Gail Eastwood (15 page)

“You gentlemen may have to walk alongside when we get to the beach,” Newcroft cautioned as he started the horses.

“The devil!” exploded Brinton as they turned into the roadway. The others looked at him in astonishment. “I think that’s Orcutt!” He pointed up the road to a pair of riders coming into the village at a distance.

As Gilbey and Gillian craned their necks to look behind them, Brinton was speedily extracting pound notes from his purse.

“Here, man,” he said urgently, pressing the notes into the startled driver’s hand. “You’ll have to pay to get this rig returned to the Half Moon in Lancaster, and the rest is for your trouble. We’re going to jump ship, but we want you to go on as if you still had us aboard. Think you can keep ahead of those horsemen until it is too late for them to turn back?”

Newcroft glanced in bewilderment at the crumpled notes in his hand and back over his shoulder at the two approaching riders, who apparently had not yet recognized the barouche. “I’ll give it my best try, sir,” he said.

“What exactly are we doing?” Gillian asked, not quite as puzzled as the driver.

“Do you think you can jump while the carriage is moving?” asked Brinton.

“Of course,” she answered at once.

The carriage was already starting across the narrow canal bridge. Behind them, they heard a shout. Ahead of them, the road zigzagged abruptly before starting the descent to the bay. Stone walls lined both sides of the road.

“When we take the curve, we will have to leap onto the wall and drop down behind it,” the earl explained quickly. “There won’t be much time.”

The twins nodded. Gillian’s heart was racing.

“Gilbey, you first, as soon as he’s in the curve. I’ll follow with Gillian.” He paused, waiting for the carriage to slow for the turn. “Now!”

Gilbey leaped, and Gillian thought the image of him poised for that fraction of a second on top of the wall with his greatcoat flapping would be etched in her mind forever. He dropped from sight instantly, and then Brinton had her hand and was urging her to move.

“On three,” he commanded. “One, two, three!”

It did not matter if the rocks at the top of the wall were stable or uneven, for they barely touched them. Gillian thought that she and Brinton in their travel cloaks must have looked like great, ungainly birds fluttering out and over the wall—that is, if anyone had been looking. She fervently hoped the back of the barouche had screened them from view as it rounded the curve.

She and Brinton lay sprawled in a tangle of long grass and briars. Her cloak was held fast by thorns in several places, and her skirt was hiked up to her knees, exposing her legs in their embroidered silk stockings. As she made a move to sit up and pull herself together, Brinton stopped her with a hand on her arm. Silently, he shook his head, one finger on his lips.

Listening, she heard the commotion of their own carriage passing another vehicle in the narrow lane. Then the other driver hailed the bridge, announcing his intention to cross even as he proceeded. Gillian heard muffled curses at the bridge and assumed they came from Orcutt and the man with him. Brinton grinned at her. He had not, however, removed his hand from her arm.

They lay still and silent for what seemed like interminable minutes, until they heard the clatter of horses crossing the bridge toward them and taking the corner a little too fast. Gillian shrank down into the brush, willing the riders not to glance over the wall and wishing for invisibility with all her heart. She only breathed once she heard the horsemen pass and continue on down the road, heading for the bay.

Even then, Brinton was cautious. He signaled her to stay as she was. Plucking his cloak from the clutch of the briars, lie got to his knees and peeked over the top of the wall. Relief filled his face as he sank back into a sitting position. “I believe we are clear, at least for the moment,” he said, and he gave Gillian a smile that would have melted the very stiffest resistance.

In that smile she saw a world of warmth and affection mixed with his relief. Under its spell for that moment, she quite forgot to be concerned about where her brother was, or whether her garters were showing.

“Pluck to the bone, that’s my Gillian,” the earl said softly, reaching with both hands to help her move. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, tugging her cloak free before she put her hands in his. He pulled her gently to a sitting position, then suddenly, somehow, she found herself in his arms. She was not even surprised.

