Black Sheep's Daughter (28 page)

 Teresa guessed that the vial contained oil, the little bags powder and ball. He had been cleaning and reloading his gun. At any moment he might decide to go upstairs to see what Bert was doing.

 She moved back behind the shelter of the wall. He was holding his pistol: she could not hold him up as she had Brawny. She had to disable him before he could shoot her. She closed her eyes and bit her lip. Pretend he's a snake, she told herself fiercely, a deadly snake.

 In one swift, fluid motion she stepped out into the room, raised her pistol in both hands and squeezed the trigger.

 Harrison's gun clattered to the floor. He gaped at her then stared down in horror at the river of blood flowing from his wrist. "My God, I shall bleed to death!" he moaned.

 "Grasp it tight with your other hand and raise it above your head," ordered Teresa crisply. "Muriel, come on down. We must make a tourniquet."

 With the victim's grubby neckcloth wound round his upper arm, and the long barrel of his pistol to twist it tight, they managed to staunch the bleeding. The bullet had barely nicked his vein and they used their own handkerchiefs and strips of petticoat to bind the wound.

 By the time they were done with their ministrations their patient had fainted from loss of blood. It was an easy matter to tie his ankles together with the bloodstained neckcloth.

 "It does not seem quite right to tie his wrists together," said Muriel, frowning. "I know he is a dastardly villain and he intended to kill us, but I cannot like it."

 "I know what you mean," Teresa agreed. "His hand ought to be kept in the air, too. I have it!  Help me pull him over here by the end of the table. Suppose I tie the injured arm up against this table leg, like this. You stretch his other arm over there and tie his wrist to the other leg of the table."

 "The very thing. The table is  somewhat wobbly, but he is in no case to exert his strength upon it."

 "And if he did, the top would fall on his face."

 "I should like to see his face when he wakes," said Muriel, "but I daresay we shall be far away by then."

 "I'm afraid not. Have you any idea where we are?"  Teresa tied a last knot then went to the window and looked out. "Muriel, come and see!"

 Muriel joined her and peered through the small, smeary panes. "It has stopped snowing. Quite a lot has fallen already, but at least it is not drifting."

 "That is snow?  It is beautiful!  I never imagined anything like that."

 "Wait till you see it on a sunny day. You will think yourself translated to another world. Walking in it is a different matter, though, even if we knew which direction to take. Oh Teresa, what shall we do?  We are as much captive here as ever."

 "But now we have the upper hand."  Teresa moved back to the table, where she sat down and began to clean and reload the pistol she had fired. "Just in case Brawny Bert wakes up and breaks out," she explained. "At least we will hear him coming! I think we must wait till Scrawny Sid returns with the horse."

 "Scrawny Sid?"

 "The third man. Did you not hear?  He went with a ransom note to my uncle."

 "Then they will follow him back and find us!"

 "I fear not. Bert may be a knock-in-the-cradle but Harrison has his wits about him. I imagine Sid found someone else to send with the message. Anyway, fit for the knacker or no, that unfortunate animal he’s riding will have to carry us away from here."

 Muriel looked dubious but she said, "Luckily this is a well-populated part of the country. Whichever direction we go, we are sure soon to cross a road which will lead us to a village."

 "And in the meantime, until Sid arrives, all we can do is wait."

* * * *

 Andrew realised abruptly that, much as he desired to lead the rescue party, he had no idea which way to go. "Danville," he called reluctantly, looking back, "you had best go first to show us the road."

 "I know where it is," said Lord John, riding up beside him. "Follow me."

 Andrew stayed with him neck and neck. The viscount was not the sort to try to seize the glory of rushing first into the cottage, but his dashing brother was another kettle of fish.

 They started down a hedged lane, then Lord John led them through a gate to ride cross country. All six gentlemen were mounted on the duke's hunters, which took hedge and ditch and stream in their stride. Marco gasped when he faced the first jump, but though he had never hunted he had spent most of his life on horseback. He let his mount carry him over after the others, and thereafter enjoyed the exhilarating sensation of flying through the air.

 Andrew glanced back at his grinning face and envied the resilience of youth. The lad seemed to have forgotten his sister's peril.

