Читать книгу Scandal And Miss Markham - Janice Preston - Страница 13

There was a lull in the conversation as the men in the taproom eyed up this newcomer. There had been no such reaction when the other man and Thea had entered and she took heart that the other customers had taken her appearance at face value. One single glance confirmed the newcomer was Vernon, but his appearance, far from offering relief, wound Thea’s tension a notch tighter as she kept her head bent and her attention on her drink. In her head, as she had planned her first venture into this alien world, she had entered the taproom and Vernon was already seated. She had not reckoned on him following her in. What if he sat at her table?

From the corner of her eye, she watched as he paused inside the door and swept the room, his gaze lingering on each man in turn before moving on to the next. She clenched her teeth as he scrutinised her, wrapping her fingers tightly around her tankard as she fought the urge to check that her hair was still tucked up inside her cap. The colour, surely, would give her away in an instant. After what seemed an age, Vernon’s gaze moved on and Thea released her held breath as he sauntered deeper into the room, and selected a seat at a table with three other men. He looked every inch the gentleman he was, despite Daniel’s clothing, and Thea sensed the sudden unease of the men he had joined. Even Perrins watched Vernon with suspicion.

‘Good afternoon,’ Vernon said.

His voice, well-modulated and...well...superior, carried around the room, prompting another pause in the various conversations. Now the immediate danger of him recognising her had passed, Thea began to enjoy herself. Vernon might be a lord, and the brother of a high and mighty duke, but he was out of his depth in this world. She fully expected the three men he had joined to finish up their ale and to leave, but they did not. Vernon reached into his pocket and extracted a pack of cards, looking around the table with his brows lifted in invitation. The men exchanged glances and nodded, and Vernon dealt the cards.

Perrins called across the bar, ‘Mind you keep them stakes low, gents. I don’t want no trouble in here.’

Vernon laughed. ‘I have no choice but to keep them low, landlord. My luck has been out for too long, I fear. But I harbour hopes it is about to change.’

His smile encompassed his three companions, who appeared to perk up, exchanging eager looks.

They played cards for nigh on an hour, while Thea nursed her drink in the corner, growing steadily more indignant. She could hear their banter. Not once had Vernon mentioned Daniel. Or Henry Mannington. Instead, he fed them scraps of information about himself—none of it true, from what Thea knew of him—as he steadily lost, hand after hand. Then, he won a hand and, jubilant, he ordered a bottle of gin and four glasses. Thea could not fathom his strategy. Time was wasting. They needed clues. Why did he not just get on with it instead of throwing his money around? If he had experienced the dread of ending up in debtors’ prison, he would not be so careless of his money.

Then, with the gin bottle half-empty—the level in Vernon’s glass, she noted, had barely dropped—he said, ‘That’s it. I’m done, lads. You’ve cleaned me out. Landlord...what time do you have?’

‘Half-past four,’ Perrins called in reply.

‘Half-past four, you say!’

His words slurred a little, but Thea did not believe he was in the slightest bit foxed. Vernon swore an oath that made Thea blush, then pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.

‘Have I the wrong place, I wonder? I made sure he said to meet here at four.’

‘Who’re you meeting, then? Anyone we know?’

‘Friend of mine. Daniel Markham. Business matter, don’t y’know?’

He tapped one long forefinger against the side of his nose and winked at his companions, who promptly vied with each other to suggest other places Vernon might conceivably have arranged to meet Daniel. Thea found herself revising her opinion of his lordship and a grudging respect crept through her. Even the customers who had not played cards proffered suggestions. It seemed they all knew Daniel, but none of them appeared aware he was missing.

‘No, no,’ Vernon said, in response to each suggestion. ‘They do not sound familiar. I’ll know the name when you say it, I am sure. Perhaps...’ He paused, staring at the table, frowning. He shook his head. Looked around at his companions. ‘Maybe it was not in Stourbridge at all? Was it somewhere near Birmingham? Or in Birmingham itself?’

‘It could well be,’ Perrins said—the first time he had ventured a suggestion. ‘He hasn’t been in here for the last few nights—I dare say we’m not grand enough for him, now he’s consorting with them nobs at the Royal Hotel.’

Royal Hotel! R.H!

Thea gripped the edge of the table to stop herself leaping from her chair, as Vernon pumped Perrins by the hand.

‘The Royal! I remember! He did speak of the Royal—that must be the place. Now, how could I have got it so wrong? But he definitely spoke of the Nag’s Head as well—I must have confused the two.’

‘He’ll be long gone by the time you get to Birmingham,’ one of the other men said. ‘You might as well play another hand. He might call in on his way home tonight—it’ll save you a long ride.’

‘No...how far is it? Ten, twelve miles?’

‘Nearer thirteen.’

