Amanda Scott (27 page)

“As if that would be better!” exclaimed Dolly. “But they won’t, for Oliver don’t know one end of a sword from another, and even Saint Just wouldn’t be so unsportsmanlike as to take advantage of a man he calls his friend. They will fight with pistols. Oliver says as much, there, in his letter.”

“So he does,” muttered Emily, reading again. “Oh, what a pair of ninnies they are! Come along, Dolly, we must stop them, and I might not find the clearing quickly enough by myself.”

“But they must be there by now,” Dolly protested. “Oliver didn’t expect that I would read this until much later in the day, for I hardly ever go to my bedchamber at this time, you know, only I wanted to fetch my shawl—”

“Well, you didn’t fetch it,” Emily said, looking her over, “but that cannot be helped. Don’t argue with me, Dolly. Just come at once. You don’t want Oliver to be killed.”

Dolly agreed that such an outcome was unthinkable, and Emily waited not a moment longer. Her greatest fear was not for Oliver but for Jack, Melanie, and Mr. Scopwick. She had no confidence that either Oliver or Saint Just would shoot straight, and she had no knowledge of how many shots each would be allowed. The thought of stray bullets flying around the woods near the road terrified her. Taking Dolly by the arm, she dragged her along, hurrying through the hall and out to the drive.

Releasing her hold on Dolly, Emily hurried into the woods, but as she neared the point where the road forked, she realized that she would have to take care. Haste was important, but not so important that she wished to risk running full tilt into either Melanie’s old woman or Jack.

Dolly caught up with her as she moved into the shrubbery. “It is much faster to stay on the road. Why do we go this way?”

“Look here,” Emily said quickly, “I did not tell you the whole before, but Meriden and Mr. Scopwick are attempting to catch someone who has been—”

“Oh, the jewel thief!” exclaimed Dolly. “Do you know who it is, then? Oh, how exciting! Where are they?”

Deciding to accept Dolly’s assumption rather than to attempt to explain what was really taking place, Emily gestured with a nod of her head. “Somewhere up yonder, lying in wait. That’s why I was so shocked to hear of the duel being fought nearby. A stray bullet—”

“Oh, my goodness! We must hurry!”

But Emily caught her impetuous companion by the arm. “We must go carefully, Dolly. It will do no one any good if we run into the … the thief, or into the vicar or your cousin, for that matter. Explanations mean delay, no matter how quickly we make them, so it will be better to stay off the road.”

“But I have never walked through the woods except on the paths or the road,” Dolly protested. “If we go charging about, I shan’t know precisely where Bishop’s Clearing is. There is a narrow path from the road that leads directly there. And should we not warn Cousin Jack of the danger at once? They could shoot at each other before ever we get to the clearing.”

Hesitating, Emily realized that Dolly was right, especially if the girl could not lead her quickly and quietly to the clearing. The thought that Jack might be injured, even killed while she dallied, lent wings to her feet, and she hurried back onto the road. To warn the men first was certainly a better notion. She had avoided doing so at once because she had known she would have to face Jack’s anger with her before she could explain anything to him. As for running into Melanie or her witch, she had no idea now how much time had passed since Melanie had left the house. She could only hope the child had not yet had time to reach the village and walk back again.

Back on the road, they made good speed, though Emily warned Dolly to go as quietly as she could. “We do not want to startle the villain unless we must,” she said.

As it happened, the two of them rounded a curve in the narrow road in time to see Melanie directly ahead of them, face-to-face with the same old woman Emily had seen before. Emily stopped dead and Dolly walked straight into her just as the woman turned, uttered a shriek of fury, and whirled toward the narrow path, only to run straight into the arms of Jack and Scopwick, who had been concealed in the shrubbery on either side of it.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Emily hurried forward to warn them about the duel. Before she could speak, however, and before Jack could give utterance to the words of fury she could see leaping to his tongue, Mr. Scopwick snatched the scruffy gray wig from their captive’s head, revealing brown hair arranged in a tight bun at the nape of her neck.

Melanie, who had stood frozen in place, gave a gasp of dismay. “Miss Brittan!”

“Miss Brittan, indeed,” bellowed the vicar with strong satisfaction. “Never did believe in any witch. Stands to reason I’d have heard by now if there were anyone about who could be described as such. What’s your game, woman?” When she glared at him, he chuckled and gave her an admonitory shake. “No point in silence. You’ve stolen enough from this child to land you in a peck of trouble. Daresay we shall see you hanged.”

