Marigold's Marriages (25 page)

Perry glanced slyly at him. “It beats a moldy old giant tortoise!”

“If you ever mention that at school, I’ll never speak to you again,” Bysshe threatened, wishing he’d never confessed.

“I won’t tell.”

“You’d better not.” Bysshe took a bottle of lucifers from his pocket, extracted one, then held it up until it ignited. “Right, get ready to run.” He touched the lucifer to the trail of powder, and as a flame began to race along the ground, the boys took to their heels around the tower to the back of the house.

There they crouched beneath the balcony staircase, and put their fingers in their ears. Their hearts pounded, and the moments seemed to hang, then suddenly there was an explosion that shattered the night. Flames leapt into the darkness, and there was uproar. Grooms, coachmen, and stable boys poured from their cramped quarters behind the coachhouse, and doors were flung open on the balcony.

Men shouted, especially Falk, and footsteps rang down the steps. Then Alauda’s screams were added to the confusion. Her light steps hastened overhead, and the boys caught the fragrance of her perfume as she hurried down the steps to see what could have befallen her precious carriage. She was in her nightgown, and her glossy dark hair was in curling papers that bounced up and down as she disappeared around the corner.

As soon as she’d gone, Perry and Bysshe hurried up to the balcony, around the end of the house furthest from the mayhem. The fire had now spread to the carriages on either side of Alauda’s, and there was chaos as men tried to pull the remaining vehicles to safety. Bysshe had been so lavish with his gunpowder some of the flames were higher than the house, and the hillside behind, beneath the earthworks, was illuminated by the leaping orange light. No one glanced up and saw the two white-clad figures creeping into Falk’s room.

Rowan and Marigold had just arrived at the jetty and found the deserted skiff, when the explosion rent the night. Their horses shied, and Rowan reached across to steady Marigold’s, then glanced up at the house. “Damn Bysshe and his gunpowder,” he breathed.

“Is that what they’ve done? Oh, what if they’re caught?”

Rowan suddenly saw the boys edging along the balcony. “There they are! They’re audacious, I’ll say that for them.”

Marigold’s heart sank. “They’re not audacious, just very foolish and reckless! Oh, Rowan, they can’t possibly hope to get away with this!”

They watched the boys enter Falk’s room, and as the curtains were drawn, Rowan looked at Marigold. “You stay here, I’ll go see if I can get them out before anyone realizes they’re there.”

“I’m staying with you,” she replied firmly.

“Marigold, I would feel far happier in my mind if I knew that you at least were safe.”

“Please, Rowan.”

“Oh, my lady, in you I’ve acquired a very difficult woman.”

“You and Perry mean everything to me, so you can’t expect me to remain here kicking my heels! It’s not fair.”

He caught her hand, and smoothed her palm briefly with his thumb. “Very well, but we’ll have to be careful. There are two ways to the steps at the back of the house, one is between the tower and the stables, the other is from the orchard. The first is clearly out of the question, so it has to be the orchard, which means getting in through the door in the wall. I only hope Falk neglected to push the bolt back across after speaking to you the other day. Come on, if we stay in the trees, we’ll be able to ride most of the way.”

He urged his horse into the narrow curtain of woodland that edged the lawns. Marigold followed, and they had just reached the door in the orchard wall when the moon came out, adding its silver light to the leaping glow of the fire.

They dismounted, tethered the horses to the ivy on the wall, then tested the door. To their relief, it opened, albeit with a rusty groan that seemed inordinately loud in spite of the uproar by the fire. Once in the orchard, Rowan led the way toward the steps, but then froze beneath one of the apple trees as Alauda, being comforted by her maid, Lucy, suddenly appeared around the end of the house. Lucy was trying to soothe her mistress’s sobs. “There, there, now, my lady. You come back to your bed, and I’ll bring you a warm drink to calm your poor nerves.”

“My carriage, my beautiful carriage.” Alauda wept.

“I know, my lady, I know,” the maid said sympathetically.

On the balcony, maid and mistress would have gone around the hunting tower end of the house, but a thick cloud of choking smoke billowed over everything, so instead they went the same way around the house as the boys. Rowan cursed under his breath, and then looked at Marigold.

