Chapter Eighteen #3
“To explain that you have done nothing! That you are letting all these hours pass while you make no attempt to save her!” His voice rose to an hysterical shrillness. “Why do you not take them their idiotic icons?”
Detaching Collington’s grip from his shoulders, Gideon said, “My lord, you are overwrought. If you will but—”
“You don’t mean to part with ’em,” shouted the earl. “They’re too valuable, eh? By God, but you’re just another thief like your worthless sire!” He tore a small pistol from his coat pocket. “Well, I’ll not stand by and let you—”
Gideon grabbed Collington’s wrist, forcing it upward.
The pistol exploded, the retort ear-splitting in the narrow hall.
Trying not to hurt the half-crazed man, Gideon took a blow across the face and reeled back.
Morris ran to his aid, and Naomi’s large groom pushed past the lackey to hold his employer back, but the earl fought them like a mad thing so that it was as much as they could do to restrain him.
The hall was suddenly crowded as Sir Mark and Katrina rushed from the withdrawing room, and Gwendolyn, Wilson, and two maids ran from the kitchen.
Sir Mark thundered, “How dare you, sir! Stop this nonsense at once!”
Panting, Collington stopped struggling and glared at him. “An ’twas your daughter, you might have some pity!”
Heavy wheels rumbled in the street. From the front door, Wilson called, “There’s a waggon stopped outside, sir. They’re … Good heavens! They’re carrying someone here!”
Gideon reached the door as it swung wide. A laden waggon with blocks behind the wheels stood at the kennel, and two countrymen in gaiters and smocks were carrying someone up the steps on a hurdle.
As he was borne inside, the injured man turned his head weakly.
“Tummet!” exclaimed Gideon.
“Go!” muttered Enoch Tummet. “’Fore they…” His eyes moved to the side and he stopped speaking.
Gideon sent a lackey running for Dr. Lockhart. Gwendolyn, who had hurried to the side of the hurdle and bent low over Tummet, said in a rather scratchy voice, “He has been—been shot … I fear.” She went off with Katrina to assemble linen and medical supplies.
Gideon turned a narrowed stare on the waggoners. “You are very good to have brought him. You must let us repay you for your trouble. Where did you find him?”
One of the waggoners said shyly, “’E wuz crawling by the road, sir. We reckoned at first as ’e be over the oar, as they say. But then my mate seed as ’e wuz hurt. All as ’e could do wuz ask us to bring him here. Which we done, hoping as it bean’t wrong, sir.”
Sir Mark said, “You did exactly right. Now, if you’d just—”
Tummet tugged at Gideon’s sleeve and croaked urgently, “You must go, guv. Quick. Yer lady—”
“Lady Naomi?” Gideon bent over him. “What about her? Do you know where she is? Is she all right?”
There was a vivid bloodstain on Tummet’s shirt, and he was obviously weak and in pain. His eyes darted to the side. He mumbled, “It’s—it’s—”
“Yes, my poor fellow,” said Gideon gently. “What can you tell me?”
The earl, who had watched this dramatic scene in bewilderment, peered at the injured man and said, “You will be well rewarded if you bring word of Lady Lutonville, my good man. Try to tell us.”
Tummet sank back. His gaze fixed on Gideon, he muttered, “Me daughter’s … pill, Guv. Daughter … pill…” And, sighing, he closed his eyes.
“Mind’s wandering, poor fellow,” said Sir Mark, and instructed Wilson to show the waggoners to Tummet’s room.
Watching them climb the stairs, Morris said a puzzled, “But, he—”
Gideon gripped his arm, as if himself in need of support.
“I had so hoped he might bring news for us. I know his daughter has an inflammation of the lungs, but I thought someone was caring for her.” He shook his head despondently.
“Natural enough that she is all the poor fellow can think of.” His grip on Morris’ shoulder became crushing.
“Jamie, I mean to have another try. Newby may have overnighted at my cousin’s house in St. Alban’s.
Is a sorry hope, but our last one. Will you come with me? ”
Morris stared at him. “But, of course, dear boy.”
Collington said anxiously, “and then you will give them their accursed icons? You’ll not leave it too late?”
“We’ll be back in time. I promise you, sir.”
They hurried out to where a boy was walking their horses. Gideon tossed the boy a shilling, and they mounted up and made their perilous way down the hill.
Morris said, “’Tis my thought you should have told Collington the truth, Ross. He’s a right to know you do not have those jewelled thingummys. And what in the name of creation was all that about Tummet’s daughter?”
“My intrepid valet.” Gideon’s eyes blazed with excitement. “God love the man, he was trying to tell me something!”
“Trying to tell you something? Then why the deuce didn’t he spit it out? Your ear was not a yard from his lips, and—”
“And there were other ears as close. No, do not ask me who put Tummet into a quake, but someone did. If ever a man tried to speak with his eyes! He was at his rhyming slang again!”
“But he didn’t say anything! Only that you must go—quick. And something about—”
“About his daughter, Jamie! Tummet has no wife, and no daughter!”
“Yes, he has! You said yourself the poor girl has a inflammation of—”
“You great gudgeon! I said that only to stop you from remarking that you didn’t know he had a daughter. Tummet recognized someone in that hall, I tell you, and I’ve a damned good notion—” He checked, frowning. “Well, it must wait. For now, what we’ve to do is discover what rhymes with ‘daughter.’”
