Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  Hugh stopped pealing his sopping sock off. “Why in hell would he do that?”

  “Chase’s uncle indentured him until he pays off a debt. He had no choice.”

  Weary of the whole thing, he said, “Miss Ellie is aware of the problem and close on Chase’s heels. She’s shrewd enough to handle him, fear not.”

  “But it is your duty as a gentleman to spare those sweet, young ladies bankruptcy and destitution.”

  Bile rose in his throat. “Sweet young ladies, bah!”

  Wringing her hands, his mother paced the floor. “I wish I knew what the Albright girls did to make you so angry, darling, but you must ride immediately.”

  “I’ll do nothing of the kind. Now, excuse me, I’m going to order a hot bath.” Turning his back on his mother, Hugh yanked the bell pull and unbuttoned his pants, thinking it would drive her from the room.

  “Captain Hart is my lover — that is the truth of it — and you owe me the preservation of my reputation,” she said, rage narrowing her voice to a hiss, “for if it were ever learned I took a thief to my bed, your place in society would be permanently tarnished.”

  Hugh turned on her, unable to control the tide of rancor pressing his soul. “Who you sleep with and how you spend your good name is no concern of mine.”

  She gasped and then balled up her handkerchief and threw it at him. “You have lost yourself in childhood pettiness. You are a grown-up, a gentleman. The Albrights need you. I need you.”

  Hugh punched the wall, the blow sending a sharp, comforting pain through his knuckles. “Leave me alone!” he bellowed.

  But his mother didn’t move. She stood in the center of the room with her eyes closed and her hands straight at her sides.

  “Bloody hell,” he cursed. “You call me a child, but where is milady when she gets a little itch?”

  Lady Davenport remained stock still. “It doesn’t matter what you think of me. What matters is what you’ll think of yourself if you let harm come to those girls. You must help them, and in doing so you will help me — like it or not.”

  Pain wrinkled her forehead and hardened her lips. The sight tore into the fabric of his anger. She’d done her best for him, whether her choices were good or ill. Defeated, he sat on the edge of the bed. “Blast it all! What stake has Captain Hart in all this?”

  “Enough of a stake to kill for it,” his mother told him. She rushed to the closet and hurled a fresh shirt at him. “Put this on and make haste. You’re a good man, my beautiful boy.”

  • • •

  Hugh cursed himself for caring. Whatever fate befell the Albrights and Chase Hart wasn’t his concern, yet the air seemed electric with danger. Succumbing to a force he didn’t understand, he found himself running for the stables. Valaire was spent from the wild ride Ellie put him through after escaping the bull. If he had to get to Fairland before Chase caused harm, only one horse was fast enough to do it: Manifesto.

  Hugh fished in his pocket for the carrots he’d grabbed on his way through the kitchen. He slowed his pace, trying not to hurry. There was no point in alarming the stallion. He’d never catch the horse if he did.

  The stallion was grazing peacefully in his paddock. “Come here greedy one,” Hugh cooed.

  Manifesto pricked up his ears and sauntered over, snorting, shaking his head and taking his time. Hugh made the horse stretch over the fence for the carrot, far enough to slip a rope around its neck.

  Speaking soft encouragements, Hugh got the saddle and bridle on without arousing Manifesto’s wrath. “You’re going to be a good animal, aren’t you?” Hugh said as he prepared to mount. “Your mama is in peril, and we have to help her. Are you ready?”

  Manifesto swatted a fly and chewed his bit. Hugh put a foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the pommel. The horse didn’t move. With caution, Hugh lowered himself onto the animal’s back. Still, Manifesto remained motionless. A gentle press to the stallion’s sides, resulted in two steps forward, then Manifesto lowered his head and hurled his hind legs straight in the air. Hugh thought he’d prepared for the worst but the stallion’s buck was so powerful he was airborne before he knew what was happening.

  Blam! Hugh hit the dirt and lay flat on his back. His view, he realized, included a patch of dusky sky. Night is falling. A chill foreboding swam through every vein. He rolled over and rose from the dirt. How many minutes had been lost? Would Chase harm Ellie if she confronted him? He had no doubt she would try to stop the captain.

