‘Don’t lean towards me, miss!’ he begged her. ‘Drop your head on to your knees so that, if yonder bruiser should happen to look in this direction, you won’t give the game away.’
‘How many of you are there?’ she asked, hurriedly doing as he had bidden.
‘Just me at the moment, miss, but I’m off to fetch help right away—I just wanted to tell you to sit tight and try not to worry.’
‘Thank you, Pete,’ came Georgianne’s now somewhat tremulous reply. ‘But, you will hurry, won’t you?’
‘Be as quick as I can, miss, I promise!’
And, with that, he was gone and all she could hear was the slight rustle of branches as their aspiring liberator slithered off into the undergrowth.
Barely half a minute later, Biggins’s stocky form appeared in the doorway, pistol in hand. ‘Tha’s righ’,’ he nodded, surveying the two silent captives with a satisfied grin. ‘You just si’ there nice and tigh’ and no ’arm’ll come to yer. Time fer yours truly to ’ave a li’l blow, methinks!’
He then moved away again but, to Georgianne’s intense disappointment, only to position himself against the wall of the bothy, scarcely three feet from the doorway, from which viewpoint, as she very quickly realised, it would be quite impossible for him to miss anyone who tried to approach the shelter. Added to which, she very soon realised, having heard the sounds of flint striking steel as the man lit up his pipe, his close presence now made it quite impossible for her to acquaint Fenton with the ostler’s worthy intentions.
Unfortunately, the possibility of Hopkirk returning before Andrews managed to summon up assistance was growing more likely with every passing minute. Had the ostler been on horseback? she then wondered. If not, it could be well over an hour before they could even begin to expect any help! At this disheartening thought, unbidden tears sprang into her eyes. Angrily blinking them away, she tried to console herself with the notion that at least Maitland must now be wondering where his cousin had disappeared to, for it was unlikely that he would think of leaving the district without him. Not that this was of any great significance insofar as Fenton’s and her own current situation was concerned, as she was only too well aware, but it was strangely comforting to think that Maitland was still somewhere close by and, with any luck, might even be at the inn when Andrews eventually showed up with his request for assistance! As the wildly imaginative vision of Maitland heading up a band of volunteers to rush to her rescue filtered its way into her brain, Georgianne could not help but raise a tiny smile. And, even though she was bound to admit that the whole idea was about as far-fetched as one could get from reality, it did, at least, give her something to concentrate her mind upon while she waited for the unknown destiny that Fate actually had in store for her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
No sooner had he satisfied himself that he was well out of Biggins’s earshot, Andrews got to his feet and broke into a run and, by cutting across the heathland by the shortest route possible, he very quickly reached the turnpike.
Slowing down his pace to a brisk march, in order to conserve his breath, he set off down the road towards Dunchurch. Although he was determined to seek help for the two captives, he could not help being somewhat anxious about the uncommonly long time he had absented himself from his duties in the stableyard. Not that he actually gave a damn about the job itself, he reminded himself with a grin since, come the morning, he knew he would be quitting it anyway. His real concern at this moment was that Cunliffe might simply dismiss his tale of kidnappings and hostages as some sort of feeble explanation for having failed to show up at his workplace.
Breaking into a jog-trot, he pressed on determinedly, fully resolved that, no matter what it took, he would make someone hear him out. With less than a mile and a half to go, by his reckoning, he rounded a steep curve in the road only to find himself having to leap for the grass verge in order to avoid being mown down by an oncoming horseman, who was galloping towards him at full tilt. But, as the horse swept past him, he had no difficulty in making out its rider. Wonder of wonders! It was none other than the major himself! If he could just get him to stop! Frantically waving his arms, Andrews ran back up the road yelling out for Maitland to halt.
But Maitland, having recognised his ex-sergeant, had already pulled his horse up and drawn to a halt. Wheeling round, he was, even now, making his way back to Andrews but, before the groom could speak, he burst out with, ‘Have you seen any sign of Mr Fenton’s carriage on this stretch of road, Pete?’
