Gail Eastwood (14 page)

Time slipped by easily and they reached Lancaster itself by midmorning. Tucked between the canal and the River Lune, the ancient streets twisted haphazardly beneath the austere walls of Lancaster Castle, sitting grimly at the top of its hill. The coach rattled over the cobbles past the market square and pulled in at the Half Moon, where the horses would be changed for the second time and the passengers refreshed.

“I think I would prefer to walk a bit,” Gillian said, and Gilbey concurred.

“My legs could use stretching, too,” Brinton agreed, promptly joining them.

They strolled along the street near the inn, peering in shop windows. The innyard was bustling with activity and they had no desire to be in the way.

“Mmm. I may be more in need of refreshment than I thought,” Gilbey said, stopping in front of a confectioner’s shop.

Gillian had moved on to admire a display of ladies’ accessories in the next window. A glittering array of decorated fans was artfully arranged against the drape of a Kashmir shawl. Among the fans were several she thought quite attractive. The one she most particularly liked was surprisingly ornate, its leaf of blush pink silk painted with garlands of flowers and inset with a panel of lace. Tiny silver spangles were scattered along the edge and strategically placed within the pattern of flowers and lace. The ivory sticks were pierced in a delicate design, further enhanced by touches of silver leaf. The effect might have been overpowering in a larger fan, but in this, the smallest of the fans displayed, it was quite taking.

As Gillian studied it, thinking back to the assembly in Bath, Gilbey and the earl caught up to her.

“I am surprised to think that these would catch your eye, Gillie,” Gilbey said.

“Perhaps you underestimate your sister,” Brinton said enigmatically. “Tell us, Miss Kentwell, which one do you prefer?”

For some reason the earl’s question sounded to Gillian like a test. “They are all quite lovely,” she answered tentatively. “I suppose the choice depends upon the occasion for which it is intended to be used.”

“Bravo,” Brinton replied dryly. “That was an admirable effort to avoid answering. Perhaps you may yet become a typical coquette.”

Gillian bristled. “I have no desire to ever do that! If you truly wish to know, I was admiring that tiny pink one with the lace. It would be very suitable for a ball or assembly.”

Brinton’s eyebrows shot up, and he smiled. “Ah, I am relieved. I was afraid you had given up your habit of speaking frankly.”

Gillian felt her color rise and saw his smile turn into a grin. Why did he always enjoy needling her so?

“I quite agree with your choice,” he went on. “It is diminutive and exquisite, much like the young lady who should carry it.” In a single graceful motion, he captured her right hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a quick, courtly kiss upon it to emphasize the compliment.

Gillian was amazed that the back of her hand could burn so just from the pressure of that simple kiss through the fabric of her glove. She was even more surprised at Brinton’s sudden change of behavior, although she told herself she shouldn’t be. She thought they had both been striving to maintain a wall of indifference between them, yet here was Brinton, doing his best suddenly to tear it down again. How was she supposed to react?

Gilbey saved her the trouble by looking back toward the inn, where their coach could be seen standing in the yard. “I suspect we should be returning,” he said. “It looks as though the change is finished and the other passengers are already coming back out.” With a speaking glance at Brinton, he linked his arm rather possessively through his sister’s and began to propel her back toward the inn.

“Oh, it is too bad,” Gillian lamented, moving her feet reluctantly. “There is a bookshop just two doors farther up.”

Brinton followed a few steps behind them.

“I never thought I’d see you interested in fans,” Gilbey said, not troubling to hide his amazement.

Gillian frowned thoughtfully. “Nor did I. But lately I have come to realize that I am woefully ignorant of a great deal that I ought to have learned. Did you ever think that perhaps Father did not do so well by us, allowing us so much freedom?”

“What do you mean?”

“He seldom cared what we did. We took that indulgence as a sign of his love.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “But, Gilbey, I don’t believe I know anything at all about being an adult. That scares me.”

Her twin gave her a look that was hard to read, but he made no reply. They were approaching the busy stable yard of the inn, and it was no place for a private conversation. Quite suddenly, Brinton caught Gilbey by the coatsleeve, checking their steps.

“Look,” he said softly, “there is Orcutt and another gentleman, talking with our driver.”

