Wanted: One Scoundrel (7 page)

“I don’t believe you,” Esme said starkly.

Nicholas Bambury lounged on a settee in the morning room while she stood. It was a not-so-subtle insult. No gentleman sat while a lady stood.

“I thought a dutiful daughter such as yourself would recognize your father’s watch. They say he’s never without it.”

Her hand tightened around the battered old fob watch. It was her father’s. She knew, if she opened it, there would be a photo of her dead mother. It was the photo that made the watch precious to them both.

“You must have stolen it,” she said. “Or had someone steal it for you. I don’t believe you could have kidnapped Father.”

“Would you prefer I bring you a finger or an ear as proof?” he asked silkily.

“No.” She shuddered violently.

“Then we understand each other. You are not the type of woman I intended to take to wife, but beggars can’t be choosers. When you marry me, I release your father. If you refuse to marry me, I kill him. If you tell anyone of my threat, I kill him. I will be watching. I’ll know if you confide in anyone.”

She tried desperately to think. The kidnapping couldn’t possibly be true. Her father knew how to look after himself. All prospectors had to. It was a lonely game played for high stakes. He had guns, knives and dogs; let alone his own, more idiosyncratic devices of self-defense, like the auto-reloading catapult that once triggered by tripwire would continue to fling chloroform pellets that would stick to the intruder before releasing their coma-inducing fog.

And yet, things could go wrong. Her father could be in Bambury’s power, his life threatened.

“If I marry you, how do I know you’ll set Father free?”

“You have my word on it.”

“I am to trust in a kidnapper’s honor?” Her mouth twisted in a scornful smile.

“I am a Bambury. And I don’t like being forced into this position any more than you do,” he added pettishly.

“Oh, I doubt that. But out of interest, why are you?”

“Money,” he said. “My family might have land and a name, but Father and Grandfather were appalling businessmen.”

“So you came West to woo an heiress. Jed was right.”

“Don’t mention the American’s name. You would have accepted my offer of marriage if he hadn’t arrived and charmed you.”

“You delude yourself.” And at his menacing movement: “Fine. You’re an unprincipled cad, but since you leave me no choice, I’ll marry you. But if Father’s not at the wedding, you’ll wait a cold day in hell for my ‘I do.’”

“Do you think I’m a fool?” Bambury scowled. “Your word is worth nothing. If you saw your father safe and well, you’d go back on your word and refuse to marry me. No, you’ll see your father after you’re Mrs. Nicholas Bambury.”

She swallowed her instinctive
Never!
If worse came to worst, there was always divorce or widowhood. For now, it was clear she had to play for time and that meant appearing to accept defeat. “I will have to trust in your honor for Father’s life.”

“Sensible girl.” Relief improved his mood. He strolled forward. “I suppose your beauty might provide some recompense.”

She put a chair between them.

He smiled. “Yes, there are aspects of this marriage I might enjoy. Remember, not a word to anyone. I shall arrange a special license and contact a minister. I’ll send word of the date and time.”

He walked out and she collapsed onto a chair, shaking.

Maud found her there an hour later. “Miss Esme, what are you doing, sitting in the dark?”

“Thinking.” The evening had drawn in, unnoticed. She blinked at the sudden illumination of gaslight. “Maud, we have a problem. Can you call Francis in?”

Maud and Francis stood in front of her, grey-haired, active and anxious because she looked worried. She had known them far longer than the two years her family had been able to afford employing them. They were friends. Bambury saw them as servants and would never dream of confiding in them. She reminded herself she had allies he hadn’t considered. Resourceful allies.

“Nicholas Bambury just informed me he has kidnapped Father and will kill him unless I marry the loathsome snake.”

“Lord above.” Maud plumped down on a sofa.

“I don’t believe it,” Francis said. “Aaron would never let a city boy like—”

Esme held out her father’s watch.

“Bambury could have hired someone,” Francis said slowly. “The goldrush has attracted men who’d kill for a sniff of gold. But it could be a con. The watch could be stolen. Sneak thieves are easily hired, more easily than kidnappers. I’ll ask some questions in the pubs.”

“Only if you can do so without starting waves,” Esme said. “I need your help with something else.” She looked at Maud. “Both of you.”

“Of course.” The housekeeper stopped twisting her apron and blinked rapidly. “Anything.”

