“Poor child,” said Consuela sympathetically. “What a horrid time you have had, to be sure. But at least now you are going back to your own country.”
“If ever I reach there alive,” he sighed.
She put down the mug of chocolate and stood, shaking out her skirts. “I mean to make sure of that!”
“Where are you going?”
“To report this business to our captain.” She clung to the end of a bunk as the vessel slid down a wave.
He stared at her. “Do you not feel sick? After eating all that, I would think you’d be green.”
“Oh, no. I’m a good sailor. My father used to take me with him when he went fishing. Sometimes, it was very rough. Shall you be all right while I am gone?”
The boy stammered uneasily, “Suppose—he comes back?”
“Hide. Once I’ve told the captain about that wicked man, he’ll never dare touch you, and if—” She paused, it occurring to her that the captain might be surprised to hear such a tale from a lady who had no ticket and was really no more than a stowaway on his vessel. Her heart jumped when somebody jerked at the door handle.
“Here he comes!” cried Pierre shrilly.
Consuela gave a gasp, looked around desperately for some kind of weapon, and snatched up a silver-handled umbrella.
The door burst open. A tall, handsome gentleman came in, taking off his hat and ducking his auburn head as he stepped over the threshold. His fine eyes widened as they fell upon Consuela, umbrella raised threateningly.
“Qui êtes-vous, Madamoiselle?” he demanded with a frown.
“Do not dare attack this child!” cried Consuela, swinging the umbrella higher.
Pierre screamed, “Papa!”
“What?” gasped Consuela.
The boy raced to throw himself into the newcomer’s arms, shouting in French, “I found her hiding in the hold, Papa! She made me bring her here and buy her food! She is an English spy!”
8
Dawn crept in while the men were still searching. They were all tired and cold, but there was no thought of giving up hope. Vespa was scouring the wilderness area lying between his land and the preserves of Lord Alperson. He was hoarse from calling Consuela’s name, and tormented by fears that grew ever more terrifying as hour after hour passed without a trace of her. Plunging into dense shrubs and copses had made riding impractical, and he’d been on his feet for most of the night, a lantern held high, his red-rimmed eyes narrowed, his ears straining to hear the faintest answer to his calls. Weariness and despair were ignored as was the steadily worsening pain in his leg. He refused Manderville’s pleas that he rest, as the other men had been obliged to do. When his friend persisted, warning that he would surely collapse if he didn’t at least sit down for five minutes, he swore at him, and strove on, driven by his overwhelming need to find her.
Little Signorina Consuela had come unbidden into his house, rearranged his life, and taken possession of his heart so gradually that he’d not realized for a time how much she had come to mean to him. She was not his first love; yet in a sense she was, because his love for her was so deep, so right, so much a part of him that he knew he had never really loved before. Certainly, he had never known a lady like her. He smiled yearningly, seeing in his mind’s eye her sparkling blue eyes, the soft and often unruly curls, the lovely mouth that could be so wilful and proud, or so tender, the rich curves of her beautiful body. Consuela Carlotta Angelica Jones. Hot-tempered, impulsive, irrepressibly mischievous, prone to act in an outrageous fashion—and a perfect little darling, who he knew beyond question fully returned his devotion. If he lost her now … “Dear God!” he whispered. “Please … Please!”
As if in answer, Manderville came running, shouting his name excitedly, and flourishing something.
“Jack! See what we’ve found! See here!”
Vespa’s hand shook as he took the ragged little doll. “Where?” he demanded.
“It was lying on the estate road.”
“Show me!”
Together, they ran across the wilderness and through the park.
Vespa panted, “Have—have you had time to search the area where you found it?”
Also breathless, Manderville said, “I didn’t find it. Your ex-Navy tar did. Sharp eyes has Harper, to have seen it with all this mist about. They’d started to search both sides of the road when I came to find you.”
The light was brighter by the time they reached the spot where Harper waited. The bow-legged little man touched his brow and said eagerly, “Hezekiah’s gorn over to that there spinney to have a look, but I knowed you’d want me to stay here, sir. Pure luck it was that I stepped on it. Lying right here, it were. The dog musta been here recent, ’cause I see him carrying it yesterday.”
