"Then don't ask me to help you. Tell me how I can help Bartholomew. If Nigel takes him, we all know what will happen."
"No doubt he's on his way there right now," Max said. "So, here is what we must do. I hate to involve you, Miss Farrow, but—"
"I'm already involved."
"So you are."
He knew what had to be done. He'd make it as safe for her as possible, but there was no way to know what extremes Nigel would go to. When pushed into a corner, they could all expect him to react badly. Max could only hope Miss Farrow was safely out of the picture before it got to that point. They just needed one more thing, one last bit of proof that could put Nigel out of commission forever.
"Into the carriage," he said, ushering her toward it and helping her inside. "We'll drop you as close to home as we dare without being seen, and you're to tell everyone the highwaymen set you free when they learned your father is vicar."
"Why would they do that?"
Max shrugged. "Perhaps they are criminals with a conscience."
"More likely they realized they'd get no hefty ransom for me," she suggested.
Hugh chuckled, shutting the door on them and hopping up into the box to slap the horses into motion. The carriage lurched and Max put his hand on Miss Farrow to steady her. It was not really necessary, but instinctive. She was something of great value. He would find a way to protect her.
Chapter 15
Meg left the two gentlemen at the edge of town, just out of sight of passers-by. They stopped the carriage behind a stand of evergreens, against the far wall of the cemetery. From here she could dash home safely while the gentlemen would be unremarkable in their return to the inn where, apparently, Mr. Shirley's accomplice was staying.
Mr. Shirley had at first insisted he should accompany her all the way to the parsonage, but she begged him not to do so. He was still dressed as a highwayman, after all, and if someone should see them there was no telling what trouble might ensue. The earl had had plenty of time to return to Richington and begin telling his story to anyone who would listen. By now he was probably already delivering the bad news to Papa and calling for the magistrate. Until Mr. Shirley and Mr. Baxter were changed into their proper attire and returned where they belonged, they were in danger.
Mr. Shirley gave in to her insistence and she left them, creeping out of the carriage unseen and ducking through the cemetery. From there she simply trotted around the church, ran up the parsonage steps, and threw open the front door with great drama.
Papa was just inside the drawing room, pacing back and forth and ranting to whoever might listen. His listeners at this moment happened to be Mrs. Cooper, Mr. Barrelson—who was the local magistrate—along with some apparent assistant of his, and an artificially worried-looking Nigel.
They all turned and gaped when Meg burst into the room. Nigel especially.
"Meg! You're alive!" Papa cried out, swinging his arms wide and scooping her into them.
"Yes... I'm fine Papa," she said, her voice muffled into his chest.
He held her away from him, looking her over and turning her first one way then another. If she hadn't been injured before, she might possibly be now, the way he was manhandling her. It was quite endearing, though. She did her best to reassure him, though, and save herself from further bruising.
"Really, I'm fine Papa. I'm fine!"
"But Glenwick said you'd been taken by highwaymen!"
Taken was rather an odd word, considering the last Nigel saw of her she'd not been removed anywhere and he'd been the one who changed location—running away like a frightened little girl.
She didn't question him, though. Mr. Shirley had a plan and she had her part to play.
"I was, Papa," she said, and made a good show of smiling in gratitude toward cowardly Nigel. "The poor earl, I thought for a certain they were going to kill him. He's lucky to be alive now!"
Indeed, that part was true. Mr. Shirley's attitude regarding the man indicated he had good reason to wish him dead. Given Nigel's recent behavior toward Meg, she was tempted to feel the same way.
"But you... somehow you escaped!" the earl stammered.
"A miracle, indeed," Papa said. "Glenwick told us it was a whole pack of them, blood-thirsty and heavily armed."
"Er... I counted only two," she said and gave Nigel a glare that warned him he'd best not think she'd forgotten his actions.
"How fortunate that is all you encountered," Nigel said, glaring right back. "No telling how many of them waited aside in the thicket, with all manner of depravity on their minds."
