The Leydon coach jolted across the uneven road surface, and Charity braced her feet firmly to prevent her from being thrown against her mother. Mrs Mayfield was sitting beside her, and Tabitha, the maid, sat opposite. They’d asked Mrs Wendle, the housekeeper, if she also wanted to come. But she’d refused, ostensibly on the grounds that she had too much to do, but really because she couldn’t abide the Leydons’ housekeeper and had no intention of spending even one night under the same roof as her.
The ladies in the coach formed the first part of a cavalcade; behind them rode Owen and Sir Humphrey on horseback, with the captured burglar under guard. The unfortunate thief was to be taken to Horsham gaol, but the first part of the journey was the same for all of them.
Once again Sir Humphrey had demonstrated why he was such a good magistrate. He might dislike change and react badly to innovation but, faced with a straightforward situation, he was usually able to respond in a straightforward manner. He believed that the Mayfields had been the victims of commonplace burglary and he had dealt with the matter appropriately.
But Charity, who had asked as a favour to be present when Sir Humphrey initially interviewed the captured intruder, thought that he had failed to pick up some of the things the prisoner said. Of course, that could be because she already knew what the man was hinting at but, on the whole, she was glad that Jack had been the first person to question him.
She thought about Jack now, and then about Owen. The next few days were going to be very awkward. Owen was showing increasing signs of possessiveness, which was only natural—considering he thought she was betrothed to him. It was going to be very difficult telling him that she didn’t want to marry him when she was a guest under his roof, but she knew that she had to.
And she was going to lose her wager with Jack. Was she pleased or sad about that? She began to feel disturbed by the trend of her thoughts and tried to concentrate instead on the pendant. Perhaps they could use that to save Hazelhurst. Perhaps they could—
There was a shot, and the carriage swayed as the horses plunged.
A voice outside the carriage roared a command for everyone to stand still—and then there was silence, disturbed only by the sound of the restless horses.
“If you stand still, you’re safe. If anyone moves, I’ll kill them.”
From inside the carriage Charity couldn’t see who was speaking. But the voice came from one side, and slightly towards the rear of the coach. Sir Humphrey’s coachman could do nothing—the horses were too restless for him to concentrate on anything but controlling them. And though she thought Owen and Sir Humphrey had their mounts under better control, Charity guessed that they were too well covered to make any move against the man with the voice.
Her first thought was that this must be an attack by a highwayman, but then she heard the attacker ordering the release of the prisoner—and she knew it was the master thief.
Tabitha was looking grim, but beneath the fixed line of her mouth Charity detected fear, and Mrs Mayfield looked terrified. Charity was too worried to be afraid. This wasn’t a normal highwayman—he had no interest in the valuables of the party he held up; he simply wanted his henchman back. They were safe in the coach. It was Owen and Sir Humphrey who were in danger—Owen and Sir Humphrey who might try to prevent the seizure of their prisoner and end up being killed.
Charity put a comforting hand on Mrs Mayfield’s wrist, then she edged forward cautiously in an attempt to look through the window. But Mrs Mayfield caught her arm and pulled her back, terrified that Charity might show herself and be hurt.
“You won’t get away with this,” she heard Sir Humphrey say, his voice shaking with rage.
“I already have, you fool,” replied the mocking voice of the thief, and she clenched her fists in angry helplessness, only half aware that it was the voice of a gentleman.
“Quickly, Luke! Mount the spare horse I’ve brought.” That was the thief to the prisoner.
He was in a hurry; of course he was in a hurry. One man against so many. He held the advantage only so long as the situation didn’t change. A chance traveller, a moment’s distraction and he would be lost. A chance—that was all Owen and Sir Humphrey needed. Charity looked desperately around, trying to think of a way of giving it to them. Should she scream, distract the thief just long enough for the Leydons to arm themselves?
Then she remembered how her father had died and she grew cold. The best laid plans went wrong—and would the Leydons really be able to deal with the thief, or would she kill them with her good intentions?
She sat still and afraid, and willed the man to go without hurting anyone.
Then it happened. A sudden movement, a shot—and a roar of rage and despair from Sir Humphrey.
