Wicked and Wonderful (29 page)

“Ye think some mischief is afoot?” Mr. Ash asked.

Kelthorne nodded.

“Charles it be then. This way.”

By now, the entire camp moved in their wake and then gasped suddenly, almost as one, for Charles suddenly appeared before them, emerging from his tent fully dressed and bearing a satchel in his hands. “I feel better now and I am leaving,” he said in his powerful voice.

Kelthorne understood the trick and was not in the least humbugged. “Where is Judith?”

“I don’t know wat ye mean,” he said.

“He’s lying.” Henry called out.

Nothing more needed to be said. Henry, Horace and Freddy threw themselves upon Charles and pinned him to the ground.

Kelthorne moved to stand over him. “What the devil have you done?”

“I don’t know wat ye mean,” he said, but he could not meet Kelthorne’s gaze.

“Gentlemen,” Kelthorne said, glancing at the three men holding Charles in check, “would you be so good as to lift Mr. Hemyock to his feet that I might
encourage
him to speak.”

“Aye? With pleasure,” Henry said.

“Aye.”

In one swift movement, they had Charles on his feet.

Kelthorne stepped close to him. “It would seem you have a choice. You may tell us all now just what mischief you have accomplished or I can plant you the first of what I promise will be as many facers as needed to get the truth from you.”

Charles recoiled. “Not my face,” he said. “Anything but my face.”

Kelthorne could have laughed for his vanity, save that the situation was so desperate. “Then you will have to speak quickly, for I think I shall begin with your nose, which I believe more than one lady has said is possibly your best feature. What do you say? Shall I break your nose or perhaps even better, smash it into a thousand little pieces?”

“No,” Charles shrieked, his voice elevating.

“Mama,” little Shelley said, rubbing her eyes. “Why does Charlie sound like a little girl?”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Ash said. ‘There, there, m’darlin’. Come back to bed. Charlie is practicing a new play is all. Come now.”

“I thought ‘twere Betty squealing.”

The laughter that rolled through the troupe did little to allay the trembling that had taken hold of Charles. Kelthorne pressed his point home not by speaking but by setting his fist level with Charles’s nose and then drawing his arm back.

“I’ll tell ye wat ye want to know,” Charles cried.

“By God, Betty,” Mrs. Marnhull said. “He does sound like ye.”

The story that spilled quickly from the absurd Mr. Hemyock was as appalling as it was frightening. He had made an arrangement with the Marquess of Stolford: Patronage for assistance in abducting Judith, a deed that had been accomplished around eleven the night before. Stolford, it would seem, had several men in his employ, which he used for just such nefarious deeds as the one that had taken place while the camp was asleep.

“You sold Judith to Stolford for his patronage?” Kelthorne asked, horrified.

“He means to establish me in Drury Lane. I shall be the next Keane.”

Kelthorne laughed and shook his head. “I should like to see him attempt to do anything of the sort. Not that you are without talent, Mr. Hemyock, but the point in fact is that, if memory serves, Stolford violated one of the daughters of the owner, or was it two of them, and risks life and limb should he come near the premises. Yes, I should like to see him try to establish you or anyone at Drury Lane.”

“Two of his daughters?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“I fear it is so. Might I suggest that the next time you desire to garner the support of a nobleman, you choose a man who has even the smallest intention of honoring his word.”

The expression on Charles’s face brought Kelthorne a new level of fear. He wasn’t responding as one who was caught in a misdeed. Something else was wrong.

“If this be true—” Charles began, lifting his gaze, but waiting.

“‘Tis true, horribly and wretchedly.”

“Then I must speak for I have been humbugged.”

“There is more, isn’t there?” Kelthorne asked.

“If caught, I were supposed to tell ye that he is gone to Bristol where he has a yacht.”

“But he hasn’t gone to Bristol.”

Charles shook his head. He muttered, “I didn’t mean any real harm. She were just so uppity.”

Kelthorne grabbed him by the shoulders. “Tell me right now where he has taken Judith. Now!”

“He would not tell me but I made it my business to know. I followed the man wat carried Judy. He walked over a mile with her in his arms, he were that strong, and not puffing mind, carried her like a babe. I kept to the shrubs and saw him put her in Stolford’s coach then take up the reins.”

