“We just need to go down the old lane,” Jemmy said, taking the lead. “It is really not far at all.”
“Not far at all” to a country boy is a good way for city folk not used to walking over rough terrain. Evelyn, Mr. Martin, and Constable Morris were a great deal slower than Jemmy in traversing the high grass and weeds that grew in the lane. This was an area that clearly had not been recently mowed.
Evelyn spotted the first sign that they were on the right track. A man’s plain, white handkerchief was trampled into the ground, made nearly invisible by the muck. A little farther along a twig was broken in three places, yet left dangling on the tree.
Within a few strides, they could see a ramshackle stable building. From within it, came the sound of a harsh, booming cough. Before the gentlemen could stop her, Evelyn broke into a run.
Chapter 46
Mr. McElroy was telling a long tale of one of his adventures in Africa. “…an’ then I says, never mind that. You’d best . . .” Mayson was listening drowsily, only half hearing the story.
Mr. Bruce entered, and without a word to either of the occupants of the room, he strode over to the fireplace, picked up the poker, turned, and struck at Mr. McElroy with it.
Mayson staggered up from the bed, intending to go to Mr. McElroy’s assistance, but he was grabbed from behind, and a strong arm choked off his wind. He struggled, but barefoot and hampered by his nightshirt and the bedclothes that seemed to wind about him like some strange vine, he could not get free.
The old soldier flung up his arm, deflecting the poker, and threw a strong punch at the footman’s gut. The younger man twisted away from it, and punched Mr. McElroy in the temple. The soldier fell like a stone.
“The leg. Destroy that leg so that it is nothing but splinters.”
“But…”
“Do as I say,” the harsh voice barked. “Before I…”
Then Mayson knew no more.
Mayson came to himself sometime later, shivering with cold. He was lying on a lumpy surface, wearing only his nightshirt. His hands were bound behind him, his legs and feet wrapped up in something that kept him from moving. The only blessing was that the thing wrapped about his lower limbs gave the illusion of a little warmth.
“Where is he?” he heard the Duke of Tolware say. “He said he would be here.”
“He will be here, Your Grace,” Mr. Bruce replied. “He promised. I did just exactly as you said I should. I did not tell him any names, I just said I had found his nephew, and he would be here. I just hope to goodness that I did not kill Mr. McElroy.”
“You’d best hope you did kill McElroy, because he saw our faces. I want to turn Rudge or whoever he really is over to Hillsworth, collect the reward, and go pay off my debtors. But just like every other thing in my life, nothing about this has gone as planned.”
“I’m sorry,” Bruce said. “I did my best . . .”
The dust inside the bag over his head began to tickle at Mayson’s throat. His nose began to run, and he began the deep, involuntary coughing that had plagued him for the last several days.
Quick footsteps came toward him, and someone undid the bag. He drew in a deep lungful of cold air, and continued to cough.
When he caught his breath, he said, “If you keep me here in this weather, I am not likely to survive until morning.”
Quick running footsteps could be heard outside the building. “Kill him, and let us escape!” the Duke of Tolware hissed.
“That… that would not be right. We… we were just to trade him… ” Bruce whispered in protest. “I am so sorry, Mr. Rudge,” he said, starting to wrap the rough blanket more tightly about Mayson. “It was not supposed to go like this.”
The door burst open.
“Darrius! Mr. Bruce!” Evelyn exclaimed.
“Evelyn!” Mayson cried out in alarm. “Get away, get back. They mean to kill me.”
“No one is killing anyone,” Constable Morris said firmly, stepping through the doorway, a brace of pistols in his hands. “Martin, clap them both in irons.” He then set his teeth on his lower lip, and let out a piercing whistle.
“But that’s the Duke!” Martin protested.
“I know,” Constable Morris said, looking grim. “Do it anyway.”
Chapter 47
