Edward hung, grinning, from the open, carriage window. ‘Papa, your horse looks just like my rocking horse, but fiercer and much, much bigger.’
He rode over so the child could pat the horses’ iron grey neck. ‘Trojan’s not fierce, lad, just strong and fit. ‘The animal, as if to prove the point, lowered his enormous head and rubbed it gently on Edward’s face. The boy crowed with delight and returned the kiss.
Sarah had slid across the seat in order to speak to Oliver. ‘Did your men discover anything amiss when they checked the lanes this morning?’
He shook his head. ‘No; if they had I would have heard by now. If you’re ready I think we should get started, before the sun’s fully up. ‘
‘I have sent ahead to order refreshments to be served at the Red Lion. We will need to rest the horses and stretch our legs by then.’
Oliver frowned. ‘I had hoped to complete the journey without stopping.’
Sarah chuckled at his disgruntlement. ‘We are not soldiers on a route march, Oliver. Four hours cooped up in here is more than enough for us mere mortals.’
‘Very well, as always, I will capitulate.’ He grinned and swung the huge horse away. Tom coachman flicked his whip and, releasing the brake, the coach lurched forward. Oliver led the way, and his mounted rifleman followed on behind They were all alert, and ready for a possible ambush.
Chapter Thirteen
The small cavalcade had been trundling slowly along the narrow leafy lane that led from the village to the busy toll road for almost an hour. Edward, not yet bored with the ride, bounced from one side of the carriage to the other, putting his head out of each window, treading on toes and twice knocking Sarah’s chip-straw bonnet over her eyes.
‘That will do, Edward. Decide which side you wish to be seated and remain there. You are making us giddy with all your rushing around.’
Edward grinned. ‘I’ll sit here, on the left of you. I promise not to move again, except for looking out of the window.
‘Good boy. Can you see Captain Mayhew ahead?’
‘No, the lane’s too windy.’ He craned his head to look backwards. ‘I can’t see Jenkins or Murray, but I can hear them, I think.’
The carriage rocked and Sarah was almost tipped from her seat as Tom wrenched the horses to a shuddering halt. Her stomach clenched. Then there was the sound of sheep bleating. ‘The lane’s full of woolly sheep, Mama, they’re milling everywhere; we’re surrounded by them.’
Unexpectedly Peters’s face appeared at the window. ‘Close the windows and pull down the blinds, quickly, please. Then all of you on the floor, between the seats, and stay there until I give you leave to move.’ He waited until he was sure they were going to react then vanished.
Beth and Sally had instantly sunk to the protection of the floor well, taking Edward, too surprised to protest, with them. This left Sarah to deal with the blinds and windows. Her hands were shaking so much she was scarcely able to fasten them securely.
‘But, it’s only sheep, how can they hurt us?’ Edward whispered as she joined the cramped huddle on the floor.
‘They could have been released deliberately to separate us from our protectors.’ She wriggled, trying to release the skirts of her travelling dress from under her bottom. ‘I am sure Peters is just being cautious, my love. It is what he is paid to do, after all.’
The inside of the carriage was not only plunged into semi-darkness but was becoming unbearably hot and stuffy. They were too squashed to be able to remove petticoats, but Sarah hastily tossed her bonnet onto the seat. The caps of both Beth and Sally soon followed.
After the initial burst of activity and noise it was eerily silent outside apart from the incessant bleating of the sheep. Peters shouted at Tom, the coachman, and William, to get down from the box, bringing their weapons with them. William had already done so but Tom was still aloft, securing the reins.
‘Hurry up, Tom. You’re an easy mark up there,’ Peters hissed, from his position somewhere on the ground at the rear of the coach.
‘I’m done now. I don’t want trouble with the horses. The ladies, and the little lad are still inside, remember.’
Sarah heard a single gunshot, a cry of agony, and a loud thud as Tom fell to the ground. ‘Tom has been shot. I have to go to him.’ Sarah called.
Murray’s rough voice answered. ‘Stay put, madam. There’s nothing you can do for Tom.’
His meaning was clear. Beth burst into noisy tears and Sally put her arms around her friend.
Sarah’s first concern was Edward. She gathered him close and rocked him like a baby. ‘Tom will have felt no pain, Edward. He’s in a better place now, in heaven with our Lord.’
Her son pulled his ashen face away and even in the darkness of the coach floor she could see his eyes were huge with horror. ‘Are we going to die? Is someone out there going to shoot us too?’
‘No, Edward, we’re safe in here. Tom was too slow getting down. If he had been on the ground, like the others, he would have been safe.’
Her words were cut short as there was a flurry of shots, two bullets thudded into the coach sides splintering the wood but causing no damage to them. Peters and the other two returned fire, and acrid smell of cordite filtered into their small hidey-hole to add to their discomfort.
There was nothing Sarah could do to protect her son, apart from use her own one body as a shield. The shots had come from the left of the coach so slowly she inched forward until she was leaning hard against that door. Then she pulled Edward into the space between her knees. This was the best she could do.
