Chapter 52
Lucy descended the hill carefully, the ground feeling cool underfoot.
Daisy seemed glad to see her. It was a warm night, but the mare was getting cooler, had drunk her fill, had eaten every flower within reach and was now inclined to leave.
As luck would have it, Lucy was of the same opinion.
As she mounted the horse she hoped she could remember the path to a place she had been only once.
Though she now had a lantern, the faint crescent moon rising in the sky cast little extra illumination. Daisy was equally cautious, trotting down the path towards the gates.
Once out of the St Martins Hall grounds Lucy caught sight of a light ahead.
Eager for help, she urged Daisy on, but as she drew near she caught sight of the same man who had been posted outside the basement door earlier; lantern in one hand, pistol in the other.
She had failed to consider the danger until it was too late, her approach already announced by lamp and hooves.
Cursing her carelessness, Lucy remained calm, bringing Daisy to a stop.
‘Mr St Martin said someone might escape. That you were clever.’
Not so clever that she didn’t fall straight into a trap. At least the others were now well on their way to get help at Rathbone Manor.
‘Off the horse.’
On horseback she had a chance, even if she had to ride while shot, hoping Daisy would know the way home. If she dismounted now, any hope was lost. Lucy weighed her options, concluding that the man would show less mercy than George had.
Still she said, ‘No. I shall not.’
‘I will fire.’
‘I am well aware of that. I am not—’
She stopped sharply, her attention drawn to another sound in the still night. Horses’ hooves. Rounding the corner, moving slowly, came a white horse and rider, bearing a lantern. Even from a distance she could see that the rider had no head.
So intent was her focus that her would-be assassin also turned and was equally surprised by the sight.
The headless rider stopped twenty feet from them, standing in silence.
Whatever his initial reaction, her assailant was clearly a hardened man who quickly recovered his wits.
‘Whoever you are, leave out of it.’
The horseman said nothing.
‘I’m not scared of a silly costume.’ He waved his pistol in the direction the rider had come from. ‘Now go back the way you came or—’
The sentence was cut off by the retort of a pistol and the man collapsed to the ground limply.
Lucy gripped her reins tight. Daisy, startled by the noise, reared slightly but was held in check by her rider. The phantom horse seemed unaffected, even as its rider lowered the pistol, still smoking. The action had been so swift that Lucy had not seen it drawn.
The presence of a calm horse seemed to ease Daisy, who still shuffled but made no motion to bolt.
Lucy watched as the rider drew closer, and with the proximity she recognised that it was no more than a clever costume, a black hood in contrast to a white outfit. At night, at distance, it would indeed seem to be a headless spectre.
He raised a gloved hand and drew away the hood.
‘Hello, Lucy,’ said Dashwood.
‘I needed a way of doing reconnaissance in secret,’ Captain Dashwood explained as they rode, side by side, down the lane. ‘Your local legend of a headless horseman provided it. I could be seen and most people would dismiss me as a ghost story or not mention the sighting at all.’
‘Charlotte Wyndham saw you. She told me about it.’
‘The night she was returning from St Martins Hall. I wanted to make sure her coach was going where expected.’
‘So you already suspected the St Martins?
‘Among others. After their ball my suspicions were greatly heightened. But I knew I had to evade further attempts on my life or yours. I must apologise for the deception. It was well meant, but I regret any harm I may have done you.’
‘I must confess I am taking the news poorly. But it should not be the focus of our thoughts. Are you confident this is the way to the ruins?’
‘I should be.’ Dashwood chuckled. ‘It’s where I’ve been living.’
Dashwood’s arrival back at the camp was not a surprise, but the presence of Lucy at this hour immediately suggested something was amiss. The team hastily assembled around the campfire and Lucy explained the events of the day and the treachery of George and Sir Walter.
‘From my connections, I know that the plans for the weapon are being taken from London to Edinburgh for manufacture,’ Dashwood explained.
‘If they get them to France, it might tip the balance of the war.’ Torres nodded grimly. ‘That is how they hope to regain their fortune. Napoleon’s coffers are overflowing at the moment and he would gladly pay.’
‘Because of the other robberies, security on the coaches has been increased. But that security was all hired by Sir Walter,’ said Dashwood.
‘And the robbers are already on his books,’ Hekili offered as he whittled a piece of wood, knife gripped tightly in his large hand.
‘I must admit, it’s a clever plan. Scare up the need for more men then stack the ranks in your favour.’ Dashwood sighed. ‘Their team intends to meet with George and Sir Walter. From there they’ll head for a ship somewhere on the coast. But it’s a large coast.’
‘Walton,’ Torres stated, clear and calm. ‘North of the military camps. Leads to the headland. Mostly abandoned. Even the church fell into the sea a decade ago. A perfect spot for a smuggler’s run.’
No one asked what Torres knew of a smuggler’s run.
‘They’ll want to be in and out fast,’ the Spaniard continued. ‘Hekili? Tides?’
The man mused for a moment, drawing on his years’ old sea knowledge.
‘Between midnight and two, I’d say.’
‘The shipment leaves at eleven, you said, Lucy?’ Elsa checked her pocket watch. ‘That was ten minutes ago.’
‘Senor Torres, you know the road they’ll take?’ Dashwood asked.
‘I believe so.’
‘Well then. They already have their men on board, which means there’s no way we can stop them stealing those plans. So we’ll just have to steal them back.’