Cherished Enemy (9 page)

“Whatever are you about, sir?” she asked, cross because she had hurt her side.

“I thought you might enjoy to have a look at this place,” he said glibly. “Is quite famous, I believe. Only see how the three buildings are—”

“I see a gentleman riding towards us,” she snapped. “'Twould surprise me not at all if we are about to be taken in charge for trespassing!”

He glanced ahead, then lowered his voice and said anxiously, “If we are, ma'am, do you fancy your sire can prevail to free us? I would purely dislike to be incarcerated.”

“
You
would!” she sputtered. “Had you not insisted on hiring that inept and impertinent coachman—”

The leering grin appeared over the side of the box, and the coachman pulled a straw from between his surprisingly white teeth. “Don't ye be frighted, pretty mort,” he said with whining ingratiation. “Billy got ye inter this rum go, and Billy'll get ye out agin. Maybe you an' me best go and 'pologize to the gent, sir, an' find out where we is, fer it's a bottle to a bishop as I took a wrong turn.” Having said which, he made a lurching, ungainly clamber down from his perch.

“What—and leave us here?” cried Mrs. Porchester, alarmed. “Suppose the horses run away with us?”

The coachman paused to stick his head in at the window. “Never you fear, me duck,” he answered outrageously. “We'd not let nowt happen to a cosy armful like you!”

“Ooo-oh!” gasped Rosamond. “If
ever
I heard such insolence!” She turned to her aunt, thought to surprise a twinkle in her eyes and said, “If he were a gentleman you could slap his nasty mouth! The greasy lout must be drunk to dare address a lady in such fashion!”

“Huh!” said Estelle. “Because he calls
me
a cosy armful, he is drunk! Had he said it to
you,
who are overburdened with compliments, you would have not been so cross. You would
not
have been so cross!”

“Much I want with compliments from the most disreputable individual I ever saw! I'd not be surprised if—” Rosamond's heart gave a jolt and she broke off, not wishing to alarm Aunt Estelle with her sudden apprehension that they may have fallen into the clutches of white slavers. “I am going to get out!” she announced, having succeeded in frightening herself, and, despite her aunt's immediate protest, managed to open the door and let down the steps.

She was in time to see the horseman rein up a short distance away and Victor and the coachman hurry to join him. She heard the horseman exclaim angrily, “Good God! I cannot
believe
this! Have you taken leave of your senses, you crazy sot?”

‘Ahah!' she thought, with a rather hollow sense of vindication. She could not see the rider's face clearly, but his hair was dark and neatly tied back, and he seemed a youngish man, not much taller than Victor, but more huskily built. Victor appeared to be making an earnest attempt to explain. The horseman glanced towards the carriage, then dismounted. To Rosamond's astonishment the coachman suddenly snatched off his dilapidated old tricorne and sank to one knee, fairly grovelling to the young aristocrat. She gasped aloud as Victor dealt the coachman such a buffet that he sprawled on the grass and lay there wailing dismally and making feeble efforts to rise.

He was totally ignored by the other two men, who appeared to be arguing, with Victor making conciliatory gestures and talking in a low, servile voice.

This behaviour deepened Rosamond's alarm and she hurried back to the carriage. Mrs. Porchester, who had been leaning from the open door, drew back as she climbed the steps and asked anxiously what was going forward.

“He is a monster!” said Rosamond, sitting down and ordering her skirts.

“Oh dear,” exclaimed her aunt, a hand flying to her throat. “He looked like a well-enough young gentleman to me, and 'tis not as if we had drove the chariot across his lovely lawns.”

“I was referring to our horrid courier. Lud, but the man has a heart of stone! Did you see him knock down the poor coachman?”

“The greasy drunken lout?” asked Mrs. Porchester innocently.

“You are taking all this much too lightly,” said Rosamond. “Does it not occur to you, ma'am, that we may be in real danger?”

“Oh, now really, my love. Surely the gentleman is not going to bury us under the flower-beds only because we ventured onto his lands by mistake? Surely he is not.”

“How I wish Charles, or Papa was with us,” said Rosamond fretfully. “Or if I did but have a pistol!”

