Winter Wonderland (22 page)

“Reputation!” Harry sneered. “How can your reputation compare to the sheer romance of running—?”

But before he could finish, the door burst open. “Harry,” cried Terence from the doorway, “I think he's gone and done it!”

Harry dropped his hold on his betrothed and moved a discreet distance away. “Did no one teach you to knock, you blockhead?” was his greeting. “Isabel and I were planning an elopement.”

“Sorry, Isabel,” Terence said, “but this can't wait. I tell you, Harry, Barnaby's
done
it!”

“Done what?
Eloped
?”

“Harry, really!” Lady Isabel scolded. “You should know better. Livy Ponsonby would never—”

Terence smacked the heel of his hand against his forehead in impatience. “Will you
listen
? He's gone after the highwaymen!”

That made Harry snap to attention. He jumped up from the sofa in alarm. “Barnaby? All by himself?”

“Yes, just as he said he would.”

“Damn the boy! How could he—?”

“Let's not stand here and discuss it, you slowtop. Let's go after him.”

“Right!” Harry turned to his openmouthed betrothed. “You will excuse me, won't you, my love? I'll be back before morning, I promise.”

“But Harry—!”

Before she could begin to enumerate her objections to this hasty action, the butler appeared in the doorway. “Madam sent me to tell you you're wanted in the drawing room, Mr. Traherne,” he said to Terence. “At once.”

Terence shook his head. “Not now, Cummings. Tell her I've gone off to help Barnaby. She'll understand.”

“I'm afraid not, sir. This is urgent.”

“Urgent? What can possibly be more urgent—?”

“Visitors,” the butler said succinctly. “Lady Ponsonby and a young man. They both appear to be extremely upset, and Miss Ponsonby is having a fit of hysterics.”

This did indeed sound urgent. Harry and Terence exchanged looks. “I suppose we ought—” Harry muttered.

“Of course we ought,” Lady Isabel said with the decisiveness her rearing had bred in her and which had won her everything she'd ever wanted, including Harry Traherne. “Lead the way, Cummings,” she ordered, sweeping to the door. “Lead the way.”

In the drawing room, they were met with an ominous silence, except for the hiccuping sobs issuing from the chest of little Livy, who was huddled in an easy chair, her head buried in one of its wings. Sitting opposite her, erect and stern-faced, but dabbing at her eyes with a wet handkerchief, was a deep-bosomed matron who was apparently Lady Ponsonby, the weeping girl's mother. Standing at the window, his back stiff and his arms crossed over his chest, was a handsome, redheaded fellow who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. And leaning on the mantel, looking over the scene with a frown on her face but a strange, almost amused, glint in her eyes, was Delia Traherne.

Delia greeted her husband with a look that said,
Thank goodness you're here. Now you can take over
. Aloud, however, she merely made the introductions. “Lady Ponsonby, Mr. Ned Keswick, I'd like you to meet Lady Isabel Folley, my husband Terence Traherne and his brother Harry. Terence, dear,” she added in a voice that was sugary-sweet, “we seem to be embroiled in a rather huge misunderstanding. Mr. Keswick and her ladyship are at odds on a point that is of concern to all of us. But perhaps I should say no more until Barnaby joins us.”

“I could not find him, ma'am,” the butler said from the doorway, where he'd lingered in hopes of catching some hint of the nature of the crisis. “Mr. Barnaby Traherne has apparently taken the sleigh and ridden out.”

“I see.” Delia expelled a sigh of disappointment. “Well, thank you, Cummings, you may go.”

As soon as the door closed, Terence stepped forward. “May I be told about this ‘point of concern' on which the gentleman and her ladyship are at odds?”

Delia nodded. “Mr. Keswick claims that Livy is
betrothed
to him.”

“Betrothed?”
Terence peered at his wife, trying to judge if this were some sort of joke.

But to Lady Ponsonby, it was no joke. She stiffened. “I unequivocally deny that claim,” she said in a voice both quivery and firm. “Mr. Keswick is mistaken. How can there be a betrothal which is neither agreed to nor acknowledged by the girl's parents?”

“The
girl
acknowledged it,” the young man shouted from his place at the window. “She accepted me, and she's of age.”

