Memoirs of a Hoyden (7 page)

“Are you still here? What are you waiting for?” I scolded. “The Frenchies will have delivered their letter and sent it off to Boney. I begin to think that is precisely what you want.’’

As you have no doubt concluded already, I had given up any thought of using Kestrel as my entree to Castlereagh. I was beginning to think Kestrel’s help would do more harm than good.

His face turned scarlet with anger—or shame. He looked ready to explode, but when he spoke, he attempted a conciliatory tone. “I merely wished to settle how we should all meet up again after this business is settled.”

“If we never meet again, it will be too soon for me. Good luck, Lord Kestrel. You’ll need it.”

On that brave speech I drew Ronald away and left Kestrel standing in the street with several hedge birds gaping at his disgrace.

“We shall send a note off to Canterbury after all, Ronald. I am too upset to give a proper speech this evening. Do you have any money?”

“The few shillings that were loose in my pocket when we were robbed. It should be enough.”

We sent the message before leaving Ashford. This gave Kestrel a head start on us. By the time we reached the edge of town, there was no sight of him, which is just as well. My temper hadn’t diminished since we parted ways.

“The man is a fool,” I told Ronald. “He knew as long ago as yesterday when his curricle broke down that he was being followed. He should have left the letter for his groom to deliver. The spies wouldn’t have bothered him. But no, what did he do? He climbed aboard our coach—without his pistol—and had us all robbed. And even then he calmly went to bed, instead of going after the men. Really, one trembles to think such dilatory men are our defense against Napoleon.

“As he knew he was being followed, you’d think he would have made some plans to defend himself—at least he could have hidden the letter a little better.”

“He was too busy playing at coachman. Imagine, playing childish games at such a time. You know, I begin to think what we ought to do is follow him. The Frenchies will make minced meat of the man. It seems to me Dover is their likeliest destination. What do you think?”

“I found it suspicious they told the tapster where they were going. Of course, they couldn’t know we were following them.”

“It’s the last thing they’d suspect, if they’re familiar with Kestrel. Apparently they are. They cut his axle before he ever left London. There’s a farmer checking his hay. Let’s ask him if he happened to see three mounted men pass this way.”

We dismounted and went to the fence to hail the farmer. Ronald has a way with provincials, and I let him handle the chore. “Good day, sir. That’s a fine crop you have there.”

“ ‘Twill be, after a bout of sun. The rain flattened her last night. Can I help you, sir?”

Ronald outlined our quarry. The farmer lifted his hat and scratched his head a moment. “I did see three bucks heading out Dover way a bit ago. The reason I noticed them in particular, they took the shortcut through my cornfield, the scoundrels. It cuts three mile off the main road, and meets up with it farther along. I hope old Ed Munster caught them and filled them with buckshot. They’d have to cross his barley as well. They leapt the fence and did considerable damage. I figured they must be local lads or they’d not know the shortcut, yet I didn’t recognize ‘em.”

“Were they dark-haired men, rather short?” I asked.

“They was on horseback. I couldn’t judge their size, but they didn’t look like big men. They was singing some song I didn’t recognize—disguised, very likely. Maybe ‘twas Gaelic. They speak queer in Wales, I’ve heard said.”

I thought more likely it was French. Spies working the area would know all the shortcuts, if they had their wits about them. I briefly outlined the situation to the farmer, and he gave us permission to leap his fence and destroy his cornfield. As I put my nag over the fence, my heart soared with her. We’d be ahead of Kestrel! Wouldn’t he look nohow when he came upon us, with the Frenchies already captured! A farmer mending his fence, presumably Munster, let out a bellow as we plunged into his barley. We couldn’t afford to stop. I hoped the other farmer would explain our trespassing.

When we met up with the road again, Ronald had lost his sense of direction. He wanted to turn west, but fortunately I was able to steer him toward the proper course. We rode hell for leather, keeping our eyes trained ahead for any sign of the three men. Riding sidesaddle felt wretchedly uncomfortable and inconvenient after riding astride in the desert. My full breeches there made that mode feasible. Riding astride was the least of my unconventional exploits, but one I didn’t mention in my lecture. My publisher thought it might be considered unladylike! Really, the mind boggles to consider the inanity of convention.

