Page 9 of Escape of the Highwayman (Escape #3)

A lthough the stable building seemed to be quiet, and there were no lights on in the grooms’ sleeping quarters by the coach house, she could not shake off her sense of dread.

Even when Molly shed her kittens to come and stroke herself against Chloe’s skirts, she looked toward the still pile of blankets with deep foreboding.

Hardly watching what she was doing, she gave the cat some food and poured some water from her jug into Molly’s bowl, then crossed to the highwayman’s corner of the loft.

“Sir,” she said softly, kneeling beside him. There was no sound, no movement, so she shone the lantern full in his face. Only the hectic flush on his skin gave her hope he was still alive, until the light suddenly seemed to penetrate his eyelids, and he jerked his face away to escape it.

His skin was burning to the touch. In panic, she poured water into the bathing bowl and soaked the cloth before wringing it out and applying it to his face and neck and hands. He grunted with distress, and then was still, as if marginally more comfortable, so she repeated the process.

“Sir,” she said urgently. “I’m going to fetch the doctor.”

It seemed to take a moment for her words to sink in, while she bathed his forehead one last time. Then, as she replaced the cloth in the bowl, he moved quite suddenly and grasped her wrist.

His eyes were open and staring at her. “No doctors,” he said clearly.

“But you could die.”

“I’ve been there before. Better like this.”

“How can you say that?”

A sort of bewilderment entered his clouded eyes.

His fingers still grasped her wrist with surprising strength.

“You care.” He shook his head, and then he released her.

“You shouldn’t, not for me. Besides, I won’t die.

I never do. Don’t bring the doctor, he’ll bring the law.

Then we are all in the soup...” His straying eyes came back into focus. “No doctor. Promise me. Please.”

It was the please that swayed her more than anything else.

She freshened the cloth and squeezed it out. “Very well, no doctor.”

After that, the fight seemed to go out of him, and he said nothing more.

Afterwards, she was never sure how long she sat there, bathing his hands and face constantly. Eventually, when he seemed to be sleeping, she sat back against the wall, still afraid to leave him, and fell asleep too.

When she woke, the lantern was out, and the birds were just beginning to wake. Beside her was movement, quick and unexpected. She straightened, gasping, to find the highwayman reaching for the water cup.

She was quicker, grabbing it and thrusting it into his hands. His fingers were steady, warm but not hot. Relief washed over her in waves.

He drank from the cup and set it down again. She could not make out his features in the gloom.

“It’s dawn,” he said. “Have you been here all night?”

“I was afraid to leave you. I thought you would die.”

“I’m sorry. It’s all a little hazy. But I think you are wearing evening clothes and should not be seen entering the house in them at this hour.”

She had forgotten about the dinner party, so distant and trivial... “Are you better?” she blurted.

“Yes. I should be able to go in just a little. Did you mean this food for me?”

“If the cat hasn’t been at it.” It still seemed to be covered by the cloth, which was encouraging. “Are you hungry at last?”

“Ravenous.” Pushing the cloth aside, he seized something off the plate and pushed it into his mouth.

Encouraged, Chloe stumbled to her feet. “You are right. I should slip back inside. I’ll come back later. Don’t go until I’ve seen to your wound.”

He smiled but said nothing until she reached the ladder. “Miss Chloe?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

She smiled, because she had done something right, and climbed down the ladder.

***

H AVING REACHED THE Grand Inn the previous evening, Robert Berry walked up to Grand Court after breakfast to call upon Sir John Grandison, who had written the bizarre letter to his father.

He was shown at once into Grandison’s study on the ground floor of the gracious residence. Sir John rose to his feet. “Mr. Berry? I’m Grandison. Very happy to meet you. Sit down, won’t you? Some refreshment, perhaps? Too early for sherry or brandy?”

“I am quite comfortable, thank you. It’s very good of you to receive me without warning. I’m really here on behalf of my father.” He passed his father’s letter to Grandison and sat in the chair he had been offered at the other side of the desk.

His host broke the seal and unfolded the epistle.

While he read, Robert looked about him. The study was the room of a serious man—shelves of law books and parliamentary records, but also a comfortable one.

He guessed that Grandison was a dutiful, even conscientious magistrate, but not one who let the responsibility take over his life.

