Chapter Three #2
Rossiter assured him it would be no intrusion and they started out to pay their reckoning. Morris said, “Did I tell you about those two beauties? One was the small, vivacious type. A real Fair. But the other! Curse me if ever I saw such loveliness. Graceful as a—a young—er, gazelle. And—”
“And went leaping out of your life, eh?” interposed Rossiter, laughing at him.
Morris said aggrievedly that some insensitive clods had no understanding of matters of the heart, and debating this, the two men paid the host’s cheerful wife, and repaired to the stableyard.
The rain had stopped, the horses were rested, and the postilions having eaten well and enjoyed some good Kentish ale, were ready to leave.
They were just as eager as their customers to complete the journey before nightfall, and in no time Morris’ heavy saddlebags had been loaded into the boot, his horse tied on behind, and the light coach was off, rattling along the muddy roads at a respectable pace.
It very soon became obvious that Rossiter would have little chance to dwell on his problems. Morris, in a garrulous mood, continued to rave about the dark-eyed goddess who, with one fatal smile, had apparently won his heart.
She was sublime, exquisite, and as kind as she was beautiful, he dare swear.
He discoursed upon her dainty nose, the sweet curves of her red lips, the pale purity of her skin, until Rossiter cried for mercy.
“Enough, Jamie! I beg of you! I acknowledge her to be incomparable. I apprehend you are aux anges and have met your Fate. If ever you see the lady again, you must at once drop to your knees before her and beg her hand in marriage. Either that or shoot yourself, old boy!”
He had no sooner spoken than both men tensed to a distant sound. Through the deepening gloom of this very gloomy dusk their eyes met.
Morris said, “A shot. No?”
Rossiter opened the window. “What’s to do?” he shouted.
“Looks to be trouble ahead, sir,” called a postilion. “You want as we should take another road?”
“Devil I do! Spring ’em!”
The horses leaned into their collars and were off at the gallop. The coach fairly flew.
Soon, another coach loomed up with several men about it. A dark shape lay motionless on the ground. A woman was struggling with a big, roughly dressed individual.
“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.