ditch nearby. The cur who claimed to be the landlord of the Green Man says that Captain Thunder has a house in the woods, but no one knows whereabouts. There is a reward on his head, and he cannot be sure that one of his fellow villains will not betray him. In the end we decided it was best to seek your advice and help before doing anything else.”
“Thank you, Charlie,” said his father, very pleased at how the young man had handled things. Of course Angus would have been a steadying influence, but only if Charlie did not resent him. Clearly he and Angus had got along together very well, and it had not escaped him that Angus had consented to let Charlie enter the Green Man alone.
He got up to pour Chambertin. “They say this is Bonaparte’s favourite wine,” he said, handing glasses around. “Now that the French are desperate for foreign currency, we are seeing some very good wines again, and I think I shall move in the House to lighten the import duty on cognac.” He sat down and crossed his legs. “You have done well, the three of you,” he said, with a special smile for Owen. “Knowing that by the time you would be able to set out, the trail would be cold, I put Ned Skinner on the problem too. In many ways he’s more skilled at this sort of thing than you, but his investigations haven’t advanced us much beyond yours-no mean feat on your parts.”
Too concerned to hear what Ned had learned to bother with compliments, Charlie leaned forward. “Did he find Captain Thunder?”
“Yes, he did. And your deductions are correct. Captain Thunder did indeed set upon Mary and rob her, but he didn’t take her to the Green Man. He left her in the midst of the forest, presumably there to wander in circles until she died. However, Charlie, your aunt is made of sterner stuff than most ladies. How she managed to find the road I do not know, just that she did. Ned found her not yards away from it.”
“Oh, bravo!” Charlie cried, face transfigured. “So she’s safe? She’s well?”
“As to that, neither Ned nor I can hazard a guess,” Fitz said, frowning. “Ned had had a very heavy day of it, and by the time he found her, he was not feeling himself. A bellyache, he thinks due to bad food at the Black Cat.”
The others were hanging on Fitz’s words, eyes round.
“Mary was unconscious, and continued in her faint. She had been badly beaten, including a blow to the head. When Ned asked Captain Thunder for the details, he was informed that she had put up a terrific fight.”
Growls and imprecations greeted this, but Fitz continued.
“Ned put Mary across Jupiter’s withers, and rode for home. But as he approached the beginning of the Peaks he had to answer an urgent call of nature-the bad food had caught up with him. Not knowing how long he might be, he put Mary down on the bank beside the bridle-path he was travelling, and went into a grove of trees. When he returned, Mary was gone.”
“Yes, vanished. Ned’s watch told him that he had been away for ten minutes, not a second longer.”
“Ten minutes?” Charlie asked. “How could she vanish in just ten minutes?”
“How, indeed? Ned searched as only Ned can, and I do assure you that his bellyache did not interfere with his thoroughness. He could find no trace of her. He mounted Jupiter and looked from that height, as well as farther afield. To no avail. She had been spirited away as a conjurer deals with his assistant at a circus.”
“Captain Thunder!” Charlie cried, pounding his thigh.
“No, Charlie. Whoever it was, Captain Thunder it was not. By that time his corpse was cold. Ned killed him in a struggle after he found the fellow’s house.”
“How did he find it if none knew its whereabouts?” Owen asked.
“He was told where it was by a spy in the Nottingham coach yard who must sniff out likely victims and share in the proceeds.”
“Could she have regained consciousness and walked off?”
Angus asked, hating to see Charlie’s pain, and hating to feel his own. Oh, Mary! You and your fool crusade!
“Ned says not, and I believe him. The injuries to her wrists and even her throat did not matter, but the blow to her head was severe enough to cause prolonged unconsciousness. If she roused, which is possible, she would have been confused and stumbling, not fleet of foot. Ned scoured every inch of the countryside for five miles in all directions. One must assume that she did not walk off, but was carried.”
“I do not know.”
“At first I thought whoever took her must have acted on some chivalrous impulse, perhaps thinking that Ned was on foul business. Since Chesterfield is the nearest town, I had extensive enquiries made there yesterday, hoping that a woman had been brought in and the mayor or the sheriff notified. But no one had brought in a woman. I had my people ask every doctor, with the same result. So whoever did steal Mary was not acting chivalrously. He has some nefarious scheme in mind. Were she known to be my relative, I would have thought, kidnapping, and have been waiting for a ransom demand. None has come. Because, I believe, no one knew who Mary was. Her condition was parlous. She was filthy and badly bruised.”
“And all this because of a bad breakfast at the Black Cat?” cried Charlie. “Well, I know that place can produce bad food, but to find her, only to lose her again-!”
“I agree.”
“So what do we do now, Pater?”
“We make the whole matter public-with reservations, of course. We post notices that Miss Mary Bennet is missing, whereabouts she was last seen, and what her possible condition is. We say that she is Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy’s sister, and we offer a reward of one hundred pounds for information leading to her retrieval. As Mary is very like Elizabeth in the face, I will have Susie take a pen-and-ink sketch from Elizabeth’s portrait, and include that in the notice. As well as going up in every town hall and village hall, I will put the notice in all the newspapers of the region.”
“And I will put an article in the
“Thank you,” Fitz said, inclining his head regally. He turned to his son. “If you like, Charlie, you may take a party of Pemberley men back to the bridle-path where the abduction occurred. Ned can give you directions.” He looked grim. “The thing is that the bridle-path in question is neither well-known nor well travelled. It is basically a shortcut to Chesterfield from Pemberley.” He lifted a warning finger. “I do not need to tell you that we say nothing about the fate of Captain Thunder.”
“Agreed, Pater.”
“Choose men who know the southern Peaks.”
“Of course.”
“Now go and eat some dinner, please. What do you think of my Chambertin?”
“Smooth and fruity,” said Angus glibly. “Bonaparte has a good palate. Not unusual in a Frenchman,” he added demurely.
Fitz sneered contemptuously. “The man is no Frenchman! He is a Corsican peasant.”
The groom in the Nottingham coach station was a loose end that had to be tied, Ned Skinner realised, cursing his own lack of foresight. Why hadn’t he lingered long enough to discover the fellow’s name and origins? Because you had no idea how important they would be, he apostrophised himself wrathfully as he readied the light carriage and Jupiter for the journey to Hemmings with Lydia Wickham. Clearly the groom was Captain Thunder’s spy in Nottingham, took the highwayman’s gold in return for information about people who used the stage-coach. Not all such were on the verge of poverty; some could have afforded a private chaise, but thought that drew them to a highwayman’s attention, never dreaming of his network of informants. Shipments of coin to provincial banks also went by stage-coach, and the contents of some of the parcels were valuable. The groom in Captain Thunder’s pay knew the movements of every vehicle passing through the Nottingham depot, Nottingham being a big city with many industries, and therefore wealthy.
The journals carrying the advertisement about Mary with its hundred-pound reward would be published shortly, and the groom could not be allowed to read one or hear of it. Did he, he would be off in a trice to lay his information, and Ned Skinner’s neck might come into danger. For who could forget him, at his size? The last thing Fitz needed was to have his factotum thrown into a cell on suspicion of
