Reluctant Escort

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Now write.’

  Duncan sat, pen in hand, wondering how to word the note. There were no documents, except the mail he had left there when he’d first returned to London with Molly. None of it was of any importance. He dipped the quill in the ink and began to write, addressing the missive to his grandmother who seemed to be the calmest of the people at Connaught House. She also knew his connection with Sir John and might understand his predicament.

  He wrote: ‘My lady, I am unavoidably detained. Please give…’ He stopped to look up at the man who stood reading over his shoulder. ‘Who are they to be given to?’

  ‘Mr Andrew Bellamy.’

  ‘Bellamy!’ he repeated in surprise. ‘Why him?’

  ‘The little lady trusts him and who are we to argue with her? Write.’

  Duncan continued. ‘Please give to Mr Bellamy the bundle of papers from the top drawer of the chest in my room and a thousand pounds which you will find in the same place.’ He stopped writing again. A servant would not dare read the papers but Bellamy most assuredly would and he would know they were worthless as bargaining instruments. He dipped the quill again and added, ‘Seal them carefully and tell him that he must deliver them with the seal unbroken…’ Again he stopped. ‘Where?’

  ‘He will know.’

  Duncan was puzzled. How had the man who stood over him now known where to find him, unless he had been told by someone who knew? Andrew Bellamy! Had he had a hand in Molly’s disappearance? Frank had been right in saying he had made an enemy there. But to use Molly! There was no time to waste asking questions he knew would not be answered. He finished the letter and signed it.

  The dark man snatched the paper as soon as he had dusted the ink and read through it. ‘A sensible precaution, Captain; we don’t want to give anyone any ideas, now, do we?’ He called the innkeeper and gave him a handful of coppers. ‘Send a servant to Connaught House with this. It is urgent.’

  The innkeeper called to someone who was washing pots behind the counter. ‘Hey, you, Abraham or whatever you call yourself, come here.’

  A big black man joined them and was given the letter. ‘Can you find Connaught House on the corner of Berkeley Square?’ the innkeeper asked him, speaking very slowly as if the man did not understand English.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then off you go. And mind you come back. You ain’t finished those pots.’

  Duncan, glancing briefly at the man, was taken aback when he recognised the slave he and Frank had freed, not so much by his looks as the ill-fitting garments he wore, although now they were filthy and ragged. It was evident the man remembered him, for his eyes widened, but he did not speak. Duncan wished he could have given him a verbal message, but the kidnapper, if that was what he was, was too wary to allow that.

  As soon as the messenger had gone, Duncan turned to him. ‘Now you fulfil your part of the bargain, Mr Box.’

  Molly woke feeling stiff and cramped and her wrists hurt. She realised why when she tried to move her hands. How long had she been asleep with her hands tied to the bed-rail? Where was Mr Bellamy? Was he downstairs drinking, or had he left the house? Could she free herself? She struggled but only succeeded in tightening her bonds. She twisted her head to look up at her hands. They were tied with Andrew’s cravat and that was made of starched muslin. It would rip if she could only make the first tear.

  Slowly she inched her way up the bed, thankful that her hands were tied in front of her and not behind her back. Craning her neck, she was able to get her teeth into the material. It was stronger than she expected and her jaw and neck began to ache. She gave herself a few moments’ respite and began again, her senses alive to any sound from downstairs which would tell her Mr Bellamy had returned from wherever he had gone.

  A tiny split appeared in the muslin. She strained her wrists apart with every sinew of her strength. And then it tore. She was free! But that was only the beginning; she had to escape from the house. She rubbed her wrists and padded across the floor to the window and looked out.

  It was still dark, but the sky to the east was tinged with pink, and away to her right there were lights. They were the gas lamps that lit the West End of London and there were others that could only be the lanterns on moving carriages or those carried by linkboys. She was not so far from civilisation, after all. Below her a narrow lane, edged with bushes, led to the main road.

  She re-crossed the room, picked up her shoes and carefully opened the door, freezing against the wall when it creaked loudly. No one came. Slowly and silently, one step at a time, she made her way down to the ground floor in her stockinged feet.

