Carla Kelly (7 page)

Omega shuddered.
“I am not that hungry.”

“
It’s
not civilized, but we won’t tell anyone,” the boy joked, and then
gasped, pointing to the bushes they had just vacated.

The Bow Street
Runner burst through the underbrush, a most determined look on his
face. He stood still a fraction of a moment and shifted his cigar
from one corner of his mouth to the other.

Omega felt her
stomach sink to her shoes and then float free up toward her throat.
“Run, Jamie!” she urged, as the boy hesitated, not knowing which
way to turn.

And then he was
all motion, darting away from the voice, running along the river
bank. Omega started after him, took only a step, and realized to
her horror that Timothy Platter had a firm grip on the back of her
skirt.

“
Let
go!” she gasped.

“
Oh,
no, Miss Chartley,” he roared, and took a firmer grip on her
dress.

Omega struggled
toward the water, tugging Timothy Platter after her, even as he dug
into the soft bank with his feet and hung on. She struck at him
with her hands, but he had only to lean back to avoid her flailing
attempts.

Platter tightened
his grip on her skirt. She kicked him in the shins, but the Bow
Street Runner hung on like a bulldog.

“
I’ll
see that you’re transported for obstructing justice.” He made a
grab for her waist. “Without you, I’ll have that little snip in no
time!”

The thought of
being shipped to Australia galvanized Omega. She grabbed her
reticule by the strings and swung it at him. The paperweight
inside—the one Alpha insisted that she carry in her bag—connected
with a satisfying thud.

Platter’s eyes
fluttered and rolled back in his head. He pitched forward against
her, his hand still tight in the waistband of her dress, and they
plummeted off the bank and into the water.

All was dark, all
was black, but the pungent smell of woodsmoke convinced Omega
Chartley that she was still alive. Mixed with the fragrant smoke
was the warm, earthy smell of cow. No, this was not heaven; not
even one of its environs. There was nothing to do but open her
eyes.

“
Mira,
Hugh,” exclaimed a clear, small voice that Omega
remembered. “They are blue. You have won the wager.”

Omega looked into
the brown eyes of Angela.

“
But I
always wanted brown eyes, Angela,” she responded. Omega’s voice
sounded rusty and ill-used to her ears. No matter; she was grateful
she could still talk.

“
You
must trust me, Angela,” said the other familiar voice. “English
ladies with that particular shade of brown hair always have blue
eyes.”

“
I
have already agreed that you won.” Angela pouted.

Now there were
two heads leaning over her. Omega looked from one to the other,
Angela with her thick black hair and Hugh Owen with his long,
friendly face.

And then Omega
remembered. “Good God, where is Jamie?” she exclaimed as she tried
to struggle into a sitting position. Hugh Owen pushed her back
down. She felt his hand on her bare shoulder and realized that she
was wrapped in a heavy cotton blanket and nothing more. Her face
reddened.

“
Easy,
Miss Chartley,” Hugh said. “Jamie’s over there, asleep. As to your
clothes, they’re drying by the fire. Angela saw to your
welfare.”

“
And
Mr. Platter? I think I killed him with my reticule.”

Hugh laughed out
loud, and then covered his mouth with his hand so as not to waken
Jamie. “
Why
on earth do you carry a paperweight in your
reticule?” he asked.

“
It’s
Alpha’s idea,” she admitted. “He says that any female traveling
alone should have some protection. I ... I couldn’t think of
anything but a paperweight. It contains bits of shot from the
Yorktown Batteries, baked in glass. Papa was there,” she added, as
if that explained her choice of weapons.

“
Well,
it certainly gave Platter the rightabout,” said Hugh.

Omega reached out
for him impulsively. “But tell me, please—that wretched man is not
dead, is he?”

“
Oh,
no. The last we saw, he was floating downstream clinging to a tree
branch. He still had his cigar.”

“
Odious, odious man,” muttered Miss Chartley.

