Lord Somerton's Heir (33 page)

Chapter 27

Isabel lay still as the memory of the helter skelter ride in the damaged coach came back in jerky pictures. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked up at the grey, lowering sky. She lay on her back in the open, rain stinging her face and eyes. She gingerly turned her head. The shattered remains of the coach lay on its side some yards away. One of the horses still stood in the traces, its head lowered, its sides heaving. Its comrade had fallen beside it and lay unmoving.

She must have been flung out — or dragged — from the wreckage.

She did an inventory of her limbs: feet, legs, hands, arms and, tentatively, her neck. Her wrists were still bound and her right wrist hurt but, as she could move her fingers, she guessed it was nothing worse than a sprain. Her head hurt and she wondered if she had banged it just before the coach came to rest.

Awkwardly, she pulled herself into a sitting position and looked around her. She saw no sign of the coachman and guessed he had been thrown clear when the coach had first shed its wheel. A dark figure moved in the wreckage of the coach that resembled nothing more than a pile of shattered tinder wood. Freddy emerged, hauling Fanny with little gentleness up through the broken remains of the door that now stood open to the heavens. He jumped down and carried the girl’s inert body over to where Isabel sat.

Ignoring Isabel, he laid Fanny down and knelt down beside her, his hands moving over his sister’s face. Isabel read what seemed to be genuine distress in his furrowed brow as he looked up at her.

‘Is she dead?’ he asked Isabel, his voice hoarse with emotion.

‘Untie me and I’ll tell you,’ she said without sympathy in her voice.

He glanced at her bound wrists and, with shaking fingers, complied. Isabel flexed her sore wrist and decided it was not badly hurt. Gathering herself together, she bent over Fanny’s inert body. A strong pulse beat in the girl’s throat. She looked up at Freddy and nodded.

‘She’s alive,’ she said.

Freddy’s shoulders relaxed for a moment before he frowned again. ‘But she’s badly hurt, isn’t she?’

Isabel ran her hands along the girl’s limbs, lifting the torn skirt to reveal what her fingers told her. Fanny’s right leg, below the knee, was already swollen and fell at an unnatural angle.

‘Her leg’s broken,’ Isabel said.

Freddy’s face crumpled in genuine emotion but, just as quickly as he had revealed himself, he resumed his inscrutable demeanour and looked at her.

‘Are you hurt?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Good. Get to your feet. We haven’t a moment to spare.’

She stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We’re still a few miles from the coast.’

‘Then you go on. I’ll stay here with Fanny.’

His lip curled, all trace of concern for his sister gone as he said, ‘Someone will find her soon enough.’

Isabel looked around at the desolate marshy land around them. The chances of imminent help for the girl seemed remote unless a search party was on their tail. A small spring of hope welled in her heart.

Freddy yanked her to her feet and told her to fetch the travelling blanket and some cushions from the coach. As she leaned into the smashed carriage searching for these objects, Freddy carried his sister back into the shelter of the coach.

With some ingenuity, he rigged up a rough shelter from the broken coach panels. Wrapping his sister in the blanket, he bent and kissed her on the forehead.

Only when he was satisfied Fanny was as comfortable as she could be, Freddy got to his feet and pulled his pistol from his belt, waving it in the direction of the coach. ‘Go and get your jewels.’

She found the bag under a torn cushion and handed it to Freddy. He tucked them into his jacket before retying her wrists in front of her. He looped a second cord around the bindings so he could pull her along like a dog on a lead.

‘Freddy, there is nothing to be gained from taking me with you. I will only slow you down. You will move faster without me.’

He looked at her and a smile curved the corners of his lips.

‘Isabel, you really don’t understand your position, do you.’ He moved closer to her and tucked a curl of her disordered hair behind her ear. ‘Your value to me is priceless. God willing we will reach the coast before our pursuers catch us, but if they don’t, sweet Isabel, you are a valuable hostage. I will see you dead before I give myself up to be hanged.’

Her stomach lurched. She had no doubt Freddy would carry out his threat.

He jerked at the cord. ‘We’ve no time to waste. Move, Isabel.’

When she didn’t respond, he grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the muddy road. Trailing her bedraggled skirts, Isabel had no choice but to let herself be dragged along through the mud and the rain to what now seemed an even more uncertain fate. The small threads of hope to which she had been clinging began to fade.

