Cauldron of Fear (30 page)

'Drink is an
evil temptation,' Wickstanner said.

Silas seemed
unmoved by this observation. 'Maybe it is and maybe it ain't,' he
said non-committally, 'but there are some who needs a drop of
something now and again.' He nodded towards the structure he was
building. 'Always upsets Jed, you see,' he explained further. 'Me
too, but then I always tells meself it's God's work we do.'

'And of
course, as Master Crawley tells me,' Wickstanner said, 'the two of
you are charitable enough to make sure that most of your victims -
I mean charges - are given a quick and merciful death.'

'Aye, that we
are, usually,' Silas said, puffing his chest out proudly. 'Master
Crawley tells us we're real masters of our craft, that he
does.'

'Yes, he did
explain the principle in outline,' Wickstanner said. 'Apparently
you leave enough slack in the rope so that the prisoner's own
weight breaks her neck.'

'That's the
truth of it, Master Wickstanner,' Silas nodded. 'An' it's quite an
art, too. Heavier prisoners are the easiest, but the lightweights
need a longer drop. We needs to find a nice high branch for
them.'

'And what if
you can't - find a high enough branch, that is?' Wickstanner asked.
'What if the condemned is a particularly light person?'

Silas grinned.
'Oh, don't you worry,' he chuckled. 'We got all that sorted out a
long time ago.' He jabbed a finger at a hemp sack that stood in one
corner of the wagon. 'See that?' he said. 'That's filled with
stones and hung on a belt round her waist. Even the skinniest wench
will drop fast with that on her.

'Of course,
we've come a long way since we first started dropping 'em,' he
added, eager to impress further. 'We started off by taking 'em up a
ladder and shoving 'em off, but that was a bit cramped. Then we had
two ladders - one for the condemned and one for one of us to stand
on, but sometimes they wouldn't climb up, so we had to tie 'em to
the ladder first, then raise it up, then cut the ropes that held
'em.

'All a bit
complicated, till we thought of this idea. The platform is twice
the height of a man and more and there's a set of steps goes up to
it from the bed of the wagon, see?' He pointed to what appeared to
be a particularly wide ladder, the rungs of which were broad enough
to be classed as steps, just.

'Even if the
wench struggles we can walk up that, one on each side of her, get
her onto the plank and drop the noose over her head. Usually, once
they get up a few steps, they stops struggling anyways, so it's
quite quick from then on.'

'Better than a
ladder, yes, I can see that,' Wickstanner replied thoughtfully. He
remained silent, staring at the rustic steps and then looking up to
the overhanging bough. 'Yes,' he repeated thoughtfully, 'I can see
the advantages.'

'Master
Handiwell, I cannot authorise this intrusion.' Captain Timothy Hart
looked extremely distressed, his already gaunt features deathly
pale, his eyes watery. 'Lord Grayling is a very influential man and
for me to take my men onto his property - well, the repercussions,
they could be enormous.'

Thomas
Handiwell regarded the young officer disdainfully, while the other
members of their small party - Toby Blaine aside - tried
desperately to affect an air of disinterest.

'Captain,'
Thomas said levelly, 'your remit was to accompany me back here and,
whilst officially you are on a leave of absence, if the opportunity
presented itself, you were to use your office to pursue these
miscreants with what your commanding officer referred to as "every
expedience", was it not?'

'It was,
indeed,' Hart replied. 'However, this really is the flimsiest of
evidence upon which to proceed.' He looked over his shoulder at
Toby, who was sitting nonchalantly astride the spare mount Thomas
had brought with them for just that purpose.

'I'm certainly
not disputing the lad's integrity,' he continued, 'but to go
tramping through a private estate without being certain we'll even
find the people we're after? They could turn off and leave the
Grayling land at any point.'

'Then the
sooner we get after them,' Thomas growled, 'the better, wouldn't
you say? That young woman has put herself at risk in the belief
that we would give her every support and protection and I have no
intention of sitting here, arguing with you, when her very life
could be in danger!'