She shrank back with a shocked exclamation as a large silver-mounted pistol was suddenly thrust through the window.

“Take it, ma'am,” said Dr. Victor. “You have my permission to dispose of the imbecile I was so ill-advised as to hire to drive you.”

“Cor, if you ain't the 'ard-'earted cove,” the coachman grumbled, coming up rubbing his shoulder. “Everyone makes mistakes now an' then. Wasn't no cause fer ye ter deck me like that. Like ter break me poor arm-bone, you done. Ain't that enough without eggin' the pretty mort—”

“The
lady,
damn your ears,” interjected Victor.

“Your profanity, sir, is as offensive to my ears as this poor man's crudeness,” said Rosamond frigidly, waving away the pistol. “I cannot but agree that you were excessive hard on him.”

“There,” said the coachman, bestowing a leering grin upon her. “As kind as wot she's bee-oootiful. Wouldn't never do away wi' a 'onest cove like me, would yer, me pretty?”

“Well, if the lady would not, I would,” threatened Victor, turning to face the coachman's immediate and humble crouch. “Get back on the box and follow the directions the gentleman gave you. And if you lose us again, you bacon-brained varmint, I'll give you more than a clout on the shoulder!”

Without another word to the indignant Rosamond, he slammed the door shut and in another moment they were on their way.

“Good gracious,” said Mrs. Porchester. “What a dreadful temper! But I expect he feels responsible for our safety, and that coachman really is very naughty.” She looked out of the window with regret as the chariot wheeled around. “To say truth, I would like to have seen more of the estate. I would
like
to have seen it. For I've hear 'tis one of the loveliest in the kingdom.”

Surprised out of her resentment of the cruel physician, Rosamond stared at her. “Do you say you know where we are, dearest?”

“I may be wrong, but it fits the description of Lac Brillant, and I know that estate is near Dover.”

“Lac Brillant,” murmured Rosamond, knitting her brows. “Now where have I heard that name before…? Oh well, 'tis no matter. The important thing is that we are well out of the embarrassment.”

“Yes. And now we may relax and be comfortable. Are you feeling poorly, my love? Are you feeling poorly? Such a time you have had, but only think—we are on the right road now. We shall overnight in Lewes and by this time tomorrow we will be safely home! Do you know, I have been thinking. Debbie is so devoted to your papa, 'twould not surprise me a bit to find she has already returned to Lennox Court, and that there was indeed some perfectly respectable reason for her not having gone at once to Tante Maria's. I really believe that all our worries are behind us, sweet soul. All behind us.”

The two girls had been friends all their days, and however distant their actual relationship, Rosamond loved Deborah as dearly as though she were already the sister she would become when she married Charles. With all her heart Rosamond longed to be relieved of her own nagging worries, but even as she murmured agreement with her aunt's cheerful optimism, she had the uneasy feeling that it was not entirely justified.

*   *   *

Three times between Dover and Rye they were stopped by military patrols, their identities demanded and the carriage inspected for concealed fugitives. The ladies and the coachman were required to leave the chariot for these searches, which very much annoyed them and Billy Coachman, although Victor made no complaint. The sergeant in charge of the first search party was cold and brief. The second troop was commanded by a fresh-faced young ensign who showed a tendency to linger, his eyes holding an awed admiration as he gazed at Rosamond. In answer to Mrs. Porchester's questions he told them that the hunt for fugitives was intensified these days, because the military had reason to believe several Jacobites were in the area, likely in connection with the treasure. “The reward for any reb caught with a poem on his person has been raised to two hundred guineas,” he said importantly. “And for a man found to be carrying a list of conspirators—three hundred!”

“Cor!” exclaimed Billy Coachman, his jaw sagging. “Fer that kinda money, be danged if I don't take a day orf and join the search!”

“Better be careful,” cautioned Victor. “A man who's been hunted and starved and had to fight every step of the way from Culloden Moor to the south coast is not likely to surrender without a fight.”

“True,” the ensign agreed. “If you do come up with one of the poor devils, Coachman, best keep your wits about you whilst you search him.”