There was a pistol in one of the pockets of the coach—like most men, Sir Humphrey preferred to travel armed. Charity wrenched herself free of Mrs Mayfield’s grip and seized it. Then she opened the door and almost fell out of the carriage on to the side of the road.
One quick glance around and she saw that Owen was down, blood already spreading across his shoulder, and the two thieves were galloping across the fields—getting further away with every passing second.
Charity was filled with a cold, unaccustomed fury. She lifted the pistol, aimed it at the nearest man, steadied it with both hands—and fired.
The second thief fell forward, but he stayed on his horse, and the first thief slowed in his headlong chase to pick up the trailing reins and lead his companion to safety.
Charity’s hands were shaking as she dropped the pistol, but, though she was afraid of what she would find, she didn’t hesitate as she ran to Owen’s side.
He wasn’t dead. The bullet had entered his shoulder and she thought nothing vital had been hit. But blood was pouring from the wound and she knew that if something wasn’t done quickly he would bleed to death.
Sir Humphrey was in a state of shock. He’d almost fallen from his horse and he was kneeling at Owen’s side, but he’d done nothing to stop the bleeding. If it had been anyone else who’d been hurt he’d probably have dealt with the situation—but it was his son, and for a moment he was paralysed with despair.
Charity dropped down beside Owen on the cold ground and opened his coat. The amount of blood he’d lost horrified her, and she had nothing to staunch the flow but her hands.
Owen wasn’t a slight man, but she hauled him up against her and pressed her hand against his wound, desperately trying to slow the loss of blood.
“Open the cases and get me some linen!” she ordered. “Sir Humphrey! Now!” She didn’t recognise the sound of her own voice, but it roused Sir Humphrey.
He stood up and staggered towards the boot of the carriage, while the men who had been guarding the prisoner stood around and looked on in horror.
“Will this help, miss?” One of them offered her his scarf and she seized it gratefully.
“Yes, yes. Now, help me get his coat off. We must tie up the wound as tightly as possible,” she commanded.
To her relief the guard was willing and obeyed her instructions implicitly, though she didn’t know what he would have done if she hadn’t been there. It wasn’t so much that the men were stupid, it was just that they were as bewildered and horrified as Sir Humphrey by what had happened. Given time, they would have taken the appropriate action—but Owen didn’t have time.
Sir Humphrey had brought the linen and Charity contrived a makeshift bandage. She still had to keep her hand pressed tightly into the wound, but she thought that it would now be safe to transport Owen back to Leydon House. She was about to give orders to move him when she heard the sound of hoof-beats.
She looked up and she saw Jack.
He’d heard the shots as he’d been riding to Riversleigh and had come as fast as he could, estimating their location from the sound they had made. He had paused only once, just before he’d nearly reached the carriage, because he too remembered how Charity’s father had died and he didn’t want to precipitate a similar tragedy. But even from a distance it was clear that the highwaymen were no longer present, and he had urged the bay into one last burst of speed.
He left the saddle while the horse was still running, and three paces brought him to Charity’s side.
Charity stared up at him with huge dark eyes, and in them he read not only relief, but also an absolute conviction that he would be able to deal with the situation. Her confidence in him was absurdly gratifying—but he did no more than smile reassuringly at her and lay his hand briefly on her shoulder, before turning his attention to Owen.
“Good,” he said. “You’ve bound him up well. I don’t think he’s losing much blood now. We’ll get him into the carriage.”
As he spoke he lifted Owen gently in his arms and stood up. Owen was still unconscious and his head lolled distressingly against Jack’s shoulder. Charity reached up to support it and to keep her hands pressed against the bandages, hurrying along beside Jack.
“Get in. I’ll hand him in so that you can support him,” said Jack.
“Yes, of course. Oh, Mama!” Mrs Mayfield had fainted and Tabitha was trying to revive her. “I’m sorry, Tabitha,” said Charity firmly as the maid shuddered at the sight of Owen, “but you’re just going to have to support Mama in the corner of the coach, and if she wakes up, comfort her. I’m ready,” she said to Jack.