  There was a sudden snort from the room where she had sat with Andrew and she nearly cried out, but managed to stifle it. There was someone in there. Creeping slowly forward, she peered round the door. A man was slumped in an armchair fast asleep, but it was not Andrew. It was the second of the two men who had helped Andrew abduct her. Beside him on the table was an empty wine bottle and a half-full glass.

  She turned and made her way to the front door, hardly daring to breathe. Slowly she lifted the latch. The door opened and a blast of cool air hit her face. She ran down the path, her relief so great, there were tears running down her face and she could hardly see where she was going. It did not matter. Anywhere would do. The gravel was hurting her feet but she dared not stop to put on her shoes until she was safe.

  She heard horses on the road and just managed to hide behind one of the bushes when two riders turned up the lane. She recognised the first one, even in the dark, and ran from her hiding place, crying with relief. ‘Duncan! Oh, Duncan!’

  He turned at the sound of his name and flung himself off Caesar. She ran forward and into his arms. ‘Molly. Thank God!’ He took her head in his hands and lifted her face to his. ‘Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?’

  ‘No, but I was so afraid…’

  ‘Afraid? Madcap Molly afraid? Who would have believed it?’

  His slightly bantering tone was enough to restore her spirit. ‘But I wanted to warn you.’ She turned towards the other man, who was standing beside his horse, smiling cynically. ‘About this man and another one who is in the house. They are…’

  ‘I know who they are, Molly.’ He spoke calmly, but his mind was racing. How could he get her to safety?

  ‘And Mr Bellamy…’

  ‘I know about him too.’ His tone gave nothing away. ‘It is over now. Try to forget it. You are safe.’ On the ride to the cottage, the man had enjoyed relaying what Bellamy had said to Molly in the coach. ‘She will be of no use to you, Captain,’ he had told him, grinning. ‘Soiled goods, that’s what she is by now.’ He had been seething with fury ever since and not only with fury but disgust. Had she succumbed? Would she have had any choice? Did he still feel the same about marrying her? They were not questions to be answered now.

  ‘Very touching,’ the man said, producing a pistol from his belt. ‘Now back into the house with you.’

  She looked up at Duncan. He smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t be afraid. We have to wait for a messenger.’

  ‘The messenger is here,’ said a voice from the darkness of the bushes.

  Startled, their captor turned towards the sound and his mouth fell open. Two big men emerged, carrying muskets. ‘Put the gun down,’ one of them ordered him, lifting the musket to his shoulder.

  Molly heard Duncan chuckle as more men appeared—some from the ditch beside the road, others from behind the house, pushing the second kidnapper, securely tied, in front of them. And standing beside Duncan’s horse, as if he had appeared there by magic, was the big negro, grinning in the darkness and showing even white teeth. Jeremy Box dropped his weapon with a clatter.

  ‘What do you want done with them, Captain?’ Ben asked, forcing the man’s hands behind his back and tying them securely with a length of rope he had brought with him.

  ‘Take them to the Westminster magistrate and tell him they are accomplices of Sir John Partridge. He will know what t
o do. And my thanks to you all.’

  ‘It was Abraham what put us onto you,’ Ben said. ‘He don’t speak much English, but he made us understand.’

  Duncan left Molly’s side to shake the black man by the hand. ‘You have my undying gratitude. Go with these men. They will take you to Norfolk. I can find work for you. Paid work,’ he added. ‘You are a free man; if it is not to your liking, you are under no obligation to stay.’

  The man nodded, showing he understood English even if he did not speak it well. ‘I serve you good,’ he said.

  ‘How did you all get here?’ Molly asked, looking from one to the other.

  ‘Oh, we had a guide who knew exactly where you were,’ Ben said.

  ‘Mr Bellamy,’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes.’ Then he said to Duncan, ‘What do you want done with him? He’s sitting in his coach, awaiting your pleasure.’

  ‘My pleasure would be to beat him to a pulp,’ Duncan said.

