25 Pursuit
Cal was drinking slowly. Normally a pot of ale slipped down easily, but tonight he was restless, uneasy. He sat in his usual corner of the Dog and Duck watching Ben Lovell and Jack Burnham play cribbage. He checked his pocket watch again — still only nine o’clock. She couldn’t possibly be back yet.
The door opened, and John Hoggart came in, still in his coachman’s livery. He scanned the room, saw Cal and strode across to his corner.
“Back already?” Cal said, jumping to his feet. “That was very quick. I’ll get off home then. She’ll want a cup of tea.”
“She’s not back, not wi’ me,” the coachman said. “Mr Richard sent us away. He’s catching the London mail first thing tomorrer, he says, and she’s going to friends and they’ll see her home.”
“Friends? No!” Cal said. “She was supposed to be signing some papers for the lawyers, and then straight home.”
“No lawyers there, not at a piffling little inn like that, and no mail coach, neither. The Jolly Farmer, Jack — that’s one of the dodgy ones, ain’t it?”
Burnham frowned. “All sorts of ruffians there. Not a good place fer a lady. What’s Mr Richard thinkin’, takin’ his mother to a place like that?”
“I need to get there — tonight!” Cal said. “I’ll have to borrow a horse from Staineybank.”
“I can do better’n that,” the coachman said, teeth gleaming in a grin. “Carriage is still outside and the cattle’ll do another run into Brinchester. Come on.”
“I’m coming too,” Ben said.
“Aye, and me,” said Jack Burnham.
With a brief stop at Lilac House for Cal to tell Souter what was happening, collect a heavy purse in case of urgent expenses and add Timmy to the party, they set off for Brinchester.
For Cal, it was the worst journey of his life. Although the moon was near full, it was hidden behind heavy cloud and their progress seemed painfully slow. He felt every jolt, every sway, every creak of leather or wood.
The worst of it was not knowing what he would find.
Was it just Richard in a towering rage, and Cora trying to fend off whatever he wanted her to do?
Or was there something more sinister going on?
Why take her to such an unsavoury place?
And most of all — what was the matter with Richard, to subject his mother to this extraordinary evening?
He must be mad. No sane man would behave so.
And if he were insane…? No, he would not follow that train of thought.
Richard would never harm his own mother, he was sure of that. He was almost sure of it…
Richard was a problem for another day. All he wanted now was to find Cora safe and well, to hold her tight in his arms and take her home, where she belonged.
When he saw the Jolly Farmer, Cal understood why Hoggart had been concerned.
It was a shabby place, unnaturally quiet, with no one about in the yard.
Sacks and barrels were piled up higgledy-piggledy to one side, and a green-tinged trickle of liquid meandered across the yard entrance and into the street.
The innkeeper, when he was tracked down in the cellar, which he was reluctant to leave, admitted that a lady and gentleman had stayed in the parlour for a while, before departing.
“They’re gone? Where did they go?” Cal said.
The man grinned. “Dint tell me that, sir.”
“Which direction were they going?”
“Dint see.”
“Were they on foot?”
“Dint see.”
Jack Burnham appeared just then. “Looks like there are four empty stalls in the stables which had cattle in very recently, and there’s a space where a chaise might have fitted.”
“A post chaise and four. Interesting,” Cal said. Finally, some good news! If Richard had taken Cora away somewhere, then she was safe. Surely she was safe. This nasty little inn was merely a way to avoid observation, and the final destination, he devoutly hoped, was somewhere more suitable.
“Want us to rough this fellow up a bit?” Hoggart said, grinning. “Might jog his memory.”
The coachman was a burly man who looked as if he’d be useful in a mill, and the others inched forward, too, quite prepared to do battle. Even Timmy balled his fists menacingly.
“No need,” Cal said. “Good work, Jack. We’re finished here.”
Outside, he walked across the yard, jumped over the little stream and made his way out to the street. The others followed.
“Looks like we’re stumped,” Ben said.
“Not quite,” Cal said. “See that water… or whatever it is? Something drove through that not too long ago, getting its wheels wet. If you look closely, you can see the lines of wet marks going down the street.”
“I don’t see them,” Timmy said.
“Stand over here a bit, so the street lamps pick them up. There, see?”
“Yes! So they went that way!”
“The Shrewsbury road, yes. So now we can follow them, can’t we? And the tollgate keepers will remember a chaise and four passing through. Jack, where’s the best place to get fresh horses?”
