by Amanda Scott
“We … we didn’t think. W-we only made up the game. The snares was … were revenuers, and if we stepped in one we were caught. But if we could slip it first, then the revenuer was disarmed and captured. We just didn’t think about the work of it, or we wouldn’t have. I promise, Cathy!”
“And the gun?” Dambroke’s drawl was deceptively calm, making his words all the more ominous. Another, heavier silence fell. Miss Lucy began working her fringe again with fierce concentration. Catheryn, remembering what Tiffany had said about Dambroke and his guns, felt perfectly helpless. Even Straley began to regard the boy with something akin to sympathy.
XVIII
STRALEY WAS DISMISSED AND when he had gone, taking the shotgun with him, Teddy looked smaller, more defenseless. He shifted his feet again. Dambroke spoke, his voice holding that chilling note that Catheryn had heard only once before. “You know the rule about the guns, do you not, Edward?”
“Yes, sir,” Teddy muttered.
“Well, then?”
“It wasn’t loaded.”
“Are you quite certain of that?”
“Course I am. I’d remember loading it, wouldn’t I?”
Dambroke stood up. “Don’t be impertinent, young man. Did you examine the gun before you took it out?”
Teddy saw the chasm yawning before him and caught his breath. “No, sir.” The reply was barely audible.
“So you don’t know that it wasn’t left loaded in the gun room, do you?” The boy shook his head, wisely refraining from pointing out that there were strict rules about that, too. Dambroke went on in the same icy tone, “I think we will resume this discussion in the schoolroom. Will you excuse us, ladies?”
Miss Lucy nodded without comment, but no one noticed, because Catheryn jumped to her feet and grasped the earl’s forearm. “Please, sir! It’s so late. Won’t you deal better with this in the morning after you’ve both had a night’s sleep?”
He turned toward her, anger plain on his face, but when his gaze met hers his expression softened. He glanced at the wretched boy and Catheryn held her breath. “You may be right, Cousin,” he agreed. “After breakfast then, young man. In my study. I suggest you think carefully about what you have done.”
Hope gleamed in Teddy’s eyes as he turned away and Catheryn knew he expected another miracle. The great door was just swinging shut when the earl said, “It’s only a reprieve, Catheryn. It may even do some good to let him stew, but the boy must be beaten, and he knows it.” Having noted a hesitation in the movement of the door, she watched now as it closed softly. If Teddy had not known before, she mused, he knew now. She was not surprised a moment later to see the alcove door behind the earl open a hair’s breadth. Clearly, Teddy expected her to speak for him, to convince Dambroke to be lenient.
She gave it her best effort, pleading his youth, his injuries, and his lack of criminal intent. The earl listened with more patience than she might have expected, but her last point proved one too many. He scorned it outright, adjuring in stentorian accents that the taking of the gun had nothing whatever to do with Teddy’s youth or his injuries but damned well spoke volumes for criminal intent, it having been understood since he was in short coats that he was not to touch Dambroke’s guns without both permission and adult supervision. When he capped his argument by stating that he had postponed matters till morning only that they might finish their game, Catheryn sighed and the alcove door shut quietly.
She did not give up as the game dragged on, but Dambroke firmly resisted every plea and finally, quite unfairly, prohibited further discussion of the subject. Unwilling to risk their own fragile relationship for a lost cause, she held her peace until he defeated her at last on the board as well. Then, bidding Miss Lucy a warm and grateful good night and his lordship a rather cooler one, she made her way upstairs to her own bedchamber, intending to retire immediately. But thoughts of a lonely, possibly frightened boy intruded. It would take only a moment to run up and see that he was asleep and not fretting about the upcoming confrontation with Dambroke.
Dismissing a sleepy Mary to her bed, she hurried up to the schoolroom. Everything was dark, and the very darkness nearly convinced her that he must be asleep. Even while she hesitated, the heavy silence made itself felt, and she stepped quickly to the night nursery, pushed wide the door, and caught her breath in dismay at the sight of the empty bed. Too late, she recalled the reason Teddy had once run away from school.
A myriad of thoughts chased through her head as she ran back to her own room to change to her riding habit. Meddling again, my girl, and just when things were beginning to look up! But if she could bring Teddy back before he was found to be missing, perhaps the earl would not discover the meddling this time. She hoped she could find Nat Tripler, for surely he would know where to look for Teddy. Fifteen minutes later, she was throwing a saddle over Psyche’s back and praying she would not wake Bert or any of the grooms. Within twenty, she was on her way to the Running Bull.
