The Countess

by Catherine Coulter

  I said, “You stole the letter from my father.”

  “Oh, yes. Actually it was Flynt. That damned miserable dog of yours nearly took his leg off. He wanted to kill the little beast, but he couldn’t. I had been told that you had received a letter. It wasn’t difficult to find. And you, my dear, know that your father was in London on the eighth of this month.”

  “Tell me why you have done this. Tell me what my father has done. Damn you, what have I done? Is it not my right to know?”

  “You have no rights. But, you will find out everything in good time.”

  He stood up. “Now, enough of this. I really have no more time to waste on you.” He paused a moment and looked at the strewn chess pieces on the floor. “I cannot believe that you managed to win a second game from me.”

  “It wasn’t difficult. You play well enough, but your level of play cannot match mine. Take your attempts at strategy—they are as commonplace as the timeworn strategies the old men use who play in Hyde Park. As for your attempts at logic and planning, I had but to invite you, and every time you leapt to take my bait. It is you who are the unworthy opponent.”

  He struck me then, hard, his palm flat against my cheek. I didn’t make a sound. I leapt up at him, brought my knee up, and got him squarely in the groin. He howled and stumbled back away from me, holding himself, moaning, bent nearly double. I picked up my skirts and ran. But he was on me, still bent over like an old man, which he was. He was strong, and he held my arm, twisting it until I was moaning with the pain of it. I tried to jerk away from him, but each time I moved, he just twisted my arm higher behind my back. Finally, he was able to straighten.

  “You damned bitch.” He slapped me again, hard, on the other cheek. I would have slammed against the wall if he hadn’t been holding me up. He jerked me against him. “Listen to me, you try to hurt me again, and I’ll strangle you, right here, right now. It won’t make all that much difference. Now, you and I are going to walk up to your bedchamber. You will say nothing. You won’t try to get away from me. If you do, I will simply tell everyone you have succumbed to the illness that destroyed my poor Caroline. Keep your mouth shut. Think of that dog of yours, think of Flynt picking him up by his neck and wringing it off.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Yes, now you understand.”

  There were no servants in evidence. I had prayed to see Brantley, at least, but the Old Hall was empty. As we neared The Blue Room, Lawrence said, “I have dismissed Belinda. She should be at her mother’s house in the village by now. However, George is in your bedchamber. You and he will wait for me. I will come to you later, never fear.”

  He opened the door, shoved me in, then slammed the door in my face. I heard the key grate in the lock.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The bitter winter wind burned my face and tore at my woolen cap. I leaned close to Tempest’s neck to suck in the warmth of his steaming mane. His breathing was becoming labored, his flanks lathered. I slowed him. I didn’t want him to collapse. John wouldn’t be happy if I rode his prized stallion into the ground. John. No, I wouldn’t think about him. I felt George moving about inside my cloak, his little head right beneath my heart. Every once in a while, he licked me, and my shirt was wet in that spot. I prayed he wasn’t too cold.

  I guided Tempest off the road, into a copse of pine and maple trees, slid from his back, and pulled the reins over his head. He tossed his head, flecks of foam whirling from his mouth onto my gloves. The trees provided some protection from the vicious wind. I had no choice but to put George on the ground, telling him to stay close. He whimpered and pressed himself against my leg. “It will be all right,” I told him. “Just give me a minute.” I rubbed down Tempest with his own saddle blanket, then I spread it over him again to protect him as best I could from the wind that sliced through the naked tree branches. I petted his neck and pressed myself against his head. “Thank you, Tempest. John was wrong. You wouldn’t throw me and George into a ditch. You are going to save our lives. My only question is, though, why didn’t John take you with him to his damned Christmas party with Lady Elizabeth? I nearly fell over my feet when I saw you in the stables.”

  He nickered softly, butted his head against my shoulder.

