CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
With one hand, she opened the top of the basket and handed two large sandwiches to Puck, who then left to eat with the driver.
She then removed three plates and dished out the sandwiches and fruit onto them.
Inside the basket were also a bottle of wine and three glasses, which she balanced on the blanket before pouring.
“Well, don’t just stand there watching until the glasses fall over—come sit and eat so we can go find Miss Windham while the sun’s still out. ”
Swallowing a chuckle, Oliver picked up the glass of wine, plopped his behind on the blanket, and dug in.
The roasted chicken sandwich with stuffing disappeared faster than light for both him and Burns.
The widow picked at her food. They drained the bottle of wine.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon packed what was left back in the basket, then stood up.
“Will you gentlemen be dears and shake out the blanket and fold it up nice and tight?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Burns replied with a smirk.
When she was out of earshot, he muttered under his breath, “She does love ordering people around. During all the years I’ve known her, not a single one has ever disobeyed. At least not that I’ve seen. The slight Black Widow of Whitehall has grown men shaking in their breeches.”
Oliver couldn’t help himself; he laughed. “I know I have. Come on, let’s get going. I’m getting more anxious the closer we get to Miss Windham.”
Nearly three hours later, they reached another tree with a mark. “This is where we leave the coach and the horses with the driver. The brush is too thick for them to pass. Two miles on foot will get us to a hunting lodge where Miss Windham is,” Burns said.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, “Driver, you stay with the coach and horses. The rest of us will go after Miss Windham. Is everyone armed in case we encounter trouble?” She opened her cloak, revealing the shape of two pistols—one in each pocket.
“Christ,” Oliver mumbled. “Remind me never to get on your bad list. But yes, I’m armed. I assume a Runner is always armed.”
“Yes,” Burns replied. “And from experience, I know Puck is.”
“Good,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Burns led the way along a narrow path barely wide enough for one person, followed by Oliver, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, and then her club doorman. The woman kept up so well that he wondered how old she was beneath that veil and widow’s weeds.
***
Hennie and Phoebe were on the stoop washing dishes when Hennie said, “People are coming. Hurry, leave everything, and get inside.”
They rushed inside and closed the door. Hennie locked it and slid a piece of wood down for extra security. “Let us hope it’s your duke and not my niece.”
Phoebe’s heart thumped, and her hands trembled as she moved to a window overlooking the front of the cabin. She peeked around the curtain, holding her breath, scared to inhale and miss something. Hennie opened and closed several cabinets and then approached her, holding a pistol in each hand.
“Do you know how to use a gun?”
The truth was her mother had always planned to teach her, but they didn’t have the money for gunpowder or ammunition for the small pistol her mother hid in a false panel in her wardrobe. “No.”
“No matter. I can shoot with either hand. Hopefully, I won’t have to.” She nudged her to the side. “Stay out of sight until I tell you otherwise.”
Phoebe rolled so her back was against the wall, and she stared, wide-eyed at Hennie, looking fierce and protective. Much like her own mother. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she swiped them away. Now was not the time for sentimentality.
“Can you see anyone?” Phoebe asked, praying for it to be Oliver.
“Any moment.”
They were the longest seconds of Phoebe’s life as she counted the beats of her heart.
Hennie exhaled and said, “See for yourself.”
Phoebe peered around the threadbare curtain. “It’s Oliver.”
Hennie leaned down and took her arm. “Let me help you up.”
Phoebe blinked multiple times and was stunned to find herself on the floor in a heap. How did she end up there? “It’s Oliver.”
Once she stood, Hennie brushed off her skirts and laughed in relief. “Yes. So you said. Perhaps we should go outside and welcome your rescue party.”
Phoebe didn’t believe she had hit her head, yet she was having trouble concentrating.
She tapped her cheeks a few times with her hands, which helped clear her mind.
Hennie opened the door for her, and she came face to face with Oliver’s handsome face, lined with worry.
“Oliver,” she said with a big smile and a bigger heart, “you came.”
He tore the hat from his head, dropped it, pulled her into his arms, and held on tight. His heart beat a quick staccato against her. “Phoebe. I thought I’d never see you again,” his voice was deep and rough. “Are you hurt at all?”
He released her, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon nudged him aside. “Let me have a look at her. My dear, you gave us quite a fright. Did they hurt you? If they did, I will see them ruined.”
“I’m fine,” she said, gesturing to Hennie, who was standing in the open doorway. “Hennie took good care of me.”
“Please come in,” Hennie said. “I’ve got stew heating in the hearth and brandy if you need something strong to drink.”
“If it’s all right with you, Your Grace,” Burns said. “Puck and I will wait out here and keep watch.”
“Thank you,” Weston said as he was the last to enter the cabin.
“Please sit, and I’ll pour the brandy,” Hennie said, looking pleased to have friendly visitors.
Then it hit Phoebe—she would be leaving.
Leaving Hennie behind. After all she had done for her mother, then for her, it hardly seemed right to leave her to live out the rest of her days in this old hunting cabin all alone.
Perhaps she could convince her to come with them.
Not long after, Oliver said, “Before darkness settles in, we need to get back to the carriage and on the road home.” He bowed to Hennie and handed her a pouch. “I can’t thank you enough for taking care of Miss Windham and her mother before her.”
Hennie took the pouch and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I would care for them in a heartbeat again if I needed to. No finer ladies in England, you ask me.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon chimed in, “Lady Emma packed you a bag. I’ll help you change.”
“Thank you,” Phoebe said as she and Mrs. Dove-Lyon entered the bedroom, and she closed the curtain. They quickly changed her out of her dirty clothes. It felt good to be in Emma’s hand-me-down clothes and a sturdy pair of half boots. She opened the curtain and said, “We’re ready.”
Phoebe went into Hennie’s open arms and they sobbed on each other. “You will come with us? You’re my family now.”
Hennie stepped back. “No. Perhaps after your wedding. You know how to reach me. Mail Coach 53. Mr. Sullivan will see that I get your letter. Now be off—I’ve got things to do.”
She appreciated Hennie making it easier for them to leave.
She hugged her quickly one last time and headed out of the cabin.
They stepped onto the narrow walking path.
She followed Mr. Burns, whom she found out was a Bow Street Runner, with Oliver right behind her, then Mrs. Dove-Lyon, and Puck at the end.
It felt like forever until they reached the horses and carriage. Oliver helped her into the coach and covered her lap with a blanket. “Rest during the ride. You must be exhausted.”
“I am,” Phoebe said as her eyes felt heavy.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat beside her with her own blanket. “Lean on me if you want, Miss Windham. I make a soft sleeping pillow.”
“Hmm, thank you.” And she did indeed rest her head on the Black Widow of Whitehall’s shoulder.