We swept past dung carts and gigs, one handsome carriage with a lozenge on the door, and several mounted riders. The dust was negligible after the rain, so that was one annoyance avoided. It was just a few miles west of Dover that we spotted a lone horseman ahead of us. He was crouched forward, riding
ventre à terre.

We set our pace to overtake him, but the harder we rode, the harder it was to catch him. The man rode like a demon, and on an enviable black mount. I knew in my bones only an Arab stallion could set such a pace. “I wager he’s one of the Frenchies,” I gasped to Ronald, for the strain of a day in the saddle was beginning to tell. “Much chance that dolt of a Kestrel would have of outrunning him. Do you think we should follow him, or stop him and search him?”

“We’ll never catch him,” Ronald called back.

As he spoke, the man looked over his shoulder. I believe he knew we were chasing him, for he whipped his nag forward to a hotter pace. “We’ll stop him. I’m certain he has the letter. Is the pistol loaded, Ronald?” He nodded. “Give it to me. I’m the better shot.” Without breaking stride, he passed me the weapon. Ronald is a fair shot; he could have hit his target, but I wanted only to wound the man, not kill him, and that required better than fair.

We urged our steeds forward ever faster, yet the man pulled farther ahead of us. We owed our eventual success to a jackrabbit. The helpful creature darted across the man’s path, causing his mount to shy. By the time he got it calmed down, we were not three paces behind him. “Halt or I’ll shoot!” I shouted.

The man’s head turned slowly, and I found myself aiming a loaded and cocked pistol between Lord Kestrel’s cold gray eyes. It was impossible, but there he was, astride the finest piece of horseflesh I had ever seen, and I’ve seen some handsome animals. His eyes seemed to shoot fire. Angry lines etched twin valleys from his nose to his thin lips. In my astonishment I heard myself say, “Where did you get that mount? That’s not what you were riding.”

“Don’t point the pistol at him, Marion,” Ronald said nervously. “It might go off.”

My finger quivered with the urge to fire it. Kestrel’s hateful smirk did nothing to alleviate the feeling. “Let her do her worst,” he taunted.

I wasn’t quite angry enough to kill him, but I meant to show him a lesson. I lifted the muzzle high enough to lift his hat from his head, and took aim. Kestrel must have known what I was doing, but he sat solid as a mountain, not even flinching. That only served to increase my wrath. I squeezed the trigger; nothing happened. It didn’t move a millimeter. I squeezed again, harder, and still the trigger remained as unmoving as Kestrel.

“Next time you buy a gun, check to see the trigger hasn’t been welded to prevent firing. That one’s been fixed up as a room ornament. Why do you think I passed it up?”

I suffered a momentary lapse of sense and threw it at his head. He moved then, ducking to avoid being hit. “A display of childish temper from one of your years, Miss Mathieson?” He looked up to the sky. “I was sure it would be falling down on our heads from astonishment.”

Ronald broke the tension by laughing. “The sky’s seen her wrath before, Kestrel,” he called.

After a moment’s raillery at my expense, Kestrel’s appetite for embarrassing me was assuaged and he returned to more important matters. “I thought you two were safely on the road south.”

“We learned the Frenchies have definitely come this way, and we have come to help you,” I told him, adding a little detail about the farmer.

Kestrel’s words were only a growl in his throat, but had they been audible, there isn’t a doubt in the world they would have been extremely profane. Rather than praising our efforts, he was as angry as a hornet that we were here. But as we were, we resumed the chase together.

“Where did you get that fine mount?” I repeated. “I can’t believe such a treasure is hired out by an inn.”

“I keep her at a little coaching house on the edge of town. I pass this way often, going between London and home.”

“Then your home must be nearby. Where is it, exactly?”

“Not far from Margate,” he answered curtly.

His mood didn’t encourage any questions on this interesting subject. I was curious to hear more about the style in which he lived. “What’s his name—the stallion’s, I mean?”

“I call him Pegasus.”

“The winged steed—well named! I shouldn’t mind purchasing one of his brothers.”

“Ladies can’t handle a stallion. A mare or a gelding, perhaps.”

“I have ridden camels in my time, sir, and not only tame hejyns either. I could handle Pegasus with one hand tied behind my back.’’

