The Devil's Surrogate (13 page)

Isobel was
faring no better than Matilda even though she began her run where
the trees had seemed a little thinner and there was less growth
underneath. However, after the first minute or so the forest began
to close in on her, so when she came to the first turn she decided
to take it in the hope that it would bring her around away from the
denser areas.

For about
another two minutes it seemed her tactic had been a success, but
although the trees remained well spaced, the bushes and brambles
began to close in on her now and she was forced to slow to little
more than a walk. She also had to jump over several tangled
outcrops, an action that set her breasts bouncing uncomfortably and
the attached nipple bells ringing loudly.

She came to a
halt, her winged arms hanging limply at her sides, air wheezing in
and out of the narrow nostril openings in her mask, and was
astonished to feel a surge of heat shoot upwards from her groin.
She staggered sideways, all but losing her balance, and gasped
around her gag as she realised the sensation was a fierce orgasm
brought on by the dual attentions of the dildos Roderick Grayling
had inserted into her with such enthusiasm. Tottering away from
what path there was, she fell against the nearest tree, leaning on
it for support as the waves of painful pleasure began to
subside.

Damn Grayling and his leather cocks
,
she thought, and damn her own body for surrendering so easily to
their presence. At this rate she would have no hope of outrunning
Bressingham, and aside from the interruptions her strength would
also soon become completely sapped. With a groan that was as much
determination as discomfort, she straightened up and looked around,
but the second she tried to walk again the two shafts lodged inside
her immediately threatened to cause another collapse.

Isobel shook
her head and tried desperately to concentrate on which way she
should go now, telling herself to ignore everything from the waist
down. She should be able to control her own body, especially when
the things inside her were not in any way real. Finally, after what
felt like several minutes but which in fact was only twenty seconds
or so, she tried to walk again, biting deeply into the leather gag
as she began moving towards what appeared to be a thinner area of
bushes.

The heat was
still there, but now thoughts of Bressingham - who must even now be
starting after her - began to override all other considerations.
When the tangle beneath her boots eventually did give way to grass
and hard mud, she found she could manage a brisk trot.

Jane Handiwell
had been fascinated by the dog-woman, Oona, since the very first
time she laid eyes on her, although she knew that to describe the
wild creature as feminine was not exactly accurate. Oona's firm
breasts, flaring hips and prominent sex made her gender obvious,
but Jane had seen her when she was aroused. The first time the
sinister brown shaft began to emerge from the little African's
vagina, she had assumed it to be just a malformed and overdeveloped
clitoris. However, when the monstrous thing continued to grow and
stiffen until it stood out, and up, a good eight or nine inches,
Jane realised that Oona was equipped with as superb a cock as any
man, and that she was that great a rarity - a genuine
hermaphrodite. Oona not only possessed the equipment she also
possessed a great appetite. The faintest scent of a female in a
state of arousal was enough to bring a growl from her throat that
gradually rose in pitch until it became a predatory howl that sent
shivers down the spines of all who heard it.

For the
moment, however, Oona loped along in her usual curious fashion, not
quite running on all fours but bent forward at the hip so her
clawed fingers all but scraped the ground before her. The long
leather leash from her collar led back to where Jane had wound it
about her wrist, and as Ellen suggested, she carried a whip-cane in
her other hand with a short but heavy whip coiled at her hip. Oona
was human enough and intelligent enough to know the difference
between hunter and hunted, but Jane was not taking any chances.

The pair had
initially chosen one of the more central paths, accompanied by a
male hunter, but when the path divided the fellow decided to take
the left turn and Jane had not bothered to suggest to him that
Oona's nose was probably a far better guide than his instincts.

'Hold there,
Oona!' she cried now as the dog-girl suddenly lunged forward. She
pulled firmly back on the leash, jerking the creature's head up,
and when the baleful eyes turned towards her she lifted the cane in
an unmistakable gesture. 'Steady, I say!' she snapped. 'No need to
rush, you stupid animal. You may find it easy enough to run over
this ground, but I most certainly do not. Now, let's see where we
are.'

