Time's Fool (6 page)

“A hold-up, by Jupiter!” exclaimed Rossiter, and was out of the vehicle and running before the coach stopped. Morris charged along behind, trying to extricate a pistol from his pocket.

The woman had fallen and was sprawled in the mud. With the arrival of reinforcements the big man fled, one of his cronies hobbling along after him.

“Stop! In the King's name!” thundered Rossiter, sword in hand.

A fourth man had ridden up and flung himself from the saddle. At Rossiter's shout, he swung around, a long-barrelled pistol levelled.

“No you don't, you murdering hound!” roared Morris, and fired.

The rider dropped his weapon, staggered back, and went down.

Dragging herself to her feet, the woman let out a piercing scream. “You
monster
!” she cried wildly.

“Eh?” said Morris, surprised.

She ran to drop to her knees beside the fallen man. “Oh! My heavens! Are you much hurt?” She reached out imperatively. “One of you, give me something I can use for a bandage.”

“Women!” said Morris in admiration. “They're saints, curse me if they ain't. Here's the lady willing to bind the wound of the very scoundrel who robbed her and—”

“You triple-damned … clodpole…,” groaned August Falcon, blood trickling between the fingers that gripped his left arm.

Peering at his victim, Morris exclaimed, “If it ain't the cold old duck! Be dashed if I'd have taken him for a rank rider.”

“Fool!” hissed Lady Naomi Lutonville, glaring at him furiously. “He was my escort!”

“Whoops!” muttered the lieutenant and drew back.

Rossiter passed his large handkerchief to the distraught lady, and looking down at the injured man said ruefully, “I suspect we erred, Jamie. Falcon—isn't it, sir?”

“Yes. Curse you! Confound it but—but you and your idiot friend … will answer … to me.”

Naomi had fashioned the handkerchief into a pad which she now pressed against the wound in Falcon's upper arm, and he lapsed into tight-lipped silence.

Lieutenant Morris started to apologize, but checked as he stepped on an extremely sharp pebble. He glanced down instinctively. Beside some wet and crushed papers something gleamed faintly in the dim light from the carriage lamps. Curious, he bent and took up a tiny figure crafted from pink stone and set with red beads. A child's toy, probably, dropped here by some youngster. He started to throw it aside, but it was rather quaint and his little niece might like to have it. He dropped it into his pocket, then joined Rossiter as a liveried coachman ran up, wheezingly out of breath.

“They had hacks … waiting, and they got clean away.… Leastways, they didn't get your … jewels, milady.”

“And they didn't all get away,” observed Morris. “Unless that fella lying over there is one of your people, ma'am?”

Naomi jerked her head around. “Oh, the poor creature! Well, do not stand there like stones! Cannot one of you help him?”

“He's dead,” muttered Falcon rather faintly.

“Shot to kill, did you?” said Morris. “Better check, coachman. Just in case. Can't always trust your aim in this kind of light, sir. I've known—”

“Check and be damned t'you,” snarled Falcon. “I never miss—as you'll discover when … when…” His voice trailed off.

Distressed, Naomi said, “Oh, he is faint, poor soul!”

“A good time to get him into the coach,” said Rossiter with calm common sense. “Give a hand here, coachman. We'd better take him back to the inn. Would you wish that he journey in my carriage, ma'am?”

Morris and the coachman lifted Falcon, and ignoring his protestations that he could walk, started towards Rossiter's carriage.

“No,” said my lady autocratically. “Nor shall we take him back to that horrid inn! You will come home with me, August, where you can receive proper care. This person can take a message to—”

“The devil!” Falcon's drooping head jerked up again. “I'll not be maudled over in that pretentious pile, thank you! We'll go back to the inn. My sister's the best nurse I know.”

Naomi said with considerable indignation, “If you are not the most perverse and ungrateful of men! That inn is dirty and stuffy, and you will have much better treatment with us! We will take my coach, if you please, gentlemen!”

Obediently, they turned to her coach.

“Stop!”
roared Falcon. His bearers halted, and he said heatedly, “Had it not been for you, Milady Wilful, we might all be cozily in … in feather beds by now. Instead of … me having this stupid hole in my arm, and you being dragged through the mud till you look a—proper fright! Now do as I say, you dolts, and put me in the carriage of the block who shot me.”