Miss Brittan gasped, “Hanged? You cannot. You are a man of God. Moreover, the child gave the money willingly.”

Jack had been glaring at Emily, but at these words he turned his attention to the captive. “Not willingly, madam, as well you know. You have betrayed a solemn trust by what you have done, and you deserve to suffer the harshest punishment.”

“I needed the money,” the woman said pitifully.

“That is scarcely reason enough to terrorize the child entrusted to your care,” he retorted.

“Not to a cold, unfeeling Englishman, perhaps,” she said, recovering her spirit. “In my country, love is sufficient reason for any act.”

“Your country?” Dolly said. “But you told Mama your home is in Kent.”

Miss Brittan shrugged. “A trifling lie, that is all.”

“You are French, are you not?” Jack said.

The woman nodded, and Emily, remembering that her own reason for being on the scene at all was an urgent one, turned to Jack. “Meriden, you must—”

“Hold your tongue!” he snapped. “You and I will talk at length later, I promise you, but for now, if you value your hide, you will keep silent.”

“But—”

“Hands up! Nobody move!”

Startled, everyone turned toward the new voice to discover that a thin, wiry, dark-haired man had emerged from the shrubbery on the south side of the road, opposite to the place where Jack and the vicar had concealed themselves. In his right hand he held a wicked-looking pistol that he pointed first at Scopwick and then at Jack, but the anger flashing in his dark eyes was directed at Miss Brittan.

“Fool,” he snarled, his accent even in the few words he had spoken proving him beyond anyone’s doubt to be a Frenchman.

“Why do you show yourself, Antoine?” Miss Brittan asked fretfully. “Leave at once. Protect yourself!”

“Not without the money,” the man said. “You told me you would bring it, that you would meet me after you had seen the girl today. I waited, only to hear you condemn us out of your own mouth. Where is the money and the jewels?”

“The jewels!” Jack exclaimed, staring at Miss Brittan. “You took the missing jewels?”

The Frenchman answered scornfully, “Of course she took them. We require money to pay the men in Scarborough who will give us passage back to our country. Once we knew there would be enough, for me to elude my foolish English guards was a simple matter, and Felice gave me excellent instructions about where to meet her. But she said,” he added, glancing murderously at his accomplice, “that there will be no trouble, that we—but, no, Englishman, you must not!”

When the Frenchman had looked away from the others toward Miss Brittan, Jack had tensed himself to spring, but the villain sensed his movement and drew the pistol sharply back so that it was pointed directly at him.

Seeing the muscles in the man’s hand begin to tighten, Emily hurled herself at him without the slightest thought for her own safety. As she struck him, she felt a sharp pain in her right arm and heard two shots ring out so quickly that the second was but an echo of the first. Reflecting vaguely that she hadn’t realized his pistol could shoot more than one bullet, she clutched at him. Then, as they fell to the ground in a tangled heap, there was a third explosion, nearer at hand but more muffled than the others, and she felt the body beneath her jump and go limp. Dazed by shock and stunned by her fall, she made no effort at first to move. Then, so certain was she that Jack had been killed despite her efforts, she was afraid to look up.

His voice aroused her. “Emily! Good God, lass, you are bleeding! Did he shoot you? Whatever made you do such a damn-fool thing?”

“Pick her up, lad,” Scopwick said from behind him. “Oughtn’t to let her just lie on him like that, you know.”

“What?” Jack looked back over his shoulder at the vicar and then down at the Frenchman. “Why isn’t he moving?”

“Pick up Miss Wingrave and perhaps he will be able to do so,” the vicar said practically.

“Antoine! Oh, Antoine!”

“Never you mind about him, woman,” said the vicar, tightening his grip as Miss Brittan lunged toward her fallen compatriot. “Just stand still and behave yourself.”

“Heard a lot of bangs,” said Miss Lavinia, stepping from the shrubbery, dressed in her fishing attire.

Giles was at her heels. “We were looking for the vicar to go fishing,” he said. “What’s happened here?”

“Dammit, woman!” bellowed Scopwick, turning on Miss Lavinia angrily. “What are you thinking of, dashing about without so much as looking where you’re going, and bringing the boy with you? Those bangs you heard were pistol shots that, come to think of it,” he added in a distracted tone, “could not both have come from the Frenchman’s pistol. Say, Meriden, is that fellow dead?”