Chapter Fourteen

“What are we going to do? We can’t let them see us!” Gillian whispered in horror. She stepped backward, bumping squarely against Brinton and landing off-balance on the toe of his top boot.

“Whoa there,” the earl said, grasping her by the shoulders and steadying her. “We may already be too late, but let us turn our backs and stroll casually away as if we have no connection with the place.”

Gillian resisted looking over her shoulder with difficulty. “Do you suppose they will go away and we will still be able to claim our seats?”

“That’s going to depend on what they learn from our coachman,” Brinton answered.

“If they suspect we are passengers, they will no doubt wait for us to appear,” Gilbey added gloomily.

“And the coach will have to leave without us,” Gillian finished. “What then of our luggage?”

“One hopes they will carry it—what there is left of it—on to Carlisle, even without us. After all, we did book passage through that far,” the earl replied. He glanced back, and his eyes narrowed. “I strongly suggest we start considering alternate transportation.”

The twins followed his glance and saw their coachman climbing up to his seat, still shaking his head. Orcutt and the other man with him stepped back, but showed no sign of leaving the vicinity. The coachman cracked his whip and with a flick of the ribbons started the new team out of the yard.

“Time to shop,” said Brinton, guiding the twins ahead of him into a concealing doorway.

As the coach rattled past, Gillian was absorbed in the splendid variety of porcelain and pottery displayed inside on the shop’s shelves. She had just picked up a porcelain candleholder when Brinton took it from her hands and replaced it on the shelf.

“We need a carriage, not a candlestick.” So saying, he turned to the shopkeeper and, after a brief exchange of information, ushered the twins out of the shop. Hurrying them along the street, he said, “We are going to hire the fastest vehicle we can get from the stables at the Selby Arms. It is only a block from here.”

“I would like to know how Orcutt turned up here,” Gilbey interrupted. “He had to have already been here ahead of us, checking all the coaches.”

“From Bewdley he must have gone to Shrewsbury, too,” said Brinton thoughtfully. “But if he rode through the night, or even the next night, he could have gotten well ahead of us.”

“Do you think that is another Bow Street agent with him?”

“Yes. I suspect that they use some message system, like carrier pigeons, to inform each other of developments in their cases. We used pigeons on occasion during the war.”

“Ah,” said Gillian. “That might explain how Orcutt already knew about us in the little time it took us to get to Worcester. I had found that rather frightening and inexplicable.”

“It still does not explain why they assumed we would head north,” Gilbey observed.

As they reached the corner, all three could not help an anxious glance back toward the Half Moon.

“Damn,” said Gilbey.

“Indeed,” said Brinton, hastening his steps. It appeared that Orcutt had caught sight of them, or at least he and his friend were heading in their direction. Gillian doubled her pace to keep up with the lengthening strides of her companions.

“We have two choices,” Brinton stated, apparently quite calm. Gillian’s own heart was racing with apprehension. “We can try to reach the stable at the Selby Arms before they come around the next corner and catch sight of us again, or we can look for a way to double back and hire transport at the Half Moon.”

“I think we would be less easy to recognize if we split up,” Gilbey suggested.

“A good idea,” Brinton agreed. “If you will stay with your sister, I will try to get back to the Half Moon. You’ll need to wait for me somewhere out of sight.”

“Did we not pass an alley just before the china shop?” asked Gillian. “If it cuts through to this block, we can slip back that way. But we had better hurry.”

Orcutt and his accomplice did not round the corner before their quarry gained the alleyway. The earl and the twins checked the street carefully before they emerged at the alley’s other end. Brinton quickly made for the stable yard of the Half Moon, while Gilbey and Gillian scurried up the street to the bookshop, where they would wait for the earl.

“Don’t stand right by the window, Gilbey,” Gillian hissed as she pretended to peruse the pages of a book on self-improvement. “What if Orcutt should happen by and see you?”

“What if Brinton comes with the carriage and we don’t see him?” her brother countered, but he moved away from the panes. Selecting a hefty volume on the art of trout fishing, he kept one wary eye on the street outside.

