Coming Home (16 page)

Juliana said nothing.

Lady Richelda was naïve but not stupid. ‘I see,' she said. ‘Pettigrew. He's made a profit while he denied the inmates what they needed. That man has a lot to answer for.' Tugging on her gloves, she got to her feet. ‘Miss Colebrook, by tomorrow afternoon you will have all the supplies you require.' Her face very flushed, she continued, ‘Captain Easton was right. I am guilty of not executing my duties satisfactorily. It is just as much my fault as Pettigrew's. I made it easy for him to withhold medicine from those poor women because I never checked to see how the supplies were used. You have my assurance that from now on I will carry out my duties more efficiently. Good day to you.'

She held out a gloved hand to Juliana, then, head held high, hurried through the big gates. Juliana could see a glossy carriage waiting. A groom stood at the heads of a pair of anxious blacks decorated with ostrich plumes, and a bowing manservant held the carriage door open.

Lucky Lady Richelda. Although at the moment the lady was embarrassed, she would come about. She had the strength of character to do so. Juliana shut the gates behind her.

Meanwhile, everyone had forgotten Juliana. How was she to get home? She walked around the rear of the main building. Only Pettigrew's horse and carriage were left. Everyone must have assumed that Lady Richelda would convey her home.

Perhaps she would have to stay here tonight. Then again, if Pettigrew implicated her uncle in his nefarious dealings, what would become of her aunt? Aunt Colebrook was ill equipped to deal with such a catastrophe.

No. She would have to go home, such as it was. She might be needed. And it seemed the only way to get home was to walk. It was a pity the board had not discussed payment of her wages before they left, otherwise she might have walked to the inn at Hungerford and hired a driver and carriage.

She turned Pettigrew's unhappy horse out on to the enclosed greensward at the back of the workhouse and said goodbye to her charges. Then she began the long trudge back home.

W
EARY, SHE DID not relish a seven-mile walk after such a tumultuous day. In fact, she would give much to settle down beneath one of the hedgerows and curl up to sleep. Fortunately her sturdy, unfashionable half-boots were made for hard work and would stand her in good stead.

Tilly and Kit. Tilly and Kit. The refrain dogged her every step and hammered at her mind. It was all very well knowing Pettigrew was being questioned, but would the creature give up any useful information? God knew what was happening to those poor children – because Tilly, for all her sensible ways was still a child.

That slimy Pettigrew. Her hands tightened on her reticule. By heavens, if
she
questioned Pettigrew, she'd … well, she'd yank the information out of him in a trice. No gentlemanly rules for her.

She stumbled over a stone.
Concentrate
, she told herself.
Put one foot in front of the other as fast as you can and hurry home to find out what is happening
. Lord, she was tired, so tired. Her wretched stomach was burning again.

In order to skirt Marlborough she would have to take the Pewsey road, the same as the carter's dray did each morning. When she glanced up at the signposts, she realized the sun was beginning to set. It might not be a good idea to walk down the road alone at dusk. She hadn't heard any bad things about the area, but then she had heard nothing at all about this part of England. How could she? She worked six days a week and during that time met only disheartened women who cared nothing about the outside world.

A twig cracked behind her and she spun around. In the distance she could see a horseman descending the hill, but there was nobody close by. Behind her she heard a scurry of feet and relaxed. Just a rabbit, or perhaps a fox.

Then two sinewy arms wrapped around her and she screeched.
Deus
!

‘Miss …' husked a voice in her ear. It was a long, drawn-out syllable
that sounded oddly unlike English. Oh, God. She froze in fear, unable to escape those imprisoning arms. Her heart raced wildly, but she forced herself to calm down and think. That unusual accent – it must be the man who had been lurking around Trewbridge, asking questions about her. She was sure of it.

How could she escape? She heard his exclamation of annoyance as the feather on her bonnet tickled his nose. He was not very tall. She squirmed then sagged, a dead weight, hoping to surprise him. But he knew all the tricks and although he was short, he was very strong. As his fingers bit cruelly into the soft skin on her arms, she could feel the muscles in his forearms and chest flex. The pulse in her head thundered. It was happening all over again, that thing outside Porto. How many of them were there this time?

Unable to move her arms, she could at least call out. ‘Help! Help!
Assaltante
!'

‘Ssh!' Her assailant's hands smothered her mouth and she bit down ferociously on the soft skin of his palm. Then she recoiled and shuddered. His hands stank.

‘
Aiyee
!' he yelled and uncovered her mouth to shake his sore hand.

