Love Alters Not (3 page)

“So you came to us. Just as you should. Very well, I will wake my brother and he will send help to his lordship. Sleep now, and try not to worry.” She smiled kindly, tucked the blankets closer around his chin, and went out, closing the door on his broken expressions of gratitude.

In the kitchen, she stood motionless. Horatio Glendenning was indeed more than a distant cousin to them all. A blithe, good-natured young man, he had seemed from boyhood to prefer their simple home to the vast estates to which he was heir. Her earliest memories included him: laughter, companionship, happy expeditions, growing up—and Tio. Dear Tio.… He was so much in love with her. And he was the man her brothers hoped she would marry. Certainly, such a union would solve all their financial woes. Only … it was childish of course, but she clung to a wistful longing to lose her heart to the man she would marry. The viscount was good-looking, brave, honourable, and deeply devoted, and she loved him as one loves an old and dear friend. Not as a husband. With equal certainty she knew that if any one of the Cranfords was in trouble, Glendenning would not hesitate for an instant to risk his life in their behalf. No less must be done for him.

She hurried into the hall only to hesitate again by the dining room door. Her first impulse had been to ask Peregrine to send some of the men out to search, but she saw now that it would not do. Perry was as reckless as he was brave. He would be out of bed if he had to crawl, strap on that wretched artificial foot and rush off, likely breaking his neck this time, rather than turning his ankle.

Distraught, she turned back toward the kitchen. But to go out to the coach-house, over which dwelt the grooms, seemed even less satisfactory. If she asked Sudbury, the head groom who also served as coachman, he would volunteer without an instant of hesitation. So would young Peale, the under-groom; or Billy, the stableboy; or Peddars, their solitary footman. Only—Tio, bless him, was deep in Jacobite trouble, which was treason. And the penalty for aiding a traitor—especially a fugitive “of great importance”—was death in its most hideous form. One did not ask one's servants to take such dreadful risks.

And yet—what else was she to do? Unless …

*   *   *

The rain eased at about two o'clock, but although it no longer poured down, the fall was steady and, with the continuing flashes of brilliant lightning and the distant growling of thunder, gave every indication of becoming a torrent again at any moment. The sudden deep depression, known as The Teacup, was overgrown with trees and shrubs which afforded some shelter from the elements. Having tethered Odin to a tree, Dimity pulled her fur-lined hood and cloak tighter about her, and shivered. She had been able to gather some medical supplies and slip out of the house without difficulty. Her attempt to saddle and harness Odin had been less successful. She had chosen the big bay in case Tio needed a fast animal, but the horse, Perry's favourite, was a horrid creature and had rolled his eyes and pranced about in such a ridiculously ungodlike way that she had expected Sudbury to come down at any minute. Fortunately, she was tall and strong and, having grown up with two brothers who considered that any well-bred person must know how to care for his own horse, she was not inexperienced in such matters and had at last led the bay out to the mounting block without having roused the grooms.

Odin snorted and sidled nervously. Dimity patted his neck, peering about her. For a lady to ride alone at night was shocking. When her brothers learned of this episode, she would be in for a proper scold. But if she was able to help Tio they would be proud of her, no matter how they might grumble. On the other hand, if she was caught by the military … She shuddered. That did not bear thinking of.

A howling gust snatched the hood from her head. Thunder rumbled, but it seemed she had heard sharper sounds just before the peal. Had it been gunfire? Was that a shout? Or was her overwrought imagination at work and the sounds only some of the many voices of the storm? It was silly to worry so. Tio was indestructible. She restored her hood, smiling faintly as she recalled some of the wild pranks the three young men had revelled in during their eventful school years.

A sudden thunder of hoofs. A dark shape rushing straight at her. Odin neighed and reared up in fright. The oncoming animal shied wildly. The rider hurtled from the saddle and lay unmoving, his horse galloping off into the darkness.

With a shocked cry, Dimity ran forward. She thought, ‘'Tis likely just a soldier…' But as she bent above that sprawled form the lightning revealed a hatless head, the drenched, unpowdered hair showing darkly red, and she knew she had found the man she sought.

