Never to part, p.16
Never to Part, page 16
That every sight to shroud it did constrain and barred the fair couple’s escape.
But fate cast the Hound elusive in their path, though it hid a betrayer;
The Spirit scare constraint by Cotswold clay won the day,” he read aloud and sighed, his hopes sinking for an easy solution.
It makes no more sense than when contemplated silently. I’ll have to show it to Mother. Richard thought of Daphne. His heart urged him to confide in her. He would, but not yet.
“I’d best tell Mother after Miss Stratton retires for the evening,” he mused while he stubbornly resisted the urge to go at once to Daphne. “Mother could not refrain from speaking of it at supper if I talked to her beforehand.”
Begrudgingly content with that plan, Richard secreted the verse in a pocket. He sat back and imagined the scene. Daphne would put a brave face forward as he revealed the verse. She would crumble when he refused to show it to her and then order his mother not to discuss it with her.
Richard imagined her delicate chin quiver; tears well in her blue eyes. The image disconcerted him. Did Daphne deserve this for trying to outwit him? Didn’t their agreement of all fair in love and treasure absolve her? Contemplating that, the question Richard most wanted answered came to mind. Was there something driving her to find the treasure of which he wasn’t aware? Had her brother’s debts ruined them financially? Startled by the possibility Richard swore.
An hour later Lady Laurissa watched a sombre Richard join her in the salon before dinner. When he paused on the threshold, she greeted him cheerfully. From the look on his face she deduced that the one person Richard most wanted to see was not present.
Lady Laurel nudged her husband in the ribs. “He ‘tis not going to be well pleased when he discovers Miss Stratton has left Heart Haven.”
“He doesn’t know she also has the verse,” Lord Ricman replied.
“But her leaving ruins the generous gesture he planned.”
Scowling at her, Lord Ricman asked, “What gesture?”
“Richard planned to share the verse with her.”
“Why would he do that? We both heard him crow how he had won at last.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Lady Laurel insisted. “Richard still resists the truth—refuses to acknowledge that he is in love with Miss Stratton—but his heart is yielding.” She flashed an innocent smile at her husband. “Stubborn like his father—like—thee.”
“I knew it would come to this,” huffed Lord Ricman. “Ungenerous, my dear.”
“If thou had listened to me we would ne’er have been caught in a downpour. ‘Twas why Father caught up with us that night.”
Lord Ricman pulled her into his arms. “But wasn’t our interlude before he arrived most pleasant?” he asked as he nuzzled her neck.
“Most,” she agreed, then frowned. “We should have left Daphne and Richard locked in the mausoleum much longer.”
“Patience, love.” Lord Ricman brushed his wife’s lips with a gentle kiss. “As soon as we know Richard’s plans we’ll be off to London and make certain Miss Stratton is safe and off to the Hound as soon as may be.
“Miss Stratton is late,” Richard said.
“Good eve to you,” Lady Laurissa said sardonically. “But Daphne is not late. She has left Heart Haven.”
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “When?”
“Do not use that tone with me,” Lady Laurissa told him.
“I apologize, Mother,” Richard ground that out between his teeth. “Do you know when Miss Stratton left? Did she go with anyone?”
Lady Laurissa fingered the folds of her skirt. “She left some time shortly after you left for the ruins.”
The baron glared at his mother when she said no more.
“Her brother called for her.”
Anger and frustration filled Richard at the thought of that damnable young cub of a brother who brought nothing but grief to Daphne. A sudden fear rose, then was forgotten in the midst of a new thought.
Richard stared at his mother, stunned with realization. “You knew she left. Did you know she had been to the ruin? Why in heaven’s name didn’t you tell me she left as soon as I returned?” he stormed.
“I don’t see why you are so upset,” she protested. “You are unhappy when Miss Stratton and her brother. Now that they are gone you should be pleased.”
“Did Miss Stratton visit with you at any time today?” Richard asked with unusual agitation.
“Why, yes, she did,” Lady Laurissa said.