“
The
only real casualty of the encounter appears to be your guidebook,”
said the soldier. “We’re going to dry it out, though, because it
could prove useful as tinder for fires.” He held up the book with
its bloated and wrinkled pages.

Omega settled
herself more comfortably. “Well, I wasn’t finding much use in it
anyway. I seem to have strayed somewhat from my itinerary.” Her
head ached abominably. She reached a hand around to the back of her
neck and felt a rising lump.

“
You
would not quit struggling,
señorita
,” said Angela. “How was
I to get you to shore?”

“
How,
indeed?” murmured Omega.

“
Such
a useful paperweight,” agreed Angela. She rose to her feet and
rearranged Omega’s clothing by the fire.

“
And
did she ...?” Omega looked at Hugh Owen.

“
Pull
you from the river? Indeed she did.”

“
And
Jamie?”

“
Oh,
you should have seen him racing along the riverbank, calling for
help. He ran smack into us.”

Omega’s brain was
spinning. “But whatever were you doing? I thought you were going in
the other direction? Oh, I don’t understand.”

She yawned a
mighty yawn then, to her vast embarrassment. To her further
chagrin, water dribbled out of her mouth.

Hugh dabbed at it
with the corner of her blanket. “You also swallowed half of the
River By.” He intercepted her sudden look. “Yes, the River By. The
farmer whose cattle byre this is told us.” He continued to
interpret her expression. “And don’t worry! He’ll not betray us.
His son died at Vimeiro. We’re practically mates; he won’t give us
up to any Runner.”

“
I
truly don’t understand,” Omega finished weakly. She wanted to close
her eyes again, but it seemed scarcely polite.

“
Just
sleep now, Miss Chartley,” said Hugh. “If you need anything, Angela
is close by. I’m going to reconnoiter.”

Against her will,
better judgment, and sharply honed sense of propriety, Omega yawned
again and closed her eyes.

When she woke,
there was food, hot porridge—an island of it in a sea of cream,
with a dollop of butter on top—and a mug of tea smelling discreetly
of rum. Hugh Owen and Jamie were nowhere in sight, so Omega draped
her blanket about her to better effect and rested herself on one
elbow as Angela handed her a spoon.

“
It’s
very good,” said Angela, who sat cross-legged in front of her.
“Hugh told me to see that you eat all of it.”

She did as she
was told, spooning down the porridge, which settled around all the
river water in her stomach and made her burp.

“
Goodness,” murmured Omega, her face reddening. As Angela did
not appear offended by such rag manners, Omega reached for the tea
and sipped it slowly, relishing the way it burned down her throat
and into her soggy insides.

“
My
papa used to call tea ‘English manna,’
 
” said Angela.

“
Where
is he now?” asked Omega, handing back the empty mug.

“
We
buried him at Toulouse,” was her reply. Angela took hold of Omega’s
hand, and they sat close together, watching the cows watching
them.

Omega was back in
her clothes again when Hugh returned, Jamie close behind him. Jamie
brightened at once to see her.

“
Miss
Chartley! This is famous! We are practically on the River
By!”

She sat down
again and he sat beside her. “I’m sorry that I could not rescue
you, but I do not swim.”

“
Never
mind about that,” she said. “When you reach your uncle’s estate,
you must learn. We are both woefully ignorant and have only to be
grateful that we fell in with smarter heads than our own. But, sir,
where are we?” she asked Hugh. “And should we not look out for
Timothy Platter?”

Hugh sat beside
her, resting his maimed arm in his lap. “We have executed what
General Picton—God rest his soul—would call a ‘damned fine tactical
maneuver.’ I think Platter will not find us
immediately.”

“
You
see, we swam the river,” said Angela.

Jamie clapped his
hands together. “I tell you, it was famous! Angela hoisted you onto
Hugh’s back, and over you went, and then they came back for me!
We’re on the other side of the river from where Timothy Platter saw
you come out.”

