Chapter Four
IT WAS DIFFICULT to track what was happening from her position inside the carriage box, but she identified the tone of several different voices, all men, one of them Geoffery’s.
They started talking at the back of the carriage, then moved toward the front left wheel closer to her, which they jostled a few times as they continued to talk to one another in what sounded like polite conversation before moving far enough away that she couldn’t hear them talking any longer.
The patter of rain increased, and it felt like forever before Veronica heard the jangling of harnesses and then the sound of wheels passing on the left side of the carriage as the new arrival became a new departure.
She let out a breath, hopeful that she wouldn’t have to stay in the box much longer.
She put her hands flat against the lid in advance of pushing it open when the sound of voices froze her in place.
Geoffery wasn’t alone.
Had someone stayed back from that passing carriage?
Or perhaps the carriage driver had returned without her notice.
Be attentive, Geoffery had told her.
Veronica lowered her hands back to her chest and became as still as she could possibly be as she listened.
She could not hear words, but she could tell it was no longer the same civil conversation that had been taking place earlier.
This new dialogue was angry. Curt. One voice was Geoffery’s, but the other was lower, gravely—not the voice of the carriage driver she’d overheard before.
Which meant that one of the men from that other carriage had stayed back. Why?
Surely it wouldn’t have been Geoffery’s choice—especially with her presence here. That concern, added to the increasingly angry conversation happening outside of the carriage, made her swallow, and she felt an increased sense of dread and frustration that she didn’t know what was happening.
Why had the other carriage occupant gotten angry?
Or, had this new carriage been full of . . . highwaymen?
Didn’t highwaymen use horses, not carriages?
And weren’t they more likely in remote, wild locations?
The main road, only an hour out of London, ought to be free of such potential trouble, to say nothing about the early hour.
They’d left at dawn. While additional carriages were not unexpected as the day continued, this seemed hardly the right place for a robbery.
Veronica didn’t know what to do, and so she did nothing while remaining devotedly attentive. The voices continued, loudly. When something shook the carriage, she pressed her lips together to keep from screaming. Scuffles. Another impact on the carriage. Were the men fighting?
Was Geoffery getting beaten right outside the carriage? Did he know how to defend himself?
Robert boxed; he’d been suspended from university for participating in boxing matches a few years ago. Mother had been incensed. Father had tried to hide a grin.
Geoffery had been at university at the same time Robert had. Was he a boxer too?
There were more hits, some grunts, shuffling, and then everything went quiet.
“All right,” Geoffery said loudly near the part of the carriage closest to Veronica’s head—was he speaking thus because he meant for her to hear?
“I’ll give you no more trouble, you are obviously the fiercer of us.
Can we at least sit in the carriage and get out of this blasted rain until your men return with the driver? ”
A grunting sort of answer preceded the opening of the carriage door as Veronica’s breath caught in her throat.
Geoffery was bringing this man inside the carriage, where he knew Veronica was hiding? Why would he do such a thing?
Well, Geoffery must not be much of a fighter. And he was apparently a child about staying out in the rain. Regardless, he was no gentleman to bring this man into closer proximity to her hiding place.
Veronica breathed as deeply and as quietly as she could as the two men stepped inside the carriage. Her heart was absolutely racing as she strained to follow each movement.
Be attentive, she reminded herself, as though she would get lost daydreaming at a time like this. She was about to burst into flame from the strain and anticipation of all that was happening and how little she understood it.
“This is not going to go well for you, friend,” Geoffery said after, Veronica assumed, they were both sitting.
It seemed Geoffery was in the rear seat as he’d been before, and this new man was seated above her, which made her feel even more confined.
“My carriage driver will be bringing help back with him.”
“Not ef he be found on the road jus’ like you, govnah.
” The thick provincial voice laughed, then coughed, and then .
. . spit? Such a crass action inside the carriage replaced some of the fear in Veronica’s chest with disgust. This man was nothing but a lowlife brute!
“Me brothuhs well be back wit’ him soon enough, then we’ll ge’ wha’ we need and be on ’er way. ”
“I’ve nothing to steal,” Geoffery said. His tone was remarkably calm.
