Unbidden, a feeling of exhilaration welled up from the deepest core of her being. It was greater than any she’d had when acting as the Grey Cavalier, but wary of the danger which could still be lurking, she quelled the urge to throw back her head and laugh in exultation, to stand on the riverbank and shout her euphoria to the world.
Instead, she looked up at Mr. Dalrymple, a grin of joy spreading across her face. It was then that she realized she owed him thanks for saving her life and her smile faded with ludicrous swiftness.
"Thank you.” Kate wasn’t sure of the correct etiquette, so despite what her sisters might say about her lack of propriety, she bobbed an awkward curtsy.
This bow to the laws of propriety did not, unfortunately, impress Mr. Dalrymple. He stood scowling at her in the faint moonlight and her spirits took another plunge.
"This amateur bumbling of yours must cease immediately,” he growled. “You almost got us both killed.”
“If you must insist in interfering in my efforts to get that reward--I mean, save England from the counterfeiters, then you have to expect a bit danger every now and then,” Kate snapped. She looked him up and down with contempt. “But it’s nothing that you would understand, a prissy fop such as yourself.”
By this time they stood nose to nose, shouting at each other in whispers.
“You know very well this is only a disguise.”
“I know nothing of the sort. All I know is that you come around here, prancing about the village, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You blackmail me for help, and when I give it, you bully your way into my plans and ruin everything!”
“All I wanted from you, my lady, was information about the criminal element in this parish. You’re the one who almost got us both killed tonight, alerted the gang they’re being sought, and possibly caused the downfall of the country.” He breathed quickly. “As of this moment, you may consider yourself off the case.”
Kate was livid. “What are you going to do? Have me arrested? You can’t do that because if I were proved as the Cavalier, the village would shut down. If there aren’t any tourists, the counterfeiters will pack up and move to another place. Then you’ll have to start all over again, but without a handy blackmail victim to help!”
“An immense help you’ve been tonight!”
“I was doing just fine until you came along. And I’ll take myself off the case only when they pry the five thousand pounds from my cold dead hands.”
"That,” he ground out, “will be something to look forward to.”
They stood, glaring at each other, then turned and stomped off in opposite directions, Edmund up the hill to his stolen horse, Kate to the bottom for the ever patient Diana. Neither made any but the most cursory attempts to hide their whereabouts, Edmund because he rather hoped the murderer would come forward so he could beat him into a pulp, and Kate because she--well, Kate wanted to beat someone into a pulp, too. Preferably Mr. Dalrymple, but she’d settle for the murderer.
They met again on the path from the castle, the shortcut which led to the back of St. Agatha’s, and ignored each other with determination. They skirted the back of the church and graveyard, past Constable Mackey’s little cottage, circled around Brigands and Buns and ended up at the post road near the great oak Kate knew so well. Without a word, Kate and Diana clip-clopped over the ancient stone bridge leading to Bellevue. So far into her thoughts was she that she wasn’t instantly aware that Mr. Dalrymple had followed her.
She didn’t bother to stop Diana, but turned in the saddle. “I have no need of an escort, sir,” she said frigidly.
“As much as I would like to see you hanged, drawn, and quartered,” he snarled, "There are other dangers which I, as a gentleman, am duty bound not to see befall any female.” Kate opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “And furthermore, Lady Katherine, I refuse to allow your manners to affect mine.”
Kate acknowledged the hit to herself, tightened her jaw, and led the way to the enormous, Italianate-style stables. Mr. Dalrymple saw her safely inside, then nodded curtly, and trotted away, sitting at a rather odd angle in the saddle.
Kate slid from her mare. Her feet hit the ground, but her legs, jelly from the physical exertion of the evening, refused to hold her and she crumbled to the stable floor. Dragging herself to her feet, she managed brush down Diana and lead her into her stall. Holding her heavy, sodden skirts in one hand, she almost crawled up the kitchen stairs. At the landing, she knocked twice, twice more, then two more times. But tonight there were no answering three knocks; only the snores of a butler deep in the arms of Morpheus. With a start, Kate realized she’d forgotten to tell anyone where she was going. If she’d been killed, her body could have lain in the caverns until there was nothing more than a pile of bones picked clean by rats or bats or whatever unpleasant creature was down below the castle. She shivered, and not with cold.
Back in her room, she managed to peel off her layers of wet clothing, roll them up in a ball, and hide them in the bottom of the wardrobe. The inner heat after she’d left the river long gone, she shivered violently from cold and shock. She dried her hair as best she could, pulled on a threadbare, patched nightgown and burrowed under the bedclothes. The hot brick was long since cold, but she didn’t care. Right now, this bed, this room, this nest of worn blankets and patched coverlet was the most perfect haven she could imagine.
Then her eyes popped open in horror when she realized she’d lost her pistol.
A River Runs Through It Page 4