“How did you know it was Stolford’s coach?”

“The coat of arms painted on the side.”

“The arrogance,” Kelthorne muttered. “Which direction?”

“He drove south.”

“Exeter?” Kelthorne asked.

“I think it likely.”

“He’s lying again.” Bobby called out.

“No, he is not.” Kelthorne stated firmly.

“How can ye be so certain?” Horace asked. “He is a man of great ability on the stage and is this not a stage?”

“That is a very wise thing for you to say, Horace, indeed, it is. But Charles is speaking the truth to me because he knows that if he is not and my precious Judith comes to even a mite of harm, even the smallest scratch, I shall spend the rest of my days searching out his hiding place. Then I shall require a pound of flesh and then another until he is properly ready for the grave.”

Charles once more began to tremble. Tears even flooded his eyes. “I swear ‘tis the truth and if ye mean to follow, I shall come with ye to make certain ye find Judy.”

“You shall, indeed,” Kelthorne said. But as he guided Charles to the family coach, he was feeling far from content.

Perhaps he knew which direction to go but the thought that Judith had been in Stolford’s power for such a long time filled him with the worst dread.

“My lord,” John called to him. “Will ye not wait that we might accompany ye? She is a sister to us.”

“I cannot, but make haste, Mr. Ash. Take my sisters to the castle. Mary, have my head groom arrange all the necessary transport for Mr. Ash and any others that wish to accompany him. Mr. Ash, see that riders are sent ahead to search out the path I take. I will leave word at each hamlet of the proper direction to travel in order to speed your progress. Just check at each inn or tavern. Do not worry. I will find her.”

With that, he helped his sisters from the coach then hastened the coachman on. A horse would have been faster, but he needed the conveyance to bring Judith home.

Yes, to bring Judith home.

Chapter Fourteen

Kelthorne was agreeably surprised in at least one thing— he had not the smallest difficulty in discovering the precise direction Stolford had taken his prey. So confident was the marquess in his abilities that he had used the Stolford coach by which to abduct Judith, a vehicle that was quite overgrown and sported, as Charles had said, his coat of arms emblazoned on both sides.

Such a coach was highly recognizable and at nearly every village or town through which they passed, someone had been about, even during the middle of the night, who admitted to having seen the vehicle. He offered a shilling to any stable boy who would await the succession of vehicles to follow. He had no difficulty in acquiring the help he needed.

Arriving at the town of Langport in nearly the center of Somerset, he opened the door and called from his coach to the landlord. That good gentleman stood near the door of his taproom looking out on the street. He wore an apron and seemed to be polishing a tankard.

Kelthorne called out, “I wish to know if the Marquess of Stolford’s coach passed this way last night.”

“Nay,” the landlord returned, but he was smiling.

Kelthorne thought there was something odd about his expression. “Are you certain you did not see the coach? For I have been given to understand he was traveling in this direction and I was hopeful of finding him very soon.”

“Oh, I saw the coach, but it did not pass.”

Kelthorne frowned, but he leaned forward slightly. “Why do you speak to me in riddles? If you saw the coach how did it not pass?”

The landlord looked past Kelthorne into the street where a collection of rattling, jangling coaches and wagons began drawing near and stopping. “What be all this?” he asked.

Kelthorne glanced back. His scheme had worked and it looked like everyone had traveled with due haste. “These are friends of mine. Now, answer me, sir,” he said sharply. “How did the coach not pass but yet you saw it?”

The landlord returned his attention fully to Kelthorne. He jerked his in the direction of the back of the inn. “Because ‘tis in the courtyard with his lordship’s horses.”

Kelthorne took each word as though he was being struck a series of light blows to his face. Stolford was here, in this inn…with Judith. “And the inmates have rested here?” he shouted, leaving his coach and running toward him.

“Aye, they be here.”

“And…and there is a lady present?” He swallowed hard.

“Aye, in the bedchamber, with the marquess. She would not leave his side.”

Kelthorne felt the blood first rush from his face and then reenter with such force of feeling that the landlord’s eyes grew very wide and he took a prudent step backward and then another. “Which... chamber?” Kelthorne asked, his jaw tight. His voice had sunk an octave.

