Page 20 of Escape of the Highwayman (Escape #3)

It was all very discreetly accomplished in order to keep the criminals away from the family and the rest of the household.

Although Chloe heard the wheels of a carriage somewhere to the side of the house, the first she knew of the highwayman’s delivery to the cells was when a footman murmured in Mr. Dunwoody’s ear and he rose to his feet.

“Chloe, my dear,” he said apologetically, offering her his arm. Chloe rose to accompany him at once. Behind them on the path, Sir Denbeigh Miles puffed with fresh outrage and mutterings about hanging being too good for such ruffians. Robert was silent, though Chloe could feel his tension.

A discreet side door used for no other purpose, a narrow corridor, and a short flight of stairs led to the prison cell. It had been all been walled off from the wine cellar and whatever else was stored down there, and was quite separate from the rest of the house.

It was also pretty gloomy, with only a small window to provide any light.

“So where exactly did you find the fellow?” Mr. Dunwoody asked the constable who led the way. He unhooked a lit lantern from the wall to guide them down the steps.

“In a tavern outside Farfield,” replied the constable. “The Horse’s Head—known den of thieves and smugglers.”

“And did he have any of Sir Denbeigh’s stolen items in his possession?”

“No, he must have sold them already, sir, though we didn’t find them at the Horse’s Head neither.”

Dunwoody paused, lifting his lantern higher and glowering. “Then how do you know he’s the right man?”

“Well, sir, he arrived at the tavern about the right time last night. And...” With an air of triumph, he pointed to the barred cell inside which a man was pacing.

He had his back to the approaching company, but Chloe’s stomach contracted in sudden fear, for the man limped painfully and unevenly.

“He’s lame,” the constable said with satisfaction.

***

A LTHOUGH JON HAD INTENDED to ride straight out of the county before taking a circuitous route homeward to Worcestershire—during which time he hoped to hear that he was no longer a fugitive—things did not quite work out that way.

To begin with, he couldn’t find the blasted hedge under which he had hidden his saddle.

Not that he needed two saddles, but it was a loose end he had intended to clear up.

And then, when he was far enough away from Lessing to sleep for a couple of hours, he had got lost in the maize of winding country lanes.

Not that he really minded. They were quiet roads, and he hardly encountered anyone. By the time he struck the main road to the south, he found himself curiously reluctant to go much further away. So he circled the area, trying to justify it to himself.

What if Chloe needs me?

That was laughable. What use was he to anyone?

What if her father forces her to marry that cit and she really can’t bear to go through with it?

That both riled and confused him, for the thought of her marrying anyone was unbearable. He wanted her to be happy, and yet he was fiercely glad she didn’t want to marry Black.

Dog in the manger , he accused himself. It didn’t help. There was already a hole in his life where Chloe should be. He missed her bright, optimistic chatter, her unexpected humour, her sudden visits and unlikely plans for his rehabilitation. He missed her .

And he kept remembering kissing her. He tried to scold himself for the disrespect, for taking advantage, but the sudden, fierce passion with which she had responded still took his breath away.

Her feelings were more than romantic, girlish fantasy.

She might have been a dreamer, but she wanted him , in all his imperfections.

He groaned aloud, since there was no one but Cavalo to hear him. The horse’s ear twitched but he kept plodding along. Time to rest him. Perhaps an ale at the next inn. Perhaps he would even find a newspaper, hear some gossip that would help him make up his mind.

On the whole, he thought he should stick with the original plan and go home.

Avoiding the Bow Street runner until he was sure, naturally.

But he needed to make things right with his family.

He must stay away from Chloe, at least for a little.

Then, one day, perhaps, he could call on her family.

Surely, he would know then if she still felt the same. ..

She won’t, imbecile. Why should she?

Because she was Chloe and unpredictable and he desperately wanted her in his life.

And there could only be one, terrifying reason for that.

I love her.

The stunning thought distracted him so much that he did not notice the horsemen until it was too late.

One was approaching along the road toward him at an unthreatening trot. Another had dismounted and was idling by a hedge in a manner all too familiar. In just such a way had Jon taught his men to hold up travellers.

Scowling, he halted Cavalo in the middle of the road. The trotting horseman kept coming. The other began to lead his horse in Jon’s direction.

The first horseman would trot past and come up behind him. The dismounted man would demand his valuables. If Jon didn’t shoot them both from sheer annoyance.

The trotting horseman did not trot past. He stared at Jon with his mouth open and brought his beast to a halt in front of him. A huge grin spread over his face.

“Why, Captain, it’s yourself! Are we glad to see you!”

“I wish I could say the same,” Jon said wrathfully. “You’re not supposed to be anywhere near each other.”

“Well, we weren’t,” said the former Sergeant Harvey, “until we met by accident on the same road. And then we ran into Noddock...”

“Well met, Captain!” said the other ruffian whose name was Sydney, tucking his pistol away in his belt and letting his disreputable old army coat flap over it.

“On the contrary, this is exactly the kind of reunion we should be avoiding.” Frowning, Jon looked about him, peering over the hedges on either side of the road. “So where is Noddock now?”

