“Thankee, lass. But that were a funny sorta job. Pink jade’s rare, but the gents found some. And particular? I never see the like of it. They’d got one of the rubies what was lost, but Shumaker had to find another just the right size, and, what with the repair to the jade—cor! I wasn’t sure I could do it. Not so exact as they wanted.”
Glendenning asked intently, “How exact?”
“To measure the same, to the last fraction of a inch, as it was before it was broke. And to weigh not a featherweight more nor less than what they’d writ down. Phew! When I took it back to poor Mr. Shumaker, we neither of us dared hope I got it right. But ’twixt his giving me three rubies to choose among, and me allowing for the weight of the glue—well, we done it. Though what in the world that’s got to do with them bullies what grabbed you in the woods, is more’n I can see.”
“I think,” said Glendenning, frowning, “it may have everything to do with it. Tell me now, and think carefully, when was the last time you scared the chals away?”
They looked at each other, and finally agreed it had been about two years.
“We thought ’twas over at last,” said Amy ruefully. “But just recent they started creeping about at night, so we knowed—knew we’d have to get our ghost out again soon.”
“And this new outbreak of searching for you began before, or after, you worked on the little figure?”
Absalom gasped. “Why—’twere after. You’ll mind, Amy? About the same time we heard poor Mr. Shumaker’s shop had burned down and him in it, rest his soul!”
She nodded. “Early in April, Tio. But—why?”
General Underhill had warned them all, Rossiter, Falcon, Morris, and himself, that they were not to speak of the conspiracy they suspected. Glendenning chose his words with care. “I believe they think you know something, and they want you dead, so you’ll not speak of it.”
Amy sprang up and clung to Absalom, and he slipped an arm about her. “You’re frightening my girl,” he said severely. “If this be some kind of joke, I don’t like it.”
“Good God! D’you think I would joke about such a thing? Now—one more question, if you please. You said two gentlemen brought the figure to Shumaker’s shop. Did you see them? Even from the back?”
“No, sir.” Absalom checked, biting his lip in chagrin that the courtesy title had escaped him. Glendenning gave no sign of having noticed the slip, and Absalom went on quickly, “I see their shadows, and that’s all. They was both tall men. Taller’n you. One bigger built than t’other.”
“What about their speech? Any lisp, or accent—or something of the kind?”
Absalom shook his head. “Gents. Talked fancy—like you.” He considered, then added, “Only other thing I recollect was that one of ’em hummed all the time.” He looked sheepish. “Silly thing to even mention, but—”
“No, no. What kind of tunes did he hum, do you recall any?”
“Not many to recall, mate. Just one. Over and over, like. Goes like this…” He hummed a melody.
“Oh, I knows that,” exclaimed Amy excitedly. “But I don’t know what it’s called.”
“I do,” said Glendenning. “Though ’tis likely of no significance. It’s an old marching song called Lillibulero, and—” He checked as a loud bray rang out. “Was that Lot? I never heard him sound like that.”
Amy said uneasily, “He only does it when he’s afraid o’ something.”
“Likely jealous,” said Absalom with a grin. “Don’t like that there high-bred mare looking down her nose at him.”
Amy clapped her hands delightedly.
Incredulous, Glendenning said, “You found my mare?”
Absalom scowled. “Worst day’s work I ever done. Had to buy her back. And I wouldn’t have got her then, if I hadn’t scared the poor cove by saying the rightful owner had sent special constables after her, and he’d get took and topped if he was caught with her.”
Amy hugged him hard. “I knowed—knew ye could do it, dear old Ab!”
He smiled at her fondly. “More’n I dare do to come back without her, after the way I was sent off.” He scowled at the viscount. “Said she’d leave me, my girl did, if I—” He stopped, frowning as Lot complained again. Putting Amy aside, he said, “Best get out there and harness the old fool to the cart, love. And keep quiet about it, just in case.”
She nodded, and ran outside.
Absalom went to the hearth and lifted down the blunderbuss.
Glendenning asked, “Is my pistol still in my saddle holster?”
“No it ain’t. More’s the pity.”