Shaking his head in perplexity, Morris tried to be of help. “Slaughter. Bought her. Shorter—”
“‘Shorter!’ Jove! Then if ‘pill’ were to become ‘hill’…”
“Shorter Hill! I say! That’s jolly clever! Out near Wimbledon Village, as I recall. And ain’t there an old abbey on that same hill?”
“There is indeed! And ’tis nigh half past three! Ride, Jamie! Ride!”
Ride they did, racing down the rest of the hill in the teeth of the wind; eastward into the city, past St. Paul’s with a thunder of hooves and cloaks flying out behind them, on at the gallop until they reached the mighty River Thames and were threading their way through the traffic on London Bridge.
They had of necessity to slow then, and Morris asked breathlessly, “What d’you mean to do, Ross?
’Tis pretty open country, save for the abbey. ”
“Aye, and that’s where they must have her, Jamie! Hopefully, they won’t be expecting us. We can keep in the trees until we come to the base of the hill, and perhaps we will catch some sight of the bastards. Once we’re sure, you can ride for the Watch, whilst I—”
“Devil I will! Think you’re to have all the fun? Come on!”
They were off the bridge then, and again the wild gallop, the angry shouts of affronted fellow travellers, the endless pound of hooves, the blustering wind that was so irksome, but Gideon was as a man reborn now, his eyes alight with eagerness and hope burgeoning in his heart.
South and west they rode now, the traffic easing when they left the crowded city streets and came into open country.
They were near the village of Wimbledon when they came within sight of Shorter Hill and by mutual accord reined to a halt.
The ancient abbey no longer rose in bleak dignity against the sky.
It had ceased to be, and all that remained was a scattered pile of rubble.
Staring at that forlorn relic of a once great building, Morris whispered, “Oh—deuce take it!”
Rossiter said nothing and scarcely daring to glance at him, Morris saw that the white line was about his mouth again, and the little pulse had reappeared beside his jaw. ‘Poor old fellow,’ he thought. And he called to three boys who were playing among the stone blocks.
They ran over, their hair wind tossed, their cheeks rosy, bright eyes full of awed expectation as they took in the two dashing young men with swords at their sides and pistols in the saddle holsters.
Rossiter asked, “What happened here, lads? Did it burn?”
“Nay, sir,” said the taller of the boys. “’Twere the big gale a year ago last fortnight. Wuss’n this one, it were.”
The second boy contributed eagerly, “Me dad says as the abbey were too old to stand up under the gusts any longer. Hunders o’ years it been pounded at.”
Not to be outdone, the smallest boy piped, “It all come down in a rush, it did, sir. Bang! Thump! Crash! Just like that!”
Morris thanked them, and tossed some coins and they scrambled joyously for the prize.
In silence the two men dismounted to rest the horses.
Rossiter’s shoulders slumped for a moment, and he drew a hand across his eyes.
What a fool, to have been so sure, to have counted the victory almost won.
And how shattering the disappointment. He took out his watch.
They had ridden hard, but it was already twelve minutes past the four o’clock limit he had set.
“Well,” he said slowly. “We made a mistake, Jamie. It must not have meant Shorter Hill, after all.”
“Perhaps,” said Morris, deeply troubled, “poor old Tummet really has got a daughter. We must get back, Ross.”
“Yes. But, while we wait for the horses, we can rack our brains. Does ‘slaughter’ join with anything to make a vestige of sense? Slaughter—Bill…? Still? Drill? I can think of no Slaughter Hill, can you?”
Despite the bright tone, he looked so drawn, and longing to spare him, Morris said, “A drink might help my brain. Don’t know about you, but I’m as starved as I am thirsty. Begad, I’d even welcome a glass of—”
“Water!” cried Rossiter. “Water, Jamie! Not Shorter!”
“Water—Hill?” said Morris, doubtful. “Never heard of it, but—” He gasped as Rossiter’s hand closed crushingly over his wrist.
“Water … mill!” Gideon’s eyes narrowed to glinting slits. “My God! They have her at the old mill!” He was in the saddle again and wheeling his horse.
Leaping to catch the bridle, Morris demanded, “What mill? Where? Oh, Gad! You never mean yours? I mean—Promontory Point?”
Gideon nodded grimly. “Is a jolly jest, no? To hold my lady on the lands we have lost! And that damned mill is rotted and unsafe, Jamie. I only pray it did not blow down last night!”
He wrenched at the reins, but Morris hung on. “’Tis all of sixty miles!”
“Yes. I should reach there by eight o’clock. Half-past eight at the latest.”
“You’re mad! Your horse is tired now, and you’re not—”
“I’ll hire another. Let go.”
“You don’t know what you go into, you dolt! Wait ’til we can get help, at least.”
“Very well. You ride back to Town and bring Tio and whoever will come. I’m going on.”
“But suppose you’re wrong again?”
“Then I shall ride straight to Gravesend. Let go!”
“But, Ross! You cannot hope to—”
“Dammit! You waste time! Go and get Tio—but don’t tell him where Naomi is ’til you’re on the road. Stand clear!” Rossiter drove home his spurs. The horse plunged, and Morris jumped back. Crouching low in the saddle, Rossiter was away, galloping eastward in a desperate race against time.