Amanda Scott (30 page)

Dismayed to think that Bridget, of all people, had learned the details of her parentage and passed them on to Kintyre, Pinkie found that her hands were shaking. She knew that she ought to have told him everything when he asked about her past on their wedding night. Indeed, she should have told him about Daft Geordie and Red Mag when he offered for her. Then, however, she had been thinking only about him and how he could resolve his troubles, but that was no excuse for having let it come to such a pass. Still, it was out, and there was nothing she could do about that. All she could do now was try to prevent Bridget from making things worse.

Thinking swiftly, she said, “Fetch Nan for me, will you, Sal?”

“She went out with Miss Munn soon after ye left the house, ma’am. Miss Munn said ye had given her errands to run, and she invited Nan to go along.”

Hoping that Bridget’s failure to take Nan with her meant that the maid knew nothing of her mistress’s intention to leave, Pinkie said only, “Did Rankin drive Lady Marsali and Mrs. Thatcher to the shops?”

“Aye, he did, ma’am.”

Balked of help from anyone in the George Street house, she said, “Do you know of a boy near at hand who could take a message to Faircourt House for me?”

“Aye, the kitchen boy can take it, my lady, if ye but tell him where to go.”

“Excellent. I am going to write two messages, Sal, and then I shall want a coach of some sort. Have you any notion where I can come by one quickly?”

“Aye, ma’am. The mistress does hire a coachman to drive her when she goes out of town. Mr. Conlan has rooms just over in the Strand, and if he is not at home, his missus will know another who can serve ye. They are good, worthy people, my lady. Do ye mean to go after her young ladyship, then?”

Hesitating, reluctant to take a servant she barely knew into her confidence but realizing that she had little choice, Pinkie said, “You must have guessed at least the gist of Lady Bridget’s note, Sal, so you will know that you must say nothing about this to anyone. His lordship would be most displeased if word of her foolishness should spread to others.”

“I’d never,” Sal said, turning pale.

Suppressing her own fear of his lordship’s displeasure and what it would mean to their fragile relationship, Pinkie said, “You see, then, that I must go after her. I cannot waste time waiting for his lordship when he might not return before dinner, and I know of no one else whom I can ask to assist me.”

“What of your brother, my lady, or Lord Balcardane?”

“They have driven to Oxford,” Pinkie said. “If only I were a man, I could just get back on my horse and ride after Lady Bridget, but—”

“Ye mustn’t, ma’am! ’Twouldn’t be seemly.”

“No, I know,” Pinkie said. “Still, I must follow her, so I am going to send a message to Faircourt House, and leave another for Lord Kintyre, to let them know where I have gone. I suspect that Lady Bridget thinks she is meeting one young gentleman when in fact she is meeting another. When she discovers her error, she may simply turn around and come home; however, even in that event, she will want someone with her to lend countenance to her return. If we can put a good face on it, no one outside this house other than Lady Balcardane need know anything about it.”

“Do ye know whither she be bound, my lady?”

“If she thinks they are going to be married over the anvil, they will be heading for Scotland.”

“Scotland! But that be more than a day’s journey. Surely she don’t want to be with any gentleman overnight before she is properly married. She cannot have thought, ma’am. She will be ruined!”

“Not if I can prevent it,” Pinkie said. “I do not think she thought about how long it would take. Indeed, I do not think she gave thought to anything except defying good advice that she did not want to hear.” Knowing she had said far more than she ought to have said to anyone, let alone to Mrs. Thatcher’s servant, Pinkie dismissed Sal and went in search of pen and paper.

Writing the first note swiftly, she explained the problem she faced and asked Mary to send a courier posthaste after Duncan and Chuff, asking them to follow her on the Great North Road. She assured Mary that she would leave word at every posting house she passed so they could find her easily.

The next note was much harder to write. It was no use to waste time trying to explain that she had never meant to deceive him, so she apologized instead for the circumstances that led him to hear the news from his sister, adding, “
I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, sir. That she sees it as justification for her deceit makes me all the more determined to bring her safely back to you.”

Signing simply,
“Penelope,”
she tried not to think about what his reaction would be. He would probably disapprove of her following Bridget as much as he would dislike his sister’s running off with her anonymous lover. She could not think about that now, however. It was far more important to prevent Bridget’s ruin.