Papa shuddered noticeably. "Thank the lord you escaped, Meg!"
"I didn't escape," she said, letting Papa steady her but directing her words toward the very interested magistrate. "They let me go."
"They let you go?" Papa questioned. "The Lord had His hand on you."
Mr. Barrelson nodded and contemplated her claim, but the earl seemed a bit less willing to credit divine intervention. Or her accuracy.
"Those cutthroats simply let you go?" he asked. "Why would they do that?"
"I could scarcely believe it myself," she said and produced a tremulous sigh. "Oh, but I was quite overwhelmed with terror, as you can imagine. They hauled me into their carriage and said I was their prisoner, that they would hold me for ransom. I thought for a certain I'd never see you again, Papa, and I wept over that fact. When they heard me say that you are the vicar... well, apparently that changed their minds. They set me free and I came running back home."
Papa went on in raptures of God's goodness, but Nigel seemed fixated on the more mundane.
"Those two violent criminals set you free because your father is a man of the cloth?"
"I'm assuming it's more about the size of a ransom they could expect to get for me."
"I'd have given everything I own to get you back here, Meg. You know that," Papa said.
Mrs. Cooper dabbed at her eyes. Mr. Barrelson smiled kindly while his assistant sharpened the tip of the pencil he'd been using to make notes on a paper he held folded in his hand. Nigel still glared. Meg chose to ignore him.
"Fortunately, I'm safe and sound, Papa," she said. "There's nothing further to worry about. I'm sure those scoundrels are well away from here now."
But Mr. Barrelson wasn't so quick to dismiss this. "They can't have gotten too very far, Miss Farrow. I'll have some men set out to search for them. Can you say which direction they were heading, or what sort of conveyance they used?"
"Er, I'm afraid I wasn't paying much attention to detail, sir," she answered quickly. "They were simply two frightening men in black masks and their carriage was... it was old and quite worn, I believe. At least, that's what I recall."
Drat, but she really was no good at this sort of thing. All her life she'd prided herself on being honest. Now to suddenly try and create such a falsehood! It was most taxing, to say the least. Mr. Shirley needed it, though, so she'd do her best. Despite how sick it made her feel at her stomach.
"And did they leave the area going east, or going west?" the magistrate asked.
"East," she replied, then wondered if perhaps that would help Mr. Shirley or not. "Or perhaps it was west. No wait... perhaps they were heading for Portsmouth! Yes, I am certain I heard them say Portsmouth."
"South? They're heading south, you believe?"
"Yes. That's what they said."
"But that would have sent them right back through the village," Nigel protested. "Surely they would have been seen. Where did you say that they let you out of their carriage?"
Oh, botheration. She truly was no good at this at all. She'd have to give up altogether and rely on pure feminine hysteria. If that couldn't detract attention from the hunt for the so-called highwaymen, she had no idea what would.gg "I can hardly recall it, my lord," she whined, letting her voice rise in pitch as she continued. "I assure you, I wish that I could give our magistrate the answers he needs. But I've been so distraught... this has been a horrible ordeal for me and my ner
ves are quite frayed. I can barely keep my balance, let alone recall details to help aid in the search. I'm quite ashamed at my weakness, truly! I fear I am useless to you all."
"Now, now, my pet," Papa said, gently tightening his arm around her and patting her shoulder. "Of course you're not useless. The earl has only the highest regard for you, isn't that true, Glenwick?"
"Of course," Nigel replied as sweetly as syrup. "I would never mean to cause Miss Farrow distress. It's understandable she would be at all ends over this."
"It was dreadful—every moment of it!" she agreed and hoped he understood that included her time spent with him. "I hope to heaven those horrible men truly are gone off to Plymouth."
"I thought you said Portsmouth," Mr. Barrelson noted.
Drat. "Oh, er, yes. One or the other."
"You mean you can't really be sure where they were headed?"
"All I cared was that they were letting me go," she declared, with a hand to her forehead for effect. "I wanted only to be rid of them."
