The Notorious Bridegroom (30 page)

Colette could only laugh at Patience’s naïve questions and shake her head. “You are indeed an innocent. I was very lucky when early in my life someone taught me to live for a purpose. Take that purpose away, and I shall die.”

Patience could think of no reply, and thought Colette’s justification insane. Perhaps James could have taught this wronged woman about forgiveness and a grander destiny than the evil and harshness of a dark world learned at the knees of her satanic master.

The carriage continued to rattle on into the night, but the road grew more rocky and bumpy, alerting Patience that they were off the main road. Several miles later, the coachmen brought their horses to a heaving halt. Colette quickly swept out of the coach with a warning for Patience not to move or she would be shot.

A meaningless threat, Patience thought, considering her death was imminent. Slowly the tears she had held back slipped down her cheeks. In her distress, she bit her lip to keep her anguish silent, afraid to alert the guards outside. Her whole body shook with an invisible pain, her arms wrapped tightly around her body as if to hold in her grief.

She cried because she would never see her brothers again, or Sally or Lem or Martha or Melenroy, all her friends. But mostly she saved her anguish for Bryce, at the thought of never seeing him again. Never feeling his lips caress hers, never again knowing his touch that had branded her heart, body, and soul. “Unfair,” she whispered in a litany. How could evil win? This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Then her chills started. She couldn’t get warm, covered only by her thin pelisse. As her breathing became more labored she leaned back against the carriage seat, eyes now dry, and tried to compose herself.

The door at last opened, and a deep, harsh voice instructed her to climb down. She slid awkwardly to the ground, her feet unsteady beneath her after their long ride. She balanced on the carriage door while she gained her perspective and gasped in horror.

They were in a graveyard. Old gravestones dotted the ground like the sticks in her tomato patch. A slight breeze amplified the silence of the night, marred by low talking among the Frenchmen and restless horses. The graveyard sprawled before her, with modest and magnificent stones alike, in an eerie, silent, forgotten resting place with high weeds their only keepers.

Not far away, she could hear the Channel waters meeting the shore, but the night blurred the separation between sea and sky. The five men that had accompanied the carriage stood in a small circle, ever watching the play about to begin.

Her eyes widened at the mounds of dirt on either side of a large hole and at the wooden coffin that lay next to it. Could this be Colette’s plan? Would this be her gravesite?

She felt nauseated and gripped the carriage door handle until it marked her tender skin. With only a few moments left to live, Patience was determined not to make it easy for any of them. Stoically she turned to the small group of men and asked, “So, on whose conscience will be my death?”

No one moved, no one answered her. The quiet was deafening, even the forest animals quit their activities when they realized humans were nearby.

Colette’s men only looked over to their leader, who called to Patience, “Come over here.”

But Patience remained stubbornly where she was and missed Colette nodding to one of her men because suddenly she felt another hard pistol in her back, pushing her toward the grave where Colette and Lord Londringham’s former butler, Mr. Gibbs, and another awaited her.

There was something to be said that in her last moments on earth, Patience was to see the very people she hated most in this world. And hate was a word foreign to her vocabulary.

Colette watched her approach the open grave. When Patience was a few feet away, she announced, “We must be leaving. Mr. Gibbs and Snively will see to you.” She almost hesitated. “I wish I could be sorry that an innocent like you must die, but it simply is not in the plans for you to live. You have served your purpose.”

She started to walk away but Patience’s words stopped her midstride. “Your plans will fail because Lord Londringham will stop you, like he has done before. And, Colette, I have it on good authority that you will pay dearly for your sins—in Hell.”

Colette turned and looked at Patience with almost admiration in her eyes. “Good and evil, could it be that simple?”

The carriage and riders soon were on their way back to the main road.

Patience quickly turned back to the two men when Mr. Gibbs sneered, his bulbous face red with the effort, his own gun unsteady with joyous emotion. “See how the mighty have fallen. We have you all to ourselves. No one can save you, not even his lordship himself. No one knows where to find you.”

His friend Snively chuckled in glee, and spit near Patience’s skirts.

She twitched not a hair, nor altered her expression after hearing his ugly, ominous words. They certainly didn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing her cower. She was going to be brave when she went to meet her maker, at least that was her plan before she hitched her skirts, turned, and ran in the other direction, surprising her captors. Bullets pocked the ground as she ran but her enterprise proved short-lived.

