Claire Thornton - Runaway Lady

She gathered her composure sufficiently to thank the innkeeper’s wife and the other women and explain she needed to lie down for a while to recover. When they’d gone she sat at the window, worrying over the enforced delay to their journey and trying to decide how to persuade Harry to help her. As she did so she watched the people who came and went from the inn yard. Always, on some instinctive level, she was searching for Tancock’s face. He shouldn’t be here—but she hadn’t expected to see him on her godfather’s doorstep either.

Harry gave his statement to the magistrate and constable in one corner of the taproom. The rest of the village men remained at a respectable, but intensely curious, distance. When they’d first arrived, Harry had identified himself only as Sarah Brewster’s escort. Because Saskia wasn’t present at the interview with the magistrate, he was able to give his real name to the magistrate and put his true signature to his statement.

‘I was given information a month ago I’d find Crayford at the Dog and Duck with his latest booty,’ said the magistrate grimly, ‘but when I got there he’d gone. You did well to protect Mistress Brewster from his attack.’

‘He’s not the first bandit I’ve dealt with,’ said Harry. ‘I take it you’re satisfied with my account?’

‘Yes, of course. Your coachman’s statement agrees with yours in all essential details. Will you take supper with me this evening? I am eager to hear first-hand the experiences of one who has recently returned from Turkey.’ The magistrate’s eyes lit with genuine interest. He’d had no difficulty recognising Harry as a gentleman—but then Harry had made no effort to pretend to be anything else during their conversation.

‘Thank you. I would be honoured to do so, but I am afraid I must decline,’ said Harry, with real regret. He liked the magistrate’s down-to-earth approach to his duties. ‘I promised I would escort Mistress Brewster safely to Portsmouth. I have not spoken to her since we arrived here and I must consult her wishes for the rest of our journey.’

The other man nodded. ‘Perhaps you will have an opportunity to call upon me when you are returning to London,’ he said.

Harry took his leave of the magistrate and went out into the courtyard to stretch his legs and breathe some air untainted by the pipe smoke filling the taproom. The hot summer day had become a warm, golden evening. Across the fields he could hear church bells tolling for the evening service. Such a familiar sound from his boyhood, but one he hadn’t often heard as an adult. There were synagogues and churches in Smyrna, but though Jews and Christians were free to follow their own religions, church bells were forbidden. Harry was more accustomed to hearing the muezzins calling the faithful to prayer five times a day than the sounds of his childhood.

His memories of the Levant were interrupted when several of the men who’d been sitting in the taproom accosted him with cheerful greetings and eager questions about the highwaymen’s attack.

From her window, Saskia saw Harry enter the yard and her pulse quickened. Even at a distance she was immediately aware of his self-assurance and the poised strength in his lean body. He was surrounded by a group of men. She began to feel frustrated because she wanted to speak to him, not watch complete strangers slap him on the back. She was just about to go down into the yard when another man spoke to him. As the man turned more fully towards her, her instincts buzzed a warning. She’d seen him before. At first she couldn’t remember where, but she immediately tensed at the sight of a man she recognized, but couldn’t identify. It wasn’t Tancock, but—

Trevithick House! She’d seen him at Trevithick. He was one of Tancock’s underlings.

Sick fear gripped her as she watched Harry speak to him. It seemed to her horrified gaze that, though their conversation was brief, they were making arrangements to meet later. She watched Tancock’s henchman slap Harry on the back. For an instant she was overwhelmed by crushing disappointment. She’d trusted Harry—but she knew little about him except he was fast and dangerous with the weapons he carried. Had he been working with Tancock from the beginning?

She dared not challenge him. If he was in league with Tancock, he would never give her the chance to escape once she’d revealed her suspicions. She backed away from the window. For a few seconds despair almost overcame her that once again her plans had gone astray. But she couldn’t afford to despair, any more than she could afford to hesitate. She dived across the room to her bag.

Harry extricated himself from his new friends and went in search of Saskia, but the innkeeper’s wife was alone when he found her.

‘Mistress Brewster said many times how thankful she is you were with her today.’ There was a mixture of curiosity and admiration in the landlady’s gaze as she looked Harry up and down. ‘You have a hardy way with villains, sir, but I’m sure any woman would feel safe in your hands.’

‘I did what was needful,’ said Harry curtly, ill at ease with both the blatant appreciation in the landlady’s eyes and the tone of her compliment. ‘I do thank you for your kindness to Mistress Brewster,’ he added, trying to make up for his initial brusqueness. ‘Where is she now?’

‘I put her in a room overlooking the yard. I will show you—’

But to Harry’s relief, the landlady’s attention was claimed by another customer, so she was obliged to give him directions. He didn’t mind being slapped on the back by the village men for dealing with a local villain, but the landlady’s admiration was another matter.

Saskia didn’t respond to his knock, nor to his voice when he identified himself. The first breath of alarm whispered through him. He opened the door without hesitation. One sweeping glance told him the room was empty. There was a discarded lady’s glove lying on the floor. He picked it up, recognising it immediately as one he’d seen Saskia wear. His hunting instincts went on to full alert. He stepped out of the room and quietly closed the door. He hadn’t seen any sign of Saskia on his way into the inn, so he continued further along the passage until he came to another set of stairs. At the bottom he found he had a choice of going back into the main yard he’d just left or towards the stables. He went towards the stables. He was in time to catch sight of a stripling in a plain brown coat and brown breeches disappear around the corner of the stables. A stripling with Saskia’s hair and carrying her familiar bag.

She was alone. Harry’s fear that she’d been snatched by her enemies receded. But was she going to meet someone else? He lengthened his walking stride to a deceptively ground-eating pace until he’d passed two grooms chatting by the stable door. As he turned the corner of the building he saw the apparent lad hurrying away from him, staying in the shadows behind the stable. Now there were no witnesses Harry ran, swift and silent in pursuit of his quarry. He caught Saskia by the shoulder and spun her around.

The instant he touched her, she gave a sobbing gasp of pure terror. He saw the dull glint of a knife blade as she struck wildly at him. He knocked her arm aside, but she kept attacking him in desperate silence.

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