Back turned the bearers with their burden.

“Do not listen to him,” said Naomi angrily. “Can you not see that—”

“Enough!” Rossiter's voice cracked like a whip. “Be dashed if ever I heard such tomfoolery!”

“Your opinion carries no weight here,” she flared.

“And yours is rubbishing,” he said unequivocally. “The gentleman needs medical help, and the closest place for him to get it is the inn. If you persist in journeying on, so be it. I shall escort you. Jamie, put Mr. Falcon in my coach, and—”

“No such thing,” raged Falcon, struggling in the arms of his much tried bearers. “I'll not trust myself to the man who tried to murder me!”

“Good God,” groaned Rossiter, exasperated. “Must we spend the night here while you two ridiculous people argue? Do
you
escort the lady then, James. I'll take Falcon in charge.”

“Had it not been for you, he would not be shot,” exclaimed Naomi, who was trembling now and too close to hysteria to be sensible. “Do you fancy I mean to abandon him to your bloodthirsty—”

Her words were cut off by an enraged squeal as Rossiter swept her up in his arms, carried her to the carriage and tossed her inside. “Be quiet, and do as you're told,” he said curtly. His stern gaze turned to Maggie who huddled weeping in the far corner. “As for you, my good girl—stop snivelling and tend to your mistress! She's soaked through by the feel of it. Have you far to go, coachman?”

“Better'n twelve miles, sir.”

“Oh, egad! 'Tis almost dark and I fancy there will be little sight of the moon tonight. Shall you be able to find your way?”

“Know this country like the back o' me hand, sir, never fear.”

“Very good. Then, off you go, coachman! God speed, Jamie.”

Swinging into the saddle, Morris said, “I may continue on to Sevenoaks. An I do, I shall call on you when I come to Town. Have a care, dear boy!”

Naomi, however, had no intention of leaving Falcon until she knew he was in good hands. Managing to open the window, she leaned out, and called peremptorily, “Roger, pay no heed to this person. We will follow them and make sure that Mr. Falcon is carried safely to the inn.”

Rossiter's shoulder was aching wretchedly, he felt beyond words tired, and his impatience with this bedraggled and argumentative female boiled over. He said irritably, “Good God! Are you still nittering, woman? I vow you're as witless as you are wet! Unless you crave the attentions of another rank rider, spare a thought for your servants and your horses and refrain from frippering about all night.” He slapped his gloved hand on the rump of the near leader and the carriage jerked forward.

A squeal of rage rang from the carriage as Naomi was flung back against the squabs.

The grinning coachman saluted Rossiter with a wave of his whip, then cracked it over his horses' heads, and the cumbersome vehicle lurched and creaked away.

Rossiter stared after it for a moment. It occurred to him belatedly that he had no idea of the identity of the infuriating woman, and in the dimness had only been able to ascertain that, as Falcon had said, she'd looked a proper fright with her hair all tangled and askew and herself soaked and muddy. To judge from the way she'd spoken to Falcon, she was probably his latest paramour.

‘His taste is not what it was,' thought Rossiter dryly.

*   *   *

Leaning back against the heavy oak sideboard in the tiny parlour, Rossiter watched the girl seated on the lumpy sofa and thought that in all his life he had only seen one lady who was lovelier. “I wish you will not be so worried,” he said gently. “It did not appear to me that the bone was broke, and your brother seems in excellent health.”

Half an hour had passed since they'd pulled into the yard of the Red Pheasant Inn, with the excited postboys shouting the news of the murderous hold-up. A great stir had resulted; an awed crowd rushing out to hear the grisly details and watch as the wounded gentleman was assisted inside. This had exasperated Falcon, who'd growled a suggestion that the host charge admission to “all the yokels having nothing better to do than gawk” at him. Miss Falcon's appearance had brought an expectant hush, but although the beauty had turned pale, she had disappointed many by neither screaming nor succumbing to a fit of the vapours. Far from disappointed, Rossiter had ordered that a groom be sent off to summon the constable and the apothecary from the neighbouring village, and the injured man had been borne upstairs.