Unfortunately, the small, wiry Snively managed to dive for her skirts, pulling her down with him to the ground. She fought with the little man determinedly, aiming to claw his face or give him a swift, hard kick, especially when she saw that distinctive leer in the small eyes peering so close to her face.

“Snively, this chit is too much trouble. The sooner we bury her, the sooner we can join the others,” Gibbs told his friend, while throwing his companion off Patience and pulling the young woman to her feet. In short shrift, he had her hands tied behind her back and around her waist. They hauled Patience kicking and pulling across the graveyard, screaming to wake the ground’s residents.

They finally managed to tie her feet but not before Snively had received a grand kick in the eye and Mr. Gibbs a knee in the groin. Unfortunately, her efforts were rewarded by their calloused, harsh hands dumping her into the open coffin. Patience continued to plead for mercy, but they ignored her, both men intent on finishing their ugly task. They pushed her prone into the coffin before placing the lid on top. Nails pounded into the wooden sides and top, and sealed her fate.

Patience couldn’t fight the panic. It was her nightmare, and it was coming true. She was being buried alive. She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. There was no escape. Her thoughts were soon drowned out by the loud
thud, thud, plop, dribble, dribble
of dirt raining on her wooden eternal bed. Patience began her last prayers, asking God to forgive her sins and asking him to take her gently from this world into his. And to watch over Bryce and her brothers, and Lem, and Sally, and…

The General watched the proceedings with great interest. He and his other two companions had just arrived in the cemetery, ready to begin work, when the activity at the far end of the plots caught his attention. He motioned to Harry. “Our first one. This should be easy. We need to ’urry them away, so we won’t ’ave to do all that undiggin’.”

Henry nodded, his broken teeth in a grin, for he had followed the General’s thoughts. “Perhaps we can scare them away?”

The General chuckled at the idea. From their vantage point behind an elaborate statue of the Greek god Mercury, they could see two men, one husky, medium height and the other a scrawny, short fellow flinging dirt on some poor sod’s last resting place.

“Oooooooooooo Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.”
Together, their voices rose in a ghostly, hallowed moan, sure to raise the hackles of any mortals nearby.

The grave diggers stopped and listened. All was quiet. They resumed their work.

Louder. “
Oooooooooooooooooooo Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

The grave robbers sent up even more ferocious howls as vengeful ghosts prepared to walk the earth. The prospect of meeting immortals hastened the grave diggers’ departure.

The General clapped his hands together delightedly. “’urry, boys, lots of useless gold teeth to be found tonight. Useless to their owner.” He chuckled merrily at his own small wit. They scurried like the rats they were to the open grave. Henry and Louis lifted the light coffin easily out of the grave and brushed the remnants of inhibiting dirt from the oblong box.

The General snapped his teeth together, always excited in the moment of his success. With a cool breeze behind them, they made short work of the lid using a crowbar.

A woman. They collectively sighed, hesitant to disturb a female’s grave.

That was before she moved.

Her eyes fluttered open and all three would-be grave robbers screamed and jumped back.

Alive! Was she a ghost? Henry and Bear sank to their knees and watched in amazement as Patience hauled herself with difficulty into a sitting position, staring incredulously and jubilantly at her rescuers. The General had fainted dead away.

Patience sat comfortably next to Bear in the sparse grass, their shallow lamp providing a warming light to the night. And life. She held a whiskey bottle in her hand, generously offered by the big man. All three comrades, the General having regained consciousness, continued to stare at Patience as if she had just risen from the dead. Which is exactly how she felt. Over and over she praised them and called them her saviors. This, of course, after sending several prayers to God thanking him that he didn’t need her quite yet.

She shook her head in amazement. “How came you to be here? Were you following our carriage? Did you intend to rob me again?”

The men looked slightly confused at this reference.

“Well, never mind. It matters not. The important thing is that I’ll be forever in your debt and that you saved me even when performing your nefarious little work.” She unsteadily rose to her feet, breathing deeply several times, unable to get enough of the fresh air back into her lungs.

“Much better, I’m definitely feeling stronger. I must still ask for your assistance.” She cocked her head to look expectantly at the pale men who had hastily risen to their feet. “Is your carriage nearby? I should like to borrow it. You see, I must stop the invasion,” she told them matter-of-factly.

The General stepped up to her when he heard this, looking at her queerly. “Ye were the one on Winchelsea road that night, claim’n the French were com’n, just as we were about to light’n yer valuables. Why is it that ye are always on about the French invad’n? We ’aven’t seen ’em yet, ’ave we, boys?” He smirked to his cohorts, who watched this little scene.

