by Sandra Heath
Helen’s mind raced as she tried to consider the matter from every angle. Ralph was hardly going to confess to everything if his father was likely to find out anyway because of the instant furore, so there had to be a safeguard. Ralph and his father were departing before dawn for Falmouth, and so would soon be out of England, very far away from the stir that would inevitably result from the real truth coming out, which meant as far as she was concerned that the obvious thing to demand of him was a letter, something she could take to Adam or Gregory once the journey to Falmouth had commenced, but before the time set for the duel. Time was of the essence in all this, for the St Johns’ departure, and the hour for the meeting in Herne’s Glade, were horridly close. She had to get to Ralph as quickly as possible, demand the letter, and, if she succeeded, get to Adam at King Henry Crescent before he set out for the dawn appointment.
She drew a long breath, exhaling very slowly as she tried to think if there was any other way of stopping the duel. There was the possibility of reporting it to the authorities, but that would merely postpone the matter, for the challenge would remain, and the two men would merely meet at another time and place, and by then Ralph would be well gone. No, she had to get to Ralph now. If she could pull it off, it would be poetic justice, with a vengeance. But how was she going to accomplish it? She was locked up here in her room at Bourne End, and he was six miles away at the Golden Key in Windsor. She glanced at her watch again. Time was ticking inexorably away. She had to get out of here, get to Windsor, and confront Ralph; six miles, but it might as well have been six hundred.
She hurried out onto the balcony, peering over the edge. Everything was very dark, for the moon was behind clouds. A light breeze stirred the leaves of the climbing plants twining up the columns supporting the balcony, but as she looked hopefully at them, she knew straightaway that the branches weren’t sturdy enough to hold her. Her glance moved toward the end of the house, and the way to the stables. Even if she got down from the balcony, she had to saddle a horse and ride away, something she could hardly hope to do without detection. Her eyes brightened then, for although she couldn’t saddle a horse or take a carriage, Peter could!
Gathering her skirts, Helen hurried back into the room, crossing to the door and knocking urgently on it. ‘Is anyone there?’
The footman outside shifted his position. ‘Er, yes, miss, it’s Luke.’
‘Luke, I need my maid.’
‘I don’t know, miss….’ he began doubtfully.
‘Surely I’m not to be denied my maid as well as my freedom? Send her to me at once, Luke.’ She spoke authoritatively, but her fingers were crossed.
For a moment there was silence, then the footman cleared his throat. ‘Very well, miss, I’ll go directly.’
‘Thank you.’
She breathed out with relief as she heard him hurrying away. A glance at her watch showed that the time had moved on to half past one. Oh, hurry, Mary, please hurry! It seemed an age before she heard the maid’s light footsteps hurrying toward the door. The key turned in the lock, and Luke’s voice spoke warningly. ‘I don’t know if I’m supposed to do this, Mary Caldwell, so just you see you don’t do anything we might both regret.’
‘All right, Luke Harding, don’t be such a misery.’ Mary came in a little crossly, darting a dark glance back at the footman before the door closed again and the key turned.
Turing to her mistress, Mary’s face changed to one of shamefaced regret. ‘I’m so sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to tell on you, but the master was so angry, I got frightened and….’
Helen went to her, taking her hands. ‘It’s all right, Mary, I don’t blame you.’
Tears filled the maid’s eyes. ‘Oh, thank you, miss.’
‘Mary, I have something very important to ask of you.’
‘Miss?’
‘I have to get out of here, and somehow reach Windsor. I need to see Mr St John.’
The maid stared at her. ‘Oh, no, miss, please don’t! You’re in trouble enough….’
‘Do you know there’s to be a duel, at dawn between Colonel Bourne and Lord Drummond?’ interrupted Helen.
‘Yes, miss. The master told Mr Morris.’