It wasn’t easy lifting an unconscious man into the carriage, but Jack managed it with the minimum of fuss, lying Owen across the entire width of the seat with his head and shoulders supported in Charity’s arms. There was no help for it but to bend his legs, but the drive to Leydon House was a short one.
Jack emerged from the carriage and ordered the coachman to drive on. Then he turned to Sir Humphrey, who was beginning to recover his wits.
“I think he’ll be all right, sir,” he said gently. “It’s his shoulder only that’s hurt. With proper care he’ll soon be hunting again.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Sir Humphrey eagerly. “For a moment there I was quite…but it’s not serious. All that blood, but it’s not…I must stay with him.” He made a move as if he was about to climb into the carriage, but Jack restrained him. He didn’t know whether it would be better for Sir Humphrey if he travelled in the coach, but he was sure it would be easier for Charity if he didn’t.
“I think it would be better if you went straight home,” he said. “A bed and dressings must be prepared for Owen, and you must warn Lady Leydon. It will be very distressing for her. I think she’ll need your support more than Owen does right now.”
“My wife?” Sir Humphrey looked dazed.
“Yes. You wouldn’t want anyone else to tell her, would you?” Jack said. He beckoned to one of the guards as Sir Humphrey turned away.
“Go with Sir Humphrey,” he said. “Make sure that there will be a bed, bandages and warm water waiting when the coach arrives. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Like the others, the man felt better now that someone had taken charge. He hurried after Sir Humphrey, and Jack heard him say encouragingly to his master, “Come along, sir. We mustn’t delay. We must get there before the coach does so there’s time to get everything ready.”
The carriage was still lumbering along, jolting over each rut, getting slowly further and further away. The remaining guards were still standing in an untidy circle around Jack, waiting to be told what to do.
Before he said anything he whistled, and the bay gelding came back to him. He took up the reins thankfully, glad that he had devoted so much time to training the animal, and looked around at his companions.
“You,” he said, indicating the guard who had originally offered Charity his scarf, “do you know where the surgeon is to be found?”
“Yes, sir,” the man answered immediately.
“Good; take my horse and fetch him. Don’t delay, but don’t lame the horse either—it’ll take longer if you do.”
“Yes, sir.” The guard mounted the horse and set off down the road. Jack watched him critically for a moment. It wasn’t just that he was worried about his horse. He was genuinely concerned that an accident might delay the arrival of the doctor. But, if not a master horseman, at least the man appeared to be an adequate rider, and Jack turned his attention to other matters.
“How many men held you up?” he asked the two remaining guards.
“One, sir.”
“Who fired the shots?”
“The highwayman.” The guards looked bewildered.
“There were three shots,” said Jack. “The first was a warning shot?” He looked at the men interrogatively, and they nodded. “Who fired the second—Mr Leydon?”
“No, sir. The more talkative guard shook his head. “He tried to get to his pistol, but he never had a chance. That was the shot that hit him.”
“I see. So who fired the third shot?”
The two guards looked at each other. Until that moment they’d hardly been aware that there had been three shots. They’d been so shocked by the sight of Owen’s lifeless body that they’d been only dimly aware of what Charity had done.
“It must have been Miss Mayfield,” said the first guard disbelievingly at last. “There was a shot from beside the carriage, and when I looked up I saw that one of the highwaymen had been hit. It couldn’t have been anyone else; it must have been Miss Mayfield. But I don’t…”
“That’s all,” said Jack. “One last thing. Did the man give any sign that he wanted to rob the coach? Or was he only interested in rescuing the prisoner?”
“He never said anything about the coach,” said the guard definitely.
“Thank you. Go back to Leydon House now,” said Jack.
The two men nodded respectfully and set off across the fields, following the same route that Sir Humphrey had taken earlier. It was only the coach that had to stick to the rutted, winding road.
Jack looked thoughtfully after them for a moment, then he turned and set off after the coach. He was on foot now, but the coachman was forced to drive so slowly over the bad road that it wasn’t difficult for Jack to catch up.
* * *
Charity stood in the Leydons’ drawing-room, resting her head against the cool glass of the windowpane. She was alone. Mrs Mayfield was resting in the comforting presence of Tabitha and the Leydons’ housekeeper, and Lady Leydon was with Owen.
