Page 31 of A Fortune Most Fatal (Miss Austen Investigates #2)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
They make it as far as the winding lane between Rowling and Goodnestone before the horse slows to a limp. Jane tries to ignore the uneven roll of his movements, telling herself he will pick up again in just a few moments and carry them to safety. But when he comes to a complete halt, refusing to budge no matter how hard Agnes digs her heels into his solid girth, neither can deny the problem any longer. Agnes slides to the ground and leads the animal towards the chestnut fence surrounding the cornfield. Without uttering a word, she runs a palm down each of his forelegs, lifting them in turn to examine his hoofs.
“What’s wrong?” asks Jane.
“Damn beast is lame.” Agnes loops the reins around the stile. “Must have thrown a shoe, back on the high road.”
Perhaps it is not a disaster. Mr. Bridges said the horse would return to Goodnestone of its own accord but, from here, Jane and Agnes can walk to Rowling. Above the treetops, moonlight bounces off the manor’s slate-tiled roof. Even on foot it will take less than half an hour. By now, Eliza is bound to have discovered Jane is missing and be distressed at her unexplained absence. Likewise, both Agnes and her benefactress will be highly agitated until they are reunited. Jane uses the stile to aid her dismount. “Don’t despair, we’ve almost reached my brother’s home, where Mrs. Knight is waiting. She’ll be so relieved to see you unharmed, and I expect your spirits will be so much calm—”
“Quiet,” Agnes says, in a growl. She walks out into the middle of the lane and stands, hands planted on her hips and grim-faced. From the distance comes the ominous rumble of horses. Could it be Mr. Bridges following them from Canterbury? No, the sound is continuous: there is more than one rider. Jane prays it is Neddy and Henry returning from Godmersham after having secured the park, rather than Spooner and his gang fleeing the site of a massacre. But if her brothers were on their way home, why would they be riding so hard?
A cold, damp cape of fear curls around Jane’s shoulders. She sets off towards Rowling, willing Agnes to join her. But there is something wrong with Agnes. She does not follow. Instead, she remains motionless, eyes trained on the bend where the path meets the main road. “Come, Agnes. Look, you can see the house through the trees. If we hurry, we’ll be there in no time—”
“I said QUIET, bitch.”
Jane stops dead. The words came from the girl’s mouth, but it was distinctly not Agnes’s voice. She turns to see her standing in the open, as if waiting for the riders in the distance. There is something oddly familiar about her stance. She stands with her knees soft, and her feet turned out. Frank does it, as does Charles. They call it their “sea legs.” Agnes has transformed herself, but not into any of the alternative personae that Jane has met before. This character is too vulgar, too masculine, too malicious. “Oh, my God. You’re him. You’re Captain Fairbairn!”
“What? Did you mistake me for that pathetic whelp, Agnes?” the captain sneers, as the sinister noise of hoofs beating the ground grows ever louder.
Jane clamps both hands over her mouth. “You can’t be. Agnes is so afraid of you. She said you’d take her away. This makes no sense.” And yet it makes perfect sense. The devil Agnes is most afraid of is the one who lurks beneath her own breast. Spooner is not Captain Fairbairn. Agnes is. Jane remembers Biddy’s warning: You mustn’t speak of him. You mustn’t even think of him, or he’ll find a way in. Not into the park, as Jane feared, but worse: into Agnes’s very mind. “Why would you write such nasty things about yourself ? Why try to persuade Mrs. Knight to turn you out?”
“Because Agnes has to go back to Spooner. I must take her back to him.”
“No.” Jane reaches out, clutching the captain’s arm. It is no wonder none of the servants at the park had spotted an intruder if Agnes, as Fairbairn, was leaving the vile notes. His paper matched Neddy’s as he likely stole it from Mrs. Knight who probably frequents the same stationer as her son in Canterbury. Jane tries dragging him away from the road, but he is as immovable as Mr. Bridges’s horse. “We can’t let Spooner or his gang find you. You did so well to escape, you must never go back.”
