Page 16 of Escape of the Highwayman (Escape #3)

The old stable had probably been no more than an original tack room, but it was still used occasionally for sick animals, or those who needed to be segregated for other reasons. The straw was relatively fresh, though she would need to fetch water and feed for him.

He was reluctant to go inside, throwing his head back and digging in his heels.

But again, he allowed himself to be coaxed, and in return she gave him an unappetizingly fluffy piece of carrot she found in her dress pocket.

She removed the halter and made a fuss of him before dashing off to replace the halter on the paddock gate, and then, since the grooms were making a sleepy appearance, she went to the kitchen yard pump to fetch a bucket of water.

No one challenged her. Perhaps they thought she was bathing the kittens and laughed behind their hands at her growing eccentricity.

Having put the bucket of water in the corner, and given Cavalo the apple she had meant to eat on her walk, she shut him in once more and went back to the kitchen to purloin some breakfast for Jon.

Cook tutted at her in a tolerant kind of a way and shooed her away with some scraps and cream for Molly as well as the fresh bread and cheese she claimed was her own first breakfast.

She waved the jug by way of greeting to the grooms who were heading over to the paddock, then entered the stables, looking furtively around before launching herself up the ladder.

Here, the excited words about to spill from her mouth dried up, because as soon as her head reached the level of the loft floor, she saw Jon.

He wore only his breeches, and the skin of his muscled arm and chest glistened with water.

From this angle, she could not see the bandage, only the power and beauty of what was surely masculine perfection.

Such a thought had never entered her head before.

Now her mouth went dry, and her stomach seemed to fill with a thousand butterflies.

And yet the sensation was rather sweet and wonderful.

Frozen, it seemed, for the same instant as she was, he finally bent and retrieved his shirt from the floor.

The muscles of his back rippled too, but she dragged her gaze away, pushing her burdens into the loft and clambering after them.

By the time she gathered them up again, he had his shirt on and was pushing his hair back off his still slightly damp face while he limped toward her.

Chloe gathered her wits with the breakfast and blurted, “I think I’ve found Cavalo.”

He halted, his eyes widening. “Where?”

“In the field with our own horses.”

Jon began to laugh, a breathy, infectious sound that was mostly exultant. “Just calling on the ladies, no doubt. That’s Cavalo.” He sobered. “How long will it take the household to suspect that the newcomer is the highwayman’s horse?”

“Hopefully they won’t know. I put Cavalo—or the horse who looks like him—into the old stable where people rarely go without reason. Could it really be him? Would he have followed you?”

“I hoped he wouldn’t,” Jon said, taking the jug and the cat’s scraps from her and setting them down before Molly managed to trip him by winding herself around his legs.

“But he has done it before. I thought I’d lost him once, during an unexpected skirmish on the road, and then he trotted into camp that evening.

Another time, he wandered after me on reconnaissance when he wasn’t hobbled firmly enough. ”

He cast her a quick rueful grin. “We are complicating your life quite hopelessly now. The best thing I can do is take Cavalo and go at the first opportunity.”

“I’ll need to find a saddle that fits him...”

“I might be able to ride him bareback to where I hid my own saddle.” The words I could have, once , hung in the air, but he didn’t dwell on them.

“Or I could just lead him. Darkness would be best, if we can keep him—and me—secret for one more day. The trouble is, I have tangled you up so much in my affairs that if I’m taken here, your fall from grace is inevitable. I don’t know what I was thinking of.”

“Entertaining me,” she said lightly. “And I am entertained. I could only manage bread and cheese for now, but I have fresh water, and I can bring something more from the breakfast parlour later on.”

A sense of loss seemed to be sliding over her, as though he was already slipping away from her. Desperately, she tried to hang on to the sense of companionship and happiness.

As he lowered himself to the floor beside her, she blurted, “I will miss you.”

His long, strong fingers closed around the bread before he deliberately lifted his gaze to her face. “That is another reason to go. You and I should not be friends.”

Too late. Much too late . “We are friends.”

“You have better friends. Say rather that you have been a friend to me. I won’t forget it. But you should.”

“Then you won’t write to me?”

“How can I?” he asked gently.

“Sign your letters Joanna . I will make up some story or other...”

He shook his head, and all she could think was, It is over .

And yet she could not walk away. It was as if she had to absorb every moment of the time she had left with him.

Once she said, “There is always a way to make things right again. Don’t give up.”

“I won’t. Nor will I return to highway robbery. There were better ways I could have helped these men.”

“They are still alive and still free,” she reminded him. “Which they probably would not have been without you.”

“Work would have done them more good.”

“Possibly. But it would not have been half as much fun.”

His characteristic breath of laughter greeted that, and she memorized his smile, every crease around his eyes and the curve of his mouth. Soon, it was all she would have.

***

S HE WAS FOILED IN HER next visit to the stables by an unexpected morning call.

She was in her chamber, loading pencils, paper, and the pistol she had taken from Jon into a drawstring bag with the food she had swiped from the breakfast table—a couple of bacon rashers, a sausage, a boiled egg, bread and butter, and an orange—when a knock on the door interrupted her.

“Her ladyship requests your presence in the morning room, miss. Mr. and Miss Dunwoody have called, with their guests.”

