“Much I want with compliments from the most disreputable individual I ever saw! I’d not be surprised if—” Rosamond’s heart gave a jolt and she broke off, not wishing to alarm Aunt Estelle with her sudden apprehension that they may have fallen into the clutches of white slavers. “I am going to get out!” she announced, having succeeded in frightening herself, and, despite her aunt’s immediate protest, managed to open the door and let down the steps.
She was in time to see the horseman rein up a short distance away and Victor and the coachman hurry to join him. She heard the horseman exclaim angrily, “Good God! I cannot believe this! Have you taken leave of your senses, you crazy sot?”
‘Ahah!’ she thought, with a rather hollow sense of vindication. She could not see the rider’s face clearly, but his hair was dark and neatly tied back, and he seemed a youngish man, not much taller than Victor, but more huskily built. Victor appeared to be making an earnest attempt to explain. The horseman glanced towards the carriage, then dismounted. To Rosamond’s astonishment the coachman suddenly snatched off his dilapidated old tricorne and sank to one knee, fairly grovelling to the young aristocrat. She gasped aloud as Victor dealt the coachman such a buffet that he sprawled on the grass and lay there wailing dismally and making feeble efforts to rise.
He was totally ignored by the other two men, who appeared to be arguing, with Victor making conciliatory gestures and talking in a low, servile voice.
This behaviour deepened Rosamond’s alarm and she hurried back to the carriage. Mrs. Porchester, who had been leaning from the open door, drew back as she climbed the steps and asked anxiously what was going forward.
“He is a monster!” said Rosamond, sitting down and ordering her skirts.
“Oh dear,” exclaimed her aunt, a hand flying to her throat. “He looked like a well-enough young gentleman to me, and ’tis not as if we had drove the chariot across his lovely lawns.”
“I was referring to our horrid courier. Lud, but the man has a heart of stone! Did you see him knock down the poor coachman?”
“The greasy drunken lout?” asked Mrs. Porchester innocently.
“You are taking all this much too lightly,” said Rosamond. “Does it not occur to you, ma’am, that we may be in real danger?”
“Oh, now really, my love. Surely the gentleman is not going to bury us under the flower-beds only because we ventured onto his lands by mistake? Surely he is not.”
“How I wish Charles, or Papa was with us,” said Rosamond fretfully. “Or if I did but have a pistol!”
She shrank back with a shocked exclamation as a large silver-mounted pistol was suddenly thrust through the window.
“Take it, ma’am,” said Dr. Victor. “You have my permission to dispose of the imbecile I was so ill-advised as to hire to drive you.”
“Cor, if you ain’t the ’ard-’earted cove,” the coachman grumbled, coming up rubbing his shoulder. “Everyone makes mistakes now an’ then. Wasn’t no cause fer ye ter deck me like that. Like ter break me poor arm-bone, you done. Ain’t that enough without eggin’ the pretty mort—”
“The lady, damn your ears,” interjected Victor.
“Your profanity, sir, is as offensive to my ears as this poor man’s crudeness,” said Rosamond frigidly, waving away the pistol. “I cannot but agree that you were excessive hard on him.”
“There,” said the coachman, bestowing a leering grin upon her. “As kind as wot she’s bee-oootiful. Wouldn’t never do away wi’ a ’onest cove like me, would yer, me pretty?”
“Well, if the lady would not, I would,” threatened Victor, turning to face the coachman’s immediate and humble crouch. “Get back on the box and follow the directions the gentleman gave you. And if you lose us again, you bacon-brained varmint, I’ll give you more than a clout on the shoulder!”
Without another word to the indignant Rosamond, he slammed the door shut and in another moment they were on their way.
“Good gracious,” said Mrs. Porchester. “What a dreadful temper! But I expect he feels responsible for our safety, and that coachman really is very naughty.” She looked out of the window with regret as the chariot wheeled around. “To say truth, I would like to have seen more of the estate. I would like to have seen it. For I’ve hear ’tis one of the loveliest in the kingdom.”
Surprised out of her resentment of the cruel physician, Rosamond stared at her. “Do you say you know where we are, dearest?”
