Chapter 42
Rallying
“We must be decided, and without the loss of another minute. Every minute is valuable.”
Jane Austen, Persuasion
“Gentlemen,” said the Green Briar’s landlord. “What can I do for you?”
Goutier and Tauton had made good time getting back to the inn.
It had taken only a few moments to see that Kinsdale’s Pride was still in her roomy box at the stables.
When they questioned Foote about the note, and told him what had brought them to the stables, he’d been righteously indignant that anyone would think he’d have permitted a theft on his watch.
Foote might have a sharper’s instincts and a horse dealer’s smile, but he also had his pride, and Goutier and Tauton had years of experience seeing through a vast array of fabrications.
Whatever was going on, Foote had no part in it.
So, they believed him when he said that neither Harkness nor Miss Thorne had actually been out to Lansdown that morning.
Likewise, they accepted his promise that if they did arrive, Foote himself would tell them all that had happened.
“Because I think we’ve had enough of notes,” Tauton had growled, and Goutier agreed.
They’d ridden fast on the way back. Goutier felt worry nipping hard at his heels the whole way.
He hoped against hope that they’d find Miss Thorne and Harkness together in the inn; hoped they would have some story to tell; hoped they would be ready to lay out all the answers to this maddening pile of riddles.
But now, he and Tauton stood in the public room and the landlord was eyeing at them like they’d come to rob the place.
“We’re looking for Adam Harkness,” said Tauton.
The landlord—Leigh—didn’t even blink. “I’ve no one here by that name.”
Goutier wanted to roar to the man that he knew them full well, that they’d been in this room just the night before, that he must have seen them going upstairs last night with Harkness and Miss Thorne.
Tauton laid a warning hand on Goutier’s arm.
“He’s traveling under the name of Rutherford,” said Tauton to Leigh. “Accompanied by Mrs. Rutherford.”
Leigh’s eyes narrowed. “And what business would you gents have with the Rutherfords?”
We’ve no time for this! Frustration made Goutier grind his teeth, but he forced himself to speak evenly.
“My name’s Sampson Goutier, and this is Samuel Tauton.
Now, I’ve no proof to give, but we’re from Bow Street.
You can ask after us over at the City police station, or the coroner’s office, if you want.
We’re friends of Harkness, and Miss Thorne, and helping them both on this business with the Kinsdales and the admiral, and something’s gone wrong. ”
“Maybe they left us some message?” prompted Tauton.
The landlord considered all this for an infuriating length of time. But at last, he nodded. “Aye. Message came. For a Mr. Goutier.” He reached under the bar and handed Goutier a folded paper.
“It came?” said Tauton. “Who delivered it? Harkness wasn’t here himself?”
Leigh shook his head. “Haven’t seen either of them since this morning. Carriage called for them, saying a horse had been stolen out at Lansdown and that Lord Casselmaine and Miss Kinsdale needed them both up there.”
Goutier felt a cold clench in his guts as worry tightened into a knot of genuine fear.
This new message was written on another scrap. It was much tidier this time. Goutier recognized the paper as a leaf from Harkness’s notebook. The pencil writing was smeared, but the words were still legible. Tauton leaned over his shoulder to read with him:
Lynn’s confederates fled to London. Following after with Miss Thorne. Get on road as soon as possible.
A.H.
“Damn,” muttered Tauton.
“Who was it who gave this to you?” Goutier asked Leigh. “Was it the same man that drove the carriage?”
“Nah, nah. This fellow came in on horseback. Thought I recognized him from the crowd of stablemen that come down to drink of a Sunday, but wouldn’t like to swear to it.”
“Black fella like me?” Because if it was Foote who stood there like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, I am going back up there and giving him the thrashing of his life. …
“Nah,” said the landlord. “White fella, long, horsey face. Scarred hands, like he’d been a boxer. Didn’t give no name.”
“All right,” said Goutier. “Thanks for your help.” He laid some coins down on the bar. “A drink for yourself and your good lady.”
“Very kind of you, sir.” Leigh swept the coins into his palm.
Goutier and Tauton both headed into the inn’s yard to get out of earshot.
“I don’t like this,” Goutier said.
“Neither do I.” Tauton stuck his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. “It’s got a strong smell of wild goose chase about it.”
“That it does,” Goutier agreed. “Which raises the question, what do we do now?”
They were not given much chance to consider the question. Just then, an open carriage clattered up to the inn’s doors. Before you could say “knife,” Leigh had nipped out into the yard to take the horses’ heads so the driver could jump down.
But the man in the driving cape and low-crowned hat was no servant. This was Lord Casselmaine, looking tousled and grim. Goutier saw then that one of the two women in the carriage was Mrs. Kendricks, who used to keep house for Rosalind Thorne.
The duke recognized the two Bow Street officers immediately.
“Goutier!” he cried. “Tauton. Are they here?”