"And so you are," Papa said. "I, for one, am most thankful."
Mrs. Cooper dabbed at her eyes again and added a sniffle this time.
Mr. Barrelson nodded, apparently won over by the tears and the sighing. "I thank you, Miss Farrow. You've done well to share what you could with me. I'll do my best to locate these ruffians and see they meet justice."
"Thank you so much, sir," she replied. "I wish I could be of more help."
"You've helped all you could, miss."
The magistrate patted the same shoulder Papa had been patting. Meg began to feel somewhat like a pet cat. Nigel's sneer said he didn't much care for cats.
"It's most remarkable that you're here to help us at all," Nigel said. "What luck these highwaymen have no stomach for vicars' daughters."
Oh, what a vile, dreadful man he was. She forced a sweet smile for him.
"Yes, isn't it lucky things worked out the way that they did?"
And she did not simply mean regarding her so-called escape from the highwaymen. Her escape from a misplaced infatuation was far, far more lucky.
"I'll be on my way, then," Mr. Barrelson said, collecting his hat and his assistant. "I shall put men out directly to hunt for these renegades."
Mrs. Cooper bustled about, ushering the men out and making a fuss over everything in the room. Papa went along, too, spouting off gratitude over the magistrate's attention to detail and wishing him safety in his task ahead. Meg was alone in the drawing room with Nigel. He seemed much more pleased about that than she was.
"I have underestimated you, my dear," he said, slinking toward her like the weasel he was. "I never thought you to be so very clever."
"Clever, sir? In our acquaintance seven years ago I'm quite sure I never gave any indication of being that. Certainly I was a terrible judge of good character."
"All the more reason I'm impressed with you now. You had me quite fooled, you know. Until the moment you came through that door I had no idea you were in league with those criminals."
"I? In league with them, sir? If you're attempting to fun with me, I can't say that I like it."
"I'm not the one playing games here," he growled. "Give me the bird and the book and tell me what you've learned from them."
"I have no idea what you mean, sir."
She could tell it was killing him that her father and the magistrate were so near, speaking just in the entrance way outside the door. If not for that, she had no doubt he would have struck her. Whatever secrets he felt he could get from that book or from Bartholomew, he was clearly desperate to get them. This treasure they were all after must be very dear, indeed.
"You told your friends where to find us, didn't you? You lured me into a trap."
"That's just absurd. Move away from me, sir. Your breathing offends me and I am done with this discussion now."
"Then give me the bird and the book and I'll leave."
"No. I told you I haven't got the book, and the bird will stay here to finish his training."
He narrowed his eyes and glared at her. If not for Papa coming back into the room at that moment she would have been very afraid indeed. Even with him there, she could not abide the wild look that came over Nigel's once handsome face.
"You've even hired a parrot trainer to assist with that, haven't you?" he sneered.
"Yes. I told you about that."
She stepped away from the angry earl and tried to pretend all was well, but she could see on Papa's face that he detected something amiss in Glenwick's malevolent smile.
"Is something the matter?" Papa asked.
"Yes," Nigel announced. "I believe I've located our highwaymen. One of them, at least."
Mrs. Cooper gasped from the doorway.
"What?" Papa said with a frown. "Where is he? Shall I call back the magistrate?"
"You should," Nigel said.
Mrs. Cooper scurried back to the front door. Meg could hear her calling from the front steps. No doubt the magistrate would be back here in a matter of moments. Heavens, had Nigel really figured things out? She couldn't guess how—she herself didn't even fully understand any of it.
"You should call down your alleged parrot trainer, too," Nigel declared. "But be careful—he's most likely armed."
"What are you saying?" Papa asked. "You think Mr. Shirley is one of these highwaymen?"
"I do, sir. I believe he has corrupted your daughter and swayed her to do his bidding."
"That ridiculous," Papa said. "Meg doesn't even like the fellow. She merely tolerates him for me."
"Then call him down here," Nigel said. "Prove to me that he's where he should be right now and that he's not involved in this attempt on my person today."
