Cherished Enemy (14 page)

“That hidjus thought makes me fair shake in me boots, mate,” averred the coachman with his evil chuckle. “Bin my experience that the best way ter deal wi' you doctors is from far orf. Farther the perishin' better!”

Rosamond rejected the soiled lint he handed her, taking a new piece from her pocket instead.

“Lucky you had this lady along o' yer,” remarked Billy. “Seein' as she keeps medical stuff by her ‘tall times, like.”

“Don't be an idiot,” said Victor. “The lady chanced to see a rebel shot down and was so noble as to go out and try to help him.”

Billy fairly goggled at her. “Cor…!” he whispered.

Horrified by the doctor's indiscretion, Rosamond took out a rolled bandage and implored, “Billy—you'll not give us away?”

Victor looked quickly at her, but said nothing.

“Lord luv yer, no, miss,” replied the coachman. “The doctor's only got ter make it worth me while. Not as it'll take much. Billy don't hold wi' troopers interferin' wiv a honest Free Trader.”

“Honest!”

He grinned in conspiratorial fashion. “Well, yer knows wot I means. A cove's got a right ter try and make a living. Taxes is high and times is crool hard. Wot difference do it make if a gent wants ter buy a bottle or three wot no Riding Orficer never stuck no stamp on? Live and let live, says I. ‘Sides, them stamps costs so much they spoils the taste o'—”

His opinions were cut off by a confused babble of sounds emanating from the tavern. Voices could be heard raised in vexation and a dog was barking excitedly.

“Trifle!” exclaimed Rosamond, pausing in her bandaging. “Oh my! What if he comes out here?”

The doctor observed acidly that there could be no question of that. “If your confounded mongrel can contrive to complicate my life, he will! And if the dragoons come nosing about and are told I've a hole in my arm, we'll be—”

“Fair scuppered,” put in Billy. “Ye best get out there, miss. I'll take care o' the guv'nor's arm.”

She looked at him dubiously. “Are your hands clean?”

“So clean as any pin,” he said, injured. “Washed of 'em yestiday, so I did.”

“Yesterday! But—”

The commotion in the tavern was gathering volume.

“Miss Albritton,” interrupted Victor, his voice rather muffled, “an you are discovered in a barn with me at this hour, you will be fairly compromised. I am most grateful for your kindness, but I've no least wish either to be shot by dragoons for smuggling, or to be obliged to wed you to save your reputation. Go!”

“W-Well!” gasped Rosamond, her face scarlet. “If you are not—you
horrid
—if
that
fate threatens me, I certainly will—”

“Do!
Now!
”

She heard a stifled chuckle as she went, quivering with wrath, from the barn. How nice it was, she thought, that she had managed to provide some amusement for The Arrogant Physician and that dirty, insolent creature who called himself a coachman. How
dare
Victor have implied there was little to choose between being shot or being obliged to wed her? He was an
oaf!
And she might be compromised from here to Doomsday, but she'd sooner wed a hedgehog than a man who would satisfy his craving for strong liquor rather than give assistance to a poor wounded lad who—

Thought of the fugitive brought a reminder of their deadly danger. Victor had been injured by a dragoon, and regardless of why, did suspicion fall on him, the military might well believe him to be involved with the Jacobites. She gave a gasp as she recalled that he had told that fawning coachman that she'd intended to aid the fugitive. Were Billy to be questioned, she'd not give a groat for her safety. Her blood ran cold. She had not actually helped the fugitive, but if Billy told them she'd intended to do so, she could be in real peril. Oh! That
horrid
doctor!
Why
had he said such a thing? Was he too stupid to detect the low nature of the coachman? She gave a little whimper of anxiety and turned back to the barn, only to run quickly and hide behind a tree.

Trifle came prancing around from the side of the inn, followed by Mrs. Porchester, the host, and several other people in dressing-gowns and a state of loud argumentation. It would seem from their outcries that they had been disturbed by Trifle's strident demands, and then discovered that they had been locked in.

