Tapestry

by Fiona McIntosh

  She could see the stablemaster’s concern in her mind’s eye. How many times had he tried to dissuade her? And now she was convinced that Julius Sackville was behind it; had probably paid the man extra coin to try and put her off the madness of her journey.

  ‘Would you step out of the way, fellow?’ she said, adding terseness.

  ‘Why don’t you step down instead, miss?’

  The cart had stopped, the other men leering and grinning, catching on quickly to what their friend had in mind.

  ‘Shall I be forced to gallop over you?’ Jane said, raising her whip.

  ‘And leave your friend to us?’ he said, feigning astonishment. Jane felt Winifred’s mouth turn instantly dry. He was no longer hiding his intention. ‘She looks worried, miss. To be sure, you would not leave without her. I could jump out of the way by the time you got that beast going, then me and the boys here could encourage your friend to stay behind.’

  It wasn’t often that Jane had experienced true panic in her life. She could recall occasions of anger or high anxiety — losing a passport, missing a flight, taking the wrong train, having a wallet stolen were situations that sent any traveller into what they might describe as panic, but there were always people or services around to assist. There were formal processes and there were credit cards to get one out of most jams, and in her case a wealthy family to fall back on.

  But the times when she’d felt utterly out of control in a dangerous situation she could count on two fingers.

  The first was seeing Will loaded unconscious into an ambulance and hearing the siren scream above them as they were raced to the emergency department of the closest hospital. She had been flung back into a corner of the ambulance while two men worked anxiously on her fiancé and the lack of control had sent her into a feeling of blind panic.

  And the second occasion was now. She had no experience to draw on that was going to tell her how to handle this … and neither did Winifred. These were not men who were going to see reason, she presumed. They clearly lived in a lawless world, where no mobile squads of uniformed police were patrolling the roads with back-up close by. Winifred’s fear was telling her that she and Cecilia had neither the strength nor weapons to keep these men back and that this man was right: one of them might get away, but the other would face all three hungry men.

  ‘I would caution you to think very carefully about what you do next, sir!’ Winifred’s haughtiness came to the fore before she could censor it, for her host was used to being obeyed. But Jane was keenly aware that men who lived above common laws did not follow any pattern of obedience, no matter how noble or wealthy their victim.

  ‘Sir?’ He laughed. ‘I am so far away from a sir, miss, that I doubt you should think of me in that way.’

  ‘I think of you not at all. And I would ask you to give me the same courtesy.’

  ‘Ah, now, I am afraid I cannot do that, miss.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I am lonely and it is nice to meet people to talk to on this long and wintry road.’

  Jane sat as high as she could in the saddle as Winifred retreated; it seemed her host’s rush of anger had been short-lived, for Winifred was weak. Jane could feel her host slipping away, and wondered again quickly whether Winifred would already be dead by now if not for Jane’s strange and timely arrival in her body.

  ‘I am not lonely. And I have no time to pass the day, for I have urgent business in York. Now, let us go by.’ She wished her voice hadn’t revealed that note of fear; she hoped she was the only one who had heard it. ‘What is your name, man?’

  He looked away, clearly bored now by the banter. ‘Let us proceed with you kind ladies giving us your purses.’

  ‘I will do no such thing, you wretch!’

  The man approached, scratching his crotch. ‘Ah, there we go. From “sir” to “wretch” in a breath.’ He chuckled. ‘I think I preferred “fellow”.’

  ‘You would do well to leave us alone,’ Cecilia finally spoke up. ‘My companion is not who she may seem.’

  ‘Seem? Who does she seem to you, lads?’

  ‘A servant, methinks. On her way to seek work in York in a fine household, Tom,’ the youngest said.

  ‘Aye, my guess be she is a maid to a noblewoman,’ the other man in the cart added, clearly enjoying the confrontation as much as watching the women shrink back toward each other.

  Tom put his head to one side, breath rising in lazy curlicues of steam, although he showed no sign of feeling the cold. ‘Nay, I think she considers herself higher than that. Housekeeper, or — no, wait, lads. A governess, mayhap? She sounds like she has education. Either way, I think, miss, you are too tightly laced into your corset. Maybe we can help loosen it for you?’

