“I recommend you to try and get some sleep. We have some distance to travel, and you will need all your energy for the escape you are no doubt designing. You won’t succeed, but by all means make the attempt.”
She bit her lip, resolutely quelling the tears of rage and frustration that welled into her eyes. This man thought her negligible, an easy victim, but he should be shown his error. Kit Clareville had been in tighter places in his adventurous career, and his spirit still lurked beneath Mistress Kitty’s fashionable petticoats. She took Wellbeloved’s advice and composed herself for sleep.
It was almost dawn when the carriage at last halted. She had dozed fitfully but had been haunted by dreams not more disturbing than the reality to which she now awoke.
Wellbeloved produced a key from his pocket, unlocked the door closest to her, and having leapt down, courteously let down the steps and reached up a hand to help her descend. She took it, for she was so stiff and cramped that she almost fell out on to the cobbled courtyard. She was hustled towards a great arched door that stood open, the hallway lit by the feeble light of one lamp, which seemed to be moving erratically. As she reached the figure that held the lamp, she understood the spasmodic movement of the light, for her cousin Lord Brabington held it, and it was apparent to her that he was suffering from an unfortunate combination of trepidation, guilt, and chilled limbs, which rendered him quite useless as an ally to one or the other of them.
Kitty did not deign to speak to her cousin as she was hustled past him through the hall and into a drawing room lit by a pair of silver candelabra, much in need of polishing, but she looked around her in some disgust. She was well aware that Brabington was in want of money but, until she saw the shabby state of his ancestral home, she had not realised just how badly he needed to repair his fortune. Even in the dim light of the candles, she could see how damp coursed down the wainscoted walls, the crimson brocade on the chairs was stained and torn, and the gilded mirrors were tarnished.
Brabington stood by the door, still foolishly holding his lamp aloft, his expression a combination of truculence and shame. Wellbeloved released his grip on Kitty’s arm and said, “Sit down, and presently you will be conducted to your chamber. Whether you enter alone and armed with a key or with company depends entirely on yourself.”
Mistress Brabington, recovering her poise now that the danger was tangible and not some vague unknown, arranged her skirts and sank back with an air of exhaustion. “I vow I am like to swoon from hunger. Do you intend to starve me into submission?”
Wellbeloved tossed an order over his shoulder to Brabington. “Get your cousin something to eat, dolt.”
Brabington went out, still avoiding his cousin’s eyes. Kitty deduced that there were no servants in the house, for she could not imagine that her cousin usually occupied himself in the kitchens. He returned within a few minutes with the heel of a loaf, some cold beef, and a wedge of cheese. He placed the platters on a small table at Kitty’s elbow and retired once more to the door as though trying to disassociate himself from the proceedings of the night.
She surveyed the platters with fastidious distaste. “Do you expect me to eat with my fingers, Cousin? A knife and fork if you please.”
“For once, Brabington has shown some good sense,” sneered Wellbeloved. “You would like to get your hands on a sharp piece of steel, would you not? Use your pretty fingers, my dear; the food will taste quite as good.”
Without deigning to reply, Kitty picked up the cheese and bit into it. It was sharp and tangy, and she could feel the nourishment revive her as she swallowed. Next, she tried the beef and tore at it with her teeth without embarrassment. “Pour me a glass of that wine.” She gave the order to Brabington as though he had been a lackey, and though he flushed, he obeyed, placing the glass at her elbow with a hand that shook. A little of the wine was spilled. “Clumsy creature,” commented Mistress Brabington. She sipped the wine and felt new life coursing through her.
Having finished the meagre meal and drunk her wine, she wiped her fingers, in the absence of a napkin, on her cousin’s discarded greatcoat, which lay across the back of the sofa. He gave a smothered moan but, at a look from Wellbeloved, he was silent.
Wellbeloved moved from his place by the fireplace and stood before her. “Well, have you considered? Is it to be marriage with your cousin, or ruin…with me?”
“It is to be neither!” Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled fire.
