Page 38 of A Gentleman in Possession of Secrets (The Lord Julian Mysteries #10)
Chapter Sixteen
I had the ability to wake myself at the hour of my choosing, at least when on campaign. A lone robin caroled in the predawn gloom when I rose from my hammock, made my ablutions, and again borrowed the captain’s riding horse.
I had also appropriated buttered bread and some cheese from the larder, eating in the saddle as I had many, many times before. In terms of weapons, I’d brought only my peashooter, the knife perennially sheathed in my boot, and my wits. My mission was reconnaissance rather than freeing the captive.
That part would come later, assuming Downing had not fled the area with his victim in tow.
Or worse.
The bleak surrounds of Hamden Parva were rendered more sinister by mist rising from the river and drifting over the bracken and trees.
The blighted oak twisted upward into the foggy air, the upper reaches disappearing altogether.
No birds sang in this tenebrous world. No foxes stirred through the undergrowth, homeward bound after a night of hunting.
Too quiet.
I dismounted about twenty yards from the charred oak, secured the horse to a stout chest-high branch of maple, and let the stillness of first light seep into my bones. Hurry and worry made for sloppy reconnaissance, and sloppy reconnaissance made for tragedy.
I approached in slow circles, keeping my footfalls silent and flat. Many a useful sign had been obscured by a careless step, and I could not afford to be careless. I was on my third circuit of the dead tree when I spotted the faintest of trails leading through the undergrowth.
A partial pawprint of a size to belong to a large canine lay two yards from a hoofprint answering to the proper description. The tracks were fresh, less than a day old, in my estimation. Dry, no dust accumulated in the crevices.
I set aside the compulsion to jog down the game trail.
I might move silently by human standards, but any large creature making rapid progress would alarm what game and birds were lurking in the silence.
I proceeded carefully, keeping an eye out for more signs, and was periodically rewarded with same.
A burst of pink blooms against the misty air provided further encouragement.
Rhododendrons were not native to England, but since the middle of the previous century, landowners had imported them because, in addition to gracing hedgerows with their beautiful flowers, the evergreen bushes provided year-round cover for game.
I was moving in the direction of human habitation.
When I caught a faint whiff of woodsmoke, I slowed my steps further until I spied what might have been a fairy cottage nestled at the foot of a hill, the river meandering along some fifteen yards to the rear.
The cottage occupied a dish of earth, as if the land itself sought to shelter the small dwelling.
Got you. Against the foggy air, no smoke was visible—shrewd, that—and yet, fresh water was at hand, and the denizens of the surrounding forest would in the normal course sound an alarm should an intruder bumble too close.
Whoever had taken Hannah Stadler captive had studied the situation and made tactically sound choices.
And yet, city walls that stood for centuries would fall eventually, if attacked with the right artillery firing from the right vantage points. I studied the little citadel at the foot of the hill and thought back over sieges, ambushes, tragedies, and victories.
I retreated the way I’d come, taking care to leave not so much as a heel print on the trail nor a broken twig along it. The going was slow, and by the time I’d made my way back to the horse, another robin was gracing the morning with his song.
“For concealment,” I said, “the location is ideal. Even the locals have probably forgotten that cottage, but somebody went to the trouble to seal it up before it was abandoned. The building itself is stout, the glass in the windows intact.”
“If it’s on the acreage of the old royal preserve,” MacNamara replied, “nobody would dare vandalize the place. The sheer gall, though, of holding a kidnapping victim there… You were right that Sylvester Downing is nobody’s fool. He doesn’t lack for balls either.”
But he did want for coin, which could make an heir with a very healthy papa desperate.
“I’ve seen that cottage.” Carstairs helped himself to a cinnamon bun from the basket in the center of the kitchen worktable.
“Has a fey quality. Roses trellised along the east side of the porch, was probably awash in daffodils last month. Do you propose we simply knock on the door and invite ourselves in for tea?”
Dutch, the former artillery man, looked up from his heaping plate of eggs and ham. “We could drop a little greeting down the chimbly. Wake up the whole neighborhood.”
“And,” Dorset muttered between bites of buttered toast, “blow Miss Hannah to flinders while we’re at it.”
Coombs, who’d apparently prepared the meal, kept a judicious silence at the sink.
“We will pay a call on the cottage.” I finished a cup of stout black tea and helped myself to a biscuit. “We will also recruit young Strother to accompany us.”
