Carola Dunn (23 page)

 There she was. “Amiga!” he said softly.

 She nodded her head twice, with the nearest thing to a smile a horse can manage. It was Aldwin’s mare. John opened the stall and she stepped forward eagerly, quite ready to follow him, just as the fox had said. He stroked her nose. What a beauty!

 Aldwin had had Spanish harness and saddle worthy of her. He would be sorry to lose it. John decided to take a peek in the tack-room to see if it was hanging there, easy to abstract.

 Amiga came after him, the sound of her hooves muffled by the clean straw on the floor. He lifted down the lighted lantern by the end stall and opened the door. The room was already lit, and there was Aldwin’s splendid tackle, hanging on the wall. With Amiga peering interestedly over his shoulder, John put down his lantern and reached for the saddle.

 The disgruntled stable-boy left behind to polish a skimped harness recovered from his astonishment sufficiently to jump up from his bench in a corner and let out a piercing yell: “Stop thief! Help! Hoss-thieves!”

 By the time John reached the stable yard, faithful Amiga still at his heels, grooms were boiling out of the kitchen.

 At least the scullery he was locked in this time was near enough to the kitchen, with its hearths, ranges, and ovens, to be warm and dry. Taking off his greatcoat and boots, John gradually dried out. He found a scrubbing brush on a shelf, clean enough to smooth his hair—he was in no position to be fussy—and then to turn upon the dried mud on his buckskin breeches and top-boots. Once he was as respectable as he could make himself, he huddled miserably in a corner and tried to sleep.

 The night seemed to go on forever, yet morning came all too soon. Breakfastless, John was haled before Lord Afron.

 The baron, clad in an elegant dressing-gown, was seated at a breakfast table whence rose mouth-watering smells. From Sir Rex’s description of him as too heavy for Amiga, John had imagined him fat, but he was a powerful man of thirty or so, tall and robust, with a darkly handsome, rakish face.

 He looked John up and down and said sardonically, “Well, well, what have we here? A would-be gentleman and would-be horse-thief. Before I turn you over to the courts to be transported, tell me who the deuce you are and how the deuce you thought you’d get away with stealing my golden horse.”

 “My name is John Drake,” said John, “and I’m the Earl of Androwick’s youngest son. Your gatekeeper refused to admit me when I wanted to come and speak to you about the mare. She belongs to my brother Aldwin, Lord Drake.”

 “The devil she does!” Lord Afron burst out in a fury. Then he noticed the listening servants, all agog, and waved them out. “Lord Androwick’s son? You’d better sit down,” he said grudgingly, “and help yourself. What makes you think the mare is your brother’s?”

 “She answers to her name,” John told him, heaping a plate with cold sirloin, eggs, and muffins. “Besides, are there any other golden horses with silver mane and tail? Aldwin rode off on her to fight in Spain. How did you come by her, sir?”

 “I bought her from a horse-coper. Might have guessed such a magnificent beast was stolen, but I paid for her fair and square. Still, I might have given her to you to return to Lord Drake if you hadn’t played the horse-thief. I could have you transported, you know, or even hanged.”

 “I tried to see you,” mumbled John around a mouthful.

 “So you said.” Lord Afron regarded him consideringly. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll make a bargain with you. There is a young lady, a duke’s daughter, who’s madly in love with me. I’ve a fancy to marry her, but her father won’t hear of it. Bring Lady Helen to me, and I’ll give you the mare, free and clear.”

 “Abduct a lady?” John quavered.

 “She’ll be willing enough, never fear. But if you fail, I’ll hunt you down and I’ve witnesses enough to see you hanged, earl’s son or no.”

Chapter IX

 Reynata listened in dismay to John’s account of his new disaster. With an effort she bit back the “I told you so!” hovering on her lips. For the sake of a saddle, Aldwin must remain a captive!

 Still, while she was no readier than John to abduct the girl, if Lady Helen were truly in love with Lord Afron and willing to elope, perhaps there was yet hope.

 John gazed at her with pleading eyes. “I know I came to grief through ignoring your advice,” he said humbly, “but you will help me, won’t you?”

 With a sigh, Reynata nodded. “The first thing is to clean you up a bit,” she said, “or Lady Helen will never agree to run off with you. Even to a fox’s eye you are a walking scarecrow.”

 “Grawk,” Tibb muttered in agreement from a branch nearby.