He merely smiled at her defiance. “Brabington, leave us.”
His quiet voice made her shudder. She could not help sending her cousin an imploring look and, in answer, he ventured a remonstrance.
“Look here, this was never part of the bargain. I mean, marriage is one thing, but to force…I mean….”
“Is this the time for scruples? You had none when you sold the girl’s father to Cumberland. Get out of my sight, you puling halfwit. And close the door.” He turned back to Kitty. “You are very brave about dangers of which you know nothing. I think a little taste of what awaits you if you refuse may bring you to reason.”
She swallowed, all at once overcome by fear. She could have faced a sword or pistol unflinching, but the danger a ruthless man posed to her as a woman was something she had never contemplated. When he jerked her into his arms, she knew herself helpless, and a faintness came over her. His hot mouth on hers, his hateful caresses seemed to take from her all power to resist him, and when at last he released her, she fell to her knees, too sick to stand.
“And that my lovely one was nothing to what will happen between us if you refuse your cousin. Do you know, I almost hope that you will?”
“For God’s sake, have pity!”
He laughed and went out of the room.
Eleven
When Lord Debenham flung himself onto the thoroughbred chestnut gelding he had appropriated, he was in the grip of such a mixture of rage and remorse that he was incapable of thinking with his usual clarity. However, as the night air fanned his cheeks and the familiar feel of a galloping horse under him claimed him, he began to consider his best course of action. He had no doubt that his horse could catch the travelling coach, swift as it was, but he was not certain after all that this was the wisest course. No more than his Kitty did he imagine that Wellbeloved had kidnapped her merely to gratify his own passion. Indeed, he had a very good idea what his plan must be. Nor did he underestimate his adversary. If there was to be a fight, as of course there must, he would infinitely prefer to encounter the man in a lighted apartment than out on the moonlit road, where he would be vulnerable to any treachery Wellbeloved cared to commit.
Undoubtedly, if he hoped to discover the whole plan and deal with the Black Dog once and for all, he must leave his darling in her abductor's hands for a little longer and himself follow at a reasonable distance behind.
His decision made, he continued to track the coach automatically, a matter which presented little difficulty, as the wheel ruts were clearly visible in the muddy highway, while he allowed himself to dwell upon the last few weeks since he had, against his better judgement, allowed himself to reveal to his ward how dear she had become to him. He knew that he had hurt her badly, but he did not think she had the slightest conception of how her subsequent behaviour had punished him. She had treated him coldly yet with frigid politeness. All the warmth had gone out of their relationship, and now it was Courtney who enjoyed her laughter and her confidence. He alone was allowed to hold and kiss her hand, where her unfortunate guardian received only the coolest of nods, the slightest of curtsies. He reflected ruefully that Kitty had learned her lessons too well; no spoiled Court Beauty could have been more capricious, nor more desirable.
He remembered that Courtney had charged him with neglecting his betrothed. He supposed that this was true, but Amelia showed no sign that she even noticed his absence. So long as he stood up with her occasionally, and could be seen at her side at any really important gathering, she was perfectly content. He had been su
rprised that his attendance had not been demanded that night. But, apparently, Lady Amelia's mama did not approve of masquerades, so he had been free to escort his ward. She, of course, had behaved infuriatingly. But, still, he would have given his entire fortune to have recalled the words that drove her out into the garden and thus into the arms of her enemies. This reflection was followed immediately by a lurid picture of what might be happening to Kitty inside the swaying chaise with Wellbeloved.
Unconsciously, the thought made him spur his already overtaxed mount and, as it leapt gallantly forward in response, the horse stumbled and fell, throwing its rider heavily to the ground.
Debenham was recalled to himself by the soft velvety muzzle of the chestnut, which was lipping his cheek anxiously, making little whinnying noises. Thanking God that his carelessness had not broken its legs, he rose shakily and attempted to mount. If was no good, however, the chestnut was lame and could carry him no further that night. His Lordship cursed fluently. He had no way of knowing how long he had been unconscious; the coach could be many miles away. Wearily, he took hold of the bridle and began to walk, devoutly hoping that he would come to some sort of hostelry before too long.