Jack laughed. “Got it all worked out, ain’t you?”
“The how, possibly. As to where, we will find out, in time. But the why? That’s not so clear to me. That’s not clear at all.”
***
Cora woke to a pounding headache, a dry mouth and complete blindness.
She knew her eyes were open, but she could see nothing.
For an instant she panicked, but gradually the discomfort of lying on something solid and unyielding brought her to a realisation of the truth — that she was not in her own bed or anywhere she had ever been before.
Dimly, she struggled to remember what had happened. Richard… it was something to do with Richard but she could not quite recall. All she knew for sure was that she was far away from home and Cal and all that was good in her life.
Gingerly she rolled over to try to find a more comfortable position.
She was unsuccessful, but, unable to see anything, she had no option but to stay where she was.
She must have dozed off again, for when she next opened her eyes there was a dim, grey light.
She could see bare brick walls, a stone-flagged floor, a small, grimy window high up on one wall.
Apart from the wooden bed with a couple of blankets instead of a mattress, the only furnishings were a wooden chair and a chamber pot.
No fire, no candle, the door too far to reach.
With some difficulty she hauled herself into an upright position, although the whole room spun around her and her stomach was rebellious.
For some time she sat motionless, until she felt well enough to take the two steps to the chamber pot.
After that, she felt a little better, rearranged her blankets into a more comfortable manner and lay down to sleep again.
She was jerked awake by a piercing scream that seemed to echo in her head. It came again, ending this time in a sort of high pitched wail. Then there were shouts, running feet, thumping sounds. There was one more scream, even louder than the first, then an ominous silence.
Whatever was this place? For a long time she lay awake, shivering, but everything was quiet and she dozed off again.
When next she woke, the light was different, angling directly into the unprepossessing little room.
She felt a little better, and the door was only six or eight steps away.
With one hand leaning against the wall, she inched her way around the room, but when she reached the door, she realised there was no handle on this side, in fact, no way at all by which it might be opened.
She was a prisoner.
***
Cal was quietly confident. He had a trail to follow, and although he was more used to looking for the signs of deer or badgers, a carriage also left the evidence of its passing.
On the cobbled streets of a town, there was seldom anything to see, but on country roads, there might be raised dust or freshly splashed mud, or a watery trail if it forded a stream.
Then there was the evidence of tollgate keepers, who often had an extraordinary recall of unusual vehicles, when their memory was jogged with silver.
They had particular luck with one of the tollgate keepers, who had recognised the postilions and knew which coaching inn they would make for in Shrewsbury.
But there the news was less good. They found the inn easily enough and the postilions were roused from their beds to talk to them — it was extraordinary how obliging everyone was when coins were waved around.
However, Richard had changed to a fresh post chaise and four some four hours ago.
Cal was falling far behind.
“Did they stay here long?”
“Not long at all,” one of the postilions said. “New team were ready and waitin’ for ’im.”
“Only took a coupla minutes,” the other said. “Jest as long as it took to get the sick lady inside.”
“Sick lady?”
“Aye, so ’e said. ’Ad to carry ’er, dint he?”
“Fast asleep, she were,” the other said.
For the first time, the tendrils of fear gripped Cal, and refused to let go. Cora unconscious! Whatever Richard was up to, it was deadly serious, and not some whimsical quirk. Surely, surely he would not hurt his own mother? Almost he swooned in terror.
It was Ben who brought him some crumb of comfort. “Drop of laudanum to stop her making a fuss, that’s all. Won’t do her any harm.”
“Laudanum? Yes, it might be so.”
“She wouldn’t go quietly, your good lady,” Ben said, with a little smile. “She’s full of spirit.”
Cal gave a shaky laugh. “Aye, true enough.”
“Master Richard would never hurt her, Cal, not his own mother. He just wants to get her away from you.”
“You think he’ll lock her up somewhere?”
“Bound to. Nice quiet house, miles from anywhere, servants paid to do as they’re told. Keep her there until she gives you up. Obvious, really. He’s been fretting about her for weeks. Had a big fight with his grace a few days back. That’s probably what set all this off.”
“How will we ever find her?” Cal said dejectedly.
“We’ll find her,” Ben said confidently. “Come on, there’s nothing more we can do here and the postilions are waiting. Let’s get going, shall we?”