 Sending John to the nearest inn with instructions to spend whatever it cost to return himself to respectability, Reynata despatched Tibb on another reconnaissance mission. Despite his grumbles, the raven apparently had the easier task. He returned first, to report that Lady Helen walked alone every morning in the shrubbery at her father’s castle, unless it was raining.

 The rain had already thinned to a few spots and dashes. The western sky was clearing. Reynata sniffed the air.

 “Fine and frosty tonight,” she announced. “A good omen.”

 John rejoined them, once more a handsome, presentable young gentleman, and they set out for the Duke’s demesne.

 The castle stood on an isolated hill surrounded by the marshy Somerset plain. On the slopes once kept clear to allow sentinels and bowmen to descry invaders, terraced gardens, shrubberies, and a few large trees now flourished. The thick stone walls, proof against any weapon before gunpowder’s invention, had been pierced for windows so large as to horrify a mediaeval chatelain. Nonetheless it was an impressive sight as Reynata and John approached Dukes Curry, the village at the foot of the castle mount.

 “There are dungeons, I wager,” John predicted gloomily. “No scullery for me if I’m caught this time. What’s more, always supposing Lady Helen doesn’t scream for her servants as soon as I open my mouth, even if she comes with me at once, there’s no cover for our escape. From the castle they’ll be able to see us for miles.”

 “Terrible country for foxes,” Reynata said. She had to skulk along behind the osier willows which lined the many streams and drainage channels. Worse, to avoid the frequent bridges, she had to ford or swim across the watercourses. Even her thick, winter fur was beginning to grow sodden. She shook vigorously and drops flew, but she was still chilled.

 Coming to a decision, she stopped in a spot screened by willows. “John,” she said, “have you never wondered at meeting a talking fox?”

 He looked at her in surprise. “Why, not really. All the old books are full of talking animals, and I don’t see why they should have died out. In fact, I know they haven’t. The wise-woman in the King’s Forest at home has a talking raven.”

 “Tibb!”

 The raven flew down to land on her shoulders, his talons hooked in her fur. He too was pretty disgruntled. An osier willow with a head of pliant withies was not a comfortable place for a large bird to perch. “Grawk,” he grunted. “What’s going on?”

 John stared. “You’re Mistress Gresham’s raven?”

 “I live with her,” Tibb said sourly. “Ravens and cats belong to no one.”

 “Do you...er...live with Mistress Gresham, too, Friend Fox? I’ve never seen you about.”

 “You just don’t recognize me. Close your eyes.”

 He opened his mouth, paused, then closed it and his eyes. Reynata hesitated for a moment, but apart from other considerations, she badly wanted a night in a warm, dry, comfortable bed. She metamorphosed. Her grey stuff cloak was damp.

 “You can look now.”

 John opened his eyes. His mouth fell open. He blinked several times and glanced around in bewilderment. “Miss Gresham? How did you come here? Where’s my friend the fox?”

 “I am your friend the fox,” Reynata said bluntly.

 “Truly? By Jove, a mighty good disguise! I never guessed. How do you...?”

 Reynata explained, as far as she considered necessary. John was admiring, even envious, and willingly agreed to keep her secret. “But why did you tell me now?” he asked.

 “Good question,” said Tibb.

 “Because I have come up with a plan. For a start, we shall arrive at the inn in Dukes Curry as brother and sister, John, so you must remember to call me Reynata, as you did when we were children. Drake is not an uncommon name, but we shall use Gresham to be sure you cannot be traced.”

 “All right,” John agreed compliantly, “but my sister can’t arrive on foot when I’m on horseback. We only have one mount and no side-saddle, so you’ll have to ride pillion. It won’t be very comfortable, I’m afraid.”

 As he dismounted, Reynata eyed his horse with misgivings. She had never ridden anything bigger than the ponies the Drake brothers had as boys, but he was right. He was using his brain at last. Perhaps he would not make a mull of things this time.

 She let him boost her up awkwardly onto the horse’s croup, where she clung to the back of the saddle, trying not to look at the ground. Once she was there, he could not mount by swinging his leg over. He scrambled up still more awkwardly in front of her.

 “Miaw-haw-haw!” Tibb cackled. John’s ears turned red.

 Reynata frowned at the raven. “Go and do something useful,” she said. “Find out exactly when Lady Helen usually takes her walk, so we don’t have to spend hours lurking in the shrubbery.”

 “Stable cat can’t tell the time. Grawk!” he squawked as Reynata glared. “All right, all right, I’ll see what I can do.”