Nat was not difficult to find, for he was standing smack in the middle of the innyard, and his eyes rounded in disbelief when she rode up and swung from the saddle. A year or two older than Teddy and half a head taller, he was well-muscled with untidy orange curls and freckles so thick they seemed to blend together. She quickly confirmed his identity, introduced herself, and demanded to know Teddy’s whereabouts. Nat seemed oddly relieved once he knew who she was and began to tell an amazing tale.
Teddy had come to him some time before with the suggestion that he might like to go smuggling for real, insisting that they wouldn’t be running from punishment but merely seeking their fortunes in the way of knights and crusaders and such. It was clear that Nat hadn’t much needed to rationalize his enthusiasm. His father was away for the night but, like Teddy, he anticipated a painful morning interview. Evidently, they had been discussing and arguing details of the plan when they were interrupted by the sound of a carriage approaching rapidly from the south. Nat explained that, though the Running Bull was not a posting house, his father occasionally provided a change of horses to persons hoping to get a lower rate by changing before Stevenage. Sure enough, despite the late hour, the carriage had pulled into the yard and someone shouted for the change. Then another voice had sounded, calling the first a fool for stopping. It had sounded like blowing into a full-scale argument, and Teddy had suddenly pricked up his ears, thinking he recognized one of the voices.
“Who was it?” Catheryn asked sharply.
“Fella name o’ Lawrence, I reckon,” replied Nat. “Ted said as ’os ’e warn’t sure, so ’e went round an’ listened whilst I unhitched the team. Met me back inside an’ said as ’ow yon gennemun was abductin’ some ’un—a lady bundled on the floor. They was in an awful ’urry—I give ’im that—but when ’e says it be ’is sister … well, I arsk ye, mum, daft, ain’t ’e?”
Catheryn felt faint. “Good God!” she exclaimed. “Of course, it’s Tiffany. The way he looked at the ball, his persistence—and I practically flaunted the captain at him! What a ninny I’ve been!” Nat’s amazement sobered her. “What happened next?”
“Ted clumb in the boot, mum.”
“He what!”
Repeating the information, he added that there had been no one nearby to help them and they had been afraid to confront the two men for fear they would have pistols. Teddy thought that if he could rescue Tiffany it might mitigate the earl’s wrath, and he had made Nat swear not to tell Dambroke. Catheryn gathered that Nat had been torn between loyalty to his friend and fear of repercussions to himself should anything go wrong.
“Look here, Nat,” she said when he had finished, “you won’t thank me for this, but you must run for his lordship. We are going to need him.” Nat’s expression clearly indicated his aversion to the errand, and Catheryn sympathized but insisted. “Tell him the whole, just as you’ve told me. I daresay you can leave out the bit about going smuggling, but tell him the rest. Be as quick as you can, because I’m going after them. If they turn off, I�
�ll leave a signal, so tell his lordship to look out for it.” Quickly she led Psyche to the mounting block and was soon turning her onto the high road.
Passing through Stevenage some time later, she felt suddenly alone and vulnerable, even grateful for the late hour and cover of darkness. Just the other side of town, however, she spied the carriage rumbling ahead. A cloud drifted across the new moon, and she had to strain to see her quarry, but she hesitated to shorten the distance, lest she be seen. Patting Psyche’s neck, she shivered in the chilly night air. Lord, what a dust-up there would be over this! It would be a miracle, she thought, if Dambroke didn’t have an apoplectic fit before the night was done. He would be furious with Tiffany for being abducted, furious with Teddy for running away, and furious with herself for meddling instead of informing him of Teddy’s departure. Heaven help them all!
The cloud passed and the carriage seemed suddenly closer. It was slowing. Suddenly it swung off to the right and disappeared, but she found the turning easily, a narrowish though not untraveled road. Quickly pulling off her yellow neckscarf, she tied it to the lower branch of a nearby tree, where moonlight turned it white as it fluttered in the breeze. Dambroke couldn’t miss it. A little chill went up her spine as the thought crossed her mind that Nat might have been too frightened to go for him, and she wondered what she would do if the earl did not come. Then she gave herself a shake. How stupid. Surely Lawrence would not persist when he realized his plot had failed. Her own presence would provide all the propriety the occasion warranted, if such an occasion could ever meet standards of propriety. And Teddy would be there as well. The whole affair would take on more the flavor of a family outing than an abduction. She chuckled, imagining how Lawrence would look when she and Teddy appeared on the scene.