“Oh. Thank you, Martha.” Hastily, she covered the bag with her dressing robe and went down to the morning room, which seemed to be full of people.

Apart from her sisters and both her parents—unprecedented at this hour—there were also Laura, Mr. Dunwoody, Mr. Black, and a complete stranger who reminded her of someone she could not place.

“Oh, Chloe ,” her mother all but wailed, though fortunately under her breath, “not that wretched old gown!”

Of course, she was meant to dress to impress Mr. Black, but there was no time to change now for she had already been seen.

“Sorry,” Chloe muttered. She curtseyed to the room in general and went forward to be introduced to the stranger.

“Another guest of ours,” Mr. Dunwoody said jovially, “Mr. Robert Berry.”

If she had been drinking tea at the time, she would probably have disgraced herself. As it was, she had no idea what her facial expression was giving away. She had to think on her feet while she summoned a bright smile and offered Mr. Robert Berry her hand.

“How do you do, Mr. Berry? Forgive me for staring! I just suddenly remembered where I last heard your name! I don’t suppose you share it with Mr. Dunwoody’s highwayman?”

Mr. Black let out a crack of laughter. Papa cast his eyes upward as though in prayer.

“Miss Chloe.” Mr. Berry bowed over her hand, and she saw with a frisson of mingled alarm and excitement that he did indeed bear a resemblance to Jon.

Although an inch or two shorter, and with his hair shading more toward light brown than blond, there was something in the shape of his face.

.. “Funnily enough, it was my concern about the same subject that brought me to your neighbourhood.”

“Rumour reached Mr. Berry and his family in Worcestershire,” Mr. Dunwoody explained.

“With the Berry name being bandied about in such a way, he came to investigate. We are convinced it is a case of mistaken identity—Mr. Berry’s brother Jonathan being a man of impeccable character and, indeed, a wounded hero of the war on the Peninsula, mentioned in despatches by Wellington himself. ”

“Indeed?” Chloe had herself better in hand now. With a careful expression of, she hoped, mild interest, she sat down beside Jon’s brother.

“We hoped you would come for tea yesterday afternoon after your excursion,” Mr. Dunwoody said, “which would have given Berry here the chance to speak to you. I told him you had actually conversed with the man our Bow Street runner is convinced is Jonathan Berry.”

“In fact, I don’t believe I exchanged any words with him at all,” Chloe said airily.

“A kind stranger intervened on my behalf to pay a greedy—and really quite cruel—stallholder at the market and then walked off. The next I saw of him, he was jumping a horse over a market stall. I told Mr. Dunwoody this. And that he did not sound much like a highwayman. Though, of course, I have never to my knowledge heard a highwayman speak!” Too much, Chloe, stop talking.

She glanced at Jon’s brother, wondering how much to tell him and how.

“How was he?” Robert blurted. “Was he healthy?”

She smiled, because his brother’s wellbeing was clearly his priority. “The man I saw appeared to be as fit as a flea—apart from being a little lame, of course. But if he is your brother, sir, I must pay you back for the money he spent on my behalf.”

“Eh?” Papa said, suddenly paying attention again.

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” Robert said. “My brother will have considered it a gift.”

“It certainly was to the stallholder. So what is your theory, Mr. Berry? About how your brother became mixed up with Bow Street’s highwayman?”

“Well... as far I can tell, the Berry name seems to have sprung up only when a guest of Sir John Grandison’s recognized a lame traveller at the local inn as one Captain Berry whom he had met only once before as the friend of a friend.

This man probably was my brother, who is, of course, entitled to travel where he likes.

The trouble is that around this time another man—also lame—was clearly involved in a burglary at the home of Sir John Grandison.

I think we simply have two limping men in the same county on the same day. Which is not so unlikely.”

“No, but it would be distinctly odd if they were also seen on the same day in our county,” Papa objected.

“As far as I know,” Mr. Dunwoody said, “only one lame man was seen in Greater Lessing that day. Certainly, he bolted, but that could easily be a young man’s desire to show off and is hardly a hanging offence.

I have heard of no highway robberies or burglaries in the area.

So I am fairly sure our Bow Street man is following a false trail. ”

“Did this lame man seem like a gentleman to you, ma’am?” Robert asked seriously.

“Certainly,” she said. “And he did look quite... mischievous as he rode off with all the constables chasing after him, waving their fists.”

Robert closed his eyes briefly. “My brother is an overgrown schoolboy, not a highwayman.”

“Of course,” Laura said earnestly, and Robert bestowed a smile upon her that made Chloe blink and glance surreptitiously at his rival, Mr. Black.

Mr. Black however, was gazing thoughtfully into his teacup. He sat beside Beatrice, who sipped her tea in silent disdain.

“Then you will be able to return to your family with good news,” Chloe said, trying not to sound too relieved.

“I shall write to my father again today, although my fear is that this runner will reach him first.”

“I have persuaded Mr. Berry to stay for the ball,” Dunwoody explained. “Since he no longer has cause to worry about his brother and his family reputation.”

Was that really all it would take? Could it really be so simple? Could Jon just go home now, and put all this behind him?

Including Chloe, of course. She should not care about that, provided he was safe and contented. She wanted those things for him more than anything in the world.