiting their rescue, would she? That would be much too easy. The butler rushed over to the message board beside the innkeeper’s desk.
Reed turned to see what was attracting his undivided attention. Then he quickly followed in Foster’s footsteps.
It was unmistakably Tally’s. She had a distinctive style.
Relief raced through him and he had to grip the desk to regain his balance. He reassured himself that it was because he’d been riding all day without any food. No wonder his legs were shaky.
“May I help you?” The innkeeper’s wife greeted them. “I see you’re admiring my beautiful picture. The lady what gave it to me was beautiful too.”
“How long ago did she give it to you?” He got to the most important point first.
“Middle of this afternoon, I’d say. Just before the mail coach came in.”
So, they were still hours behind! “And how did she look?”
“I told you! A very lovely lady she was.”
“No, I mean, did she look… in good health?” How did one ask if she looked constrained?
The kindly woman noted his discomfort. “She seemed a bit anxious. But she told me she was shy, so I put it down to that.” She leaned forward across the high desk. “Her companion was a right beautiful man too.” She lowered her voice. “I hate to say it, but he was drinking a little more than he should ‘ave.” She darted a glance over her shoulder, probably to make sure her husband hadn’t heard her complaining about a client’s drinking.
Reed and Foster exchanged looks. That was not good news. If Dubuc was already drinking, what state was he going to be in by the time they reached their destination? They inquired about Melton Abbey and, though the lady had never heard of it, she did know the area in which it was located. They learned it was still a full day of traveling ahead.
“Will y
ou be staying the night?”
“This man here,” he clapped his hand on Foster’s shoulder, “will need a private sitting room. He’s awaiting a group of men who will be arriving later tonight.
My other friend is arranging for the carriage and horses to be stabled and for fresh horses for us…” Ah, here he is.” Mason bent his head to enter the low-ceilinged reception area and came over to them.
Mason’s bland stare had Reed pointing to Tally’s sketch. “Mid-afternoon.”
The Scot nodded.
“I’ve ordered us all the lamb stew and some ale.”
“Good, I could eat a horse!” He nodded to the woman and went to find Foster in the dining room.
“I’ll pay for the meal ahead of time, so we can be off as soon as we’re finished,” Reed said, removing some coins from his money pouch.
“You know the young lady who drew this, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He couldn’t very well proclaim her as his wife, although that is how he thought of her. So he settled for, “She’s my sister and the beautiful man she is with has kidnapped her.”
“Oh, you poor man. And your poor sister.” About to say more, she saw her husband giving her the eye and said, “Janie will bring your food to you immediately.”
“Thank you. Time is of the essence.”
“Yes, of course.” She bustled off to hurry along their meals.
Reed joined the other two at the table Foster had selected, in front of the fireplace. “Good choice of table. I’m chilled right through.”
Mason tucked into the food as soon as it arrived. Reed had to push himself to eat. It was good enough, but worry robbed him of his hunger. Foster wasn’t gobbling it down either. But they knew it was important to keep their strength up, so they did their best.
He was relieved Foster had volunteered to stay behind and meet the others. Reed had been about to suggest it when, just before they’d entered the inn, the older man said, “I’ll stay behind here to meet the others, while you and Mason ride hell-for-leather to Sussex. I don’t want to slow you down. The sooner you get there, the better.”
“I agree.” Reed appreciated what it must have cost the former soldier to suggest it, to put his Missy’s welfare above his own need to be there.
“So Foster is staying behind and we’re going on ahead of the others?” Mason wiped the last of his gravy up with bread.
“Yes. Now that we know how far ahead they are, we’ll head out as soon as we’re finished here.”
Mason nodded, expression as impassive as ever, but Reed thought he caught a fugitive gleam of approval. “It’s fortunate this is where we decided to meet up with the others or we might have missed that sketch.” He swallowed the last of his ale and stood up. “I’ll go see if they’ve readied our horses.”
Knowing they were on the right track made Reed even more impatient to get there. Impatient to get his hands on that fiend who dared kidnap Tally. But most of all, impatient to ensure that was the worst he did.
* * *
Victor was as hard to get a word out of, today, as was Mr. Mason! Tally had been trying to engage him in conversation for the past few hours. She hoped it would lessen the tense atmosphere and she’d be able to appeal to his sense of honor and talk him out of whatever he was contemplating. But he’d lapsed into a sullen silence and nothing she said snapped him out of it.
Her first attempt, she’d said, “Joseph will have told my grandmother and she will send men out to find me. Had you not thought of that?” He hadn’t even bothered to turn his head to look at her.
Her second try, she hoped to discourage him with what everyone believed to be the truth. “You said you could just as soon marry a Parisian female painter to keep you rolling in paintings and sales... Is that why you want to marry me? But you must know that I am the only Lawton who is not an artist. So I would not be of much good to you.” He remained unmoved.
Her final effort to get him talking, she appealed to his business sense. “I could perhaps speak to my father about you becoming his agent in France and the rest of Europe. Monsieur Beauclaire is getting old and may enjoy the rest.” He didn’t need to know that her father would never heed her wishes regarding anything! She’d be lucky if the great Wendal Lawton deigned to read any letter she wrote to him.