His kiss was gentle and reassuring, demanding nothing, but it instantly rekindled her own desire to give. When he pulled his head away, she was not yet ready to make an end, She held her position, her head tilted up to him, her lips parted, inviting him back. He hugged her against his chest for a moment, then released her and scrambled to his feet.

“All this and such shapely legs, too,” he teased, taking the edge off her disappointment. He reached for her hand and helped her up. At that moment there was a rustle of grass, and Gilbey appeared, crawling on his hands and knees.

“Oh, are we safe, then?” he asked, color flooding his face in embarrassment. He stood up hastily, brushing the grass and soil from his knees. “What do we do now?”

Brinton cast his smile on Gilbey. “First, we pray that our friends won’t catch up to Mr. Newcroft too soon. They haven’t a guide, so let us hope that they are not too familiar with the route. Picking their way should slow them considerably.”

“Second, I suggest we eat! These acrobatic stunts have sharpened my appetite.” The twins nodded in agreement. “After that, we will hire mounts and see if we can make it to Scotland by nightfall. Are you up to it?”

Gilbey grinned and nodded some more, his blond hair falling forward over his eyes. As he brushed it back, Brinton thumped him enthusiastically on the back.

“Well done, old man,” the earl said approvingly. He turned to Gillian and did not see Gilbey wince.

“You, Miss Kentwell, were also superb. I heartily commend you both for performance under pressure.”

Brinton and Gilbey climbed over the wall into the road and reached back to help Gillian. When they were all in the lane, they began walking up toward the bridge and the inn beyond it.

“However did you think so quickly of what to do?” Gillian asked Brinton.

“One learns to react quickly when habitually exposed to danger. That is one skill that can be acquired in His Majesty’s service.”

“How did you know it would work?” Gilbey questioned. They had stopped to let a farm cart cross the bridge ahead of them.

“I didn’t,” the earl said, surprising them. “It was the only tiling I could think of. A show of confidence is one of the greatest secrets of command, you will learn someday.”

***

An hour later, the trio sat on their hired horses at the top of a steep slope overlooking Morecambe Bay. They watched with interest the tiny figures of two horsemen who appeared to be struggling in pursuit of a slow-moving barouche. The carriage advanced steadily in the direction of the Kent Estuary and the dramatic hills north of the bay. In contrast the men, who were leading their mounts, gave every appearance of studying the sand and testing their footing after every few steps. They were quite far behind. Out in the bay, small channels of water had begun to be evident, showing silver among the vast sand flats.

“Do you think the tide is starting to turn?” Gillian asked, her concern audible in her voice.

“I would say so,” Brinton responded. “Are you worried about them?”

“They still have quite a distance to go.”

“They’ll be all right, Gillie,” Gilbey reassured her.

“I agree, Miss Kentwell. They have some time left. If they should need assistance in the last few minutes, they will be near enough to the shore then to obtain it.”

“I would love to see their faces when they finally discover they’ve been chasing after Mr. Newcroft,” Gilbey said and chuckled.

The earl turned his horse’s head back toward the road. “Fascinating though it may be to watch them, we have a much greater distance to travel ourselves, if you wish to reach the border by tonight. We should push on.”

The twins reined their horses around to follow him.

“I would gladly trade almost anything for a pair of breeches right now,” Gillian said, adjusting her skirt and looking enviously at the men. “You cannot even begin to imagine how appalling the prospect of so many more hours in this sidesaddle appears to me.”

Chapter Fifteen

Softened to silver by the overcast sky, the brightness of late morning shimmered over a pleasantly rolling landscape. Frisky new lambs cavorted in the fields, and stone walls marched over the hills like solid columns of well-disciplined soldiers. Along the main turnpike to Kendal, however, chickens scattered and farmers gathered their flocks to the side of the road as the twins and Brinton charged through.