‘We had plans to meet up and spend the evening together. I cannot believe he will give up on me so easily. My horse is fresh. I can cover that in less than two hours. Now, I must make haste...only, before I go, does anyone know a place called Willingdale?’

His question met with shaking heads.

‘A man called Henry Mannington?’

As further denials rang around the room, Thea became aware she was now the only customer not taking an active role in the discussion. She stood quietly and, when Vernon’s attention was on Perrins, she slipped quickly and quietly from the bar. She did not wish to attract Vernon’s curiosity, convinced she would not pass too close a scrutiny from those astute green eyes of his. She retrieved Star from the yard behind the inn, mounted and then waited around a corner for Vernon to emerge. He strolled into the street, still looking every inch the nobleman, surrounded by his customary aura of assurance and entitlement. The ostler must have been watching, for he soon appeared, leading Warrior, and Vernon mounted with a fluid grace that made Thea’s mouth go dry. He was so very...male. She licked her lips to moisten them, irritated by her involuntary reaction. What was it about this man that touched her in ways no one else had ever done? Even Jasper. The man she had been going to wed, before he had left her standing at the altar.

She tore her thoughts away from that wretch. It had happened long ago. She was older and wiser now, and Jasper was dead—killed in a fire at a wayside inn—and buried. She would never...never...put her trust in another man, no matter how handsome his face and no matter what feelings he had aroused as he’d wrapped her in his arms and comforted her, his strong embrace reassuring, his heartbeat steady in her ear.

Thea gave Vernon a head start and then she followed.

By the time dusk began to fall, Thea was beginning to regret her foolhardy decision to follow Vernon. She was bored and she was saddle sore. Vernon appeared in no hurry to reach Birmingham and that irritated Thea beyond measure. Surely the sooner they reached the Royal Hotel the sooner they might discover what had happened to Daniel? She’d made the connection immediately, but had Vernon linked the Royal Hotel with R.H? Certainly he appeared unaffected by the sense of urgency that snapped at Thea’s heels—he paused at every wayside inn they passed.

After following him into the second such inn—where, again, he quietly questioned the publican about Daniel, Willingdale and Henry Mannington—Thea realised that unless he was totally oblivious to his surroundings Vernon would soon notice a young lad shadowing his every move. So, of necessity, she’d remained out of sight as he had visited further public houses. She supposed she must be grateful he did not waste as much time as he had at the Nag’s Head.

Now, as she rode Star at a discreet distance behind him, she was also hungry and thirsty and—

Thea straightened in the saddle, drawing Star quickly to one side of the lane they rode along. Vernon’s form was indistinct in the distance as the light faded, but Thea could just make out two shadows—humped, awkward-looking creatures—moving swiftly parallel with the lane, on the far side of group of bushes from Vernon and his horse. Thea pushed Star into a trot, trusting that her mare’s black coat and Thea’s own dull clothing would render them invisible to any backward glance. The two—and she could now make out they were men, crouching as they ran—had overtaken Vernon, who appeared not to have noticed he had company.

She recalled all the recent reports of footpads in the area and she realised how reckless she had been in following Vernon in this way. Suppose it had been her they had spotted and now stalked? She had been blind to everything other than finding her brother. The gap between her and Vernon had closed. Without taking her eyes from the two men, she eased Star back to a walk and fumbled with the buckle on her saddlebag. She withdrew the duelling pistol, thanking God she’d thought to prime it in advance. She pulled the hammer to full cock and pointed it skywards. Even though she was a fair shot, she could not risk hitting either Vernon or Warrior.

There was a break in the bushes a few yards ahead of Vernon and the two men paused at that point, still hunched over. Thea could just make out they both held weapons—one short and thick, like a club, the other longer and very slim—and Thea prayed it was not a blade of some sort.

Vernon rode on at an easy walk.

It happened very fast. The two men erupted from the bushes. One grabbed at Warrior’s reins as the other, thick club upraised, went for the rider.

Thea dug her heels into Star but, even as she yelled a warning, she saw Vernon’s leg jerk sideways. His boot collided with his assailant’s head and a scream of pain rent the air as the man staggered back, clutching his face, his club discarded. Vernon shot a swift glance behind him, in Thea’s direction, before launching himself from the saddle at the second man, who had come alongside Warrior, still clutching his reins. Vernon cursed viciously as the man jabbed his stick at him. Thea hauled Star to a halt, leapt from the saddle, and ran towards the struggling men, pistol in hand. She stopped a few yards away, pistol still pointing into the air.

Vernon threw a punch, catching his attacker on the jaw with satisfying crack. As the man staggered back, Vernon shot another glance at Thea.

‘Don’t stand gawping, lad. Guard the other one.’