But the captain remains adamant. “Didn’t you listen to Derdriu? Spooner won’t ever stop looking for her. If she runs, it’ll only inflame his ire.” The clattering grows louder. A shot rings out, followed by heated cries. The riders will round the bend in just a few moments. “That’s Spooner. He’s coming.”
“It can’t be.” Jane tugs on the captain’s elbow, desperately trying to lead him towards the bank. “My brothers went to Godmersham with a small army to defeat him.”
“Spooner will have found a way to slip their net. He always does. And he won’t stop, not until Agnes is dead. She belongs to him, see? The only reason he turned that ship around was so he could pluck her from the waves and smite her himself.”
“No.” Jane leans all her weight into the captain in an attempt to push him away. “Agnes doesn’t belong to anyone but herself. I will not let you surrender her to that vile man. She doesn’t deserve to be betrayed again. Especially not by you.”
“Betrayed?” He stares back, wide eyed, with genuine confusion. “I’m not betraying her, I’m protecting her. Who do you think swam to shore after the ship capsized? Not Agnes, she’d have gone under willingly.” He jabs a finger to his breast. “It was me. It’s always me who must do whatever’s necessary to keep her alive. Without me, she’d have had her throat slit and been tossed overboard, like all his other useless whores.”
Finally, Jane releases the captain, scrabbling towards the bank to save herself. They have run out of time. Even if they set off along the lane now, the riders would spot them from the road. She will have to risk the copse instead. “Please, Agnes, Captain Fairbairn, we can hide in the woods until they pass by.”
“I can’t.” The captain balls his fists, standing rigid. “He’ll find her. Agnes has gone too far by involving your family. He really will kill her this time.”
“No. We must away, now!” Jane climbs backwards up the slope and towards the dense woodland. Under the trees’ canopy, the footpath is only just visible. She casts her eyes deeper into the wilderness, trying to remember the steps she trod with Neddy. It is a gamble, but one she cannot avoid.
The captain lifts his head. “Unless he takes you.”
A lone rider rounds the bend. Jane holds her breath as she prays for the familiar shape of Mr. Bridges or one of her brothers, even Armand with his frightful blunderbuss. Instead, a wiry figure in a knitted hat is mounted on the horse. The captain is right, Spooner has found them.
“It’s too late. He’ll take you!” Captain Fairbairn lunges towards Jane.
But Jane is already running, faster than she has ever run in her life. Faster than she ever thought possible. Green leaves slap her face, and branches crack against her body. Her lungs burn, her slippers fly from her feet, and yet still she runs. The captain is so close, Jane can hear his ragged breath. Who was pursuing Spooner? Was it her brothers and the dragoons, or is he accompanied by his own band of villains? How long will it be before he reaches her? Could Jane make it all the way back to Rowling with the captain on her tail?
“Agnes!” a man’s voice cries. “I saw yer. Get back here, girl.”
The copse is too dense for anyone to have followed them on horseback. If Spooner is in the woods, he must have pursued them on foot. The captain is right: Spooner will never let Agnes go, no matter the cost. But Agnes, as Fairbairn, is only a few paces behind and Jane is not ready to give up on her yet.
Jane’s stockinged feet pound into the dirt. She fixes on the footpath, trying to make out the safest route through the dense foliage. She must steer clear of the trap. Her eyes scan the trees for a reference point. An ugly, bleeding canker against pale green bark is lit by the silver moon. A horrid thought occurs. No, she must not—it is too risky. But what if taking that risk is the only way to save Agnes and herself ? The captain is treading on Jane’s heels. She reaches behind, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to follow as they veer off the beaten path, skirting the alder. Footsteps crash after them.
Snap!
A spring catches, and two giant rings of steel collide. Flesh crunches against bone. It is like the sound of her mother wringing the neck of a chicken, only a thousand times more sickening. Pain shoots along the side of Jane’s shin, as her ankle twists and she spirals out of control. She lands on her hands, grit scraping the skin from her palms. Beside her, Agnes—for Jane can already tell, from the girl’s terrified expression, that Agnes has returned—tumbles to the ground. From behind them comes the ear-splitting scream of a man in agony.
Jane and Agnes are free, while Spooner is caught in the deathly jaws of Sir William’s mantrap.