Teeth gritted, heart threatening to break out of her chest, Juliana wriggled and elbowed, desperate to escape. Then she heard the most welcome sound she had ever heard – the thud of hoofs. A voice called, ‘Coming, Juliana!' and Colly Hetherington thundered towards them on a huge black hunter the size of a giant mill wheel.

Her attacker's grip released abruptly and she whipped around to see Colly lying alongside his horse's flank. He dropped to the ground as his mount slowed, then launched himself at her attacker.

She stood aside. She was independent, but she was not stupid.

Her attacker put up no fight at all. Not surprising. Colly was six feet four inches and every inch meant business. Parlaying was not his style, action was. The attacker obviously recognized that fact and gave in.

Colly pulled the man to his feet and removed his jacket, then reversed it. He stuffed the captive into it and tied the man's hands together with his scarf.

‘Juliana?'

His anxious voice soothed her heart. She swallowed the fear and said sedately, ‘I'm fine, thank you.'

Colly quirked an eyebrow. ‘Really?'

She had the grace to blush. She felt fine
now
. Now that he was here. Trying to look calm, she brushed down her gown and took off her bonnet to straighten the strings.

Colly cast a quick glance up and down the road, probably checking to see if their captive had any accomplices. Then he addressed the man in a conversational tone as if the past few minutes had never occurred. ‘Now, fellow, tell us what this is all about.'

The captive looked dazed. Exactly the way Juliana felt. She shut her mouth. She knew it had been hanging open. When she had ever-so-casually enquired from his fellow officers about Colly's army career, they had been full of praise for his courage. They had mentioned his willingness to make decisions and bear the consequences of those decisions. They had been amused at the way his men cheerfully cursed him then followed his every order. But nobody had mentioned the speed at which he operated.
Now
she understood why he had been promoted. She had always assumed his courage alone had gained him that promotion, but the sheer speed with which he had reacted just now enlightened her.

She remembered Lieutenant Davidson. He had lingered where he shouldn't have, and Colly had raced in and grabbed him back to safety. Speed. Yes. She smiled to herself.

‘You're looking much better,' Colly said, no doubt wondering why she was grinning like a Cheshire cat only two minutes after being rescued from a dangerous criminal.

‘He's the man from Portsmouth,' she said.

‘Hmm,' was all her rescuer vouchsafed. He walked over to his horse, standing quietly (‘yes, of course it
would
be,' Juliana thought to herself, remembering the trouble she'd had in guiding Pettigrew's old bonebag into the meadow). Looping the reins, he tied them to the saddle. He rummaged in the saddle-bag and pulled out a canteen. Then, shocking both Juliana and her attacker, he slapped the thoroughbred's rump and said to the riderless horse, ‘Home!'

‘B-but …' Juliana began.

‘Horse!' Her assailant stared open-mouthed at the horse fast disappearing down the Pewsey road.

‘Yes,' Colly said. ‘He's one of John's best. He'll go straight home. They'll send someone to search for me.'

Juliana raised her eyebrows sceptically. He had a lot of faith in a mere horse. She'd had very little contact with horses, but her limited experience with Pettigrew's unco-operative mare and her time with the two donkeys between Coimbra and Porto had left her with no complimentary impression of the equine fraternity. Now the three of them were stuck here on a country road, awaiting the pleasure of the Trewbridge grooms, always supposing the damned horse
did
go home.

‘It will be all right, you'll see,' Colly said confidently.

Well, he was not
totally
certain that Brigand would head straight home. Brigand adored milk thistles and there were hundreds of milk thistles between the Pewsey road and Trewbridge. But Colly had no alternative. He could not manage Juliana, a prisoner and a horse all at once. And he owed it to the Trewbridges to take the assailant directly to them. They needed to find out if the man had been loitering around Trewbridge for reasons other than his interest in Juliana. If so, what had he learned about Trewbridge and what did he plan to do with that knowledge?

Colly lowered his captive on to a patch of clover beside the road. Whipping his own cravat from around his neck, he hobbled the prisoner with it.

‘Thank goodness you were on this road,' Juliana said.

He nodded towards the crossroads. ‘I was at a farm on the Upavon – Pewsey road negotiating the purchase of some livestock.' He didn't tell her that he could have arranged for the purchase any day this week, but when Captain Easton told him their plan for unmasking Pettigrew, Colly had decided to work as near as possible to Hungerford in case Juliana needed him.

And she had. Thank God he had come upon them at just that moment. Otherwise the fellow might have dragged her off the road and he would not have found them so easily.

Juliana eyed her erstwhile captor. The man had been sleeping rough for some time and needed a bath. Colly was amused to see her reach into her reticule and pull out a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. She scrubbed it over her teeth.