  All the men sniggered.

  Cecilia clearly couldn’t help herself as their intentions became more obvious. Jane heard her friend murmur a plea to the heavens. Her prayer only made them laugh harder.

  But Cecilia was not to be put off. Suddenly numbed hands and wind-chilled face were forgotten as blood rushed in anger to warm her cheeks. ‘You loathsome fellow!’ she snapped. ‘You are lacking in even the commonest sense of the commonest folk. This is no maid! Consider your neck being snapped on the end of a noose if you take another step toward her!’

  Jane shook her head at Cecilia, believing her wrath would only inflame the situation, which was already teetering on a precipice. She looked around desperately, hoping for inspiration.

  ‘I want your purses,’ Tom insisted, and his voice had lost any politeness.

  Jane felt incensed at the unfairness of what was unfolding here. The gold she had on her was mostly borrowed from Charles as it was and she would be damned if she was going to hand it over to a highwayman. She blinked. Well, Winifred was wrong. Between Cecilia and her they did have a weapon. Old Tom in front of her, who had to be fifty if he was a day, was about to earn an appreciation of what happened when a woman from another world turned angry. Jane Granger was engaged to someone who was a black belt in karate at fifth dan level. Will is a master practitioner, as his father had spat at her.

  She’d loved it when Will had explained that his martial skills were a spiritual part of him, rather than the weapon they could be. Will’s parents had taken him on holiday to Japan when he was nine and he’d told Jane that by ten he was travelling a round trip of sixty miles three times a week for lessons with the only karate teacher of note in his region, who was ninth dan level. Once Will had mastered the moves, his teacher had taught him more of the philosophy. Will had then lived for two years in Japan in his teens, refining his technique but also progressing on his spiritual journey. Jane had begged him to show her, teach her; Will had agreed to train her in three classic moves so that she could defend herself if she were ever mugged. Well, she knew exactly which one she would use now, as it appeared that ‘if ever’ had arrived in the shape of a raggle-taggle highwayman with rotten teeth and an itch in his pants.

  Jane unhooked her leg from the side-saddle and leaped down off her horse.

  ‘O-ho, mayhap she’s taken a fancy to you, Tom Wyatt!’ one of his companions jeered. Tom growled a curse, hissing at the man for speaking his full name.

  He watched her untie her cloak and fling it off; she could see he was confused by her action and was licking his lips, pausing to consider what she might be up to.

  ‘Winifred!’ Cecilia called.

  ‘Be quiet!’ Jane snapped as she locked gazes with Tom Wyatt.

  Her skirt slowed her over this terrain. It would hamper her movements too if she chose to kick. Without thinking on it further Jane tore off the skirt; she felt buttons pinging into the snow to lie like dark eyes watching her next move. The jacket had to stay, but most of the fussy Georgian garments were now gone. She had good kicking boots on and she doubted Tom had ever confronted a karate block, or a front kick to the ribs.

  The men were momentarily speechless at seeing her stripped down to her underskirt and she could hear Cecilia’s sho
cked, gasped warnings from behind her. Jane was horribly aware of wearing no knickers as a modern woman would, and could feel the cold gnawing at the tops of her thighs through the thin cotton. If they ripped off her petticoat now, she would be naked from the waist down. Ludicrously, what flitted through her mind as she teetered on the brink of being violently assaulted was the thought of what Winifred would make of a bikini wax. The mirthless smile that this caused curiously helped her to focus, and her next thought was that she would let Winifred, and herself, die before she’d let this man overwhelm her sufficiently to rape her.

  ‘Winifred, do not —’ Cecilia began, her voice now small and tight, laden with horror. But it was cut off by Tom’s laughter, his initial shock now passed.

  ‘I think Winifred fancies me, boys! Her sweet ripe arse is shortly going to feel the chill of snow!’

  ‘And the burning warmth of your prick, Tom!’ the young one said, impressed enough by his jest to begin laughing uproariously into the frigid stillness. Jane could tell the men were excited now. They reeked of violence and lust and they smelled that both options were theirs for the taking.

