If she hadn’t been sitting on the driver’s seat with Tommy Tucker, she wouldn’t have heard it. In fact, she was half convinced she was imagining it. With Luten on her mind, she thought she heard someone calling his name in the distance. Or was it just her hope and anxiety turning an echo carried on the wind into his name?
“Did you hear that, Tommy?” she asked. After a little conversation she had begun calling him Tommy. She already knew he had a wife, Miranda, from Cheapside, a baby daughter and a five year old son called Little Tom, who wanted to join the army.
“Sounded like an owl, mum, coming from that bit of a spinney yonder,” he replied, tossing his head to the left.
The sound came again. Surely it was someone calling the name Luten. According to family legend, the females of the Clare family had the power of second sight, and she occasionally felt she had a small bit of the power herself. If that wasn’t Luten’s name being called, then she was mad, because there it was again, louder and clearer this time. And anguished sounding. Quite definitely the word Luten, not an owl hooting.
“Stop the carriage, Tommy,” she said.
“That’s nought but a bit of wilderness, mum. Farther along there’s a road leading to where the Frenchies are living.”
“Stop here. I’m going into the spinney.”
“I don’t think you’d ought to, mum,” he said, but something in her tone made him stop the carriage. Before he could try further dissuasions, she had hopped down and was heading for the spinney. “Hie, wait up!” he called. “I’d best go with you.”
He took the precaution of retrieving an old fowling piece from under the seat and hopped down after her. It went against the pluck to leave his rig unattended, with a team of nags he hadn’t even finished paying for yet. What if someone walked off with them, here in the middle of nowhere? Lordie, it could be a trick! Miranda had often warned him about pretty, brazen women cheating him of their fare. Miss Clare didn’t seem the type, real ladylike she was.
Corinne, drawn by the repeated echoes of Luten’s name, ran on, with Tommy Tucker following close behind her. When she came to the clearing, she could see something attached to the surrounding trees, something that was too big and bulky to be moss or bark. It looked like animals. She blinked and as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she could make out that it was men. She stared in confusion, wondering that they didn’t say something. They weren’t dead, because their heads and shoulders were moving.
Coffen, Prance and Black were all speechless with shock and embarrassment and relief. They just stared at her, then looked at each other, as if to confirm that they were seeing what they thought they were seeing, and not a shared illusion. They had taken special pains to escape her, but here she was, all windblown and angry as a wasp and looking as confused as they felt. They just stared at each other as if struck dumb.
After a moment Coffen said, “Heh heh, I see you found us, Corrie.”
“Coffen! Is that you? Where’s Luten?” She rushed forward and soon discerned the identity of the other two. “Reggie — and Black! What the devil is going on? Where’s Luten?”
“We lost him,” Coffen said, blushing in the darkness. “That is to say, we never found him.”
“Can you untie us, my pet?” Prance said in a voice weak with relief. Black just stared, wondering how he could even begin to apologize, but not as surprised as the others that she had come. He had been on excursions with her before and knew she didn’t give up easily.
“Of course. I’ll try — but what do you mean, you lost him? Wasn’t he with you?”
“He came on ahead of us,” Coffen said. “There’s a knife in my jacket pocket. Use it to cut the ropes.”
She fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the little knife he had got from Prance. Tommy Tucker decided that, whatever was going on, it wasn’t an attempt to steal his rig, put down his fowling piece and said, “Let me help you, mum,” and began working at Coffen’s ropes.
“Who’s your friend?” Prance asked, squinting through the shadows at Tucker.
“This is Tommy Tucker. What on earth happened to all of you, and where do you think Luten is?”
She stared from one to the other and noticed the sad, reluctant way they exchanged glances, refusing to look her in the eye. “He’s dead,” she said, and dropped the knife. Tommy picked it up and finished cutting them free
“No, no,” Prance assured her, while Coffen said, “No reason to think that. It’s just that we don’t know.”
She looked to what she considered the most trustworthy and sensible of the group. “Black, where is he?”
Black straightened his shoulders and turned into Lord Blackwell. “That is exactly what we have to find out, milady. He come here ahead of us on horseback. The lads that got us must have got him as well. They tied us to trees, stands to reason they did the same to him.”
“There was a dozen of them, easily,” Prance said.
“Certainly a good-sized pack,” Coffen said.
“It was two of them to one of us, and they took us by surprise,” Black declared. “What we do now is each of us set off in a different direction and find where they’ve got Lord Luten tied to a tree.”
“But wouldn’t he call for help, as you others did?” she asked, wanting to believe him.
“They’d have gagged him to stop him from yelling to us when we came. We’ll go this way.” So saying Lord Blackwell put his hand under her arm and led her into the woods. Over his shoulder he said, “You others spread out and give a holler if you find him.”
They were happy to be told what to do and followed Black’s order. Tommy Tucker tagged along after Black and Corinne. “You forgot to pay me, mum,” he said.
“Oh dear. I didn’t bring my money! Black, could you —"
Without a word, Black dipped into his pocket and dropped the untold extravagance of a guinea into Tucker’s outstretched hand. “Good work, Tucker,” he said. Lord Blackwell could do no less.
Tommy gasped in amazement, handed Black the knife and darted back to his carriage before he should wake up from this dream. Carriage and team were intact, the horses having wandered to the side of the road to champ the grass. He took no more passengers that night, but drove straight home to tell Miranda, who accused him of drinking, until she saw the guinea.