Patience hesitated, pondering how best to convince them she spoke the truth. “I know this is rather hard to believe, but truly, the woman who brought me here is a French spy. She’s preparing to signal to the French ships that it’s safe to land on English soil. I must try and stop her.”

From the looks on the faces of the General and Henry, her words rang false.

But Bear stepped forward and told her, “No carriage, miss, but you may have my horse.”

She tried to control her shudder of revulsion at the news of her only form of transportation and hope. “Ah, thank you, that is very kind of you. If you will show me to your horse and point me to the Winchelsea road, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Bear held the reins with one big hand and boosted Patience up with the other. His mare shifted nervously with the new light weight on top of her. Patience patted the pretty mare’s neck, leaning over to coo assurances in the horse’s ear. The reins tense in her hands, she listened carefully to Bear’s directions, then turned the mare, strangely named Kitten, toward the road. One tap of her heels sent the mare flying, and Patience hung on for dear life. Surely God had not saved her in order that she might break her neck on the back of a horse?

At the gallop of her mighty hooves, Patience thought,
“Kitten” was a misnomer if ever I’ve heard one.
Soon Patience found the rhythm in Kitten’s gait, and their reckless ride became a bit more tolerable as the wind whipped at her hair and skirts.

She had to find help. She headed in what she hoped was a southerly direction, where she remembered something about barracks outside of Winchelsea. Perhaps someone there would believe her story.

The night mocked her journey, giving up no secrets of her whereabouts. When she reached the main road, hoping she headed due south, she pushed her mare faster. Patience marveled at staying the ride and not lying in a ditch.

Riding astride was infinitely safer even if her petticoats were on display. The cool night air did little to diminish the dampness from her exertions and fear that she might be too late. She didn’t know if she had any prayers left that would be answered.

After several miles, cottages began appearing along the dusty road. The village must be near.

When she noticed the church tower in Winchelsea, she breathed a sigh of relief that she was almost there. She continued to race through Town, hoping to find the soldiers’ barracks directly beyond.

She finally slowed Kitten, sawing hard on the reins, both mare and woman breathing hard. Immediately she heard shouts and footsteps running. With the small reservoir of energy left, she lifted her right leg over the mare’s flank and slid all the way to the ground, landing in the dust on her bottom. Someone close behind her grabbed her under the armpits and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet.

A young man in a uniform with a rifle wielded expertly strode forward between the small gathering of soldiers surrounding Patience in curiosity. A woman in their midst with dark hair swirling in knotted curls around her shoulders must have caught their interest.

In an urgent, breathless voice, she told them, “I must speak to your commander at once. For the security of our country.” She heard the collective hushed intake of breath at her words.

The young soldier regarded her closely. “What’s your name and what business do you have here?”

Patience put a hand to her chest, ineffectively trying to calm her nerves. “I’m Patience Mandeley and the French are planning to land near Hastings tonight.”

The leering loitering soldiers nearby immediately straightened their backs, their weapons poised for action. The attaché barked an order and they immediately disappeared back into their barracks.

The lone officer told her, “It’s close to midnight. We’ve already had one mistake this month over false reports of an invasion. I hope you know of which you speak. The commander does not like being awakened.”

Patience shuddered at his choice of words.

Several minutes later, in the dimly lit room of Commander Rightner’s office, both men listened incredulously to her story of Colette, her men, and the devastating plans to invade England.

Patience’s confidence began to build. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. Infantry number 79 immediately came alive with sounds of weapons being loaded, low men’s voices, and the jingling of horse’s harnesses.

Patience had remounted, ignoring the commander’s orders to stay behind. There was no way he or anyone else could keep her from finding Colette.

They rode single file through Winchelsea, heading for Hastings, when they came to a sudden halt by a larger contingent of militia, led by Bryce and Keegan.

Patience saw him before he saw her, and thirstily drank in the sight of his tall form and beloved visage. All her anger fled as quickly as Kitten’s flying hooves. She wanted only to dive into his arms and remain there forever. Coming close to dying does strange things to your soul, she had discovered.

Bryce, Captain Kilkennen, and a uniformed officer approached Commander Rightner.

Bryce spoke first. “We have reason to believe the French will try and land tonight, somewhere between Winchelsea and Hastings. We’ve just come from London and my orders are from the secretary of war. We secure all lighthouses and bonfires, all infantry on alert.”

