Turning his head in the direction of the spinney, Christopher observed a brief flash as the sun glinted off an object half-hidden in the undergrowth. He sensed danger at once and responded. Drawing his sword, he charged towards Sir Julius and yelled at the top of his voice.
'Get down!' he shouted. 'Get down on the ground!'
The warning was a fraction too late. As Sir Julius spun round to look at him, a musket was fired from the spinney and the old man was hit. Before Christopher could reach him, he let out a cry of pain and stumbled backwards, losing his balance and falling into the stream with a loud splash. Spat from his mouth, the clay pipe was carried along by the rippling water, a thin wisp of smoke still rising from it until the bowl tipped over and the tobacco was swallowed up in one liquid gulp.
Chapter Seven
Christopher Redmayne was momentarily stopped in his tracks, not knowing whether to go to the aid of the victim or to pursue the man who had shot him. He soon made his decision. Sir Julius was flailing about in the water, clearly in difficulty but very much alive. Sheathing his sword, Christopher ran down to the stream and plunged straight in, wading swiftly across to him.
'I'm coming, Sir Julius,' he called.
'Get me out of here!' spluttered the other.
'Are you hurt?'
'I can't swim.'
When Christopher reached him, he took him hold of his shoulders but Sir Julius let out a grunt of pain and put a protective hand to his left arm. Seeing where the wound was, Christopher instead grasped him around the waist and pulled him towards the bank. Others came running to help. Having heard the shot, the coachman and the footman darted through the trees and made for the stream. Christopher was glad of their assistance. Between them, they hauled Sir Julius on to the bank and laid him gently on the grass.
The musket ball had grazed his upper arm, tearing his sleeve and the shirt beneath it, and producing a spurt of blood. Stung by the shot, Sir Julius was more alarmed by the fact that he had gone under the water for a few seconds. He was sodden from head to foot and he twitched on the ground like a giant fish caught in a net. Christopher insisted on easing off the coat so that he could examine the wound. When he saw that it was a deep gash, and that no bone had been shattered, he removed his own coat. He tore a long strip from his shirt, using it to bind the wound and stem the flow of blood.
'What happened?' asked Sir Julius, still dazed by it all.
'Someone fired at you,' said Christopher.
'Who was the devil?'
'That's what I hope to find out.'
Satisfied that Sir Julius was now safe, Christopher hared across the grass towards the spinney and vanished into the trees. His sword was back in his hand and he did not mind that he was dripping wet to the waist. He blamed himself for being caught off guard. Determined to make amends, he searched the spinney thoroughly, using his sword to push back shrubs and bushes. But the attacker had fled. As he came out of the trees on the other side, Christopher found a set of hoof prints gouged in the earth, suggesting a speedy departure. The man could be half a mile away by now.
Filled with remorse, he trudged back towards the others, fearing how Susan Cheever would react when she learned what had happened to her father. Christopher had not forewarned her of the danger that Sir Julius faced and that was certain to horrify her. There would be fierce recriminations. It was only by luck that Sir Julius had not been killed. In responding to Christopher’s yell, he had turned almost simultaneously as the shot was fired. That sudden movement had saved his life but it was no use pointing that out to his younger daughter. She would want to know why Christopher had not confided in her beforehand so that she could have insisted her father take more care on the journey.
Sir Julius was sitting up as Christopher approached.
Any sign of the villain?'
'None,' replied Christopher. 'He got clean away.'
'A pox on him! Look at me,' said Sir Julius, indignantly. 'I was almost drowned, my arm is on fire, my coat has been ruined, and my pipe has floated off downstream.'
'It could have been worse, Sir Julius. Someone tried to kill you. It's only by the grace of God that you are not making the rest of the journey beside Mr Everett.'
'Do you think I don't know that? Get me up.'
Are you sure that you can stand?'
'Of course, man. It's only a flesh wound. I've had far worse.'
Taking care not to touch the injured arm, Christopher lifted him to his feet with the help of the coachman. Water was still dripping copiously from Sir Julius. He let out a snort of disgust.
'Thank heaven I have some fresh apparel with me!'
'It might be better if you changed in private,' advised Christopher.
'I was not intending to strip naked in front of an audience.' 'What I meant is that Mrs Polegate and her children would be shocked if they learned what had happened. To spare them any further distress, it might be politic to say nothing.'
'I agree.' Sir Julius glanced at the other men. 'Not a word of this, do you understand?' Both gave a nod of assent. 'We'll give out that I fell in the river by accident and that Mr Redmayne rescued me. Now - fetch some blankets from the inn. Nobody should see us in this state.'
The coachman and the footman went off. Sheathing his sword, Christopher glanced towards the spinney Unbeknown to them, they had been followed. When they stopped at the inn, someone had worked his way around them then lurked in the trees ahead on the off-chance that his target would come into view. Christopher had one tiny consolation. Sir Julius would no longer be able to deny that he was in jeopardy. It was, however, certainly not the time to emphasize that point.
'How do you feel now, Sir Julius?' he inquired.
'Very wet.'
'What about your arm?'
'It hurts like blazes,' said Sir Julius, 'but that's the least of my worries. My main concern is for Hester Polegate and the boys.'
'Why?'
'I'm a marked man, Christopher. The rogue who failed to kill me will surely try again. As long as they travel with me, Hester and her sons are imperilled. I'm knowingly putting them at risk.'
'There's no need to feel guilty, Sir Julius.'
'How can I help it?'
'By remembering the man in the trees.'
'What do you mean?'
'His shot knocked you off your feet and into the stream,' said Christopher. 'From where he was standing, it must have looked as if he'd killed you. That's why he made such a rapid escape. You can forget about him altogether now. He's riding back to London to tell his paymaster that Sir Julius Cheever is dead.'
Because the man was a Member of Parliament, involved in the government of the nation, Jonathan Bale had assumed that he would have a distinguished address in London. This was not the case at all. When the House of Commons was sitting, and his presence was required in the capital, Lewis Bircroft, who hailed from Norfolk, lodged with friends in their modest house in Coleman Street. Bale had an immediate affinity with the district. In earlier days, the place had been a well-known stronghold of Puritanism.
He was admitted to the house by its owner and asked to wait in the little parlour while Bircroft was summoned. It was some time before the man actually appeared because he had some difficulty descending the staircase. Expecting someone with an air of authority about him, Bale was surprised to meet a short, stooping, emaciated old man with tufts of grey hair sprouting above a prominent forehead like patches of grass on a cliff top. There was a hunted look in Bircroft s eyes and his face was lined with concern. Using a walking stick, he also held