“Search—hell,” responded Billy. “Do I see one o' they traitors, I'll blow 'is 'ead orf first,
then
search 'im!”

Mrs. Porchester shuddered, and Rosamond's eyes widened in horror, but the ensign laughed. “Then you'll do yourself out of half the reward,” he warned. “They want 'em alive.”

“Why?” asked Rosamond, both fascinated and appalled.

“Why, indeed,” echoed her aunt. “They will take the poor creatures and kill them at all events, will they not?”

The ensign looked grim. “Their heads will be stuck atop Temple Bar eventually, ma'am. First, they will be put to the question. Then, when the interrogators at the Tower are convinced they have no more information, they will be taken out and—”

“And hanged by the neck until they're half dead,” put in Victor coolly. “Then—”

“Took down and their arms and legs chopped orf—one at a time,” said Billy with ghoulish relish. “I see one as they caught over to Hounslow in May. You shoulda seen all the gore. But 'e was still alive when they took the disembowelling knife an' slit—”

Mrs. Porchester emitted a shriek and clapped her hands over her ears. Throwing an arm about her aunt, Rosamond turned a white, shocked face to the doctor. He was regarding her with a cynical sneer, but he said sharply, “That will be enough out of you, Billy! Get back on your box.” He turned to the youthful officer. “An you've no objection, sir?”

The ensign looked soulfully at Rosamond but admitted with a sigh that he had no reason to detain them longer, and they went upon their way.

A short time later they were again at a dead stop, caught in the midst of a large flock of Romney Marsh sheep beginning the long journey to London's market. Billy Coachman lost no time in taunting the drover, but although their acquaintanceship began acrimoniously, Billy got down from his box and related a joke that Mrs. Estelle muttered was “probably lewd.” This was very likely, for it convulsed the drover and in no time the two men were firm friends, their talk enlivened by ribald shouts of laughter while the two scruffy but intelligent dogs tended to the flock.

During this interlude the sheep milled about the chariot. At first charming, this soon became irritatingly noisy, made the team prance nervously, and compelled the ladies to hold handkerchiefs to their nostrils. The uproarious conversation, which seemed to have something to do with gypsies, showed signs of becoming an all-day bout and, much to Rosamond's irritation, Victor showed no inclination to put a stop to it. Trifle terminated the discussion. The puppy had grown very tired while gamboling after Victor and had been admitted to the chariot, where he had snored for the last half hour. He woke up to discover two mongrels rushing about nearby. Having apparently decided the vehicle was his owner's property, he became raucously defensive, leaped from the window and engaged the enemy. All three dogs were drawn into the fray. The frightened sheep scattered. Cursing, the drover rushed after them. The team reared and plunged, neighing and snorting with fright, and Billy Coachman made a dive for their heads just in time to prevent them from bolting. Victor, also cursing, spurred his horse into the battle zone and laid about him with his riding whip. This availing him nothing, he leaned from the saddle, grasped Trifle's collar, and hauled the bristling dog across his saddle-bow. Being half throttled, Trifle was temporarily unable to continue hurling his canine insults, and the other dogs, belatedly recalling their obligations, raced off in pursuit of their master and the disappearing flock.

Victor let the dazed Trifle drop to the ground and turned irked eyes on his erstwhile snowy shirt and neat riding coat. Glancing up, tight-lipped, from the unhappy results of having been in close proximity with a dog covered with mud and other material, he met Rosamond's sparklingly mischievous gaze. For a moment, he held her eyes, but she still found it rather difficult to look at him without recalling the shockingly embarrassing incident in the cabin of the packet and, blushing, she turned away.

The third search of the chariot was conducted by a bored exquisite of the rank of lieutenant, who seemed more interested in the unfortunate state of Victor's garments than in the possibility of their concealing fugitives. He gave them very little of his time, and they were soon allowed to resume their journey.

The effort of drawing the chariot along the muddy lanes tired the horses fast, and they had to be rested at Rye. Billy Coachman, grumbling about the steep old street, the slippery cobble-stones, and the yowling urchins who followed the chariot, set his passengers down at the door of The Mermaid Inn, and went driving off to the stables, Dr. Victor's mount tied on behind.