“Now, just a moment, here,” Harry interjected. “A girl can break a pledge of that sort, if she wishes. So that ends that.”

“She never broke her pledge. Never!” The young man strode over to Livy's chair. “For heaven's sake,
tell
them, Livy! Pull yourself together! I'm here now. I'll protect you from your mother and anyone else who tries to bully you.”

Livy's only response was an increase in the volume of her sobs.

“
You're
doing the bullying, you cad!” cried Lady Ponsonby.

“So, my dear,” Delia said to Terence, “you see how matters stand.”

Terence nodded. “Your Ladyship, Mr. Keswick, will you excuse the members of my family for a moment? I think we need some private conversation to determine how to proceed.”

The four—Delia, Isabel, Terence and Harry—huddled together in the corridor. “What a fix!” Harry exclaimed. “Can't the girl be made to speak and explain herself?”

“She's been weeping ever since her mother arrived,” Delia said, “and when her redheaded swain made his appearance, she became utterly incoherent.”

“Are you saying they did not arrive together?” Isabel asked.

“They came in separate equipages.”

“That means the roads are open to the south,” Terence remarked.

“Of what relevance is that?” his wife demanded impatiently.

“None at all.” Terence rubbed his chin, trying to make sense of this muddle. He couldn't help wondering how much his beloved brother would be hurt by this latest revelation. “Poor Barnaby.” He sighed.

“Do you call him poor Barnaby because he has a rival,” Delia asked dryly, “or because he's chosen such a watering-pot for a bride?”

Terence gave a short laugh. “Yes, on both counts.”

“What has the Earl to say about this contretemps?” Isabel inquired.

“I haven't told him.” Delia looked up at her husband worriedly. “Honoria may take this very much to heart. Perhaps we should wait until Barnaby gets here before we bring them into it.”

Harry and Terence glanced at each other again. “Barnaby may not get back very soon,” Harry said, attempting to break the news to his sister-in-law gently.

Delia looked from one brother to the other. “What do you mean?
How
soon is not very soon?”

“Perhaps,” Terence muttered, “not until morning.”

“
Morning
! Where on earth has he gone?”

Isabel cast a disparaging look at both the brothers. “What these hulking cawkers are too cowardly to tell you, Delia, is that Barnaby has gone after the highwaymen, and that
they
intend to go after Barnaby.”

“Good God!” Delia threw her hands up in disgust. “Men!”

Terence put his hands on her shoulders. “It won't be so bad, my love. Give everyone dinner and send them off to bed. We'll fetch Barnaby back, and by morning we'll be able to settle the whole matter.”

“Hmmm,” Delia said, thinking over the possibilities. “I suppose that's all I
can
do. But if these new arrivals are to join us for dinner, I shall have to tell Lawrence and Honoria what's occurred.”

“Tell them, then,” said Terence, relieved to be free to make his escape and leave this mix-up behind. “Come, Harry, let's be off.”

“Just fetch the fellow,” Delia ordered, “and let the highwaymen
be
! If I discover that you've become embroiled in a shooting match with those miscreants, I warn you, Terence Traherne, that when I next lay eyes on you, I'll shoot you myself!”

Twenty-six

The Blue Fox tavern was tucked away in a grove of trees, so far off the road that Barnaby drove right past it. It was dark by the time he found it, but not so dark that he couldn't see how squalid it was. Its sign hung crookedly from only one hinge, its courtyard was littered with debris that even the snow could not cover, its windows were so filthy that Barnaby could not see through them to the inside, and one of them was boarded up with such careless workmanship that not one of the roughly hewn slats lined up with its neighbor. It was through one of the gaps between those slats that Barnaby was able to get a glimpse of the scene within.

He'd hidden the sleigh in the trees and tethered the horses well out of sight of anyone entering or leaving the tavern. Now, his eye to the gap in the window-boarding, he was trying to discover what—and whom—he might be facing. Inside he could see a small, smoky taproom furnished with one long table and benches along its length. Half a dozen ill-clad patrons sprawled upon them. They were being served by a buxom barmaid in a dirty apron and beribboned cap, who evidently was not averse to being fondled by one and all. Barnaby studied the men at the table carefully, but he could not identify any of them. One smallish fellow, whose back was to the window, looked like Japhet, but the tall highwayman could have been any one of the others.

