A Shadow's Bliss (33 page)

Bronwys roared an order for quiet, and his lordship's voice boomed out. “Miss Britewell has been abducted by a sneaking spy who calls himself Crazy Jack! They can't have gone far. A hundred guineas to the man who brings him down!”

Taylor was as if rooted to the spot.

Jonathan shoved him urgently. “Get on, man!”

And in that same instant, Britewell pointed up at them, and shouted, “There he is!”

The piratical farmer jerked his head around, and pulled a horse pistol from under his smock. Jonathan leapt at him and levelled him with an uppercut, but two more men ran from the same tunnel and joined the attack. Dodging a flying cudgel, Jonathan struck home hard to a midriff, and whirled in time to see Taylor knock down a “clergyman.” An almost animal howl rang out. From the corner of his eye he saw men racing at them, pistols clutched in eager hands, knives gleaming, cudgels flourished.

He shouted, “Run for it!” and snatched up the farmer's pistol.

Taylor ran.

“Come
on!
” yelled Falcon.

The staccato roar of a shot sliced through the uproar. Duster emitted an alarmed squawk. Taylor lurched, and staggered. Jonathan came up with him, pulled the man's arm across his shoulder and half-carried him into the tunnel.

Falcon drawled, “A sorry reinforcement, Captain. He'll slow us.”

Jonathan thought, ‘They're too many, and too close.' He said, “Take him, and get my lady out. I'll hold 'em here!”

“You're well named, Crazy Jack!” Falcon grabbed Taylor's arm. “Come on, then. Whoever you are!”

Jonathan followed them for a short way, and turned to face the attack.

They came at him in a clamouring mass, the flickering light of the braziers shining on faces that reflected the greed inspired by his lordship's “hundred guineas.” Jonathan's sole advantage was that they wouldn't be able to crowd into the narrow confines of the tunnel all at once, and they were already jostling one another to be first.

A big fellow wearing a butcher's apron took the lead, pistol aimed. Jonathan fired, the deafening explosion awakening a barrage of echoes from the other tunnels. The butcher howled and went down, causing an instant melée as his comrades rushed, not to help him, but to get past. A muscular chimney sweep was also aiming a pistol, and a tongue of flame stabbed from the muzzle. Jonathan ducked and the ball hummed past his ear, but his boot slipped on the dank floor, and he staggered.

“Got him!” howled the chimney sweep exultantly. “He's mine!”

At this disappointing news the uproar quieted into a brief hush.

Perhaps the reverberations of the gunfire inspired Duster, or perhaps he had some desire to perform also. Whatever the case, he spoke at last, uttering a shrill “Bobby!” that was magnified by the tunnels into a weirdly echoing and re-echoing, “Bobby!… Bobby!… Bobby!”

The chimney sweep halted abruptly. “Ma?” he cried, peering about in scared bewilderment. “Be that you…? Ma?”

“You're daft,” declared another clergyman, trying to shove past.

The chimney sweep threw out his arms, halting the advance. “'Tis what she allus called me,” he declared, quite pale with fright. “'Twas her voice, I tell ye. Me dear old Mum, and her dead and gone these ten years! She's come back to haunt me fer me wicked ways!”

“Bobby! Bobby!” shrilled Duster, and pleased perhaps by the effect of his debut, he began to flutter about excitedly.

Morris ran up, lantern in hand, the light throwing an elongated shadow of those small wings onto the wall.

The sight finished the chimney sweep. With a sobbing howl he turned back and fought to escape, only to encounter oncoming bounty hunters with less troubled consciences. Tempers flared and confusion reigned.

Morris said, “My tulip, shall we trot?”

C
HAPTER
XIV

There were no longer any sounds of pursuit when they reached the hidden entrance to the mine. Taylor was barely conscious, and Morris, who had half-carried him most of the way, lowered him to the ground. Falcon held the lantern close while Jonathan took off Taylor's bloodied shirt and inspected the injury. He was relieved to find that although the ball appeared to have made a deep score across the man's side, the wound did not look to be of a deadly nature. He fashioned the arm of the shirt into a pad and found Jennifer beside him with a tired, dirty face, but willing hands that were tearing the shirt into strips. Smiling his thanks, he was quick to see the troubled expression in her eyes, and said understandingly, “My dear, this has been very hard on you.”