“Tio,” she cried frantically, dropping to her knees beside him. “Please,
please
do not be dead!”

“Wouldn't dream … of it,” came the faint response. He stirred, but so feebly that her anxiety deepened.

“It's me,” she said foolishly. “Tio dear, are you hurt?”

“Not badly.” He sounded very tired. “Just a—musket ball, where 'twill do the least … damage.”

Horrified, she demanded, “Where?”

“My … head.”

She turned his head very gently and, her eyes having become accustomed to the darkness, saw that the left side of his face was all blood. She bit her lip, blinded by sudden tears. Then she scrambled up, ran to Odin and unbuckled the saddlebags. Thank God she had brought linen strips and a small flask of brandy. She flew back to Glendenning. He had not moved, and lay still and helpless in the mud, the rain falling lightly on him.

She had to call him twice before he answered. “I have brought brandy. Can you take some?”

“No time,” he said faintly. “Must get on.” He began to struggle to sit up. “Mustn't be … caught…”

She propped him with all her young strength, but he sagged, his head rolling on her shoulder. “Can't,” he groaned. “Dammitall! Perry, you shall have to … go, old fellow. Sorry. But—I'm done.”

Her heart contracting, she thought, ‘Oh, God! Is he dying?' and said, chokingly, “Tio, I will bind your poor head, and we—”

Distant shouts were borne on the wind. Glendenning tensed. “They're—damned determined … lot,” he gasped. “Perry, I—I carry the—the fourth stanza of that … blasted cypher. You must know all England's … searching for't. Found … courier just 'fore he … turned up his toes, poor chap. Gave me his—his damned message. You—you take it.”

The shouts were nearer. Her blood beginning to run cold with terror of rope and axe, Dimity whispered, “Yes, yes. But we must get to the house. We can hide you if only—”

“No, I tell you!” One hand came up to clutch the edge of her cloak. “Dreadful to—ask, I know. Wouldn't put you in—in such a fix, but … life and death. Many deaths. Please … you—take it. For—for old times' sake, Perry…”

He was thrusting something at her and she felt the texture of parchment against her palm. His head rolled helplessly. His well-built, once powerful body was so limp. She sobbed, “Tio! My dear God! Tio—
where
am I to take it? To whom must I give it?”

As if with a tremendous effort he began to whisper something, and she bent closer, struggling to catch the words through the howl of the wind and the terrifyingly clear sounds of the riders.

“Decimus Green … All … Near Romsey. He'll know—” He shoved a purse at her. “You may need … this.”

“Yes, dear. But—Tio, oh
please
wake up! Tio—
where?
”

His voice almost inaudible, he panted, “Fair … Decimus … All—all…” and he slumped and lay very still and heavy in her arms.

She knelt there, her head bowed over his unresponsive, so terribly marred face, and wept heartbrokenly.

“I tell you 'twas
this
way! In that last big flash I saw him head fer them trees!”

Another second or two and they would be found. If dear Tio was not dead, they would take him and hack off his arms and legs before a mindless mob, and— She shrank, sickened. Not Tio! They must not perpetrate their atrocities on this dear, gallant man! She let him slide as gently as she could, pushed the flask under one limp hand, and jumped up, tucking into her bodice the little scrap of parchment that was death. Running, dashing tears away, she untied Odin, dragged herself into the saddle with a strength born of panic, and reined him around.

In the bright flash of lightning she saw that they were almost upon her. She rode out with no attempt at concealment.

Someone howled exultantly, “
There he goes!
After him, men!”

A musket barked, shatteringly. Half fainting with fright, Dimity rammed home her dainty spurs.

Odin was affronted. The master knew very well there was no cause to resort to such methods to get him to run. If this puny woman-thing on his back wanted speed, by hoof and hock he would show her! He gathered his mighty muscles and went like a black streak across the night, Dimity clinging desperately to the pommel with one hand, and the troopers following, firing occasionally when the lightning granted them a sight of the flying cloak and big horse of their valuable quarry.

