by Jo Beverley
Mark, indulging in the heavy sigh of a burdened servant, climbed into the ditch to haul up Nathan Boothroyd’s corpse. For a blessing, the ditch was muddy only at the bottom and Nathan’s clothing wasn’t sodden. The carter climbed down to help hoist the corpse into the back. Braydon pulled the travel rug from the floor of the curricle. “Baker, cover the poor man with this.”
Mark did, smiling at Braydon’s quick thinking. Any blood on it would be explained.
“Poor fellow,” Braydon said, observing from on high. “I hope the footpads responsible for this are hanged.” He gave the carter one of his cards. “My name is Braydon. Be so kind as to give this to whatever official takes the body. I will be willing to give any information I can, though I know no more than you do. Convey my regrets that my obligations mean I cannot linger hereabouts.” He offered some coins. “I know you’d do this duty out of Christian charity, sir, but I fear it will take you out of your way and you’re sparing me the same plight. Do please take these.”
The carter did. “Very considerate of you, sir. I’ll take care of ’im right enough.”
Mark joined Braydon on the front seat, and they set off at a brisk trot. They didn’t speak until they were on the Chester road, traveling fast toward Warrington, the carter far behind.
“Quick thinking,” Mark said. “But a damned nuisance.”
“You’re not the one whose name will be known to the coroner.”
“A situation when your fine style will play to your advantage. A less likely footpad is hard to imagine.”
“As long as the Selby party don’t take a hand.”
“If the body goes to Chester, they might never know about it.”
There was nothing to be done and they both put the matter aside. “That was a neat shot,” Braydon said.
“Heart in my mouth. This damned coat’s so tight I couldn’t raise my arm fully.”
“All the more credit to you, then.”
“It was only a matter of yards.”
“But with a lady close.”
Mark would remember that moment all his life. A frozen moment of fear, but Nathan Boothroyd’s gloved hand around Hermione’s throat had given him no choice.
“What now?” Braydon asked.
“Back to Warrington as we said. I have a seat on the midnight mail to London and you can continue your journey.”
“You won’t get rid of me so easily now. What do we do about the Frenchwoman? Won’t she wait for her bullyboy to return with her papers?”
Mark was so used to working alone he wanted to protest, but only a fool rejects good help, and he knew he’d made misjudgments today. He could use someone to analyze his ideas.
“She’d want to have them back,” he said, “but she needs to get Isaac to London in case the Spenceans arrive and his devious explosions are of use. We can check in Warrington whether she left or not. She’s not remarkable, but Isaac is.”
They went through the first toll gate and passed some slower travelers. “Why travel to London?” Braydon asked. “You’ll be in danger now you’re exposed as a traitor in their midst.”
“Not for long. These papers will bring them down. I want to be there.”
Braydon nodded, and they traveled on in comfortable silence with him clearly enjoying weaving around other vehicles and sometimes squeezing through an alarmingly narrow space. For pride’s sake Mark kept silent, but his grip was tight on the side rail.
Five miles out of Warrington they met a delay even Braydon couldn’t overcome. Ten brown cows were being moved from field to field, heavy udders swaying, and in no hurry at all.
Braydon relaxed back. “I’ve been thinking.”
“You can think when driving like that?”
Braydon’s lips twitched. “Stimulates my brain. How did the rabid beast know to pursue Lady Hermione and what direction to take?”
“I’ve been wondering about that, too,” Mark said, “during our relaxing cruise along the road. If Nathan returned to Solange and gave a clear report, he’d have mentioned seeing a woman in the innyard. Something about that must have caught her attention, sending her to the Lamb to investigate. She would have been desperate to get those incriminating documents back.”
“She picked up gossip about who the lady might be?”
“It’s the only explanation.”
“Including the direction of travel of her party?” Braydon asked skeptically.
Traffic was backing up behind them and one of the riders they’d passed, a young man with pretensions, came alongside with intent to get ahead. Braydon gave him a cold look and he turned to go back in the line.
Once the young man was out of earshot, Mark said again, “It’s the only explanation. The Lamb’s a small place, so there wouldn’t have been many parties. I saw only two coaches. I assume Sir William and Lady Selby talked to other guests and Solange found ways to get people to pass on what they knew.”
“To a stranger asking impertinent questions? A French stranger?”
“She’s clever and can appear so very decent and unassuming. If opportunity arises, she tells a sorry tale of escaping from the Terror and blesses Britain for giving her refuge.”
A cow veered toward the horses, which objected. Braydon had to work to steady them. “Damned beasts,” he said, not specifying. When all was calm again and the last cow was beginning to clear the road, he asked, “Could she have learned their precise destination?”
“How?” Mark asked. “But devil take it, you’re right. It’s possible. I should pursue the Selbys to warn them. Warn Hermione, at least . . .”
“But you need to get to London,” Braydon pointed out. “We’ll make enquiries at the Lamb. When that final bedeviled cow moves.”
At last they could move forward, and Braydon put his team to alarming speed.
“She can’t know,” Mark said, clinging on, wishing he believed his own words. When Braydon slowed the team, however, he said, “Carry on. I’ll gamble London is still her priority, but I’ll confirm at the Nag’s Head that she left when she should. And I’ll put these papers in the post. They’ll be safer there and reach London at the same time that I do.”
