Lie by Moonlight (2 page)

Uttering a choked cry of anguish and despair, she crumpled to the ground in a perfectly executed swoon that would have done credit to the most talented actress.

Startled, Rimpton swung his big head around to peer at the fallen girl. “What’s that silly little bitch think she’s about? I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”

“Not quite,” Concordia muttered.

She swung the unlit lantern with all her might. The heavy base crashed violently against the back of Rimpton’s skull. Glass crackled and splintered.

Stunned, Rimpton sagged to his knees. Incredibly, he still gripped the revolver.

He was only dazed, Concordia realized, not unconscious. She watched in horror as he tried to regain his feet.

Frantic, she raised the lantern and brought it crashing down a second time, putting everything she had into the blow.

Rimpton uttered a strange grunt and fell flat on his face. He did not move. The gun clattered on the stones. There was enough light to see the dark wetness seeping heavily from the wound and pooling around his head.

There was an instant of shocked silence. Then Hannah scrambled awkwardly erect and picked up her bundle. She and the other girls stared at Rimpton, stricken with the effects of the sudden violence.

“Come along,” Concordia said, fighting to sound cool and in control. Her fingers trembled in a very annoying fashion when she bent down to scoop up the gun that Rimpton had dropped. “We are close to the stables. Hannah, that was a very effective piece of acting.”

“Thank you, Miss Glade.” Hannah spoke automatically. She seemed unable to take her eyes off the fallen Rimpton. “Is he . . . is he dead?”

“He looks dead,” Phoebe whispered.

“Serves him right,” Edwina said with a surprising show of satisfaction. “He and his friend Mr. Bonner were the two who took Miss Bartlett away. We told you that they did something dreadful to her. Everyone said she’d gone back to London on the train, but she would never have left her new gloves behind the way she did.”

“This way, ladies,” Concordia said. She no longer doubted the girls’ theory concerning the disappearance of her predecessor at the castle. “Stay close.”

Her crisp instructions had the effect of freeing the girls from the
morbid spell cast by the too-quiet Rimpton. Hurriedly, they regrouped behind her.

She guided them through the shadows, tensely aware that the most difficult part of The Plan lay ahead. The task of getting the horses tacked up in the dark was not going to be easy, although she had made everyone practice the maneuvers many times.

Crocker, the man in charge of the stables, had shrugged and shown little interest when she told him that the girls must be allowed to ride regularly as part of their exercise program. There had been no proper sidesaddles available, but Crocker, after some prodding, managed to produce three worn farmers’ saddles and bridles to go with them.

The only horses on the castle grounds were the sturdy, patient beasts used to provide transportation to the village and to haul supplies.

Fortunately, Edwina and Theodora had been raised on a wealthy estate. They had learned to ride from the cradle and were quite expert. They had been able to serve as instructors to Phoebe, Hannah and Concordia. In the way of youth, Phoebe and Hannah had picked up the basic skills very quickly.

Concordia, however, had experienced considerably more difficulty. She doubted that she would ever feel entirely comfortable on the back of a horse.

To her enormous relief, they did not encounter anyone else when they moved into the deeper shadows of the stables. As she had hoped, all of the men were occupied with fighting the fire.

The three horses were alert and agitated. Concordia heard hooves
stamp restlessly in the darkness. Soft, uneasy whickers rumbled from the stalls. There was enough fiery light to illuminate the three equine heads turned anxiously toward the entrance. Every set of ears was pricked violently forward. Although the building was not yet in any immediate danger from the flames, the animals had caught the scent of smoke and heard the shouts of the men.

Concordia opened the door of the tack room, moved inside and struck one of the lights she had brought with her.

“Quickly, girls,” she said. “We do not have a minute to spare. Put down your bundles and see to the horses.”

The students dumped their canvas bags on the floor and rushed to collect blankets, saddles and bridles.

Concordia was relieved to note that the endless drills were now paying off handsomely. The process of tacking up the horses went swiftly and smoothly.