Glendenning swore, but this was not the time for recriminations. Limping into the bedchamber, he took off his coat and slipped his swordbelt over his shoulder, then went back into the kitchen and stood where he could watch the clearing while he adjusted the position of the scabbard.
Amy came back in, out of breath. “I didn’t hear nothing, Ab.”
Glendenning said tersely, “That doesn’t mean the coast is clear.”
Having checked the priming of the formidable blunderbuss, Absalom said, “We’ll be ready, if they does come, but you won’t need that pig-sticker, milor’.” He held out the blunderbuss. “See what’s writ round the muzzle?”
Glendenning read aloud, “‘Happy is he that escapeth me.’ Very true, but the trouble with guns is that they only give a fellow one shot.”
“One shot from this little friend will clear the whole—”
Not too far distant, a twig snapped.
For a second they all stood motionless. Then, Absalom said in a low urgent voice, “Get in the bedroom, Amy! And keep out of sight. If—”
“No,” interrupted Glendenning sharply. “If we’re knocked down, she won’t be able to get out. Keep behind this door, Amy. I’m going to have a look round.”
His voice scornful, Absalom said, “What—you, milor’? D’ye know aught of fighting?”
Glendenning smiled faintly. “I’ve been out a time or two.”
Amy stared at him, and Absalom’s bushy brows went up. “Well, now,” he muttered. “Then—tell me quick, ’fore ye goes. If there is something bigger’n a rabbit creeping up on us, and if they’re not chals, who are they?”
Glendenning’s hesitation was brief. “Suffice to say they’re enemies of England.” Amy gave a shocked gasp. Absalom’s hands stilled, and his jaw dropped. “They must have discovered that you know of the existence of the jewelled figure,” added Glendenning, “which is, for some reason, of great importance in their schemes. More than that I cannot say, but I do know that they are ruthless. They destroy anyone they judge to be a threat to them—even their own people. If trouble starts, get your niece clear.”
Amy was beside him, clinging to his arm. “Take care, Tio. Oh, do take care!”
He smiled down at her, then went outside. The air was beginning to feel sultry, and a few great clouds were sailing up the sky. The breeze, which had been rising gradually, was now quite strong, and the trees were tossing about, which might have resulted in the noise they’d heard. Certainly, the clearing was quiet and there was no sign of life. Still, they could take no chances. He crouched, and sprinted to the nearest tree as rapidly as his ankle would allow. Halting, he pressed back against the trunk and stood very still, listening. No sound to cause alarm. He peered around and saw Flame, still saddled, tethered in the shade beside the ruins. Nearby, Lot grazed placidly. Another quick scan of the clearing. A gnarled old oak some thirty feet away would offer an easy climb and a good and well-screened vantage point. He started for it, then whipped back as a leg came into view, groping downward through the leaves.
It didn’t seem possible that the climber could have missed seeing him, but the man was coming down backwards, and must have been turned away in those few seconds he had run across the clearing.
A rustling in the shrubbery announced the arrival of a thin individual, with a cunning face. Glendenning drew in his breath. Sep! And the fellow coming so clumsily down the tree had
lank grey hair. If Sep and Billy Brave were here, likely the other two ruffians were somewhere about.
Sep called softly. “Well?”
“They’re inside,” answered Billy Brave, in a hoarse whisper. “Three of ’em. The old goat and that gent we caught Saturday. And—a mort.” His tone changed subtly. “A ripeun. I want her.”
Glendenning’s hand tightened on the grip of his sword.
Sep gestured a warning, and both rogues melted into the trees.
“Good day, friend. And what might you be wanting?”
Glendenning jerked his head round. Absalom stood in the open doorway, smiling amiably at the largest member of the unlovely quartet. In an apparent attempt to allay suspicion, Greasy Waistcoat had a pack slung on his back. He said ingratiatingly, “I be just a poor cove on the padding lay, mate. And, lor’ bless you, I don’t want nothing.” He wandered closer. “’Cept a drink, maybe. Warmish today. Very warmish.”
“Keep your distance!” Absalom took a step forward, blunderbuss at the ready.
Greasy Waistcoat uttered a yelp and backed away. “What a unkind soul! Here comes I, wanting only to spread the milk o’ human kindness, and—”
Glancing up, Glendenning saw something move on the roof. It was the cherubic youth, a large boulder held in both hands, and his intent clear.
