Miss Peterson & The Colonel (6 page)

His sudden appearance was enough to tip the matter in his favour. Jenkins and Smith had their rifles pointed at the attackers and he had his sword and pistol ready.

'You villains are done here. Stand still. If you wish to live you'll drop your weapons and surrender.'

Four heads swiveled in astonishment. This was enough for two of the captured men to surge forward and disarm them. Jenkins and Sam would take care of things now. He must find the missing girl.

'Where's Miss Peterson? Have they taken her?'

The coachman answered him. 'No, sir. She's somewhere behind us but two men have gone off to look for her.'

They could not be in the lane, he had just galloped along it. Somehow the girl must have got into the field. There was a gap in the hedge. He would take Brutus through. He could approach them unobserved. He pushed his mount through the confusion of clothes and books and into the field at the far side of the hedge. Now was the time for caution. He should approach on foot. This would be quieter, but he doubted his legs would carry him. Somehow he must achieve his objective whilst remaining in the saddle.

He pushed Brutus forward, guiding him with his knees and the reins knotted on the withers. His sword was gripped in his right hand, his pistol loaded and ready in his left. He reached the turn in the road. His hands clenched. He heard the girl's voice

'Here, you may have my purse. There are several guineas in it. I've nothing else of value.'

A coarse voice answered. 'Thank you kindly, miss but it ain't coins we're looking for. We reckon that it's you what we seek.'

Simon kicked hard and the massive gelding almost catapulted him from the saddle as the animal responded. He roared a challenge – often noise would distract an opponent as much as a weapon. The girl reacted instantly, flinging herself sideways and putting the bulk of her horse between herself and her attackers. The two men took to their heels and fled. He'd never seen two men vault a five bar gate with such alacrity.

Devereux and Dawkins could not be far behind with their troop. Their job was to apprehend those two. His job was done. His head was filled with a strange buzzing, his eyes blurred and then he was falling into a deep pit of blackness.

*

Lydia saw the colonel slump forward in his saddle. The poor man should not be out of bed, let alone charging across the countryside saving her life. She must take care of him. She ran to his side moments before he toppled to the ground. Talking quietly to Brutus, she guided the animal back through the field toward the voices calling out to her.

'I am safe, but Colonel Westcott has swooned. I need your assistance here.'

He was too unwell to remain upright. The only way they to get him safely to Bracken Hall was inside the damaged carriage The debris was swept from the floor of the vehicle and Billy and Fred removed their capes and laid them inside. Sam Smith propped himself against the door and the injured man was laid across his knees. This wasn't ideal, but the best that could be achieved in the circumstances.

'Tom, we must get to the hall as soon as we can. Fred, take Smith's mount, ride ahead and warn Mr Peterson to expect us. Doctor Andrews must be sent for immediately.'

No one questioned her authority. The hastily repacked trunk was strapped for a third time in the luggage space at the rear of the carriage and they were ready to leave. The colonel's other man assured her he would do very well on his own with the prisoners. For some reason he expected the military to be along at any time to collect them.

'This is a rum do, miss. I ain't never seen the like. How comes the colonel and those other two turned up like this and why should the military be coming here?'

She shook her head. 'I've no idea, Billy. But I'm sure someone will arrive to explain it all. My interest in the matter is the health of Colonel Wescott. He should never have left London.' She hoped this adventure might not prove too much for him.

Chapter Six

When Lydia arrived at Bracken Hall, she found two stable hands at the ready, a trestle between them in order to carry the colonel inside. Billy and Fred returned and were waiting to offer whatever assistance was needed.

'David, has someone been sent to fetch Doctor Andrews? Colonel Wescott suffered a concussion yesterday morning. The London doctor told him to remain in bed for three days at least. I cannot think what possessed him to gallop about the countryside in this way.'

Sam backed out of the carriage. 'It's like this, Miss Peterson. He knew you was in danger and set out at once. That's the colonel all over, act first and worry about the consequences later.'

It took all four men to move the injured man from the floor of the carriage to the trestle. With further heaving and grunting, the stretcher bearers staggered to their feet and headed inside. It was perfectly plain they would never get him upstairs; the poor man would slip and crash to his death long before they had reached the first floor. There was no choice, he'd have to go in her father's disused apartment. Goodness knows what sort of state that was in, but it was on the ground floor and would be far easier to access.

The housekeeper, Dorcas Jones, and two parlourmaids were hovering anxiously in the hall. 'Dorcas, we shall use the rooms downstairs. Get one of the girls to fetch clean linen and strip the bed.' She turned to her brother who was supporting the injured man's head. 'You'll have to lay him down on the dining table until his chamber is ready. It's the only place where we have an item of furniture long enough to accommodate him.'

There was no butler at Bracken Hall; she and her brother preferred to live simply. All staff were referred to by their given names and David and she would not ask the servants to do any task they were not prepared to do themselves, however unpleasant it might be.

