Nick dropped to one knee and waited until he saw Harris start to move the little group back along the ditch, then, finding he could breathe easy again, ducked low and scrambled along the path back to where Fawcett and one of the Riflemen were using the box as a firing platform. Crouching hurt his leg like the devil, but standing up was asking to get his head blown off. On either side of them in the marsh, rifles barked.
‘They’re falling back on the beach,’ Fawcett said. ‘How many now, Jack?’
‘Five firing.’ There was a scream, abruptly cut off. ‘I misspoke. Four now.’
In the moonlight they could make out running figures in the gap, dark against the paler sand of the beach.
‘They are getting away,’ Nick said.
A voice shouted from their left, followed by an answering call from the right. Fawcett stood up. ‘We can follow now. The marsh is clear.’
‘Give me a gun.’ Nick took the pistol Fawcett thrust at him and led the way at a run down the track towards the gap, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg as he jolted over the rough ground.
They reached the beach to find two sprawled bodies and saw the second rowing boat clear the surf and follow its companion back towards the Gannet.
The Riflemen at Nicholas’s side dropped into firing positions and loosed a volley of shots. There was a scream from the boat, but it kept going.
‘Tidy up the rubbish, lads,’ someone said. ‘Rendezvous back at the carriage.’
Figures melted into the darkness as two men lifted the bodies, some of them groaning and feebly trying to hit back, and carried them back through the gap. Nick and his two companions followed them, ploughing through the heavy sand.
‘Thank you. I knew I could rely on you.’
‘My pleasure. The lads couldn’t have been happier.’ They reached the wooden box and Fawcett tipped it on its side, sending a rattle of large stones to tumble down the bank and into the water. ‘It felt good to plan an operation again, carry it out. We’ve been here since before dawn, they came at five this evening—too cocky by half, they deserved all they got.’ After a few more steps he said, ‘You all right, Nick? It must have been hell, having your lady involved.’ The last sentence wasn’t quite a question.
‘I met the lady concerned on board. In order to keep her safe I told them she was my wife and that we were eloping,’ Nick said as they drew closer to the carriage. Figures emerged from the marsh towards them, several carrying bodies slung over their shoulders.
‘Well, she’s a game one, whoever she is. No panicking, no shrieking, just leapt that box and took to her heels. What do you intend for her now?’
‘To restore her to where she ought to be,’ Nick said repressively. ‘What the devil are we going to do with these bodies?’ There was a chorus of pitiful groans. ‘We’ve a few live ones too, by the sound of it.’
‘The Preventives have a look-out just south of here, at Winterton. They’ll know how to get hold of the local Justices and how to deal with this.’ Nick felt his friend’s attention on him. ‘There’s no need for you to drag along. Take the carriage and however many of the men that you need.’
‘Lord Sutton’s place is just to the west of here, if I’ve the map straight in my head,’ Nick said. ‘I’d thought of finding a respectable inn in Great Yarmouth, but a private house would be more discreet.’
Fawcett grunted agreement. ‘There’s a road book and maps in the carriage. If I don’t hear from you at the inn at Winterton, then I’ll assume that’s where you are.’
Nick limped his way to the carriage, too tired to try and hide the halt in his step. The driver had a groom up beside him and two men, rifles slung, were holding on behind. The lantern was still burning. ‘Lord Sutton’s house,’ he told the driver. ‘It’s near East Ruston. There’s a map in the carriage, I’m told.’
‘If you’ll pass it up, Your Grace, we’ll sort out the way. North up to Waxham and Palling to start, then across and a bit to the west, I’m thinking.’
Nick swung open the carriage door, found the route book and two folded maps in the door pocket, passed them up, then swung inside and collapsed, thankfully, onto the seat beside Sarah. The interior stank of marsh water, but in the gloom he could see all three of his charges sitting up and apparently fully conscious. No—four.
‘Who the devil is that?’
The small form wedged between Millie and Pendell ducked and seemed to try and burrow through the back of the seat.
‘This is Charlie,’ Sarah said. ‘Someone threw him into the carriage along with us.’
‘Well, he can get flung straight back out again. The bodies and the prisoners are being taken to Winterton.’
‘He is the ship’s boy.’
‘And that is where he belongs, with the rest of the crew.’
‘Nicholas, he is ten years old. He cannot be held responsible for any of this. He was terrified. You must have seen that.’
‘I am not dragging some misbegotten ship’s rat along with us,’ Nick said flatly.
‘In that case you may leave us here. I am not having this child taken off to prison with that murdering gang.’
‘It is past one in the morning, you are soaking wet, we are miles from any decent habitation—’ He broke off as Sarah reached for the door handle. ‘Of all the confounded sentimental, idiotic...’ Nick dropped the glass in the window beside him and leant out. ‘Drive on! If we all catch lice, I will not be surprised,’ he added as he sat down.
‘Very likely,’ Sarah said tartly. ‘There appear to be some rugs under these seats and we would all be better for being wrapped up in them. Where are we going, Your Grace?’