Rosamond's heart began to flutter. If the dog betrayed her presence she would almost certainly be suspected of being the dastardly person who had made off with the key, and what on earth could she say to account for her nocturnal excursion? Her chance came when Trifle indulged his attraction to a fine elm. Keeping among the shrubs and trees, Rosamond ran quickly to the open side door, fled up the stairs, and entered her room with a gasp of relief. It was the work of a moment to exchange cloak for dressing-gown, then hurry down the front stairs to the vestibule.

Outside, Trifle was barking again. She wondered anxiously if he had discovered Victor and Billy. The vestibule was deserted. She glanced back at the stairs. No sign of anyone. Quickly, she slipped the key part-way under the doormat, and went past the coffee room to the side hall. The outer door stood wide, and the small crowd was returning.

A very fat gentleman with a North country accent was loud in his resentment at having been locked inside. His wife, also rotund, shrilled that it was “a national disgrace, what should be reported to the authorities.” Dr. Victor, bringing up the rear, said that it was beyond him why anyone should wish to do so stupid a thing, and the host muttered dire threats against the unknown malefactor.

“Whatever is happening?” asked Rosamond innocently. “Did you all go out for a walk?”

“Now see what has come of all the fuss,” said Mrs. Porchester. “You have woke up my niece!”

“Well, and why not, pray?” demanded the fat gentleman's lady. “
We
have been woke by your dog which—”

“The poor puppy asked to go out, merely,” interpolated Mrs. Porchester defensively.

“Like a timber wolf in full cry,” snorted the fat gentleman, who had once seen a painting of such a creature.

“Well, I could not get the front door open,” said Mrs. Porchester. “For it was locked. It was
locked!
” She fixed the host with an accusing stare. “And the key was—gone!”

Rosamond's eyes slipped to Victor. He looked tired but faintly amused.

“Is none of my doing, Mrs. Porchester,” declared the host earnestly. “I never had such a thing happen, I promise you. Some lads larking about, I'll be bound.”

“That's as may be,” said the fat lady, with the air of one who is not to be easily taken in. “
I'm
of a mind as there was summat more to it!”

“But even if there was,” demurred Rosamond, “why did you all go outside?”

“Ar—that's what I do wonder, miss,” said the host, grateful for a shift of emphasis.

The guests, who really did not understand why it had suddenly seemed so important to go outside in the middle of the night, exchanged rather sheepish looks.

“Likely because we didn't care to be locked inside and the key taken away,” said Victor.

A relieved chorus of approval greeted this observation, nobody seeming to recall that Victor had not been present at the time of the mass exodus. With portentous emphasis the fat gentleman reaffirmed his wife's conviction that “summat funny” was going on, whereupon the host redeemed himself by stating that they had all been disturbed and were understandably upset and would be the better for a “pot o' brew” before retiring. His added “At the expense of the house,” brought smiles to the gentlemen, who adjourned to the tap looking a good deal less out of sorts as they callously deserted their ladies.

Preceding her niece into their parlour, Mrs. Porchester sat on the small sofa and motioned Rosamond to join her.

“I was hoping you would not be disturbed, my love,” she said. “Though when Trifle started to sing, the silly baby dog, I wondered you could sleep through it.”

“Started to—sing?” echoed Rosamond. “I thought you said he barked to go out.”

“Well, he did. But when I walked across my room, the drawer to the music box slid open. I think it must have been damaged when it fell during that storm in the ocean. At all events, it began to play, and—” She shrugged. “You know how he likes to join in.”

“I do indeed,” agreed Rosamond. “Small wonder everyone woke up!”

“Well, I am sure
I
did not,” said her aunt mournfully, “for I did not get a wink of sleep! Nor shall I be able to so much as close my eyes tonight, for every time I do—every
time
I do, I envision your dear papa's face should that minx Deborah not have come home, and my spirits are quite sunk.”

When Rosamond had tiptoed into the parlour earlier so as to take the cotton petticoat from the portmanteau and cut it up for bandages, both the good lady and Trifle had been snoring softly, but she refrained from pointing out this circumstance, saying instead, “I am sure you were right, dearest, and Deb will be at the Court before us. But if not, by the time you have to tell Papa—”

“By the
time?
By
what
time? Rosa, an she is not there, I must tell him at once! Think how enraged he would be did I keep such shameful news from him. He would be
enraged!
He has made himself responsible for Deborah since her poor father passed to his reward.”

