Emily Goes to Exeter

‘I saw a figure of a man wheeling a handcart through the yard and there was a body lying on the cart.’

Lord Harley pulled on his greatcoat and grabbed a lantern. ‘Then there will be tracks of wheels in the snow.’

‘Wait a bit,’ said Emily. ‘I am coming with you.’

‘No, this is no work for you, young lady. The whole inn cannot be drugged. There must be at least some of the post-boys.’

‘Then I shall come with you until you find help,’ said Emily stubbornly.

But the inn and the stables proved to be like the palace of the Sleeping Beauty. The captain had done his work well. ‘They are so heavily drugged, it’s a mercy he did not kill them all,’ said Lord Harley.

‘Should we not check the captain’s room?’ ventured Emily. ‘It may have been someone else.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ snapped Lord Harley. ‘Who else could it be?’

They were standing in the inn yard. ‘Go back,’ said Lord Harley, ‘and wait for me.’

‘I am coming with you,’ said Emily, ‘and you cannot stop me. See! The marks of the wheels in the snow are very clear, and I shall not freeze. The weather has changed.’

And indeed there was a light warm breeze blowing and behind them came a soft thud as snow fell from the inn roof.

Emily found to her relief that the no longer frozen snow made it easier to walk. She hurried along, trying her best to keep up with Lord Harley’s long strides. The wheel tracks led them out of town and into the white arctic desert that was Bagshot Heath.

Three miles outside of the town, the tracks disappeared. Lord Harley swore under his breath.

‘There!’ cried Emily. ‘He has gone off the road. The tracks lead across that field.’

Too excited now to worry about possible danger, Emily plunged into the deep snow of the field. ‘It must have been hard going,’ she panted. ‘See where the cart has been pushed against the deep snow.’

‘Wait!’ commanded Lord Harley suddenly. The bright moonlight shone down over the field. ‘I think I see the cart. Get behind me.’

They moved cautiously towards the cart, but when they reached it there was no sign of anyone, dead or alive.

‘He carried Mr Fletcher from here,’ whispered Emily. ‘You can see the tracks in the snow.’

They ploughed on until the shape of a small barn loomed up against the surrounding whiteness. ‘I beg of you, Miss Freemantle,’ said Lord Harley urgently, ‘let me go ahead. If only I had remembered to bring my gun.’

He quietly approached the door of the barn. There was a smaller door let into the great doors, and it was bolted shut. Lord Harley slid the bolts back, opened the door and stepped in, holding up the lantern.

Mr Fletcher was lying on the floor among bales of hay. His wrists and ankles were bound.

Lord Harley set down the lantern on the floor and knelt down beside the lawyer, drew out his penknife and cut the bonds. Trembling, Emily, who had followed him in, came and knelt beside him as he bent his head and put it to Mr Fletcher’s chest. ‘Is he dead?’ she whispered.

‘No, thank God, only drugged like the rest. The wine from the table was sent up to him. Look, there is a portmanteau there. I bet it holds poor Mr Fletcher’s clothes. The captain could then let everyone believe he had quit the inn, so that there would be no search for him.’

‘And he could come and finish him off at his leisure,’ said Emily, as Lord Harley began to chafe the lawyer’s wrists and ankles.

‘I do not think he planned on the warmer weather. All he needed to do was to leave his victim here, or so he thought, for a night in the freezing cold, and exposure would do the rest. Then he would untie him and, with his portmanteau beside him, it would seem as if our lawyer had taken refuge in the barn. It would be assumed that Mrs Bisley had forced the engagement and that he was fleeing from her. It was she, if you remember, who announced the engagement. The captain could simply say that Mr Fletcher had begged him to take the widow back because he could not bear the idea of marriage. I think I should carry Mr Fletcher as far as the cart and then wheel him back to the inn. Then I shall rouse the parish constable.’

‘What puzzles me,’ said Emily, ‘is that the fellow I saw pushing the cart was quite slight in build, whereas Captain Seaton is heavy and gross.’

‘Moonlight can be deceptive. What was that?’

‘What?’

‘Shhhh!’

Emily clutched at Lord Harley and they both froze. A rising wind blew across the snowy fields outside, and far away an owl hooted mournfully.

‘Nothing,’ said Lord Harley. ‘Well, let’s get our lawyer out of here.’

And then the door banged shut.

Emily let out a squeak of fright.

‘Only the wind,’ said Lord Harley, ‘and if you continue to hold me so close, Miss Freemantle, I shall become persuaded that you love me after all.’

Emily disengaged herself quickly. He walked to the door and pushed it.

Nothing happened.

He pushed harder and then heaved at it with his shoulder.

Then he turned and looked at Emily.

‘Someone has locked us in.’

Emily ran to him. ‘Try again. Perhaps the wind did blow it shut.’

He shook his head.

‘The deuce. He must have been hanging about and heard our voices.’

‘Why do you not break the door down?’ asked Emily in a shaky voice.

‘Because it is solid English oak.’ He walked back and picked up the lantern and looked about.

‘Hurry! Hurry!’ pleaded Emily. ‘He will come back and murder us.’

‘Perhaps not. He will be hoping to make our disappearance look like a runaway as well, or I am not mistaken.’ He looked up at the ceiling. Far above their heads was a skylight.

‘Let me think,’ said Lord Harley, half to himself. ‘If I piled up bales of hay to a certain safe height, climbed up with you, and you then stood on my shoulders, you could get through to the roof, slide down, and open the door.’

‘Oh, I could, could I?’ said Emily, momentarily forgetting her fears. ‘Let me tell you, my lord, I have no desire to go back to London with two broken legs.’

‘The snow is piled around the barn in drifts and is now soft, and in any case, broken legs will mend. Oh, do not turn missish on me now, I beg of you.’

‘I am not missish. But you are expecting me to behave like a man.’

‘I am expecting you to behave like a woman of courage. I’ faith, why did the Fates land me in this pretty mess with you? Miss Pym would not have hesitated for a minute.’

‘A pox on Miss Pym,’ screamed Emily, feeling this comparison was the last straw. ‘Just get me out of here!’

He began to pile up bales of hay, putting a great number at the bottom to form a base. He had stripped off his greatcoat, coat and waistcoat, and was working away steadily in his ruffled cambric shirt, moving athletically and easily.

Slowly the piles of bales rose until he called down, ‘Up with you now. Be careful.’

Emily hauled herself up from one bale to the next, rather like a small kitten climbing a staircase, paws first and legs after, until she was at the top and facing him.

‘Now,’ he said softly, ‘I shall lift you on to my back. Open the latch of the skylight and then climb out. But put your head out first and look around and make sure he is not lurking anywhere about.’

She looked up at him, her eyes seeming enormous. ‘I am afraid,’ she whispered.

He caught her to him and put his arms around her. ‘We are all afraid at some time or the other, but we go ahead. Up with you. First, climb on to my back.’

He bent over and Emily moved behind him and began to scrabble up on to his back, one part of her mind registering that it was an indelicate and ridiculous state of affairs, particularly when she found she was sitting on the back of his neck and staring down at the little glow of the lantern on the barn floor. It seemed to be a million