  The wind billowed my cloak as I walked slowly back to the main road and peered intently in the direction we had come. The pale slice of winter moon glittered down on the empty expanse of road. A lone owl hooted on an oak limb now ten feet away from me as I sank down to my knees in the bushes near Tempest and pressed against the naked branches for warmth. A pain shot through my ankle. I sat back quickly, pulled my legs from beneath me, and began to massage my ankle as best I could through my boot. If only I had been luckier it wouldn’t have happened. But I was carrying George belted against my middle and couldn’t very well use my dog to break my fall.

  I looked up at that small bit of a moon, so stark and white overhead. I patted George’s silky topknot, and I remembered how such a short time before I had stood in the middle of my bedchamber, staring at the locked door, listening to Lawrence’s retreating footsteps.

  George had bounded to his feet and run toward me. I caught him up and hugged him tight. “We have a problem, my sweet Georgie. A very big problem, but at least that madman has left us alone for a while, and that means, George, that you and I are going to leave this place, somehow.”

  Of course I knew what I had to do. I didn’t waste time pulling at the doorknob or pounding on the door of my bedchamber. I was sure that no one was anywhere close enough to hear me. No, it was going to have to be the window for George and me, and a nice scary climb down to the frozen ground. Then I had to steal a horse. Well, not Small Bess, her back and hock weren’t well enough yet. I would see what horses remained in the stables.

  “Come, George, let’s see what we’ve got here.” I carried him to the windows. I pulled back the heavy curtains, and looked out into the darkness. It looked very very cold out there, a small sliver of hard white moon shining brightly. The drop to the ground was too great a distance, and the outer walls seemed sheer. The bitter wind stung my eyes as my fingers probed along the casement. I knew there was a ledge. Caroline had climbed out on it, walking along it until she had managed to get into another chamber. It had to be wide enough. But I would be carrying George. It would be tricky.

  I jerked up. Tempest was snorting, pawing the ground. I got to my feet, trying to ignore the sprain in my ankle, and crept to the road, George held beneath my cloak. I stood listening, but I didn’t hear anything.

  I waited for five minutes, then went back to Tempest. He seemed rested, his breathing even, his body tense and ready. As I quickly smoothed the blanket and hauled the saddle back onto his back, I wondered whether Lawrence had discovered my escape and was now, even at this very moment, riding hard after me, that wretched valet of his on his heels. Tempest must have felt my urgency because he twisted his great head around and whinnied softly. Finally, saddle in place, I grasped the pommel and pulled myself up on his back. We regained the main road, and Tempest, with no encouragement from me, broke into a steady, long-strided gallop. I leaned down again and rubbed my ankle, thankful that I had escaped with such a slight injury. It could have been much worse. I had certainly believed it would be.

  The ledge was narrow, dangerously narrow. I had pulled back into the room and looked down at my heavy velvet gown. A dress would never do. If I had to walk on that narrow ledge carrying George and keeping my balance, I had to get rid of the ridiculous skirts. I found my boy’s britches tucked away in the bottom drawer of the huge armoire. I had last worn them two years before, in Yorkshire, at Grandfather’s country estate, Deerfield Hall. What better disguise than to travel as a boy, safe from curious eyes. Deerfield Hall was my destination tonight. I figured it would only take me three or four hours to ride there, perhaps longer if I had to hide. No matter, I could manage it. I quickly changed. I was fastening my cloak when I realized that I didn’t have any money. I found only a few odd
shillings in my drawer. I grabbed a handful of jewelry and stuffed it all into one of the pockets of my cloak. I pulled my derringer from beneath my pillow and carefully slipped it inside my britches. “Well, George, are you ready to hold tight to me while I try to keep my balance?” And with those words, George wuffed and jumped up on his hind feet, waving his front paws at me, ready for me to pick him up. I looked at the lovely ormolu clock on the mantel before I opened the window. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning. No wonder there hadn’t been any servants about when Lawrence had forced me up here. They had been in bed for hours. I just hadn’t realized how very late it was.