Thea gulped and pointed the pistol with a shaky hand in the general direction of the first assailant, still moaning on the ground, blood pouring from his nose. Vernon stalked after the second attacker, who was stumbling backwards, his eyes riveted to the menacing figure that followed. He gripped his stick—which Thea could now see had been sharpened at one end—with both hands, pointing it at Vernon. A movement from the man on the ground then secured Thea’s attention and she saw no more, but the cries and the curses coming from two men behind her suggested they now grappled and finally, unable to bear the suspense, she glanced round. Vernon, his hand clutched to his side, was bent over, but there was no sign of his assailant.

Vernon’s head lifted and she felt the force of his gaze upon her. ‘Look out!’

Desperation leant an edge to his shout, but his warning was too late. A solid mass thumped into Thea from behind, knocking her aside. She stumbled, desperately trying to stay on her feet and to keep hold of the pistol, her stomach clenching tight as bile rose to choke her throat.

By the time she steadied herself, the two assailants were disappearing amongst the bushes by the side of the road, one man’s arm draped across the other’s shoulders as he was dragged along. She aimed her pistol at the bushes, following the rustling sounds, using her left hand to steady her shaking right one.

‘Leave it!’ That voice brooked no disobedience.

Thea lowered her arm, gulping with relief that she would not have to use the firearm, although she would have fired had she been forced to. What if those ruffians had not run away? What if Vernon had been incapacitated? The enormity of her decision to follow him in this way suddenly hit her. And now...she realised how likely it was Vernon would see through her disguise and her relief seeped away to be replaced by fear at the thought of facing him. He would not be happy. She sucked in a breath.

‘Thank you.’ Vernon’s attention was still on the spot where the two men had disappeared into the bushes. ‘I am in your debt.’

In the spot where they stood, where trees overhung the road, the light had all but gone. Thea kept her face averted from Vernon and muttered, ‘Glad to help.’

Vernon crossed slowly to Warrior and reached into his saddlebag, keeping a wary eye on the surrounding bushes. All sounds of the men’s retreat had faded away, but Thea still breathed a thankful sigh when Vernon withdrew his own pistol. At least they were both now armed and ready for anything.

‘How far is Birmingham? I need a bed for the night.’

Thea pointed ahead. ‘Two or three miles.’

He grunted. ‘I’ll stop at the next inn. There must be another between here and the town.

Vernon rubbed his hand across his jaw, the rasp of whiskers against his palm reminding him of the long, weary day behind him. He shoved his foot into the stirrup and hauled himself up to the saddle. He was knackered even before those two had jumped him, but now... He pressed his hand to his side and winced. That bastard had caught him with his stake, but he was sure it hadn’t punctured anything vital. When he had first become aware of the two figures lurking in the undergrowth, energy had flooded him, banishing his weariness and helping him to fight them off. But now that unnatural surge had dissipated and all he wished for was a hot meal and a comfortable bed. He hoped the next inn would be a decent place. Some of the places he had stopped at since leaving Stourbridge had left much to be desired.

Vernon glanced round at the lad, riding a little behind, out of Vernon’s direct line of sight. He was not the talkative type and that suited Vernon very well, but he was aware how fortunate it was that the lad had seen what was happening and come to Vernon’s aid. He wondered idly if the boy was local...that was a very fine mare he was riding. Vernon frowned, staring at the road ahead as suspicions stirred. Such a quality, fine-boned animal was an unusual choice for a country lad. He glanced back again. The combination of the dim light and the lad’s cap pulled low over his eyes rendered his face all but invisible.

They had ridden into a village and around a curve in the road. There before them was a small inn, the Bell, set between a churchyard and a row of neat cottages. Vernon could just make out the church itself, set back from the other buildings, its square tower silhouetted against the night sky.

‘Do you know anything about this place?’

The lad shook his head.

‘No matter,’ Vernon said. ‘Go in and see if it looks respectable, will you, lad? I’ll hold the horses. Oh, and enquire for the local constable, while you’re there, will you?’ Once he left the saddle he feared it would be more than he could manage to remount. ‘I must report that attack—I was informed earlier there has been a spate of such incidences in the area. I make no doubt the constable will be interested in the information, especially as one of those men looks unlikely to go far.’

The boy merely grunted by way of reply and did as he was bid as Vernon clenched his teeth against the pain in his side and battled the urge to slump in the saddle.

The boy soon emerged, with a couple of men. He nodded at Vernon, who took that to mean the inn was acceptable. He slid to the ground, relieved he need ride no further.

‘I’m Joseph Deadly, constable here,’ the taller of the two men said. ‘What’s been a-happening?’

Vernon told Deadly how the two men had jumped him.

‘I’ll wager it’s them gipsies that set up camp by the woods. They often come through this time of year, picking up odd jobs, and we allus seem to get a spate of thievery and such like when they’re around.’

Vernon recalled Thea’s earlier remark, that Daniel had suspected former soldiers of local attacks rather than the gipsies commonly blamed. His immediate impression of his two attackers meant he was inclined to agree with Daniel.

