Angel's Touch (25 page)

‘
Will you not lay down a little on your bed?’ pursued the
chaplain. ‘Mr Inskip and I will—’

‘
Eastleigh, I know you mean well,’ interrupted his lordship,
‘but I pray you to bear with me. How could I possibly rest in these
circumstances?’ He turned, with determined calm, to his secretary.
‘Inskip, what do we do next?’

‘
I
am still waiting for all the men to report in, sir. Someone may
have gleaned information by now that may give us a
lead.’

Salmesbury nodded. ‘Very well. But if there is
nothing—’

A
knock at the door broke into his thoughts and he automatically
called out permission to enter. A head poked round the door. It was
Bradshaw, the gaunt-looking nurse Inskip had hired with the
intention of supplanting Kittle once Lady Margaret had become
accustomed to her presence.

‘
I
beg your pardon, my lord, for disturbing you at such a time,’ she
said diffidently.

‘
Well, come in, come in,’ said the marquis impatiently. ‘What
is it?’

The
nurse edged into the room and carefully shut the door. ‘I’m not
sure as it’s anything important, my lord, only—’ She stopped,
biting her lip.

‘
Well? Out with it.’

‘
It’s Miss Kittle, sir. I can’t find her.’

‘
Oh,
my God, not another one gone,’ Inskip muttered under his breath.
Then, more loudly, ‘What do you mean, Bradshaw?’

‘
Well, sir,’ she said, turning with obvious relief to relay
her story to this less intimidating auditor, for the marquis’s
haggard aspect was daunting, ‘she was laid up with this ankle, sir,
as you know. One of the maids was with her in her room, applying
cold compresses like you instructed, sir. Then the maid left her to
sleep as Miss Kittle begged her to do. But when I went up to tell
her as how the children were gone, sir, she weren’t there. And no
sign of her in the house.’

All three men stared
blankly at her, as if they could not fathom why she should come
bothering them with such a matter at such a time. Bradshaw looked
from one to the other, and then addressed herself once more to the
secretary.

‘
I
just thought it odd, sir, that’s all.’

Inskip frowned. ‘Foolish, anyway. I dare say she has got wind
of the present situation some other way. She would be naturally
anxious. Perhaps she has got up to help search.’

‘
But
she couldn’t hardly walk, sir,’ protested the nurse. ‘Leastways,
that was what it looked like.’

The
black eyes, suddenly keen, looked across at her. ‘What do you
mean?’

Bradshaw ventured a little closer to the desk, her
intelligent eyes searching his face. ‘My lord, it ain’t my place,
perhaps, as I’m only the junior, but I can’t say as I’ve been easy
in my mind.’

‘
Go
on,’ Salmesbury said, one hand still pressed to his heavily
frowning brow.

‘
It’s just that I overheard Master Wystan one day, talking
with that little friend of his. They were saying as
how—’

‘
Just a moment, madam,’ interrupted the
cleric, in a voice that suddenly made him appear very much the
stern tutor.
‘What
friend? Master Wystan has no friends his own
age.’

He
did not see the spasm of sudden pain that crossed his employer’s
face, or the understanding look in the secretary’s eyes as they
rested briefly on Salmesbury and noted this reaction to the fresh
arrow in his touchy conscience. But then both men lost this
fleeting instant of recognition in interest at what the nurse was
saying.

‘
It’s a village boy called Jed. I think he’s
the sweep’s lad, for I’ve seen him with the man. But he is
certainly very well known to Master Wystan by their conversation.
For they were discussing Miss Kittle’s personal affairs, my lord,
and laughing over what they thought was—well
,
a courting,
sir—with this terrible
bad
fellow. The boy Jed referred to him as one
Shottle.’

Three sets of puzzled
eyes exchanged glances.

Inskip shrugged. ‘The name means nothing to me, my lord, but
I could make enquiries.’

‘
Good God, what is the use of that?’ exclaimed Salmesbury
impatiently. ‘No, no. Send someone to find this sweep’s boy and
bring him to me at once. Let us go to the horse’s mouth, for God’s
sake.’