None of the three fugitives had any doubt that the Bow Street agents would try to catch up to them. That shared assumption spurred them along the roads without needing to be openly addressed. They raced against unseen opponents—the relentless clock ticking away the daylight hours, and their equally relentless pursuers, somewhere behind them. How far behind they could not tell.

There were frustrating delays. Slow moving drays and every plodding ox cart in Lancashire seemed to be on the Kendal road this one day. Gillian often fell behind, handicapped by her clothing and saddle. Nonetheless, the trio managed to cover the remaining miles in reasonably good time.

“How much of an advantage do you think we have gained?” Gilbey asked as they awaited fresh steeds in the yard of the Highgate Inn.

“Perhaps an hour,” Brinton answered uncertainly. “Orcutt and his friend needed that long to finish crossing the sands from where we saw them. But once they discovered our ruse, they would have wasted no time setting off again. They’ll have to come around from Kent Bank to rejoin the main road here, but I do not know how long that will take them.”

The newest obstacle that faced the trio was the lack of another sidesaddle for Gillian. The Highgate had none available. The resulting quandary called for a quick consultation among the three travelers.

“I cannot say that I am sorry,” Gillian said. “A walking dress is not made like a riding habit. Can we not hire another barouche? I suppose a post-chaise would be far too slow.”

Brinton shook his head. “I am afraid that any carriage is out of the question. Our purse has a bottom, and we are getting ever closer to it. The fact is, we have quite a significant distance yet to cover today. If we were to travel by carriage the rest of the way, we most likely would have to forgo bed and board.”

“What else can we do? I cannot ride astride dressed as I am. I was barely managing on the sidesaddle.”

The earl studied Gillian thoughtfully, holding his hat in one hand and absently running the other through his hair. His scrutiny made the girl blush. “Perhaps you will get your wish for breeches, after all, my dear.” He turned his speculative gaze to the stable boys bustling about the busy innyard. “I suspect we might obtain a set of used clothing, not far from your size, for a great deal less than the extra cost of carriages from here clear to Scotland.”

“The change may help us to throw Orcutt off again,” Brinton added. “He must know that our luggage is well on its way to Carlisle, and he will be looking for you dressed as you were.”

It took the earl very little time indeed to find a young stable boy who cared more for some ready money than he did for his spare work clothes. Gilbey and Brinton waited while Gillian changed in an empty tack room.

“Brinton, I can’t believe you are having my sister don the clothes of some stable lad,” Gilbey protested quietly. “God knows when they might last have been laundered, or what vermin might infest them!”

Brinton grinned. “If that is your only objection, I think you should put your mind at ease, Cranford. This is a respectable establishment, and I doubt they would allow filthy habits among their employees, any more than you would among your own servants.”

Gilbey reddened. “That does not put my mind at ease,” he blustered, “for I am sure you know that is not my only objection. However, I suppose we have no alternative.”

Gillian emerged, dressed in a serviceable pair of breeches, a shirt of coarse linen and a striped jean waistcoat, stockings, cap, and a wool coat patched at the elbows. Her cloak, dress, and petticoat were draped over her arm. She smiled mischievously and affected the swaggering walk of a young groom. “And what, my lord, did you wish to have done with the young lady’s things?” she asked in an equally affected accent.

Brinton smiled, but did not laugh. “Why, we’ll bundle them up in that cloak and secure them to your saddle, lad,” he said with an attempt at a serious expression.

Gilbey laughed in spite of his expressed disapproval. “Really, Gillie, you look like the oddest creature that ever came down the ’pike. Could it be the half boots that spoil the effect? But you do sound just like our Jamie.”

They continued heading north from Kendal through pleasant, fertile land, and gradually ascended out of the valley. As the road continued to rise, the fields gave way to low, stunted trees and a landscape of bracken and heather. By the time they began the long, steep climb up Shap Fell, the barren hills wore only wild heath and peat moss. Spring had been left behind entirely. A cold, raw wind was plucking at their sleeves, and the sky had become leaden. The moisture in the air felt like a wet hand touching their faces.

