Page 29 of A Fortune Most Fatal (Miss Austen Investigates #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
By the time Jane jogs up the drive, she is breathless and doubled over with an agonizing stitch. As tempting as it was to take the shortcut through the copse from Rowling, the prospect of triggering a giant steel mantrap in the darkness keeps her on the well-trodden path. Her stupid house slippers do nothing but impede her journey. She dared not go back inside to change into her walking boots in case Eliza or Mrs. Knight discovered her intentions and admonished her to wait until help could be summoned. If Jane is to save Agnes, there is not a moment to spare, and the only “help” who is not already employed in defending Godmersham Park is here at Goodnestone. At least, she prays he’s still here. She clutches her side as she limps past the stable block.
On the ground floor of the great house, all the windows are shuttered, and the doors are bolted. She must not rouse the servants. If Neddy wanted Sir William’s help in disarming Captain Fairbairn, he would have sent for it. Jane cannot give her brother any more reasons to disown her. He already has far too many available to him. What she needs, therefore, is a discreet method of alerting Mr. Bridges to her presence. She has no clue which of the many windows belongs to his chamber. Goodnestone is a mansion. There are at least twenty sash windows on the upper two floors to choose from. But only one is aglow with candles. And only a profligate, like Mr. Bridges, would burn through the baronet’s cash in reading by the light of so many at this ungodly hour.
Jane grabs a chunk of gravel and flings it at the window. It grazes the wall, almost hitting her in the face as it ricochets back towards her. She forces down an expletive, then pokes around in the shrubbery for a better stone. With the window fixed in her sights, she hurls it with all her might.
The inevitable tinkling of smashed glass follows.
Capital. Now Neddy can add vandalizing his brother-in-law’s property to his list of reasons to despise her.
The empty sash slides upwards and an aggrieved Mr. Bridges sticks his head out. “What’s afoot down there?” When his eye alights on Jane, standing in the shrubbery without cloak or bonnet, his expression switches from outrage to wolfish curiosity. She places one finger over her lips and beckons him to join her. He nods, disappears inside and brings down the sash with a thump. Fragments of loose glass fall to the ground. Her initial triumph at having successfully alerted him to her presence fades to trepidation as to how he might react to her plea for assistance. By his own account, the man is a coward. She must impress upon him how dire the situation is.
Mr. Bridges comes running from the direction of a side entrance, dressed only in his shirtsleeves. He has not even paused to tie his cravat. “Jane?”
“Oh, Mr. Bridges.” She rushes to him. He places his hands on her shoulders, while she grips the sinuous strength of his forearms. “All the men are gone, and I need you.”
He cups her cheek with his warm hand. “Sweet girl.” He smiles benignly down at her. “I know it must feel like that, with so many gentlemen having been called away to fight, and I’m very flattered, but we really haven’t known each other long. Besides, your brother is bound to challenge me in defence of your honour, and I already know for certain he’s a much better shot than I am.”
She thrusts both fists up through his arms, breaking his hold on her. “Not like that, you idiot.”
Mr. Bridges continues as if he has not heard her: “This is my fault. I led you on. I am so terribly fond of you, and I thought a little frisson might lift your spirits after your disappointment with the young Irish fellow.”
Of all the mortifying conversations Tom Lefroy has wormed his way into since he fled Hampshire, Jane was unprepared for this to be one of them. Her toes curl in her slippers as she fights to keep her voice from shaking. “And, pray tell me, how do you know about my Irish friend?”
“You told me.”
“I most certainly did not.”
“Um …” Mr. Bridges shifts his weight from one booted foot to the other. “In that case, my sister might have mentioned it.”
Of course Elizabeth would have no compunction in sharing the news of Jane’s humiliation far and wide. She is determined to see Jane married and off Neddy’s hands. Whether she achieves this by advertising her charms or her desperate availability is neither here nor there. “Did she tell you to flirt with me outrageously too?”
“No, I assure you. That was entirely of my own volition.” He edges away from her, like a hound that knows it is in for a whipping.
“Allow me to clarify matters.” Jane draws a deep breath. “All the men of Rowling Farm have gone to Godmersham Park to ward off Spooner and his gang of vicious thugs. He was captain of the shipwreck Mr. Skeete was so anxious to conceal, and Agnes, Mrs. Knight’s foreign princess, is the only other survivor. Spooner wants to murder her before she can bear witness to his crimes. Understandably, the terrified girl has absconded. What I need is for you to convey me to where I believe she is hiding. Do you think you could manage that?”
“I see.” Mr. Bridges tiptoes backwards, looking as mortified as Jane hitherto felt. “I’ll, erm, run to the stables. Shall I?”
“If it’s not too inconvenient.”
“Wait here. I won’t be long!” He spins on his heel and goes dashing off with even more alacrity than Jane could have wished for.
A short while later, Mr. Bridges reappears, riding an enormous bay stallion. “Where are we off to?”
“St. Augustine’s Abbey, in search of the ‘bloody nun.’ As Mr. Blackall said, several people have witnessed the phenomenon, but you and I know new ghosts don’t just pop up and start haunting places after lying peacefully for hundreds of years.” To his credit, Mr. Bridges nods along to Jane’s every word, as if she was making perfect sense. Which at this point in proceedings, even Jane is not convinced is the case. However, it may well have been Mrs. Knight’s house guest, rather than one of her servants, who left the kitchen door unbolted after she escaped on a midnight jaunt to the abbey. “It must be Agnes. But …” Jane points to the vacant space behind the horse’s tail “… where is your gig?”
He frowns. “It’s the middle of the night. I can’t very well disturb the coachman. Not unless you want everyone to know about this. Which I presume you don’t. Otherwise, you’d have banged on the front door, like a civilised person.” He reaches a hand down to help her mount. He is still in his shirtsleeves, and is not wearing gloves. But, then, neither is Jane. “William is bound to take the cost of replacing that pane of glass out of my allowance, you know.”
“I do apologize. As we’ve already established, I was desperate for you.” Mr. Bridges has the courtesy to look rueful. The animal whinnies, and prances sideways. Jane eyes it warily. Sensing her trepidation, Mr. Bridges points to a mounting block beside the front step. She climbs it, reaching for his forearm and lifting one foot to rest on his boot. “Why do these matters always have to involve a horse?”
“We’re in the English countryside. How else do you propose to get abroad?” He hoists her onto the saddle with surprising strength.
“I’m ready. Walk on.” Jane perches sideways behind him, one leg crossed over the other.
“Not like that you’re not.” His profile is silhouetted by the moon, so close to Jane her lips almost touch the evening shadow on his cheek. “You’ll slip off and break your neck. Sit properly.”
“Astride? But it’s unladylike.” Jane is already mortified to have exposed half an inch of white thigh above her garter as he hoisted her into the saddle. “What if someone sees us?”
“My dear Jane, whether you’re sitting astride or not, if anyone catches us cavorting around alone in the dead of night, both our reputations will be in tatters. We’ll have no option but to marry.”
“Good Lord, I hadn’t thought of that.” She shudders. All her previous reserve abandoned, Jane wraps her arms tightly around his trim waist. “This operation is even more perilous than I imagined.”
“Exactly.” He tightens his jaw. “So, throw your leg over and hold on tight.”