“The roof!” roared Glendenning, whipping sword from scabbard. “’Ware the roof!”
The youth sent the boulder whizzing down. Absalom sprang back, but he was a fraction of a second slow. The rock caught the muzzle of the blunderbuss and smashed the weapon from his grasp. He made a grab for it, but the youth leapt down, sending him sprawling. Simultaneously, Greasy Waistcoat rushed to join the youth, while Billy Brave and Sep started for Glendenning. A pocket pistol appeared in Sep’s hand and was aimed with smooth expertise. There would, Glendenning knew, be no warning, no demand that he drop his own weapon. He hurled himself to the side, heard the shattering retort and felt the ball pluck at his hair. A corner of his mind registered the dispassionate awareness that the man must be a crack shot to have aimed for the head. The echoes of the shot were augmented by the terrified brays of Lot, and Flame’s shrill neighing.
Sep came on with eager savagery. Billy Brave paused to hurl a heavy dagger. His aim was excellent. Crouched and ready, Glendenning barely had time to duck before the razor sharp blade skimmed across his shoulder. Sep still held a long knife, and having missed with the dagger, Billy Brave snatched up a hefty branch which he flailed at Glendenning’s sword. Glendenning jumped aside, then ran in under the branch and thrust hard. The blade caught Billy Brave’s side, and he screamed and retreated. Sep seized the opportunity to dart up behind Glendenning and send the knife plunging at his back, but Glendenning was already whirling about, and the knife only ripped through his shirtsleeve. His colichemarde darted, and Sep cursed, grabbed his arm and fled from the range of that deadly blade.
Billy Brave must not have been badly hurt, because he bored in again, with a longer and heavier branch this time. Sep had moved off to the right, but was edging closer, so that they had the viscount between them. Whatever else, these assassins knew their trade and, apart from their fear of ghosts, they were not cowards. Glendenning backed away from Billy’s continuing swipes. From the corner of his eye he saw Sep moving in and, desperate, jumped aside. Billy Brave sprang at him, the branch flying in a murderous arc that tore the sword from his grasp and sent him to his knees. Not for nothing had Glendenning fought beside his loved Scots: his reaction was lightning fast. He snatched up a handful of earth and flung it in Billy Brave’s face. The ruffian dropped his branch and halted, cursing furiously, and clawing at his eyes. Sep was running in for the kill. Glendenning rolled, snatched up the branch, and was on his feet again. He swung the branch with all his strength. Sep, arm upflung to strike, had no time to adjust to the new weapon. The branch thudded home, sending him soaring back to land in an ungainly and motionless heap.
Distantly, Glendenning heard Amy scream. He whirled about. His branch had snapped with the force of the blow, and he was unarmed. Billy Brave was upon him, face contorted with rage, the sword a deadly glitter flying at his throat. Glendenning hurled himself to the side, the sword missing him by a hair. Billy Brave recovered his balance and whipped the weapon into a sweep that would certainly have decapitated his helpless opponent, but Glendenning was already leaping to grip a low hanging branch and swing himself upward. The sword flashed under his feet. Hanging by both hands, he kicked out hard. His boot caught Billy Brave solidly under the chin. The exultant grin vanished from the man’s face as his feet left the ground. He crumpled to earth without a sound.
Glendenning’s one thought was to get to Amy. Panting, he retrieved his sword and tore in a hopping uneven run to the ruins. Absalom was struggling gamely with Greasy Waistcoat. Leaping over them, Glendenning ran into the kitchen in time to see Amy swing the iron kettle at the youth, who laughed and dodged aside, then sprang at her, his knife upraised. Glendenning jumped between them. His sword flashed, and the youth howled and melted to the floor. Kettle in hand, Amy rushed past. Glendenning ran after her, snatched Greasy Waistcoat’s wig from his head, and bowed politely. Amy swung the kettle up and then down. The big man stopped strangling Absalom and collapsed beside him.
Amy dropped to her knees, caressing Absalom’s purpling face. “Dear old Ab,” she said frantically. “Are you all right?”
Panting, Glendenning bent and extended a hand, and Absalom hauled himself to a sitting position. “I … am now,” he gasped out. “Did ye scrag him … lass?”
