by Caro Peacock
‘You’re convinced he killed Mrs Beedle too?’ Daniel said.
‘Sure of it. All his future, even his freedom, depended on pleasing his stepfather and making their plot succeed, and she was trying to stop it. Then there was that empty place opposite me at dinner.’
An empty place near the top of a table must be filled. Therefore, if somebody near the top of the table were called away on other business at the last minute, the place cards would be moved up and the gap left at the bottom instead. The son of the house had been otherwise employed.
‘I wish I’d been with you,’ he said.
‘There was no time.’
I didn’t ask the question that was in my mind: ‘What would you have done?’ We’re not allowed revenge any more. It belongs in savage myths and even then usually to men, seldom to women. Yet, remembering Amos Legge’s hand resting for a moment on my shoulder, I thought he’d understood. But I’d left him there. He’d given me no choice in the matter.
‘We must wait for Amos Legge when we get to Windsor,’ I said.
‘We’re not waiting for anybody,’ Daniel said. ‘We’ll be on the first coach to London. At least the magistrates there can’t all be Sir Herbert’s friends.’
‘I don’t think they can do anything against me now. They have too much to hide.’
‘Probably, but I’m not taking the risk.’
I said nothing, not wanting to quarrel with him before I must. As the sun came up, a thin mist rose from the meadows on either side. Rancie, who’d been so quiet, suddenly raised her head and whinnied. Mrs Martley’s eyes snapped open.
‘Who is it? Who’s after us?’
There were hoofbeats coming along the lane behind us at a steady canter. Daniel shouted to the driver to go faster, but he was more than half asleep and didn’t seem to hear. I turned and saw a heavy bay cob. He needed to be heavy because his rider was built like a young oak tree. I stood up and waved.
‘Mr Legge. Amos Legge.’
He came up beside us, bending from the saddle to untie Rancie from the back of the landau.
‘Morning miss.’
‘What happened?’
‘Back there, you mean? Couldn’t say. Didn’t think I was needed, so I went and left them to it. It’s taken me a while to catch up because I couldn’t puzzle out what way you’d gone, see.’
He grinned, touched his hat and fell in behind us without another word, leading Rancie beside him. A mile or so on, the lane turned on to a wider road and he came up alongside the landau.
‘Everything all right, miss?’
‘Yes, thank you. Mr Legge, what shall you do when we get to Windsor?’
My mind was heavy with the thought that we must part there.
‘I’ll see you and the gentleman on the London coach, then come on up with Rancie. The post boy can take the cob back to the livery stables.’
‘Then home to Hereford?’
‘No hurry about it, miss. Hereford’s not going to run away. Reckon I might see how London suits me for a week or two.’
I felt warmed by that, until a thought struck me.
‘We’ve forgotten the little cat. What will Rancie do without her?’
He smiled and undid the strap of his saddlebag. Two black paws hooked themselves over the edge of the bag and a pair of golden eyes blinked at the light. I looked from them to Amos Legge’s grin, then to Daniel’s concerned face, thinking that I was not after all so totally alone. True, I had no roof over my head, only one shoe, nothing in my purse and my only close relative was half a world away. Still, I had a horse, a cat, two friends and the sun was beginning to warm my face. As for the rest of my revenge, maybe Mr Disraeli would at least half-keep his half-promise. I could only hope for that. Amos Legge trotted on ahead, Rancie beside him like a horse treading on air. The walls of Windsor Castle were visible in the distance now, silver against the sun. I supposed little Vicky, if in residence, would be waking soon in her soft bed with all her servants round her. In spite of everything, I did not envy her.
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters
and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or
localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperCollinsPublishers
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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2007
Copyright © Caro Peacock 2007
Caro Peacock asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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ePub edition September 2008 ISBN-9780007279340
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