Black Sheep's Daughter

by Carola Dunn

  Muriel was silent, abashed, and in the quiet Teresa heard a twig break. She glanced round.

  Three scruffy men were bearing down upon them.

  She could not see their faces, wrapped in mufflers, but the middle one, the one with the horse pistol, looked vaguely familiar. The other two, one brawny, the second slight, waved cudgels.

  "Run, Muriel!" Teresa cried, struggling to draw her own pistols from the entangling folds of her cloak.

  Terrified, Muriel froze.

  Teresa grasped the gunstock. It was too late to draw. The ruffians were upon them; better that they should not know she was armed. She turned to flee, knowing the attempt to be in vain.

  The big man wrapped his arms about her. She kicked backwards at his shin, missing as he swung her round. Muriel was squirming in the scrawny man's grasp, her face so white she looked about to swoon.

  They both faced the third man now.

  "What do you want with us?" cried Teresa. "The Duke of Stafford is my uncle, you will never get away with this."

  "Oh, I know who you are, right enough, Miss Danville. I have been waiting a long time for this moment." He pulled down his muffler. "Captain Harrison, late of the good ship Snipe, at your service, ma'am."

  Chapter 18

  Teresa lay face down in mouldy straw in the bottom of a rickety farm cart. Her wrists were tied behind her, her ankles roped together, her cloak wound stiflingly about her head. In spite of the cloak, she could smell the manure the cart must once have carried. The empty sacks strewn on top of her did little to shield her from the glacial draughts that penetrated every chink in the ancient vehicle.

  She could not stop shivering. Though she tried to persuade herself it was just the cold, Captain Harrison's mocking sneer kept appearing before her mind's eye. He blamed her for his imprisonment, he had sworn vengeance, and yet when she learned of his escape she had done nothing. Every aching bruise told her she had been a fool.

  Muriel moaned.

  "Are you all right?" Teresa whispered. There was no answer. She risked a louder voice. "Muriel, are you all right?"

  "Stow yer whid," growled Brawny incomprehensibly, "or I'll bash yer 'ead in."

  "I don't 'old wiv bashing gentry coves," whined Scrawny. "We'll 'ave the Robin Redbreasts arter us, mark my words. If I'da knowed wot you wuz..."

  "That will do!" commanded Harrison. "The Bow Street Runners have been after me since I escaped that damnable hulk, and they've not caught a whiff of my traces yet. After this we'll be off to America, free and clear, and live like lords the rest of our lives. Hush now, someone's coming. Bert, climb over in the back and keep our little birds quiet."

  To judge by the way the cart swayed and creaked, Bert was the man Teresa thought of as Brawny. She felt his huge hand press down on the back of her head. It was impossible to breathe. Blackness closed in.

  When she regained her senses nothing had changed except that, if possible, she was colder. Though she still wore gloves and half-boots, her hands and feet were numb, both from cold and from the ropes cutting off the circulation.

  The painful journey seemed to have been going on forever, but she had caught a glimpse of the wretched nag pulling the cart and suspected that they were moving very slowly. The closer they were to Five Oaks, the better the chance of rescue. Yet that chance seemed slim, and what might not their vengeful captors do to them in the meantime? It was up to her to save herself and Muriel.

  With a jerk that rattled her bones, the cart stopped.

  "Bring 'em in, boys," Harrison ordered.

  Again the cart shook as the men climbed from the front bench into the back. Teresa was swung up onto Brawny's massive shoulder, her head hanging down his back, his arm about her thighs. Helpless she dangled there, feeling dizzy and sick, as he jumped down to the ground.

  The cloak slipped a little and she saw Scrawny pulling Muriel's limp form by the feet across the bed of the cart to the tailgate. "She's too 'eavy," the little man complained. "No way I can carry 'er."

  "I'll come back for 'er," offered Brawny. "You leave 'er there, Sid, and go put the prancer in the shed."

  "Prancer? You lost yer marbles? This nag's fit fer the knacker. Still, yer always wuz bright as a rusty nail." He went off muttering disapprovingly.

  Teresa stifled a hysterical giggle. Brawny Bert and Scrawny Sid made a charming pair.