  I swear that stepping out on that ledge required more guts than anything else in my life. I had this feeling that there were a lot more bad things out there, waiting for me. I looked at that ledge. I didn’t want to set a single foot on it. I was afraid for both myself and for George, but there was simply no choice. I wasn’t about to just sit in that bedchamber and wait for Lawrence to come and strangle me at his leisure. The thought of Flynt strangling George made me hurry. I would make my way to the ground. There was simply no other choice. I stepped onto the ledge and steadied myself, gripping the open window frame. I took a deep breath, pressed hard against the stone, and focused my eyes on the narrow ledge in front of me. “Don’t let yourself get excited by anything, George. What you hear is just the wind, no banshees or demons from the Black Chamber. It’s just you and me, and we’re going to get away from here. You just keep yourself very quiet, all right?”

  I heard a soft wuff.

  My gloved hands clung tightly to the rough edges of the stone as, inch by inch, I slid my feet toward the corner. Strange thing was that I was sweating, in this blistering cold weather, I was sweating.

  Where had Caroline climbed back into the Manor?

  I gained the corner and pulled myself around it slowly, only to discover that the ledge ended abruptly. In its place stood the jutting outline of a massive chimney. To my unbounded relief, the stones were set at angles, and staggered, protruding so I could fit my hands and feet on them. I didn’t have big hands or feet; surely I could get a firm grip on the stones so I could climb down. “George,” I said as I eased him out of my cloak. “I need both hands. You will have to keep yourself very still. I’m going to stick you inside my breeches and belt you in.” And that’s what I did. I probably looked like a pregnant woman.

  “Hang on, George. We’re off.”

  I swung my legs off the ledge, and for one long moment I dangled in midair until my feet found furrowed edges for support. I felt George stiffen against me. I hope he was praying as hard as I was.

  My climb down was painfully slow. Several times I hung by my hands as I felt around the stones to find a foothold. Suddenly, as I loosed my grip to find another hold, the stone crumbled beneath my feet and I went down hard, all the way to the ground. Thank God it wasn’t all that far, only about six feet. My legs twisted under me as I fell sprawling on my side. I lay still for a moment as a stabbing pain shot up my leg. I prayed that my leg wasn’t broken. I rose slowly, flexed the leg, and discovered that it was fine but that I had wrenched my ankle. Thank God I hadn’t landed on George. I quickly unbelted George and pulled him out. I told him he was the most splendid dog in the western world. As I stood there, sending thanks heavenward that I was still alive, I realized that Caroline hadn’t climbed from the ledge back through a window into another room. There weren’t any more chambers between The Blue Room and the chimney. I wasn’t wrong. Lawrence had told me that Caroline had climbed out the window, walked along the ledge, and let herself into another room. He had lied. Well, why should I be so surprised? He had lied about everything else.

  “I’m an idiot, George.” And I thought: what really happened to you, Caroline?

  I looked up. I had climbed down a good twenty feet. Not badly done.

  Tempest snorted, snapped up his hind legs to get my attention. I realized quickly that I was cold and my ankle hurt, but I was alive, and that was just fine indeed for the moment. I saw pinpoints of light in the distance. It was a village. I wondered if I dared risk riding into the village to trade Tempest for another mount. He was blowing hard again. I didn’t want to kill him. No, I couldn’t stop. I was still not far enough away from Devbridge Manor, and the Lyndhurst family was well-known in these parts. Would people recognize John’s horse? If someone did recognize Tempest, then I could be taken for a thief. It would not take long for anyone with half an eye to realize I was a woman, that I was more than just a woman who was a thief, that I was the damned Countess of Devbridge. “Ah, you stole your step-nephew’s horse because you are escaping from your husband who wants to strangle you? Perhaps you are just like the former poor countess who was stark-raving mad?”

  I shuddered at that thought. No, it was not worth the risk to stop at this village. I would simply have to ride Tempest to the next village or a farmhouse.

  I slowed Tempest, looking about for the best route to skirt the village. There was an open field just to my right. Tempest sailed over the low fence. George barked all the while we were in midair. He liked to fly.