He almost snapped back at her to call him Nicholas and then remembered that there was no need now to pretend that she was his wife and that when they found themselves under Sutton’s roof it was essential that the deception was not revealed, or her reputation would be in tatters. Bad enough that she had been kidnapped and held prisoner, but at least she’d had her maid with her and Nicholas would present the story in such a manner that it would seem Sarah had been safely locked away in her cabin the entire time.
‘To the country residence of a friend of mine, Viscount Sutton. It is north of here, about fifteen miles, I would guess. It will take us at least two hours on these roads and in the dark.’
‘That is a long way. Four of us are soaking wet and one is carrying a wound,’ Sarah said dispassionately, setting his teeth on edge. ‘Would it not be more prudent to stop at the first decent inn we come to?’
‘If you want to be the talk of the county, yes. Gossip will spread about the fight on the beach and the captives taken. Add that to a party of wet travellers arriving in the early hours and every hope of discretion is gone. Is anyone seriously cold? And, Pendell, how is your shoulder?’
‘Aches, but it isn’t bleeding, Your Grace, and I’m warm enough now we’ve found the blankets.’
‘And I’ll do,’ Millie said. ‘The nipperkin has stopped shivering and he’s warming up, aren’t you, lad?’
There was a muffled squeak from the space between the maid and the valet.
‘And you, Miss Parrish?’ Nick reached out and took one of her hands. It was damp, but not cold. ‘Best to move that wedding ring.’
‘I am sure I will survive for two hours, Your Grace, if you deem it necessary. Is Lord Sutton in residence?’ Sarah slid her hand out of his and tucked it under the blanket. Under its cover he could see that she tugged off the ring and replaced it on her right hand.
‘He said he was spending the summer in Norfolk and invited me to join his house party. I had left it that I might well do so if my investigations on board ship left me at a suitable point. I was undecided at that stage whether to sail up as far as the Yorkshire coast.’
‘So, not only are we going to arrive in the small hours, unannounced, but he will have a house full of guests.’
‘We are hardly descending on a small villa. I imagine they can make up twenty beds without difficulty.’
Sarah subsided into silence. Pendell, probably more out of tact than any desire to sleep, closed his eyes. Millie fussed a little over the boy and Nick began to massage his thigh, discreetly attempting to knead away the penetrating ache. This was going to be a long two hours.
The absence of movement woke Sarah and she blinked into darkness, wondering why the pillow her temple was resting against was quite so hard and unyielding. Then she remembered where she was and found that she had slid sideways so that her head was against the point of Nick’s shoulder. She sat up, disturbing the disgusting skirts that had half dried around her legs.
Opposite her Millie straightened and yawned and gave a gentle shake to the boy, who was curled up with his head on her lap.
Pendell knuckled his eyes. ‘Are we here, Your Grace?’
‘We are.’ Nicholas opened the carriage door and climbed out. ‘And, thank heavens, they have an alert footman on duty in the hall.’
As he spoke Sarah saw the dim light that had been visible through the transom above the front door intensify, then the door itself opened and a man appeared, holding up a lantern.
Nicholas got down and went towards him and she saw with a pang that his limp was worse. The footman was bowing now and ran back into the house and, by the time that they were all out of the carriage and the bags were handed down, three more footmen had joined the first. All had the appearance of men who had just dragged on their livery and the two grooms who came running from the rear of the house were actually still in their nightshirts, with breeches underneath.
Sarah was ushered into the hallway in time to hear Nicholas say, ‘On no account disturb Lord Sutton. But if rooms can be found for myself and for Miss Parrish—my man and the boy can sleep on beds in my dressing room and Miss Parrish’s maid in hers—and if hot water for baths can be obtained, that would be very welcome. As you can see, most of the party has been tumbled into a drainage ditch.’
At this point they were joined by a personage who could only be the butler, closely followed by a stout woman with a mob cap firmly pulled down over a head full of curl papers.
‘Your Grace! Some accident has befallen you? I shall have the doctor sent for immediately.’
‘Thank you, Ramage. None of us is injured, at least, not to the extent that requires immediate attention. But as you can see, hot baths—’
‘At once! Mrs Watson, the Octagonal Bedchamber for the lady. Your usual chamber, the Chinese Room, Your Grace, with a bed for your man. And the boy?’
‘Stays with Pendell,’ Nicholas said firmly, one hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
Footmen snatched up their battered valises, leaking sand on the marble floor. Sarah and Millie followed the housekeeper up the stairs to be delivered into the hands of a chambermaid with apologies that the water might be a few minutes, given that the kitchen range had been banked down for the night.
Sarah fought back the urge to simply throw herself on the wide bed with its froth of gauze draperies and blue silken coverlet and set herself to respond civilly—and coherently—to the housekeeper’s anxious queries without mentioning kidnapping, murder or gun fights. Nicholas would explain it all to their unwitting host in the morning and she had no intention of saying anything that might reveal whatever he chose to leave unsaid.