The riding
habit was, like everything else Sarah now wore, completely black.
Made from a woollen cloth fabric, the jacket was tailored to fit
snugly, buttoning to the neck and hugging Sarah's constricted
waistline perfectly, its frock design flaring out over her
hips.

Beneath this
the skirt was long, reaching to her ankles and loose fitting
beneath the hips, pleated cunningly to disguise the fact that it
was in fact split from top to bottom in several strategic places.
Seeing Sarah's puzzled look, Ellen, who had now discarded her pipe,
offered a brief explanation.

'The skirt is
designed like that so you can sit a horse the more easily,' she
said. 'The usual fashion for a lady to ride a horse whilst wearing
a skirt is, of course, to adopt the ridiculous side-saddle, but you
are not exactly a lady and, in any case, I have a far more
interesting saddle in mind for you.'

The addition
of the top clothing made Sarah feel a little easier; thankfully,
she thought, everything was now covered modestly, even if, beneath
it all, she knew how exotically she was attired. The tight corset,
its boning seemingly intent on piercing her through, was unlikely
to let her forget that, but as she stood before the mirror one more
time she saw that outwardly, at least, she presented an almost
demure image, of a young and fashionable lady dressed for a
morning's riding in the park. Even the height of the ridiculous
boots was now all but disguised by the swirling skirts.

There was, of
course, one more difference, Sarah knew; a critical difference that
no observer, casual or otherwise, could possibly have discerned.
The tightly fitting gloves, their extreme length now hidden inside
the sleeves of the jacket, handicapped her arms and fingers so
heavily that without help she would be unable to remove any of the
clothing.

Dressed thus,
Ellen could take her riding in public and not one person would
possibly guess that she was, in effect, a virtually helpless
prisoner of her clothing, a strikingly pretty creature who could no
little, if anything, for herself and was therefore totally at the
mercy, both of the girl who had ordered her prepared in this way
and of anyone else into whose clutches she either fell, or was
placed.

'Ready for our
little ride, pretty?' Ellen asked, reaching for her own jacket
again.

'Mistress,'
Sarah began hesitantly. 'Mistress, you said you were taking me to
meet my cousin? I presume you speak of Harriet, for I have no other
cousin, at least none that I know of.'

'Yes, pretty
Sarah,' Ellen replied, shrugging into her jacket, 'I was speaking
of your cousin Harriet and yes, with luck, you shall see her
shortly, for she should even now be making her way to deliver a
ransom for your release. She comes alone, of course.'

For a brief
moment Sarah's heart leapt, but then, as she saw the expression on
Ellen's face and understood the significance of that final remark
her hopes immediately fell again. 'And you have no intention of
releasing me, mistress,' she said dully. Worse, she realised,
though she did not voice her suspicion, Ellen Grayling and whoever
else was involved in her abduction originally, would very soon have
Harriet in their clutches as well.

'No,' Ellen
confirmed quietly, though Sarah barely heeded her words now. 'No,
no intention whatsoever. You would, of course, make a pretty pair,
for I can see the family likeness and there is little in age
between you, right enough, but I fear there are other plans already
made for Miss Harriet Merridew.'

Jacob Crawley
stood looking up at the curious structure that stood partly
supported on the back of the wagon and nodded. Above him, Silas
Grout knocked in the second pivot pin, seized the broad plank in
his left hand and lifted it from the vertical to the horizontal,
lowered it and raised it again.

'Just the two
supporting brackets now, Master Crawley,' he announced, 'but if
it's all the same with you and seein' as how we won't now be
needing this until the morrow, I'd like to take myself over to the
inn for a bit. 'Tis a warm day and this is warmer work, especially
for one man on his own.'

'Well, you've
done well, Silas,' Crawley conceded. 'Take yourself off and enjoy
your ale. None of these peasants would dare touch anything here,
that's for sure.' He grimaced. 'And still no sign of that rogue
Jed, I take it?'

'Not a sign,
master,' Silas confirmed. 'Probably still lying drunk somewhere. He
never was too good at holdin' his drink, but I'll wager he turns up
again just in time to see me finish here.'