At the last minute, when the coach was at the door, Sal said, “What if she’s gone by a different road, my lady?”

“Gretna Green is the closest Scottish town, I believe, and she would take the Great North Road just to get to Scotland,” Pinkie said. “It is the road we traveled to come here to London, after all.”

“Did you travel through Gretna Green, then?”

“No,” Pinkie said, “but I should think that anyone going from London to Scotland must begin on the Great North Road.”

“There be dunnamany roads in England, my lady.”

“So there are, but Lady Bridget will travel north, and I should think that she is beautiful enough to draw attention wherever she goes. I shall inquire about her at the posting houses along the way—”

“Ye’ll never! Ye cannot go into a common posting house and be asking about her ladyship, ma’am. Only think what a fuss that would stir!”

“I won’t go in myself,” Pinkie said patiently. “I shall allow the coachman to make my inquiries. Or perhaps there is a better way,” she added, thinking aloud. “If I remember correctly, Kintyre said that Cailean can follow a scent on the wind.”

“The dog?”

“Aye. Where is he?”

“Generally somewhere near the kitchen if his lordship ain’t on the premises,” Sal said with a grin. “Shall I fetch him?”

“Aye, and the kitchen boy, as well. I must give him my message for Faircourt House, and explain how to get there. Whilst you do that, I’ll run up and fetch something of Lady Bridget’s for Cailean to take his scent from once we are out of town. Kintyre said he could not discern one scent amongst the many there are in London, but that on the road, he can.”

A few minutes later she returned to find Sal, Cailean, and the kitchen boy awaiting her in the hall. To the latter, she handed her message for Mary, explaining carefully how he was to find Faircourt House. “I’d go myself,” she said, “but for the fact that we must take the Great North Road through Highgate, and it is much quicker to reach it from here by taking Chancery Lane to High Holborn.”

The boy was carefully tucking her note into his jacket, but he looked up, puzzled. “I thought Sal said ye was going after her ladyship.”

Casting a disapproving look at Sal, Pinkie said, “It is not your business to discuss such things, laddie.”

“Well, but if ye are going after her, ye’ll not be going to Highgate, then.”

She frowned. “Do you know aught of Lady Bridget’s whereabouts?”

“I seen her, didn’t I, getting into yon coach?”

Astonished, Pinkie said, “Who was with her?”

“Ain’t nobody with her, just only the coachman. She arst where the gentleman was, and the coachman said he were going to meet her in Kilburn Wells, which it ain’t on the Great North Road, Kilburn Wells ain’t.”

Turning to Sal, Pinkie said, “Do you know of this place?”

Sal shook her head. “I ain’t never been outside Lunnon.”

The kitchen boy said, “My auntie lives in Gutterhedge, she does, and when we visit her, we takes the Edgeware Road through Kilburn and Kilburn Wells. The Edgeware Road starts at Tyburn turnpike, at the end of Tyburn Lane, which is how I know where this Faircourt House must be, now that ye tells me.”

“We’ll ask the coachman,” Pinkie said, hoping Sal was right about the man’s knowledge and dependability.

If the middle-aged coachman was dismayed to see the great dog clearly prepared to climb into his coach, he did not say so. Instead, he simply asked Pinkie where they were bound.

“As to that,” she said, “I think we are headed for Gretna Green, but—”

“Gretna Green! Faith, your ladyship, I cannot undertake such a great journey as that without preparation. Moreover, it would cost ye a fortune!”

“I have money,” Pinkie said calmly, having taken the precaution of putting into her reticule the generous sum Duncan had given her on her wedding day. “If it costs more than I have with me, I can promise you that Lord Kintyre will make up the difference. In any event, I doubt that we shall have to travel more than a few hours at most before we will catch up with them.” She had not intended to tell him exactly what her mission was, but since she had already mentioned Gretna, she was not surprised to see his eyebrows shoot upward.

“Like that, is it?” he said, nodding sagely.

“I am afraid so,” she said. “I hope I can rely on your discretion, Mr…” She paused expectantly.

“Oh, aye, I’ll tell no one,” he said. “And Conlan’s the name, ma’am, Will Conlan. Have yer lad help ye in, then, and we’ll be off.”

“One moment,” Pinkie said. “It has been brought to my attention that she might not be taking the Great North Road.”