“We’re going to con Bambury. I’ve been thinking. He got his timing wrong. To marry me out of hand, he needs a special license, but the bishop is upcountry until Saturday. Trying to squeeze a marriage in Saturday night would cause comment and Sunday is impossible. No one marries on a Sunday. So we have until Monday before Bambury can insist on me presenting myself at church.”

“Near on a week.” Francis nodded.

“Time enough for me to check if Bambury’s running a bluff. I’m the only one who knows where Father’s camp is. If he’s there, he’ll come back with me and we’ll sort out Bambury. If he’s not… But he must be. Father takes precautions. He knows all about claim jumpers. He has a shotgun and a couple of pistols, plus the dogs and who knows what devices of warning and repelling.”

“You think Bambury’s counting on panicking you into marriage?” Francis frowned. “It’s an audacious scheme.”

“Desperate, more like,” Maud said.

Esme nodded. “He said his family has run out of money. I’m to be his golden goose. I find it difficult to believe, though, that he’d risk his own hide by kidnapping the richest man in Australia.” She shivered. “But I can’t chance it. The Outback hides a lot of secrets.”

She stood and paced, rubbing her arms. “What I need the two of you to do is present the illusion that I’m still here. We can’t let anyone else in on the secret. Trays of food taken to my room must look like they’ve been eaten, linen washed, bathwater run. I want the idea out there that I’m in seclusion. If Bambury thinks I’m sulking or overset, all the better. Refuse to let him in to see me, but if he writes a note, Francis, I want you to forge my handwriting and respond. You’ll know my likely response.”

“That he can go to hell.” The old man and ex-forger grinned briefly.

“I wish he was there, now,” Maud said. “Evil man.”

“Put off anyone and everyone who inquires for me. Even Dr. Palmer. We can’t trust him with this sort of secret. He’d be so angry he’d explode.”

“What about the American?” Francis asked. “Reeve’s not the sort to be fobbed off. What’s more, I reckon you can trust him.”

Maud leaned forward. “Take him with you. I’d feel better if someone rode with you and Bambury would notice any of us absent.”

“He’ll be keeping an eye on Jed, too.” But Esme experienced a rush of relief at the thought of Jed accompanying her. It wasn’t the Outback that scared her: It was the fears she’d be traveling with.

If she had to marry Bambury—

“I can get Reeve here without anyone noticing,” Francis said.

It struck Esme that her friends trusted Jed. So did she. The thought of being able to rely on someone as strong as herself… “Please.”

Esme and Maud packed and planned the subterfuge by which Maud would make it seem that Esme lurked in her suite of rooms.

Meanwhile, in Mrs. Hall’s boarding house, Francis sidled into Jed’s room.

Jed recognized him and let his knife slide back into his boot. A shushing gesture from Francis stopped his exclamation.

The old handyman locked the door and silently closed the window. “Miss Esme’s in trouble.”

The rage Jed felt as Francis outlined the situation nearly blew off the top of his head. “I’ll see Bambury dead before he marries Esme.”

“Sure and all,” the other man agreed. “But I’m thinking Miss Esme’s right and the man’s running a bluff. But we can’t be gambling with Aaron’s, Mr. Smith’s, life. So, will you ride out with her?”

“Yes.” Jed threw a few articles into a satchel and buckled it with fiercely controlled movements. “But if Bambury checks on my whereabouts…”

“I’ve an idea,” Francis said. “That Indian boy you rescued has been copying you—your clothes, the way you walk, even the way you talk. He wouldn’t fool anyone close up, but from a distance or in the shadows he’ll do. I’ll map a path for him: that shed you disappear into, a few telephone conversations with men in Perth, a thwarted visit to Miss Esme. You leave the stage managing to me. Just write a note asking the boy for this favor.”

Jed gave him a searching look, and saw determination and confidence. “All right. I’ll trust you to stage manage the details.” He scribbled the note and handed it to Francis, who tucked it in a pocket before leading him through back streets and shadows, away from Smith’s mansion. “Where the hell are we going?”

“Horses,” Francis whispered back. “If Bambury has any sense, he has someone watching the house. Won’t matter. Mr. Smith has a passion for inventing things—same as Captain Fellowes. There’s a tunnel, as well as a secret room and heaven above knows what else. Miss Esme can slip out, but no point us increasing the chance of being noticed by trying to sneak you in, and then out, with her. She’ll meet you at the horses.”

The horses, Jed found, weren’t the expensive bloodstock stabled at the mansion, but were held at a small farm on the outskirts of the town, and tended by a surly man of few words who didn’t question Francis’s request to saddle up two horses in the middle of the night. He simply swung down from his house, landing lightly.

