Page 135 of His Duchess in Disguise
After being grilled by the captain, Mr. Goodkind was glad to escape back to the kitchen. His dinner was cold by then, but at least it was food. He had also been offered a small room in the servant’s quarters to spend the night before pushing on to look for the missing girl.
Had he remained above stairs or even gone out to the courtyard, he might have seen a man in civilian garb riding posthaste on the road toward Bristol.
Reginald Stencombing did see the rider galloping away from the manor. In the back of his head, the wheels of thought began to turn. If the rider was headed out toward Bristol, what were the chances that the Duke had not yet gone far on his journey toward Gretna Green? A fast rider could easily overtake a slow coach, especially with opportunities to change horses along the way.
As he turned, he saw another man looking after the departing horse. An idea began to hatch in Stencombing’s head. He sauntered over to the man, who just happened to be Henry Halderman, the replacement scullion. “Hey, how would you feel about earning a pound or two?” Reggie asked.
* * *
Late that night, three men met on the chalk near the road to Bristol. They all wore cloaks and masks, as befit highwaymen. One of them even wore a fine coat and doublet and sported a lace cravat.
“How do you know they went this way?” One of them asked the finely dressed man.
The masked man with the lace cravat sighed. “I know because I know the Duke. He would never do something as straightforward as going to Gretna Green, just because he said he would. Now, do you want to earn and collect that reward or not?”
“I don’t give a tinker’s damn about the reward,” growled the man who had not spoken up so far. “I want to give that hussy her just desserts. Sending her back to where she got that black eye will suit me just fine.”
“Did she turn you down, Matty? I mean, who could resist your looks? Now, me, all I have to do it look at the girls . . .”
“Shut that gaping cesspit you call a mouth, Hank. I want money. With enough money, I won’t ever wash another pot in my life. Revenge is all well and good for you. You’ll inherit the rights to your father’s farm by and by.”
“If you two numb wits are through identifying yourselves, I’d like to get ahead of that coach. There is a nice long stretch between Sheriff’s Town and Chitterne Brook that should do nicely for our purposes. All we have to do is arrange an accident to the coach. But we will have to be sharp about it. The Duke will recognize my voice, and probably yours, too, so we’ll need to mime our orders and make sure our pops are ready to do our talking for us.”
“You are certain this is the girl that is in all the papers?”
“Oh, I am very certain. Make no mistake about it, my cousin, the Duke, isn’t planning to marry a commoner. Besides, he would go to great lengths to get up the Earl of Cleweme’s nose.”
“That sounds like motive enough for me,” said Matty. “And I’m done with being high-born faradiddles. I say bring down the peerage. It can’t happen soon enough for me.”
“That’s treason, you know,” Hank said. “You could hang for it.”
“And who’s going to tell? You? The heir, here? No one wants to make a disturbance. I think I’m safe.”
The three of them rode down the bridle path that paralleled the road. Hide booties were bound over their horses’ hooves, muffling the sound of their footfalls.
Chapter 36
John Goodkind set out optimistically the following morning. He had a good breakfast in his belly, and although she had not allowed him to even touch her, he’d had fun flirting with Betty Lou, the kitchen wench. The air was crisp and bright, the birds were singing, and the mist was clearing off the chalk. Captain Arnault had even loaned him a map that would help him find his way toward Bath.
But when he approached the crossroads, he began to be more uncertain. The road toward Bath didn’t look very well-traveled, whereas the road toward Bristol showed evidence of a great deal more traffic. Instinctively, Mr. Goodkind turned his horse toward Bristol. He could always come back and pick up from here later if he was wrong, he told himself.
* * *
The messenger Captain Arnault had sent out to catch up to the Duke and his party rode steadily through the night, but toward morning, his horse came up lame. The farmstead where he stopped to try finding an exchange mount had nothing but one old, sway-backed hack. The messenger sighed, paid the farmer twice what the beast was worth and continued onward at the best pace he could muster.
* * *
The hopeful highwaymen approached the bridge at Chitterne Brook and settled to wait in a concealing clump of willows along a tributary on the near side of the brook.
“It won’t be long now,” their leader hissed. “You two bumpkins keep your natterboxes shut so’s you don’t give yourselves away.”
* * *
Captain Arnault mounted his favorite horse, a gray piebald who was steady, strong in the wind, and very well trained. He rode toward London town where he would meet with Sir Draper and the Earl of Cleweme’s seconds. He viewed the task with distaste, since not only was dueling illegal, he feared for his friend’s life. The Earl of Cleweme was very well known for slippery dealings. There was no telling what he might pull off to either discredit the Duke or to kill him before it ever came to a contest.
Miss Emma Hoskins was an added complication, especially with this harebrained plan to marry her. No, Captain Arnie was not a happy man. But he was a loyal friend, and he had given his word to take Hamilton’s place so that the Duke could have the services of his man. On the whole, he felt that this was a very good idea. Hamilton was solid, and it was perfectly clear that the Duke had recently taken leave of his senses. Well, it wasn’t unusual when a young woman was involved. And he had to admit that Miss Hoskins was an attractive young lady.
* * *