“I may be wrong, but it fits the description of Lac Brillant, and I know that estate is near Dover.”
“Lac Brillant,” murmured Rosamond, knitting her brows. “Now where have I heard that name before…? Oh well, ’tis no matter. The important thing is that we are well out of the embarrassment.”
“Yes. And now we may relax and be comfortable. Are you feeling poorly, my love? Are you feeling poorly? Such a time you have had, but only think—we are on the right road now. We shall overnight in Lewes and by this time tomorrow we will be safely home! Do you know, I have been thinking. Debbie is so devoted to your papa, ’twould not surprise me a bit to find she has already returned to Lennox Court, and that there was indeed some perfectly respectable reason for her not having gone at once to Tante Maria’s. I really believe that all our worries are behind us, sweet soul. All behind us.”
The two girls had been friends all their days, and however distant their actual relationship, Rosamond loved Deborah as dearly as though she were already the sister she would become when she married Charles. With all her heart Rosamond longed to be relieved of her own nagging worries, but even as she murmured agreement with her aunt’s cheerful optimism, she had the uneasy feeling that it was not entirely justified.
* * *
Three times between Dover and Rye they were stopped by military patrols, their identities demanded and the carriage inspected for concealed fugitives. The ladies and the coachman were required to leave the chariot for these searches, which very much annoyed them and Billy Coachman, although Victor made no complaint. The sergeant in charge of the first search party was cold and brief. The second troop was commanded by a fresh-faced young ensign who showed a tendency to linger, his eyes holding an awed admiration as he gazed at Rosamond. In answer to Mrs. Porchester’s questions he told them that the hunt for fugitives was intensified these days, because the military had reason to believe several Jacobites were in the area, likely in connection with the treasure. “The reward for any reb caught with a poem on his person has been raised to two hundred guineas,” he said importantly. “And for a man found to be carrying a list of conspirators—three hundred!”
“Cor!” exclaimed Billy Coachman, his jaw sagging. “Fer that kinda money, be danged if I don’t take a day orf and join the search!”
“Better be careful,” cautioned Victor. “A man who’s been hunted and starved and had to fight every step of the way from Culloden Moor to the south coast is not likely to surrender without a fight.”
“True,” the ensign agreed. “If you do come up with one of the poor devils, Coachman, best keep your wits about you whilst you search him.”
“Search—hell,” responded Billy. “Do I see one o’ they traitors, I’ll blow ’is ’ead orf first, then search ’im!”
Mrs. Porchester shuddered, and Rosamond’s eyes widened in horror, but the ensign laughed. “Then you’ll do yourself out of half the reward,” he warned. “They want ’em alive.”
“Why?” asked Rosamond, both fascinated and appalled.
“Why, indeed,” echoed her aunt. “They will take the poor creatures and kill them at all events, will they not?”
The ensign looked grim. “Their heads will be stuck atop Temple Bar eventually, ma’am. First, they will be put to the question. Then, when the interrogators at the Tower are convinced they have no more information, they will be taken out and—”
“And hanged by the neck until they’re half dead,” put in Victor coolly. “Then—”
“Took down and their arms and legs chopped orf—one at a time,” sai
d Billy with ghoulish relish. “I see one as they caught over to Hounslow in May. You shoulda seen all the gore. But ’e was still alive when they took the disembowelling knife an’ slit—”
Mrs. Porchester emitted a shriek and clapped her hands over her ears. Throwing an arm about her aunt, Rosamond turned a white, shocked face to the doctor. He was regarding her with a cynical sneer, but he said sharply, “That will be enough out of you, Billy! Get back on your box.” He turned to the youthful officer. “An you’ve no objection, sir?”
The ensign looked soulfully at Rosamond but admitted with a sigh that he had no reason to detain them longer, and they went upon their way.
A short time later they were again at a dead stop, caught in the midst of a large flock of Romney Marsh sheep beginning the long journey to London’s market. Billy Coachman lost no time in taunting the drover, but although their acquaintanceship began acrimoniously, Billy got down from his box and related a joke that Mrs. Estelle muttered was “probably lewd.” This was very likely, for it convulsed the drover and in no time the two men were firm friends, their talk enlivened by ribald shouts of laughter while the two scruffy but intelligent dogs tended to the flock.