When they arrived in Warrington, they paused outside the post office while Mark went in. The letter would leave Warrington on the same midnight mail coach he planned to take, but lost amid the rest of the mail, it would be as safe as if in a vault.
That taken care of, they went on to the Nag’s Head, from which most of the London coaches departed. Mark was still in livery, so Braydon asked the questions. Solange and Isaac were a distinctive couple and had definitely left on a coach heading south.
“Only as far as Worcester, sir,” the ticket clerk said, and thanked Braydon for the shilling received.
“Any news of the disturbance in Ardwick?” Braydon asked the man.
“All came to nothing, sir, God be praised. Riot Act read and most dispersed. Those who resisted are in irons awaiting trial.”
“All’s well so far,” Braydon said as he took the reins again.
A stagecoach rolled in and the clerk announced it to be from Manchester to Liverpool. It was not overloaded. The coachman, in his many-caped greatcoat and woolen muffler, climbed down and received a steaming tankard from a cheerful maid. After the brief flirtation, the man merely observed as some of his passengers climbed out and claimed luggage, and others saw their bags and boxes stored and climbed aboard.
Braydon steered the curricle nearby and asked again for news.
“All over when I passed through, sir, but I hear it looked touchy for a while. The magistrates had the roads into town blocked, but people joined the gathering anyway and plenty were in a mood for trouble. The Riot Act was read and the soldiers moved in.”
“Many hurt?” Braydon asked.
“Shots were fired, that’s for sure, sir. And from what I hear
d tell, from both directions. Wicked, that, and sent honest folk scurrying for safety, which put an end to the whole. Some of those with weapons were caught and taken to Manchester in chains.”
As they left the innyard, Braydon said, “Looks as if your Solange will be disappointed.”
“Thank God for that. On to the Lamb.”
Again Braydon did the questioning, arrogantly summoning the innkeeper out to talk to him.
“I come from visiting Lady Sophinisbe Ecclestall, my good man, and she requested me to leave a small gift here for Lady Selby.”
Lady Sophonisbe’s name seemed to be magical. In association with the curricle, the innkeeper seemed in danger of prostrating himself.
“Alas, sir, alas. The Selby party left many hours ago!”
Fortunately he was too dazzled to wonder how the lady had known where the Selbys would stop.
“No matter,” Braydon said with a lazy waft of his hand. “I hope Sir William and his family are well and traveling smoothly?”
“I’d say so, sir.” Then the innkeeper added, “There was another enquiry about them, sir, and one that’s left me uneasy. A Frenchwoman, you see.”
“A Frenchwoman?” Braydon echoed with suitable astonishment.
“Aye, sir, who said as she’d recognized one of the ladies in the Selby party as an old friend, a Miss Wellingborough. The thing that’s been bothering me, sir, is that the lady in question was about half the age of the Frenchwoman. I’m not saying such a friendship is impossible, sir, but she was nosy about it. Very nosy.”
“Very astute of you, sir. There is no Wellingborough connected to the Selby family.”
“I thought so, sir! But she did seem to know things. She said they had family in Liverpool, which was almost correct.”
Clever Solange. This inn sat on the Manchester side of Warrington. Unlikely that anyone traveling to Manchester would halt here. Much more likely that they were traveling west and Liverpool would be the major destination.
“I assume you set her right,” Braydon said.
“I wasn’t of a mind to tell her anything, sir, but a clergyman who’d conversed with Sir William said as how they were going to Tranmere. I hope they make their destination before dark today, sir, but Sir William was set upon the shorter route even though I told him it would be faster in the end to go by Chester.”
“An odd incident,” Braydon said. “Did the Frenchwoman give a name?”
“I don’t believe as she did, sir. I hope she’s not up to anything.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve been thinking about invasion, sir. I know the French have signed for peace and we trounced them soundly, but with the Froggies you never know. If they tried again, happen it’d be through Ireland, and the coast near here is a likely place.”
Braydon nodded. “Be alert, sir, be alert. I feel sure our old enemy is cowed for now, but we must all be vigilant.”
The innkeeper almost saluted.
When they were in the street, Braydon said, “That’s how your Frenchwoman knew where to send her dog, and all from gossip.”
“Skillfully teased-out gossip. She’s a dangerous woman.”
“But safely on her way south. I’m sure you’re itching to pursue and overtake, but that won’t make the night mail arrive any sooner. Back to the Roebuck for a good meal. We’ve earned it.”
Mark was itching to turn back to the Wirral and make sure Hermione was safe, but he quashed that. Solange had left. All would be well.
As they settled to soup, Mark asked, “Who’s Lady Sophinisbe?”
“My grandmother. Daughter of a duke, but I suspect she’d be as awe-inspiring if born in a cottage. Eccentric as all get-out, but a name to be reckoned with. I hope that if any enquiries are made about me here that connection will be remembered.”
Mark smiled. “It’s a pleasure to work with you again.” The soup was again excellent, but after a few sips Mark put down his spoon. “It won’t do.”
“What?” Braydon asked with a hint of resignation.