She glanced in belated horror at Greasy Waistcoat’s inanimate bulk. Glendenning kicked him onto his back. He was breathing stertorously.
Amy sighed with relief. “I’d best run and look at them others.”
“Never mind, me duck.” With the viscount’s assistance, Absalom clambered to his feet. “Our noble friend don’t mess about. They won’t give us no more trouble, certain sure.”
She stared at Glendenning, her eyes very wide.
Also watching him, Absalom said, “I see some nobs at their duelling, milor’. Proper polite and neat, they was. But the only man I see fight like you just done was a Reb. No holds barred, and to the death. Not as I could blame the poor fella.”
Glendenning met his gaze steadily.
“Then it’s true,” said Absalom. “What I heard about you.”
“You’d have your work cut out to prove it.”
“Don’t never mean to try.” Absalom shook his head wonderingly. “And I asked if ye knew aught of fighting. Cor!”
Amy cried, “Oh! Tio! Your arm!”
He glanced down. A wet crimson stained the slash in his shirtsleeve. “Jove,” he muttered. “I never even felt it.”
“Come inside and let me—”
“Sep? Where be ye?”
“Hey—Billy!”
The shouts were not far off, and were echoed by others.
Amy whispered, “There’s more of ’em!”
Absalom said, “Lor’, did they send out a regiment?”
“Too many for us to handle, at all events,” said Glendenning. “We’ll have to make a run for it.”
Absalom started towards Flame.
Glendenning sheathed his sword and snatched up the blunderbuss. “If we can reach a main road—”
“Not with that lot between it and us. I’ll lead ’em off.”
Glendenning hesitated, then threw the blunderbuss. “Take this, then.”
Absalom caught it, but threw it back. “You’ll need it, pal. Take care of my Amy!”
“No!” cried Amy. “Ab—”
Glendenning clapped a hand over her mouth.
Making no attempt at concealment, Absalom rode out.
Glendenning pulled Amy around to the side of the cellar and they crouched amongst the shrubs.
Someone yelled. “There they go!”
“Where’s Sep and the others, then?”
“You lot—find out. The re
st o’ you—come on!”
The rapid thud of many hoofs. A glimpse of racing figures. Amy gave a muffled sob, and Glendenning hissed, “Quiet!”
Five men rode into the clearing. They were a very different type to Sep and his cohorts. Neatly, if inelegantly dressed, they were uniformly well built and rangy. They spread out as they came from the trees. No words passed between them, but one dismounted and bent first over Sep, then sprinted to peer at Billy Brave. He gestured with his hand, thumb pointing downward, and walked forward, pistol in one hand, reins in the other, to join a companion who bent over Greasy Waistcoat.
Glendenning began to ease away through the shrubs. A sound behind him. Something soft and warm nudged the back of his neck. He froze, then spun around to encounter a trusting expression and two long ears.
“Lot,” whispered Amy. “Can we take him?”
“I wish we could, but they’d hear—”
Without warning the donkey uttered an ear-splitting bray.
Glendenning knew that bray now, and at once he flung Amy to the side. A shout, and a dark shape hurled at him from the roof. He was smashed down, but in a quicksilver reaction he rolled, avoided the kick that would have crippled him, and used the blunderbuss as a cudgel. His attacker sprawled motionless. The struggle had alerted the others, however, and they came on the run.
Glendenning sprang up, but stumbled as his ankle buckled, and the shot aimed at his heart burned instead across Lot’s flank. The donkey gave a scream of pain and shock, and bolted. The rogues were advancing, tightly bunched until the panicked donkey joined them, the cart sending their mounts into a frenzy as Lot plunged about in wild confusion.
Watching the rout, Glendenning grinned, but knew the respite would be brief. “Call him, or they’ll shoot him!”
Amy whistled, and prayed that for once Lot would obey.
Perhaps from a sense of a job well done, or perhaps because he was tired, Lot came trotting to them, leaving chaos in his wake.
Glendenning handed Amy into the cart and sprang in behind her. She snatched up the reins and slapped them on Lot’s back. “Giddap!” she cried urgently.
Had We Never Loved Page 16