The road to Lidiford was, at the best of times, little more than a country track through the swampy estuarine countryside. Now, after the heavy rain, it was mired and difficult going. They could follow the erratic path of the coach with ease but the men were making poor time. The horses struggled through the mud, each footstep adding another layer of mud to their hooves and legs.

Bennet, riding ahead of the party, drew his horse to a sudden halt. The little corporal jumped down and ran over to inspect a dark shape on the ground. As he and Harry drew level, they could see it was the body of a man. The broken wheel and axle of a coach protruded from a large, water filled pothole.

Bennet turned the man over and Sebastian shook his head as he looked down into the heavy, uncompromising face.

‘Jenkins. His neck’s broke. Nothing we can do for the poor bastard.’ Bennet shook his head and rose to his feet.

The trail left by the broken carriage stretched ahead of them. Dreading what he might find, Sebastian indicated for Bennet to remount and they followed the mangled vegetation and freshly carved ruts until the wrecked carriage came into sight.

Sebastian reined Pharaoh in, fighting back a wave of nausea as the sight recalled another coach: a dead coachman sprawled on the dusty road, the escort of Portuguese soldiers lying tangled in pools of their own congealing blood, their bodies thick with flies, and Inez’s broken and bloodied body… The French soldiers had enjoyed her before bayoneting her more times than he could count.

He flung himself off his horse and was violently ill on the side of the road.

‘Alder?’ Harry’s hand fell on his shoulder.

Sebastian shook off his friend’s hand, his heart leaping in hope as he heard a woman’s voice coming from behind the wrecked coach.

‘Help me!’

Isabel?

With Harry following, he ran around to the back of the coach while Bennet dealt with the surviving coach horse. The shot startled a flock of birds, which rose in noisy protest from their roosting spot in the marsh.

Sebastian’s heart fell when he saw Fanny, not Isabel, lying under a roughly constructed shelter that did little to keep out the persistent drizzle Despite Freddy’s attempts to provide his sister with some sort of shelter, the rain had soaked the blanket in which she had been wrapped. Her lips were blue with cold and shock and she looked up at them with grey-ringed eyes, her teeth chattering as her fingers plucked at the sodden blanket. Sebastian looked down at her and, for a moment, he felt genuine pity, but then he recalled what this girl had done to him and the pity vanished. Lynch had probably relied on the rescuers stopping to give the girl aid and slowing down their pursuit of him. Every precious moment wasted on this girl put more time and distance between him and Isabel.

‘Where are you hurt?’ Harry knelt down beside her.

‘My leg,’ she moaned.

Harry lifted the blanket and her skirt away, revealing the truth of her statement. The lower part of her right leg twisted at an awkward angle through the torn stocking, the bruising and swelling clearly visible.

Sebastian stood over her, chafing with impatience. ‘Where’s your brother, Fanny?’ he demanded. He had no more time or sympathy to spare for this lying, cheating girl.

‘I don’t know,’ she sobbed.

‘Where were you heading?’

‘A village with fishing boats,’ Fanny said unhelpfully.

Sebastian crouched down. He took Fanny’s chin between his fingers and twisted her head so she looked straight at him. ‘And Isabel? Was she hurt?’

Fanny’s tearstained face crumpled again. ‘I don’t know. They went when I was unconscious. I woke up and found myself all alone. How could he just leave me?’

‘Because your brother is a cold, heartless killer,’ Sebastian said, releasing his grip on her.

‘Steady on, Alder,’ Harry reproved.

‘You don’t know him. You don’t know why he had to do the things he did,’ Fanny protested without conviction.

Sebastian rose to his feet and looked down at the girl. ‘We’re wasting time! Bennet, ride back to the nearest village and get help for Fanny. Colonel Dempster and I will continue on to Lidiford, if that’s where he’s heading.’

‘Don’t leave me!’ Fanny’s hand clawed at his boot.

He gave her no more than a cursory glance, knowing his disgust was written on his face.

‘Bennet will be back soon enough. Coming, Dempster?’

Harry picked up Fanny’s hand. ‘Sorry, Miss Lynch,’ he said. ‘Just hang on a little longer. Corporal Bennet will fetch help for you.’