'Maybe,'
Crawley said, 'but it's strange, even for him. He's not to know
I've postponed the execution and the original time is only a half
hour from hence. Unlike him, that, no matter how drunk the oaf
tends to get. Come to think of it,' he mused, 'I haven't seen the
wretch since he went off to take food and water to the miller's
son.'

'Me neither,'
Silas began, 'but then—' He stopped, and Crawley saw that he was
peering into the distance. 'Damnation!' The oath was muttered half
under Silas's breath, but it came down clear enough to Crawley, who
immediately stiffened.

'What is it,
man?' he demanded, trying to follow the line of Silas's gaze,
though a small clump of bushes screened him from the view that
Silas's higher vantage point afforded him.

'I think,
Master Crawley,' Silas replied, beginning to climb down the
framework of the scaffold, 'that we might just be about to find out
why Jed ain't here. Less'n I'm much mistook, which I knows I ain't,
the old biddy is headed this way and she's got the bloody miller's
lad with her. But don't worry,' he said, dropping the last few feet
to land on the grass beside Crawley, 'I've got both my pistols here
in the wagon and a knife that will cut through three layers of
leather at one thrust.'

'Leave the
pistols hidden, Silas,' Crawley said, placing a restraining hand on
his arm. 'Unless the lad is armed we have no need of them. I have
all the protection we need right here,' he added, patting his
jerkin beneath his cloak. 'The law is the law, after all, and the
authority of the Church is beyond question.

'No need to
harm the lad, not unless he recognises you - and then you simply
deny having ever seen him before. I can't see any of these
villagers siding with him, not once I swear you haven't been out of
my sight these past three days. The sight of your gibbet here will
be more than enough to still their tongues in their heads.'

Harriet saw
the ruins of the bridge as the little boat rounded the second half
of the long bend and pulled the oars inboard, while she turned to
study the left bank, where she was supposed to land. Nothing seemed
to be stirring there, but she had not expected to see anyone
standing in full view anyway, so she turned back, hefted one of the
oars over the right hand side and began using it as a paddle,
guiding the craft gradually in from centre stream.

Steadily, the
distance began to decrease and she was able to make out the
crumbling chunks of masonry lying half submerged in the water at
the bases of all that remained of the original bridge supports.
Whatever floodwaters had been responsible for the structure's
demise, she thought, they must have been fierce, or else the
destruction of the bridge had been assisted by a human agency.

At last she
was able to manoeuvre in to the shore and the prow of the boat
bumped gently onto the silt and mud beneath the steeper bank.
Carefully she stood up, made her way forward and splashed down into
the shallows, dragging the boat a few feet further in, before
finally pulling herself up the muddy incline to the flatter ground
above.

Panting from
her exertions, she stood for a moment to regain her breath and
looked about. As Toby had said, there was still a road, or lane
visible, leading away from the ruined bridge and into the thick
woodland, but it was already becoming badly overgrown and she
wondered just how passable it would be, even for someone on
foot.

Presumably
there was a way through, otherwise the kidnappers would not have
chosen the place to begin with. As the rise and fall of her breasts
slowed she held her breath and listened intently, but apart from a
few birds calling from the treetops high above and the musical
background from the river waters, which ran slowly at this point,
she could hear nothing.

Delay and buy
time; that was what Thomas had stressed. She turned, looked back
across the water to the pile of broken masonry and beyond that to
the barely discernable gap in the trees that marked the line of the
road on that side. Not that she expected to see or hear anything
from that direction, for Toby had been adamant that the only way
for Thomas and the soldiers to reach this side of the river was by
making a circuitous approach, crossing the river by another bridge,
further downstream and not part of the Grayling lands.

Sighing,
Harriet wondered just how long it would take them. The woods around
her looked dense, hardly ideal for men on horseback, but then she
really had no other alternative and, if anyone was watching her,
much more delaying on her part would surely arouse their
suspicions.

She swallowed
and turned back to the track, doubt beginning to assail her for the
first time, for now, as she stood, the safety of the river behind
her, the unknown of the woods in front and with no one to help her,
possibly not for miles still, Harriet suddenly realised how alone
and vulnerable she really was and even the hard lump of the small
pistol hidden inside her shirt did little to reassure her.