  Jane turned Winifred’s expression into a sneer, ignoring everyone but Tom, who was just steps away. ‘I am Lady Winifred Maxwell, Countess of Nithsdale, and you do not want to bring down my noble family’s wrath, Tom Wyatt. Hanging will be the least of your troubles by the time my husband and his men have finished with you.’

  ‘Do not lie to me, miss,’ he said, although she noted he faltered, his eyes darting around. ‘You have no rings or fine jewellery and you are dressed like a servant.’

  She began to circle him, testing her weight on the ground for balance and ensuring there were no snags or branches to trip her. ‘Looks can be deceiving.’ Perhaps she should have worn Winifred’s rings instead of burying them with the rest of the prized jewels. ‘You admitted I do not sound like a servant.’

  He glared at her. ‘Whoever you are, I am hungry and I need your purse.’

  ‘I shall give you money for food,’ she offered, regretting that she needed to sneeze twice at this juncture.

  It was his turn to sneer. ‘You do not sound well, miss. You might catch your death, undressed as you are — not that I’m complaining to see a good-looking woman near-naked!’ She could tell he was still perplexed by her actions. Fine! Let him stay on the back foot. ‘And if you are as rich as you say, I should rather take your gold than your charity.’ Then he grinned. ‘But I shall take your chastity, because it seems to me that you are offering. Perhaps your noble husband does not service you often enough!’ His friends enjoyed the jest.

  Jane ignored the jibe. She’d fight him all the way, even if Winifred was frail. ‘I did not say I was rich. I simply told you who I am.’

  ‘Highborn, aye. And if you are, which I can only take your word for, you have money, all right, or we would not be standing here and arguing over it. Take ’er, lads!’

  Jane stiffened and then instinctively moved into the fighting stance that Will had taught her. Balance is everything, Jane, he’d explained, moving her legs apart gently so that one was diagonally apart from the other. And here, he’d said, folding her arms into a flexed position. You have to be loose, but your muscles must be ready to tense and unleash their power. I know that sounds like a contradiction, but I’ll show you and you’ll understand. And she had.

  But Tom’s henchmen were not suddenly leaping down from the cart for her, she realised. Instead, they hauled Cecilia screaming off her horse and hurried her away from the road, slipping and sliding on the treacherous ground underfoot. Jane could see the deep furrows in the snow where Cecilia had been dragged. She’d put up a struggle, at least.

  ‘Not up against that tree, lads,’ Tom called in an irritated tone. ‘Go behind those bushes, and for mercy’s sake, stuff something in the bitch’s mouth to stop the terrible screeching.’

  ‘I’ve got something to stuff in her mouth, all right,’ the younger one said, still trying to impress his leader.

  ‘Fight them, Cecilia!’ Jane yelled.

  But the trio disappeared and Cecilia’s screams turned muffled, and then there was a momentary silence. Jane could hear more scuffles in the background, followed by a man’s yelp, which she hoped was Cecilia connecting her boot with one of them, but her attention was on Tom now. She had to deal with him before she could get to Cecilia.

  ‘Maybe young John was as good as his threat and your friend has bitten him,’ he wondered aloud, sounding amused by the man’s yelp and the instant silence.

  She whipped her head back to Tom. ‘You’d better tell them to take their fucking filthy hands off her,’ she snarled, all modern Jane now as Winifred shrank away altogether.

  He actually put his hand to his chest in laughter, enjoying her swearing. ‘No, you’re no highborn lady, miss, not with a tongue like that,’ he said, ‘and I’m going to enjoy feeling that filthy mouth on my cock.’

  He leaped at her. She was ready for him, though, and had none of Will’s qualms of conscience at using her lethal skills. Shifting her weight onto her back leg, Jane executed a near-perfect roundhouse kick. Her thigh swung at right angles up near her hip, while her lower leg shot out and used her flexed foot as a weapon, empowering the heel to do the intended damage as it punched like a piston, driving into the soft and vulnerable flesh of Tom Wyatt’s crotch. He doubled up with a shocked exhalation of breath, but Jane had to be sure. If you ever use this move, make it count. Don’t let them get back up, Will had tutored. Her balance already regained, Jane’s other knee now whipped up; she hoped to smash expertly upward into the bent-over attacker’s jaw. But she missed as Tom Wyatt — stronger than he looked and certainly street-smart enough to dodge a second blow — straightened, clearly hurting, but still with sufficient wit to grab her raised leg and flip her over.