The twins and Brinton walked to ease the horses. By the time they reached the summit, Gillian’s muscles were aching from the exertion, and she noticed Brinton was coughing. They stopped just long enough for the earl to catch his breath. She thought it a blessing to remount her horse as they began the slow descent on the north side of the fell.

The venerable Greyhound Hotel in the village of Shap offered a welcome respite as well as a change of horses. However, Brinton removed his cloak and put it around Gillian before they entered the inn.

“I don’t need it,” she started to protest, but Brinton hushed her.

“It is not for warmth, love,” he said, “It is to cover you. If they get a good look at you, you will find yourself in the kitchen, or worse, in the stables.”

He appeared not at all uncomfortable with their situation. He obtained a table for them in an out-of-the-way corner and commanded tea and biscuits. While they waited for it, he made conversation.

“Did you ever read any of Defoe’s accounts of his travels about the country? He came through this part of the fells, from Kendal to Penrith and went on to Carlisle, just as we are. If I recall, he described these mountains as ‘full of inhospitable terror,’ ninety years ago. Perhaps he didn’t stop here.”

Gillian looked around her with renewed interest. “I never knew Defoe was a traveler. I wonder if . . .” She did not finish.

“What?” asked her brother.

“I was thinking that Father’s library at home was so extensive, perhaps he had a copy. But it really doesn’t matter, does it?” she finished sadly.

“You are not having second thoughts about what we have done, are you, Gillie?”

She shook her head slowly, looking down at her hands. She had twisted her fingers together into a knot in her lap.

“A touch of homesickness, perhaps?” asked Brinton. His voice was soft with concern.

She nodded. She had suddenly begun to feel so tired and blue-deviled. She knew she would never see her home again, but that pain was now familiar. Something more was troubling her. Brinton’s gentleness made her heart knot like her fingers, and she realized it had to do with leaving him. At the end of this day, if all went well, they would reach the Scottish border. She could not turn back, did not want to turn back, yet every mile now brought her nearer to the time when they would part. How would she feel once he was gone?

“I would gladly loan you my copy,” the earl was saying, and then he paused awkwardly. “That is, I could send it to you . . .” His sentence trailed off, much as her first remark had done.

She summoned a weak smile. “That would be very kind of you. I may have a great deal of time for reading!” Were they all feeling uncomfortable about the parting to come? No one smiled at the comment she had meant to be lighthearted. When the tea arrived, they drank greedily and in silence.

There was little conversation as the trio, refreshed and mounted on fresh horses, progressed towards Penrith. Gillian was grateful, for her horse was skittish and her mind was busy with private thoughts. She remembered the antagonism she had felt for Brinton when she had first met him, and the suspicions she had harbored. When had the last lingering trace of those feelings disappeared? For try as she might, she found she could no longer summon any such negative emotions.

She knew that her life and his had only intersected for this brief time. Yet she kept remembering the moments they had shared in the forest while her brother slept. What had possessed them to share such intimate passions? Would such a thing have happened with anyone else? She could not say, but the idea seemed absurd.

She glanced up ahead, admiring the way he sat on his horse, tall and graceful. How broad his shoulders were! Those shoulders had gradually taken on the burden of all her problems. For every obstacle that had confronted them, he had found a solution. His resourcefulness, his controlled, thinking approach, the commanding quality that she had disliked in him at first—these were aspects of him that she realized now she had not only come to value, but to depend upon. She thought guiltily that she had actually come to depend upon Brinton far more than she did her brother.

Gillian’s thoughts were pulled back by her horse, who slowed down whenever her attention wandered from guiding him. The hedgerows were growing lusher as the road led downward, and he seemed to take an extraordinary interest in the delicacies to be found there. But she knew she could not fault the animal. She was distracted and fatigued. The muscles in her thighs were becoming increasingly shaky and refused to maintain the firm command she knew the horse was trained to expect. She settled herself and tried to focus on getting to Penrith. However, the road ahead seemed to unwind in endless miles of repetition. She tried to fathom what Brinton might be feeling. Yesterday, when she had resolved to be cold to him, he had behaved with polite restraint. This morning she had forgotten her resolution in her relief at escaping from Orcutt, and Brinton had kissed her—briefly, it was true, but tenderly.