 He flew off. Reynata gingerly put her arms around John’s waist and they followed.

 At the tiny inn, the Duke’s Head, John took the only two chambers. Reynata went up to her room and opened the window, despite the chilly air, so that Tibb could find her. He soon appeared, with a decidedly smug look in his bright, black eye.

 “Who’s a clever bird, miaow!” he said. “I talked to the young lady herself.”

 Reynata blenched. “That was risky!”

 “This whole affair is about as risky as it can get, if you ask me. Remember why we’re doing it.”

 “Aldwin,” Reynata whispered, tears in her eyes.

 “Better for me than you to raise the subject of elopement,” said Tibb bracingly. “I could have flown away if she’d taken it amiss. Which she didn’t. The silly girl’s wild to run off with Lord Afron. She’ll be in the shrubbery at eleven. What’s more, having talked to me, she won’t be so startled by you.”

 “I hope not,” Reynata said. That part of her plan worried her, but she could not remain in human form. “Well done, Tibb.”

 Next morning, after paying his shot at the Duke’s Head, Mr. “Gresham” had his horse saddled. He left it tied in the yard while he strolled with his sister in her grey cloak and hood, up the hill to take a closer look at the castle. No one saw them climb the wooden fence surrounding the gardens. They disappeared into the shrubbery.

 A few minutes later, the young man and a girl muffled in a grey cloak and hood slipped out of the shrubbery and down to the fence. This time the girl had to be helped over the fence, but she made it safely. They continued down the hill to the inn, where the young man lifted the girl onto his horse’s withers. He mounted nimbly behind her and they rode off.

 Back in the shrubbery another girl, muffled in a rose-pink velvet cloak and hood, strolled up and down the paths. For half an hour or so she was visible intermittently from the castle, if anyone was watching. Then, hearing approaching footsteps, she ducked behind a laurel bush.

 A maidservant came down the path. “Lady Helen,” she called, “your aunt says it’s too cold to stay out any longer.” When there was no response, she called again, “My lady?” Still no answer. “Bother,” she said, “she’s gone in already. Hiding from her auntie again, I shouldn’t wonder.” And she sighed.

 Meanwhile, a fox slipped out of the shrubbery and made off down the hill.

 Reynata caught up with John and Lady Helen just after they left the fenny lowlands and rode up into the well-wooded Black Down Hills. John introduced the fox to the lady as if it was an everyday occurrence, and Lady Helen accepted it as such. She thanked Reynata profusely.

 “I am excessively glad Lord Afron changed his mind,” she said. “He told me he would not elope, even though he loves me excessively, because my father would cast me off. Was not that excessively noble of him?”

 “Unless he didn’t care to lose your dowry,” John grunted. He seemed rather downcast considering their success.

 “Oh,” said Lady Helen uncertainly. She rallied. “No, he would not care for that. He is an excessively fine gentleman, a Corinthian of the first stare, and excessively handsome besides.”

 “Handsome!” growled John. “Oh well, if you like that dark, brooding look.”

 Lady Helen glanced up at the fair hair visible beneath his beaver. “Fair hair is excessively nice too, and I like blue eyes, but you look just as brooding as Lord Afron now.”

 “Do I?” said John with a sheepish grin. “Sorry!”

 “You look nicer when you smile.” Lady Helen produced a singularly sweet smile of her own. She appeared to Reynata to be an absolute peagoose, but a very pretty—her hair as golden and her eyes as blue as John’s—and quite amiable peagoose. Her smile obviously dazzled John. “Lord Afron hardly ever smiles,” she went on. “I daresay it is because he is a rake. I am not sure what a rake is, but I know it is excessively romantic. You are excessively kind to take me to him.”

 “I think it’s the most tottyheaded thing I’ve ever done.”

 “Why?” asked Lady Helen with a slight pout.

 “Because you’re much too innocent, and sweet, and pretty, to marry a....”

 Reynata missed the rest as a gig came towards them and she had to dart into the woods. When she joined them again, she was dismayed, though not very surprised, to find them gazing besottedly into each other’s eyes.

 “Oh dear!”

 “Reynata,” said John, “Lady Helen isn’t going to marry Lord Afron after all.”

 “Miawk!” Tibb groaned.

 “I simply couldn’t, when he was so excessively cruel to dear John.” The girl shuddered. “Why, he threatened to hang him!”