Lady Bess (13 page)

“Donna, that was the face of the little boy in the Gypsy wagon that I saw, that first time, after Stonehenge. Remember, when we stopped at the Red Lion? Donna, I never before believed in fate, but it was more than a simple coincidence that I was there that day and saw his little frightened face, and then I saw that same wagon at the carnival. Donna, it must have been Thomas that I saw that first time in the Gypsy wagon. He is being held by that awful Gypsy man and the old Gypsy woman. I am certain of it. Donna, ’tis fate that I saw him. It can only mean one thing.”

“Oh, no, what one thing?”

“We must go and find him,” Bess said with conviction.

~ Fourteen ~

“FAITH! OH, FAITH, you are certain the boy in the Gypsy wagon was the same as the face in the miniature, aren’t you? Yes, I know you—of course you are. What are we going to do? Why would a Gypsy abduct the child?”

Bess bit her lip as she often did when distressed and nibbled there a moment before she looked Donna in the eye and said on a sigh, “I don’t know. Why would a Gypsy abduct a boy? It doesn’t make sense. A Gypsy’s life on the road is hard, and many of them usually do what they can for remuneration. Therefore, we must conclude and assume there was money in it, and if so, we are back to two theories. Ransom or …” She hesitated.

“Or what?”

“Someone doesn’t wish the squire to leave his fortune to his illegitimate son. Someone who expected to inherit and needs to inherit must want the boy out of the way,” Bess said portentously.

Donna sucked in a long drag of air. “Oh, no, that is quite a leap, but, Bess, it wouldn’t be the first time foul play was used for financial gain.”

“My thought exactly. It has to be Holland. I don’t know who else stands in such a position. One must assume that it can’t be Mary Russell, as she seems to be making an attempt to find the boy, and she doesn’t appear to be in poor financial straits.”

“Yes, but Bess, Landau has a sister, and I believe she has a son. We can’t put the blame squarely on Holland’s shoulders yet, can we?”

“Yes, we can. He is the only one that was anywhere near the Gypsy—right?” Bess answered thoughtfully. “However, that doesn’t matter right now. What we have to do first is rescue the boy at once.”

“
We?
What do you mean we?” Donna yelped.

“There is no time to lose, so it is left to us,” Bess said, regarding her friend with one brow up. “Donna, since when have you been faint-hearted?”

“Bess, you wretch, I am not, but we should wait for the men,” Donna put forth reasonably.

“Indeed, and so we shall. I meant only that we must track the wagon I saw from its last place, the carnival. Then you will ride home and fetch Robby and the earl, and then we can rescue the boy before they finish the job. For, Donna, I do believe they are supposed to finish the job, and that can only mean one thing.” She lowered her voice and with fear edging her tone said, “They are in the end, I have no doubt, meant to do away with the poor boy. Scoundrels. I think they are supposed to murder the child and can’t imagine why they haven’t.” She shook her head. “Donna, time is of the essence. We must find where the boy is and rescue him.”

“Bess, this is seriously dangerous. You must promise me that we shall track the caravan—only track it—and then fetch help,” Donna said and clucked with concern. “Promise!”

“Done. Now, off to the carnival grounds. We shall start from there.”

Donna sighed and followed.

* * *

They had traveled for nearly an hour at a reasonable pace, as they did not want to overstrain their horses, when Donna pulled up her animal and put up her hand to say, “Bess, I have been thinking that no one even knows where we have gone off to. I don’t think going off half-cocked like this is very brilliant, do you?”

“We will be in no danger whatsoever, as I don’t mean to confront anyone. As soon as we find the Gypsy wagon in question, you will go back, get the men and a fresh horse for yourself, and return with them while I will keep watch.”

“
No
, you will return with me,” Donna said with a wag of her finger. “If I have to drag you off, you will return with me.”

Bess laughed and calmed her friend by saying, “Right then, let us first find the dashed thing.”

“The thing is, I know you. We shall find this blasted God-awful Gypsy and his wagon. I know it. That farmer pointed us in the right direction, and I feel it in my bones that we are getting close.” She nodded and said, “There—I can see the circle of Gypsy wagons in that unplowed field down the road …”

Bess frowned and said, “I don’t like it. This doesn’t make sense.”

“First bright thing you have said since we started out on this absurd venture.”

“No, I mean … look, that camp can be seen from the road. They have permission to camp there no doubt and have no concern.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning our Gypsy has concerns. He wouldn’t want to be near his camp, would he, if he means to conclude his business with the boy?” Bess indicated the woods that bordered the road with an inclination of her head. “Come on—we need to get nearer without being seen.”

They took a shortcut through the woods and slowed their steeds so they could get a better look at the Gypsy camp.

A camp fire had already been lit, and men were milling about preparing the fire so the women could cook for their lunch. Jesting and back slapping indicated that they had no present concerns.

Donna said, “I can’t breathe, I can’t—”

“La, but
just hush
, Donna! You are still screaming, and although we are at a distance, someone might hear you and come to investigate.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I am not sure. Perhaps we can just ride up to them and dismount. After all, it is broad daylight still, and we could just profess a curiosity or say we are interested in buying some leathers or—”

“Or? Listen to me, Lady Elizabeth of Saunders. There is
no or!”
snapped Donna. “We are going to turn around, and ride back, and get the men.”

“Not yet.” Bess shook her head. “Here is the thing, Donna. I don’t see the Gypsy wagon in question. I thought I would just maybe idly ask about it.”

“You will do nothing of the sort!”

“Yes, but—” Bess started.

“No. If your Gypsy wagon isn’t here, that is that. We shall get the men and then hunt it down. Mine is the better plan.”

