Chapter 19 #2
As they returned to the house arm-in-arm, Georgie carried the basket back and deposited it inside, next to the kitchen door. She usually returned it to the drawing room, but she wanted it to be near at hand. Just in case.
At the foot of the stairs, Peter kissed her on the cheek. “Try to get some rest. I will come upstairs and fetch you if anything happens.”
Georgie nodded, but she had another plan as she climbed the stairs. She had not discussed it with Peter ahead of time, but he would know it was the most practical decision.
As she descended the stairs again an hour later, boots clomping, Peter poked his head out of her art studio and sighed in resignation at the sight of her once again in her male clothing.
“It’s the best way for me to avoid being recognized,” she said, feeling a little defensive. He smiled at her, though his eyes were still worried.
“You are right. I only wish I could stay with you, but…”
“But you have the best chance of being able to overpower Cousin John,” she said firmly. “I will be quite far away from the coop in the stable. I’m certain I will be fine.”
Peter stepped forward and took her hands in his, his eyes serious as they searched her face. “Be careful, Georgie. I could not bear it if anything happened to you.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek, his night beard rough against her lips. “You must be careful as well. Promise me.”
“Of course.” Diffidently, he lowered his head to hers, his mouth within a few inches of hers. After a moment’s hesitation, she leaned in and kissed him quickly.
She did not want to send him off into danger without kissing him.
Georgie squeezed his hands one last time and then let go. “Robby will be coming with me to the stable. If anything occurs, one of us will fire the blunderbuss.”
“All right.”
Georgie could see Peter wanted to prevent her from leaving, but instead he stepped back, his jaw set. “Robby, Lady Peter is ready.”
Robby popped out of the studio door and stopped to gape at Georgie in her boy’s attire. “Cor!”
Peter placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and bent his head slightly to look Robby directly in the eyes. “You must take good care of Lady Peter, Robby. Do not allow her to run into danger or any such foolish thing.”
The boy shook his head scornfully. “’Course not, milord.”
With one last look at Peter, Georgie turned towards the kitchens. “Come, Robby. Time for the stable.”
Peter’s horse nickered uneasily at them as they entered, and Robby went to reassure the animal. They only had the one horse, a sturdy but unglamorous bay gelding who could be either ridden or driven as required.
Georgie took the dark lantern into the tack room and located the ancient blunderbuss in a storage box on one of the high shelves, as Peter had told her it would be. To her relief, it had been well taken care of over the decades of its use and included a small powder horn and bag of shot.
Robby eyed her skeptically as she returned. “Does tha know how to shoot, milady?”
“Of course,” she replied in cheerful but low voice. “Papa did not want me to be unable to defend myself.”
She loaded the gun and set it to the side, within arms’ reach but pointing away from Robby, herself, and the horse. Lowering herself to the floor, she sat cross-legged, positioning herself to be able to see the coop through a crack in the stable door.
Sliding the door of the dark lantern closed, the stable was plunged into near-darkness, illuminated only by a few moonbeams that poked through the high windows.
As her eyes adjusted, Georgie could see the dark outline of the coop across the yard. The otters had gone quiet, likely already asleep or nearly so.
It would be a long, dull wait, and she wished for a moment that Peter was with her.
That was foolish, of course. He needed to be closer to the coop in case Cousin John did appear.
Including Peter, there were two men ranged around the coop, each in a different location where they could watch without anyone who might be approaching being able to see them in the dark.
Mr. Kilvington waited in the drawing room, peering through the French doors for any sign of trouble.
As the local magistrate, he could not directly involve himself in capturing Sir John, but he was pleased to keep watch.
Here in the quiet and the dark, Georgie allowed herself to think that she was... pleased with Peter. He had made every effort to include her in the plans and listened thoughtfully to her ideas. He had not accepted all of them, but at last she felt he was listening to her and respecting her.
This was only one of the problems they faced, she knew. There was still the arrival of his family to come, and her fears of rejection by them. But Peter’s willingness to go to such lengths to protect her otters simply because she loved them warmed her from the inside out in the chilly stable.
Peter stationed himself in the kitchen garden, knowing it was unlikely anyone would spot him over the waist-high walls. He was just tall enough to see over them even while sitting on the ground, partially concealed by a potentilla bush that continued to flower into autumn.
It was a long, dull, and cold wait in which Peter decided there was no more time to berate himself. His priority must be to protect the otters, and thereby Georgie. Everything else could wait.
The sky was barely starting to lighten in the east when Peter saw something—someone—moving towards the coop. He could only just make out the shadow, but he felt certain it was Sir John.
Slowly, Peter began to creep along the inside of the kitchen garden, crouched low to keep himself below the level of the wall. He heard the rattle of the chain as Sir John tested it and the chittering of the otters as they heard the same sound.
Peering cautiously around the edge of the wall, he could see Sir John prying at the lock with some sort of tool. He would likely ruin it.
Peter glanced around but did not see the other watchers. They had agreed that, as the youngest and strongest among them, Peter would be the one to confront Sir John while they acted as witnesses and additional assistance if needed.
With a screech, the lock gave way, and Peter ducked back behind the wall as Sir John looked around, his expression hunted. In the increasing daylight, Peter saw Sir John had brought a rough sack with him, presumably to stuff the otters into.
Peter silently wished him luck with that. They were slippery creatures even when dry.
Seemingly satisfied no one was coming, Sir John removed the lock, unwound the chain to open the gate, and stepped inside the otter enclosure.
Peter leapt to his feet and charged into the enclosure as Sir John reached for the latch on the coop. “Stop!”
Sir John whirled on him.
He had a pistol. And it was pointed at the center of Peter’s chest.
“Ah, there you are, Avondale,” Sir John said with mock affability. “You may tell your friends to come out as well.”