Meg Alexander

by The Gentlemans Demand

  ‘We might stay here, Matilda,’ one of the men suggested. ‘The food is excellent, and it will be much cheaper than the town.’

  ‘Penny-pinching again, husband?’ the lady sniffed. ‘I must be at Brighton. My doctor insists upon it.’

  ‘My dear, you can’t intend to go on with his nonsensical suggestion of winter bathing? In this weather? Why, it is like to kill you.’

  The lady would not be swayed. ‘Much you would care,’ she snapped. ‘Dr Deaton has a splendid reputation and he knows my condition well.’

  ‘Be it on your own head!’ Her husband threw up his hands. He was not prepared to argue further. Then the other gentleman intervened.

  ‘It may be as well to go on,’ he suggested. ‘If it should snow we might be trapped here for a sennight.’

  ‘A week in this place?’ the woman cried in anger. ‘I won’t have it! We must leave at once.’

  Sophie saw them off without regret. She was in full agreement with the sentiments of the lady’s husband. Anyone foolish enough to immerse themselves in the icy waters of the English Channel in the dead of winter was asking for trouble, whatever their doctor’s orders.

  Then she smiled. The woman might try the treatment once, but she doubted if the experiment would be repeated. There were other diversions in Brighton which would be much more to her taste and would provide a more agreeable cure for her ailments, real or imaginary.

  So far things were going well, but one hour later a coach driver came in with news that his coach had overturned a mile away. The horses were down and the vehicle had toppled into a deep ditch with the passengers trapped inside.

  The driver was badly shaken, half-blinded as he was by blood pouring from an ugly cut across his brow.

  Sophie dispatched Hatton’s coach, with Reuben at the reins. She sent the rest of her male servants with him, laden with ropes and chains. Then she turned her attention to the injured driver.

  The wound was not as deep as she had at first suspected, but she bathed it carefully before winding a bandage about the pad she’d used to staunch the blood.

  Preoccupied with her task she hadn’t noticed that she was no longer alone. Mindful of Hatton’s sovereign remedy for shock, she reached for a bottle of brandy. Then she gasped. Behind her the room had filled with a group of silent men.

  Sophie smiled at them uncertainly. They were too quiet and unlike any customers she had seen before. All of them wore loose clothing, but beneath it she could see that they were heavily armed.

  ‘I’ll be with you in a moment,’ she promised. ‘This man has been injured in an accident. I’ll ring for someone to take care of him.’ Despairingly she reached out towards the bell-pull, knowing full well that only Nancy or Abby would be likely to appear. She herself had sent her menfolk away.

  ‘No need for that. Yon chap has fainted.’ One of the men twitched the bell-rope away from her. ‘Bad luck to have an accident like that!’ He gave his companions a knowing wink.

  Sniggers were followed by loud guffaws. Then one of the men walked past her, taking bottles of spirits from the shelves and handing them to his companions.

  ‘Just saving you the trouble of having to serve us, ma’am!’ he leered.

  Sophie was thinking fast. She had no weapon with her. In any case, a single pistol would be useless against this mob. She must rely on her own wits. Pray heaven that Nancy did not come to find her. The men were downing gin and brandy as if it were water. At this rate they would be intoxicated within the next half-hour. She knew what that could mean. Both she and Nancy would be at risk, and Abby too.

  ‘You are welcome to help yourselves,’ she said pleasantly. Nothing in her voice betrayed her terror. ‘Would you like some food?’ It was all she could think of. Food might help to keep them sober.

  ‘It wouldn’t come amiss!’ The man who had handed out the bottles reached out to finger her brooch. ‘That’s a nice piece, mistress. Did you get it from your fancy-man?’

  Sophie’s anger made her incautious. ‘No!’ she snapped. ‘I am a widow.’

  ‘Now there’s a shame!’ A dirty hand caressed her cheek. ‘A good woman going to waste, I call it!’ The hand strayed to the bodice of her gown, tugging it so that the buttons flew in all directions.

  Sophie slapped his hand away, to the accompaniment of a shout of laughter from his friends.