Vespa slapped him on the back. “Good man!” He bent to peer at the ground. “There’s been a coach here.”
Manderville wheezed, “So there has … by Jove! And a heavy one at that.”
“Stood here for some time, sir,” said Harper. “A four-in-hand, I reckon.”
“Someone rode off this way, alone.” Manderville pointed towards the village.
Vespa said, “Yes. But the coach drove … south.”
He felt icy cold and as he stood straight the world tilted and he reeled drunkenly. For a moment he lost touch with things. He heard Manderville swear, and found his friend’s arm tight around him and a flask held to his lips.
“I warned you, damme if I didn’t!” fumed Manderville. “Prancing about for hours on that game leg! And still not fully recovered from the pistol ball you took in September! Who the hell d’you suppose you are? Goliath?”
Vespa said brokenly, “They’ve got her, Paige! God help her! That miserable bastard’s … taken her!”
“Lor’ luvvus!” exclaimed Harper. “Gypsies, you reckon? Never say so, guv!”
Manderville tightened his arm about the stricken man. His own face unwontedly grim, he said, “Not gypsies, Harper. And we can’t be sure it was him, Jack. But I’ll go after the coach at once, and you can—”
“No!” Vespa pulled himself together. He turned to Harper. “You’ve done splendidly, and I know you need some sleep, but I’ll ask that you first ride into the village. Go to Young Tom at the smithy and find out if he shod any coach-horses yesterday, and if he did, everything he can tell you about their owner. Come back as quickly as you can, please.”
Harper nodded, and ran off to get his horse.
Manderville asked, “Do you mean to call off the search, now?”
Vespa shook his head. “I may very well be wrong, Paige.”
“Exactly. That’s why you should stay here while I—”
Vespa stopped that offer with one flashing glance.
As they started towards the manor side by side, the sun came up, painting a roseate glow on small scattered clouds.
“I understand, dear old boy,” said Manderville kindly. “You mean to follow that coach yourself. I don’t blame you, but have you thought this through? If you go haring off after Monteil, you’ll lose Kincraig.”
Vespa rounded on him fiercely. “Do you suppose anything weighs more with me than to find the lady I love?”
“No, of course not. Don’t eat me! But—but this is your best chance to catch him, and I can follow the coach as well as—”
“Have done! I’ll come up with Lord Kincraig after I’ve found Consuela.”
“Be sensible, man! Look at yourself! You’re properly wrung out. Most of us took a few minutes for a bowl of Peg’s soup at least, but you haven’t stopped once. Can’t keep on like that. You’ll fall over and lose the pair of ’em.”
Chafing at the delay, Vespa bowed to common sense. “Very well. We’ll breakfast while we wait for Harper’s report. Then you can go on up to Suffolk for me.”
“Devil a bit of it! I’m going with you! If it is Monteil and his Coachman Colossus, you’ll need help.”
Vespa gripped his arm briefly. “Thanks, Paige. There’s one thing i
n our favour—the ground is so damp that the coach left a clear trail. With luck, we’ll be able to follow it far enough to have an idea of their eventual destination.” He scowled and muttered through gritted teeth, “Lord help that filthy swine if he’s hurt her! I’ll kill him!”
Watching that anguished face, Manderville did not doubt it.
* * *
Two hours later, Vespa’s eyes searched the ground as he walked slowly back to where Manderville waited with the horses. “Confound that miserable bastard! He could have turned off half a mile back, or more!”
Manderville said, “They’re heading for the coast, Jack.”
“Small doubt of that. He means to carry her into France. But—why? What can he possibly hope to achieve by—” Vespa interrupted himself, groaning a frustrated, “Why do I waste time with such nonsensical questions? Perhaps we should just make a dash for Weymouth. It’s pretty much in line from here, and we could start our enquiries there, though I dread the waste of time … if…” The words trailed off. Initially they had followed a poor thoroughfare, potholed and muddied by the rains, and not much travelled. The latter condition had helped them in their enquiries and several farmhands and a gatekeeper had recognized their description of Monteil’s coach. They’d come to a busy crossroads then, and a better-maintained road. With the increase in traffic both their sources of information and the wheel tracks had disappeared.