Edwina and Theodora had decided in advance who would ride which horse. The twins took the liveliest of the three mounts, a mare, on the grounds that they’d had the most experience and would be better able to handle her if she got nervous. Phoebe and Hannah were assigned to a good-natured gelding.

Concordia got the second gelding in the stable, a heavy-boned beast named Blotchy. Edwina and Theodora had made the decision based on their assessment of the horse’s exceptionally placid personality. Under normal circumstances, it took a great deal of encouragement to get Blotchy to move at anything beyond a jolting trot. His great redeeming
characteristic, according to the twins, was that he had virtually no inclination to startle and was unlikely to bolt or throw Concordia to the ground.

She put Rimpton’s gun down on a wooden bench and held out the bridle, trying not to reveal her trepidation. Blotchy obligingly thrust his head into the leathers and took the bit. He seemed as eager to leave the premises as she and the girls were.

“Thank you, Blotchy,” she whispered, adjusting the bridle. “Please be patient with me. I know I’m a very poor rider. But I need your help quite desperately tonight. We must get these girls away from this evil place.”

She led him out of the stall and picked up the gun. With a soft rustle of straw and the squeak of leather, Edwina and Phoebe emerged from the other two stalls, each with a horse in tow.

They got the three horses saddled. The canvas bundles were slung over the hindquarters of each animal and secured with straps.

“Mount,” Concordia ordered.

In the systematic manner that they had rehearsed many times, each horse was led to the block. Edwina and Theodora got aboard the mare. Phoebe and Hannah swung onto the other horse with reassuring ease.

Concordia waited until last, never taking her attention off the entrance of the stable.

When her turn came, she pushed the folds of her cloak out of the way, stowed the gun in one of the pockets of the garment and stepped up onto the block.

“I appreciate your patience and understanding in this matter, Blotchy.”

She put the toe of her shoe into the stirrup and hoisted herself aboard Blotchy’s broad back. The gelding started forward with unaccustomed eagerness. She seized the reins in both hands.

“Steady,” she said. “Please.”

A lantern flared at the stable entrance.

A beefy-looking man stood silhouetted behind the light. The glow of the lantern danced on the gun in his hand.

“So here’s where all the pretty little trollops went,” he said. “And their teacher, too. Had a hunch when I didn’t find you in your rooms that you’d likely run off.”

Concordia’s blood turned to ice. She recognized the voice. It belonged to Rimpton’s companion, Bonner.

“Step aside, sir,” she said, forcing every ounce of authority she possessed into her voice. “I must take the students to a safer location.”

“Shut up, you stupid woman.” He swung the barrel of the gun toward her. “I’m not a fool. If you’d fled straight from your beds in mortal terror of the flames, you’d all be wearing your nightclothes. Instead you’re all dressed for a walk in the park. I know full well what’s going on here. You’re trying to steal the girls, aren’t you?”

“We’re attempting to get to safety,” Concordia said coldly. “The students are my responsibility.”

“I’ll wager you found out that the chits are valuable, didn’t you? Thought you’d try your hand at turning a profit with ’em, yerself, eh?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, sir.”

Surreptitiously she transferred the reins to her left hand and touched the pocket that concealed Rimpton’s gun. Unable to think of any other strategy, she kept Blotchy moving steadily forward.

“You must be a complete fool to think you could get away with stealing Larkin’s property and that’s a fact.” Bonner snorted in disgust. “You’re a dead woman, that’s what you are.”

She slid her free hand into the pocket of her cloak. Her fingers closed around the gun. “Sir, you are speaking nonsense. These students are my responsibility and I must get them away from the fire. The flames are spreading quite rapidly, in case you have not noticed.”

“I’ve noticed. And the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that damned blaze was no accident.” He finally became aware that Blotchy was bearing down on him. “Halt right there.”

“You are putting these girls in jeopardy. If they are as valuable as you say, this Larkin person you mentioned will not be pleased to know that they are at risk.”

“If you don’t stop that damned nag, I’ll kill you right now,” he warned.