Gillian was intensely aware of the ticking clock at the back of the shop. It seemed as if whole minutes passed between each sharp click of the brass movement. She jumped and nearly dropped her book when the chime struck the half hour. Her heart had barely recovered when she heard Gilbey’s terse report, “Here he is.” The twins hastily left their books and hurried outside.

Brinton sat in the coachman’s seat of a rather Weary-looking barouche. The pair of horses harnessed to it were mismatched but apparently sound, Gillian noted as Gilbey folded down the steps for her. She clambered up, but just as her brother followed, they heard a shout from farther up the street.

“Hold there! Stop!” Orcutt and his fellow had come back around the corner and were running toward them.

Brinton slapped the ribbons vigorously and Gilbey barely managed to fall into his seat as the carriage started up. They barreled up the street, forcing pedestrians to dodge out of their way. They rumbled right past the angry Bow Street agents.

Orcutt did not waste time shaking angry fists at them, however. As the barouche rounded the corner on two wheels, the hapless trio in it could see the two men racing toward the Half Moon, presumably to grab their mounts.

“They will be after us in a minute,” Gillian despaired. “How will we ever outrun them in this?”

“This was the only vehicle the ostler would let me take without a postboy,” Brinton explained. “However, I did manage to contrive a small delay.”

The twins were astonished to hear him chuckle.

“I found the boy who had charge of Orcutt’s horse, and also his friend’s. I told him those two were in the taproom up to their elbows in port and not likely to be out anytime soon, so he might as well unsaddle the beasts and put them to feed. I’m afraid I felt he deserved a handsome tip, to offset Orcutt’s displeasure when he discovers what I’ve done.”

Gillian and Gilbey had to laugh, if somewhat nervously. The delay would help, but three people in a carriage could not move as quickly as two men on saddle horses.

“What will we do now?” Gillian asked apprehensively. “Even with the delay, we cannot possibly outrun them to the border.”

“The regular north route follows the turnpike from here to Heron Syke near Burton and on into Westmoreland. But I’ve learned that there is another route, the Oversands Route, that runs from Hest Bank across the bay to Furness.”

Brinton was silent for a moment as he guided the horses through an intersection clogged by a carter’s wagon and a private coach. As they reached clear road, the animals surged forward, as if they could sense the urgency of their mission. Brinton raised his voice to carry over the noise of pounding hooves and rattling carriage.

“The Oversands Route is considered very hazardous because of quicksand and the fast change of tides in the bay. The drivers who use it know the route well, or they have to hire guides to take them across. Near the change of tide, it is not safe to start across. However, if the tides are in our favor, I thought it might be worth the risk to go that way. Orcutt might follow the other route, not realizing we’d have turned off.”

“What if the tide has already changed?” Gillian asked quite reasonably. She nearly had to shout to be heard.

“Yes, what about that?” echoed Gilbey. “If we go that way and cannot get across, we would have to return to the other route, and could run right into Orcutt!”

“I asked in the stables if they had any idea of the tides,” Brinton replied. “One fellow had just come up from St. George’s Quay. He said the river was low, but he thought it was still dropping. If he is right, that is the best news for us.”

Gillian considered the risks before answering. She was surprised to realize that she no longer resented the earl’s leadership. It was a role he fell into naturally, she had come to understand, and she and Gilbey had fared well enough thus far by following his dictates. “We have to try
something
.” she agreed at last. “I, for one, have no other ideas to offer.”

“How far to the turn-off for Hest Bank?” asked Gilbey.

“It should be no more than two or three miles. That is why I think we have a good chance to lose Orcutt.”

The road was good and the horses were fresh. In very little time indeed the barouche had crossed the canal beyond Lancaster, The little party of fugitives made good time until suddenly Brinton slowed the horses with an unmannerly oath.

Gillian and Gilbey peered around him to see what was wrong. Just ahead, a road crew of ragged men was making a passing effort to repair the highway. One man had just dumped his barrowful of stones, and the others were variously spreading these with shovels or breaking them up into smaller bits with picks and long hammers. Beyond them a lane branched off to the left, but the signpost was down, neatly laid by the side of the road

“How far to the turn for Hest Bank?” Brinton called. His casual tone betrayed not a hint of impatience.