Sebastian snapped. ‘She’ll be fine for another hour. I can’t do this without you, Harry! Are you coming?’

Harry rose to his feet in one swift movement and they swung into their saddles and looked at each other with grim purpose written on their faces. Being on foot made Freddy a much easier target to catch up. They just had to make it to Lidiford before the turn of the tide.

‘Please, Freddy. I must rest.’ Isabel clutched at the man’s arm as she tripped over another puddled rut, sending her to her knees.

He had marched her through the unrelenting rain, dragging her unmercifully through the mire and the mud until she was soaked through to the skin. Her stout boots were sodden and heavy with mud and her feet felt like blocks of ice. They had encountered no one and had seen only distant dwellings. In this wild, desolate place, Isabel began to feel hope fading.

Freddy turned and looked down at her. Water dripped from a lock of his rain-darkened hair on to his nose. He looked as exhausted as she felt.

He jerked on the cord, dragging her back to her feet.

‘I can see the village,’ he said.

Isabel raised her head, her teeth chattering with the cold, her thoughts immediately turning to warm food, a fire and dry clothes.

‘Is there an inn?’

Freddy looked down at her. ‘An inn? By now, Isabel, I’ll have half the county on my heels. No, first we have to find the fisherman the boy told me of.’

‘For pity’s sake, Freddy!’

‘I’ll find somewhere dry first,’ he conceded.

Towing his reluctant charge, Freddy skirted the village. It was a poor place without a church or an inn that Isabel could see, the huts gathered around a tidal creek that ran out into the Wash. Behind the village, a few meagre agricultural lots provided the sustenance for the villagers.

About half a dozen fishing boats were anchored in the estuary, the angle of list indicating that they still rested on the mud flats. They would wait until the tide rose and carried them out to sea.

That thought sparked hope in her heart again. They would not be sailing until the tide had turned. That gave her rescuers a little longer to find them.

Freddy led her down to the dunes and she saw what had attracted his attention: a hut, no more than a few bent boughs covered with whatever debris could be found. It looked like the sort of thing children would build but, when he pushed aside the leather skin that served as a door. A rough hearth in the middle of the floor set with an old cooking pot and a kettle, a low stool, a few cracked plates and a bed of sorts laid over rough planking gave the simple dwelling a rustic humanity.

Freddy thrust her down on the bed and pulled the smelly — and no doubt vermin-infested — blanket around her shoulders.

‘Can we light a fire?’ she suggested, through chattering teeth.

‘Don’t be a fool! I don’t want to attract attention.’

‘But somebody lives here,’ she protested

Freddy kicked at the roughly made hearth. ‘There’s been no one here for days.’ He looked around the hovel. ‘Lie down on the bed.’

Isabel stared up at him, her heart hammering in her chest. Did he intend to rape her?

Freddy’s lip curled. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Believe me, I’ve no interest in what’s beneath your skirts. I’m just going to tie you up while I go and find the man I’m looking for.’

Rope of varying kinds seemed to be in plentiful supply and he bound her legs. To make doubly sure, he ran a rope from her wrists to her ankles and gagged her with a strip of cloth torn from her petticoat. When he was done he covered her with the verminous blanket.

Trussed like a Christmas goose, Isabel could do no more than watch helplessly as the leather flap fell across the door. She forced herself to close her eyes and try to sleep but the cramps in her bound arms kept her wakeful. She wondered about the time. The dank weather made it almost impossible to judge. It would still be an hour or so until full tide — still time for a search party to catch up with them.

Whoever came, it would not be Sebastian. For the first time she allowed herself to think of him, his terrible death: burned alive in the stables. Her eyes filled with tears. She sniffed, wishing she could blow her nose.

Eventually she must have dozed, only waking when someone shook her shoulder. She woke with a start, hope fading when she looked up into Freddy’s cold blue eyes. He sat down beside her and began to undo the ropes that bound her.

‘We’ve about an hour,’ he said as he worked. ‘I’ve paid the man well. He’ll have his boat standing off the beach at six.’

As he untied her wrists, she flexed her fingers, tentatively rotating her sore wrist. It did not appear to be swollen or badly injured but it still hurt.