  Despite her whirling head, she noted that they were in a clearing in a wood. The mud that squelched beneath Brawny's scuffed boots smelled of leaf mould. That and his torn coat were all she could see until they entered a ramshackle building. The floorboards were split and warped. The lower part of the whitewashed walls was grimy, and heaps of blown leaves lay in the corners. The rickety stairs protested loudly as Brawny thudded up them.

  Teresa's head hit the wall and she fainted again.

  She woke to find herself lying on a straw-filled palliasse in a tiny room. Her cloak had been unwrapped from her head and pulled roughly around her, so she could examine her surroundings. The room was open to the rafters, in fact open to the sky in one corner, but at least the floorboards seemed solid. The tiny window, high under the eaves, had no glass.

  On the floor nearby lay a battered valise with a ragged shirt cuff hanging out. A dented pewter mug lay beside it. Probably this was where Harrison slept, with his henchmen sharing another room. It could hardly be described as a bedchamber, but Teresa quailed at the realisation that she was lying helpless on her abductor's bed. Though she knew it would make no difference if he chose to ravish her, she rolled off the thin mattress, becoming thoroughly entangled in her cloak.

  Wriggling in an effort to find a more comfortable position, an impossible task with her hands and feet bound, she felt the hardness of her pistols jabbing her ribs. At least they had not found them, though she could not reach them.

  Then she heard the stairs protesting again. She hoped it was Brawny bringing Muriel to join her.

  On the other hand, it might be Harrison. She swallowed convulsively as a spark of terror shot through her. Forcing her tense body to lie limp, she closed her eyes. Surely he would leave her alone if he thought her in a swoon.

  Heavy footsteps entered the room, followed by a thump and a grunt. She opened her eyes the merest slit. Brawny had dumped Muriel on the floor and was standing hands on hips looking down at her.

  Muriel lay motionless, insensible. Her face was white, with a bruise on her chin and a trickle of blood running down from the corner of her mouth.

  "What have you done to her?" cried Teresa, trying to sit up.

  Brawny turned to look at her and grinned nastily. "The guv'nor don't care tuppence if this 'un sticks 'er spoon in the wall. It's you 'e's int'risted in. The guv'nor don't take too kindly to them as queers 'is pitch." He nudged her with his foot. "Us is gonna 'ave a bit o' fun wi' you once we gets our fambles on the rhino."

  "Rhino?" Teresa did her best to ignore the rest of his speech, insofar as she’d understood it.

  "'Is lordship reckons the dook'll come down 'andsome if 'e thinks 'e's gonna get 'is pretty niece back in one piece."

  "Lord Carruthers? Is he behind this?"

  "Guv'nor never told us 'is name," said the villain indifferently. "Reckon it don't matter if you guessed, for you'll not be squeaking beef when we'm done wi' yer. Sid's off wi' the ransom note already. This time termorrer, us'll be swimming in mint-sauce, and you ain't gonna be worrying about it." Grinning again, he bent down and squeezed her breast with his huge, filthy paw. "There, just to keep yer going," he added with a wink.

  Teresa felt her gorge rising and prayed she would not vomit. Her only defence was to pretend to faint.

  She heard his footsteps going towards the door. "Feeble creeturs, them gentry morts," he muttered. "Ain't gonna be much fun if she keeps passing out."

  Thud of wood on wood as he barred the door, again the stairs creaked, then there was silence but for the distant rumble of voices.

  * * * *

  Andrew found the falling sno
w soothing. It drifted gently down, too slow and light to impede his progress. The miles between London and Five Oaks disappeared beneath his chestnut's hooves, and Rowson kept pace a few strides behind him.

  The calming influence was welcome. He was feeling distinctly unsettled. In London he had reached a decision which was bound to change his life, but how and to what degree depended on others.

  They rode through Dorking, then took the right-hand branch in the road at Kingsfold. Ten miles to go. It stopped snowing and Andrew gazed round in wonder at the white landscape. He had spent the last two winters in hot climates and had forgotten the beauty of snow-clad hills and trees. Teresa would be astonished and, with her usual enjoyment of new experiences, delighted.

