Mending Horses (37 page)

“Aye, that's wise,” Daniel agreed before the girl could speak. “Her da'll not know to look for her there.”

“Now wait a minute, Jonny. You're talking about gutting my show,” Fred protested.

“You'll still have me and Phizzy and the Learned Horse routine. And Dan'l has taught Francesca and the Ruggles boys to work them ponies well enough that the bunch of us can manage 'em for a while. It'll only be five dancing ponies, since Billy'll need one to ride. If Fogarty comes sniffing around again, we'll tell him she's run away, and the little witch has stolen one of the ponies to boot.” He grinned toward Billy and gave her a wink.

“No,” Billy said, rising from her seat by the fire. “I can't go to Mrs. Taylor.”

“It's the safest place for you,” Jonathan said.

She shook her head fiercely. “I got to go back to Cabotville. To find out if it's true, what he said about me brothers.”

Damn it all, that was the last thing the child needed to find out. Hadn't she had enough torment for one night without hunting out some more? “Billy, you can stay at Sophie's and write to Liam from there. If—”

“I got to go meself.”

“She's right,” Daniel said.

Jonathan sighed. “All right, then. Billy, get your things together. You and Dan'l can set out first thing in the morning. Take Pearl. She's the best one of the bunch, and—” He yanked off the new spectacles and ran a hand across his face. “Damn, these ain't right. They're making my eyes water. Oh, hell.” He pulled Billy into his arms and held her so tight she let out a surprised squeak. God, he'd hugged the girl more times tonight than in all the six months they'd kept company. She deserved better than that. “Don't worry,” he said. “I'll take good care of Phizzy for you.” He kissed the top of her head and sent her off to gather her things.

Hugh pulled his coat tighter and hunched his shoulders against the bitter night air. If only he had a wee dram to warm himself. He checked his pockets, finding purse, pipe, and tobacco, but no flask. Either he'd lost it in the battle or he'd left it behind at the work camp, along with the cowards who'd turned tail as soon as the show people had started to fight back. His mates, indeed! This lot saw a little fireworks and a few beasts showing their teeth, and they'd taken to their heels. When he'd tried to rally them, they'd grumbled that they'd not signed on to do battle with wild animals, poisonous snakes, and armed men. And then McCarthy, damn his eyes, had the bloody nerve to begin doubting Hugh's story, with his wheedly voice and his “Maybe the lad was right. Maybe you are mistaken.”

Some of them had begun looking at him slantwise with suspicion and others with pity, as if they believed the grief had addled his brain. They began saying what a good thing it was they'd not carried out their plan, for wouldn't it have been the proper tangle if they'd taken the child by force and discovered that it was the red-haired boy's brother after all? And then they'd begun drifting away into the darkness like smoke, leaving him alone on the boulder-strewn terrain.

So he'd turned back toward the caravan and been driven off, and now he returned again. He groped his way along the road, guided by fences and stone walls. He'd never thought he'd be glad of the Yankee obsession with enclosing even the meanest scrap of land, like dogs marking their territory with fence rails and piles of stone instead of piss. Tonight those markers helped him find his way back to the orange glow of the caravan's campsite. He was glad, too, of the afternoon's rain. The sodden leaves soaked through his brogans and stockings, but they also muffled his footsteps so he could approach in silence. Had the weather been dry, the crackle of shriveled leaves that blanketed the ground would have announced his presence as surely as if he'd shouted his name.

The show people had driven their wagons off the road into a rocky field and had unhitched and tethered their horses. Campfires were kindled, and men began to put right their damaged
wagons. The steady
thock-thock
of hammers beat time. Yellow dots of lanterns traversed the field as men searched for missing equipment. The tall, thin form of the conjurer darted from wagon to wagon.

Hugh thought he caught a glimpse of Nuala, then lost her as the figure moved out of the firelight. Finally, he picked out the portly shape of the peddler standing next to that shabby nag of his. He seemed to be readying the beast for travel. The little man clambered into the saddle while another figure mounted a second horse. Someone handed each rider a lantern, and Hugh cursed silently as he saw that the second rider was too tall to be Nuala.

The two riders detached themselves from the caravan and headed toward the road. Toward Hugh. He crept closer, using a stone wall for cover. The horsemen proceeded slowly, moving their lanterns methodically back and forth, as if searching for something. Their upper bodies were mere silhouettes, vaguely human in shape, only slightly blacker than the cloud-shrouded sky. Hugh followed, bent nearly double to keep hidden.

“This is daft. We'll not be finding that antelope by daylight, let alone now,” said a voice with the Irish lilt of the red-haired lad.

“Can't argue with you, son,” came the reply from the peddler.

“Then whyever did you want to be coming out here?” The boy pulled his horse to a halt.

Hugh held his breath, as still as one of the stones in the wall that concealed him.

“I want to talk to you where Billy can't hear us,” said the peddler. He and the lad moved forward again, their lanterns no longer weaving back and forth. They seemed to have given up all pretense of searching for the missing antelope.

Hugh followed as best he could, his feet gingerly probing the ground among the sodden leaves before settling his weight, wary of the snap of a branch that might betray him. The riders seemed more intent on their conversation than on making any progress, so it was no trouble to stay abreast of them. They rode with slack reins, their horses' heads drooping sleepily.