“She could, right enough,” the coachman said, “but if she’s bound for Gretna, they’ll be more likely to head for Chester.”

“Would that perhaps be by way of Kilburn Wells?”

“Aye, it could be. They can make for St. Albans from Kilburn, which would be your Great North Road, or they could make for Chester.”

“We’ll begin at Kilburn Wells, then,” Pinkie said as the boy opened the coach door and pulled down the step. “Will you follow Tyburn Lane by Hyde Park?”

“Aye,” said the coachman, eyeing Cailean with a jaundiced eye as the dog jumped into the coach. “We must pass through the Tyburn turnpike.”

“Then we’ll take the lad with us and let him off at Faircourt House.” Entering the coach and gesturing for the kitchen boy to get in as well, she said to him, “I will go on with the coach, and you will deliver my message at Faircourt House. If Lady Balcardane is not at home, give the message to Fergus Owen, who is his lordship’s steward, and tell him to get word to his lordship as quickly as he can. I have no pen to write more, but tell Fergus or her ladyship about Kilburn Wells, and tell Fergus I said to pay for you to take a hackney home. You must return to George Street as quick as you can, because you must tell his lordship the same thing that you tell Fergus. Can you remember all that I have said to you?”

“Aye, your ladyship,” the boy said, swelled with the importance of his mission and the knowledge that he would ride in a hackney coach. His attention was soon claimed by activity in the streets through which they passed, and he sat with his nose pressed against the glass.

Pinkie settled back, smiling at the deerhound, lounging quite at its ease on the opposite seat. “You look as if you travel like this every day, Cailean,” she said.

Cailean’s ears twitched.

It seemed to take hours to reach Faircourt House—where they paused just long enough to set down the kitchen boy—and nearly as long after that to reach Kilburn Wells, which proved to be only a mile or two outside the city.

The coachman pulled his team to a halt in the yard of a small inn, and Pinkie descended from the coach with Cailean.

Looking up at the coachman, she said, “Would you kindly ask the ostlers if they have seen a very beautiful dark-haired young lady riding alone in a coach today, perhaps meeting a gentleman here?”

“Aye, ma’am, I’ll ask.” He jumped down from his box and strode into the taproom. A few moments later, he returned. “She were here, ma’am, not an hour since. They said her coach drove on soon afterward, but they cannot say for sure which way it went. One thought it headed back toward London, another that it went toward Kilburn, which would make a deal more sense, I’m drinking.”

“What about the gentleman?”

“Said there were one earlier, telling them they was to tell her ladyship he’d meet her on the road, that her coachman knew the way.”

Pinkie frowned. “I don’t like this at all. I must leave word for the others here. I’ll be just a moment.” Inside, she asked for a pen, paper, and wafers. Then, scrawling a hasty note, she gave it to the innkeeper, requesting that he give it to Balcardane or Kintyre, whoever was first to arrive.

Then, hurrying back out to the coach, she held Bridget’s favorite wrapping gown for the dog to sniff, then said firmly, “Cailean, find Bridget.”

Saying the words, she felt foolish and took care not to look at the coachman. Never before in her life had she given a dog such an order, and she had no idea what to expect Perhaps there was a special command or tone she should use, and Cailean would not understand her.

But the dog sniffed obediently, looked at her as if to confirm the command, and when Pinkie repeated it, turned and loped off down the road.

“Follow him,” she called to the coachman as she climbed back into the coach. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Aye, my lady; looks like he’s headed toward Kilburn, like I said.” He whipped up his horses, but ten minutes later, he pulled up again and shouted, “He’s turning, ma’am. Must be the Chester Road they’re bound for.” But a few minutes later, when a group of cottages came into view, the coachman reined his horses in again and shouted, “He’s going wrong now, ma’am!”

Pinkie had put her head out the window, and was trying to watch Cailean running ahead of the coach, but with generally little success. She shouted back, “What do you mean, he’s gone wrong?”

Leaning down from his box to look at her, the coachman said, “Ye said we was bound for Scotland, ma’am, but he’s turned right off the road we should follow. Ye’d best call him back.”

“What road is he taking?”

“I’m not sure of it myself. I’m not even certain where we are, but there’s a chap yonder by that first cottage. I’ll ask him.”