Plagued by indecision he gazed along the road ahead. From a distant hill a farm waggon was crawling towards them. He tensed. “Paige!”
“What? I don’t see—”
With an imperative gesture Vespa said sharply, “Listen!”
Straining his ears Manderville could hear only bird calls and, faint with distance, a dog barking.
Vespa walked forward, his eyes beginning to brighten. “By God!” he half-whispered. “I think— Hey!” He began to run.
Leading Secrets, baffled, Manderville followed, and then he too saw the small shape bounding past the waggon.
“Corporal!” shouted Vespa.
“Be damned!” exclaimed Manderville.
Another minute and the dog was close enough to hurl itself into Vespa’s arms, writhing with joy and licking his chin frenziedly.
Hugging the little animal, Vespa looked up at his friend through blurred eyes and said brokenly, “Thank the Lord! Now we know which way to go!”
They lost no time, but having reached the coast and investigated several likely-looking coves, they had still discovered no trace of Monteil’s coach. They were both very tired when they rode into the yard of a tiny cliff-top hedge-tavern to rest the horses. Manderville stumbled into the tap and called for luncheon, then had to be awoken to eat the thick coarse bread, sliced cold beef and pickles that were offered. He was dozing over a tankard of ale, and Corporal was fast asleep, when Vespa went outside, fretting against the delay.
There was a cold wind and the clouds were dark, but occasionally a ray of sunlight peeped through. ‘Afternoon, already,’ he thought wretchedly. The picture of Consuela forced to endure another night in Monteil’s hands was like the turn of a knife under his ribs. Wandering across the cobbled yard, he sank onto a hay bale, and bowed his head in despair. Gradually, he became aware of a heated discussion nearby.
“… wuz, Oi tells ye! Din’t Oi see him, an’ me Pa, too?”
“An’ he were bigger’n a bull.”
“Wiv a yeller face, an’ no eyes.”
Two of the country voices dissolved into laughter that was abruptly stilled as Vespa limped towards them. All three sprang from the fence where they’d perched. Hats were snatched off, and brows knuckled respectfully. They were youngish men, the eldest among them not over forty, their broad faces aglow with health, their eyes friendly.
“I heard you talking about a big man,” said Vespa without preamble. “No—pray don’t be alarmed. Which of you saw the fellow?”
Uneasy glances were exchanged.
Vespa lied, “The thing is, there’s a reward for anyone with news of him.”
“There be, zur?”
They crowded around eagerly.
“How much?”
“What’s he gone and done, milor’?”
“The reward is not large, I fear.” Vespa took a quick mental inventory of the funds he’d brought along. “Five guineas to the man who can tell me where he went.”
“Cor!” Clad in the smock and gaiters of a farmhand, his bronzed face crowned with a shock of very blond hair, the youngest of the three exclaimed, “Five guineas?”
The older man, who appeared to be a fisherman, had been eyeing Vespa shrewdly. “Why?”
Clearly, to these simple folk five guineas was a vast sum even split three ways. Equally clearly, they were not sure of him. “I put it up myself,” he elaborated. “My name is Captain Vespa. The big man you saw is Chinese. He works for a Swiss gentleman named Monteil. They have stolen an English lady. The lady to whom I am betrothed. I’m very afraid—” his voice cracked slightly “—I’m afraid they mean to carry her over to France.”
The brief, shaken words won them over as no amount of involved explanations would have done, and provoked an outburst of shocked wrath. That a foreigner would dare to make away with an Englishwoman was as insulting as it was horrifying.
“Oi couldn’t but notice as ye look proper pulled, zur,” said the fisherman. “Nor Oi cannot blame ye. If ever Oi heered o’ such wickedness! Oi be Ezekiel, zur. This here—” he pulled forward a small and painfully shy individual who appeared to be an ostler “—this be Ed. And the big lad wi’ all the yeller hair—that’s Samuel. Ye best tell the Cap’n, Ed.”