This proud boast was deemed beneath argument. Kestrel just gave me a disparaging look. I decided then and there that if I could not put Pegasus through his paces, I would put Lord Kestrel through his. By “could not” I mean had not the opportunity, not that I felt inadequate to the task. We continued on in silence for another mile.

“We ought to be getting close by now. Do you think they’ve stopped? One of these farms outside Dover could be their headquarters,” I mentioned.

Kestrel seemed impatient with us. “I suggest you and Mr. Kidd go into Dover—or on to Canterbury for your lecture. If you hurry, you can still make it. I’ll handle it from here.”

“I’ve already postponed the lecture. We will help you, and don’t bother trying to get rid of us.”

Kestrel reined up and turned to face Ronald and myself full on. “It’s time to put an end to this charade. I know where the Frenchies are. I’ll take care of it.”

“How?” I answered hotly. “How do you suddenly know where they are when you haven’t had a notion all day? And how will you handle them, all alone? I think you overestimate your abilities, sir. You hadn’t the wits to take your pistol with you yesterday afternoon when you already knew they were after you, but amused yourself playing coachman instead.”

Kestrel took a deep breath and finally decided to humor us with an explanation. “As I see you and Mr. Kidd have been discussing my ineffectualness as a courier, I might as well explain the situation. And as to ineffectualness, the only reason you’re here, Miss Mathieson, is because I
thought
you had some money that would come in useful. Despite your self-endowed reputation for excellence in everything, you managed to lose it. I wanted to be overtaken and robbed yesterday. I knew when I examined my curricle before leaving London that I would be followed. Several messages of the sort I was carrying have gone astray recently.”

“I’m not surprised,” I threw in. “All the more reason to be prepared.”

“None of mine has been taken, however,” he said through clenched jaws. “Other couriers have been waylaid. I decided it was time to put a stop to it. We have a leak at the Foreign Office, obviously, as our every trip is known in advance. My job was to be stopped, and follow the Frenchies to their master. It won’t be another Frenchie, but a traitor in the Foreign Office who is in charge of this plot. There’s definitely inside help. I know all our men, and as I’ve followed the Frenchies this far, I know now where they’re heading. The only employee who lives nearby is Sir Herbert Longville. The Frenchies are doubtlessly heading to Longville Manor.”

“Heading? They’ll be miles ahead of you. They’ll be there and gone by now.’’

“Espionage is not carried out by the broad light of day for everyone to see. They’ll sneak in after dark, which is why I’ve been at pains to stay a little behind them.”

This explanation quite took the wind out of my sails. Kestrel’s dilatory pace was explained now. He hadn’t wanted to overtake the Frenchies, but to remain a discreet distance behind them. It took me a few seconds to discover a flaw in his plan.

“There’s no reason to think they’ll go to Longville Manor. Sir Herbert is only their London informant. Once they have the information, they’ll take it straight along to Boney.”

“Not till it’s been looked over by Longville, to make sure it’s genuine, I think!” Kestrel snapped. “And how do you think they’ll get it to France? Longville Manor is right on the coast. Smugglers are the usual means of communication across the Channel. I learned at the Saracen’s Head a shipment is due to arrive tonight. Even
you
must have realized I had some reason for stopping there.”

“But isn’t Longville in London?” I asked. Foolish of me.

“No, he goes home every Friday afternoon. This is Friday. He’ll be there, and by God, I’ll catch the old bleater if it’s the last thing I do.”

Kestrel appeared less incompetent now that I knew the whole truth. The determined face scowling into the distance looked much more capable than the languorous, bored face I had seen earlier. His riding skill was also enviable.

Ronald was the next one to speak. “The message you were carrying—I take it that was some sort of hoax?” he asked thoughtfully.

“It was genuine. We knew it was someone from the Foreign Office who was the leak, and he would know if the message was phony. It was a risk we had to take. Now that you see the importance of my mission, you realize I can’t have amateurs getting in my way.”

Amateurs! That was his opinion of our assistance. I opened my lips to object, but before I could speak, Kestrel stepped in. “Pray spare me the lecture on your dealings with emirs and Arabs, Miss Mathieson. I’m sure you quelled a dozen desert tribes by your own hand, but your knowledge of camels and your few words of Arabic will be of no use in catching Longville. There’s too much at stake to have a lady gumming up the works.”