ostlers, he’d escort her into whichever inn they’d stopped at, order something light and quick for them both, sending ale and sandwiches out to the coachmen.
Breakfast and lunch were taken in that fashion.
Although the breaks were kept to a minimum, they were another example of Gervase’s protectiveness, an all- but-instinctive habit of ensuring the welfare of those in his care. Even if those people tried to argue, as, on the first occasion, Madeline had. She’d been overruled in a tone one degree away from dictatorial…she’d noted it, but, subsequently, when she’d realized the wisdom behind his actions, she’d inwardly shrugged and the next time complied without caviling. There was, it seemed, a time and place for authoritative men.
They rattled into Amesbury in midafternoon. The coachman’s mate blew on the yard of tin; when they swung under the arch of the Blue Gun & Pistols, the ostlers were already leading out fresh horses, others waiting ready to unbuckle the harness and lead their current four animals away.
Madeline got down, but remained in the yard watching the activity while Gervase circulated, questioning the head ostler, then, at his direction, climbing onto the inn’s front porch to speak with an old man in a rocking chair.
He returned as the final buckles on the harness were being tightened; the coachmen were already on the box, reins in hand.
His face grim and set, Gervase nodded curtly to them. “On to London.” Gripping Madeline’s arm, he helped her up the steps into the carriage, then followed.
She waited until they were bowling along again before asking, “What is it? What did you learn?”
He looked at her for a moment, then said, “Nothing new. It’s just that…” Frowning, he paused, staring, she suspected unseeing, across the carriage.
She waited. Eventually he went on, “They passed this way a few hours ago. The old man on the porch used to be the head ostler here-his eyesight’s excellent, and he knows carriages and horses. He saw the carriage we’re after go past.”
Black, relatively new, with a green blaze on the door; they’d got the description from the first posting inn beyond Falmouth.
“He recognized the carriage’s marking-he said it’s from one of the major London posting inns. But it was the horses that caught his eye. Prime ’uns, he said, hired nags but the best to be had, which explains why we haven’t caught up with them. They’re using the same quality of post-horses we are, which means there’s money behind this. The plan and its execution are the work of someone other than a London flash cove.”
Madeline studied his face. “You thought some gentleman, some man of our class, was involved-someone who could have seen the brooch at Lady Felgate’s ball, or known someone who had.”
He sighed and sat back. “Indeed. That’s what’s worrying me. If he-the man behind this-was in Cornwall, where his wrecked cargo also presumably is, and I do think we’re on sound ground assuming only he would have recognized the brooch, then why is he taking Ben to London? Why not question him in Cornwall, and then go straight after the lost cargo?”
She didn’t even try to think it through. “Why do you think?”
He drew a long breath, let it out with, “I think he’s leading us away.” He paused, then went on, “I think all this is part of his plan-not just the flight to London but us following as well. That’s the reason he’s spending money so freely to keep his carriage ahead of ours-he intended all along for us to follow. He can’t know we are, but he’s assumed we are.”
She grimaced. “He’s right.”
“Indeed. He chose to kidnap Ben-or at least one of your brothers-not solely to learn where they found the brooch, but also because any of them would be the perfect pawn to draw us-you and me-away from the peninsula. He doesn’t know Charles is there in our stead. With us gone, he’ll assume the peninsula itself will be largely rudderless, at least in terms of dealing with the likes of him.”
Cold fear had welled; it clutched her heart. “What will he do with Ben when he reaches London?”
Gervase glanced at her, met her eyes. “We’ve been assuming he’s with Ben in the carriage, but on reflection I don’t think he is. He’s too canny, too clever. He’ll have had his henchmen seize Ben. He’s probably already in London, waiting for them to deliver him there.” He paused, imagining it-imagining what he would do were he in the villain’s shoes.
“He’ll speak with Ben and ask about the brooch-he may try to disguise his purpose but he will, eventually, ask. The circumstances of that meeting will make it impossible for Ben to identify him later-he’s too clever to take that risk.”
He drew in a long breath. “And for the same reason, I think, once Ben gives him an answer, that he’ll order his henchmen to release Ben somewhere in London. He knows we’ll be searching, and he has no reason to be party to murder-as long as Ben can’t identify him, he has nothing to fear.”
Madeline had been following his reasoning; she nodded. “And leaving us quartering London, of all places, trying to locate one ten-year-old boy…that will keep us fixed there for the foreseeable future.”
“Leaving the peninsula, as far as he knows, open territory, undefended.” Gervase studied her face; the afternoon sunshine lit the hollows and planes, showed the strain of the past twenty-four hours, but he could see nothing in her features or her eyes, when they met his, to suggest she’d followed where his mind had ultimately led.
Summoning a smile, he raised her hand to his lips, kissed, then lowered his arm and faced forward. “We’re doing all we can to catch that carriage-at the moment, that’s all we can do.”
He felt reasonably certain the villain would order Ben’s release somewhere in London-most likely in the stews. What he wasn’t anywhere near as confident over was whether the man’s unsavory henchmen would follow his orders to the letter, or instead decide to make what they could off a gentry-bred ten-year-old boy.
That was the stuff of nightmares, but every bit as bad was the thought of what might transpire should the henchmen obey-and leave Ben wandering the slums of London. With no protector, alone-helpless.
Evening was closing in when they reached the outskirts of Basingstoke. The nearer they’d drawn to the capital, the more other carriages, carts, mail coaches and drays had thronged the road; their pace had fallen significantly.
Madeline bore the frustration by silently repeating Gervase’s observation that the traffic would slow their quarry just as much.
Neither of them had slept the night before, just short naps, unsettled, no real rest; tiredness was now a real burden, dragging at her mind.
The horn blared; a minute later they turned under the arch of the Five Bells, one of the town’s major posting inns. The instant the carriage rocked to a halt, Gervase opened the door and got down, shutting it behind him. Madeline leaned across the carriage and watched as he spoke with the head ostler, whose team was wrestling the big post-horses out of their harness.
Gervase asked questions, the head ostler answered, then Gervase nodded curtly; he paused for a second, then turned and strode back to the carriage. Face grim, he opened the door, and held out his hand, beckoning for her to take it and descend.
Grasping his fingers, she did; looking into his face, she asked, “What is it?”
He met her eyes. “They stopped here to change horses. The head ostler got a chance to glance into the carriage. He saw a young lad-Ben-asleep on the seat, wrapped up tight in a blanket. Ben might have been tied up, restrained in some fashion, but the ostler didn’t see any bonds. However, from his description of the two men in the carriage, we were right in thinking they’re just henchmen-the reason the ostler glanced in was because he couldn’t imagine where such men got the coin to travel in such style.”
“So…” Madeline glanced at the front of the carriage, at the shafts propped on blocks as the horses were led away. Not seeing fresh horses being led out, she frowned. “I assume we’ll be off as soon as possible…?”
Brows rising, she glanced at Gervase; he met her eyes.
“Their carriage is more than an hour ahead of us. We’ve caught up significantly, but we’re four to five hours from the capital-even racing as we are, we can’t catch them in that time, over that distance.”
The fear she’d held at bay throughout the day clutched at her heart. She kept her eyes on his, held to the contact as she prompted, “So…?”
He didn’t look away. “So we’re going to have to accept that they’ll reach London ahead of us and disappear into