Beth, having quickly regained control of her grief, understood what her mistress was attempting. She shuffled across the floor until she was able to place her knees in front of Edward. Cradled between the two women he was as safe as it was possible to make him. Edward, hot between them, wriggled crossly.
‘How long will we have to sit like this? I’m all hot and cramped.’
‘I know, my dear. But at least you’re safe down here.’
Unexpectedly Edward smiled. ‘It won’t be for long. Papa is out there, so are Jenkins and Smith, they’ll soon sort out these villains.’
A wave of icy sickness engulfed her. For a moment she had forgotten Oliver was somewhere, alone, facing God knows what. She prayed fervently he would not meet the same horrid end as poor Tom.
***
Oliver heard the sheep blunder out of the field behind him and immediately understood their significance. He didn’t wait for the ambush to be sprung, he hauled Trojan’s head round and dug his heels into the horse’s sides and sent it headlong at the five-barred gate at the side of the lane. Two strides were all the stallion had but it was enough: his massive hindquarters bunched and launched them into the air. He cleared the top rung with inches to spare.
They landed safely and Oliver urged the horse into a gallop. He had to get behind the attackers before they realized he had left the lane. He vaulted from the saddle whilst Trojan was still moving and rolled, rifle in one hand, into the undergrowth. The horse, startled by the sudden disappearance of his rider, bolted.
Trojan’s passage should convince the ambushers he was approaching on horseback when in fact he was crawling through the undergrowth towards them. Oliver tensed and carefully parted the leaves. Yes! He could see the shape of two men scarcely twenty-five yards in front. He dropped back, and expertly loaded his rifle, thanking whoever might be listening to his prayers, that he was one of the few officers who could shoot as well as his men.
He knelt, bracing the gun against his shoulder. His powder and shot were ready, his ramrod to hand. He aimed and fired; the second ball, powder and ram were in the smoking barrel before the remaining man had time to turn. Seconds later Oliver fired and the rod of steel, he had deliberately left in the barrel, flew with horrific accuracy to embed itself in the chest of
the other man. He died, a look of total stupefaction on his face.
A third man was on his feet, ready to run, but he was too late. Oliver crashed through the intervening bushes, his pistol loaded and cocked. The man threw down his weapon and desperately raised his hands.Oliver stopped and with cold deliberation pointed his pistol at the man’s quaking chest. This was one of the evil vermin who had dared to harm his family. He would die, as the others had, for his temerity. Vaguely he heard Peters and Murray approaching rapidly. He ignored them. With icy calm he began to squeeze the trigger. The man saw his death written on the captain’s face and his bladder emptied.
‘Captain Mayhew, sir; this man can tell us who sent him. He is more value to us alive than dead.’ Peters spoke quietly from a position several yards behind the condemned man and his executioner. Oliver heard the words but for a moment their meaning eluded him. The man’s life hung on a thread. Then the finger on the trigger gradually relaxed but the pistol was not lowered.
‘Secure this man. I will interrogate him later.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And there are two more, bury them.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Oliver waited until the wretched man, gibbering with relief, was tied, before finally lowering his weapon. The red mist cleared from his vision and his bloodlust vanished. He was once more a man Sarah could have recognised.
‘Is everyone safe, Peters?’ He held his breath, waiting for the answer.
‘I’m sorry, Captain, Tom’s dead. He was too slow getting down from the box.’
‘That’s bad news. He was a good man’ Oliver smiled and his tension drained away. ‘Thank God! It’s over. Sarah and Edward are no longer in danger. I just have to discover from that object, who sent him, and the job will be done.’ He collected his discarded rifle and pushed the de-cocked pistol back into his belt before loping off towards the waiting coach.
Jenkins and Smith had dismounted and, abandoning their mounts, had managed to force their way through the close packed sheep. Smith, a practical young man, had found a gate, opened it, and was driving them vigorously back into the field.
Smith had discreetly covered Tom’s corpse and Jenkins was at that moment assisting Sarah from the coach. Surely she would hear the crashing branches? She stared into the green darkness unable to see it was him approaching at such speed. Then her feet moved of their own volition and she was running towards him, her face alight with joy.
As he leapt over the small ditch he dropped his precious gun to receive her. She fell into his arms and he crushed her to him, unable for a moment to disguise his love. Sarah, who wept, her face buried in his shoulder, failed to see his expression but her son did.
Eventually she stopped shaking, drew back and scanned his face. ‘I was so scared, Oliver. When I heard the shots I thought you had been killed.’
He grinned, his emotions back under control. ‘No, my love, I’m unscathed. But I’m glad to say that two of your attackers are not.’
Edward had joined them and Oliver pulled him into the circle of their embrace. ‘Did you kill them, Papa? With your gun?’
‘Yes, son, I did.’
Sarah stepped back. ‘You killed them?’ She clapped her hand across her mouth and he saw her swallowing hard.
‘Of course I killed them. They were murderers, Sarah. What would you have me do, invite them to take tea?’
***
She recoiled from the ferocity of his reply. She stared at the man, whose arms had just enfolded her, and saw a stranger. How could she be contemplating marriage to someone who killed without a qualm? Her eyes filled and she turned away from him, in that moment, rejecting everything he stood for. She listened to the conversation he held with her son but made no comment.