“If they were going to go the other way, it must mean Alauda’s room is at that end of the house. Now they’re bound to go past Falk’s room,” Rowan said.

“What can we do now?”

“Keep our fingers crossed they don’t notice anything amiss. Listen, Marigold, I’m still going to get those young idiots out, but now Alauda is uncomfortably close, I want you to stay here. Is that clear?”

“I—I suppose so.”

“I mean it, my darling. If I’m caught on my own, I may be able to bluff Alauda that I’ve changed my mind about her, but if you’re there too ...”

“I’ll stay.”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, then he ducked low beneath the apple boughs and ran toward the steps. She watched him slip along the balcony, then vanish from view. From that moment on, time seemed to stand still. She could hear the commotion at the fire, and the men shouting; she could even hear the frightened horses at the far end of the paddock, but of Rowan, Perry, and Bysshe, she heard and saw nothing. At last she could bear it no more, and hurried to the steps.

Perry and Bysshe were ransacking Falk’s room, but so far had found no sign at all of the precious anguinum. Bysshe was just beginning to search beneath the bed when Perry heard a sound outside. He kicked his friend’s foot warningly. “Quiet, someone’s coming!” he hissed.

Bysshe’s head jerked up immediately, and he caught his long hair in the bedsprings because his cowl had fallen back. He was still struggling to free himself when a horrified Perry realized that behind the drawn curtains, the French windows were opening. He pressed fearfully back against the bedpost. Who was it? Please don’t let it be Uncle Falk! To his unutterable joy it was Rowan who stepped into the room.

“Lord Avenbury!” he gasped. Bysshe exhaled relievedly, and tried again to scramble from under the bed, but gave a yell of pain as he tugged his hair.

Rowan put a warning finger to his lips. “For heaven’s sake keep quiet! I’ve come to get you young fools out.”

“But we haven’t found the anguinum yet!” protested Perry.

“Forget the damned anguinum. Your aunt Alauda has returned to her room with her maid. Come on, we have to get out while we can!”

Perry hastened to obey, but poor Bysshe couldn’t move. “I’m trapped!” he cried, squirming as he tried to tug himself away.

Rowan glanced back at the door, which he’d left ajar. All he could hear was the disturbance by the burning carriages. He looked urgently at Perry. “Get him out! And be quick!”

“Yes, sir.” Perry wriggled under the bed to see if he could disentangle Bysshe.

As this was going on, Marigold had ascended the staircase to the balcony. She was about to follow everyone else, when something made her go around the hunting tower end of the house. She would wonder ever after whether it had been a premonition or just an incredibly fortunate whim, for it was the saving of them all. At the time, however, it seemed an unnecessarily risky thing to do, for not only did it take her into the choking smoke, but also within sight of those who were trying to extinguish the fire. Anyone might have glanced up and seen her stealing past the rooms by the tower. But no one did, and as she reached the front corner of the balcony, she peeped around just as Alauda’s maid emerged from a door two doors along from Falk’s.

Another cloud of smoke billowed over the house, obscuring everything for a moment, and when it cleared, she saw Lucy walking away from her past Falk’s door, which Rowan had unfortunately left slightly ajar. The maid heard something inside, and after listening carefully for a moment, tiptoed swiftly back to Alauda’s room.

Within seconds, she emerged again, accompanied by Alauda, who had a small pistol in her hand. Alauda dispatched Lucy to bring assistance from the men at the fire. It would have been simpler to shout for help, but that would have alerted the intruders, and given them a chance to escape. For a moment Marigold feared the maid would come her way, but thankfully the smoke wafted again, and Lucy chose the opposite direction.

Marigold’s mind was numb as she watched Alauda advance upon the door, the pistol cocked and ready, for this scrape seemed to be one from which there was no way out at all. Marigold willed herself to think of something, and then she glanced at the first bedroom door, and an idea began to form.

In the room, Perry had at last managed to free Bysshe, and both boys scrambled from under the bed. They pulled their cowls over their heads again, and moved toward the door, where Rowan was waiting impatiently. But then the cold barrel of Alauda’s pistol pressed to his temple. “Who are you? What are you doing?” she demanded, not recognizing him in the darkness.