  He dusted himself off and stood in front of Manifesto. “Listen, horse, I need to ride you. This is a matter of necessity, not of choice. Do you understand?” Manifesto threw his nose in the air, and irritably pawed the ground.

  Hugh remembered Ellie’s trick of petting the stallion’s tongue to calm him. He stuck his thumb in Manifesto’s mouth, at the back where the bit rested on toothless gums. Surprised, the stallion backed away, head high, then he lowered his neck, relaxed his shoulders and chomped the bit.

  “Good. Shall we try again?” Hugh asked.

  Gingerly, he settled into the saddle, gathering the reins short before the bucking could start. Manifesto backed up, slammed his rump into the fence, snorted, leaped forward, and went down on his knees. Hugh jumped off before the stallion could roll on top of him.

  Near screaming with frustration, Hugh punched his thigh and stormed back and forth at the end of Manifesto’s reins. “I could whip you until you bleed.”

  Manifesto scrambled backward, eyes white rimmed with alarm.

  Blowing into his fist, Hugh stopped pacing and forced himself to breathe. I’ve got to get a hold of myself, he thought. Be a man, Davenport. He swept his hair back and willed his heart to slow, banished all thoughts of urgency and imperative from his mind.

  “Wild one,” he said, staring straight into Manifesto’s frightened eyes. “Even if I spend the next hour trying to ride you, you’ll still get to Fairland faster than anything else in the stable. So, if you want to keep doing this, I’m game. Do we have an understanding?”

  Hugh led the stallion into an alley between two fences. He attached a tight lead to both sides of the bridle and cross-tied the horse so he couldn’t get his head down to buck, or up to rear. Hugh climbed the fence and lowered his weight into the saddle. Manifesto swung his haunches back and forth, bucking slightly and kicking out. Hugh gripped with his knees, clinging to the saddle like a barnacle to a ship bottom. Little by little Manifesto accepted the weight.

  Ready to ride out a major fight, Hugh released the leads. As if on springs, the stallion cavorted about the paddock. Then, like cannon fire, he charged the gate and leaped it, popping like a cricket over the obstacle. Hugh lost a stirrup and nearly his balance as they see-sawed crazily down the drive to the road. Manifesto took the bit in his teeth, Hugh hauled on the reins, forcing the animal toward Fairland. The horse’s ears went up, his neck arched, and he burst into a gallop.

  Hugh felt the wildness, the danger of his mount. Just don’t fall off, he thought. Faster and faster the horse raced toward his old home, tearing down the road until the ground blurred, the horizon disappeared, and the wind struck water from Hugh’s eyes.

  • • •

  As if swimming from the depths of a murky pond, Ellie became aware of her surroundings. She was lying on her side in one of the filthy stalls in the broodmare barn, her nostrils filled with the powerful stench of manure.

  Lank yelled, “Get on, beast.” A whip cracked. There were frantic hoofbeats on the wooden floor of the barn corridor.

  A second voice said, “Ladies first.” Flashes of yellow light followed. Someone wielded a torch. More horses’ hooves thudded down the corridor. The light dimmed, growing more orange the further it receded. She was in darkness.

  And then pain called to keep her company. Her body ached, but the worst discomfort came from her wrists and ank
les. She tried to move, but her hands and legs were bound one to the other in front of her. A thick gag covered her mouth. Overcome with terror, Ellie screamed. But her cry was a muffled squeal no louder than an oiled wheel. Panicking, she squirmed in the muck, wrestling herself into a sitting position. Fear winded her — she panted, nostrils flared, fighting the gag for air.

  More torchlight. More horses trotting past her in the corridor. A frantic foal nickered for its dam. “Get on with you,” Lank bellowed. The mare whinnied. Ellie peered through a crack in the woodwork. The whip landed and the mare snorted with pain. A second later the foal fell. “Blast it to bloody hell!” Lank kicked the squealing colt to its feet.

  Then he disappeared. The barn went black as pitch again. Only this time a lonely silence prevailed. He’s stolen all the horses, thought Ellie. A darkness thicker than night permeated her body. Her bones felt brittle and old — her gut, decrepit and rotting. The failure of every scheme she’d wrought in the last few weeks descended on her like the weight of a coffin cover. She almost wished Lank would return, the silence was so awful.

