When he returned, over an hour later, he was accompanied by six burly men she’d never seen before.
Hurrying downstairs, she caught up with Kirlham as he was heading for the cellars. “Sir, who are these newcomers, and how long are they likely to stay?” It was going to be a nightmare if she was expected to feed and house them, with the place in such disarray.
He stared down his nose at her. “Oh, just a mixture of watchmen, constables and sergeants. Basically, anyone of legal standing who could be found in the depths of the countryside.”
“Legal standing? Why do you need recourse to the law?” She didn’t believe that for a moment. If Kirlham and his fellow conspirators had as much to hide as Kit, they wouldn’t let the authorities within a mile of the place. Nay, these were mercenaries or devoted Catholic sympathizers.
Avery appeared by her side. “We have reason to believe last night’s disaster was not an accident.”
She went cold all over. They knew? But they couldn’t possibly know who had caused the disaster… could they? The shock in her expression was genuine. “Not an accident? Are you saying someone deliberately flooded Selwood? I know no one who would wish us such harm.”
Kirlham canted down the cellar steps, but Avery lingered. “We’ll find out. Pray, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. The culprit will be found, and justice done, have no fear.”
“But how could such a thing be done? Are you sure it wasn’t just the moat or one of the old ponds overflowing in the storm?”
“We’re certain. But forgive me if I speak no more of it. There’s much to be done, and a search to be conducted. If you would ensure there are additional supplies of bread, beef and ale, I’d be grateful. Regrettably, Mistress Aspinall is too distressed to attend to such matters.” Bowing, Avery drew his cloak around him and went outside into the drizzle.
Just what she needed—mercenaries swarming around the house when she was meant to be escaping with Kit. There wasn’t a moment to lose.
She hurried up to her room, but realized it would look suspicious if she left with all her belongings. So she just donned as much clothing as she could, filled her hanging pocket, and tied what she could to her belt. Fortunately, Avery had given her the perfect excuse to leave the manor.
A quarter of an hour later, she was mounted on Pennyroyal and about to cross the main bridge over the old moat, when a large man with a wall-eye stepped out in front of her.
“Your pardon, Mistress, but Sir Thomas has given orders that no one leaves the manor today. The roads are not fit to be traveled.”
If the roads were unfit, how had he and his companions reached the place? “I must attempt it all the same, as we are low on provisions in the house, especially with extra mouths to feed this day.” She waited, doing her best to look both confident and innocent, while the man considered her answer. Eventually, the prospect of going without a good dinner decided him, and he stepped aside to let her pass.
She cantered down the road to the field gate, swung off her mare and led it through, closing the gate behind her. Once certain she’d not been followed, she looked around her, but the field was empty.
Kit was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As the minutes ticked by and Kit did not appear, Alys’ anxiety increased. So many things could have gone wrong. What if he’d been captured? Wounded? Even killed? What if he hadn’t managed to send off his dispatch, or couldn’t find a horse—how were they to make a speedy escape with only her old nag between them?
“How unkind of me to think of you in such a way, Pennyroyal.” She stroked the animal’s silky nose and found comfort in its warmth. But the worries soon resurfaced.
When would they miss her at Selwood? How long could she stay away before Kirlham, Avery, or their “constables” came after her? It was a great pity it wasn’t market day—then she’d have a valid excuse for dallying. Oh, what was the time now? Where was Kit?
When what must have been a full hour had passed, she knew what desperation felt like. She couldn’t bear to return home, not knowing what had happened, and couldn’t go in search of him because she had no idea where he would be going to send his message. How had he managed to make contact with his web of spies without anyone at Selwood knowing? When had he found the time or the excuse to leave the estate? On market day, certainly, for they’d been there together.
But on that day, he’d not spoken at any length to anyone, and she’d been within earshot in every case. Was there any way he could have left a dispatch for one of his allies to find? Yes, indeed, there was! He’d gone to market with a hat. He’d returned without it, but never complained of its loss. She racked her brains, trying to remember when he’d last had it. Was it in the old gypsy woman’s pavilion? In truth, the woman had seemed to recognize him—could she possibly be his contact in the village?
Chill from the dismal drizzle and her fears for Kit’s safety, she could bear the waiting no longer. She dropped her handkerchief over a branch near the gate. Nearby, she arranged some pebbles into an arrow pointing towards Cheyneham. Praying only Kit would look closely at her clue, and that he’d interpret her signals correctly, she clambered back on Pennyroyal and set off down the road, as near to a gallop as