She ran ahead to the dining room. This room was rarely in use, being far too grand for just David and herself. The trestle would scratch the polished surface disastrously, so she needed a cover of some sort. Tablecloths? Yes, there was a stack of damask in the sideboard. Snatching several, she tossed them across the table just as the four men staggered in, red-faced and sweating.

'Put Colonel Wescott here for the moment. Sam, will you take care of him until his room is ready?'

'He'll do fine on here. He's slept in far worse places on campaign abroad.'

The maids had already made the bed and one of them was running a warming pan back and forth across the mattress. The bed had not been slept in for many years, but the room was dry. Dorcas had the fire lit in all disused rooms on a regular basis.

The bed was ready, the pillows plumped, covers removed and the furniture given a quick dust before the clock struck the hour. Lydia checked the room to make sure everything was as it should be. There was a basin of warm water, bandages, scissors and a nightshirt of her brother's. It would be broad enough, but far too short. Never mind. The colonel would be under the covers; no one would know the difference.

'Carefully does it, lads. Back a little, swing round. There – now straight ahead. 'Following David's instructions, the men, coughing and grunting, brought in the patient. 'Hold the trestle steady, we need to transfer him to the bed.'

With David supporting the patient's head and shoulders and Lydia, the housekeeper and the two parlourmaids holding the rest of his body, the colonel was rolled into the waiting bed.

'Excellent work, Sam Smith. I shall leave you and Mr. Peterson to disrobe him. I
must
go down to the stables and check on Black Bess.'

David's voice followed her from the room. 'The mare's neither eaten nor drunk since yesterday. If she doesn't do so soon we will lose the foal.'

Martha was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. 'Do you need me, Miss Peterson? Shall I see what I can do about salvaging some of your garments?'

'Please do that, Martha. I'm going to the stables. I shall need something to eat when I return.' Martha stared pointedly at her velvet habit. 'I know, but I don't have time to change. There's been far too much delay already.' Dorcas, who was nearby, bustled off to the kitchen to inform Cook that dinner would be needed early today.

Normally when she was at home she ate a hearty breakfast and then nothing until she dined, around four o'clock most days. Then, if she was still hungry, she took supper around nine o'clock. David followed her lead.

Her lips curved; perhaps she'd spent too long with gentlemen who always did her bidding. Could this be why she and Colonel Westcott were usually at odds?

She shivered as she stepped outside. Now was not the time to think of such things. The sun had gone behind a second bank of ominous clouds.

'Billy, I think there might be another of those storms approaching. We cannot leave Jenkins where he is. The likelihood of a troop of militia just happening to pass by is absurd. There's something about all this that escapes me.'

'It's a havey-cavey business indeed, miss. I've already taken the liberty of sending the diligence out, seeing as you and the master were somewhat occupied inside. Fred and three stout lads have gone. They're armed and ready for trouble. They should be back before dark with the prisoners and Jenkins. That's if he's not been spirited away by the military.'

'The prisoners must go in the cellar underneath the clock tower. It's fortunate the tower is the other side of the yard, well away from the main building. Have water, food, blankets and palliasses taken down. Oh, and make sure there's a slop bucket as well.'

Having these footpads incarcerated so close to the house was unfortunate, but she had no choice. They must be held until they were taken away by a higher authority. Jenkins would understand the correct procedure; he'd been a soldier himself.

Black Bess was nipping at her distended belly, shaking her head and stamping every few moments. Something was definitely amiss. 'Easy, Bess, I'm here now. What's wrong, girl? It's too soon for you to foal.'

The mare raised her head, her eyes were dull, her coat sweat-stained. The sooner she got the animal comfortable and persuaded her to drink, the better. She was so engrossed in her task she forgot about the man lying desperately ill in the house. She didn't leave the loose box until Bess had drunk a pail of fresh water and eaten a warm bran mash. It had taken her time to achieve her objective, but eventually she was sure the mare was out of danger.

Billy had been assisting her. He rubbed his eyes. 'Shall I rug her up again? The wind's bitter and it's raining heavily.'

She straightened, leaning tiredly against the stable wall. 'Yes, do that, Billy. We have eased the foal into a more comfortable position. I'm sure that's what it was; somehow it got itself trapped. No doubt the pressure was causing Bess acute discomfort.'

She shuddered at the thought of what
she
would be obliged to go through if she ever made the mistake of marrying. She'd seen enough of God's creation to view the whole process with disfavour. She had no intention of putting herself at risk in that way.

No, far better to remain single, enjoy the company of her nephews if she wished to be with children, but keep herself safe from the risks of childbearing.