‘I am not sure you are correct, Deadly,’ he said. ‘Whilst gipsies are not unknown for petty thieving, the ones I’ve met in the past have not struck me as violent men, unless they perceive themselves under threat. The men who attacked me appeared more like vagrants.’

Deadly shrugged. ‘One and the same thing, as far as I can see. You say one of them’s injured, sir?’

‘He is. I suspect my boot in his face will leave a visible clue to identify the culprit.’

Several men had by now joined them outside the inn, tankards in hand.

‘Any volunteers to come with me and pay them gipsies a visit?’ Deadly said.

A chorus of enthusiasm met his words and Vernon’s heart sank. He hoped he hadn’t been the instigator of a lynch mob. Still, that was for the constable to control.

‘Never fear, sir,’ Deadly added, clapping Vernon on the shoulder and making him wince, ‘we’ll go to the scene first and scout out from there. But, you mark my words, it’ll be them gipsies.’

‘Before you go...’ Vernon tossed his horse’s reins to the lad—who had shrunk back into the shadows—and then took the constable to one side to tell him about Daniel Markham’s disappearance. ‘Will you make a few enquiries, but discreetly, please? Mr Markham’s family do not wish his disappearance to become common knowledge. He was riding a light grey horse. I also need to know if you have any knowledge of Willingdale or of a man called Henry Mannington. You may attend me here in the morning, if you will, to let me know if you have any news for me and to tell me if you’ve had any luck in tracking down my attackers.’

Deadly touched the brim of his hat. ‘Very good, sir.’

Vernon was relieved to call a halt to his enquiries, even though his original intention had been to reach Birmingham and the Royal Hotel that night. He felt in his gut that the Royal Hotel would hold the clue he needed to unravel what had happened to Daniel Markham.

He turned back to Warrior. The lad who had been holding him had gone, leaving the horse’s reins weighted with a large stone. Vernon frowned. He had wanted to thank him properly. He looked along the street and there, in the distance, he could just make out the lad riding away on his black mare. His body screamed at him to let the lad go, but his suspicions about the quality of the horse, coupled with the lad’s reluctance to look Vernon in the eye and his lack of conversation, set warning bells jangling in Vernon’s head. Then he recalled the lad’s pistol. How many country lads like him would own a duelling pistol?

Is he a runaway?

And those few words decided him. His nephew, Alex—Leo’s youngest son—had run away only a few months previously, and Vernon remembered the worry and the grief of the entire family as they had imagined the worst. And then there was Thea—her anxiety over her brother’s disappearance had touched Vernon as he saw how bravely she tried to shield her parents from the knowledge. The thought of another family going through the same horror of not knowing what had become of their loved one made the decision for him: he could not allow the lad to ride off into the night without at least trying to discover his story.

Vernon clenched his teeth and, sweating with the effort, hauled himself into Warrior’s saddle. He put his hand to his side again, reaching inside his borrowed moleskin waistcoat, feeling the sticky warmth of blood. He inhaled—he should get it seen to, but then the boy would be long gone and, if he was a runaway, Vernon would have lost his only chance to help.

He set Warrior into a trot, biting back a gasp as the gait jolted him and pain scorched across his ribs.

‘Damn,’ he muttered, beneath his breath. ‘Let’s get this done,’ and he dug his heels in.

Warrior broke into a canter—a smoother pace but still agony to Vernon. He hooked his left hand under the pommel and forced his thoughts away from the pain and on to the lad. As they neared the black mare, the lad glanced back and, for a moment, it seemed as though he would take flight. He did not, however, but reined to a halt and waited, staring fixedly at his horse’s mane.

‘Why did you leave?’ Vernon said as he pulled his horse round in front of the mare.

‘Need to get home.’

There was something about that gruff voice...but it hovered just out of Vernon’s reach. He watched the boy as he studiously avoided meeting his gaze.

‘And where is that?’

A cough took Vernon unaware. Pain forked through him and he sucked an involuntary breath in through his teeth. The boy’s head jerked upright and he stared through the darkness at Vernon.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘Merely a scratch,’ he gritted out. ‘You left before I could thank you properly.’ He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a half-sovereign. ‘Here. I am—’

Vernon bit off his words. The boy had reached out for the coin, muttering Thanks, and something about that disgruntled, near-sarcastic tone of voice jogged a memory. He did not stop to think about it...about how unlikely it was...he nudged his horse closer to the dainty black mare and took hold of her reins. The fresh scent of roses assailed his senses.

It cannot—

In one swift movement he snatched the cap from the boy’s head. Even though it was too dark to see the colour, there was no mistaking the spring of the curls that tumbled about her forehead, nor the delicate oval of her face, nor the plump softness of the lips that formed a silent Oh! of horror. Vernon lifted his gaze to meet a pair of large, startled eyes that he just knew were hazel in colour.

‘What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?’