‘
Certainly, my lord,’ the secretary said smoothly and left the
room at once, pleased to find that with the possibility of a lead
his employer’s faculties were rising out of the despair that
gripped them.

When
he returned to the office, he found the marquis on his feet and
coldly determined. He handed a sealed note to Inskip.

‘
Have Hoff deliver that at once to the captain of the district
militia. Whatever may come out of this boy’s testimony, there is
one thing we do know. Miss Lambourn went to the gypsies and
subsequently disappeared. If they will not volunteer the
information we seek, then let them be persuaded by other means. We
will see how they answer to the barrel of a gun.’

Chapter Ten

Wystan talked non-stop as Verity wrestled with the bonds
about his wrists and ankles. It was as if the pent-up fear was
released by this outpouring of the tale.

‘
I
couldn’t breathe ’cause he had me hunged over the saddle, head
down, and that was the worst of it. But when he tried to right me,
I screamed and kicked him. And I shouted him Papa would have him
throwed in prison an’ transported if he didn’t let me go. That’s
why he put the scarf round my mouth, and then I kept on kicking and
he had to tie me up.’

‘
Gracious, how brave you were,’ Verity exclaimed, pulling
loose the final knot and setting his legs free.

But Wystan did not
jump up as she had expected, only leaning down to rub his sore
ankles.

‘
Yes, but I was afraid,’ he admitted.
‘Specially when they put us in here, ’cause Peggy had stopped
crying by then, and—’ his voice faltered a little ‘—and they hadn’t
tied anything round her mouth and—and she didn’t wake, and—’ A sob
tore from his throat and he suddenly hurled himself into Verity’s
arms, crying out into her shoulder, ‘Oh, Verity, I thought Peggy
was
d
ead!’

He broke into a storm
of weeping, while Verity held him close, her own eyes wet as she
remembered with a bursting heart that he was only a little boy,
with no mother, and no one to comfort his little distresses. Only
this major disaster had had the power to break through his enforced
reserve, and show that death held real terror for him, for he knew
its merciless rule at first hand.

‘
There now, my darling,’ she crooned, rocking him gently.
‘There now, my love. Verity’s here, sweetheart. Verity’s here now.
There, darling.’

But
it was only a sudden loud wail from his little sister that brought
Wystan’s head up from her shoulder, and turned his tears to
laughter. The baby had got on her feet and was standing beside
them, mouth wide, little face screwed up in the way infants had,
ready to let out another protest if she did not get instant
attention.

‘
She
ain’t dead,’
he gurgled, letting Verity go and brushing the wet from his cheeks.
‘Are you, Peggy?’

But
Peggy wanted her turn on the comforting bosom. ‘Peddy sit.’ She
held up her little arms to be lifted.

‘
Come along, Peggy,’ Verity said, smiling, and taking the
child on to her lap. ‘There, is that better?’

Peggy did not bother
to reply, only signifying her deep content by shoving a thumb in
her mouth, and snuggling against the soft breasts. Verity looked up
to see Wystan surreptitiously wiping his eyes with his
handkerchief, and tactfully refrained from comment. Instead she
adopted a brisk, though playful tone, designed to keep fear at
bay.

‘
Now, Wystan, we cannot stay here. We must think. If we were
writing this as a story, how would we procure our
escape?’

Braxted’s eyes lit with interest, and he jumped up to examine
their prison. ‘We have to ’splore first.’ He ran to the door.
‘Locked. That’s no good.’

He
looked up and his eye brightened. His voice held a note of
excitement. ‘Verity, there’s a kind of window up there.’

Verity got up, still
holding Peggy, and came to join him. The sacks they had been
sitting on were under a kind of loft which covered one end of the
small barn.

From the door they
could see above it a square hole, open to the outside.

‘
Gracious, I believe it is a hayloft, and that is how they
load the stacks. You see, they throw them from that opening
straight on to the cart below. It saves a great deal of carrying.’
Her eye ran across the edge of the loft. ‘There should be a
ladder.’

‘
There is,’ exclaimed Wystan, ‘only it looks
broked.’