‘Thank God it’s you, sir!’ returned Andrews. ‘I was on my way to find you—they’ve got your cousin and Miss Venables tied up in the old bothy!’ He flung his arm in the direction from which he had just come. ‘It’s over by—’
‘I know it!’ interrupted Maitland tersely then, reaching into his pocket, he drew out a bag of sovereigns and tossed it down to the other man. ‘Take this and hire yourself a horse—steal one if you have to— but get over to the Hall as fast as you can and pass this information on to their lordships!’
Then, almost before the stunned ostler had had time to digest his command, he had turned his mount and was off across the moor as though all the devils in hell were on his tail.
Having already sacrificed several precious minutes of his time to call in at the Dun Cow in order to enquire after his runaway cousin whilst, at the same time, exchanging the vicar’s horse for his own, much more speedy Pegasus, it had been with a heavy heart that Maitland who, after emerging from the inn’s stableyard, had then been faced with the prospect of choosing from three possible routes to pursue. Surely, somebody must have seen the damned carriage go through, he had thought, grinding his teeth in frustration and promising himself that, if his traitorous cousin had harmed so much as a single hair on Georgianne’s precious head, the slimy toad would wish he had never been born.
Wearily casting these unproductive thoughts out of his mind, Maitland had then gazed about him for some sort of inspiration as to which road Fenton might have opted to take, since all three of them led to a major township. Unable to make up his mind, his eyes had fallen upon a noisy group of urchins who appeared to be squabbling over the rightful ownership of the heap of marbles that lay at their feet. Hardly daring to hope that one or other of these youngsters might have witnessed Fenton’s carriage pass by, he had quickly dismounted and, leading Pegasus over to the grass verge where they were engaged in their tussle, he had enquired, without a great deal of hope, ‘Any of you lads happen to notice a maroon carriage go by in the last fifteen minutes or so?’
‘Pulled by a couple of showy-looking greys, was it?’ one of the lads had returned, without looking up, his attention more fully engaged in the friendly pummelling of the young colleague upon whose back he had been straddled.
‘That’s right!’ Maitland had exclaimed, stepping closer. ‘Half a crown if you can tell me which way they went!’
Without hesitation, the boy’s head had snapped back and he had jumped to his feet, his eyes wide. ‘Shot straight over the crossroads without stopping, it did, and went up towards the heath!’ he had answered without a pause, his grubby paw held out in readiness to receive the unexpected fortune.
After tossing the promised coin to the waiting youth, Maitland had lost no time in leaping back on to his horse, whereupon, having urged Pegasus to give him everything he had, he had set off up the turnpike towards Dunsmoor Heath.
Thanking God for having sent Andrews to point him in the direction and, spurred on by the very real fear that Georgianne might be hurt or in some sort of danger, Maitland headed for the little clearing that housed the bothy, trying not to let the highly poignant memory of his last visit to that spot cloud his ability to think straight. Casting his mind back to the type of terrain that surrounded the building, he soon realised that anyone on horseback would be spotted long before the rider could reach the spot so, reining in alongside a couple of stunted oak trees, he tethered Pegasus to an overhanging branch and began to make his way on foot.
In much the same way as his ex-sergeant had done earlier, he drew on the many surveillance tactics that had served him well during his years on the Continent and, making use of whatever cover the rolling moorland had to offer, he crept stealthily towards his objective.
Eventually, having reached the clearing, he managed to conceal himself behind the trunk of one of several beech trees that were dotted about the area and anxiously surveyed the scene in front of him. Insofar as he could make out, there appeared to be only one man guarding the shelter, but that did not mean that there might not be several more of them somewhere in the near vicinity. All at once, a flash of blue sprigged muslin suddenly claimed his attention and his eyes flew across to the bothy’s threshold, from where a pair of shapely ankles, clad only in white stockings, revealed themselves! Realising that Georgianne’s presence was now indisputable, his heart leapt into his throat but, as to how many others were also inside the windowless building, he did not care to hazard a guess.
Only too conscious of the fact that it would be impossible to alert her of his presence without drawing attention to himself, he inched his way round to the rear of the bothy and, after extracting his pistol from his pocket, quickly and silently primed and loaded it for action.