As she thought over the past few days, she realized that while he seemed to delight in teasing her, using her Christian name and generally behaving in a most improper way, he had never done so in front of her brother.
Until today
, she thought with a small smile. Today he had called her “my dear” in Gilbey’s hearing, and at Shap he had called her “love.” Did that signify anything?

She shook her head. How could anyone understand such a contrary person? The twisted knot in her heart seemed to be pushing tears up into her throat. The fact was, she had come to care greatly for him. In the days and weeks and months ahead, she would feel a great hole in her life. She would miss his perverse teasing and the wicked smile he seemed to keep just for her. It was not going to be easy to be swept off her feet by some brawny Scotsman, with Brinton haunting her heart.

The three weary travelers crossed the River Eamont, and a mile farther came finally into “Red Penrith.” As they progressed through the narrow streets, they could see by the fine buildings of red sandstone how the town had come by its nickname.

“Better from that than from all the blood that must have spilled here,” Gilbey commented with a grim smile.

Gillian shivered, for his reference to centuries of warfare with the Scots seemed only too real to her here. Growing up in Devonshire, she had been removed from considering anything about it. She was shocked to realize the last bloody troubles with Scotland had occurred within the space of her grandparents’ lives. What a profound effect this must have had upon their thinking! Perhaps it was not so difficult after all to understand why both of her parents’ families had refused to accept their marriage.

Did people in Scotland still hate the English? Would her aunt turn her away? Even if she did find a welcome there, would she be able to be happy? She felt the blood rush into her face as she recalled her foolish prattling to Brinton about Scotland as they had walked in Bath. What a child he must think her!

She looked up beyond the buildings toward the high, wooded slopes of Penrith’s Beacon Hill, standing sentinel to the northeast as it had for centuries. Its solid presence seemed to symbolize the hard wall of reality she had just come up against. It felt like a warning of things to come.

***

The cloud-capped ranks of the Furness Fells and the Cumbrian Mountains stretched spectacularly to the west and stayed in sight for many miles as Gillian and her companions continued on the road toward Carlisle. They could not sustain the bruising pace they had set at the beginning of the day’s journey, so they did not linger when they changed horses in the village of High Hesket. But all three stopped abruptly when they caught their first glimpse of the Solway Firth and the distant, mist-shrouded hills of Scotland. The late afternoon sun had managed to cast a few slanted rays beneath the clouds that had filled the sky all day, tinting the scene with soft, golden light.

“Look at that!” breathed Gilbey in awe. “Doesn’t it prickle the back of your neck to finally be within sight of it?”

“We are still a good twenty miles from our destination,” Brinton said dampeningly, “but I agree, there is still something exciting about seeing it.”

Gillian stared and said nothing.

“Our Gillian is overcome, I think,” the earl added, smiling at her. “Did Caesar feel like this on the brink of victory?”

Gillian gave him a rather tenuous smile in response and then urged her horse back onto the road. Her lack of reaction bothered Brinton, especially after the odd attitude of brittle brightness she had adopted since Penrith. He let her move ahead so he could exchange a word with her brother.

“Do you think we are pushing her too hard?” he asked. “I thought she would be more excited.”

“As did I,” Gilbey agreed. “I am certain she is exhausted, but she does not want us to know it. I doubt either of us can deter her from continuing; she seldom sways from a course once she is set upon it.”

“I have noticed that.”

“Sometimes,” Gilbey added slowly, “she has to preserve an illusion in order to keep going. I have seen her carry through that way many times, just when you would think she could not do more. It might be best if we pretend not to notice.”