Thus encouraged, Ed stammered that he had indeed seen such a strange chap. “Hugeous big, he were,” he said, throwing out both arms to emphasize his remark. “Nigh to seven foot tall, Oi do rackon. And broader’n Farmer Stowe’s bull! Axed me summat as Oi couldn’t no-wise make out. But me Pa were along o’ me, an’ he tells this here giant as how the other gent had rid through a hour afore.”
Vespa’s breath was snatched away. Then he gasped, “What other gent? Not a very tall man with black hair and dead-white skin?”
“Ar.” Ed nodded.
“I see that ’un,” the blond Samuel chimed in eagerly. “Riding of a neatish bay mare, he wuz.”
“Bravo!” exclaimed Vespa, elated. “Was my lady with him? She is small and very pretty, with dark brown curls and big blue eyes and the sweetest smile anyone—” He caught himself up, feeling his face redden.
The loverlike description won sympathetic smiles. Samuel said with regret that he had seen no such lady.
“Me Pa says as the big giant fella axed fer Willy,” supplied Ed, hopefully.
“That’ll be Willy Leggett, zur,” clarified Ezekiel.
“Willy were lying off White Cove yestiday, but—” Samuel stopped, looking scared.
His heart pounding with renewed hope, Vespa said quickly, “Never fear, I’m no Riding Officer. Mr. Leggett is a free-trader, I take it. Show me where his boat lies, and I’ll make it nine guineas you can divide between you!”
* * *
Willy Leggett’s ‘fishing boat’ was at the moment ‘at sea.’ George Leggett, his brother, conveyed that information to Ezekiel, who had accompanied Vespa and Manderville to the large quay that ran out from a cove that was as if tucked into the cliffs. Ezekiel had at first approached Leggett alone and had held an earnest discussion with him, during which Leggett’s enigmatic gaze had shifted constantly between Vespa and Manderville, while the straw he gripped between his teeth jerked as constantly from one side of his mouth to the other.
He was a sturdy man of late middle age, his skin red and leathered from years of exposure to wind and water. At first suspicious and reluctant to talk to these strangers, he was much shocked by the tale Ezekiel told, and Vespa soon managed to win his confidence. He admitted that Willy was on a run to France, and had sailed with the previous evening’s tide, bound for Brittany.
Startled, Ves
pa exclaimed, “Brittany! Do you know whereabouts?”
“Aye,” said Leggett, retaining the straw.
“Was there a lady passenger? A very lovely young lady?”
“One or two ladies. I wouldn’t ’zackly say ‘lovely.’ But that tall gent were aboard, and his gert hulking servant with him.”
“You’re quite sure the gentleman did not drive away in his coach?”
“Couldn’t of. Coach went too.”
Vespa glanced along the quay. Several fishing boats were tied up, and a good-sized crane was unloading bales from the hold of a merchantman.
Manderville said, “Jupiter! Your brother must have a large boat, Mr. Leggett.”
A faint sly grin curved the thin lips. “Aye.”
“Is she very fast?” asked Vespa anxiously. “Have I any chance of coming up with her?”
Leggett viewed him thoughtfully. “Might. The Saucy Maid’s heavy laden. Low in the water. Touch and go it were, whether she’d clear the sand bar. If Willy spies any Coast Guard cutters, he’ll likely hide in the Islands ’fore going on.”
“Which would give me a chance to catch up?”
“Might. If you wasn’t ’bliged to hide as well. Either way, ye’d be needing a fast boat, sir.”
“Only tell me where to find one!”
Leggett took the straw from his mouth and considered it. Once again his keen gaze flashed from Vespa to Manderville. “Both on ye?”
Manderville said quickly, “Both of us.”
Turning to him, Vespa argued “Paige, this will be enemy territory. I’ll not ask you to—”
“Both of us,” reiterated Manderville.
Vespa clapped him on the back gratefully. “I must send off a letter to the duchess at once. And then—what d’you say Mr. Leggett?”
“Enemy territ’ry, right enough,” said Leggett. “Risky. But if this here Frenchy stole your lady, Cap’n—well, we can’t have that now, can we?” With an almost-grin he replaced his straw and started to stroll along the quay. “Foller me, gents, and meet my Lively Lace, the fastest yawl on this or any other water!”
The Riddle of the Lost Lover Page 14