It was the first tree house lived in by an adult that Jed had ever seen and it suited the solitary man who worked without meeting anyone’s eyes. He simply pulled the rope ladder up behind him when he retired at night, effectively isolating himself.

The stabling and yards didn’t aspire to the eccentricity of the tree house, although also built of timber. They held a mixed herd of equine misfits that suggested a sanctuary for mistreated animals rather than a working stable. But from them, two sound horses were cut out and saddled. The groom attached what Francis called swags to both. Jed recognized the bare minimum of camping gear.

Esme arrived at that point. She wore men’s clothes and a cap hid her long hair. She barely greeted Jed as she swung into the saddle, clearly accustomed to riding astride. “Tommy, don’t mention to anyone that Jed and I were here or that any horses are gone.”

A grunt signalled the man’s assent.

Francis buckled on her saddlebags, while Jed secured his satchel and struggled to find words. What he wanted to do was pull Esme off her horse, hold her and tell her he’d fix everything. Instead, aware of Tommy’s presence, he stayed silent.

The horses fidgeted, unsettled by the strangeness of a nighttime ride and perhaps by the emotions swirling in the moonlit yard. Settling into the saddle, Jed realized why the pair had ended up at the sanctuary. Although schooled, they had the skittishness of rogues. At least, they looked likely to balance their awkward temperament with speed and endurance.

“We’ll be back Saturday,” Esme said to Francis. It sounded like a vow.

Jed made his own vow as he brought his horse up to hers and they set off across country. Bambury would not live to marry Esme.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” Esme said to Jed as they slowed their horses to a walk. The canter had taken the edge off the horses’ fidgetiness and her own nervous impatience. “Thank you.”

“Anything I can do,” he said, quiet and sincere. “Esme, when I think of that bastard— If he has your father, we’ll get him back. You don’t have to marry him.”

“I’m hoping it’s all a cruel bluff. Father’s outwitted better men than Bambury.”

The night sounds of the bush drifted around them: the wind stirring the restless gum trees, the scampering of nocturnal animals disturbed by their passing. A mopoke called mournfully. Yesterday’s rain had dampened the earth and the scents came strongly, menthol and winter grass.

Esme had an oiled cape strapped to her saddle, but she hoped she wouldn’t need it. Rain would add another layer of misery, although at least on horseback they wouldn’t risk the miring that carts faced in this weather.

“I need to know Father’s safe,” she said from the heart.

“I know.”

The steady reassurance in Jed’s voice comforted her, just as his silence asked nothing, only offered the support of his presence. It was exactly what she needed.

Around midnight, clouds obscured the moon and forced them to stop.

“We need to sleep, anyway.”

She pressed her lips together, knowing he was right, but still wanting to carry on. She made herself dismount and turn to unsaddling. Her fingers were clumsy from the cold. She flattened them a moment against the heat of Thunderclap before tugging again at a stubborn buckle.

Jed glanced at her once, assessing, but the darkness hid her and he concentrated on his own horse before taking both down to the river to drink.

She unrolled the two swags beneath a river gum where the ground was almost dry and slid into her own. Her tension made the ground feel doubly hard.

“I miss Kelly,” she said, hearing Jed return. “He always goes bush with me.”

She’d left her dog behind to aid the pretense of her own presence.

“I’m sorry.” Jed loomed beneath the river gum’s spreading branches, before getting into his own swag. “I’m here if you need anything.”

Someone to hold me in the darkness?
She pulled the scratchy wool blanket higher, finding no comfort in it.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he said. “Try to sleep.”

She didn’t expect to, but physical weariness and nervous exhaustion dropped her into sleep and into nightmares of obscene marriage ceremonies presided over by crows in white surplices. She woke at daybreak, lying still for a moment beneath the river gum.

If Bambury did hold her father hostage, the only way he’d be safe from revenge would be to kill him. Aaron Smith’s temper was legendary. It followed that if Bambury had her father, he would have to kill him.

“Should we go back?” she asked. A stupid question. There was nothing she could do back in town, but fear and doubt churned nauseously. She trusted her father could look after himself, and yet… She shivered, the morning chill seeping through the wool blanket. “Maybe I should have tackled Bambury.”

Jed was awake. He turned and raised up on one elbow. “For your peace of mind, we need proof Bambury is bluffing. He hasn’t left town long enough to kidnap your father himself and he’d have to be even stupider than he seems to risk putting hired men on the job. They would have him over a barrel and he’d be paying blackmail all his life.”