  Her anger seemed to inflame him further. He slipped an arm about her waist, drawing her close. His fingers were entwined in her hair, forcing back her head as he bent to kiss her.

  Sophie lost all her fear of him. Now she fought him like a cat, biting and scratching at his eyes, but she was no match for his superior strength. He forced her back until she was laying across a table. Then his hands tore at her skirts.

  Suddenly, Sophie heard a grunt and a dull thud. She struggled upright to find her attacker lying at her feet as if he had been pole-axed.

  ‘My apologies, ma’am,’ a cultured voice remarked. ‘This was an unfortunate incident. The shock must have been severe. Won’t you sit down whilst I fetch you a restorative?’

  Still dazed, Sophie looked at the speaker. She saw a man not much above middle height and no longer young. Silver-haired, and thin to the point of emaciation, he had the face of an ascetic or some tortured mediaeval saint.

  Now the blue eyes smiled encouragement at her. ‘You are quite safe,’ he said. ‘Those animals are gone.’

  Sophie looked beyond him to find that the room was indeed empty, apart from her companion. ‘I have to thank you,’ she said weakly. ‘Foolishly, I left myself without protection. My men are attending some accident further up the road.’

  Then she remembered the smiles and winks when the accident was mentioned. ‘I think they caused it,’ she said heavily. ‘But why, I can’t imagine.’

  ‘Possibly they hoped to commit a robbery?’ he suggested.

  ‘Then why come here?’

  ‘The arrival of your men must have frightened them away. This inn must have seemed the next best target.’

  It all sounded very plausible, but Sophie was unconvinced. She sensed that her unwelcome visitors were members of the smuggling fraternity, but no approach had been made to her about the disposal of the goods still hidden in her cellar.

  Her rescuer handed her a glass of brandy, and Sophie pulled a wry face. If gentlemen continued to ply her with drinks in this way, she might get a taste for the spirit which she disliked so much. Still, she could not refuse such a kindly act, and she took a sip to please him.

  ‘Well done!’ He bent to retrieve the brooch which was lying at her feet. ‘This is yours, I believe?’ He was careful to avert his eyes and looking down, Sophie could understand why.

  Stripped of its buttons, the front of her gown was gaping wide, revealing an expanse of snowy chemise. She jumped to her feet, holding the edges of the cloth together.

  ‘Excuse me!’ she murmured in confusion as she fled the room.

  Chapter Eight

  Unwilling to explain the damage to her gown, Sophie didn’t summon Abby to help her change. It was but the work of a moment to slip out of the ruined garment.

  She had selected another one and was fastening the buttons at her wrists when she heard a sudden scream. It came from the stable-yard and her first thought was for Kit.

  She dashed to the window and caught her breath in horror. Her gentlemanly rescuer was thrashing the man who had attacked her with appalling ferocity.

  A bloody weal ran across the victim’s face. It had narrowly missed his eyes, and he’d put up his hands to protect them. It didn’t save him. Even as she watched a second savage blow drove him to his knees.

  Sophie didn’t hesitate. She fled down the stairs and out into the yard, catching at the upraised arm as the whip threatened to come down again.

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Please stop! You shall not do this, sir!’

  With his arm still raised, the man swung round and Sophie flinched away in terror as she waited for the blow to fall on he
r defenceless head.

  It did not, but her terror did not lessen as she looked up into the gaunt face. The blue eyes were empty of expression. She might have been looking through a pane of glass into the void beyond. This was the true face of evil, and she knew in her heart that this was one of the men whom Hatton sought.

  Without another glance at the bleeding wretch upon the ground, he took Sophie’s arm and led her indoors.

  ‘I am sorry that you had to witness that, ma’am. A beating is all that these animals understand…’ He was all solicitude as he helped her to a chair.

  ‘There was no need for it,’ she whispered faintly. ‘I was unharmed.’

  ‘The creature needed a sharp lesson,’ he told her. His eyes had never left her face. ‘May I make a suggestion?’ He didn’t wait for her reply. ‘Don’t leave yourself without protection. You must have men about the place.’