During this interlude the sheep milled about the chariot. At first charming, this soon became irritatingly noisy, made the team prance nervously, and compelled the ladies to hold handkerchiefs to their nostrils. The uproarious conversation, which seemed to have something to do with gypsies, showed signs of becoming an all-day bout and, much to Rosamond’s irritation, Victor showed no inclination to put a stop to it. Trifle terminated the discussion. The puppy had grown very tired while gamboling after Victor and had been admitted to the chariot, where he had snored for the last half hour. He woke up to discover two mongrels rushing about nearby. Having apparently decided the vehicle was his owner’s property, he became raucously defensive, leaped from the window and engaged the enemy. All three dogs were drawn into the fray. The frightened sheep scattered. Cursing, the drover rushed after them. The team reared and plunged, neighing and snorting with fright, and Billy Coachman made a dive for their heads just in time to prevent them from bolting. Victor, also cursing, spurred his horse into the battle zone and laid about him with his riding whip. This availing him nothing, he leaned from the saddle, grasped Trifle’s collar, and hauled the bristling dog across his saddle-bow. Being half throttled, Trifle was temporarily unable to continue hurling his canine insults, and the other dogs, belatedly recalling their obligations, raced off in pursuit of their master and the disappearing flock.
Victor let the dazed Trifle drop to the ground and turned irked eyes on his erstwhile snowy shirt and neat riding coat. Glancing up, tight-lipped, from the unhappy results of having been in close proximity with a dog covered with mud and other material, he met Rosamond’s sparklingly mischievous gaze. For a moment, he held her eyes, but she still found it rather difficult to look at him without recalling the shockingly embarrassing incident in the cabin of the packet and, blushing, she turned away.
The third search of the chariot was conducted by a bored exquisite of the rank of lieutenant, who seemed more interested in the unfortunate state of Victor’s garments than in the possibility of their concealing fugitives. He gave them very little of his time, and they were soon allowed to resume their journey.
The effort of drawing the chariot along the muddy lanes tired the horses fast, and they had to be rested at Rye. Billy Coachman, grumbling about the steep old street, the slippery cobble-stones, and the yowling urchins who followed the chariot, set his passengers down at the door of The Mermaid Inn, and went driving off to the stables, Dr. Victor’s mount tied on behind.
The famous old inn was crowded and noisy, but Victor managed to acquire a room where the ladies could refresh themselves while he searched for a maid to clean his garments insofar as was possible. When this task was completed to his reluctant acceptance, if not to his satisfaction, he sought out the host. A parlour was not to be had, so they were obliged to take luncheon in the busy dining-room. Fortunately it was a quaint old chamber where comely, cheerful maids bustled about, and a small fire reduced the damp chill which had lingered on the inside air despite the afternoon sunshine. The doctor had ordered a delicious luncheon, but Rosamond, small of appetite, and knowing that to eat heartily while on a journey tended to upset her, partook sparingly of tender baked ham, a succulent roast of beef, some excellent cheeses, fresh Kentish fruit, and fragrant bread still warm from the oven. She refused the peach pie with clotted cream, but her aunt, who enjoyed her appetite and was sufficiently tall to be able to indulge it, ate heartily. As a result, Mrs. Porchester became drowsy soon after the meal was finished and decided to have a short nap while awaiting the readiness of the team, which Billy Coachman advised might take another half-hour.
Rosamond looked with longing at the bright afternoon and wished she might explore the old Cinque Port.
Watching her covertly, Victor drawled, “I fancy I am obliged to take the misnamed puppy for a walk. Can I persuade you to accompany me, Miss Albritton?”
She hesitated. She both despised the man and felt shy in his company, but she really did want to go for a walk, and at length, having obtained her aunt’s permission, she accepted the doctor’s invitation and went upstairs to put on her new cap.