She heard Lawrence shouting up ahead. The trees, which had been growing up close to the road, suddenly fell away to her left, forming a large clearing. The carriage had stopped in a yard before a ramshackle house, and Lawrence shouted again. They were too far ahead to see her, but to be on the safe side, she rode back the way she had come for about twenty yards, dismounted, and tethered the mare. Since she could not leave Dambroke a written message, Psyche would have to do. When she returned to the clearing, there were lights in the windows of the house, which she saw now was a sort of hedge tavern. Suddenly, as she approached, she heard a muffled oath from the far side of the carriage and then a scuffle. Next came Teddy’s voice, first in pain and then shouting to be put down and left alone. When she could see them, Catheryn stood very still, hoping that if Teddy’s burly captor turned she would be invisible against the trees. She watched him carry the struggling boy into the house and then circled quickly to approach from the side and thus lessen the chances of being seen. A few minutes later she crept slowly up to a front window and peeped inside.
The window was filthy, but there was no curtain and she could see well enough. She looked in upon a taproom lit by candles in wall sconces. Directly opposite, Tiffany slumped against the chimney corner of a large oak settle. Catheryn could see her face dimly, but the rest of her was just a blob through the dirty window. She heard Lawrence and the fellow who held Teddy talking, but Lawrence was out of sight and their words were muffled. Tiffany said something, sounding frightened, but Catheryn couldn’t make out her words either. This would never do. She ducked down below the window, crept to the front stoop, and pushed the door open, hoping it would not squeak. It was as silent as though freshly soaped, but she did not pause to wonder why. She found herself in a dark hallway, and when she neared the taproom door, Teddy’s voice came clearly.
“You just wait till my brother gets hold of you, Mr. Lawrence! He’ll fix your wagon!”
“’Ere now, Jimmy, you ain’t got no more of these coves acomin’, I ’ope!” It was an elderly voice. Certainly not the coachman, she thought. “This b’ain’t no posh postin’ ’ouse. ’Sides, I don’t want no part of it!” Catheryn was wondering if the voice might belong to the coachman after all, when a second unfamiliar voice recommended that the speaker stop jawing and think what to do. There were three men in the room!
“Never mind, Uncle.” That was Lawrence. “We can’t stay here. That’s clear enough. Someone’s likely to come looking for the boy. We’ll move along. Duff, mind that brat. Uncle Jig can let him go once we’ve got away.”
“’Ere now!” the elderly voice protested. “Ye can’t leave ’im ’ere! Ye’ll ’ave t’ busies all over me ken!”
“Put a sock in it, Uncle Jig. The boy will be my message bearer. Nobody will bother you. All he has to do is tell Dambroke Tiffany and I are married.” Catheryn gasped. “By the time the lad gets to the Park, we will be.” She relaxed again.
“I’ll never marry you!”
“Don’t be childish, Tiffany. You will.” His tone was lazy, even amused. “Hurry it up, Duff. We’ve got to move.”
Catheryn squared her shoulders and pushed the door wide, making as grand an entrance, she thought, as the duchess must have made at her ball. “Good evening, Mr. Lawrence,” she said calmly, silently congratulating herself on her poise. “Don’t you think this charade has gone far enough?”
“Good God! Miss Westering!”
“As you see, sir. Now be so kind as to release Lady Tiffany and the boy. You must see your plan has failed.”
“I’m damned if I will,” Lawrence retorted angrily.
Tiffany let out a squeal of surprise and Teddy laughed excitedly. “Good for you, Cathy! That’s one in the eye!”
Catheryn ignored them, keeping her steady gaze upon Lawrence. “I’m very much afraid you are damned if you don’t, sir,” she replied equably. “Dambroke will be here shortly, probably with a number of men. It will go ill with you if he finds his sister trussed up like a Christmas goose.” She glanced at Tiffany, who was wrapped in a dirty blanket.