Blotchy abruptly lurched to the left. Concordia did not know if she had confused him with her less than expert handling of the reins or if he simply had had enough of the alarming late-night activity and decided to go his own way.

Whatever the reason, she was forced to remove her hand from the gun in her pocket in order to control the horse and maintain her
balance. Blotchy responded to her sudden tightening of the reins by turning in a tight circle and tossing his head.

“Control that bloody horse,” Bonner ordered, stepping hurriedly back out of the way.

It dawned on her that he was even less familiar with horses than she. Bonner was clearly a city man, born and bred. Only the wealthy could afford to keep private stables in town. Everyone else either walked or summoned a cab or an omnibus when they required transportation. The villain was expensively dressed, but his harsh accent gave him away. He was a product of the streets, not of Society. It was doubtful that he had ever ridden a horse in his life.

“Have a care with that weapon, sir,” she said, struggling with the reins. “If you fire it in these close quarters, all of the horses will take fright. They will likely bolt for the entrance and trample everything in their path.”

Bonner looked quickly at each of the three horses. He finally understood that he was the only object standing between them and the entrance. He set the lantern down and took an uneasy step back.

“See to it that you all keep those bloody nags under control.”

“We’re doing our best, sir, but I fear you are making them restless.” She tugged on the reins, urging Blotchy into another tight circle. Halfway around she reached into her pocket, grasped the revolver and pulled it out.

She could only hope to take the man by surprise and pray that she could keep her seat if Blotchy bolted when the gun fired.

She came out of the circle clutching the gun.

Before she could steady herself to fire the shot, the dark figure of a
man materialized out of the shadows near the entrance. He glided soundlessly up behind Bonner and made two short, brutal chopping motions with his hands.

The villain jerked violently, as though he had been shocked by a jolt of electricity. He crumpled to the ground.

There was a deathly silence. Concordia and the girls stared at the stranger.

He glided toward Concordia.

“You must be the teacher,” he said.

She finally remembered that she was still holding a gun.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you about?”

He did not pause. When he went through the lantern light Concordia saw that he was dressed entirely in black. The light flickered briefly on dark hair and cold, stern features. Before she could get a closer look, he moved out of the light and back into the shadows.

“I suggest we discuss the matter after we are all safe,” he said. “Unless you have some objections?”

He had just felled the man from London with a single blow. That certainly seemed to indicate that he was not on the side of the mysterious Larkin. An old axiom flashed across Concordia’s memory.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

She could use a friend tonight.

“No objections whatsoever, sir.” She put the gun back into her pocket.

“I am relieved to hear that.” He looked at the students. “Can these young ladies ride reasonably well?”

“They are all very capable in the saddle,” she assured him, not without a touch of pride.

He caught hold of Blotchy’s bridle and steadied the gelding. “That is the first bit of good news I have received on what has otherwise proven to be a rather disastrous night.”

He unfastened the bundle she had so carefully strapped to the back of the saddle.

“That’s mine,” she said sharply. “I cannot leave it behind.”

“Then I suggest that you hold onto it.”

She tucked the bag under one arm, juggling the reins with her free hand.

Powerful fingers closed around her ankle.

Startled, she looked down. “What do you think you are doing, sir?”

It was immediately clear that he was not interested in taking liberties. Instead he deftly slid her foot out of the stirrup, inserted the toe of his boot into the iron and vaulted smoothly up behind her.

He took the reins from Concordia’s fingers in one hand and then edged Blotchy closer to the other two horses.

“Please give me the reins, ladies,” he said. “The smoke has grown extremely heavy outside. It will provide good cover but it will also make it difficult to see each other if we become separated.”

Edwina and Phoebe handed the reins to him without demur.

“Right, then, we’re off,” he said.

The stranger did something with his knees that made the gelding surge forward.

The violence of the horse’s forward lunge caught Concordia by
surprise. She very nearly dropped her bundle when she grabbed wildly for the front of the saddle.

“My students are all excellent riders, sir,” she got out in a half-strangled voice. “But I regret to say that I, myself, am still something of a novice.”