‘I must do something to stop the duel, Mary. It’s imperative that I see Mr St John before he and his father set out for Falmouth, and I need you to go to Peter and ask him to saddle a horse for me, or maybe harness a coach and drive me there himself. I know it’s asking a great deal of you both, but the alternative really doesn’t bear thinking about. I promise that it won’t put your positions in jeopardy, for whatever the differences between myself and Mrs Bourne, she will not dismiss either of you if she knows you acted in an attempt to save the colonel’s life. Please, Mary, will you help me?’ She looked urgently into the maid’s unhappy eyes.
‘I – I don’t know, miss, Peter may not feel he can….’
‘Will you at least ask him?’
Mary was in a quandary, wanting so much to help but beset by the fear that by doing so, she might do her mistress more harm than good. At last she nodded. ‘I’ll go to him, miss.’
‘Oh, thank you, Mary! I’ll be forever grateful. But do hurry, there’s no time to waste if he’s willing to help. I have to reach Mr St John as quickly as possible, and then, if I’m successful in what I plan to do, get to Lord Drummond before be leaves for the duel.’
‘I’ll tell him, miss.’ The maid went back to the door, knocking on it. ‘Luke? I have to get a fresh pillow, Miss Fairmead has spilled water on hers.’
The key turned in the lock, and the door opened. Mary slipped quickly out, and the door closed again. The turning of the key was a horrid sound, for it brought the feeling of helplessness back.
The minutes ticked relentlessly by, and there was no sign of Mary’s return. Helen resumed her frustrated pacing. It was a quarter to two, then ten to, but at last she heard the maid’s footsteps.
Luke was disgruntled. ‘What took you so long?’
‘I couldn’t find the right pillow. Oh, I pity the girl you marry, Luke Harding, for you’re the most complaining ferret it’s ever been my misfortune to meet. Now open that door and let me get on with my tasks.’
The key turned again, and Mary slipped in with the fresh pillow. She waited until the door closed again before coming close to whisper. ‘It’s all planned, miss, Peter will gladly help. He says it’s safe on the roads now for Lord Swag was caught by all those gentlemen and flung into Windsor jail. Cook heard all about it tonight from a peddler.’
Relief flooded weakeningly through Helen. ‘Oh, thank God,’ she whispered.
‘Peter’s gone directly to the stables to harness up the small carriage. He says it’s too risky taking three horses….’
‘Three?’
‘I’m coming too, miss, I won’t hear of anything else. Anyway, he says the saddle horses are too close to the grooms’ quarters, but the coach horses are further from them and therefore easier to take. The small carriage is kept right at the far end of the coach house, and he’ll wait there until we arrive.’
‘But how am I going to get out?’
‘Down over the balcony. Peter says if we knot your bedsheets together….’
‘Of course, why didn’t I think of that?’ It was so simple.
Mary glanced back at the door. ‘I’ll go back out in a moment, making as if you’re going to sleep, and then I’ll come around beneath the balcony. When you climb down, I’ll take you to Peter.’
‘Mary, I don’t think you’ll ever know how grateful I am to you, and to Peter. I know I’ve no right to involve you both, but I couldn’t think of any other way.’
‘’We want to help, miss. I’d stand by you, no matter what, and there’s nothing Peter wouldn’t do for you, or for the colonel and Mrs Bourne. If I seemed reluctant, it was because I’m anxious for you.’
Impulsively, Helen hugged her. ‘I know, Mary. I don’t deserve an angel like you.’
Mary hesitated, and then returned the hug. ‘I c
ould say the same, miss,’ she replied, blinking back tears and then drawing away, afraid she’d start to cry. ‘I’ll help you knot the sheets together, and then tie them firmly to the balcony rail.’
Together they dragged the sheets from the bed, attaching them with knots as firm as they could manage. Then they carried it all out onto the balcony, tying one end tightly to the wrought iron railing.
Mary straightened. ‘Don’t lower it over the edge until I come outside, miss, for someone might see it and raise the alarm. I’ll go now.’ The maid went to the door. ‘Luke? Let me out now.’
Again the key turned, and the door opened. Mary paused, looking back at Helen. ‘Good night, miss. Please try to sleep.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
The maid went out, and the door closed yet again.