  ‘I have,’ she said weakly. ‘But there has been an accident. They are gone to help.’

  ‘All of them?’

  She nodded. Then she realised the folly of that admission. ‘They will soon return,’ she said quickly.

  The gentleman studied his perfectly manicured hands. Then he looked up and smiled. ‘I must be on my way, ma’am. I stopped only to bait my horse, but I am glad to have been of service to you.’

  Sophie tried to detain him. If she was right and this was Hatton’s quarry, she should try to question him.

  ‘I am so grateful to you, sir. Won’t you take some refreshment before you leave? It is a bitter day.’

  He bowed. ‘Too kind! I have my failings, Mistress Firle, but a fondness for alcohol is not one of them.’

  ‘Then a dish of tea, perhaps?’

  ‘I thank you, but I must refuse. I have some way to go today.’

  Sophie followed him along the passageway which led out to the stables, still intent on persuading him to change his mind. She was very much afraid of the strange visitor, but she had promised to help Hatton and she would keep her word.

  Then an arm slid about her waist and a large hand covered her mouth to stifle a shriek, as she was drawn into the shadow of a dark recess.

  ‘No,’ a deep voice whispered. ‘Let him go! He will be back, you may be sure.’

  ‘You?’ Sophie swung round to find herself face to face with Hatton. ‘When did you return?’

  ‘Some few hours ago,’ he told her carelessly. ‘You seemed to be handling matters well, so I did not show myself.’

  Sophie was speechless with indignation, and in the darkness she saw the gleam of white teeth as he grinned at her.

  ‘Why, you—’ she began.

  ‘Hush, and listen…’

  The stranger was evidently speaking to his so-called groom. ‘I blame you, Welbeck,’ he said in glacial tones. ‘Had it not been for that drunken fool, we might have been loaded and away by now. How came you to let the men indoors?’

  ‘They were all but frozen, master,’ came the abject apology. ‘There ain’t much traffic on this road. We had to wait for hours for a coach to come along, but we overturned it with a rope across the road, just as you said.’

  ‘And you expect congratulations? Why, you lout, for all the good it did we need not have troubled. I needed time to make my case for the removal of our goods, and that you did not give me.’

  ‘Yon’s nobbut a girl,’ the man said scornfully. ‘You could have knocked her on the head.’

  Sophie heard a chilling laugh and then a yelp as the whip was used again. ‘Watch your mouth, Welbeck,’ his employer advised. ‘You are speaking of a lady…and a lady whose help we shall need in future operations. Now fetch my horse.’

  ‘Must Walt go with us, master? He’s bleeding bad and almost blind.’

  ‘I should have killed him,’ came the brief reply. ‘Knife him or bring him with you. Either way he can’t be left here. I don’t trust a drunkard.’

  Sophie turned and buried her face in Hatton’s coat. She was appalled by the raw ferocity in the speaker’s tone.

  ‘He seemed so kind at first,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t suspect him in the least…’

  Hatton found himself stroking her hair. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m here. You are quite safe.’

  Sophie bristled as memory flooded back. ‘You weren’t here when I needed you,’ she accused. ‘And what did you mean when you said that I was handling matters well? I was attacked and might well have been raped—’

  ‘I think not,’ he said lightly. He did not mention how close he’d come to rushing to her rescue, and ruining his own plans.

  ‘You seem very sure of that,’ she told him bitterly. ‘Am I so ill favoured that no man would touch me?’

  He hugged her to him then and she could feel the laughter bubbling in his chest.

  ‘Typically feminine!’ he teased. ‘No, my dear, you are not ill favoured and you know it well enough. Allow me to tell you that it is a privilege for any man to hold you.’

  Sophie struggled out of his grasp. ‘I hate you!’ she cried. ‘I wish that I might never see you again…’

  Hatton followed her into the parlor. ‘That’s sad,’ he observed with a twinkle. ‘I was hoping that my reappearance might be welcome. Must I go away again?’

  ‘No!’ she exclaimed in alarm. ‘I mean, it is your duty to stay until the danger is over.’