Dropping to all fours, he manoeuvred himself to the corner of the building where, after a quick look round to ensure that his presence had not been observed, he stood up and raised his weapon. He was just about to take a pot shot at the guard’s shoulder blade when he heard Georgianne calling out.
‘Do you think that you might loosen these ties just a little, Mr Biggins?’ she was beseeching her captor. ‘This thin cord is cutting into my flesh most dreadfully and I can scarcely feel my fingers!’
Biggins, who had been puffing away at his pipe, engrossed in his usual daydream of getting hold of enough money to leave this very unsatisfactory life behind him and set up his own boxing salon—just as Gentleman Jackson had done—tutted resignedly and dragged himself to his feet. Couldn’t do any harm to slacken off the girl’s bindings at this stage, he thought to himself. When all was said and done, she’d been as quiet as a mouse and, in any event, Hopkirk would be back at any minute. Apart from which, as he had realised some time ago, if—God forbid—they should happen to get caught, it wouldn’t go well for either of them if the girl had been injured in any way—her being related to an earl and all!
Sauntering over, he bent down to inspect her wrists and could see that the twine was, indeed, just as she had complained, pressing cruelly into her tender flesh. Tucking his pistol into his belt, he began to fumble with the intricate knots, totally unaware of Maitland’s presence directly behind him.
On the other hand, Georgianne, whose eyes had been focussed over Biggins’s shoulder, as she had contemplated the pros and cons of trying to make a run for it, spotted him immediately. Her mouth dropped open and she let out a little squeak of surprise, only to have Maitland shake his head and press his finger to his lips. Hurriedly, she turned her excited squeak into a squeal of pain, causing Biggins to apply himself more diligently to his task. ‘Beg pardon, miss,’ he muttered. ‘Can’t seem ter ge’—OOF!’
He crumpled to the ground, the butt of Maitland’s pistol having smashed into the back of his skull, rendering him immediately unconscious.
Doing her best to edge herself away from the unpleasant spectacle at her feet, Georgianne was almost too afraid to ask Maitland if the man was dead.
‘Hardly,’ replied her rescuer as, stepping unconcernedly over Biggins’s prone form, he whipped out his penknife and began to saw at her bindings. ‘But he’ll have one hell of a headache when he comes to!’ Then, drawing her to her feet, he asked anxiously, ‘Are you all right? Did they hurt you?’
‘Not really,’ Georgianne hastened to reassure him. ‘Slightly sore wrists, that’s all.’ Suddenly, her eyes lit up and her lips parted in a wide smile. ‘I swear that I was never so glad to see anyone!’ And, before Maitland had had time to register her intention, she had flung her arms around him and was clinging to him so tightly that he could scarcely take a breath. It took every ounce of his self-control to stop himself returning her embrace as, clenching his teeth, he was forced to keep reminding himself that, after having suffered such a dreadful experience, the poor girl was clearly overwrought. He could not help but feel that any attempt on his part to take advantage of the present situation, highly enticing though it was proving to be, would render him as bad, if not worse, than his scoundrel of a cousin—quite apart from the fact it was Georgianne’s love that he wanted, not her gratitude.
Promising himself that he would wait for a more auspicious moment before declaring his true feelings, he gently disentangled Georgianne’s arms and reluctantly eased himself away from her hold. Steeling himself to ignore the expression of hurt bewilderment that appeared on her face, he stepped hurriedly away from her and swung round to confront Fenton who, with increasing impatience, had been waiting to be released from his own tortuous bonds.
‘Well, hurry up, man!’ he called querulously from his corner. ‘The other fellow will be back directly and then we’ll all be in the soup!’
Maitland shot him a venomous glare. ‘I’ve a damned good mind to leave you to whatever fate your lousy associates have in store for you!’ he grated. ‘After your diabolical behaviour this morning, you deserve to be well and truly whipped!’