  ‘Oh, no, please don’t,’ Molly put in. ‘I do not want anyone hurt. Send him away. I don’t want to see him.’

  ‘You heard Miss Martineau,’ Duncan said. ‘Turn him loose. Let him walk home.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘We will borrow his coach again.’ Then he said to Molly, ‘The sooner we get you home to your mama the better.’

  Ten minutes later, Duncan and Molly were sitting side by side in the Brancaster coach, with the negro on the box. Ben and his companions were riding the horses and were slowly driving the two criminals in front of them with their hands tied behind them. The coach soon left them behind.

  Molly was almost limp with relief that her ordeal was over, but she could not relax; she was taut with nervous tension. Any moment now Duncan would start to ask her about what had happened between her and Andrew Bellamy and how could she answer him? She did not know if anything had happened while she had been drugged. But perhaps he had guessed and that was why he was so silent. Was he condemning her, as Mr Bellamy had said everyone would?

  ‘Captain,’ she said, after they had been travelling in silence for several minutes. ‘I am sorry to have been the cause of so much trouble, but it was not of my choosing. Please believe me.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘But it seems to me you are even more prone to fall into scrapes than I am—but I am persuaded that was one adventure you would rather not have had.’

  ‘It was horrible. I never want to live through another night like it.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me about it?’

  ‘I…I can’t.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘No, you do not see,’ she cried. ‘You are blaming me, telling yourself that a well brought up young lady would never allow herself to fall into such a bumblebath…’

  ‘How did you fall into it? Tell me from the beginning.’

  ‘Mr Bellamy asked me to walk with him in Vauxhall Gardens while we were waiting for the fireworks to start. He said we would be accompanied by the Marquis of Tadbury and Miss Bonchance and I did not think it was wrong, especially as Mama agreed I could go.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘We became separated from the others. He…he tried to kiss me.’

  ‘The scoundrel.’

  ‘It is no more than you have done.’

  ‘So I have.’ He smiled, trying to lighten the feeling of gloom which pervaded the coach. ‘And how did we compare?’

  ‘I do not know how you can make a jest of it.’ She turned on him. ‘It is not the least amusing.’

  ‘No, of course not. I apologise. What happened then?’

  ‘I was angry and I left him. That big dark man suddenly appeared out of the bushes and grabbed me. Mr Bellamy came up and they put me in the coach and there was another man there. The other two men left when we arrived at the house. Mr Bellamy took me inside. He wanted me to have supper with him and afterwards…’

  ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘You do not have to tell me if it is painful for you. I understand.’

  He was disgusted with her. She had never been more miserable, but she refused to be cowed. ‘No, you do not. I did not want it. I never asked for it. I fought and was tied up for my pains.’

  ‘Oh, my poor, poor Molly.’

  ‘But he left me, said he wanted me to be willing and I would be, too, the next day…’

  He looked at her and put his arm about her shoulders, squeezing her to his side. ‘My poor, brave darling. How did you escape?’

  ‘I bit through my bonds.’

  He laughed. ‘Bit them? Oh, you are priceless.’

  ‘It is not in the least funny.’

  ‘No, it would have been terrifying and my admiration is unbounded.’

  Admiration, she noted, not love. ‘Now you have heard my story, don’t you think it is time you told me how you knew where to find me? How did you meet that dreadful man and who were all those other men and the big black man?’

  He told her the whole truth, speaking gently to her to reassure her. His disgust was directed at Andrew Bellamy and not her. None of it was her fault. The blame lay with those around her, including and more especially himself. He should have spoken to her of his intentions before going back to Norfolk, should have asked her to marry him the moment he could see the way forward. His delay had cost her pain and misery.

  ‘We are two scapegraces together,’ he ended, smiling. ‘I think there is only one way to cure us.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘To marry.’

  ‘Yes, I collect you said you had found a wife,’ she said solemnly. ‘I wish you joy of her.’

  ‘I meant each other,’ he said.

  She twisted in her seat to face him, wondering whether he was bamming her, but his expression was perfectly serious. ‘Marry you?’

