Alistair Grimes missed London. He and his crew had made a pretty penny snatching up toff ladies and ransoming them back to their families before, inevitably, word would spread and the young ladies would be ruined.
It had been a good run; the families were too concerned with their daughters’ virtue to put up a fuss, until one of the young women had escaped, and, with her father, brought their wrath down on the entire operation, forcing Grimes to flee to his godforsaken nowhere place. At least he had gotten away. Mr. Huntington and Mr. Evans had not been so fortunate.
Grimes had been glad to get out with his neck intact. A flick of his knife had gotten him a new name and references as a footman, and he’d gone north, determined to live on the straight and narrow for at least six months until the winds of fortune drew him south again.
Grimes pinched the ridge of his nose. He should have stuck to the timeline.
Fifty pounds, the fair-haired twit had offered, with another two-hundred upon delivery of the ransom. It was a pittance for gentry, but more money than Alistair Grimes would make in decades of service. Even after splitting the windfall with Carlisle.
A simple job, until it all went off the wheels.
Grimes opened and closed his left hand where it had slammed against the side of the carriage when Mrs. Darcy had spurred the horses to a trot. His chin hurt.
Mr. Carlisle, staring at the dust as the carriage whipped around the turn, took his hat from his head and wrung it in his hands. "We do we do?"
Anger burned through him. Not so much for the Darcys, who were good sorts, for gentry. Mr. Darcy had even taken in his cousin’s bastard daughter and was raising her as his ward. If only Mrs. Darcy had done what they told her and stayed in the carriage, the ransom would have gone along smoothly, and she would be back at her home before the week's end.
Instead…
Grimes said, "We follow. As like as not, the carriage will wreck, and we can grab her then." An optimistic view, but what else did he have than, as his dear ma would have said, ‘a whistle on his lips and a song in his heart’?
They started walking.
Carlisle, still wringing his hat, said, "They don’ know what we done. If we go back, we say Mrs. Darcy was overwrought, then—"
"Then what? We’re let go without references…and your wife, what happens to her? You yourself said she needs to be by the sea.”
"’Melia coughs all the time now. And there's blood." Carlisle had visited his family a week and a half ago, on his day off every fortnight.
"We will find Mrs. Darcy and set things right," Grimes said.
They walked, following the road past the first turn and to a second. Broken wood and shattered glass marked the ground the carriage had passed.
Carlisle pointed towards the gully at the side of the road. "That's Mrs. Darcy’s cloak," he said.
Grimes followed his finger. The lavender cloak hung in some scrub beside the road. Grimes noted also a footprint in the soft earth, angled deeper into the woods.
Finally, some good news. If she was now on foot, they could catch her and continue with the plan. And if the carriage wrecked further along the road, all the better.
Grimes said, "She must have been thrown when the carriage hit the tree." Fortunately, the impact had not killed her. Unfortunately, she had gotten up from the fall, and now they had to chase her.
Mr. Carlisle whined, "We will hang for this. We should run."
Once again, Grimes wished he hadn't been forced to bring the other man into his plans. But ladies of the gentry did not travel without a driver and a footman or two. Grimes had been fortunate; much of the time, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy only required one.
Grimes asked, "And your wife?"
Carlisle bit his bottom lip and clutched the crumpled hat to his chest. "I cannot leave my wife."
Grimes said, "We follow her, find her, and take her to the cottage.”
They walked into the woods. After a minute, Grimes turned to Carlisle and suggested, "Best we split up. The cabin is that way." He pointed. "If you find her, bring her there. And I the same. We will meet at sunset, regardless."
Carlisle nodded. Then he shook his head. "But what if Mrs. Darcy puts up a fight?"
Normally, Grimes would have laughed the suggestion off. Gentry ladies slapped and scratched but were easily kept in line with a mix of harsh words and the assurance their families would pay the ransom and they would be returned home. Mrs. Darcy was cut from a different cloth. She would require...more forceful persuasion.
Grimes took the dagger from his waist sheathe and held the knife out. "Convince her."
Carlisle shivered.
Grimes stifled a sigh. What he wouldn’t give for one of his old crew. "I did not say bloody her, just convince her."
Carlisle bit his bottom lip and nodded.
Maybe it would be better to stay together. Except they needed to find Mrs. Darcy before someone else did. Thankfully she had run into the woods instead of further down the road where another traveler might have spotted her and offered help.
Grimes had Carlisle repeat the plan, and they split up.
Above, through the canopy of leaves, rain fell, splashing Grimes on the face and soaking through his footman’s jacket. Grimes had a hat, and the heavy wool of his coat was enough to repel some water.
For now. When the rain soaked through, the coat would hang like a shroud.
How far could Mrs. Darcy make it on her own? She was rich and pampered. If he and Carlisle had not left the carriage, she wouldn’t have driven it off. Bad luck. That was all.
But luck or no, Mrs. Darcy had a better understanding of the country than Grimes himself, who had spent much of his life in London.
No matter. Grimes would find her. He would ransom her. And he would take the money and start a new life. He had survived worse than this. He had no intention of hanging or working himself to the bone for another man's pleasure.
The pampered wife of a gentleman would not be the end of Alistair Grimes.