“What did—” Richard fisted his hand at his side, and then drew a deep breath. He slowly released it and began again. “Was there a specific topic to your conversation?”
“It was delightful.” The baroness smiled as if with fond recollection. “I don’t oft have someone so interested in the family legend with whom to discuss it.”
Richard heard the scold in her voice. He damned the legend but knew he must pursue it. “What part interested her this afternoon?”
Lady Laurissa just gazed at him.
With a mental oath, Richard went to his mother and sat beside her. Her eager smile warned him he would not like what she was about to say.
“She asked about Lord Ricman and Lady Laurel.”
Heat burned his face but Richard managed an inquisitive grimace of a smile. “What specifically about them?” he prompted.
“Oh, about The Hound.” She twittered a laugh. “Can you imagine, Daphne thought it was, well, a hound.”
After passing a hand across his brow, Richard placed his palms on his thighs. “I have not paid due honour to the legend Mother. Would you be so kind as to tell me what this ‘hound’ is?”
The baroness chuckled. “’Tis a coaching inn, dear boy. What else could it be?”
“A coaching inn. Exactly.” His features brightened. “Do you know where it is located?”
“I don’t know if it still exists,” Lady Laurissa said, then leaned toward him eagerly. “’Tis part of the wonderful tale of how Lord Ricman, of course he was still just Ricman Blanchard then. He and Lady Laurel were caught in a rainstorm while they fled and halted at the inn. Her father found them there.”
“Where is it?” Richard asked tightly.
“It is said that Ricman, when he came into his title, gave the innkeeper a huge Cotswold jug of brandy as payment. I have heard that the inn displayed it e’en a century later.”
Richard rose. “Where is this inn, Mother?”
“Oh, hadn’t I said? I thought I told you,” she said. “It lies on the road to Gretna Green.”
“Did you tell this to Miss Stratton?”
“Of course, dear. Why would I not?” She looked at her hands and pursed her lips.
“’Tis to be regretted that at the last moment Daphne did not wish to go with her brother. I was told she was forced into his carriage,” the baroness added.
His mother looked up when he stalked toward the door. “Where are you going Dremore?” she asked.
“To London,” Richard replied without pausing. “I am going to wring Daphne Stratton and her brother’s necks,” he muttered. “And then I will go to The Hound.”
* * * *
London
Early Evening
Daphne tugged hard on the doorknob. The door rattled but did not give. “Geoffrey, come back here,” she yelled. “Unlock this door.”
“When you agree to the arrangement I have made,” her brother said heatedly from the other side.
“There has to be another way,” Daphne pleaded. “I would never demand this of you.
“If there were a rich heiress to be had, I wouldn’t be asking it of you.”
“Let me speak to Sir Joshua about another loan.”
“I’ve seen him,” Geoffrey said. “There is no other way to save Trotter House, Daph. To save us. If there was I would—
“Please, Daph, do not force me to do what I cannot like. Don’t think to trick me either. When you regain your common sense your bridegroom will be summoned. We have a special license in hand.”
Daphne gave the door a fierce tug. It didn’t give.
“Saddie is locked in her room,” Geoffrey called out.
“How dare—” she began and then stamped angrily. There was no talking to Geoffrey at the moment. She had to think of some way out of this vile predicament.
An hour later Daphne still prowled around her chamber seeking a route to escape. The window was the most obvious but there was little to cushion her fall from the upper floor.
I wouldn’t get far with a broken limb. With a heavy sigh she slumped down on the edge of her bed.
Chin in hand, Daphne’s thoughts went to Heart Haven and Richard. How angry had he been when he learned she had left? Would he guess she had discovered the verse?
The verse, she thought and sat upright. Richard will come to get it from me. Relief flooded through Daphne.
If left her just as quickly. There was only one thing that would make a difference to her future. She had to find the treasure and pay Geoffrey’s gaming debts.
Daphne paced to and fro. “Perhaps I could ask Richard . . . Lord Dremore for a loan?”