  ‘Do you still think I am too old?’ he queried.

  ‘No, I have decided age is not so important, after all, but Mr Bellamy said that after last night no one would marry me and I would have to be his ladybird. I do not know exactly what that means but I do not think it can be respectable. I think I would rather be an ape leader and live in seclusion for the rest of my days. I know you are always pulling me out of scrapes, and I am grateful, but this is one too many.’

  ‘Scrapes. Do you think that is the only reason I spoke?’

  ‘Only a moment ago, you said…’

  ‘Then I am a clumsy oaf. I love you. I will always love you.’

  She could hardly believe her ears, did not dare believe them. ‘After all that has happened, I would expect you to have a disgust of me.’

  ‘Oh, Molly, how can you say that?’ It did not matter what had happened, if she loved him; he had been a cur even to think about it. ‘All I need to know, all I want to know, is do you love me?’

  ‘Of course I do. With all my heart. How can you doubt it?’

  ‘And will you flinch and turn away if I kiss you?’

  She laughed suddenly. ‘Try it and see.’

  So he did and it was as wonderful as it had been the first time and the second, and when he kissed her again it was still glorious. They would have gone on doing it, if the coach had not drawn up outside Connaught House.

  They walked into the house together and were bombarded with questions by Harriet, weeping and full of contrition, and Lady Connaught who had a sparkle in her eye which could have been a tear. Lord Brancaster was there too, looking white and drawn. Molly felt sorry for him and made up her mind she would not distress him by telling them what really happened.

  It was almost as if Duncan could read her mind, for he pretended Andrew had only been allowed to go free if he agreed to lure Duncan into a trap. ‘He is on his way home and will be at Brancaster House very shortly,’ Duncan ended. ‘I am indebted to him for reuniting me with Molly.’ He took her hand and smiled conspiratorially at her. ‘You may offer felicitations.’

  ‘Then I do, most heartily.’

  And so did everyone else. After that, Lord Brancaster left and an exhausted Molly was packed off to bed with a tisane, leaving Duncan t
o fill in the details of what had happened for the benefit of his grandmother and Harriet, and then go back to his lodgings for a few hours’ sleep before returning.

  Her mother came to her as she was climbing into bed. ‘Tony has just told me the whole and I am mortified,’ she said. ‘It was all my fault. I thought Bellamy could be trusted to look after you. I thought he would marry you. Can you ever forgive me?’

  ‘It was not your fault, Mama. I should not have come to London and put you to the blush. I must have spoiled everything for you.’

  ‘Oh, it has come out well in the end. Brancaster proposed during the fireworks. I was so pleased and longing to tell you, but you had disappeared. Thank heaven you were not harmed. And Tony Stacey has offered for you. Who would have thought it? ‘Tis a pity about the earldom, but Aunt Margaret tells me he has been awarded a baronetcy, so you will not be without a title.’

  ‘Mama, how can I marry Duncan? I know I did not spend the whole night alone with Mr Bellamy but surely it was enough to ruin me? He said it would be.’

  ‘No, of course you are not ruined.’

  ‘Duncan said it made no difference,’ she said. ‘But he does not mean that. I am disgusted with myself and I cannot go through with a marriage which will cause him distress. He will never be able to forget it and neither will I.’

  ‘Fustian! He rescued you, did he not? And he said Andrew had been kidnapped too. Nothing will be said, you may be sure, certainly not by Andrew. He has too much to lose. Now go to sleep and forget all about it. Tomorrow we will discuss weddings. Though I think mine must come first, don’t you think?’

  ‘Of course, Mama.’ Molly smiled as the tisane began to work and she drifted off to sleep; her mother would never change.

  It was the middle of the afternoon when she woke and the whole ordeal came flooding back to her. But that was followed by a wonderful sense of well-being. She was loved. She had found the man of her dreams, her Don Quixote, and he loved her. It had not been the least necessary to have a Season; he had been there all the time. Sir Duncan Stacey, hero and highwayman, farmer and horse breeder, was to be her husband. She would be Lady Stacey. Her dreams had come true.