  Reaching Five Oaks, they rode directly to the stables. The groom who took his horse seemed to be in the throes of strong excitement. "Aye, sir, I'll see un rubbed down proper an' all. 'Tis a terrible business, sir!"

  "What is? What has happened? I have been away for several days."

  "Why, the young ladies, sir! Miss Danville and Miss...the one wi' golden curls. Disappeared, clean as a whistle. They say his Grace is in a fair pucker, not rightly knowing what to do, and young Lord John ready to ride out in all directions. I'm just off now meself, searching."

  He spoke to Andrew's rapidly departing back, but Rowson paused to demand further details before following his master into the house.

  A dreadful hollow filled Andrew's chest as he strode towards the front hall. If this was more of Teresa's mischief, he would strangle her, he swore. And this time she had managed to tangle Muriel in her coils. He had a feeling it was Muriel though Miss Kaye also had golden curls.

  But no, though she was sometimes heedless Teresa would never deliberately set out to worry her relations, nor to involve her gently nurtured friend in her escapades. If they were missing, they were in trouble. Perhaps even in danger.

  Several servants were gathered in the hall. The butler stepped from the agitated group as Andrew appeared. "His Grace is in the library," he said, without a word of greeting. His usual poker face was creased with concern. "It's a shocking business, sir."

  Andrew nodded his thanks and hurried to the library. He found there all the gentlemen and several ladies of the party. The duke was standing by the fireplace, studying a torn scrap of paper with an air of desperation.

  "There is no clue here," he said, his voice weary. "Ah, Graylin, I am glad to see you. Perhaps you can see something we have missed."

  "Tell me what has happened. Just a minute, Marco, let me hear the whole thing."

  Marco had bounded to his side and was twitching at his sleeve. "I must talk to you," he hissed.

  "In a minute. Hush."

  Lord Danville took it upon himself to explain the situation in his long-winded way. "It seems Teresa and Mur...Miss Parr went walking this morning. They mentioned that they were going to the lake to test the ice. When they did not appear at luncheon we sent out a couple of men, who found no sign of them."

  "The ice!"

  "Unbroken. Our first thought, naturally, was that they might have fallen through. We then sent out gardener, footmen and grooms, all the menservants, in all directions, in case they had lost their way. It had started snowing by that time, and there was little hope of seeing them, but what else could we do? Then, just ten minutes ago, this demand for ransom arrived. They have been abducted, and the villains want ten thousand pounds for their return."

  "I shall pay, of course," said the duke heavily.

  "Who brought the note?"

  "An ostler from the Six Bells in Billingshurst. He did not know who sent it. We shall send the search in that direction, of course."

  "Likely they expect that and used that inn to draw us off the trail," said Lord John. "Remember the note says to take the ransom in the opposite direction."

  Marco plucked at Andrew's sleeve again. "I must talk to you!" he insisted, his eyes pleading.

  Andrew looked at him. The boy was frantic, his face dead white. "Excuse us for a moment."

  "Use my study," the duke offered. "I hope you have something useful to say, young man, for otherwise we are at a standstill."

  * * * *

  "Muriel!" The blue eyes opened. "Thank God you are alive!" Teresa said on a sob.

  "I did not want him to know I was conscious. What a dreadful man! What are we going to do?"

  "Do?"

  "You always know what to do, and then do it. Andrew told me he had rather be in a tight place with you than with any gentleman of his acquaintance."

  Teresa flushed. "He said that? Well, your faith in me is touching, but I have never before been abducted by three villains and tied hand and foot in a ruined cottage in the wilds of Sussex."

  Muriel looked frightened but said bravely, "I know you will think of something."

  "As a matter of fact I do have an idea, only it depends so much on chance I cannot like it. At least I still have my pistols."

  "Your pistols! What an Amazon you are, Teresa! Not that I am not profoundly thankful, since I am in this fix, that you are with me."

  "I am astonished that you are not in hysterics," said Teresa frankly. "Your nerves were overset when I stopped that dogfight, and you did not even see it."