Helen hurried to a wardrobe and took out a warm shawl. Did she need anything else? She glanced at her reflection. Her hair was brushed loose, tumbling about her shoulders in a way that wasn’t at all proper for leaving the house, but apart from tying it back with a ribbon, there wasn’t much else she could do. It would take time to pin it up into a creditable knot, and time was the one thing she didn’t have. Searching in a drawer, she found a white ribbon, and dragging the brush through her hair once more, she tied the heavy tresses back, fluffing out the bow at the nape of her neck. Then she pulled the shawl around her shoulders, and stepped out onto the balcony.
A minute or so more passed before Mary’s shadowy figure appeared below. Helen lifted the tied sheets, lowering them carefully over the edge. Suddenly the drop seemed further than ever, and her heart began to beat more swiftly at the thought of entrusting herself to those hastily tied knots. Her tongue passed nervously over her dry lips, but she made herself climb onto the railing. Closing her eyes, she slowly lowered herself into the darkness, every muscle in her body trembling as she began to climb down.
It seemed a lifetime before she reached the bottom. Mary whispered urgently, ‘Come on, miss, someone might come at any moment.’ Catching her mistress’s hand, she moved swiftly away past the front of the house.
Their steps crunched lightly on the wide gravel area before the entrance to the stable yard, but instead of taking Helen beneath the clocktower, Mary led her on around the outside, where the perimeter wall seemed impregnable, but at last they came to a wicket gate which creaked a little as it was opened.
As they stepped through the gate and into the shadowy coach house beyond, the moon came out, throwing a clear silvery light over the house and park, and illuminating the straw-strewn cobbles on the floor.
Horses tossed their heads nervously as the two stealthy figures slipped inside, and then Helen made out the shape of the coach, a two-seater berlin of an indeterminate dark color, but she thought it was green. Peter was crouching by the forelegs of one of the two chestnuts he’d harnessed, and she saw that he was tying cloth on to muffle the clatter of the hooves.
He straightened as they approached. ‘It’s all ready, miss. I can’t do anything about the wheels, but without the hooves there won’t be that much noise. No one goes around the back way, at least not often, and I reckon we can get across the park and into the boundary woods without being seen.’
‘I’m truly grateful to you, Peter.’
He grinned. ‘I owe you a favor, miss,’ he reminded her. ‘What Lord Swag took away, you replaced, and that means a lot.’ He went to open the berlin’s door, assisting them both inside, then closed the door very softly, not wanting to make any unnecessary sound that might raise the alarm. Next, he opened the doors of the coach house, peering out into the yard beyond before returning to lead the horses forward.
It seemed to Helen that the carriage wheels made a very loud noise on the cobbles, and she found she was holding her breath as Peter led the team across the shadowy, deserted yard and out past several outhouses to a track leading along behind the walled kitchen gardens.
Helen gazed back toward the house, listening for anything that might tell their escape had been discovered, but all was quiet, she could even hear an owl hooting somewhere. Turning to look ahead, she could see the open park, moonlit and exposed, and beyond it the dark silhouette of the boundary woods.
Reaching the end of the kitchen garden wall, Peter climbed onto the carriage box, taking up the reins. The berlin seemed to jolt forward as he urged the team into action again, taking the risk of making too much noise by bringing them up to a fast trot, rather than dawdle quietly along and be visible for too long from the house.
Helen crossed her fingers tightly, her eyes closed. The berlin swayed and bumped on the little-used track, the wheels rattling loudly, but the horses made hardly a sound. At last the trees enveloped them, shutting off the view, and she knew their escape was almost complete. The track was more rutted than ever in the woods, and the berlin lurched alarmingly from side to side, but the weather had been fine and there was no mud to bog it down.