“I can’t travel south and leave Lady Hermione unprotected.”
“Any danger is traveling south.”
“Solange is capable of hiring some local thugs and sending them off as a second wave of attack.”
“Local thugs to rescue sensitive papers?”
“Kill the woman. Kill the whole family. Burn down the house. Yes, I know it’s far-fetched, but Solange wouldn’t hesitate for fear of harming innocents. There’s another, more likely danger. If she discovered the Riverview House address, she’s fully capable of sending Lady Hermione an explosive letter there.”
“Why the devil haven’t you killed her?”
The blunt practicality made Mark laugh, though without humor. “That would make me as vile as she.”
“You shot Boothroyd.”
“With urgent reason. We’ve both killed in war and lost count, but cold-blooded murder’s a different matter, even when I can see the purpose.” Mark remembered the cooling soup and ate some more. “I’m going to follow Hermione’s route and ensure she’s safe.”
“What of your pressing need to be in London?”
“If the Spencean Crusade has crumbled, I can afford a few days’ delay. Solange will have no incident to exploit. I recruited Hermione, thus carelessly putting her in danger. I can’t do that again.”
“Again?”
It was something Mark tried hard to forget, but it had risen to the front of his mind. He sipped his wine.
“In Spain. A young widow. I was reconnoitering out of uniform. Spying, by definition. She sheltered me for one night, but then she sent me information. I shouldn’t have allowed it, but a body of French were in her area and her information was good.” He put the wineglass down and pushed it away. “They hanged her in front of her farm, doubtless after other atrocities.”
Braydon nodded. “Bad luck.”
“Luck? I shouldn’t have allowed it. I shouldn’t have stayed there.”
“Not everywhere you lodged led to disaster. War creates these monstrosities, but Lady Hermione is not in the middle of a war.”
“She shouldn’t be, but I dragged her there. This is a war, Braydon, between good and evil, law and chaos, and like any war, it doesn’t care about the innocents.”
“So you go to guard her? Indefinitely? Didn’t you say she detests you now?”
“With reason. I can guard her from a distance, but I must make sure she’s safe. No, I’m not insane enough to sit by her gate forever, but I need to hear from London that both Solange and Seth Boothroyd are there. Once that’s confirmed, if no other danger has appeared, I’ll leave her to her safe life and take up my work.”
Pigeon pie and potatoes were brought in and Braydon served them. Remembering Maria Rodrigo had soured Mark’s stomach, but he drank his wine and made himself eat. He’d be no use to anyone otherwise.
“I hesitate to mention this,” Braydon said, “but even without imminent revolution your knowledge of the Crimson Band is needed in London.”
“The letter will soon arrive, and I know nothing more than that about whatever Isaac plans for the gas. I included a note about the exploding letters.”
“What about the little things? Their individual natures and peculiarities. Their weaknesses and vulnerabilities. All the knowledge gained from a year in their company.”
Braydon was coolly pointing out where duty lay, but Mark couldn’t abandon Hermione in danger.
“I’ll guard your lady,” Braydon said.
“Without creating a stir?”
“I can attempt to blend in.”
Mark gave him a look. “Have you ever attempted a disguise?”
“I know my limitations.”
“And your strengths,” Mark said, serving himself more of the rich gravy. “Your remarkable memory. Knowledge can be in any container.”
&n
bsp; Braydon’s knife and fork paused. “You want to turn me into your encyclopedia?”
“If you have some spare room in that head of yours, I can tell you everything I know in the next few hours. But there’s more. When I return to London, I’ll have to lie low. Ned Granger’s been exposed as the traitor in the Crimson Band, so any of them will shoot me on sight. But you can work openly with Hawkinville and his team, knowing all I know. You did say you wanted some action.”
“True, but given the need for speed, I suppose you expect me to take your seat on the night mail.”
“Is that so terrible?”
“Yes, but one must be prepared to suffer for one’s country. Baker will enjoy driving my rig south, and he deserves some reward for the sacrifice of his livery.”
“I didn’t cause much damage.”
“I’ll buy him new.” Braydon refilled their wineglasses. “If the Frenchwoman and the chemist can’t be brought to trial quickly, I’ll kill them for you.”
Mark was surprised to be shocked. Such things had happened in the war. “In cold blood?”
“Makes for a steadier hand.”
“You won’t get near them. You won’t be in the Crimson Band.”
“I assume they walk the streets and someone can point them out to me. Pistols can work at a distance, and rifles at a greater one. I, too, am an excellent shot. You go to Tranmere,” Braydon continued, as if they’d been discussing the weather, “and I to London. I’ll send word when I’m sure the vile Solange and her mad chemist are safely engaged there, at which point you will be free to join me. May both our enterprises prosper.”
They clinked glasses and resumed their meal.
Mark couldn’t truly match Braydon’s cool manner, for he burned to leave for Tranmere. He didn’t see how danger could already be stalking Hermione, but couldn’t shed the fear that it could be on her heels now. That it could even have pounced. He couldn’t leave until he’d poured his knowledge into Braydon. Even for Hermione Merryhew, he couldn’t neglect his duty so completely.
Chapter 14