“That’s why we’re glad we ran into you,” said Harvey ruefully. “He was taken at the Horse’s Head down Farfield way.”

“Oh the devil .” Jon raked his fingers through his hair, knocking off his hat, which Sydney obligingly picked off the road and dusted off for him. “You mean he was arrested? For what? Just being in the Horse’s Head?”

Harvey scratched his head. “Probably justification enough,” he admitted. “But in fact, he was accused of highway robbery and burglary. Which I guess is fair. Only they never even looked at us, only him.”

Jon paused in the act of replacing his hat. “The three of you were there and they only picked on Noddock? What had he done? Sold something he shouldn’t have had?”

“No. Just walked across the room with a tray of ale.”

Just walked across the room...

“They said he’d held up some cove near Greater Lessing.”

Jon groaned. “Had he? Had you? You were supposed to stay clean after the Grand Court fiasco. You had money to send home. You were meant to go home! And you two were about to hold me up.”

“Yes, well, we were desperate, like,” Harvey said ruefully. “Needed a bite to eat while we thought what to do. About Noddock.”

“We were on our way home,” Sydney said. “And we were clean. And Noddock swore to us he never did it.”

“But he walked across the room,” Jon said bleakly. The best laid plans of mice and men... And the worst. “Where did they take him?”

“Farfield for the night. But they were taking him to Greater Lessing this morning.”

Of course they were.

***

“F ELLOW, COME HERE,” Mr. Dunwoody ordered his prisoner.

The prisoner stopped pacing and limped obediently toward the bars of his cell.

His limp was wrong, his size and shape were wrong. His hair was too dark and too straggly, and he had a disreputable beard besides. Whoever this man was, he was not Jonathan Berry.

Chloe felt faint from sheer relief.

She tried to drop Mr. Dunwoody’s arm to prevent herself clutching it, but he held her hand in place, patting it gently. “There, don’t be frightened. He can’t hurt anyone from in there. Do you recognize this man, Chloe?”

“I have never seen him before in my life,” Chloe said with simple gratitude.

“He is most certainly not my brother,” Robert added.

“Miles?” said Mr. Dunwoody

Sir Denbeigh stalked past them up to the bars.

The constable wisely intervened. “I’d step back, sir, if I were you.”

Sir Denbeigh did so with alacrity.

“I’d never hit the old cove,” the prisoner said indignantly. “What d’you take me for?”

“The ruffian who already threatened and robbed the old cove ,” Mr. Dunwoody said, scowling.

“Never did,” the prisoner insisted.

Mr. Dunwoody turned to Sir Denbeigh. “Well, did he?”

Sir Denbeigh peered at the prisoner from head to toe, then put on a pair of spectacles retrieved from his coat and repeated the process.

“He could be the one,” he said at last. “He had his face muffled behind a scarf and a hat.”

“That hat?” Mr. Dunwoody asked, pointing at the battered tricorne on the floor.

“Could be,” Sir Denbeigh said again. “It’s filthy enough.”

“Been on the road for days,” the prisoner said defensively.

“What is your name, fellow?” Mr. Dunwoody asked.

“Noddock, sir. James Noddock.”

Noddock? Where had she heard that somewhat unusual name before? Something to do with Jon... Was he not the man who had assaulted one of Sir John Grandison’s guests by mistake and then decided to make it better by abducting the lady?

She regarded him with more interest. He was indeed a villainous looking specimen, though his expression was more anxious than ferocious.

“And what do you do for a living, Noddock?” Mr. Dunwoody asked.

“Soldier, sir. Or I was. Got my leg shot up and broken at Salamanca. Plus they’d still be digging shrapnel out me head if I let them.”

Injured in the same battle as Jon. Surely that was not coincidence?

“And what exactly were you doing at the Horse’s Head at Farfield?” Mr. Dunwoody enquired.

“Just quenching me thirst, sir. It’s a long walk home.”

“And where is home?”

“Devon, sir. Been looking for work in London, but I miss the wife and children.”

Was he serious? Or playing for sympathy? Chloe could not tell, and she doubted the others could either.

Mr. Dunwoody turned to Sir Denbeigh once more. “So, you cannot categorically identify this man as the one who robbed you?”

“Not categorically. Can’t categorically rule him out either.”

“Constable, have we any evidence that this was the man who held up Sir Denbeigh?”

The constable sniffed. “Just that he was in the Horse’s Head. And he limps like the highwayman in Essex.”

“But he is not the man our Mr. Dance of Bow Street followed from Essex to Greater Lessing.” Mr. Dunwoody tugged indecisively at his lower lip.

“But since we no longer think that man was the highwayman... We need evidence, Constable. Without it, I cannot charge him. Noddock, you will stay there for now while we make further enquiries.”

Chloe, who desperately wanted to speak alone to Noddock, tried to linger unnoticed, but Mr. Dunwoody was too conscious of his duty of care toward his old friend’s daughter, and summoned her to take his arm.

Chloe took a last glance back at the prisoner and found him watching Robert with some speculation. Was he intrigued to meet his captain’s brother? Or was he just planning a way out?