It all made
sense, and yet it didn’t. “I still don’t understand,” insisted Miss
Chartley. “What were you doing following us? I thought you had only
just come from that direction.”

“
It’s
true,” agreed Hugh. “But Angela was worried about you. And ... and
I own, I was too.”

The
self-sufficient Miss Chartley had no comment, other than the
private consideration that the Lord blesses teachers and runaways,
even—especially—when they are stupid.

“
We’ve
also marched a considerable distance back along the road we
followed this morning,” added Hugh. “That confused the Frogs any
number of times in Spain, and so it should do for a Bow Street
Runner.”

Omega regarded
Hugh with some admiration. “And you carried me on your back all
this distance?”

“
You’re not very heavy,” he said, and blushed under her
scrutiny. “In fact, ma’am, do they let you out in high
winds?”

Omega laughed.
Her stomach rumbled, and even Angela had to smile. Omega tried to
suppress another burp and reddened in embarrassment. She began to
cough uncontrollably.

“
You’re going to be doing that all night, Miss Chartley, so you
had better get used to it. That’s what happens when you swallow a
river and live to tell about it. Angela and I have burped up our
share of rivers, have we not,
niña
?”

Angela nodded and
settled herself next to Omega, who put her arm around the girl’s
shoulders and pulled her closer.

“
Thank
you,” Omega whispered, and kissed her cheek.

Jamie cleared his
throat. “I told Hugh how we came to be together,” he said. “I ... I
had to trust him. I showed him my back.”

No one said
anything for a moment. Hugh Owen’s face was serious then. He leaned
back against the stall and Omega noticed for the first time how
tired he was, how deep the lines in his face. Clearly the effort of
her rescue and their march, coupled with his own injuries, had
exhausted him. She almost said something to him about that, but
thought better of it.

“
I
don’t hold with grown men giving little boys stripes like that to
wear around,” he said, “but never mind. The farmer says we’re still
a day or more away from Byworth ... except he didn’t call it
Byworth. It was Byford. At any rate, if we follow the river, we’ll
find it. We will just squirrel away here until you feel like
walking, Miss Chartley.”

She smiled at
him. “My discomfort is little compared to yours, sir. And I wish
you would call me Omega. Miss Chartley is a schoolteacher, but
Omega is on holiday.” She sighed. “And she’s a bit of a scapegrace,
I fear. Such a holiday!”

She wanted to
talk then, wanted to hear their stories, and even wanted to tell
her own, but her eyes were closing again. As she drifted off to
sleep, Hugh covered her with the blanket and she felt Angela
cuddling up close to her. The warmth of the child’s body took away
the chill of the river, and she slept.

When she woke,
the birds were singing, the cattle had been turned out. Angela was
braiding her hair, humming a little tune Omega had never heard
before as she pulled her hair back and plaited it
carefully.

Hugh came in
then, Jamie at his heels, and smiled to see her sitting upright and
finishing her breakfast. “Do you think you can walk?” he asked
after she finished her tea and dabbed at her lips with the corner
of the blanket.

“
I can
certainly try,” she said, and then eyed him in the manner of the
suspicious Miss Chartley. “But I’ll be keeping my eyes on you, Hugh
Owen. You tired yourself dreadfully yesterday, and I refuse to be
party to your complete ruin.”

“
I was
tired,” he admitted, “but I am fit today. Jamie and I have scouted
our march. We will do famously if we march among the trees, stay
off the road, and avoid the river.” He nodded to Angela. “Does this
sound like our Spanish campaigning?”

“
You
told me England would be different,” Angela accused.

“
That
was before I met Miss Chartley,” was his prompt reply. “And her
famous paperweight.”

“
Am I
never to be forgiven my paperweight?” she asked.

“
No,”
he said. He picked up the reticule by the fire and hefted it before
handing it to her. “Mind you keep that to yourself or we’ll all end
up on a transport ship, watching the sun rise over the Great
Barrier Reef. Come to attention, Angela. We must march.”