“Would anyone take their word over Bambury’s?” She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Who would credit a man with his social status behaving worse than a bushranger?”

“From Bambury’s perspective, there’s another problem with hiring men to kidnap your father. They’re outlaws. Anyone can buy them—and your father has more money than Bambury.”

“Oh.” The relief of that thought brought her sagging shoulders straight.
In a worst case scenario, Father could buy his freedom. Bambury had to be bluffing.

Jed climbed out of his swag and began searching in his satchel. Like Esme, he’d slept in his coat for warmth. “Either way, we need to know where your father is, that he’s safe. Then I’ll deal with Bambury.” He produced a spirit kettle. “Do you have any tea?”

“Yes.” She sprang up. “Maud packed everything. We have bread and cheese—I forgot your coffee.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m getting used to tea.”

He walked down to the river for water and she watched his lithe stride. When he said he’d deal with Bambury, she believed him. But for that matter, she’d have little compunction shooting the villain herself. She picked up the pistol she’d kept by the swag last night and tucked it into its holster, hidden by the cut of her coat.

She rolled up the swags while Jed brewed the tea. They ate yesterday’s bread and cheese before saddling the horses. She insisted on seeing to her own mount, concentrating determinedly on practicalities. There were oats in the saddlebag. When they stopped tonight, she’d give it to the horses. They would need the added feed since they were being ridden hard.

Ironically, it was a perfect winter’s day. The clear blue sky made the green of the bush seem deeper. The light sand of the coastal plain gave way to the gravel of the hills in the morning. By evening they’d be descending to the arable, inland dirt.

“A kangaroo!”

Esme’s hands tightened on the reins at the urgency in Jed’s voice. Her horse danced sideways.

A red boomer, startled by his shout, woke from its midday doze and bounded off.

“Jehosphat,” Jed swore, awestruck.

The kangaroo, taller than a man, covered the ground with effortless speed. Cornered, they could fight. A dog who got too close would be hugged by the roo’s front legs while its powerful hind legs disemboweled it. To Esme, roos weren’t a novelty, they were a fact of life—and poor eating. One of the pleasures of her father’s wealth was that she’d never again have to eat rootail stew.

“I had managed to see a couple of grey kangaroos,” Jed said, apologizing for his outburst. “The governor showed me his pet. But I hadn’t expected the reds to be so impressive. Can’t they move?”

He urged his horse on, most of his attention still for the vanishing kangaroo. It swerved nimbly around a grasstree as tall as itself and twice as wide, without slackening speed.

“Marvelous.” He sighed. “They are what I came to Australia to observe.”

“Really?” Even in the midst of her worry, that snagged her attention. “I thought you came for the gold.” And that sounded truly ungracious. “I mean, most men do.”

“I have enough money,” he said absently. “I’m an inventor. I studied the automobiles being designed in England and Germany, even in France. It seems to me they’re going to waste a lot of their energy. Kangaroos, now. Did you see how that one bounced? That big tail and powerful hindquarters? How much energy would they store and release? Conserving energy will get you a heck of a lot further than having to carry the weight of extra fuel.”

“Yes, but…” She considered the jumping nature of kangaroos. “Wouldn’t traveling by kangaroo—or a vehicle based on one—be awfully jouncy?”

“Not if the seat was hung within the framework and stabilizers built into the springs of the legs. The energy in the springs could feed back into a clockwork mechanism and be enhanced by pedal power.”

She blinked at his enthusiasm and the vision of a weird, hybrid vehicle his words conjured.

“I’m working on a prototype. I drew plans on the skimmer-boat and I rented one of Mrs. Hall’s sheds as a workshop. If you’re interested, I can show you a model?”

“I’m interested.”

She was rewarded with a flashing smile.

With his unshaven beard, Jed resembled a pirate, but a pleased one.

They traveled east-south-east, only veering from the direct line to avoid farmhouses whose residents might see and mention them. By the time they dismounted at sunset, Esme ached in every muscle.

Out of practice. As useless as a society lady
. She tried to walk without wincing.

“I’ll see to the horses,” Jed said.

“Thanks.” But she still unsaddled her own mount. “There are oats in the saddlebag.”

They had stopped near a stream, one of the creeks that ran in winter and dried to a line of puddles in summer.

If she sat down, she’d stiffen up and moving would be agony. So she kept herself trundling, finding dry tinder and branches for a fire. Dinner would be corned beef, stale bread and some of Maud’s biscuits, but a fire would improve their spirits.