“Why?” MacNamara asked. “He’s not entirely a bungler, but he’s not in my good books these days either.”
Carstairs went for a second biscuit. “Strother has the air of a double deserter. Where do his loyalties truly lie?”
Upon inspection, the biscuits turned out to be buttery, spicy heaven. “His loyalties, I suspect, lie with his tailor, his glovemaker, and so forth. He’d like to inherit an estate in good repair—he’s not entirely lazy—but he’s gambled and gavotted himself into a corner.”
More than that, I would not say, but Carstairs’s observation, that Pleasant View was in good trim despite the family’s fortunes, had kept me company in the hammock as I’d slept.
I’d risen still pondering that conundrum and had come to a few tentative conclusions that wanted airing at the appropriate time.
“So how do we proceed?” MacNamara asked, pouring himself more tea.
I outlined a plan, and we debated its merits. For the most part, the assemblage was in agreement. We had the element of surprise on our side, provided we moved quickly. We had an advantage of numbers, and we had the former soldier’s instinct for working together to best a dangerous enemy.
We had Carstairs’s talent with a Baker rifle. What we did not have was much time.
Carstairs was dispatched to give the latest report to the ladies. I was soon back on the captain’s horse and trotting up Pleasant View’s drive. The rest of the patrol would take the bridle path in the direction of Hamden Parva, the captain mounted, Dutch and Dorset on foot.
Carstairs, the captain, and I had synchronized our timepieces, though if the day’s skirmish went like many others, our finely tuned schedule would become useless in the first five minutes of the engagement.
Such was war.
“Lord Julian!” Strother greeted me more heartily than on any previous occasion, rising from his place at the breakfast table and bowing with a piece of toast in his hand.
“Do sit down and join me. Today’s the day, isn’t it?
I must say I’m surprised that MacNamara has the means he claims to have.
Surprised and gratified. Mama’s unhappy, though. ”
The Standish heir resumed his seat at the head of the breakfast table, where he had no business being.
“You’ve had no further word from the kidnappers?” I remained on my feet. I would not be staying long.
“Nary a note. The day has barely dawned, though. I tell myself that by sunset, Hannah might well be among us again. Perhaps her ordeal will have shown her the folly of ladies haring about unescorted, or letting books and poems render them oblivious to all else. Probably not. Han is stubborn.”
This catty, chatty drivel tried my temper. “Your sister was reading within sight and earshot of the family home, Stadler. That she wasn’t safe on her own property is not to her family’s credit. Cease stuffing your maw. We are off to rescue your sister.”
He went still, his toast held halfway to his mouth. “Rescue? Hannah? Now?”
“No time like the present. If Downing intends to move his victim in anticipation of leading us on a goose chase while he makes off with the ransom, then we haven’t much time to thwart him.”
“Downing? You said Downing, as in, Sylvester Downing? The Irish chap?”
“On your feet, Stadler.”
He rose slowly, his toast still in hand. “I see no need for my involvement. Somebody must stay here with Mama if you’re to retrieve Hannah from her captors. You’re sure it’s Downing?”
“No, I am not sure. We know Hannah was escorted from the property by two men. Downing might be one of them, and we know not how many others might be involved. You will improve the numbers in our favor.”
“I am not very handy with a firearm.” He snitched a strip of bacon from the sideboard. “You probably don’t need me, and I would really be of much greater use keeping her ladyship from rash measures.”
I stuck my head out the door and found a footman pretending to arrange the fronds of a fern in the sunny alcove across from the breakfast parlor.
“Please send word to the stable that Mr. Stadler will need his horse out front in a quarter hour.”
The footman, who might have been ten years my senior, straightened slowly.
“Best do as he says,” Strother said. “Appears his lordship and I are going for a hack.” He smiled unconvincingly, and the footman bowed before departing.
“Fifteen minutes,” I called. “Not thirty seconds more.”
“I cannot possibly make myself presentable in a mere quarter hour, Caldicott. The neighbors might be out and about, and really, if I’m off galivanting with you, who will be here to receive further instructions from the kidnappers?
We don’t want to lose Hannah because the mail went unanswered, do we? ”
Had I not spent two weeks living and breathing the question of who had kidnapped Hannah, I might have taken pity on Strother and allowed him to hide behind his mother’s figurative skirts.