She insisted that Millie sit down too, and left the maid to unpack their valises, shake out their nightgowns, and bustle about making up a truckle bed in the dressing room and putting a pair of tin baths in front of the hastily kindled fire. The room became warmer and she closed her eyes for a moment.
There was a vague memory of someone helping her out of her filthy gown, of the bliss of hot water and the scent of rose soap and the comforting embrace of warm towels, then she was sinking into the depths of a feather bed. The voices around her dropped to a murmur and then were silent as the light behind her closed lids became darkness.
‘What the devil is going on?’
Nick belted the sash of the heavy silk robe that one of the footmen had produced for him. ‘We woke you—I apologise, my dear Reece. I hope you are not going to throw us out on our ear.’
‘Terrell!’ Andrew Reece, Viscount Sutton, also in his night robe, strode across the room and clasped Nick’s hand. ‘I could hardly believe my ears when Ramage said the Duke of Severton had arrived on the doorstep accompanied by a sodden lady, her maid, a valet and a scruffy urchin. Carriage land in a river?’
‘I will tell you the tale in daylight,’ Nick said. ‘At this hour it is too Gothic to be believed. But to cut a long story short we were kidnapped by pirates, held to ransom and escaped after a gun fight in the marshes.’
Reece grinned and shook his head. ‘Of course you were, dear boy. Only you would arrive on my doorstep at this hour with such a tale. And who is the lady?’
‘A fellow passenger,’ Nick said, his tone indifferent. It was beginning to occur to him that extracting Sarah from this with her reputation intact was going to require some careful manoeuvring. ‘Fortunately a level-headed and sensible woman and her maid is a creature of spirit. It would have been a thousand times more dangerous if they had not been so courageous.’
‘I’ll not keep you from your bed,’ Reece said, turning back to the door. ‘We can talk of this tomorrow when you finally emerge from it. I draw the line at believing in the pirates, you know. Will you be able to remain here now that your voyage has been curtailed? As you know, I have a party staying.’
‘I am not sure it will be possible,’ Nick admitted. ‘I may well have to go down to Winterton to deal with the local magistrates and the survivors of our escape.’
His friend halted, one hand on the door. ‘I should perhaps tell you that your sister-in-law is here. Prunella invited her when we thought you would not be joining us.’
‘Marietta?’ An idiotic question. He only had one sister-in-law, the widow of his older brother, Frederick, Marquess of Farne.
‘Er...yes. She and Prue are old friends, as you know.’
‘Of course.’ Nick found a smile that he hoped would be reassuring. The last thing that Reece needed was discord between two of his guests. He wondered, not for the first time, if Lady Sutton had any idea of the events leading up to the betrothal of Marietta and Frederick.
‘I doubt I’ll trouble you beyond breakfast. Beside anything else, I must take Miss Parrish to her destination near Great Yarmouth. If she has recovered sufficiently I will combine that with discovering what the situation is at Winterton.’
‘Of course. A pity, but I must hope you can make a prolonged stay later in the year. Off to your bed now.’
Once his friend was safely out of the way, Nick tapped on the dressing room door and looked inside.
Pendell, clean and looking about fifteen in his nightshirt, was sitting up in one bed, glaring at Charlie, who was curled up defensively in the other. He had the air of a boy who had been subjected to quantities of unfamiliar, and unwelcome, soap and water and his hair was now tow-coloured rather than dark brown.
‘A problem?’
‘Charlie was used to sleeping squashed into the sail locker where nobody could get at him,’ Pendell said. ‘I have explained to him that my tastes do not run to undersized brats, but he appears reluctant to accept my word for it.’
‘So might you in his shoes,’ Nick said. ‘Charlie, have you any notion what I mean if I give you my word of honour?’
‘You’re a gent, so you think you’ll go to hell if you break your word?’ Charlie ventured after a moment’s thought.
‘Yes, that is more or less right. Well, I give you my word that nobody will misuse you in any way while you are under my protection. Will that do?’
‘Aye. I suppose so.’
‘Your Grace,’ Pendell prompted.
‘Sir will do, Charlie.’
‘Aye-aye, sir.’ There was no lightening of the boy’s expression, but his tense body visibly relaxed.
‘Goodnight, sir,’ Pendell said, turning over and lying with his back to the other bed. ‘Keep the lamp lit if you want, Charlie. Just turn it down.’
Nick closed the door on them and limped back to his bed, snuffing candles as he went. He blew out the one by his pillow and lay down, willing the cramps in his thigh to subside. He had a sneaking suspicion that the realisation that Marietta was in the house was making him more aware of the old injury than usual and cursed himself for allowing it to affect him.
He had been a fool to fall for a beautiful face. In fact, he should be grateful for the damage to his right thighbone, he thought, punching the pillow in an effort to get comfortable. It had saved him from worse than a broken heart.