“I'm quite all right. Only…”—her hand closed over his—“Johnny, I am so sorry. I'm afraid you have lost Duster.”

He darted a glance at his shoulder, realizing that he'd not heard the bird's throaty remarks since they'd begun their mad dash to escape. The widow's conversation with the Spirit of the Ocean came into his mind, and he wondered if this was what she'd meant. He felt saddened to have lost his small pet, and muttered, “The poor little fellow must have fallen.”

Jennifer leaned to kiss his cheek unashamedly. “Someone will take him up, dear. He is so pretty.”

“Aye. If he don't get trampled.” Morris looked aghast as Jennifer frowned at him, and he changed the subject hurriedly. “I wonder what our peerless peer is about.”

Busied with his first aid, Jonathan said, “They likely all took different branches of the tunnels and have lost themselves. Hold the pad for me, will you Morris? Can you lean 'gainst me, Taylor?”

The injured man propped his head on Jonathan's shoulder as the bandage was wound about him. “Very … good 'f you, sir,” he mumbled.

“I'm only sorry you were hit. I'm afraid we'll have to move on in a few minutes.”

“If this is the price for getting clear o'that lot, it'll be worth it a—a … a hundred times over! Captain, I can't tell you how … glad I am to—to find you're alive, after all!”

They eased him down again. Holding an obliging finger on the knot of the bandage, Morris asked, “Acquainted with this gentleman, are you?”

Taylor's answer was faint and halting. “That I am, sir. I was ship's carpenter o' the
Silken Princess
when … Captain Armitage took her out o' Calcutta, and a finer…”

Jonathan had thought he was prepared, but to hear his name after all this time was like a knife slicing through his brain. He groped blindly for the support of the wall. As from a great distance he heard Jennifer's frightened cry, and Morris' voice raised in anxiety, but the past was rushing back, obliterating the here and now.

He was Jonathan Greville Armitage, of London and Hampshire. His father was the world-renowned artist Greville Armitage. His family— He thought, ‘My God!'

Falcon said an irritated, “What the devil's wrong with him?”

“Seems to have just found out who he is,” explained Morris. “Bit of a shock, I collect. Can't blame him, August. Suppose you'd lost your memory and suddenly found out who you were. Gad! What a blow!”

Jonathan became aware that someone was clinging to his arm. He blinked into Jennifer's concerned eyes, and she said, “My poor dear. Are you better?”

“Heaven be praised, but I am!” He pushed himself away from the wall and bent over Taylor. “We must get on, but I'll have a quick answer.
Was
I drunk throughout that voyage?”

Morris gave a shocked gasp.

Taylor said feebly, “That's what…”

“This is no time for post-mortems,” said Falcon. “We should—”

Jonathan whirled on him. “Damn you, will you keep quiet! I'll know the truth—
now!
Taylor,
was
I responsible?”

His voice a thread, Taylor whispered, “Not only … powerful gents … One of 'em … Squire, but…” He sagged, his voice fading into silence.

“The Squire!” cried Jennifer clasping her hands excitedly. “Isn't that what they call the leader of that horrid League of Jewelled Men?”

“It is, indeed!” exclaimed Morris.

Falcon said, “So the League had their sticky fingers in the pie!”

His question still unanswered, Jonathan muttered, “Then Hibbard Green's part of it! I'll wring his filthy neck.”

“Excellent notion,” said Falcon. “When we're safe away.”

Jonathan said, “Yes. Jennifer, I hate to ask it of you, but you know the area so well. Could you creep around a little outside and see if there are any torches on the moor?”

Morris started to speak, caught Jonathan's look of warning and said nothing. Glad to be of some use, Jennifer went out at once.

Low voiced, Jonathan said, “I'd not told you of it, but she is being forced into marriage with Hibbard Green.”

“Good God!” cried Morris. “They ought to be shot!”

Falcon said, “If she has agreed—”

“She has,” said Jonathan. “Under the pressure of blackmail. It seems that Green has the power to destroy her family, and she is prepared to sacrifice herself to save them.”

“One trusts,” drawled Falcon, “you mean to put a stop to such heroic nonsense.”