  How could she have dreamed of deceiving Hugh by pretending to be Toby? What had possessed her to take her mother’s necklace? And why did she think she could ever have Manifesto again?

  She threw her head back against the wall. The painful thump was a relief compared to her guilt. Why, why am I such an impetuous fool? She banged her head again in despair.

  A creak of wheels stopped her thoughts. With the sound came a smell that settled like vapor on a marsh. Ellie went to her peephole. She saw Chase Hart driving a knacker’s cart into the barn. He jumped out and let the back down. A dead horse slid into the aisle landing outside the entrance to an empty stall.

  She fought the urge to vomit, tried to calm her frenetic breathing, tried to tear her mind from the horror she witnessed. She put her cheek against the cool of the wall and waited for her stomach to settle. Chase, my God. What is he doing here?

  “Get this one in there, and get the next cart going at the other end,” Chase instructed. “Quickly, before the knackers find their commerce is gone.”

  “Aye, Captain,” a man answered.

  Then, as the first cart left, Ellie heard the wheels of a second cart, and a third, and a fourth. Men cursed as they pulled the weight of dead animals, reeking with rot, into empty stalls. The stench of death saturated the air. Ellie gagged, then fought the bile from drowning her.

  A vehicle halted outside the stall where she was held. The bolt rasped and the door swung open. Lank stood silhouetted in the flickering light of a torch.

  In a few quick strides, he grabbed her by the collar and dragged her under the hayrack attached to the near wall of her prison. Then he left.

  Through the door, Ellie watched him lower the back of the knacker’s cart. The shattered corpse of a black-and-white pony slid to the floor, slamming against the doorframe. Ellie screamed. She tipped her head back and screamed again and again, but the sound died in the gag. Hysteria overtook her and she thrashed wildly, screaming her tiny muffled squeal.

  Lank heard her as he hauled on the rope tied to the pony’s legs. He smiled. If he’d whipped her, Ellie could not be more terrified. He was saying goodbye. He meant to leave her there.

  “Offer you some help there, boss?” a man said.

  “I’ll get this one myself,” Lank replied. “It’s naught but a pony.”

  Ellie threw her shoulder against the wall, banging it hard, trying to attract the man’s attention. Tears streamed down her face. Her nose filled, making it harder to breathe.

  Lank had half the dead animal in the stall. He was cursing and grunting to hide the noise she was making.

  “Quite the struggle you’re having, old man,” Chase said, peering into the stall. He didn’t see Ellie under the hayrack.

  “Get the burn going,” Lank cried, blocking Chase’s view. “I’ve got this one all right.”

  “We agreed you’d be the one to start the blaze.”

  “That’s right, Captain, but I’ve a trail in mind that will lead the herd out a back way — less chance of someone seeing us on the road — but where it is, I can’t very well describe to you.”

  Chase grunted. “Leave quickly with the men and horses. The fewer who know about the burning the better.”

  “That’s an excellent plan, Captain,” said Lank, backing Chase out of the stall. Ellie made her tiny, shrieking noises; she banged her bound feet and hands against the floor, but to no avail. Chase didn’t hear her. Despair washed through her as his footsteps receded down the corridor.

  No, not burned alive, she thought. She shook her head from side to side, her eyes pleading with Lank. She held her bound hands up begging him to let her go.

  “’Tis a noble case you put before me, miss. Is it wise to let you burn? Will you not report me for embezzling or send me to Bridewell?”

  Lank squatted in front of her. “Did you know Baron Wadsworth is bent on your ruin?”

  Terrified, beseeching, Ellie sought the tiniest chink in his iron soul. “Please,” she pleaded, through the gag. “Please.”

  “Eeee,” he said, imitating the sound she made. “Eeee.”

  The malice left his eyes. “It’s a mercy to you not to suffer the kind of poverty Wadsworth has planned for your family. Breathe deeply, girl. It’ll soon be over.”

  Lank stood then and kicked her hard in the ribs. She gasped. The blow sent her sprawling across the head of the dead pony, her cheek landing on its cold, lolling tongue.