There were gates ahead, set in the perimeter wall surrounding the estate, and because they were never used, there was no occupant in the silent lodge. Peter reined the team in, climbing quickly down to remove the muffles from the horses’ hooves and then go to open the gates. He’d somehow procured the padlock key, but the lock was so rusty it was some time before he persuaded it to turn. At last it gave way, and he began to haul the heavy gates open. The hinges creaked and groaned, the sound seeming to echo through the trees as if wanting to arouse the distant house. Peter led the team through, and then closed the gates again, locking the padlock and pocketing the key safely before resuming his place on the box. Then, taking his whip, he galvanized the team into action. The berlin flew forward, the horses coming swiftly up to a smart canter on the road that led toward Windsor, six miles away to the north.
Helen glanced at her watch. It was almost twenty to three, there were well over two hours to the allotted dawn time for the duel. Surely that was time enough for all she needed to do?
But although she didn’t know it, she only had just two hours, because she’d failed to wind her watch that day. It was a careless omission, and one she couldn’t know about, for although the watch was running slower and slower, it was still ticking reassuringly.
If she’d only realized at the time, Adam’s remark by the lake had been significant. He’d told her he hadn’t had anything more diverting to do than wait for her for the past three-quarters of an hour, but she’d been under the belief that she’d only been half an hour late. Her watch had been running fifteen minutes behind then; now it was running twenty minutes behind….
The berlin drove urgently through the night, but the time set for the duel, and for the St Johns’ departure, was closer than Helen knew.
CHAPTER 23
Windsor was quiet. The sound of the speeding berlin echoed loudly along the empty streets as the foam-flecked horses flung themselves into their collars, negotiating a sharp hill before turning at last into the main thoroughfare where the Golden Key inn occupied a prime site on the road to Oxford.
Street lamps threw a pale light over cobbles and pavements, and the bow-windowed shops were illuminated, showing off fine displays of wares. The officers of the watch stood idly in a corner, enjoying an illicit pipe of tobacco. One of them held a lantern, while the others had rested their staves against a wall. They straightened hastily as the berlin drove swiftly by, but then lounged again, determined to finish their smoke at their leisure.
The only other vehicle Helen saw was a bright-red ‘Planet’ stagecoach, bound for Maidenhead and High Wycombe, and it had evidently pulled out of the Golden Key yard only a minute before, for the coachman was urging the fresh team up to a smart pace, his whip cracking like a pistol shot over the otherwise peaceful street.
Peter began to rein the berlin team in, slowing to a trot as the brightly-lit inn loomed ahead. The Golden Key was a posting house, one of the best, and as a consequence was always a hive of activity. It was a splendid half-timbered building, with origins in the fifteenth centur
y, and its many upper story windows looked toward the castle. Another stagecoach emerged from the low way into the galleried courtyard, a light-blue one this time, and as it turned away in the opposite direction, Helen caught a glimpse of the words on its panels. Express. London. Windsor. Its lamps shone in an arc against the road ahead as it set off on its short journey to the capital.
Helen’s watch pointed to half past three as the berlin negotiated the entrance to the courtyard, the hooves and wheels making a din in the narrow way before emerging into the lamp-lit courtyard, where an ancient vine climbed high around three stories of wooden galleries. The inn was busy enough at all times to warrant two ticket offices, each one occupied by a meticulous clerk, and a number of passengers were waiting to be attended to at the glass windows of each.
There were two other stagecoaches in the yard, one waiting to depart, the other having arrived only a short time before, and with them was a third vehicle, one of the inn’s own fine post chaises. The chaise was black-paneled, its doors adorned with a distinctive painted golden key, and from the demeanor of its postboy and the attention being given to its team of four well-matched bays, it was preparing for a long journey. As the berlin halted and Peter came to open the door for Helen and Mary to alight, Helen distinctly heard the postboy grumble to an ostler that he hoped the coves he was taking to Falmouth weren’t scaly ones, as a thing he couldn’t stand at any price was a bad tipper.
Helen stepped down from the berlin, looking in alarm at the chaise. Falmouth? Surely there couldn’t be anyone else traveling to that destination from this inn? It had to be Ralph and his father, and if the chaise was anything to go by, she was only just in time!