His eyes had flickered at that and her hopes rose a little, only to plummet when she glimpsed what was in those windows to his soul. Contempt. Derision. If, as was said, eyes reflected what was inside one’s heart, then Mr. Dubuc’s was a lot blacker than she could ever have imagined.
Now, she found slight comfort in talking to herself. How had she gotten herself into this mess? Why hadn’t she said “No!” to Victor’s invitation this morning? She’d thought they were going to see his uncle and had been pleased. Too pleased. And that had made her careless.
Foster must be out of his mind with worry by now. He’d already have people out looking for her. Would Reed be among them?
Mr. Mason would, no doubt, be leading the search. He was being paid to guard her, after all. She wished she hadn’t been so quick to free him for the day. But she’d intended to paint all day and he said he’d take advantage of that by investigating further whether her attackers were in fact the Vanisher’s men.
What she didn’t know — couldn’t know until she got there — is what the chances were of any of them discovering where Victor was taking her?
* * *
It was mid-morning the next day when their vehicle turned in between large stone gates that proclaimed they had reached… “Mel–” She’d been dozing a little, so when the vehicle turned sharply, she hadn’t been able to read the name etched into the stone. She was almost sure the second word had been “Abbey”.
They had abandoned the rented carriage and its driver at their last stop, where they were met by a rough-looking, harsh-speaking man in a smaller, one-horse vehicle.
The weather was damp and overcast. Rain had been threatening all day and had begun lightly sprinkling as soon as they had taken to the road, about two hours ago. Thankfully, despite its disreputable look, the folding roof of the vehicle had kept them dry. The heavy air and black clouds looming low above them, threatened a huge downpour.
After spending so many hours being bounced about in a moving vehicle, her limbs were cramping and, no matter where they ended up, she was anxious to stand on terra firma for longer than a brief half-hour’s stop.
What was Monsieur doing at an Abbey? Was his ailing friend — if there even was any such friend — a monk? If Victor had responded to her efforts to communicate earlier, she might have asked. She flicked a quick look in his direction.
He ignored her. Just as he’d been doing for most of the journey. She lifted a careless shoulder. No help there.
She resumed her perusal of the scenery. She’d been relieved when they’d changed vehicles, even though she surmised it was so the driver wouldn’t see where she was being taken, and that wasn’t a good sign. In fact, it was a downright ominous sign. But she’d been cooped up in that closed carriage with a silent Victor for too many hours and was glad to be breathing fresh air and facing the road and nature rather than his scowling face.
It was cold, but not as bad as last night. She’d been frozen through by the time the sun had dipped yesterday and she hadn’t warmed up much during their stop at a posting inn to spend the hours until daylight in the public room. Victor had been furious when the driver had insisted he didn’t want to endanger his carriage on the roads at night and needed to rest for a few hours.
She’d wondered if the driver began to suspect she was not a willing passenger and was trying to delay them in case someone was following behind to rescue her. He’d no doubt sensed something was not right about this journey. She’d been grateful for the reprieve and the heat from the fireplace, regardless of his reason for doing it.
One of Victor’s legs jiggled nervously, as it had all morning. She was glad to note that there was no more cracking of his k
nuckles. He must have worn them out yesterday! Today, his hands were constantly clenching and unclenching. His leg jiggling was enough to drive her crazy, but now was not the time to complain about his nervous agitation. They were nearing their destination and she sensed something was about to happen. She hoped it wasn’t going to be as dire as she suspected it could be. She truly didn’t want to have to shoot someone again!
This made her think of Reed.
Ha! She grimaced. Who was she kidding? Everything made her think of Reed. He hadn’t been out of her thoughts for more than minutes at a time since she’d been forced to start this perilous journey.
She had visions of him riding to her rescue, snatching her out of yesterday’s carriage or, today, ordering the new driver to “Stand and Deliver,” and carrying her away on his trusty steed.
The carriage came to an abrupt halt. Three men immediately came from a building located back at the furthest end of the enclosure. She glanced behind them to the harmless-looking stone barn from which they’d emerged. It was similar to those on any other country farm she knew and if it hadn’t been for the disreputable appearance of the men, she’d have had a hard time believing a crime was being perpetrated here.
Victor got out of the vehicle first. He extended a peremptory hand for her and, seeing little other choice she took it and stepped down.
Turning to look around, she was shocked to realize the entire place was in ruins. No building other than the barn was standing. The Abbey was no more than a desolate pile of rubble.
She swallowed a lump of fear and looked at Victor. “But surely your Uncle cannot be here!” Now she was truly frightened. She had only one pistol. What would all of these men do to her if she was forced to shoot Victor? She didn’t even have any money to try to sway their allegiance.
Despite definite qualms, she’d always believed Victor was really bringing her to see Monsieur. She had never considered he might have accomplices.
For the first time that day, she saw a glimmer of his usual smile. “Looks hopeless, doesn’t it? But I can assure you he is indeed here.”
The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife Page 44