Grandison lowered the letter. “Yes, I can appreciate your father’s concern, but I did feel I should let him know the accusations that have been made, especially since there is a Bow Street runner on his trail now.

My own feeling is that my guest simply made a mistake in his identification, mixing up two men with similar appearance and very different characters, but he is a stubborn fellow, and I felt obliged to investigate.

We certainly seem to have chased one of them out of the county. I heard word he is down in Sussex now.”

This sounded like consoling news for Papa. It was certainly a relief to Robert. “Who is this guest of yours who identified him as Jonathan Berry?”

“Lord Wolf. Decent enough fellow, well-liked, if inclined to hedonism as a young man tends to be, but honourable for all that.”

Robert’s heart lightened further. “I never heard Jonathan mention the name. He never moved much in society. He went into the army after only a year at Oxford. Was Lord Wolf an officer too?”

“Goodness, no.”

“Then how could he possibly know Jonathan well enough to name him?” Robert asked with some triumph.

Grandison sighed. “Well, there’s the rub, Mr. Berry.

It appears they met at a hostelry some miles from here—the Duck and Spoon.

There had been a prize fight nearby, and all the sporting young bucks had gone to see it, including Lord Wolf, and they stayed that night at the Duck and Spoon.

Wolf and this Captain Berry were introduced by one Lord Sanderly, whom you may have heard of. Known as Snake Sanderly.”

“I’ve heard the name, but not from my brother. I cannot imagine they are friends.”

“Well, Sanderly certainly claims friendship with this Captain Berry, who seems to have wandered into the Duck and Spoon when it was full, and everyone was already two or three sheets to the wind. Sanderly knew him immediately and gave him a seat at his table, where he and Wolf and some others were playing cards. Or was it dice? Anyway, this Berry played with them, and Wolf remembered him because he was lame and had a pistol which he laid on the table at one point—apparently in support of Sanderly’s claim on some wench, but that is one part of the story I did not enquire into.

I suspect it was not what it seemed for Sanderly is not as black as he is often painted.

Anyway, that is Wolf’s claim to knowing Captain Berry’s name, and Sanderly does not deny he was there.

He does however deny that his Berry could be involved in highway robbery, let alone the burglary of this house that took place a couple of weeks later during our ball. ”

Robert leaned forward, frowning. “Then what on earth led Lord Wolf to denounce this Captain Berry? Did he claim to see him during the burglary?”

“No, but he did claim to see him in the village inn—where you stayed last night, I believe—on the day of the ball and burglary, as it has become known. Our innkeeper does recall such a guest, but Berry was not his name, and the somewhat vague description of a fair, lame young man can surely fit many more than your brother.”

“So you think Lord Wolf was mistaken?” Robert said, trying not to sound too eager.

“Well, by his own admission he was not exactly sober at the Duck and Spoon, which does cast doubt on his identification.”

“And surely there is no proof that even this lame, fair stranger, whoever he was, perpetrated your burglary?”

“Well,” Grandison said with a grimace. “That is the tricky part. Because of the abduction.”

“Abduction?”

“One of our guests—a lady whose name I shall not divulge, if you don’t mind, although it is no doubt flying around the country as we speak—retired to her bedchamber during the ball and seems to have disturbed one or more of the burglars.

She was knocked unconscious and taken by the gang.

A masked man—fair and lame—carried her into a hostelry some ten miles away and demanded a physician be summoned to her.

He then rode away. The lady recovered, I hasten to add, but not without some injury and loss of memory. ”

“So she cannot identify her abductor?” By this time, Robert didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad.

“Sadly not.” Grandison gave a rueful smile. “So you see, the evidence against Captain Berry—whether your brother or some other man—is tenuous at best, despite several co-incidences.”

“And yet he is still being pursued,” Robert observed.

“Ah. Well, there is the evidence of the innkeeper’s wife who looked after the abducted lady until her husband found her.

She described the lame, masked man’s horse as a dappled grey.

And I have just heard that a lame, fair man eluded the runner and several constables in the Sussex town of Greater Lessing two days ago, by galloping through a market on a dappled grey.

Jumped straight over a market stall, apparently. ”

Cavalo , Robert thought numbly. Jon’s favourite horse, acquired on the Peninsula and brought home with him. Jon had left home riding him several months ago.