He would laugh in your face. Could you bear that?
Exhausted Daphne climbed under the coverlet. She thought of auras and of Richard. The reason for her inability to see his niggled at the edge of her mind just beyond her reach. Mayhaps ‘tis not how he is different but how he is like those whose auras I cannot see. When she fell asleep shimmers of spectres and Richard haunted Daphne’s dreams.
* * * *
Eldridge paused just outside the open library door the next morning. Geoffrey lay sprawled in a chair. As he watched, the younger man pushed a hand through his disordered locks then gulped down the last of the port in his glass. Then Geoffrey set the glass down with a thump and shook his head.
“She’s m’sister. Must be ’nother way,” he muttered.
“Another way?” Eldridge asked blandly as he strolled into the library.
Geoffrey scowled at him. “Go ’way.”
“How can you treat a dear friend so shabbily,” Eldridge asked with an injured air.
“Not m’friend.”
“I convinced Jason Wardick not to take insult from his last meeting with Daphne. He’ll hand over a bank full of blunt for that pretty sister of yours.”
“Wouldn’t need ‘im if you hadn’t—”
“Now, now,” cautioned Eldridge with the bite of steel in his voice. “Can’t blame anyone but yourself for your problems.”
Geoffrey covered his face with his hands. After drawing a ragged breath he dropped them and stood. He stumbled to a side table and picked up a key.
“What do you mean to do?” Eldridge asked.
“Daph hasn’t given an inch since I locked her in her room. Lettin’ her out.”
“That will mean the Marshalsea for you both. Do you really want to force her into the debtors’ prison?” Eldridge cautioned. “There is no hope to settle your debts without this marriage.” He walked to Geoffrey and put a comradely arm across his shoulders.
“Let her think on it one more day. Good lord, she’s almost on the shelf. Her marriage is the best answer for both of you,” he said. The prospect of wheezing old Wardick laying his hands on her will make Daphne very creative in her effort to escape and find the treasure, Eldridge thought with glee. She’ll bolt and lead me to the treasure soon enough. He eased the key from Geoffrey’s lax hand and pocketed it.
“Jes one day more,” Geoffrey slurred. “If’n she hasn’t agreed I let her do as she wishes. M’sister.”
“You’re the best of brother’s,” Eldridge assured him, making no effort to conceal his content even when Geoffrey cringed.
* * * *
Waking hours after midnight Daphne sat up with a start. Her empty stomach rumbled a loud protest. Ignoring it, she threw back the coverlet and hurried to the door. It was still locked. She walked slowly to the window which glinted with moonlight. Raising the sash, she shivered in the blast of cold air and peered down into the darkness below. A solution had flitted through her dreams.
“It might work,” Daphne murmured. She had believed Geoffrey would relent. It hurt that he had not. Squaring her shoulders she decided to act.
Her candle lit, Daphne reached far under her mattress and extracted the pair of bank notes secreted there before they had gone to Heart Haven. She jerked the sheets from the bed.
Grim with determination, Daphne tore them into strips. Once the strips were tied together she dragged her bed to the window. One end fastened to the metal headboard, she flung the other out the window and then pulled on her heaviest coat.
“Please Lord, do not let me fall,” she prayed as she edged one leg and then the other over the sill. Hand over hand, her feet braced against the outer wall, Daphne inched down the knotted strips.
When her feet touched the ground Daphne almost shouted with joy and relief. But she was only half way to escaping. During the long day Daphne had realized it would be unwise to head to The Hound on a public coach without the protection of a companion. Saddie was necessary if she was to succeed.
Daphne crept to the door at the back of the house and slipped inside the kitchen. The lack of a fire banked in the stove told her the remaining staff had been dismissed. After lighting a candle stub she stole through the house. Everyone was gone except for Saddie. Daphne soon had her door unlocked. A short time later they hurried out the front door, portmanteaux in hand.
“Where are we bound, miss?” Saddie whispered as they hurried down the street.
“To salvation, if I succeed,” Daphne told her. The proposed forced marriage loomed before her. “Damnation if I fail.”