  ‘Quite right, ma’am! Well, then, let us get down to business. What have you discovered?’

  ‘Nothing!’ she told him flatly. ‘I am useless as a spy. They tricked me all too easily. I let all the menfolk go to help out with this so-called accident—’

  ‘Not quite all of them. My own men were undeceived. They were hiding in the barn in case of trouble.’

  ‘And what do you call trouble, Mr Hatton? It seems to me that your idea of danger is curious to say the least.’

  ‘Had you proved recalcitrant, you might have been abducted—that is, until you came to your senses and agreed to their demands.’

  ‘And that would have been acceptable to you?’

  ‘No, it would not!’ Hatton had reached the limits of his endurance. Now he walked towards her and lifted her face to his. Then he kissed her long and tenderly.

  ‘Does that answer your question?’ he asked in a low voice.

  Sophie broke away from him in a panic, drawing her hand across her mouth as if to wipe away the touch of his lips.

  ‘Despicable!’ she cried. ‘How dare you insult me so? If I were a man I’d call you out!’

  Hatton regarded her for a long moment. ‘If you were a man I should not have kissed you,’ he said reasonably. ‘Have you forgotten our plan?’

  ‘Who were you convincing of your ardour this time?’ she snapped. ‘No one is observing us.’

  ‘I thought I heard approaching footsteps, ma’am.’ His eyes were dancing. ‘Anyone might have entered the room.’

  ‘Liar!’ Her anger was directed as much against herself as at him. With his mouth on hers she had wanted to throw her arms about his neck and hold him close as long-forgotten passions fired her blood. Such weakness was humiliating.

  ‘Take care!’ she cried. ‘After today’s experiences it would not take much to persuade me to take my son and leave this place, whatever the consequences.’

  ‘Would you be so foolish?’ he enquired mildly. ‘I think not. Some of your experiences have been unpleasant, but not all of them, I trust. You seem to be none the worse for them.’

  A glance at her face showed him her heightened colour, but at least she’d lost that look of terror which the stranger had inspired in her, and Hatton was satisfied.

  ‘Now, let us a call a truce,’ he cried. ‘Can you tell me nothing more?’

  ‘No! I had no time to move among the men on the chance of discovering their destination.’

  ‘It is no matter,’ he mused. ‘The first approach has been made. When our friend returns he will have some plausible reason as to why his goods are stored in the cellar here. Don’t be too eager to belie
ve him…’

  ‘You mean I should ask him for some proof of ownership?’

  Hatton laughed. ‘He will have nothing in writing, Mistress Firle, but he’s no fool. As we heard, he would rather have you with him than against him. I would expect him to counter your objections with some hints as to how a penniless widow might provide herself with a comfortable living.’

  ‘But what shall I say?’ she cried in desperation.

  ‘Let us play it by ear. The important thing is that you allow him to persuade you to let him move the cargo.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then I shall follow him to his destination.’

  ‘Suppose he should recognise you, sir? Clearly, you have been connected with the authorities for some time.’

  ‘Worried about me, ma’am? I am flattered.’ Hatton saw the glowering look upon her face and laughed. ‘The gentleman does not know me by sight. It is only in this past year or so that I have taken on these duties.’

  ‘And before then?’

  ‘I was with Wellington in Spain, Mistress Firle. My brothers are still there.’

  Sophie was surprised. It was the first time Hatton had spoken of his family. ‘That must be a worry for you,’ she told him with quick sympathy. ‘The campaign is said to have been hard-fought…’

  ‘It isn’t over yet,’ he told her grimly. ‘I had no wish to leave, but it was felt that I could be of more use here.’

  ‘But why you?’

  ‘There are family reasons. My grandfather was instrumental in breaking up the Hawkhurst Gang. You will have heard of them?’

  Sophie shuddered. ‘Were they not murderers to a man?’ she asked in faint tones. ‘But that was fifty years ago.’

  ‘Little has changed. My father carried on the work, but he has paid for it. When his house was fired he suffered serious injury.’