She struck a match and coaxed the flames to catch hold. The slope of the land sheltered them from the wind.

The stamp of the horses as they munched oats was reassuring, familiar.

Jed walked back from the stream, having washed his hands.

“This is where we always camped, Mother, Father and I,” she told him. “Even when there’s no water in the creek, you can dig down and find some. And you can catch gilgies, freshwater crayfish. Mother used to—” She wiped her eyes. “I’m not crying.” And illogically. “I’m just crying-tired.”

“We’ll get your father back safely.” Jed circled the fire, feeding it sticks, and pulled her up from where she knelt.

It felt like heaven to rest against him. He held her strongly, his cheek resting against her hair. She put her arms around his waist, relishing his warmth and concern.

Suddenly, he tensed and raised his head. He pushed her away from him and the fire, back into the shadows.

Belatedly, she heard the increased restlessness of their horses and the steady sound of another horse approaching, its rider undoubtedly lured by the fire and the prospect of company. She tugged her hat over her face and stayed in the shadows. Jed’s accent would mark him as American, but a lot of Americans had been lured to Swan River by the goldrush. It was she who couldn’t afford to be recognized.

“Hello, the house.” The stranger pulled up his horse, but two dogs that had been trotting at its heels raced on to fawn at Esme’s feet.

“Father?” She stumbled over one dog and Jed righted her. “Father!”

She ran forward, throwing herself at her father as he swung out of the saddle.

His arms closed protectively around her. “Esme, what are you doing here? And who’s this with you?”

“I was coming to find you, Father. And this is Jed. Jed Reeve. He’s helping me because—oh, Father, I thought you’d been kidnapped.”

Meeting Aaron Smith, Jed understood why Esme had found it difficult to believe Bambury could have kidnapped him. Not only was Smith well over six feet, the heavy work of gold prospecting had given him formidable muscles. Plus he carried a shotgun and the two dogs who ran with him were large, rangy crossbreeds.

“Roo dogs,” Smith called them, when he’d heard Esme’s story, finished cursing and settled back to smoke an after-dinner pipe. “Somewhat similar to what the English call poacher’s dogs.”

“They look fast and fierce.”

“I’d like to set them on Bambury.”

“We will have to do something about him. But nothing that he can haul you in front of a magistrate for.” Esme cradled her mug of tea and stared into the fire. “I wonder who he hired to steal the watch from you.”

“Francis will find out.” It was unnecessary for Smith to add that he’d deal with the fellow. After all, he’d ridden in from his claim for just that reason: to chase down the thieving no-good who’d stolen the precious memento of his late wife. He’d discovered the watch gone two days ago and wasted a day searching in case he’d dropped it. “First, though, I’m getting it back from Bambury if I have to rip his head off.”

“Or publicly skewer him,” Jed suggested.

The Smiths, father and daughter, looked at him.

“Father is not engaging in a duel!”

“No. I was thinking more along the lines of public humiliation.” Jed cracked a stick and tossed it into the fire. “If we’d found you missing, sir, presumably kidnapped, we’d have had to deal with a worst case scenario. I’ve been turning over plans in my mind. How to neutralize Bambury’s threat to kill you if Esme told anyone of your kidnapping and how to find you. Really, they were the same problem, one of extracting you safely. You see, I didn’t see how we could set about finding you without Bambury knowing we were looking—with all respect to Francis, finding a kidnapped and hidden man is a more challenging quest than a stolen watch.”

Smith grunted.

“The solution, as I saw it, was to confront Bambury in such a way that your death would cause him more problems than money or revenge could compensate for.”

“A public denunciation?” Esme put her mug down and hugged her knees. “It would have been risky.”

“It would have relied on you—and me—convincing the audience. And it had to be the right audience, not people in the street, but the high flyers and influential men Bambury considers his class. I thought we’d tackle him on his Friday luncheon at the men’s club.”

She stared at him, awed. “Taking the battle into his territory.”

“And making it ours.” Jed nodded. “His pride in his social reputation is Bambury’s weakest point, so that’s what we’d have hit. We still can.”

“Nicholas Bambury the Third, ruined for life.” She smiled. “It’s brilliant. His scheme demonstrates the evil that comes from denying married women rights over their own property and bodies.”

Smith’s loud laughter startled the horses. “Well, you’re back to normal.”

“Not quite,” Esme said. “But I will be when we’ve ruined Bambury.”