The color had now left the landlord’s face. He lifted his arm gesturing toward the staircase. “First floor, third door on left, facing the street.”

“Thank you.”

Kelthorne heard rather than saw the crowd flow into the taproom behind him as he bounded up the stairs two by two, then counted the doors as he ran by. Third on the left, the door was ajar and voices could be heard within, one of them Judith’s of that he was certain. He pushed the door wide ready to do battle with the infamous rogue.

He lifted his fists. He called out, “I will protect you, my darling.” But he paused in mid-stride since there was a very odd scene before him. “What the deuce?”

“Kelthorne,” Judith said. “You have come. How very sweet of you.”

She was holding a bowl of very red water in which numerous bloody rags were lumped together. Two servants were at either end of the bed restraining Stolford who lay with his eyes closed and in obvious discomfort, his complexion deathly pale. A man, clearly a surgeon by occupation, sat in a chair by the bed, his spectacles sitting at the end of his nose as he concentrated on the task before him.

“What happened?” Kelthorne asked, moving to stand beside Judith. The sight was gruesome to say the least. He wondered how she bore it.

The crowd that had entered the taproom shortly on his heels, had also pounded up the stairs, and now began to push its way into the bedchamber.

“John,” Judith said. “Lady Radsbury, Mrs. Newnott, Betty. I do not understand. Have you all come?”

“Of course,” Amy said. She drew up beside Kelthorne and slipped her arm through his, but looked down at the patient. “Oh, dear. What are you doing, doctor?”

“I am setting a very deep row of stitches in this man’s arm and after I am done, I intend to close this hideous wound with another set. However, I first mean to do this.” He poured brandy in the wound and the Marquess of Stolford moaned pitifully. He was obviously dosed quite heavily with laudanum but there was some pain that the opiate simply did not obliterate. Every stitch, for instance, brought his body convulsing and if one stable boy had not been holding him firmly by the shoulders and arms, and another by the legs, the doctor could have done nothing for him.

“I am feeling rather ill,” Amy said. “Forgive me, Aubrey, but I believe I shall retire. Mary, give me your arm.”

The sisters left and John was not long in encouraging the troupe members to follow in their wake. He was about to leave as well, but he turned back to Judith and said, “Well done, Judy.”

“Thank you, John. You realize you probably saved my life this evening with your help and instructions.”

He nodded beaming with no small degree of pride. Nudging Kelthorne once, he quit the chamber. Kelthorne stood for some time assessing the situation before him. He met Judith’s gaze and smiled if but a little. “I am so relieved to find you well. You have no idea.”

“But how did you come to be here?” she asked.

“In part, because of my sisters, Miss
Pensbury.
”

At the use of her surname, her color faded and she weaved slightly on her feet. “Who told you?” she asked. “And how did anyone know or learn of it?”

“Stolford made mention of it to Mr. Hemyock and Amy chanced to overhear it. I had made my way almost to Wiltshire earlier—well, it would be yesterday now—then stayed my journey. I had meant to go to London and forget my sadness—” Another forceful moan disrupted his explanation but only for a moment. “I could not go to London, Judith. I cannot resume that life, that barren place of chasing after such transient pleasures that have no meaning and never any real love. But I realized I cannot live without you my darling.” From the corner of his eye, he could see that the good doctor had ceased his clever sewing and was smiling broadly.

The surgeon said, “Pray do not let either myself or my helpers stop you for if I do not much mistake the matter, the lady needs to hear what you have to say.”

“As well I know it,” Kelthorne responded. To Judith he continued, “I was a fool to allow you and my sisters to persuade me against marrying you.”

Judith had tears in her eyes. “But, Kelthorne, nothing is changed...”

“Nothing is changed?” he said, laughing. But seeing that she was overset, he took the bowl of noxious water and held it in her stead. “I find you here at an inn, in a situation I can only describe as peculiar in the extreme, I address you by what is believed to be your rightful name and you have just now confirmed the very important truth that you are the daughter of Sir Christopher Pensbury.”

“Is that the right of it?” the doctor said, craning his head around to stare at Judith. “The missing Pensbury daughter?”

Judith nodded. “Aye,” she stated simply.