As he walked, he became aware that the road seemed familiar to him. It was not the main highway but, nevertheless, it was a road that would eventually lead him to Debenham. If he remembered correctly, there was an undistinguished little inn only two or three miles further—indeed, a little more than half an hour later, he saw the lights glimmering through the trees ahead of him. The horse gave a little whicker of pleasure, as though he, too, was relieved at the sight.
There was no difficulty in hiring another horse at the inn. The host was only too anxious to oblige a member of the quality. He stayed only to see the chestnut bedded down and to toss down a swift tankard of mulled wine before he was off again down the lonely road in a desperate effort to make up for the time he had lost. He had no difficulty in recognizing the road now. It was etched too sharply upon his memory. This was the very road he had taken when pursued by Wellbeloved all those months ago, and indeed he shortly passed the self-same copse in which they had hidden the horses as their pursuers passed by. “So!” thought his Lordship, “They are taking her to Dover! And from there...?” He shrugged. He would have come upon them long before Dover was reached. As luck would have it, at this moment, the moon, which had shone so brightly until then, was extinguished behind a threatening bank of cloud, which rendered the night as black as pitch for a good hour. Lord Debenham was forced to pick his way carefully, losing precious time. But when the moon at last reappeared, he found the interlude had been even more disastrous than he imagined. The tracks were gone!
The Earl was utterly confounded. He had been so sure that they were headed for Dover, but now they could be anywhere in the county. If he were to go back on his own tracks, he could perhaps pick up their trail again. But time was getting on; soon it would be dawn, and Kitty would have passed the entire night with her captor. There was no time for careful tracking. Somehow, he must discover, and quickly, where his ward was being held. Debenham had grown up in this country; he could have sworn he knew every inch of it. But what if she was held in some ruined cottage or stable. There were a thousand such. Consciously, he forced himself to fight back the hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm him. He turned and rode back the way he had come deliberating bitterly as he went on all that had passed. These torments had come upon them because of Wellbeloved—curse the villain! And yet he was an adversary worthy of respect, unlike the snivelling companion who had ridden with him that far off night two years before. He had never discovered who that treacherous lordling had been. Perhaps he was in this plot, too. He passed a little-used side road so muddy that the earth was churned with countless cattle's hooves. It led, he remembered, to Brabington Court. He hadn't thought of Brabington in weeks. What a paltry, snivelling fellow! He paused, some chord struck. A snivelling fellow...of course! Now he knew why he had recognized the man's voice, though muffled. Brabington was the traitor; and Brabington wanted to marry his wealthy cousin! It all fitted! Debenham wrenched the horse's head around and spurred the animal down the muddy track, hoping against hope that his ward would be found at the Court but fully determined to kill Brabington if he would not disclose where she was to be found.
When Wellbeloved and her cousin were so obliging as to leave her to herself, Kitty's first impulse was to give way to a natural bout of tears. But this, she told herself, was behaviour fit for the sort of soft molly-coddled girl Wellbeloved thought her to be. But she was Richard Clareville's daughter and made of sterner stuff. Here she was faced at last with the men who had killed her father. Now the time for her vengeance had arrived. How she longed for her boy's clothes, to have her rapier and dagger at her belt. Then Wellbeloved should see. As it was, she must make the best of what she had. One thing was certain—she would kill her persecutor before she allowed him to touch her again.