The constable was small, sour, and annoyed to have been summoned from his fireplace. He had made a few notes, declared importantly that the malefactors would be “dealt with,” and gone away to send the saddler, who was also the undertaker, after the corpse. Now, Falcon lay in the bed he had bespoken for his sister, while the apothecary did what he might to aid him.

Katrina Falcon turned her fascinating and anxious eyes to Rossiter. “I suppose, as a soldier, you have experience of bullet wounds, Captain. I only know that my father deplores pistols, for he says they are so very deadly. Indeed, whenever August fights a duel Papa begs that he will choose swords.”

He smiled. “One might suppose your brother to be very often called out.”

“I have lost count,” she said simply. “Has he challenged you? From what he told me when he was carried in here, I gained the impression he means to do so.”

“He probably does, though it will be some time before he can fight anyone, I suspect. The poor fellow will have to contain his impatience.”

His attempt at lightness failed. She said, “One could scarce blame him for being vexed, sir. To have fired a pistol at another man without taking the time to discover his identity was quite insupportable. In truth, I think your friend must be prodigious hot headed.”

“I wish you will believe 'twas an accident,” he said earnestly. “When a man comes upon a hold-up in the darkness and a fellow rides up with a pistol aimed straight at him—well, he'd be a fool to take chances. Especially when there are already corpses lying about, and—”

At this point, with an irked flush on his pock-marked face, the apothecary joined them, sped upon his way by a blast of profanity.

Miss Falcon stood at once. “Is my brother very badly injured?”

“No, ma'am.” For an instant Rossiter thought the apothecary would add “unfortunately,” but he restrained himself and reported, “I believe the bone was grazed, but if he keeps to his bed and takes the elixir I'll send round, he should be up and about in a week or so. If not—” He shrugged.

Anxious, she hurried into the bedchamber.

The apothecary glowered at Rossiter. “He says you're responsible, Captain, and will pay me.” His hard eyes fastened to the fat purse Rossiter pulled from his pocket, and he grumbled, “I work long enough hours in the daylight, and don't usually come out at night, as I told the man they sent for me. I hope he let you know 'twould be double fee. Five guineas.”

“Nonsense! Do you take me for a flat?”

“'Tis clear you been away at the wars, sir,” wailed the apothecary, watching anxiously as Rossiter's long fingers paused on the clasp of the purse. “Prices has gone up since you—”

“They have not quadrupled! I shall pay you two guineas, only because of your disturbed slumbers.” He saw the man's small mouth opening for a protest, and added, “But I do not care to be milked, so if this doesn't suit we shall have in the host and I'll enquire of him as to your regular fee, which is likely a crown. Make up your mind.”

The apothecary bemoaned the fact that soldiers were hard-hearted men, but he snatched the two guineas as Rossiter made to draw them away, and then looked so smug it was apparent he'd not expected as much.

Rossiter asked, “What was Mr. Falcon ranting about?”

“My hands was too cold and too clumsy, and the bandage was too tight, and he wouldn't swallow the medicine I tried to get down his stubborn throat. An he's a friend of yours, sir, I'm sorry. But he's a difficult gent. Most cantankerous.”

Miss Falcon came out looking worried. “He desires a glass of brandy. Is it allowed, sir?”

“By all means, if you want him in a high fever. He may have a tisane, rather.”

Picturing the volatile Falcon sipping medicinal tea, Rossiter smothered a grin.

“I sent my woman to fetch some tea half an hour ago,” said Miss Falcon. “I suppose they are very busy in the kitchen. I shall have to go down and see if I cannot make it myself. Could you please stay with my brother, sir, until I return?”

The apothecary made a dart for the door. He most certainly could not stay. He had to take a man's foot off in the morning, and must be up early. The door slammed behind him and they could hear him grumbling his way along the hall with many references to the cantankerous Quality.

“Good Lord,” muttered Rossiter. “I pity his patient! Well, I'll get on my way, ma'am.”

She begged him to remain “just a few minutes” longer. He wanted nothing more than to get to his home, but he could not resist those pleading eyes, and agreed. “Though I doubt you'll get Falcon to drink a tisane.”