Veronica breathed deeply and tried to sweep away more of the fear from her mind; if he could be calm, so could she.
“I’m traveling home after a few weeks in London; other than some rather fine waistcoats, I’ve nothing of value for you here. ”
“You’ve a fine se’ uh horses,” the brute said. He spat again, and Veronica clenched her teeth. “An’ three bettah wheels than we go’.”
“Your plan is to strip the carriage and leave us for dead, then?”
“Or jus’ leave you dead,” the man said, then laughed at his threat.
Dead? Is he joking? Trying to scare Geoffery?
“Dead men dun’ tell tells,” the man said in a more sober tone.
Good heavens.
Veronica tried to imagine the scene above her—Geoffery sitting on his bench, the brute sitting on what she was starting to think of as hers.
The men would be facing one another. The only reason Veronica could imagine Geoffery sitting still after such a threat—even if he were not much of a fighter—was if this ruffian had him under imminent threat. A knife, perhaps. A pistol!
“You don’t need to do that,” Geoffery said. “I’ve given you all the trouble I had in me and know when to concede.”
Was it Veronica’s imagination that he emphasized “I’ve”? What did that mean?
“I know better than to push my luck,” Geoffery said.
He definitely emphasized “push” in that sentence, pausing on both sides of the word again.
Was he trying to give her a message?
Be attentive, he’d said.
He’d given this man all the trouble he had in him, but someone else could push something?
The someone else had to be her—there was no one else here.
The seat was the only item she could have any influence upon; he meant for her to push up on the seat?
Whatever for? There was little chance she could knock a full-grown man off the seat, and it would reveal her location, which seemed to be a terrible idea.
Geoffery must know all of that.
And yet she felt sure he was sending her a message. And there was something thrilling about him seeing her as capable of whatever he was instructing her to do.
The brute grunted something Veronica couldn’t understand.
“Although,” Geoffery said in a tone that rang completely false to Veronica, now that she was looking for falseness, “I do have this pair of boots that might interest you. They might be the next most valuable item in my possession besides, as you said, the horses and the wheels of the carriage.”
“Boots,” the man repeated.
“Here,” Geoffery said before there was a sound of shuffling. “Let me take this one off so you can measure to see if we’re close enough in size. Those boots of yours look particularly worn. What a distraction that must be to your line of work.”
Push.
Distraction.
Oh, I see. She could give this man trouble by pushing up on the seat and distracting him with the unexpected motion.
She did not see how that would be of any help to Geoffery, but she couldn’t question him right now and would need to trust his instruction and her instincts.
She refused to overthink it all. He’d told her to be attentive; she would do that.
Veronica returned the palms of her hands to the underside of the seat above her, then shifted slowly and carefully until she could place the soles of her boots against the seat cover as well. It was a completely undignified position for a lady to be in, but she loved feeling important.
“Here’s this one,” Geoffery said.
One. All right; Geoffery was counting.
The man grunted again. He was perfectly prehistoric, this one.
“Would you like to try on two?”
Two. Veronica increased the tension of her hands and feet against the lid. Something was poking her in the back, but she gritted her teeth, tensed her muscles, and strained to be ready.
There was some shuffling, maybe the man was trying on the boots? How was that a plan? What if the man had refused? Could they possibly be the same foot size? Geoffery would surely wear custom-fitted boots, but then a man such as this likely always wore another man’s customized boots, didn’t he?
“Three!”
Veronica pushed with all her might, envisioning the seat launching upward and throwing the man into the ceiling. Instead, it only shifted upward a few inches, doing little more than making the man unsteady.
“Wha—?” the man said as the cushion fell right back into place over her hiding place.
Thwump.
The sound of fist against flesh sounded immediately above her. Then again, and again, and again. Some grunts, some shuffling movements that made the carriage jostle. She put her hands and feet back in position and pushed again, as hard as she could.
This time, her efforts complemented the upset already happening above her.
She felt resistance for a moment, kept pushing, and then the entire cover flew off to reveal the men pushing and hitting one another, the larger one struggling to find his balance after the part she’d just played in this melee.