       And Muriel’s, Andrew reminded himself.

 They soon reached the wood. Neither undergrowth nor fallen trees had been cleared for years, so their way was barred by a tangled mass of brambles and fallen trees. They rode along the edge looking for a way in, till at last they came to a narrow track.

 "Hoofprints in the snow!" cried Lord John triumphantly, drawing rein. "A single file leading inwards. I'll wager it's the man who took the note to Billingshurst."

 Mr Wishart leaned down in the saddle and studied the prints. "On a sorry nag, or an excessively tired one," he commented. “See how short its stride is.”

 Marco had stopped beside Andrew. His face was white and pinched, the thrill gone.

 Andrew leaned over and squeezed his shoulder. "We'll find her," he reassured, trying to ignore the tight knot in his own chest. "Come on!" he urged impatiently and started forward.

 There was only one way to go now, so he led the group. The track curved to the right. Then it straightened and a hundred feet ahead he saw a clearing with a tumble-down shack in the centre. There was no light in the windows, no smoke rising from the chimney, but the hoofprints led directly towards the hovel.

 He held up his hand and the others stopped. "Back around the bend," he mouthed silently, gesturing.

 Out of sight of the cottage they dismounted and tied their horses to nearby trees, then gathered to discuss the next move. They had left Five Oaks without pausing to plan.

 Quickly they decided to move through the edge of the wood to surround the clearing, then one of them would creep up to the window and try to see what was going on. Unless he saw good reason against it, he would signal and they would all converge on the shack and break in with pistols drawn.

 "I shall go to the window," said Marco. "I am smallest and fastest and it is my sister."

 "It's my
...
" chorused Andrew and Lord Danville, then stopped, glanced at each other and flushed. The rest looked at them with interest, somehow divining that the missing words were not "betrothed" and "cousin."

 Marco was already slipping through the trees towards the clearing, so the others hurried to take their places. Andrew moved to a position opposite the door with such a determined air that no one disputed his right to it.

 Darting from tree to bush to rotting fence to ancient farm cart, Marco reached the window and crouched below it. Cautiously, he raised himself to peer in at one corner, shading his eyes against the reflected glare of the snow. Andrew saw his mouth open, then stretch in a broad grin.

 The poor boy had lost his wits with horror, Andrew thought, aghast.

 Marco, still grinning, stood up and waved. Andrew burst through the rickety door bare seconds before Lord Danville.

 Teresa stood there with her pistol trained on a small man who lay prone on the floor. Over him bent Muriel, tying his hands with a filthy cloth. Behind them Harrison sprawled on his back, unconscious and bloodstained, a pistol lying nearby on the floor.

Teresa and Muriel looked up as the door crashed back against the wall, shaking the wretched hut. Then Muriel rose with a wordless cry and flung herself into Lord Danville's arms.

 Teresa smiled a wavering smile. "Thank heaven you are come in time," she said. "Now we shall not have to force that unfortunate horse to carry us."

 Once again she had saved herself—and this time Muriel, too. Her face was sallow with exhaustion, bruised, dirty. Her hair was tangled, her clothes torn and filthy. Yet to Andrew she was beautiful. He saw only a gallant woman strained to the breaking point, beautiful simply because she was alive.

Their eyes met and held for a long moment.

He could not resent that once again his heroic intentions had been foiled. If Teresa had waited to be rescued, he might have arrived too late, to find only her and Muriel’s dead bodies.

Muriel—she had run to Thomas Danville!

Andrew was turning to make sure his eyes had not deceived him when he caught sight of a movement on the floor. The scrawny villain had escaped his half-tied bonds and seized the horse-pistol. The barrel that pointed at Teresa wavered, but she was too close to escape even the most uncertain shot.

The man’s dirty finger tightened on the trigger, and Andrew threw himself across the room. A red-hot flash exploded in his side.

The flood of darkness that overwhelmed him was suffused with joy. He had saved Teresa—and Muriel had run to Lord Danville!

Through dimming eyes Andrew saw Teresa kneeling beside him. He must explain to her that all was well.

“Muriel…,” he murmured, and passed out.