Mrs Mayfield had been inclined to be hysterical, but Lady Leydon had been remarkably self-possessed. She was one of those retiring women who could always rise to the occasion when there was genuine crisis—and she had the doctor’s assurance that her son was not fatally injured. Charity suspected, rather guiltily, that once Lady Leydon had recovered from her initial shock she had even been able to find some compensations in the situation. For the first time in years one of her children was dependent on her again, and Lady Leydon was feeling a renewed sense of purpose.
The door opened, and Charity turned to see Jack. She felt a sudden urge of relief at the sight of him, still so calm and assured after all the terrible things that had happened.
“How is Sir Humphrey?” she asked, not entirely able to conceal her anxiety.
“Much better.” Jack crossed to her side. “The doctor has convinced him that Owen will survive, and now he’s putting all his energies into raising a hue and cry against the attacker. By the time Sir Humphrey has finished I doubt if there’ll be a magistrate or a constable this side of London who doesn’t know what happened.”
Charity smiled uncertainly. “I can imagine,” she said. “And I dare say you encouraged him.”
“I did,” Jack admitted. “He’s doing something constructive—and it might flush out our man.”
“Perhaps,” said Charity. She was trying to be sensible and rational, but it was difficult. There had been no time for her to give way to her feelings earlier, but, now that her whole attention was not devoted to the task of keeping Owen alive, she felt weak and tearful.
“You saved his life,” said Jack quietly. “Sir Humphrey knows that—the doctor told him. He’s very grateful. You were very brave.”
“I was terrified,” Charity whispered, and the tears she had been holding back so doggedly ever since she had at last been relieved of the responsibility for Owen finally overcame her.
Her head was lowered and she didn’t see Jack come towards her; she only felt him take her in his arms. For a moment she tensed, then she relaxed and leant against him, feeling the gentle touch of his hand against her hair. She would have fallen without his support and Jack knew it, and his arms tightened about her.
He had loved her before, and now his love and respect for her had grown beyond all measure. It was only the inappropriateness of the moment which prevented him from speaking—or was it really the memory of the haunted, almost horrified expression he had seen in her eyes when she had pulled away from him the previous evening? Something had certainly upset her, and now, in the cold light of morning, he was increasingly afraid that it might have been his own unrestrained ardour which had appalled her. One thing was certain—he never wanted to see that look in her eyes again.
Charity had never felt so comfortable, or so safe, but after a moment she forced herself to step away and look up at Jack. His hands were still resting on her waist, he hadn’t let her go, though he was no longer holding her so closely, and she could only bring herself to meet his eyes very briefly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so foolish,” she murmured. She was confused and unsure of his intent, and in the back of her mind the illogical fear lingered that there might be some other woman. No immediate plans for marriage, he had said…
“Foolish is not the word I’d have used,” Jack replied, his voice deeper than ever. “If you don’t feel afraid—how can you be brave?”
Charity looked up at that, this time meeting his gaze steadily.
“I know.”
“I was so angry that I wanted to kill him, but now…” She broke away from Jack and went to stand by the window, staring out at the tree-studded lawn.
“My father taught me to shoot,” she said. “I wanted to learn, but when it came to it I hated killing things. Sometimes it’s necessary, but…” She sighed.
“Did you see him fall from his horse?” Jack asked.
“No.” Charity remembered how the man had fallen forward, but he’d still been riding.
“Then perhaps you didn’t kill him. Owen was shot and he’ll recover—but he would be dead if you hadn’t acted so quickly. What you did was difficult, but in the circumstances it was necessary.” Jack put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s always easy to say what should or shouldn’t be done—much harder to be the person who has to do it.” Jack turned her round to face him.
“No one else showed much presence of mind,” he said. “You should be proud of yourself—I am.”
“Proud of me?” There was a note of almost disbelief in Charity’s voice. She had been expecting…what? Horror? Shock at her unladylike behaviour? It was one thing to nurse the wounded, but quite another to fire upon their assailants. Mrs Mayfield still didn’t know what she had done, and Charity was dreading the moment when she found out.