When she returned, Victor was waiting in the vestibule, holding Trifle’s leash and attempting to restrain the dog’s delirious excitement. “This animal, madam,” he told her rather grimly, “needs a firm hand.” She offered no argument, and he opened the door, dragging back the straining dog so that she could pass. Outside, a rider was in the process of dismounting and handing the reins to a stableboy. Rosamond noted idly that the gentleman, who was exceeding elegant, was experiencing some difficulty in retrieving a bulky parcel which had been tied to the pommel of his saddle. Then Victor’s hand was under her elbow, urging her along at such a rate that she was all but lifted down the steps. Indignant, she glanced up at him. His mouth looked rather tight, she thought.
He muttered, “Ridiculous animal!” and Trifle certainly was pulling at the leash with panting eagerness.
Just as they drew level with the horse, the rider turned about. His gaze rested on Rosamond and became admiring. She looked at him in her candid fashion, and met a pair of smiling eyes of tawny hazel set in a rather thin face that she liked at once. He was of similar build to The Arrogant Physician, but probably, she judged, a year or two older. His glance drifted to her escort and a remarkable metamorphosis occurred: his eyes became glazed, his jaw dropped, he gave an audible gasp and the parcel slipped from his hands to land upon the pave with the keening crunch of breaking glass. Amber fluid seeped from the parcel and ran into the kennel, and a strong smell of spirits pervaded the air.
“R-Robbie…! Oh, Jupiter!” he gasped feebly.
“Afternoon, Thad,” said Dr. Victor, and they were past.
Trifle found an interesting post and decided to endow it. He was dragged ruthlessly. Glancing over her shoulder, Rosamond saw that the gentleman still watched them, for all the world as if frozen to the spot.
“Don’t encourage him,” said the doctor, primly decorous.
“Encourage him! You forget yourself, sir!”
“Perhaps. But I don’t forget him. If you are provoked because I did not introduce you—”
“Nothing of the sort! Why should I wish—”
“The way you gazed at each other I thought it a case of l’admiration réciproque.”
Outraged, she pulled her arm free. “Quelle sottise! I was merely surprised because he looked so shocked. Is he a friend of yours?”
“Had he been a friend, or even a respectable acquaintance, I should have introduced you.”
“Well, he certainly knew you.”
“I said—‘respectable,’ ma’am.”
“He looked perfectly respectable to me. And uncommon surprised. Why, he turned perfectly white. Whatever have you done to the poor man?”
Patently bored, h
e drawled, “Amputated his ill-gotten gains, evidently. Which is just as well.”
“Ill-gotten … oh my! Do you mean that the brandy he dropped had—”
“Had never seen an excise stamp, Miss Albritton. I make no doubt that is why he is here in Sussex.”
Her eyes very round, she said, “You mean—he is a Free Trader?”
“Notorious, ma’am. Got rich at the Trade. And I must say that your abhorrence of such evil actions does you credit.”
“Oh, I do not count smuggling so very evil,” she said with a shrug. “I am Sussex born, and everyone knows that Rye is a busy place for smugglers. Only—he did not seem that sort of—er, gentleman.”
“Why?” His lip curled disdainfully. “Did you fancy they all carried cutlasses ’twixt their teeth and wore dirty shirts open to the waist?”
“Well, of course I did not! But I’ll own I did not dream they would dare to transact their business in broad daylight. I thought smuggling was done with tubs. And at the dark of the moon.”
“And you condone those illicit pursuits?”
There was a distinct note of censure in his voice and, irritated, she replied, “I do not say I condone it, exactly. Only the people are poor and the taxes unfairly high—exorbitant, my papa says.”
“I find it hard to believe your father holds any brief for those who break the law of the land, despite the heavy taxes,” he said, that one brow arching upward in the supercilious way she found infuriating.
“I did not imply any such thing,” she defended. “But I fail to see how impoverished men, perhaps with families going hungry, could be blamed for indulging in a little smuggling now and then!”
He clicked his tongue. “I confess myself much shocked by such overly lenient views, ma’am. I’d fancied you would have been shielded from all knowledge of such grimy pursuits, and certainly have been taught the difference between right and wrong.”
“Of course I know the difference between right and wrong,” she said, between gritted teeth.
“Yet because the wicked smuggler we just saw chanced to be young and attractive, you excuse him.” He shook his fair head at her. “What if he was a Jacobite fugitive—would you excuse that, also?”
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