Black’s luck held out. It was he and Corinne who found Luten, still gagged and bound hand and foot to the tree. But very definitely alive. He was squirming and wiggling in an effort to work himself free. Corinne was trembling so hard she just stood watching as Black cut him free. As soon as his hands were free he reached up and pulled binding from his eyes and the gag from his mouth.
“Corrie!” he said, and gulped. “How — “ She pitched herself into his arms, trying not to cry. He didn’t kiss her, but clasped her to him with arms like the proverbial iron bands until she could hardly breathe.
When he released her, she said, “I’m so angry with you! Why didn’t you at least tell me where you were going? I’ve been driving all over looking for you.”
“You found the others?”
“Yes, trussed up like cattle for the slaughter and tied to trees,” she said, having no idea whether cattle were trussed up to be slaughtered.
“Then they didn’t get Morgrave?”
“The devil with Morgrave.”
“He got away, milord,” Black said, no longer in the persona of Lord Blackwell. “A gang of Frenchies took us by surprise and overcame us. We didn’t hear a thing till they were on us.”
“That’s exactly what happened to me. No one badly hurt, I take it?”
“Just roughed up a bit. They’re out looking for you. Best let them know we’ve found you.” He let out a bellow and in short order the tramp of running feet brought them to the spot.
“Luten, thank God you’re alive,” Coffen said. “They told you what happened?”
“Yes,” he said in a curt, angry voice. “And one of them rode off on Smoker. I could hear, but I couldn’t see. Did you see which one it was?”
“We saw it too. We figure it was Morgrave,” Coffen told him.
“I’ll get that bastard if it’s the last thing I do,” Luten growled.
“Where is your carriage, Prance?” Corinne said. “I saw you three leaving in it. We’ll go home and you can all lick your wounds.”
“Black’s wound will require more than a lick,” Prance said. “I’m afraid I accidentally slashed his wrist in the heat of battle.”
“Black! Why didn’t you tell me?” Corinne said, and immediately went to examine his wound. He had bound it up with his handkerchief, but he was happy to see the blood had soaked through, to elicit more concern. “I’ll take care of it as soon as we get home. Let us get out of this dreadful place.”
No one argued with that. The only delay was Coffen’s insistence that they stop at the clearing to look for clues. The only clue he found was Prance’s snuffbox. When he picked it up the lid fell off. The remaining traces of pepper sent him into another fit of sneezing.
“You’ve probably all caught your death of cold.” Corinne scolded. In fact she kept up a running complaint to Luten as they trudged down to the road to Grays Inn to get the carriage. As she didn’t try to free her hand from his iron grasp, and as her scolding was interspersed with questions as to how he felt, and had they hurt him, he felt no fear that she was truly disgusted with him.
The carriage was crowded with five occupants. Black offered to sit up with the driver but Corinne said, “With that wounded wrist? I should say not.”
Prance sighed and hugged his aching ribs. Coffen said, “I’ll do it.”
“Nonsense,” Corinne decreed. “You’ve been sneezing your head off and it’s freezing cold out there. We’ll all crowd in.” She sat wedged between Luten and Black, to the enjoyment of all three.
During the drive home, Corinne was informed of their night’s activities, and they heard her story. “Your second sight’s been the salvation of us,” Coffen said, much impressed. He had always been the firmest believer in her power. “It’s a miracle is what it is.”
“I shall never doubt it again,” Prance said. “I tremble to think how long we would have been there if you hadn’t come.”
Luten was too ashamed of his failure and too relieved to be alive to deliver the lecture he wanted to on her outrageous behaviour. That would have to wait for a more suitable and private moment.
It was well after midnight when they returned to Berkeley Square. They all went to Luten’s house where Evans, aware of Coffen’s chronic hunger, had sandwiches and coffee waiting.
Coffen drew a chair up to the grate, drew a deep sigh and said, “It’s good to be home, safe and sound.” Then he reached for a ham sandwich and pickle.
“We’re not home yet,” Prance said, sipping at a cup of black coffee. He rarely ate, especially meat. Especially ham. “I shouldn’t be in the least surprised if they’re waiting for us outside our doors to have another go at us. And with our own weapons.” He shivered at the very thought. Baron Wolfried must note that it wasn’t only the soldiers who were suffering in this war.
Corinne didn’t mean to let Luten out of her sight ever again. She asked Evans to bring hot water, basilicum powder and a plaster to the drawing room to dress Black’s wound. She and Black went to a side table as the sight of blood was hardly appetizing.
Black enjoyed the unique glory of her actually touching his hand, gently bathing it, sprinkling on the basilicum powder and asking if it hurt very much, then pressing the plaster in place. He assured her it was only a scratch. She didn’t say a word about his dereliction in not being there to accompany her in her hour of need.
When Black’s wound had been dressed and they had all eaten and discussed the ignominy of their failure, Luten said, “We’ll meet here tomorrow at ten to discuss what to do about this fiasco. We’re in no condition to give it our best thought tonight.”
Prance pretended he was having trouble walking without his walking stick to get Coffen and Black to accompany him home. He was not attacked en route and was soon handed over to the gentle ministrations of Villier.
Corinne overcame her anger sufficiently to perform her conjugal duties for her husband.