  "Mama taught me that gentlemen prefer delicate sensibilities in a young lady. There are no gentlemen here."

  "Unfortunately."

  "Do you think they will search for us?"

  "Of course, but I cannot think they will find us except by the merest luck. Listen, let me tell you my plan, if it can be called a plan, just in case we have a chance to try it." She explained what Muriel would need to do if the opportunity arose.

  "I will try. It does seem unlikely that everything will work out right. I hope you will try to think up an alternative."

  "Believe me, I do not intend to wait like a lamb for the slaughter!" Teresa assured her grimly.

  They fell silent, recalling the big man's words. Teresa tried to put her mind to devising another plan of escape, but it kept returning to his face as he bent over her, the feel of his hand on her.

  "It's snowing," said Muriel. "Look, a few flakes are coming in through the hole in the roof. I am so cold. I have not been able to feel my hands and feet this age."

  "Perhaps we can roll over next to each other." A flash of memory brought Teresa the comforting warmth of Andrew's closeness that day on Mount Irazù. She had thought she was cold then! If only he were here, she would be perfectly happy to let him rescue her to his heart's content. But he was in London and did not even know she was in danger. It was all up to her. "At least the exercise will warm us," she said, beginning to squirm towards Muriel.

  "You look like a caterpillar."

  If their giggles were subdued, it was still better than weeping. They managed to reach each other, but their tied hands made it impossible to get close enough to be useful. In the end they lay back to back, their shoulders pressed together, trying to pretend that the minimal warmth of that contact was spreading throughout their bodies.

  "I'm terrified," confessed Muriel suddenly in a shaking voice. "I shall never again pretend to be frightened when there is nothing to be frightened of. I do not know how you can be so brave."

  Teresa was terrified too, but admitting it could only distress her friend further. "Taking into consideration the atrocious situation in which we find ourselves, your composure is admirable," she said with deliberate pomposity. "Andrew would be prodigious proud of you."

  "And...Tom?"

  "And Tom." She sighed. "You really love him?"

  Her only answer was an unhappy sniff. The silence that followed was broken by the complaint of the dilapidated stairs.

  * * * *

  Marco started talking as soon as the connecting door between library and study closed behind them. "Andrew, I'm certain it is Harrison. I read in a newspaper an age ago that he escaped, but Teresa told me not to bother you with the news."

  "Why have you not told your uncle? At
least here is a clue of sorts." Hope mixed with dread as Andrew remembered the slaver's threats.

  "He would not listen to me privately, and you know how determined Teresa was to keep that business secret. If you had not come, I must have blurted it out before everyone."

  "The duke knows about the Snipe already. Anyone else? What of your cousins?"

  "John knows. I think Cousin Tom does not."

  "Well, he is not like to spread the news, and the more heads put together the better." Andrew opened the library door. "Your Grace, Danville, Lord John, a word with you, if you please."

  The duke and his sons hurried to join them.

  "Uncle, I'm sure it's Harrison, the slave captain. He escaped before he was transported."

  Lord Danville looked at Marco blankly, then turned to his father. "What is this, sir?" he asked, frowning.

  Lord John, Marco and Andrew all started talking at once. Andrew won. He told a brief version of the rescue of the slaves from the Snipe, and then Marco went on to describe the trial, and explain how he had read about Harrison's escape in the Times.

  "I was going to tell you, uncle, but Teresa thought it unimportant. I wish I had! So you see, it must be Harrison, and I daresay Lord Carruthers has a hand in it too."

  "Carruthers! What has he to do with this?" asked Lord John, surprised. "I know he's a dirty dish, but kidnapping is going a bit far!"

  "Harrison named him as the owner of the Snipe," said Sir Andrew. "You know him?"

  "He is a neighbour, unfortunately," Lord John told him.

  "He cannot blame Teresa for the loss of his investment,” Andrew said, frowning. “The naval pursuit of his vessel caused Harrison to scuttle her. But without Teresa’s intervention the Africans would have drowned without Captain Fitch having proof of their existence. However, he might hope to recoup something from the ransom, and then leave Harrison to wreak vengeance."

  "Vengeance?" The duke paled.