Lawrence shrugged his shoulders angrily, defiantly. “Thank you for the warning,” he growled. “We’ll see he don’t find us here. You perhaps. The boy. But not us.”
“’Ere Jimmy!” The old man’s voice was shrill. “T’mort says a ruddy flash cove’s bearin’ down wi’ a ruddy posse, and ye say I’m t’ stay ’ere! Not ruddy likely!”
“As you wish, Uncle Jig. Leave the place for a few days. No one among your thieving customers will miss you.” Catheryn thought of the well-soaped hinges of the front door and wondered if Lawrence had not given an accurate description of the clientele. Since no one seemed disposed to release Tiffany, she moved to do so herself. But Lawrence’s tone changed sharply from derision to command when he noted her purpose. “Here you! Getaway from her!”
“Nonsense, Mr. Lawrence,” she said without turning. “You must see that you cannot succeed in this villainy.”
“It is not nonsense, Miss Westering,” he grated. Something in his tone or, perhaps, a look in Tiffany’s eyes caused Catheryn to glance back at him and then to go very still. Mr. Lawrence did have a pistol. It was firmly gripped in his right hand and leveled at a point somewhere between Miss Westering’s neck and her high waistline. She shivered. “Just so, my dear. I am held to be a better than average marksman, you know. Though no one,” he added unnecessarily, “could miss at this range. Tie her up, Duff.”
“Begging yer pardon, sir,” that rascal replied, “but we ain’t got no more rope. Used the last bit on the lad there.”
“Then get more, dolthead! We must get out of here!”
Uncle Jig diffidently suggested there might be a bit of string or the like in the kitchen. Duff dumped Teddy onto the settle beside Tiffany and went with the old man to look, while Lawrence kept the pistol steadily aimed at Catheryn.
“Don’t think for a moment that I should hesitate, Miss Westering,” he advised smoothly. “I shouldn’t have to kill you, you know. A simple wound would keep you out of my way and delay his lordship as well.”
“What on earth do you hope to accomplish, sir?”
“Wealth, my dear. You must know her ladyship’s quite an heiress. After
I’ve compromised her reputation by that most effective of means, even Dambroke will insist upon our marriage.” Catheryn nodded. Certainly marriage would be the only acceptable course if Lawrence succeeded. However, she still had a card or two up her elegant sleeve, possibly even an ace. “Once she marries me—and you will marry me,” Lawrence went on in a grim aside to Tiffany, “all that lovely money….” He gestured expressively and sighed with complacency.
“… will still be controlled by Lord Dambroke,” Catheryn finished for him. “He does control her fortune, you know, sir.”
“Don’t take me for a fool, girl! His guardianship ends with her marriage. Anyone knows that! Once she marries me, I shall have complete control of her fortune.”
“It’s no use, Catheryn,” Tiffany interposed dismally. “I explained the situation to this idiotish man myself. He knows Richard must relinquish when I marry.”
“But you were wrong, Tiffany dear.” Catheryn kept her tone pacific, not knowing how the younger girl would react. “Dambroke told me himself. You accused him of something or other during one of your quarrels. I don’t remember the details of it, what he said they were anyway, but when you flung it in his teeth that you knew he would lose control when you marry, he left it at that. He does control though—I believe the expression is ‘at his discretion’—until you are twenty-five, whether you marry or not. So you see, sir….”
He did not see. He regarded her, in fact, with a good deal of suspicion and roared at his henchmen to get a move on with the damned rope. “It isn’t true,” he insisted. “You’re making that up, and even if you’re not, Dambroke will fork over the dibs. He won’t want his pampered little sister living in squalor for eight years. Or perhaps I ought to consider ransom as a better choice,” he added with a black scowl. “He’d pay handsomely, I daresay. Maybe more for the three of you.” Catheryn felt a chill and clenched her teeth. Surely he wouldn’t hold them all captive! He grinned suddenly. “That pierced your armor, didn’t it, Miss High-and-Mighty. It might be interesting to watch you squirm, but not interesting enough to give up the grand prize. I’m willing to wait.” Catheryn looked up sharply. “Ah, you get my meaning. Unless I marry her, you see, I have naught to look forward to but poverty. I’ve no wealthy relatives that matter. But when I marry Tiffany it will come—in the long run perhaps—but it will come. Oh, yes, ma’am, I can wait!”