“You may believe I do. They must fend for themselves. I'm taking her away with me tonight. I'm far from a worthy suitor, but—”

“A blasted cockroach would be a better suitor than that overstuffed atrocity,” said Morris.

Falcon said dryly, “You're never likely to receive a finer compliment than that, Captain!”

“Oh, he knows what I mean,” said Morris. “Never fear, dear boy. Tummet is waiting for us, and we'll take you both in the coach, with us. Go straight to Breton Ridge. The poor lady will be safe there, for tonight, at least.”

Falcon gave a derisive snort. “Safe, my aunt's corset!”

Aiding Taylor to stand, Morris was suddenly very still. In a voice seldom heard, he said, “I'll have an explanation of that remark, sir.”

“Why? Are you blind? Your lordly cousin is in this up to his
ton
-ish eyebrows! And I'd not be surprised if that starchy wife of his—”

Morris hissed, “You—
lie!
”

Falcon said silkily, “We'll discuss that remark later.”

Jennifer hurried back in to report that there was no sign of searchers on the moor. “The rain has stopped,” she said, “but 'tis a sea of mud, and the wind is coming up.” She sensed a tension among them, and glanced curiously from the imperturbable Falcon to Morris' unwontedly grim expression.

Jonathan said, “Thank you, m'dear. Then we place ourselves in your capable hands once more. Let's get on!”

*   *   *

Two hours later, Falcon massaged his foot and groaned, “Where in the deuce is Tummet?”

Straining his eyes through the windy darkness, Jonathan answered, “The only lights I see are far off, near the mine.”

“Aye,” said Morris, yawning. “They're torches. The hunt's up.”

They had reached this clump of small trees just south of Castle Triad, and had taken shelter while they waited for Tummet and the carriage. The journey across the moors had been tiring, the wind buffeting them as they'd trudged and slid through waterlogged turf and clinging hampering mud. Once again, it had been Jennifer's knowledge of the area that had brought them safely through, for several times she'd warned of gullies or bogs hidden by the darkness. Even so, Falcon had drifted too far from the group, and found himself sinking inexorably. It had taken both Morris and Jonathan to drag him clear, and he'd sworn in frustration because both his shoes had been sucked off by the bog. He'd been limping noticeably by the time they reached this spot, but in response to Jennifer's sympathetic enquiry had declared blithely that he was ready to dance the quadrille did she feel so inclined. She had declined the offer and was now cradled in Jonathan's arms, half asleep.

Taylor also was asleep. Morris said, “At least he don't have a ball lodged in him. If we can get him out of this accursed wind, he'll go along well enough, I fancy.”

“If Tummet ever comes for us, that is,” qualified Falcon.

“We can't wait long,” said Jonathan. “They'll surely hunt us down within an hour or so, and I'd not give much for our chances.”

Falcon nodded. “Very true. They'll not dare let us live. You realize what they're about, Captain Jack?”

“Mercenaries, I'd guess. Brought here to be trained and equipped, then sent out to mingle with the populace.”

Morris asked, “For what purpose? Robbery? Spying?”

“Probably,” said Falcon. “But more, I'd guess. You've not been in Town of late, Armitage. There's unrest everywhere. Malcontents playing on the public mind, losing no opportunity to cast slurs on the aristocracy and those in power. I'd not be surprised was the League behind most of it.”

“Be dashed if you ain't in the right of it,” agreed Morris, forgetting he was not speaking to Falcon. “Only a week or two since, I was set upon by a mob of varmints, who nigh—”

Jonathan interrupted, “Your pardon, Jamie. But we cannot wait any longer. I've got to get Miss Britewell away.”

“If you mean to appropriate some of her father's ponies, I'm with you, dear boy.”

Falcon said dryly, “And you'd be with him when they rode you down. You're not in Kent now. It's a hell of a ride before you'd reach anyone willing to help. Chances are they'd come up with you miles from anywhere. I doubt you'd ever be seen again.”

“I agree. Our best escape route is by sea.” The idea had been hovering on the fringes of Jonathan's mind since they'd left the mine. But even now, the thought of venturing on the ocean again brought a chilling fear, and he was grateful that his voice hadn't betrayed him.

Morris said dubiously, “Could we find a boat?”

“There's one ready and waiting, can we but get to it.”