  Once beyond the village, I brought Tempest back onto the main road. The long ride continued, the silence broken only by an occasional muffled wuff from George and by the steady pounding of Tempest’s hooves. I slowed him to a walk. I wasn’t about to kill this wonderful animal. Time dragged on. The cold settled into my bones. My face was so cold I simply couldn’t feel it anymore. Think about something else. And so I thought about what I was going to do and decided I would remain at Deerfield Hall until Peter came. The servants would hide me, lie for me, if Lawrence came to see if I was there. Once Peter was with me, he would know what to do. He would protect me from the madman I had married.

  “I know, I know, to make a mistake as colossal as the one I made, requires a good deal of blindness and self-deception,” I said to George, and petted his head through my cloak. He wuffed back. I knew he was probably agreeing with me.

  Of course there had been no one to protect that poor stable lad, Billy, from me. Thankfully, Rucker was asleep in his own bed and nowhere around. I would not have liked to tangle with Rucker. Billy was another matter entirely. He was young and slight, and I knew he would have a headache from the blow I gave him to the head, but he would be all right. I had tied him up and hidden him beneath a mound of hay. Taking Tempest had been easy, which was a good thing, because I was getting so scared I was beginning to stutter even when I spoke to George.

  Suddenly, Tempest raised his head and stilled. Had a bird or an animal frightened him? He whinnied.

  I jumped off his back, nearly fell to my knees because my legs were so stiff and cold, and pulled him to the side of the road. I clamped my fingers down on his nostrils. I could not let him whinny again. The two of us remained motionless in tense silence, waiting. I could feel George’s cold nose, now wet through my shirt.

  I felt the ground shake beneath my feet. Horses were coming. I felt them even before I heard them. There were several riders, perhaps three, and they were coming closer. I pulled Tempest farther into the line of trees. They were mostly maple trees, and all bare and thinned here, which wasn’t fair, but it couldn’t be helped. I clutched Tempest’s nostrils more firmly.

  The horses slowed not thirty feet away from me. I could hear the men’s voices. Oh, no, they must have heard Tempest’s first whinny. I clung to him, feeling him shudder, but he held still, bless him.

  “I tell you,” a man shouted into that cold still air, “I know that bloody horse can’t be far. He’s fast, and he’s got endurance—he’s a war-horse. But even he must be flagging by now.”

  No, you’re utterly wrong, I thought. Tempest is beyond any horse you know about. He could fly all the way to London without slowing or tiring. Why don’t you just keep hunting, tracking. Go, go, go. I said it over and over to myself, a litany, a prayer. Yes, just keep going. We’re not here. There’s nothing for you here, keep going.

  “
You’re right. She can’t have gotten farther than this. John’s horse is fast, but even he must tire, and by now, he must be nearly dead.” It was Lawrence, my dear husband. Oh, God, it wasn’t fair. Too close, he and his men were too close. What to do?

  “She is close by, I feel it.” Again, it was my husband. “I would swear that I heard a horse whinny. It was close by, I know it.” I heard another man grunt, but he didn’t add his opinion. They were coming ever closer. Any minute now one of them would see us and then it would be all over.

  It wasn’t Tempest who gave us away. It was George. He didn’t know what was happening, and so he scratched at my chest and wuffed loudly. Not that it would have mattered. They would have found us, impossible not to.

  No choice, I thought, tightened my belt more firmly around George, grabbed the saddle horn, and climbed up into the saddle. We shot from the trees onto the road like a cannonball.

  It was a desperate chase, but I knew that I had no chance. Tempest was heaving beneath me. It was too much for him, he was slowing. Tears of sheer frustration slid down my face, nearly freezing by the time they dripped off my chin. I looked over my shoulder once and could make out my husband’s grim face in the pale predawn light. I was fairly choking with fear.

  But a moment later a horse was beside me. A man leaned over and grabbed me around my waist. George howled, and the man fell back in his surprise.

  “It’s a damned dog,” the man shouted. “She’s got him inside her cloak.”

  I heard the men shouting to each other. Soon, too soon, the man was back, and this time, he grabbed Tempest’s reins, jerking them out of my hands. Slowly, the man pulled him up. Then Lawrence was on the other side of me. He backhanded me, knocking me off Tempest’s back. I grabbed George and managed to pull him free before I hit the frozen ground. I didn’t land on him, thank God.