II

They were so close now that Dimity knew she would be shot at any moment, and the muscles of her back seemed to twist into knots as she crouched over Odin's mane, waiting for the bullet that would strike her down. From the snatches of conversation she'd overheard when her brothers and their friends spoke of the war, she knew it was a variable sensation: some men suffered a great shock, followed by a temporary numbness, and others apparently experienced immediate and overmastering pain. She thought she would prefer the former. At least then, one would know one had been hit, but there would be a space in which to prepare for the following anguish.

The wind buffeted her; the rain was driving hard, making it difficult to see even when the lurid lamp of the lightning lit the sky. Above the great bumping peals of thunder and the pound of hooves, she heard the occasional crack of gunfire, and each time gave a small cry and huddled lower. Odin swept like a juggernaut through the blackness. She wondered if he could see where he was treading, or if he was just running blind. An he should fall … The shot sounded farther away. She wrenched her head around and could no longer discern the darker pursuing shapes against the sky. ‘Glory, glory!' she thought, and it came to her that the brutes had likely been chasing poor Tio all night, whereas Odin was fresh. Perhaps, after all, she had a chance of escape. And whatever else, she thought with a sudden leap of the heart, she had led them away from Tio. They believed they were still chasing him! Her elation faded. Was he dead, even at this moment? Lying there all alone, cold and slain, in The Teacup? She prayed for him, whether alive or dead, and reflected sadly that if he had to die he would probably just as soon it be there, where they had known such happy times together.

Ahead, suddenly, was a big fast-moving shape. It was the Portsmouth Machine, the raindrops gleaming like strung beads in the bright glow of its lamps. It would be the Oxford to Southampton coach, then, and running very late, probably delayed by the storm. Her mind began to race. If she could get to Short Shrift, where, she hoped, the Machine would stop to take on passengers, she might be able to buy a ticket, and even if the troopers came up with them, they'd be looking for a wounded man, not a girl. Hope lifting her spirits, she turned Odin in a wide easterly swing, not daring to risk being seen. Lightning betrayed her presence. She heard a shout, from the coachman probably, and prayed she had not been identified as a female.

They were past then, Odin maintaining his tireless stride, and Dimity peering desperately through the darkness, searching for the hamlet. At last, they reached the crossroad and the signpost pointing east to Basingstoke, southwest to Andover, south to Short Shrift and Winchester. Another mile and she would reach the hamlet. She glanced back again, but seeing no sign of pursuit, rode on, praying she would have time to stable Odin and buy a ticket before the dragoons arrived.

The hamlet loomed into view. A light glowed in one cottage window, and another shone brightly from the tavern on the single street where was the coaching office. Hoping that light meant the Machine would stop, she reined Odin to a trot and turned him off the lane. How on earth was she to stable him? Any ostler must be quite astonished to see a lady of Quality ride in alone at such an hour, and would certainly remember and describe her should the military make enquiries. She dismounted, sliding awkwardly from the saddle, her wet habit impeding her movements. The yard of The Spotted Cat was dimly illumined by the lantern that hung inside the open barn. Dimity bit her lip, knowing that each second she wasted might carry a terrible price.

“Buy a basket, lady? A nice warm shawl for your pretty hair? I read your palm for a groat…?”

The young voice was tired and devoid of hope as it droned on. Dimity pulled her hood close and turned to the gypsy lad who stood there, a small cart beside him, the donkey between the shafts standing head down and apparently asleep. The boy must, she thought, have come to meet the Portsmouth Machine at nine o'clock, and waited all these hours for it to arrive. Much chance he had of selling anything, poor creature.

“Buy a basket, lady?”

Come to think on it, she must have
something
to carry onto the coach, or she'd cut a pretty figure! She said in the gruffest voice of which she was capable, “I might. How much are they?”

For a moment the drawn face was blank with disbelief, then the soft dark eyes brightened. He said eagerly, “Five shillings. A florin. One and sixpence. A shilling for you, lady.”

It was an odd accent, not foreign, but not quite English, and neither cultured nor common. Under other circumstances she would have been curious about him. As it was, she had no time for curiosity, and growled, “My husband awaits me in Winchester, and I've to stable my horse.”