"But Meg was the one who was abducted—" Papa began, only to be interrupted by Mr. Barrelson and his assistant rushing back into the room.
"What is it? Have you recalled some clue of some sort?"
"Better," Nigel informed him. "I've concluded who these highwaymen are. One of them has been living in this very house!"
Papa huffed at the notion. "Nonsense! He claims the man I've hired to train our fool parrot is a blood-thirsty highwayman."
Mr. Barrelson seemed to be willing to consider this, though. He looked toward Papa and asked, "Is he?"
"Of course not," Papa replied, then turned to Meg. "Is he?"
"No! I'd certainly have recognized him. Most definitely not Mr. Shirley."
"Then produce him!" Nigel demanded. "Call him into this room so we can see that he's here and not somewhere else. He is here, isn't he?"
Now Meg was worried. Of course Mr. Shirley wasn't here. He was returning the carriage and changing his clothes. This was dreadful! The magistrate would have no choice but to consider Nigel's accusations. It was his duty and, after all, Nigel was the earl. Poor Mr. Shirley would be hunted down and not able to produce any proof that he wasn't a highwayman!
"Of course he's here," Papa said, moving out of the room toward the stairway. "He's been up in his room working with Bartholomew all afternoon."
"But he told me he might be going out for a walk, Papa," Meg called after him quickly.
It was a stupid, desperate attempt that only caused Nigel to sneer at her all the more.
"So you know he is not here, Miss Farrow? And how could that be, since you were out driving with me until those highwaymen interrupted our day?"
"I... I know Mr. Shirley's habits. He often takes walks."
"I thought your father said you didn't care for the fellow."
"That doesn't mean I'm not aware of when he does or does not take walks," she snapped back at him. "I simply meant to offer a reasonable explanation for why he isn't here. If, in fact, he isn't here."
"You meant to give him an alibi," Nigel said.
"Mr. Shirley doesn't need an alibi. He isn't your highwayman."
Nigel arched his eyebrows. "Ah, but is he your highwayman, Miss Farrow?"
"He's nobody's highwayman," she replied. "He isn't a highw
ayman at all. He's nothing more than a parrot trainer!"
Even as she spoke the words she knew they were not true. Max Shirley was so much more than a parrot trainer. She didn't know what he was, exactly, and to be fair, she had only his word that he was not a highwayman, but in her heart she was convinced he was something more than she knew. If only she could hope it was something that would not land him in jail.
"That's what you say about him," Nigel grumbled. "I'd rather hear him speak for himself."
Papa marched to the foot of the stairs. "That should be simple enough." He cleared his throat and called in a loud voice. "Mr. Shirley! Are you up there, man?"
Meg felt her heart drop down to her toes. He was about to be found out. If he was smart, he would already be heading far away from Richington. If he were not... he'd be arrested at the inn and end up in jail. Either way she had to accept he'd be gone from her life. The worse of it all, he'd be taking her heart away with him.
"You should come back to the inn with me," Hugh said.
"No. She'll need me at the parsonage," Max replied, already scanning the quiet lane to make sure no one would see him leave the carriage.
"But your clothes—"
"Will be fine," he assured his friend.
They had clothes in the carriage and once Miss Farrow was gone he and Hugh changed their black shirts for a white ones. He'd changed quickly so he was all at odds, his shirt tucked haphazardly and his attempt at an elegant knot utterly failing, but at least no one would take him for a highwayman.
"Get yourself back to the inn," he ordered, knowing Hugh could be trusted to comply perfectly. "My man in London has promised the information we need should be in official hands by tonight. Wait there for confirmation of that."
"Very well. You're certain you don't need me with you?"
"Not until later. I don't know what accusations my cousin will be making or how many men he'll send out to hunt for us. We must give him no reason to find us."
"I'll make short work of any man who does," Hugh assured him.
"I'd prefer that you not make any widows," Max admonished. "My hope is to eventually be on good terms with the residents of Richington."
Miss Farrow's Feathers Page 16