“Truly, my father has been a great support to the Singletons, but—”

“Well, there you are then. There you
are!
”

“But, dear Aunt, we are hurrying home only because 'tis Papa's birthday on Monday. An you tell him such news, he will be made miserable—and on his very special day! You
know
how he looks forward to his party every year. Sweet soul—we
cannot
spoil it for him!”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” wailed poor Mrs. Estelle, retreating into her handkerchief. “Whatever am I to do?
Whatever
am I to do?”

Rosamond hugged her afflicted relation and did what she might to comfort her. At the same time she pursued her own argument so persuasively that at length the beleaguered lady gave her reluctant promise that if Deborah had not yet returned home, she would keep the disgraceful details secret—at least, until after the birthday of Colonel Lennox Albritton had been duly celebrated. Sighing, Mrs. Estelle went to her bed, vowing her conscience would allow her no peace, and insisting the connecting doors be left open so that she and her niece could chat the weary hours away.

In the event, it was Rosamond who lay wakeful, listening to the faint resonance that wafted from both her aunt and The Unmitigated Disaster, while she stared at the lighter darkness of the window and worried about the poor boy in the ditch. When she at last fell asleep, however, her thoughts were not on the hapless fugitive, but on Dr. Robert Victor, and the needless brutality he had inflicted upon both the wounded boy and poor Billy Coachman.

And on that haunting wistfulness in his eyes when he had, so outrageously, almost kissed her …

*   *   *

The morning was hazy, a sultry heaviness in the air. Rosamond donned her travelling gown and dressed her hair simply, drawing it to one side of her head and allowing two fat ringlets to hang to her right shoulder. She was ready before her aunt, and since Trifle declared himself in unequivocal terms, she put on her second-best cap and took him downstairs, managing to negotiate the steps by clinging to the rail with one hand and struggling to maintain a very short leash with the other. Having given his patronage to a hollyhock and several of the posts in the stable-yard fence, Trifle recognized a familiar face and made a lunge for Billy Coachman, who was inspecting one of the chariot wheels, a glum expression on his dark face. He grinned as Rosamond shot towards him and straightened up, steadying her as she all but lurched into his arms.

“Oh!” she gasped. “This
wretched
dog!”

“Bit wild, ain't he?” he said, patting the ecstatic animal, but admonishing him sternly to giddown! “How's the doctor?” he asked in his brusque way and, lowering his voice, added, “You might tell him, miss, as there's troopers nosing about 'smorning.”

Rosamond's nerves gave a jump. She searched his face and he winked at her impudently and reached for the leash. “Whyn't yer let me take this pup fer his trot while you gets yer breakfast?”

Grateful, Rosamond relinquished her charge and the coachman slouched away, warning Trifle to behave or he'd snip his tail orf, and calling to Rosamond that it was “goin' ter be perishin' hot and there'll likely be a storm 'fore the day's out.”

She hurried back into The Galleon, encountering Dr. Victor as he left the coffee room. He looked drawn, she thought, but not sufficiently so as to cause remark.

He came to meet her and scanning her face his brows lifted. “I am sent to call you to breakfast, but pray tell me quickly lest I faint from the suspense. What new tragedy threatens?”

At once irked by his sarcasm, she frowned at him. “None that I know of—save perhaps that you lack the courtesy to wish me a good day!”

“Is that all?” He grinned. “From your air I fancied our coachman had absconded with your jewel boxes and The Unmitigated, at the very least.” He bowed her towards the coffee room. “I have secured a table for us, and your lady aunt awaits.
Bonjour, mademoiselle.
”

“You are too kind.” She put a detaining hand on his arm. He made a faint shrinking movement and she said, repentant, “Oh, I am sorry. I forgot.”

“I wish I might say the same.” He looked at her narrowly. “You really must try not to be so dramatically dismayed. There are—I dread to sound dramatic myself—eyes everywhere.”