Oona squatted
obediently, waiting for the command to move off again as Jane
turned slowly in a half circle, trying to fix a map in her mind.
She knew these woods as well as anyone and knew also that it was
possible to run around in circles almost blindly and miss several
short cuts. From where they were - in an area that was not quite a
clearing, but certainly not anywhere near as overgrown as most of
the surrounding area - Jane knew there were only two real routes
their quarry could take. Oona seemed to want to go right, but that
way became a path barely two feet wide and with no obvious ways off
it for perhaps a mile. At the same time, it wound around in a great
loop and came back around to where the path on the left could take
them by a far more direct route.

'We'll let the
silly bitch run her legs out,' Jane said dryly. She gathered some
of the leash and tugged Oona around, pointing with the cane the way
she wanted to go. To her surprise, the dog-girl seemed not only to
understand but also to agree, panting and growling softly in the
back of her throat. 'Not quite as dumb as they treat you, I see.'
Jane chuckled. 'Well, maybe you're even a lot cleverer than that.
You'd know these ways by now, probably almost as well as I, so
let's move on and head our girl off around about where the stream
rises from the foot of the hill. And don't worry, my little pagan
beauty, you shall have first reward with her when we catch her.
After being skewered on that fine cock of yours, she'll be nice and
docile for me.' And probably grateful enough to have been delivered
from Oona's clutches to do just about anything she demanded of her,
Jane reflected, unable to suppress a grin of anticipation.

Paddy Riley's
eyes almost popped out of his head when the curious bird woman
suddenly burst out of the bushes before them, explaining the
curious jingling sounds he knew should have been enough to warn
them to proceed with more caution. He was so taken aback that for a
moment his military training completely deserted him and he stood
frozen in astonishment. Behind him, both Sean Kelly and Toby Blaine
were similarly brought up short.

Before any of
them could react, the woman turned and dove back into the
undergrowth, the ringing of her bouncing bells echoing in the air
behind her, and then gradually fading into the twittering of birds
in the branches high above them.

'Did you see
that?' Kelly gasped, moving up to Paddy's shoulder. His eyes were
as round as saucers and there was a curious half smile on his
face.

Paddy snorted.
'Of course I saw it, you damned fool. Do you think I'm as blind as
you are deaf? Didn't you hear the bell things on her tits? I'm a
damned fool, and so are you, Sean Kelly. That could have been
anything we just walked into!'

'Well, it was
certainly something!' Kelly exclaimed. 'D'you think she's off to
tell we're here?'

Riley narrowed
his eyes and shook his head. 'I doubt that,' he said soberly.
'Didn't look as if she was in any fit state to tell about anything,
and she was running away from something herself.'

'Then who do
you think she was?' Kelly persisted.

Riley shook
his head in a gesture of disbelief. 'And how the hell would I be
knowing that?' he demanded. 'Did you not see the wench was wearing
that mask thing, and if you think I'm after identifying women from
the shape of their tits and other bodily parts, well then Sean
Kelly, I think maybe you've gone a little soft in the head.'

'It's a sort
of hunting game they play.' Toby Blaine moved up on Paddy's other
side. 'We've seen them before, back last summer. There were lots of
them all dressed up like she was as birds, and the hunters are all
in black with hoods and masks so you couldn't see their faces. They
carry pistols and whips, but I don't know whether they really shoot
them, 'cos we didn't wait around to see. Billy got scared when we
nearly ran into one of the hunters and we hightailed it back to the
fence, though I wanted to wait and see what happened.'

'I'll just bet
you did.' Paddy grinned. He had taken an instant liking to the lad,
and he could easily imagine what had gone through the youngster's
head the first time he had seen one of these bizarre creatures.
Riley himself had seen plenty of things, but the few seconds of
confrontation with the bird- girl had more than stirred up his
manhood. 'The thing is,' he went on, 'this could make our job just
a little bit harder than we might have expected. If they have
Mistress Harriet running around in one of those bird things, then
how is Toby here to know her? I doubt he'd be any better at
recognising a pair of... mother of heaven, what am I saying?'