No need to ask who “they” were. “No,” Goutier told him. “Nor have they been since this morning.”
The duke helped Mrs. Kendricks down, and also a young woman—a lady by her dress, and one of the Kinsdales by her hair and eyes.
“Something’s gone wrong,” Lord Casselmaine said to them all. “Someone tried to convince Mrs. Kendricks that Rosalind and Harkness were on their way back to London.”
“Same word was left here,” said Tauton.
“By whom?” demanded Lord Casselmaine, but Tauton shook his head.
“No name given. Fellow with a horse face and scarred hands.”
Mrs. Kendricks swayed on her feet. The young lady grabbed her elbow. “We need to go inside.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Leigh bustled forward, and took Mrs. Kendricks’s arm. “You come along now, Mariah.”
“I’m all right,” protested Mrs. Kendricks.
No one paid her any mind. Leigh took them all into the ladies’ parlor.
His wife appeared as if from nowhere, carrying a tray that held a full decanter and several glasses.
Mrs. Kendricks took one of the glasses, looked at it, and pulled a face, but she also downed the measure of brandy as if it was medicine. Her color returned almost immediately.
Goutier drank his own measure, and decided now was not the time to inquire where or how the landlord had come across a bottle of brandy of this quality.
“Now, down to business.” Tauton rested his elbows on the table. “Do we know where Miss Thorne and Harkness were last seen?”
“Here,” said Mrs. Leigh, who having delivered the brandy stayed at her husband’s side. “They arrived last night and went to their rooms. A driver with a coach-and-four came early this morning. Said he came from you, your grace, and Miss Clara Kinsdale.”
Casselmaine and Miss Kinsdale stared blankly.
Mrs. Leigh plowed ahead; her tone, Goutier noticed, was both defensive and dismayed. “He said that the horse everyone’s been in such an uproar over, Kinsdale’s Pride, had been stolen. His instructions were to take Mr. Harkness and Miss Thorne up to Lansdown as soon as ever they were ready.”
“Was anyone else in the carriage?” asked Tauton.
“I’d say no,” said Mr. Leigh. “But I didn’t look close.”
“And this driver, could you describe him?” put in Goutier.
Mrs. Leigh shook her head. “He’d his hat pulled low and his face muffled. But he’d clearly been driving fast and it was a damp morning, so I didn’t think anything of that.”
“I knew this would happen one day,” breathed Mrs. Kendricks. “I knew it. I warned her. She wouldn’t listen.”
“It will be all right, Mariah,” murmured Mrs. Leigh. The look the landlady turned on Goutier, Tauton, and Casselmaine then said it had damned well better be. “What are you going to do?”
The three men looked at each other uneasily.
“We should divide our efforts,” began Casselmaine.
“That’ll be best,” agreed Goutier. “I’ll head back up the road to Lansdown, see if there’s some sign of mischief I’ve missed, or if I can find someone who might have seen something. One thing we can be certain of is that neither Miss Thorne nor Harkness would be taken quietly.”
Tauton snorted. “That’d be the truth. I’ll get over to the City police station and tell Layng what’s happened.
Then, I want to have a word with Mrs. Lynn.
Might be she can be convinced to name her confederates, especially as it seems clear they’ve left her to swing.
I’ve been wanting a look at her anyway.” Tauton’s memory for faces was the stuff of Bow Street legend.
They said he could remember a pickpocket he’d seen once ten or more years ago.
Tauton never contradicted those stories.
Casselmaine nodded. “Excellent. Goutier, I’ll catch you up as soon as I can.
I want to send word to London and our friends there.
They should be warned about what’s happened.
Or, if it happens we’re wrong, and Harkness and Rosalind really have gone back to town, they should know to send back word quick as may be. ”
“We’re not wrong,” said Goutier flatly. “I wish to God we were.”
“I know.” Casselmaine’s tone was grim. His blue eyes filled with memories, and none of them—if Goutier was any judge—were any good. “Miss Kinsdale, Mrs. Kendricks, will you go back to the Kinsdales?”
“No,” said Miss Kinsdale immediately. “I’m staying with you.”
“Clara—” began Casselmaine.
She didn’t let him finish. “If there’s a trail to be followed, or messages to be carried, you’ll need someone else who can help, and that person may need to be a fast rider. If you can say there’s anyone here who is my equal on horseback, I’ll go home now.”
No one answered. And Casselmaine nodded, even though it was clear he was not happy. “All right. Mrs. Kendricks, can you at least go back to the house? We’ll need someone to keep an eye on matters there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll roust the boy and drive her myself,” said Mr. Leigh.
“You can take my carriage,” said Casselmaine. “And we’ll need the hire of two good saddle horses.”
“Whatever your grace needs,” replied Leigh smartly.
The problem was what they really needed was something none of them could supply right now—the answer to one simple question.
Were Adam Harkness and Rosalind Thorne even still alive?