Before he could reply, there was a sudden cry and a scuffle behind him, then the pistol clattered to the floor. He whirled about and saw that Marigold had pulled a pillowcase over Alauda’s head, and pinned her arms to her sides. Alauda struggled like a wildcat and screamed at the top of her lungs as she was bundled into the room, where she was forced onto the floor with her back to them all. Her noise was only silenced when Perry took great delight in forcing his handkerchief into her mouth. Then she was securely tied with a silk rope from one of Falk’s bedposts. Rowan would then have just left her on the floor, but the boys looked at each other, nodded, and heaved her under the bed like a rolled up carpet. All that could be seen of the Countess of Fernborough were her furiously kicking feet.

Marigold was anxious. “She’s sent Lucy for help, so please hurry,” she whispered, not wanting Alauda to realize who she was. She went to see what was happening by the fire, and then hurried back to Rowan. “Quick!” she whispered, “Falk’s being told right now!”

Rowan retrieved the pistol, then they all ran along the balcony. There was a change in the shouts as Falk and his friends left the fire to attend to the intruders, and it was clear to Rowan that the opposition would reach the steps first. He thought as he ran, then halted around the end of the house to look over the rail.

“There’s a supporting column here, with a pretty substantial wisteria climbing up it. We’ll have to climb down it, then make for those bushes just over there. Come on, there’s no time to argue.” He almost bundled Bysshe over, then Perry. The boys scrambled down like monkeys, and dove for the bushes. Rowan turned to Marigold. “Now you, my love.”

“But—”

“Do it!” He lifted her bodily over the edge, and she had no option but to grab the column and clamber down as best she could. She heard Rowan following, then she was on the veranda below. He jumped down next to her, and they both ran for the bushes, hurling themselves out of sight just as Falk and the other men thundered along the balcony.

Rowan looked urgently at the two boys. “Do you think you can get the skiff back to Avenbury?”

“Yes, sir,” Perry answered immediately.

“Take your mother, and moon or not, keep to the reeds until you’re around the foot of the escarpment and well and truly away from here, is that clear?”

Perry nodded, but Marigold protested. “Rowan, I would rather stay with you!”

“Not this time, my love, it’s far too hazardous. I know that you saved us just now, which you wouldn’t have been able to if you’d followed my instructions, but this time I’m charging Perry to do as I instruct. Is that clear, Perry?”

“Yes, sir.”

Rowan looked at Marigold again. “So far no one knows who we are. I want it to stay that way, so I have to get the horses because their monogrammed saddles will announce our identities to one and all. Now, please go with the boys.”

She wanted to defy him, but knew that this time it would be wrong. Instead she leaned across to kiss him on the lips, then she followed the boys as they crawled out of the far side of the bushes. They ran toward the curtain of trees, and there paused to look back again. Alauda had been freed, and her hysterical fury rang out above the continuing roar of the fire.

Then something very frightening happened. With a croaking call, the huge black crow suddenly glided from the balcony, its head turning this way and that as it searched for whoever had dared to break into the house. It flew unevenly, as if its left wing was still damaged, and Marigold knew it was the lawyer. It cast a dark shadow as it glided over the lawns toward the woods, and the trio of fugitives pressed as tightly as they could to tree trunks, being careful not to move until the bird was satisfied there was no one there. Marigold gazed up at it in dismay. What if it saw the horses?

But the rook didn’t fly that way. Instead it glided across the lawns toward the other curtain of trees, calling out all the while as if communicating with Falk and the others, who were watching from the balcony. Suddenly the calls broke off on a choked sound, and to Marigold’s surprise it began to dive this way and that as if trying to avoid something. The three in the woods strained their eyes to see what was happening, and it was Bysshe who realized. “It’s the robin and wren!” he gasped.

Sure enough, Robin and Jenny were harrying the much bigger bird. They allowed it no quarter, swooping again and again, pecking savagely each time they had the chance. Because of its damaged wing, the crow was soon exhausted, and fell to the grass right in front of the house. There it grew in size, changed shape, and became Mr. Crowe once more. He brushed himself down, cradled his damaged arm, and then limped back toward the house.

Their mission accomplished, Robin and Jenny had flown hastily away. Marigold soon saw why they were in such haste, for a loud, grating cry—chaek!—came from the balcony as another bird took to the air. It was a small but ferocious hook-billed shrike. Lord Toby!