“His pistol appears to have discharged when he fell,” the earl said in a strange voice.

Dolly piped up excitedly, “Then you killed him, Aunt Emily, you killed him!”

Emily closed her eyes. Her arm ached abominably where Jack held it. She thought at first that he was holding her too tightly, but then she realized he was doing what he could to slow the bleeding. When she opened her eyes again, he was looking into her face as though he wished to ascertain whether she was conscious. She smiled hesitantly.

“I’m not dead yet, sir,” she said. “Is he?”

He nodded. “As near as makes no difference, I think.”

“He would have killed you,” she murmured.

“Hush, we’ll talk about that later.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“I said, hush. I’m going to hurt you a trifle.”

That his notion of a trifle was not the same as hers became instantly clear. He squeezed and probed the wound, sending sharp, stabbing flashes of agony through her that made her gasp and fear that she would disgrace herself by being sick all over him. Then, wrapping the wound tightly with her handkerchief, he said, “That’s all. Wanted to be certain no part of the bullet remained. Fortunately it appears only to have creased your arm and didn’t penetrate the flesh by more than a half-inch at the worst. Best to make it bleed a bit, however. Daresay the village leech will wish to cup you otherwise.”

“Not if I can stop him, he won’t,” she muttered.

“Coward. That will hold you, however, until we can dust it with basilicum powder and get it properly bandaged. Then, my lass, you and I are going to have a serious talk.”

Dolly’s demanding to know how the Frenchman had managed to shoot himself and Emily too, and with only one bullet, if he had been meaning to shoot Cousin Jack, drew Meriden’s attention before Emily could protest the innocence of her actions.

“He didn’t shoot your aunt,” he said crisply. “Scopwick, where did that other shot come from?”

“The duel,” Emily muttered, trying to sit upright.

“The what?” Both men stared at her, but before she could elucidate, sounds of new arrivals were heard, and a moment later four young men appeared, strolling together along the narrow road. Emily, leaning her head against Jack’s shoulder, recognized three of them.

“Goodness,” said Dolly, “what is Lettie Bennett’s brother doing with Harry and Oliver and Mr. Saint Just?”

The four young men, upon seeing the crowd in the road, had come to a halt. Then Oliver, noting that Emily was being supported by Jack, rushed forward, exclaiming, “Good God, what happened here? Aunt Emily, are you all right? Good God, there is blood all over your arm!”

“Harry,” demanded Dolly, “what are you doing with that dreadful Mr. Saint Just?”

“Ain’t with him,” he said, regarding her with disapproval. “With Oliver. There was a bit of a dust-up, you see. Oughtn’t to mention it, of course, but since they made a mull of it, there’s no point keeping mum. His second, don’t you know. But more to the point, my girl, what are you doing hovering about where, if I don’t miss my guess, there’s been mischief afoot?” He lifted his quizzing glass and surveyed the scene. “That fellow’s dead,” he pronounced in a thoughtful tone. “Look here, Meriden, you been shooting poachers? Oughtn’t to do that sort of thing in the presence of ladies. Agitates ’em.”

“Poachers,” snorted Miss Lavinia. “What I want to know is what Miss Brittan is doing here and why Eustace Scopwick is hanging on to her as though he fears she’ll fly away.”

“Because she’s like to do just that,” snapped Scopwick, glaring at Miss Lavinia. “She’s the cause of all the riot and rumpus that’s been going on hereabouts. She took your blasted rubies, that’s what. Oh, Lord, what now?” he demanded. He was looking back down the road toward the Priory, and everyone else turned to look. Sabrina was hurrying along the road, holding her skirts up at a scandalous height.

“I was walking to the vicarage when I heard the most awful row,” she called out when she saw them looking at her. “First shots, then shouting. I recognized the vicar’s voice, so I came to get his help. Jack, can that dreadful man who struck Emily down be back in our woods? You must find out who’s been shooting. Merciful heavens!” She had seen Emily and the Frenchman. “What has happened here?”

Swiftly, letting Emily fend for herself for the moment, Jack stood, swept off his jacket, and dropped it over the Frenchman’s head and torso. Mr. Scopwick had released his captive’s arm and was striding angrily toward Sabrina. “Didn’t I tell you not to set foot out-of-doors without a good strong footman beside you? What are you thinking about? You’ve got no better sense than Lavinia Arncliffe!”