From one end of the
hayloft two parallel lengths of wood ran down to the floor, but
there were only a couple of crossbars at the bottom to show that it
had ever been a ladder. The rest were missing.

‘
So
that is why they did not concern themselves over the window,’
sighed Verity. ‘We cannot get up there.’

‘
Yes, we can. At least, I can.’

‘
Wystan, you can’t climb a ladder without steps.’

‘
Yes, I can,’ insisted the boy, dashing off to test the two
wooden struts. ‘Jed taught me to climb the chimbleys. This is just
the same. You brace yourself each side and pull up.’

Without more ado, he
jumped up those first two cross-bars and set his feet either side,
bracing against the struts.

‘
Oh,
take care,’ cried Verity anxiously, darting forward.

‘
S’all right. I’m good at this.’

In
only a few moments he had proved his boast, moving with remarkable
swiftness up between the two parallel struts, pushing himself
higher, gripping with his hands and sliding his feet up again. It
hardly seemed any time before Verity’s jumping heart was steadying
and he was perched on the loft, grinning down at her.

‘
See?’

‘
Excellent!’ applauded Verity, and did not spoil his triumph
by asking the questions in her mind. How in the world was she to
get up there herself? Though perhaps she might somehow lift Peggy.
At least the children could get away. But how could they find their
way alone?

Wystan, flushed with success, was already moving across the
hayloft. ‘I’ll have a look through the window.’

Verity moved back so
she could see him as he crossed over to look out of the hole.

‘
It’s a long way down,’ he began dubiously, and then Verity
saw him stiffen. He ducked down and began crawling back towards the
edge.

‘
What is it?’ Verity asked, her pulse quickening.

‘
There’s a man out there!’

‘
Oh,
gracious heaven! Did he see you?’

‘
I
don’t know.’

‘
Why
Wissen up dere?’ asked Peggy suddenly in a piercing
voice.

‘
Ssh!’ Verity begged, quickly putting a hand across her mouth.
Then to the boy, she asked, ‘Is it one of the men who brought you
here?’

‘
No.’ His voice took on a note of puzzlement. ‘He looks like a
gypsy.’

Hope
sprang up in Verity’s breast. Peneli! He had not deserted
her.

‘
Quick, Wystan! Go to the window and call to him. If I am not
mistaken, he has come to help us.’

‘
Why
should he?’ Wystan demanded suspiciously. ‘I don’t trust
gypsies.’

‘
Do
as I say,’ Verity ordered, anxiety sharpening her voice. ‘You trust
me, don’t you? He is not here to harm us, I promise you. He has
already helped me today. Without him, I would never have found you.
I thought he had gone home, but he must have followed us
here.’

Dubious still, Braxted
crept back to the window and cautiously looked out. The gypsy was
right below him.

‘
Ho,
young master, be the lady in there?’ he asked without preamble, his
tone low.

‘
Yes, she is,’ Wystan answered back. ‘She says you’ve come to
help us.’

‘
Aye,’ agreed the man, phlegmatic as usual. ‘Be there any rope
in there?’

‘
Wait, I’ll look.’ He was soon back. ‘No, there ain’t. Nor
downstairs, Verity says.’

The
gypsy looked up. ‘Mebbe some cloth we can tear?’

‘
There’s lots of sacks,’ Wystan offered.

‘
Aye, that’ll do. Get it, young master. Many as ye
can.’

Verity had by this
time deposited Peggy on the floor, and she gathered up sacks and
threw them to the boy, glancing frequently at the door and
listening for the sound of footsteps. Peggy contributed her mite,
dragging a sack laboriously from under the loft. Verity thanked her
and threw it up.

‘
Tell Peneli,’ she instructed Wystan as she continued with her
own efforts, ‘that I cannot get up there because of the broken
ladder, and we cannot get Peggy up either.’

Peneli listened as the boy relayed this problem, meanwhile
ripping the sacks apart, nicking them with the point of a knife
produced from some recess in his boot, and tearing down their seams
with all the strength of his brawny arms. He made no comment on
Wystan’s words, but threw up the end of his improvised rope of
knotted sacking.