  Thrashing and scrambling in horror, she pushed herself back under the hayrack.

  Lank left then, pulling the bolt shut on the outside of the stall door. She heard him walk away. With him went the ragged light of the torch. The barn plunged into darkness once more.

  Twisting her bound hands, Ellie tried to free her fingers enough to untie the rope binding her feet. I’ve got to get out of here! She fought a panic that made her hands tremble — fought the urge to flail uselessly, tightening the stiff knots. Toby, where is Toby? She thought. He should have come back to the barn. Had Lank killed him?

  Then abruptly her turmoil soared. The knots were visible. She could see the lifeless eye of the pony lying next to her, a dull illumination flickering on its filmy surface. Light was coming from somewhere, but where? And then she heard crackling. The smell of acrid smoke filled her nostrils.

  “No, no, no,” she screamed into the gag. “God, help me!”

  • • •

  Manifesto swept over the countryside like a tornado, Hugh struggling to keep the horse on the best parts of the road. What a relief not to think of Ellie. But as he grew used to the stallion’s stunning speed, his concentration shifted back to her. Witch, wanton, wench. The words repeated in his mind, synchronized with the pounding of Manifesto’s hooves.

  He tried to blot out images of High Tor, of laughing with her in the barn, of feeding carrots to Manifesto, of her face framed by fresh hay in the mow. His body longed for her, and no amount of anger dispelled his desire. Hollow, raw, and burdened with need, her deception stung like a whip.

  It wasn’t until the sun went down and they were steeped in darkness that Manifesto slowed his headlong gallop for home. Soon, though, flicking like fairy light through the trees ahead of them, the pointed tip of a rising moon illuminated the road and the horse picked up the pace again.

  Suddenly the stallion plunged off the road down a narrow trail, his movements so quick, Hugh scrambled to stay aboard. A shortcut to the barn? He leaned close to Manifesto’s neck, “Excellent effort, but if you’re plotting to scrape me off on a tree, you’ll get scratched, too,” he told the horse.

  A light caught Hugh’s attention. Not the moon — a torch. Someone was coming through the trees.

  Manifesto whinnied. Another horse answered. The stallion bounded through the br
ush bearing down on the light. Hugh could see the torch now, and then Lank, black shadows and orange fire rocking across his face. A herd of horses ambled behind the estate steward.

  With Manifesto’s arrival, the mares broke ranks, rushing to the stallion or shying off the trail into the trees. Hugh flattened against his mount’s neck.

  “Blast it to hell!” shouted Lank. He took his whip to his horse, driving the animal toward Manifesto. Just as he was about to catch the stallion’s bridle, Hugh grabbed Lank’s arm. With one mighty yank, Hugh dragged the steward from his mount and sent him sprawling on the ground. The torch died in the dirt.

  Hugh leaped from Manifesto, landing with a knee to Lank’s chest. “Dirty, thieving scoundrel,” he cried. “Where are you taking these horses?”

  “Ah, you’ve killed me. You’ve killed me,” Lank squealed, writhing beneath Hugh’s weight.

  “Tell me your business in the dark of night with a herd of the Albrights’ mares!”

  “The girl,” Lank moaned.

  “What girl?”

  “Ellie Albright. She’s in the barn … it’s burning.”

  “My God, what do you mean?”

  “We’ve set fire to the barn,” Lank wheezed. “Fly if you want to save her.”

  Hugh recoiled as if he’d stepped on a snake.

  The steward sat up and smacked dust off his elbows. “That’s right, stay with me. Make sure I don’t escape. It may be too late for the girl anyway.”

  Hugh dragged Lank to his feet. “If you have so much as frayed her gown, I will chase you to the doors of Hades.”

  “Then you’d best be on your way. Burning is a terrible way to die.”

  With one powerful move, Hugh punched Lank full in the face and threw him in the dirt.

  Manifesto didn’t fuss as Hugh leaped back in the saddle. Must be tiring. Still, it took spurs and rein ends to whip the stallion past the loose mares and down the darkened path. How much further to the barn? How long did he have until the burning turned Ellie to ashes?