Charity looked at him searchingly, still not quite sure that he meant it, but then she saw from his eyes that he did, and she felt a sudden, overwhelming happiness that he should have such a good opinion of her.
The moment lengthened and neither of them spoke. The urge to pull Charity back into his arms was very strong, but Jack resisted it. He was convinced he had upset her the previous evening, and she meant too much to him to risk distressing her again, particularly after all the other events of the morning. She was trying hard to hide it, but he knew she was still feeling shocked by what had happened.
“Come and sit down,” he said, guiding her to a chair.
“I am being foolish,” Charity said with a weak attempt at humour. “Whenever I think Mama’s upset I always make her sit down too.”
“Possibly,” said Jack doubtfully. “But in this instance I think it would be more honest if I admitted that I’m trying to make myself useful. You don’t have to sit down, of course—but I’ll feel better if you do. That way I can deceive myself into thinking I’ve done something constructive too.”
Charity blinked at him. He smiled back at her, the expression in his grey eyes kind and self-deprecating, and at last she felt the final vestiges of the horror caused by the events of the morning fade into oblivion.
“Thank you,” she said. “You came to the rescue again. I don’t think I have ever been so happy to see anyone in my life. I was feeling quite desperate!” She held out her hand impulsively as she spoke.
“You’d left me very little to do,” he replied, taking her hand. “But I’m glad if my presence expedited matters. Now,” he added more briskly, “we must decide what to do next.”
“The pendant!” Charity exclaimed. “Is it still in your pocket?”
“Yes, I’ve got it.” Jack sat down opposite her. “And I think our original scheme is still a good one. Your highwayman was interested in only rescuing his henchman; that could be because he’s a devoted master—or it could be because he was afraid he’d talk. Either way it seems to indicate that he doesn’t know we’ve found what he’s looking for. If he did know he might have wanted to search the coach.”
“Oh, my God!” said Charity. “You mustn’t carry it around with you any more—it’s not safe!”
“Yes, it is. He doesn’t know I’ve got it,” Jack reminded her, feeling ridiculously pleased by her obvious concern for his welfare.
“But even so…” Charity wasn’t convinced.
“I’ll put it somewhere secure as soon as I can,” he reassured her.
“But that won’t make any difference if he finds out you’ve got it, or that you’ve had it,” she protested. “Even if you tell him you haven’t got it now, he won’t believe you; he’ll—”
“Charity!” Jack interrupted firmly. “The pendant and I are both quite safe and will continue to be so. He doesn’t know I’ve got it, and he won’t find out. And, even if he does, I’m forewarned of his intentions, which gives me the advantage.”
“Yes,” said Charity. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
“Good. Now, as soon as I’ve taken my leave of Sir Humphrey, I must return to Riversleigh, and then I’ll go back to Hazelhurst. I don’t know if the thief will come tonight or not, but, judging by the speed with which he acted this morning, I wouldn’t be surprised. We won’t underestimate him again.”
“We?” said Charity with a flash of spirit. “I thought you’d already decided that I was to be relegated to the role of nervous female in this whole affair?”
But inwardly she felt her heart begin to sing. Would he really be doing all this on her behalf if he felt no more for her than simple friendship? Of course he would! He was too much a gentleman not to offer his help to anyone who needed it. All the same…
“Now you’re trying to provoke me,” said Jack. “You know perfectly well that that was not what I thought—even before you went out of your way to prove me wrong!”
“I didn’t…” Charity began indignantly, and then relaxed as she saw that he was teasing her. “I thought of creating a disturbance,” she admitted. “Anything to give Owen or Sir Humphrey an opportunity to turn the tables—but then I remembered all the things that could go wrong and I decided to sit quietly and pray that the man would leave without hurting anybody. I wish he had.”
“Yes, I know,” said Jack. “I never thought you’d do anything foolish.”
“I’ve done a great many foolish things,” said Charity. “But not at a time like that—at least, I hope not.”
As she finished speaking the door opened, and they turned their heads to see Sir Humphrey entering the room.
“I’ve been thinking,” he announced without preamble, “and it seems to me that there’s something damned fishy going on.”