Calculating that, even if he were wrong about the identity of the small man, the risk of error was not great, he decided to proceed on the assumption that the fellow was Japhet. He lowered his hat over his forehead so that the brim shadowed his face, opened the door of the tavern and stepped inside. He found himself in a small vestibule lit by two candles burning in wall sconces. He blew them both out. Then he positioned himself just behind the doorway to the taproom and waited for the barmaid to walk by.

He did not have to wait long. As she sauntered by the doorway, carrying a lightly-loaded tray, he reached out, seized her arm and pulled her into the vestibule, catching the tray with his free hand. While she gasped in angry surprise, he set the tray on the floor. “'Oo the devil are ye?” the girl demanded, trying to make him out in the shadowy hallway.

He stepped behind her, and holding her arms against her sides with one arm, he covered her mouth with his other hand. “Hush, me darlin', hush,” he whispered in her ear in a soft Irish brogue. “There's a yellowboy for ye if ye keep your voice down an' do me a tiny favor. Hush, now, an' I'll let ye go.” Slowly he released his hold on her mouth and waved a gold coin before her eyes.

She tried to get a glimpse of him but could not turn in his hold. “Who are ye? An' what do ye want o' me?”

“I want ye to go inside and tell Japhet there's a friend of his out here has a surprise for him.”

“Whyn't ye tell 'im yersel'? 'E's right inside.”

Barnaby smiled to himself. The risk had paid off. “I said it's a surprise,” he whispered into the girl's ear. “Isn't it worth a gold piece to ye to play the game my way?”

“I s'pose so,” she said dubiously, but as soon as he loosed his hold, she made a lunge for the coin.

He held it up out of her reach. “Now, me darlin', ye do know what ye're to say, don't ye?”

She took a close look at him, but his appearance meant nothing to her. “I'm to say a friend o' his is waitin' outside wi' a surprise fer 'im.”

“Yes. Exactly so.” He gave her the coin, which she immediately tested with her teeth. Then he turned her about and pushed her toward the taproom door. “Hurry, now,” he said, “like the sweet lamb ye are.”

As soon as she crossed the threshold, he whisked himself outside to watch her through the gap in the window-boarding. He saw her come up to Japhet and tell him something. Then she pointed to the vestibule. He looked in that direction, shrugged and shook his head. She showed him the coin, tossed it up in the air triumphantly, caught it, pocketed it and sauntered off.
Come on
, Barnaby urged him silently.
No man of sense would give a barmaid a gold coin for nothing. Someone outside must have something of value for you. Come and see what a lovely surprise awaits you!

As if his mind had received the message, Japhet got slowly to his feet and started toward the vestibule. Barnaby moved to the doorway and flattened himself against the outside wall just to the right of it. In a moment, the door opened and Japhet stepped outside. “Molly, you lying slut,” he shouted, “there's nobody—”

“Yes, there is,” said Barnaby, grabbing the little man's neck in the crook of his elbow and holding the pistol to his head. “Now, if you don't want a bullet in your noggin, you'll do what I say without a word.”

“But who—?”

Barnaby tightened his hold and let his prisoner hear him cock the pistol. “I said without a word. Nod if you understand me.”

Japhet nodded tensely.

“Good. Now, fellow, lie facedown on the ground, arms spread.”

Japhet followed the order. Barnaby uncocked the pistol, stuck it in the waistband of his breeches, knelt down with his knee in the footpad's back, and took out two small lengths of rope, with which he first tied Japhet's hands tightly behind him and then bound his ankles. Then he dragged him to his feet “Now, Japhet, tell me your partner's name.”

“I … I ain't got no partner.”

“The one who robbed the stagecoach with you about a fortnight ago. It must have been your last job, for there hasn't been much traffic since. His name, please.”

“I don't know whut yer talkin' about. Ye mus' be mistakin' me.”

Barnaby pulled out the pistol and held it to the miscreant's head again. “You evidently have a desire to die young. One more chance. His name, please.”

“T-Timothy Cosh.”

“You call him Tim, do you?”