Edward looked from one to the other, his face anguished. Oliver bent and swept him up in a bear hug. ‘Don’t worry, lad; your mother’s overwrought. I’ll put things right when she’s calmer.’
‘But she looked at you in such away, as though you were a stranger, and she hated you.’
‘No. That was shock. Your mother’s a gently born lady; killing’s not something she’s familiar with. She doesn’t fully understand what has happened this morning, nor why. I’m a soldier, Edward. I’m trained to do as I did.’
The little boy rubbed his face on his sleeve and gave a watery grin. ‘I understand, Papa. You were doing your duty, protecting us. I think you’re very brave.’
‘Thank you; now go and join your mother. I must organise our return to Rowley Court.’
Once the sheep were safely in the field, and the lane clear, Oliver declared they were ready to return. This was not as simple as it might sound. Turning a coach and four in a narrow country lane was impossible, they would have to drive forward until a suitable turning place was found. Tom’s body was another problem. Smith was to carry him draped over his saddle. It could hardly be propped up inside with them. The man left immediately; she did not want to see it again. They had already been distressed enough for one day.
Eventually the carriage was facing the correct way and Murray and Peters had completed their grisly task in the woods. Murray hopped onto the box, beside William, the under-groom, who was having difficulty managing the nervous horses on his own.
Inside Beth and Sally sat in subdued silence. Edward did not need to be reminded to sit still. Sarah was trying to decide how best to tell her family, and Oliver himself, that the wedding was cancelled. The engagement broken.
She twisted the ring around her finger and wished she had never put it on. How could she have allowed herself to be trapped into such a misalliance? The threat to them was gone, so naturally the need for protection had vanished also. Everything had changed.
She would dismiss Captain Mayhew and send Edward to the young curate for his lessons. Her life could return to its normal, peaceful cadence and she could put these past unpleasant weeks out of her mind. The decision made she began to relax opening her eyes to see how her companions fared.
Edward was staring at her, his eyes worried. ‘It’s a good thing Papa wasn’t hurt; he’s the best father any boy could have, isn’t he, Mama?’
Sarah’s heart plunged to her nether regions. How could she have forgotten Edward’s feelings? It was, after all, the reason she has suggested the union in the first place. She forced her mouth into a poor resemblance of a smile. ‘He is, my love. We are very lucky to have found someone so suitable.’ Reassured, Edward flopped back onto the squabs and promptly fell asleep. The excitement and early start had caught up with him.
There was more than enough time to control her emotions on the return journey. As always she knew practicalities must come before her personal wishes. Tom’s funeral had to be arranged. He had no family; he had spent all his life at the Court. Her late husband, Jonathan, had inherited him with the estate.
Hepworth and Harriet would have to be informed; someone would have to be sent to London to recall Thomas. She would not need her lawyers now. She had not changed her mind. She had, for the first time, told him an untruth. However much Edward loved Oliver, she now held him in such revulsion that even to keep her son’s heart intact, she could not sacrifice herself.
She decided it would be sensible not to announce her volte-face today; she would get the funeral over first. There was still a full six weeks before the date set for the wedding; plenty of time to inform her family and cancel the arrangements.
The staff had been alerted and were awaiting their return. Jenny Bates, acting as housekeeper in Thomas’s absence, was standing grave faced on the steps to greet them. ‘I have put out a light repast; it is in the small dining-room, madam, if you should require it.’
The thought of food turned Sarah’s stomach. ‘Thank you, Jenny, but we’re all too overwrought for food at the moment. Could you put something on a tray and have it sent up in a little
while?’
Jenny bobbed a curtsy. ‘Yes, madam.’
Sally guided a still sleepy Edward up the stairs and into his temporary accommodation in one of the rooms next to hers. Sarah dithered in the hall, uncertain what to do. Then Oliver strode up the steps and joined her.
‘I sent Jenkins to Hepworth to inform them. I have asked Lord Hepworth to send a note to London requesting that Thomas and the luggage return forthwith.’
‘I see.’ Sarah’s reply was frosty. ‘You did not think it necessary to consult me first? Am I to have no say in the matter?’
‘But surely you do not wish to go to London now? Not after all that has transpired?’
‘No, of course not, but I should have been consulted.’
‘Sarah, I have too much to do right now to deal with your niceties.’
‘I quite understand. In which case it might be better, as you are to be so much occupied, for you to remove to the Dower House? I would hate to interfere with your necessary duties.’
His expression hardened. ‘I will remain here, Sarah. You cannot throw me from your door like a common thief. I am your future husband and will be treated with the respect that’s my due. Is that clear?’
Sarah quailed at his harshness. How could she ever have thought him a suitable husband? This man was hardly more than a ruffian!
‘As you wish, Captain Mayhew. I will not be dining downstairs whilst you remain under this roof. Good day to you.’
She did not remain to hear his reply but retreated hastily up the stairs. She could feel his eyes boring into her back as she ascended and was relieved to reach her chambers unmolested.
A Suitable Husband Page 12