'So what do we
do?' Sean Kelly asked. 'We'd better be careful if there's fellows
out chasing with guns. They might end up shooting at us by
mistake.'

'If they shoot at us,' Paddy said grimly, 'it won't be a
matter of any mistake, to be sure. There's no way anyone with eyes
is going to confuse the likes of you and me with the likes
of
that!
' He nodded
his head in the direction in which the girl had plunged back into
the woods. 'No, we'd not be mistaken for one like that,' he
continued, 'but I do have an idea what we might be mistaken
for.'

With the two
Irish troopers and Toby the only real chance of making any progress
as far as the Grayling estate was concerned, and with the small
likelihood of any news from Portsmouth arriving before sundown,
Thomas Handiwell at last turned his attention to the other events
in the village. It was a way of killing time and trying, albeit
vainly, to take his mind from what might have happened, or be
happening, to Harriet. Had he known, his course of action would
have doubtless been very different and much more direct, but like
the rest of the village, he believed the unfortunate girl awaiting
execution in the church was Matilda Pennywise.

Thomas had only seen Matilda on a handful of occasions and had
only ever exchanged a brief nod with her in passing. Since arriving
in Leddingham from London, she had never set foot in the
Drum
and was seldom, if
ever, out late. However, he had known her grandmother for many
years, and Hannah's father, Nathan, had known his own father since
before Thomas's was born. And now, as he listened to Ned's summary
of events, he began to feel guilty that he had not done anything
earlier. Being neither religious nor superstitious, Thomas did not
believe in witches, and as he told Ned, even if he did, Hannah
Pennywise certainly wasn't one. And as for her granddaughter, the
fool vicar had been sniffing round her skirts for months, and if a
vicar couldn't see a witch at ten paces, then who in hell's name
could?

Leaving Hart
at the inn - the young officer point-blank refused to become
embroiled in affairs of the church, no matter how preposterous they
were - and charging him to come after him the moment there was any
news, Thomas set off into the village and made straight for the
church. At the main door he found his way barred by Alfred Diggins
and Peter Farren. Both men carried muskets and sported pistols
tucked into their belts.

'Tell this
Master Crawley I wish to speak with him.' Thomas spoke quietly but
firmly, not in the least awed by the weaponry. He knew both these
men from the inn and doubted they were as familiar with guns, let
alone real fighting, as they were trying to appear, and he could
smell drink on the breath of both of them.

'The gentleman
has given instructions that he's not to be disturbed and no one is
to enter here meantime, Master Handiwell,' Alfred Diggins
drawled.

Thomas sniffed. 'Alfred,' he said carefully, fixing the fellow
with an unblinking stare, 'this witchfinder fellow will like as not
be gone tomorrow, or the day after, but I doubt you will, and I
know the
Black Drum
will be where it stands for many years to come. Now, if you
harbour even the most slender hope of ever drinking in my inn
again, you will kindly take your shiftless frame and tell
this
gentleman
that
I have business with him.'

Diggins,
although lazy by nature and not very sharp, was nevertheless quite
capable of understanding a threat. The next nearest source of
alcohol was a good twelve miles down the road towards the coast,
and he was not about to get himself banned from his usual watering
hole. It was with ill grace that he turned, swung open one half of
the church door, and disappeared inside. But disappear he did,
leaving Thomas alone with Peter Farren.

'I must say,
Peter,' Thomas remarked sourly, ''tis a surprise to find you in a
church and no mistaking.'

Farren shifted
his weight and blinked, but the gold already in his pocket, and the
promise of more to come, had given him more resolve than he usually
had to draw upon. 'I might say the same of you, Master Handiwell,'
he replied. 'You're not best known around here for a regular
attendance in the Lord's house.'