Page 66 of His Duchess in Disguise
“If we had a good tracking dog, he might be able to pick up the horse’s scent,” Rob put in. “Anyway, we should be able to separate out the highwaymen’s horses from ours if we protect them from the wagons and such as is going to be coming.”
“A good thought,” Leo praised him, “I’ll see what we have to mark the place and keep our helpers from riding over this area.”
Leo and the private went to the overturned carriage. The party had been traveling light, but there were still valises and one small trunk strapped to the back of it. Between them, they were able to use the luggage to cordon off the area Rags kept returning to. “Too bad her little dog ain’t a tracker,” the private commented.
“He has done very well,” Leo said. “No doubt someone local will have hunters, and we can get the scent of the highwaymen’s horses. That should lead us to Emma and Mary.”
Rags hopped up on Emma’s trunk, and let out a mournful little howl. The sound hung on the air and filled it with the wail of a faithful heart breaking.
“I know how you feel,” Leo told the little dog, gently smoothing his rough coat. “But we are going to find her if I have to comb the length and breadth of England, and all the world besides.”
Chapter 42
Emma awoke when Mary gently placed two fingers over her lips. Gray light was filtering through the cracks between the boards of their prison. Men’s voices were speaking outside.
“ . . . carriage. Won’t have to cart her across countryside bound on a horse. Good job you got rid of that little dog. He would have been spotted right away.”
Mary was scowling fiercely. Emma tried to puzzle out why. Then she realized the voices were familiar.
When Emma started to speak, Mary tapped her lips lightly, shaking her head to signify that Emma should not say anything.”
“ . . . the Duke and the rest of them, too. I do not think we need worry about pursuit.”
Emma felt her heart plummet to her shoes. Her eyes filled with tears. “No,” she mouthed.
Mary took her hand away from Emma’s mouth and gently dried her tears with a moderately clean handkerchief. The maid then picked up one of the blankets and draped it around Emma’s shoulders, before picking up the other one and wrapping it around her own.
Emma looked at her blankly for a moment, then nodded her understanding. Just as she had filled her pockets the night before with whatever they could find, they needed to make the effort to retain any supplies they might have on hand. If they wore the blankets, it was just possible the men would let them keep them.
The door rattled as someone unlatched it, then two masked men entered the hut. They said not a word, but one of them gestured grandly toward the door. The two ladies stepped out into the growing light of a foggy morning.
Another man waited beside a plain, shabby carriage. The two men who had come in to get them each grasped a woman by the arm and hustled the two of them into the carriage. Emma was too shocked by what she had heard to offer much resistance, and Mary did not want to be separated from her mistress.
The men seemed to take no notice of the blankets. In a few minutes, the carriage sprang into motion. “Reginald,” Emma breathed into Mary’s ear. “Killed Leo?”
Mary whispered back, just as quietly. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But we need to learn what they are doing and get word back to Menhiransten, somehow. Last I heard, murderers cain’t inherit. But I ain’t no lawyer.”
“I think you are right,” Emma replied. “If he has killed Leo, I won’t let him get away with it. But why? Why would he do it?”
“Cause if the Duke is dead, he can inherit if no one twigs to who killed him.”
“The ghastly little cad! I’ll kill him myself,” Emma whispered fiercely.
Mary touched her finger to her lips, reminding Emma that they could be overheard. “And I’ll help,” Mary whispered. Louder, she added, “Come, come, Miss Hoskins. Don’t take on so. It will be all right. It will be all right.”
Emma let herself sob, then. It seemed like the right moment, and quite in character, especially since she had an excellent reason for weeping. Leo, Rags, Robbie…even Mr. Hamilton? She let her grief take her and rage through her whole being. Mary held her through the storm, and Emma could feel that her maid was also racked with sobs. “They won’t get away with it,” Emma whispered between loud, gulping wails. “I won’t let them.”
They traveled swiftly throughout the day, stopping only to change horses. The ladies were not offered any water or opportunity for personal relief, so they both felt extremely miserable by the time the carriage pulled up beside a darkened manor house.
Neither gave any resistance as they were hustled inside, up a staircase and into an unlighted room. They were unceremoniously shoved inside they could distinctly hear the click of a key in the lock.
Emma began feeling her way along the right-hand wall. She could hear Mary doing the same to the left.
Emma ran into a sharp-cornered piece of furniture. Feeling down it, she discovered that it was a nightstand. A pitcher of water sat in a washbasin, and – oh, blessed relief – there was a chamber pot in the lower compartment.
Emma stood up to announce her find when a light flared across the room. Mary had discovered a flint lighter and a candle stub on the mantle of a small fireplace. The candlelight revealed a small bed, a fireplace with wood stacked beside it, and a tiny kettle. Everything was covered with a light layer of dust, which made the water in the pitcher somewhat suspect.
Emma pulled out the chamber pot and held it up. Mary nodded, gesturing for Emma to go first. After making use of it, they both felt much better.