“No, Donna. I don’t see his wagon in that circle of caravans. Each one has a unique design, no doubt signifying their status. His was very different, and it isn’t there,” Bess said as she scanned the circle of vehicles.

“If your Gypsy wagon isn’t here, that is that. We shall get the men and then hunt it down—that is the smart thing to do.”

“Perhaps, but it might then be too late,” Bess whined. “Think about it. If our Gypsy has gone off by himself, he must be planning to do something to the boy soon and doesn’t want witnesses.”

“Yes, but how do we know where he has gone off to? He could be anywhere,” Donna complained. “Time to get back, Bess. I am certain that Robby and the earl will be at Searington by now and looking for us. I don’t like to worry Robby.”

“Robby will think we went into town to do some shopping. He won’t worry yet.” And then she heard something on the road, and not the main road flanking the woods but one that cut through the woods. It was an old, little-used dirt road.

Carriage wheels
. She heard the sound of carriage wheels lumbering over a badly rutted road.

Bess silently thanked the heavens for the thick brush hiding their presence in the woods as she watched a brightly painted wagon, with its unique and familiar design and the two same cob horses she had seen before, lumber heavily down the country dirt road.

She and Donna exchanged glances before Bess said, “As I said, he obviously doesn’t want to make camp with his friends.”

“Oh no, oh no,” Donna started to moan.

“I am telling you, Donna, he is going to do something horrible to that boy soon.” It was in that moment that Bess made up her mind. “
I am
going to follow him, and
you are
going to fetch the men. Go now, Donna, go now.”

“But how will I know where you will be?” Donna was shrieking again.

“He will camp soon, somewhere as deep into these woods as that old dirt road will take him. Follow it—that is where I will be, keeping watch.”

“You don’t know that he will stop soon,” Donna wailed.

“I do. This road hasn’t been used in a very long time. No doubt it will end abruptly. He knows it. He knows he won’t be seen if he takes it to its end. That is where I will be.” Bess eyed her friend. “Hurry now—go and get them and be sure they are armed. I do believe we are dealing with the worst kind of blackguard—
a desperate one
.”

“Come with me, Bess. You don’t have to stay here and watch the wagon. You don’t—why should you?” Donna was near tears.

“In case he decides to move off, I will be on hand to follow them, and I will leave you clues to find us. Trust me, Donna, I know what I am doing.”

“But if he sees you? Drat it all. I usually carry my little pistol in my saddle bag, but Robby took it out the other day to stuff my saddle bag with another sandwich.”

Bess smiled. “Yes, he did the same with mine, but I put my pistol back in my saddle bag when he was done.” Bess grinned proudly. “Papa taught me that if I was going to ride about the countryside without a groom, I must learn to shoot and always carry my gun, just like a wild American pioneer.”

“Faith, Bess, you are one of a kind, but you aren’t a wild American pioneer, and if he is as ruthless as you say …” Donna wailed.

“Go on now, hurry,” Bess threw back at her.

“Right then. I am off. It will take me about an hour to get back, and another hour to get the men, get a fresh horse, and get back here, Bess, two hours. Dusk will be setting in. Oh, Bess, do stay hidden. Please, promise me that much.”

“I faithfully promise to stay hidden. Now ride like the wind.” Bess laughed and shooed her friend off.

A few moments later, with the Gypsy wagon well ahead, she followed its tracks along the road. It was fairly easy, for it was a straight road without any turn-offs.

It wasn’t long until she realized that the road had narrowed to not much more than an old wagon track, much as she had surmised it would.

She urged her horse into the woods and quietly made her way towards the wagon, keeping enough of a distance so that she would remain hidden by the lush growth of evergreens. She dismounted and led her horse to a patch of grass, where she tethered him to a tree. He was able to pick at the grass and remained quiet as she took up position to watch.

The Gypsy had parked his caravan and was busy making camp.

Bess shook her head silently and ruefully to see the old Gypsy fortune teller, the very one who had read her fortune, come out of the wagon with the young boy in tow.

The boy’s hands were tied at his back. The fortune teller kicked him and made him sit against the wagon wheel, bound his ankles together, and then used a length of rope to bind him to the wagon wheel.

Bess wanted to pull the woman off the child and, as the earl would say, ‘land her a facer’.

The old woman went back inside her caravan while the Gypsy man, who Bess decided was her son, went about the business of seeing to his horses.

He tenderly cared for them, led them to the bubbling brook that passed through the clearing into the forest, and allowed them to drink before he returned them to the grassy patch near his wagon. He then hobbled them so that they were able to slowly graze but could not run off.

The old woman appeared again and pointed a bony finger at the boy, no doubt as a warning, as she removed the gag from his mouth and gave him a sip of water that spilled about his chin and down his clothing.

No sooner did he have his sip of water but the boy, full of spit and fire, shouted at the top of his young lungs, “HELP!”

The woman hauled off and smacked him with an open hand across his face before stuffing his mouth once more with the dirty rag.

Bess nearly showed herself, gun leveled at that point, but managed to control this instinct. However, she knew she had to do something—she simply had to. This had gone on long enough, and from the viciousness with which the old woman slapped the boy, Bess was certain in the end they meant him the ultimate harm. How could they not? They had not bothered to blindfold him, so he was able to describe them. They knew this.

It didn’t matter to them, because they knew what they intended his fate to be. The question was: when?

She would wait for the opportunity, for Bess genuinely feared they had brought him to this lonely spot to murder and bury him that very night. The old woman had given him a sip of water, though. Was that a good sign? Perhaps, but in the end she would do what she had to do to survive. Bess knew that.

She stuck the small ladies’ pistol her father had given her a few years ago into the pocket of the dark blue velvet skirt of her riding ensemble.