  Jane felt the squeaky crunch of snow beneath her; it felt as if all the wind had been punched from her lungs and she lay there for a moment, dazed and hurting. She blinked, remembered her dire situation, and instantly forgot the painful landing on her tailbone as she tried to rise. But she was a fraction late. Above her stood a heavily breathing Tom Wyatt. Steam was billowing from his mouth into the cold air and snot was dangling from his nose. She could smell vomit nearby; she knew his groin was hurting far more than her tailbone and she was frankly amazed by his resilience.

  ‘You bitch!’ he lisped, wiping the snot on his rough coat sleeve. ‘I bit my fucking tongue too.’ He spat and she watched a rotted tooth land nearby, a blood-bright gob against the virgin snow. ‘I am going to kill you for that then rape your corpse.’ And before Jane could take another breath, his boot had closed on her neck. ‘I want to watch you die slowly, though.’

  Jane believed him, and as the pressure increased and she could hear her breath rasping, her body struggling to take in air, she felt the life leaving Winifred. No! she screamed inwardly. Hold on, Winifred!

  But her host’s fragility wouldn’t permit it and she knew her invisible companion was letting go. She could feel icy damp dragging her gleefully to sleep, her eyes bulging, and as darkness closed in Jane was sure she heard pistol-fire sound like a thunderclap in the frigid air.

  Her last conscious thought was of seeing a flock of startled birds lift noisily from the bare tree nearby in a peeping, chattering, collective flutter. But it could have been the ravens in her mind … or perhaps Winifred’s soul and hers.

  NINETEEN

  Jane’s numbed family sat in the large kitchen of their home with the phone inches from where her father sat slumped on a stool. The police had finally left and now it was just the three of them, coming to terms with the news that Jane hadn’t returned from her climb up Ayers Rock. The report was sketchy and the police assured them that she had only been missing for a few hours. In fact, the only reason they’d decided to make the visit was because the motel operator in Alice Springs was threatening to use the number that Jane had left him should anything untoward occur.

  ‘That w
as him on the phone when the police arrived,’ Catelyn remarked into the silence. ‘I told him to hold the line.’ She began to weep again.

  ‘The policewoman spoke to him, Mum,’ Juliette assured her. ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘Yes, but I wish I had now. I have questions. He’s there, on the spot. They aren’t. How much can they know here in Wales?’

  ‘Now, stop,’ Hugh growled. ‘They’ve repeatedly told us these are still the earliest hours. Jane is not registered as officially missing. You heard them. She could have returned, taken a tour, gone for a walk, hired a guide …’ He shrugged. ‘She could be anywhere, love. You know how independent she is. She might have decided to take the hire car and see some other sights, and forgot to let the motel know.’

  ‘Jane’s not like that,’ her mother wept.

  ‘Dad, they found the car at the base of the Rock. She’s still in the area.’ Hugh gave Juliette a soft glare and glanced her mother’s way. Juliette realised she’d said too much. ‘Jane’s hardly herself right now, Mum,’ she continued, in the hope of distracting her mother from thoughts of the car. ‘She’s confused, she’s grieving, she’s probably out of her mind with worry for Will. I know she didn’t see it our way, but it was always madness her taking off like this.’ Juliette shook her head. ‘I can’t believe we let her do it. I should have gone with her like she asked.’

  ‘Don’t you start,’ her father cautioned.

  ‘I should have. She needed one of us with her.’

  Her father stood up and started to pace up and down. ‘Jane is a sensible, practical and above all fearless girl, as you well know. If she took the precaution of leaving that motel owner our number, then we know she will have taken other sorts of precautions. Sometime soon the phone’s going to ring and it’s going to be our Janie. And she’s going to be embarrassed, and probably even angry, if I know my girl, about all this fuss.’

  ‘I’ll make some tea,’ Catelyn said. It was obvious no one wanted another pot made, least of all her, but it was something to do, something to focus on and be distracted by.