“You're sure I'm the one to be taking her and not yourself?” the lad asked.

“If Fogarty follows and sees that Phizzy and me are still with the show, he'll think Billy's here. We can maybe lead him astray for a while before he figures out she's missing.”

Hugh warmed with excitement. He'd have her back then. All he had to do was find out where the lad would be taking her. Then he could waylay them on the road or at their destination. That scrawny stick of a lad would be no match for him.

“Besides,” the peddler continued, “you'll be more help to her than I will. Folks in the Paddy camps are more likely to talk to one of their own than to me.”

The boy halted again. “What if he wasn't lying about her brothers?” he asked.

“To hear Billy talk, lies are all her father knows how to tell,” said the peddler.

Hugh gritted his teeth to hold back his curses. He'd take his vengeance on the peddler later.

“What could'a happened to part 'em, though?” the lad asked. “From what she's said, her da'd not be out here working an honest trade if he had Liam's wages to be feeding on.”

Hugh's throat tightened as he struggled not to let the black mood send him charging from his hiding place. He dug his fingers into the leaves until the cold damp gnawed at his joints.

The peddler's horse plodded forward again. “Could be Liam's booted his father out. Or maybe he took the little ones and struck out on his own.”

“Aye. She said they talked of doing that many a time,” said the boy.

“Still, the way Fogarty carried on . . .” The riders drew a little ahead of Hugh, and he missed part of the peddler's words. He risked taking a few running steps to catch up.

“You believed him, too, then,” the lad said.

“If he was pretending, then he's a better play-actor than Fred. God help her if her pa was being honest for once in his sorry life.”

“God help me, too, for I'll not be knowing how to comfort her,” said the boy.

Aye, Nuala would need the comfort that only her da could give, not these strangers who'd used her for their own profit, who'd forced her to deny her own flesh and blood, who'd turned her against the one who loved her best in all the world. Surely she'd not have turned her own da aside were she not being held against her will. Who knew what horrors they'd subjected her to, what threats they'd used to keep her from fleeing?

“You'll know what to say, Dan'l,” said the peddler. “Didn't you just about talk that mob down all by yourself? You had 'em this close to believing you.”

“Not close enough, for didn't they come at us all the same? As for meself, well, I was this close to wetting meself with terror,” the boy said. “ 'Twas Mr. Chamberlain with his tricks and his teamsters and Mr. Lamb with his wild beasts that sent 'em running. But on me own . . .”

On his own, that scrawny lad would be helpless. Then Hugh would have his vengeance and take Nuala back.

“I wouldn't send you if you couldn't do it,” the peddler said. “You've learned enough of playacting and showmanship to get her safe to Springfield. Just act like a coupl'a farmboys and keep your money hid. Once you get to Springfield, stay at Jerry Warriner's tavern. I'll write him a letter to introduce you. Jerry ought to remember Billy, seeing as I bought her in his dooryard. I'll write you there if anything happens.”

“What do you think Fogarty'll be doing?” the boy asked.

Hugh knew exactly what he would be doing. He would be going to Springfield. He'd not even have to waste energy following Nuala and the red-haired boy. All he needed was to go back to the place where that fiend of a peddler had stolen her. It mattered not at all if they arrived ahead of him by a day or two or even three. They'd be waiting when he got there.

“I'm pretty sure we haven't seen his backside yet,” said the peddler. “If he does bring the law down on us, there's no doubt
he'll win. But maybe Fred and I can buy him off before it comes to that. In the meantime, we'll keep traveling like nothing happened. I think maybe I'll write to Sophie. Chester Ainesworth, too. He may not be a lawyer, but the man knows justice.”

“And what'll you be telling 'em?”

“The truth,” the peddler said. He sighed, his saddle creaking as he shifted his seat. “It's going to be a damn long letter.”

Hugh grinned to himself, hardly believing his good fortune. Surely this lucky revelation was a sign from the Lord, a blessing on his plans, forgiveness for his sins. The Lord knew it was only right and proper for a father to have his child back again, and the Lord had put the means of doing it in his way.
Bide a while longer, Nuala, love
, he thought.
I'll be rescuing you soon enough. Soon enough you'll be safe with your da, where you belong
.

The tavern-keeper hemmed and harrumphed over Mr. Stocking's letter, looking from the paper to Daniel and Billy, a slow smile spreading across his face as he read. “Well, well!” he finally said, putting the letter into his vest pocket. “Pleased to meet you, Dan'l.” He shook Daniel's hand so vigorously that Daniel felt it all the way to his knees. “Any friend of Jonny Stocking is a friend of mine. Lydia, make sure there's a good room ready for these gents,” he shouted over his shoulder. He peered intently at Billy. “So you're that urchin Jonny bought this past spring, hmmm? Looked like a drowned rat, first time I saw you. Jonny's fattened you up pretty fine, hasn't he, boy?” Mr. Warriner clapped Billy so hard on the back that she staggered. “I hope he got his money's worth.” With one hand on Daniel's shoulder and one hand on Billy's, Mr. Warriner ushered them into the taproom. “I'm not likely to forget that day. It's not often something like that happens right in your dooryard.” He dragged a greasy rag across a table and nudged a bench out with his foot. “Ale, gents?” he asked, motioning them to sit.