It was quite dark outside. The lanterns were swinging crazily, making the light dance. Only then, she remembered Colonel Wescott. How was he doing? Had the doctor been able to revive him? The lashing rain made it impossible to converse outside. She took to her heels and raced for the rear door; time enough to ask questions when she was safe inside. She was soaked to the skin, her riding habit beyond repair, but she must change before inquiring about the patient. Had Jenkins returned and were the unwanted guests safely locked in a cellar?

Using the back stairs, as she always did when she returned from the yard, she emerged in her own apartment through the servants' entrance.

'There you are, miss. You must be that tired and hungry. My word, I think your habit's fit only for the ragbag.'

'I know, most unfortunate. Martha, tell me please, what news of the patient?'

Whilst soaking in a hot bath her maid gave her welcome news. The colonel hadn't kicked the bucket. His condition stable but he was still unconscious. The soldiers hadn’t appeared to collect the prisoners and Jenkins had been delighted to return in the diligence with her men.

With her hair dripping, she sat up. 'I'm done here, Martha. Kindly hand me a towel. I'm fully restored, but ravenous.'

She rose gracefully from the water, but almost slipped at Martha's gasp. 'My word, miss, you're black and blue. I'd no idea you'd taken such a bad fall. How you managed to sit horse today is quite beyond me.'

She dressed quickly and discovered David waiting for her in the passageway, his dark hair in disarray. 'Good, I was about to come up and see you. You must be famished, I told them to serve dinner immediately. Let's go through, I'll tell you everything I know about the colonel's health. I also must tell you what Jenkins said about the matter.'

After two bowls of leek and potato soup, a generous portion of steak and kidney pudding followed by fruit, nuts and plum cake, Lydia felt herself ready for conversation. 'I've no idea what all this is about, David, and until the colonel recovers his senses I feel we shall not discover the whole. Jenkins and Smith are as much in the dark as we are.'

'They knew you were in grave danger from an attack, but Westcott failed to enlighten them as to who would be doing the attacking or how
he
came to have this knowledge.'

She pushed back her chair, almost too full to move. 'I'm going along see how Colonel Wescott is. He saved my life, he's a brave and resourceful man, but foolhardy in the extreme. But first I must tell you everything that has happened in the last two days.'

When she'd finished the story, her brother shook his head in bewilderment. 'None of this makes any sense. However, when the coach fails to return tomorrow, Edward will no doubt eventually send someone to investigate.'

'And by a stroke of misfortune I've now ruined two carriages. Ellen is quite right to say that calamity and I are companions.'

'And by the by, you cannot visit Wescott in his bedchamber even if he
is
unconscious. That will never do.'

'I know that. I shall speak to him when he's recovered.' She pursed her lips. 'How stupid of me. Of course, I must write to Edward. Whatever's going on, he has to be a party to it. We must send someone to London tomorrow morning. We should have the information we require before supper. Edward must know why those men were chasing me. I don't wish to wait until Westcott recovers his senses to discover what all this is about. It could be several days before he is able to speak to us.'

'With luck the coach will be fully restored by the time Edward appears. I have two men instructed to work on it through the night.'

'I doubt it will ever be the same. It's most unfortunate. Ellen has not set foot in it and already it's damaged.' She yawned; she ached in every bone. The sooner she found her bed, the better.

The news from sickroom was unchanged. The patient was still deeply unconscious, but no worse or better than before. David promised to look in on him before he went to his bedchamber. The rain had not abated. The narrow lanes in their vicinity would be a quagmire for several days to come. Perhaps the promised military had been obliged to find shelter and would arrive tomorrow.

She woke a little after midnight, and found herself unable to drift off again. Lydia was not normally given to flights of fancy, but she'd woken from a dream in which he was in mortal danger. Exactly what kind of danger had not been clear, but she had to put her mind at rest before she could settle.

There was no need to rouse the household. She would take the back stairs and visit the apartment with no one else the wiser. His valet was bound to be sitting by the bedside; she could attract his attention and ask him how things were without breaching any rules of etiquette. With her indoor slippers on and her thick wrap tied securely, she took a single candlestick and set out.

She started at every sound, hesitated in places that were as familiar to her as her own bedchamber. It must be the storm: the wind howling round the house, the rain beating against the windowpanes, that was unsettling her.

Over the past seven years she'd made many journeys in the dead of night to attend to the horses. However on
those
occasions she was dressed in breeches and boots. Descending the twisting staircase whilst holding on to her skirts with one hand, and a candlestick in the other was decidedly difficult. How the servants managed carrying brimming slop buckets without mishap was nothing short of a marvel. It was high time they used some of their savings to install plumbing.

Squire Bentley had already got a newfangled bathing room. It was the talk of the neighbourhood. The next time his wife invited them to dine she would accept so that she could see this wonder for herself.

Her mouth curved. Why ever was she thinking about drains and plumbing at a time like this? She'd do far better to concentrate on the matter in hand. If she trod on her hem she might fall and break her neck.