Chapter Seventeen
On the Road to Gretna Green
October 14th
Luck was with Daphne. When she and Miss McRae reached the coaching inn two outside seats were still available.
Three hours later pounding rain deteriorated the rutted road into a deeply pockmarked morass. Daphne and Saddie huddled beneath sodden coats and clung to the rails atop the coach. The rain pelted them while the coach horses plodded, their tack jingled, and the coach creaked loud objections to the deep ruts.
“My hands are near frozen,” Saddie shouted. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”
“We should be nearing The Hound,” Daphne yelled back. Please God, make it so, she prayed. Chilled to the bone herself, she had grown increasingly concerned about Saddie. They were trapped atop the coach until it reached its next halt.
An especially lengthy creak ended with a sharp splintering crack. It scarce gave warning of trouble before the coach tilted sharply as the left wheel collapsed beneath it. Shrill neighs, screams and shrieks of alarm accompanied the coach’s descent.
Daphne clutched Saddie’s arm as her companion skittered off the seat and threatened to fall over the side. The coach came to rest half in the ditch and half out. With the help of the man in the seat ahead of them, Daphne lowered her companion to the muddy ground.
Her heart thundering in her breast at the near calamity, Daphne clambered over the side. Her drenched garments proved almost too great a weight. When she dropped to the ground her feet sank into a foot of thick cold mud. Daphne took Miss McRae’s arm. “Are you unharmed, Saddie?”
Miss McRae nodded but her shivering increased.
Daphne guided Saddie as they slogged through the mud to the side of the coach. Leaving Saddie resting against the coach, Daphne made her way to the broken window and peered into the interior which was very dimly lit by the guttering flame of an outside lamp. “Is everyone all right?”
Accompanied by sniffles and a curse, assurances came that they were.
“Is there room for one more?”
A man climbed out and helped Saddie into the coach.
Daphne looked at him expectantly but he only pulled his coat collar up and hugged himself as he hovered close to the coach. She slogged through the mud to the driver who was checking his leaders.
“Sir, how far are we from The Hound?”
“Too far,” he grunted without looking at her. “Four—maybe five miles, I reckon.” The driver straightened. Water sloughed off his long oil-coated great coat. “The lead team ain’t hurt. Reckon I’ll ‘ave ta ride one ta ‘Hound and fetch another coach back.”
The man who had helped Saddie joined them. “You must take my mother with you. I fear she has broken her ankle. She’ll catch her death waiting for you to return.”
Daphne shivered, her soaked cloak little protection in the cold rain. “He’s right,” she conceded with reluctance. “My companion can ride with her to help keep her atop the horse.”
The leaders unhitched, the driver put Saddie and the woman with the injured ankle on one horse and took up another older woman behind him. They rode into the sheeting rain. The black night swallowed them. Daphne turned away and settled against the coach to shelter from the rain.
Some time later the sounds of a coach approaching caught Daphne’s attention. A man stumbled out of the coach and followed her as she trudged towards the road.
“Halloo! Hallooo!” Daphne shouted. She frantically waved her arms when the vehicle came into sight but it never slowed. “Help!” she shouted. “Please help!”
As the carriage sped past it spewed water and mud over her. Daphne was so angered that she considered scooping up a handful of mud to fling at its back.
Only when the man beside her threw an arm across her shoulders did Daphne realize he was not the one who had sent his mother with the driver. She looked up at him.
He belched in her face.
Days of perspiration and strong slightly sour spirits pierced Daphne’s chilled stupor. She tried to step away but staggered beneath the pull of the mud clinging to her skirts and jean half boots.
“Stay here,” leered the man. He pawed at her. “Ye’ll warm up in a trice.”
Daphne pushed at his arm.
He shoved back.
Wildly failing her arms Daphne struggled to stay upright but failed. She fell hard into the cold morass. As she struggled to get up against the pull of the cloying mud, she heard another carriage approaching, once again from the way they had come.