Kitty rose from the sofa, full of determination. The most important thing was to find a weapon of some kind but, as she searched the room, she began to think her task was hopeless. There was a poker, but she doubted her own strength to do any serious damage with it. Nevertheless, she concealed it behind a sofa cushion, just in case. In the drawer of the dining table, she found a rather blunt set of silver fish knives, but even she was not so bloodthirsty that she could contemplate trying to drive such a weapon into her adversary. She was beginning to despair when she came to an old work basket, discarded perhaps by her own grandmother. It had provided a comfortable home for a large family of mice, but Kitty was not of that order of women who fear small creatures and, tipping them out, she watched them disappear under the wainscot without flinching. She had her reward. At the bottom of the basket, gleaming and purposeful, lay a little knife, perhaps used to cut the still glowing embroidery silks amongst which it lay. The blade was at least three inches long and razor-sharp. Kitty would have no trouble using this. The handle formed the body of some saint in a lacquered robe of blue enamel and, grasping him firmly, Kitty prayed silently that he would come to her aid in earnest.
There was no question of fighting Wellbeloved, of course. With her rapier, perhaps she might have challenged him fairly, but not with only a little dagger. She must get close to him and catch him unawares if she were to stand any chance. She would rather have worsted him in fair fight, but he did not deserve any consideration after all. He was a very evil man. But how to get close to him? She strode about the room pondering. As she stood before the fireplace, she glanced into a dusty mirror that hung there.
She saw an exquisite lady, pale but nevertheless beautiful, whose black curls lay in riotous disorder upon white shoulders rising out of a froth of lace. Her bosom heaved in the low cut gown, and suddenly she smiled. For the first time, she realized the power a woman could have over a man. She need not trick Wellbeloved into approaching her, she need only smile. Her confidence was high as she turned to face her enemy.
“Have you considered well, my dear,” asked Wellbeloved, entering. His eyes ran over her in a way that brought colour to her cheeks.
“I have!” she answered curtly.
“And what is your decision?”
“I will marry Cedric,” she answered calmly. He smiled, and she longed to hit him. But, instead, she continued. “After this night, it is unlikely that I will be received back by my guardian. Yet I do not think I could bear to spend my life here with only cousin Cedric for company.”
Wellbeloved nodded. “I can imagine more enlivening companions,” he agreed.
She took a deep breath and moved softly towards him. “Then it seems to me that the best thing for me would be to go away...with you!”
She was standing so close to him that he could feel her breathing; her scent was in his nostrils. He looked down into eyes that seemed, all at once, heavy and languorous, and for all his experience, he lost his head. He caught her roughly into his arms as her own twined around his neck. She forced h
erself to return his kiss while, with one hand, she carefully took her tiny weapon from her petticoat. Slowly, she brought it up until the point was against his heart. Then, just as she was about to lunge, some instinct warned him, and he glanced down in time to fling her from him.
He crouched, watching her, his breath coming in heaving gasps. She held the knife in front of her, dangerous and purposeful. He lunged for it and fell back, cursing, as the blade caught his hand, drawing blood. “You should not have done that, my dear,” he managed to drawl, “Now I know how sweet the goods are, I am all the more determined to possess them!”
“We shall both die first!” she flung back at him.
“I hope you are wrong,” he answered, “Indeed I am sure you are. About time, Brabington,” he added, glancing past her shoulder. “This wildcat almost did for me!”
“That's an old trick,” said Mistress Kitty, scornfully, the blade unwavering before her.
“True, but unfortunately for you, it happens to be the truth.” As he spoke, she felt her arms pinioned to her side and found that Cousin Cedric held her motionless. Wellbeloved sauntered over and removed the dagger from her nerveless hand, and then he hit her quite deliberately on both cheeks so that her head snapped from side to side. “You really should not have done that,” he repeated.
Behind her, Lord Brabington uttered an inarticulate cry of protest and, finding her arms loosened, she wrenched herself away and sank onto the sofa, trying to still the trembling in her limbs. Her captors watched as she struggled to regain control of herself—Wellbeloved surveying her greedily, Brabington with concern. When he judged her ready, Wellbeloved spoke again.
“I take it that you were lying when you agreed to marry your lamentable cousin,” he remarked.
“Of course,” she replied hopelessly.
“Then, my dear, we will have to persuade you. Leave us, Brabington.”
Dangerous Escapade Page 11