Chapter 20

Teresa gazed down blankly at Andrew’s limp form. Her mind refused to work. The look they had exchanged had warmed and supported her weary spirits. Then a single whispered word shattered her hopes. She had rushed to succour him and he had called for Muriel.

Blood was seeping through his torn, charred coat. With clumsy fingers she tugged at his neckcloth. How convenient that the essential article of male apparel made a perfect bandage, she thought with a giggle that was half a sob.

John lifted her to her feet. “We’ll take care of that,” he said gently. “Sit down, Teresa. You are burnt to the socket.”

She glanced around. Mr. Wishart was efficiently binding Scrawny Sid’s wrists. Muriel was still in Cousin Tom’s arms, her wide, horrified eyes fixed upon her wounded betrothed. Lord Jordan had taken off his own cravat and was staunching the flow of blood from Andrew’s side.

Suddenly Teresa could bear no more. “Marco, take me home," she said.

Her brother put his arm round her shoulders and they went out into the snow.

John followed them out of the cottage. "The sooner you get on home and into bed the better," he said sympathetically, walking with them to the horses. "You were deuced brave and deuced clever, cousin, but we shall take care of things now. I'll set you on your way, then I'll get back to lend a hand with the villains."

Marco mounted his horse and Lord John lifted Teresa up behind him. She clung to him, her cheek pressed against the rough cloth of his greatcoat. She had not said a word since asking him to take her home.

 Lord John led the horse back to the clearing and pointed out another track going off to one side. "You'll come to a lane," he said. "Turn left, then take the right fork and you'll be in Bucks Green in no time. You know the way from there?  We've ridden it often enough. You’d better send a carriage for Miss Parr and another for Graylin, Marco. Right, then, off you go and don't worry your head about a thing, Teresa."

The pampered thoroughbred hunter bore both of them with ease, and in spite of the snow the hedged lanes were easy to follow. They made good speed, but even so dusk was falling when they reached Five Oaks.

Only one ancient groom remained in the stables, the rest being out still scouring the countryside. He took their mounts with the incuriosity of the aged and merely nodded when Teresa asked him to saddle her mare and have her ready in half an hour.

Marco gaped at her, stupefied. "What maggot's got into your head now?" he demanded. "You're in no fit state to go out again."

She bit her lip, fighting back tears. "I cannot bear it, Marco. If he dies…if he dies, I do not want to know it. I am going to pack up a few things and fetch Gayo, and I'm going home."

"Home!  You mean to the hacienda?  Home?"

"Yes. I have completed Papa's business and I have an excellent contract to take him. There is nothing to keep me here now."

"Then I shall come with you," her brother assured her stoutly. "Shall we go to Portsmouth?"

"Yes
...
No
...
I mean, yes I go to Portsmouth, but you must stay and complete your education. That is what Papa sent you for, it is your duty."

"He sent you to find a husband."

"I never shall," she said wearily. "The gentlemen of the Haut Ton are different indeed from our Costa Ricans, but I find them no more interesting. You must stay at least until you have spent a term at the university, or you cannot know whether it is to your taste."

Unconvinced, Marco protested, "You cannot go without an escort. You cannot ride to Portsmouth tonight."

"No, I mean to spend the night at an inn. I shall be long gone before anyone asks to see me in the morning. Then you may tell my uncle where I am gone; I shall write a letter at the inn and send it to him.”

“And one to Andrew.”

“Yes. I must thank him for saving my life.”  Even though it was still Muriel he loved. “Now, I cannot stand here brangling any longer. It is growing dark already. You must go and tell everyone that Muriel and I are safe, and send help for Andrew. Say that I have retired to bed and Annie will do what is needful for me. I am by far too tired to see anyone tonight. Oh Marco, I shall miss you. You have been the greatest comfort to me."

“I shall go with you at least to Portsmouth. Do not argue, Teresa. I’ll do as you say and tell everyone you have retired, then I’ll come and join you. We can decide later whether I shall return here or go home with you.”

They hugged each other hard, then slipped quietly into the house.

"Wait till morning," begged Marco in a whisper as she started trudging up the back stairs. "You are too tired to think straight."

With a look of despair, she shook her head, and went on. The only thing she knew for certain was that never again could she face Andrew.