He grinned. ‘Bit him, did you? Tsk, tsk.'

‘What did you expect me to do?' she asked, raising her chin.

‘Exactly what you did. Behave like a sensible woman and not swoon or do anything silly like that.' He grinned again and she smiled back. He felt his heart lift.

He tramped the high grasses flat for her at a suitable distance from her grubby captor, then reached out and took her hand. ‘Sit down, Juliana. We might have a long wait.'

The sun had set and gabbling waves of sparrows and rooks were settling in a line of poplar trees further down the Pewsey road. In the soft twilight the two of them sat down to wait.

‘Here.' Colly handed her the canteen of water.

She drank, obviously washing away the awful flavour of whatever it was that had her curling her lips. Colly did not offer the canteen to his prisoner, although the man eyed it longingly.

‘I'll leave it to the marquess to question him,' Colly murmured. He had to bend closer to her so the Cornishman couldn't hear. At the same time Juliana turned her head to face him. Two inches apart they stilled, remembering …

Colly contemplated the smudge of dirt on her neck and the flushed, damp skin that told of fear rigidly suppressed, and forgot everything – all his long-held resolution, his past, her future. She needed reassurance. He could give it. He was the only one who could.

‘Juliana,' he breathed, fingering a loose tendril of hair curling on her shoulder. Of their own volition his hands slid down and curled protectively over the fragile feminine bones. He pushed off her bonnet and tugged her closer. She leaned into him and rested her head against his chest trustingly. Colly's heart contracted. He actually felt it tighten and quiver. Then he closed his eyes. His other arm came up to enfold her.

Mine. This was his woman; the one he wanted forever; the one he couldn't have. But on a country road in England on a late summer evening, he was making a memory he would always cherish. For a while she was his.

T
HAT WAS HOW John found them, more than an hour later. He rode up, following the smaller Trewbridge carriage. When Brigand had come home without Colly, John's first thought was that Colly had been thrown. However, as soon as the groom told him about the looped, carefully tied reins he knew that Colly was sending him a message. It was a trick they'd used on the Peninsula. If the rider had looped the reins around the pommel then set the horse free, he was probably injured and unable to ride any further.

So John was not unduly worried when the head groom informed him that Brigand had trotted home, a milk thistle protruding from his teeth, rather blown and very pleased with himself. John had requested the under-groom to take the small carriage as far as the Upavon – Pewsey road and followed along on horseback. Colly had gone in that direction earlier. He should be easy to trace provided he had kept to the main road.

Sure enough, John came upon his friend in the moonlight, Miss Colebrook in his lap, his head resting on hers. Colly's long body was twisted like a corkscrew to accommodate Miss Colebrook's frame, and the lady was asleep. Her lips were parted, and as John dismounted he heard a distinct whuffle when she exhaled.

He hobbled his horse and strode over to them.

‘Thanks, John,' Colly murmured quietly. He nodded towards a disconsolate figure huddled on the grass. ‘There's our visitor.'

‘Vis—? Oh, you mean the person who's been lurking around Trewbridge?'

‘Mmm.' As Colly replied, Miss Colebrook stirred. She wriggled on his lap and burrowed closer, her face nuzzling his throat.

John smothered a laugh. His poor friend must be
very
uncomfortable. He knew from experience that when Marguerite wriggled on his lap like that, his only recourse was to rush her upstairs to the privacy of their bedroom. However, poor Colly could not do that with Juliana.

‘Ah … Juliana?' he heard Colly whisper.

John looked at the prisoner who stared back, chin raised, saying nothing. This criminal might be a hard nut to crack but that would change, John thought grimly. He had no hesitation in leaning on a man who'd not only attacked Juliana, but who had used Trewbridge as a means to an end.

There was a gasp from Juliana as she surfaced.

‘S-sorry,' John heard her mutter as she struggled out of Colly's lap. He strolled over and stretched a hand down to her.

‘Here you go, Miss Colebrook.' He grinned to himself. Would he have fun teasing Colly later! Miss Colebrook clearly didn't care a jot about Colly's so-called bad reputation. She seemed to be very content there in his friend's arms.

As for Colly, John had never seen such a wistful expression on his friend's face. Defiantly Colly stared John down, and John turned away to gaze reflectively at Venus in the heavens. He heard a rustle as Miss Colebrook rearranged her skirts and then some stamping from Colly as he restored the circulation in his long legs.

We must keep these two together, he thought. They are made for each other. What was keeping them apart? Only Colly's pride, surely? Or was there something else?

Then John shook his head. He had things to do. There would be time enough to worry about his friends later.