“This be it ’ere, sir,” one of the laborers answered, respectfully tipping his cap.

“Any chance we might possibly get by?”

Gillian marveled at his perfect control. Her own frustration at the delay was so close to boiling over, she knew she would have screeched like an old woman.

The fellow set his shovel against the banking and flapped his arms rather comically at the other workers. “See ’ere, let’s let ’em through!” he called. One by one, the others left off their activity and took themselves out of the way.

The carriage bumped erratically over the broken bits of stone as Brinton eased the horses between the men and made the turn. He held the animals to a leisurely pace until they had progressed a little way down the road from the workmen.

Gillian peered back anxiously, trying to catch a glimpse of the road they had left. “There does not appear to be anyone following,” she reported, letting out her breath.

“That is good,” Brinton called back, “but that road crew may be a mixed blessing. With the signpost down, Orcutt may nip right past without noticing or realizing its significance. He may not know about the other route. But if he stops to inquire after us, the men will most certainly point out our way.”

“Let us pray for the tide,” Gilbey said.

They were headed now toward Morecambe Bay. As they topped a rise, the spectacular panorama of the bay lay spread before them. Miles of shining, flat, wet sand stretched almost to the horizon, where a thin, bright silver thread of water reflected the light from the overcast sky. Seabirds like tiny dots in the distance skimmed close to the sand, hunting for prey trapped in hundreds of pools and rivulets. To the north the misty hills of Furness and the lake country framed the view.

“The tide is definitely out,” observed the earl.

The vastness of the sand beds impressed Gillian. She could imagine just how quickly the water might suddenly start to pour in again across such a huge, level area. “Let us hope we are not too late to cross,” she added fervently.

The village of Hest Bank, grown up from the mere fishing village it had once been, clustered by the side of the Lancaster canal, which wound its way along the high ground above the beach and marshes. The grandly named Hest Bank Hotel was the headquarters for coaching activity and served also as a rescue station for travelers trapped in the bay by the tides. Brinton pulled in at the inn’s stable block.

Gillian listened anxiously as the earl questioned the ostlers about attempting the crossing. It seemed to her that the four miles they had traveled from Lancaster had been the longest miles of her life.

“Can take two hours t’ Kent Bank,” one man said dubiously.

“You’re close to bein’ too late,” said another. “You’ll need a guide who don’t need t’ come back t’day.”

“Is there anyone who would take us?” the earl asked. Gillian thought an edge had crept into his voice. “And will we need fresh horses?”

The first ostler cast a disdainful eye over their unimpressive equippage. “These should do,” he said judiciously. “’Tis a light carriage. You’re just up from Lancaster?”

“Yes,” Brinton answered tersely. He waited without moving. Gillian found it impossible not to fidget and pace. It seemed to her that the more time they spent talking, the less likely it was that they would still have enough time to go.

“Jem Greenall might take ye over,” one man said at last. “’E’s in the tap havin’ one afore ’e goes back.”

Brinton wasted no time heading for the inn’s taproom, but Gillian admired his restraint in not sprinting. She could see in the way he held his shoulders that he was suffering from the tension as greatly as she was, although he appeared outwardly calm. Knowing that somehow made her feel better.

Gilbey took her arm and matched his restless pacing to her own. Within a stone’s throw of the stables a canal barge was being poled along the narrow water passage. Birds sang in the trees, and the world seemed slow and peaceful, utterly heedless of the urgency Gillian felt in her breast.

“Where is he?” she whispered to her brother as they walked. “Why doesn’t he come back out?”

After what seemed an eternity, Brinton emerged with another man in tow. He nodded to the twins, who quickly joined him in front of the stables.

“Permit me to present Mr. Newcroft, who has agreed to guide us over,” Brinton said. “Mr. Greenall seemed in doubtful condition to guide anyone, but Mr. Newcroft has just brought over several vehicles, and he is anxious to get back while there is still time.”

Newcroft was a beefy man in his mid-forties, with the roughened look of someone who spent a great deal of his time out of doors. Gilbey extended his hand for a hearty shake, and the four of them climbed aboard the barouche. Newcroft took over the driver’s seat, and Brinton sat in front of the twins, facing them and the rear of the carriage.