‘Now, steady on, Will, old man!’ returned Fenton, looking only slightly abashed. ‘I wasn’t going to hurt Miss Venables—’
Georgianne, whose thoughts, until this point, had been entirely concerned with trying to come to terms with Maitland’s hurtful rebuff, drew in an indignant breath. ‘You were trying to force me to marry you!’ she exclaimed resentfully. Then, turning towards Maitland, she went on, ‘Your delightful cousin also spun Biggins out there and the other man, Hopkirk, some ridiculous tale about me being your uncle’s long-lost heir—he apparently owes a large sum of money to somebody called Allardyce and managed to convince our captors that my supposed inheritance is going to pay off the debt!’
‘Then it’s a great pity that he didn’t wait around long enough to discover that Melandra’s child is, in fact, Stephanie Highsmith!’ retorted Maitland, with a scornful laugh. ‘By that lady’s own admission, she and Fenton were set to elope this very evening! Hoist by his own petard, by God, and jolly well serves him right!’
Frowning slightly, Georgianne gave an indifferent shrug. ‘Whilst I can’t disagree with you there, might I suggest that any further discussion on the matter would be better left until a more convenient time? As your cousin has just pointed out, Hopkirk, along with who knows who else, may well be on his way here by now and I, for one, would prefer not to be here when he discovers what has happened to his colleague!’
‘Miss Venables is quite right, Will!’ cried Fenton, casting up an anguished look at his cousin. ‘Be a good fellow and unfasten these cords—you can take me to task later.’
‘You may be sure that I will, you snivelling coward!’ grunted Maitland, as he leaned over to apply his penknife to his cousin’s bonds. ‘If your suspicions are correct, we had better make haste—we still have to harness the horses to your carriage.’
‘Let’s just hope that the blasted springs aren’t completely jiggered!’ exclaimed Fenton, screwing up his face in agony as the blood slowly seeped back into the veins at his wrists. ‘Cost me a small fortune…’ His words petered out as he became aware of the none-too-friendly expression on his cousin’s face. ‘Yes, well, I dare say we’d better get on!’
‘Any idea what happened to your shoes?’ Maitland asked Georgianne, as they made their way across the clearing to the stand of trees where Biggins had parked the carriage.
‘I believe he tossed them into the bushes,’ replied Georgianne, nodding to a nearby patch of gorse. ‘I’ll get them.’
She started to turn, but Maitland, with a determined shake of his head, put his hand on her arm to stay her. ‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘Your hands
would get scratched to pieces.’
But hardly had he taken two steps towards his objective before the sound of approaching horses reached their ears. With no time to ponder as to the possible identity of the oncoming riders, he grabbed Georgianne by the hand and hurriedly dragged her back into the shelter of the bothy.
‘Stay here!’ he commanded her as, whipping out his pistol, he hurriedly cocked it, ready for action. Then, turning to Fenton, who had followed them, he asked, ‘Is your weapon still in its place under the driving- box?’
At his cousin’s nod, Maitland, after telling Fenton to follow him, sped across the clearing and, reaching under the seat, drew out the leather pouch that held the pistol, along with the ramrod and several cartridges.
Thrusting the pouch into his cousin’s hands, he hunkered himself down behind the body of the carriage and, after instructing Fenton to do likewise, said, ‘You keep them loaded and leave the firing to me.’
Less than half a minute later, Hopkirk, accompanied by two other men, swept into the clearing where, as soon as his eyes alighted upon the prostrate form of his companion, he leapt angrily from his horse, yelling, ‘What in the hell’s been going on here?’
Georgianne, having tucked herself into one of the far corners of the bothy, found herself trembling with uneasiness, due mainly to the fact that she was unable to see what was happening outside. There was a great deal of cursing and shouting and rushing about; then came a shot, followed quickly by a second and then a third! Then, suddenly, the sounds of more riders crashing through the undergrowth came to her ears, followed by the crunch of booted footsteps as someone approached the bothy! Fearing the worst, she hunched herself back against the stone wall, her fingers pressed tightly to her lips and her eyes closed, waited in silent dread for the expected retribution.
At the touch of a hand on her arm, she let out a gasp of horror and her eyes flew open, only to witness a smiling Maitland standing in front of her.
The Major and the Country Miss Page 23