Commander Rightner listened intently before replying, “I have information that the French will strike at Hastings.”

Bryce studied the man before him, his face etched in stone. “Who is your source?”

A lieutenant motioned for his men to send Patience to the front of their columns. She walked her mare cautiously toward the commander, Bryce, and Keegan, her eyes trained on Bryce. She thought she glimpsed relief, surprise, and something else in his stormy blue eyes before he turned away.

“What proof does she offer you?” his question directed to Commander Rightner.

“The truth,” Patience called over to him, daring Bryce to look at her again.

He steadied his gaze at her and hesitated.

Patience watched in horror at the emotions that played across his face. If she wanted evidence that Bryce had believed the note, he had confirmed it with his dark look and clenched jaw.

Horror switched to astonishment when he said to Commander Rightner, “Let us onward to Hastings.” He reined his horse around, then back again to point to Patience. “She is to come with us.” Bryce and his mount became a blur as they leapt down the road in a hard gallop with the troops and Keegan following behind.

Patience clutched Kitten’s reins, bending low over the animal’s neck. Soldiers surrounded her, making sure she couldn’t escape. But she paid no notice. She was trying to keep sight of Bryce’s broad back.

The ocean gleamed silently and still, the moonlight winking in the roving waters. Only a few stars peppered the late-spring night that was cool and breezy. As they travelled along the coast road, Commander Rightner sent men to cover the lighthouses and bonfires, first warning them there might be Frenchmen waiting for them.

Patience tasted the salty night air while clinging to Kitten’s back, her whole body fraught with fear of what the next few hours would bring. Worrying about the safety of Bryce and England her sore muscles tensed.

She saw the cliffs in the distance and the lighthouse but none of the bonfires was lit.

Something was wrong. She could feel it in her tired bones. She reached up a gloved hand to push away a lashing strand of hair obstructing her sight.

At the front of the dark-colored columns of riders, one group broke away and headed farther south, the other group, including Bryce, left the coast road to begin the slow, arduous climb up the steep road leading to the top of the cliffs.

Pesky thorns and branches pulled and picked at her hair, scratching her stockinged legs to shreds. Still, she climbed on with the soldiers.

By the time the last riders and Patience reached the top, Bryce, Keegan, and Commander Rightner had vanished. After nudging Kitten forward through the wall of heaving horseflesh, Patience came upon a group of men near a dead bonfire, the sound of bullets reporting perhaps two miles away.

Where were Bryce and Captain Kilkennen? Where was Colette? Perhaps she was someplace else along the coast.

She halted her horse and slipped off Kitten’s back, handing the reins to a soldier nearby. He tried to prevent her from leaving, but she easily evaded his reach while he tried to control both horses.

Patience ran across the cliff top toward the lighthouse, stumbling down the shallow valleyed green in the dark. Picking herself up, she crept closer and closer, unsure of what she might find. She leaned against the lighthouse wall to catch her breath and heard the pounding, lashing crash of the waves against the rocks below and shivered with the implication.

She had to reach Bryce and Kilkennen or Colette might try again to implicate Patience in her revolting plans. Feeling the raspy rough wall beneath her hands, she slowly rounded the lighthouse.

There they were, behind the lighthouse, near the edge of the cliffs. A line of soldiers, the lieutenant, Commander Rightner, Bryce, and Kilkennen with weapons at the ready stood near the lighthouse as Colette and her line of men faced them with their backs to the cliffs.

She edged closer to hear their conversation, and her eyes widened in surprise as Colette fabricated a story that she and her men were on the watch for the French spies and had just arrived to light the bonfires. She insisted that they had done nothing wrong. Although Colette’s men did carry weapons, they had as of yet committed no crime.

Patience ran out into the clearing between Bryce and Colette. She turned an impassioned plea to Bryce. “She lies. This woman tried to kill me. She had me buried alive. She calls herself the ‘Dark Angel.’ She is a French spy who is responsible for the Frenchman Sansouche’s death. They are planning to invade tonight, she confessed this to me on our journey from London. It was Sansouche, not my brother, who killed my cousin, Lord Carstairs.”

Too late, in the cover of darkness, Colette had snaked up behind Patience and grabbed her, the ever-present pistol cocked sickeningly against Patience’s forehead. Bryce and Keegan stood like statues transfixed at this sudden attack. Patience’s eyes remained fixed on Bryce as the blood drained from her face.