Plodding along at two or three miles an hour gave Jonathan ample time to think. And his thoughts centred around Louise Vail.

She was an extraordinary woman. He had no idea why she had left home and assumed that foolish disguise. He had expected to have found that out long before now, to have exposed the girl for what she was and marched her back home to be chastised by her papa. Instead all he had learned was that she could use a sword, play whist and had the courage of a lion—and, rather than exposing her, he was going along with the game she was playing.

The trouble was he did not think it was a game; at the back of it all was something deadly serious. Courage she might have in abundance, but she was also afraid. He had seen it in her lovely eyes. He could not wait to get back to her and then, by hook or by crook, he would have it out of her.

Born in Singapore, Mary Nichols came to England when she was three, and has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, school secretary, information officer and industrial editor, as well as a writer. She has three grown-up children, and four grandchildren.

Recent novels by the same author:

RAGS-TO-RICHES BRIDE

THE EARL AND THE HOYDEN

CLAIMING THE ASHBROOKE HEIR

(part of The Secret Baby Bargain)

HONOURABLE DOCTOR,

IMPROPER ARRANGEMENT

THE CAPTAIN’S MYSTERIOUS LADY*

* Part of The Piccadilly Gentlemen’s Club mini-series

The Viscount’s Unconventional Bride
Mary Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

May 1760

The Vicarage garden, though not large, was a haven of tranquillity. Its flower beds were bright with the colour of hollyhocks, sunflowers, larkspur and feverfew and redolent of the scent of roses, lavender and pinks. Louise had always loved it and, even as a small girl, she had enjoyed helping the gardener with sowing seeds and nurturing the plants. The old gardener was gone now, replaced by young Alfred Rayment, but she still liked to tend the garden and was never happier than when she was on her knees, clad in a plain round gown covered with a sacking apron, weeding or picking off the dead blooms.

Today was warm and sunny after a little rain the day before, and she had decided it was time to tackle the weeds in the narrow bed beneath her father’s study window. She had been working contentedly for some time when she heard voices through the open window.

‘Elizabeth, Louise will have to be told. She is no longer a child, she is a woman grown and old enough to understand.’ Louise clearly heard her father’s words, wondering what it was that occasioned them. He sounded unusually grim. Had she breached his strict code of conduct? Had she whispered to her brother Luke during his sermon on Sunday? Had he seen her riding astride which he did not consider at all ladylike? But if that had been the case, he would have summoned her to the study and rung a peal over her. She had never been in awe of him and could usually wind him round her thumb, so she would have been penitent and he would have smiled and forgiven her before letting her go. On so trivial a matter, he would not have had a discussion with her mother beforehand.

‘No.’ This was her mother’s voice, unusually resolute for her. ‘We left Moresdale to escape the past, to make a new beginning and I do not see why we should rake it up again now.’

‘My dear, I know it is distressing for you and will be for her, but she will soon recover. It is not as if we are rejecting her, or that we have ceased to love her, but she will want to marry soon and the gentleman she chooses will have to be told the truth.’

Louise had ceased to pull up the weeds; she was sitting back on her heels, her weeding fork idle in her gloved hand, trying desperately to understand what was being said, hardly daring to breathe for fear of betraying her presence. That they were speaking of her, she had no doubt, but the words they were uttering were incomprehensible. What truth? What past did they need to escape from? She had a vague recollection of moving to Chipping Barnet when she was very small, but her memory of where they had lived before that was hazy.

‘But why say anything at all?’ her mother asked.

‘Because it would be fraudulent for her to enter into a marriage with such a secret and aside from that, there is always the possibility of someone discovering it and telling her prospective husband. That would not do at all, you must see that. It would be despicable of us to allow him to learn it through a third party.’

‘Who will discover it? No one knows but you and I…’

‘And Catherine,’ he reminded her.

‘Catherine will never breathe a word about it. It is more than she dare do.’

‘Surely you do not think she has managed to keep it a secret from her husband all these years? Augustus Fellowes is no fool; he would likely know if Catherine was hiding something from him. And there may be others. I was not present when Louise was born and neither were you, so how do you know no one else knows?’

Louise put her hand over her mouth to stop her cry of distress becoming audible. How could he say her mother was not present at her birth? It was nonsense. Unless…Unless…Oh, no! She would not, could not, believe that, but her mother’s next words confirmed her worst fear.

‘She has been so happy with us, to learn her parents are not really her parents at all will break her heart,’ she was saying. ‘I may not have given her birth, but I am as real as any mother. My feelings for her are the feelings of a mother. I am happy when she is happy, sad when she is sad, hurt when she is hurt, and this will undoubtedly hurt her. I don’t know how you can even think of doing it to her.’

A cool wind played about Louise’s hair, but it was not cold that made her shiver, but shock. She could hardly take it in. Papa, the man who had nurtured her from babyhood, praised her when she had been good, chided her when naughty, given her an education, clothed and fed her, loved her, was not her papa at all. And Mama, to whom she had turned with all her problems, which had somehow always been miraculously solved, was not her mama. It must also mean Matthew, Mark and Luke were not her brothers. They were older than she was. Did they know the truth, that she was…Who was she?

‘Elizabeth, I am a man of the cloth,’ her father went on. ‘I am supposed to set an example of honesty and rectitude, but, for your sake, I have harboured this secret all these years, but my conscience will not allow me to let her marry in ignorance. She could marry a nobleman…’ He wandered further from the window and Louise did not hear the end of his sentence.

‘Oh, Edward, she was never so puffed up as to hope for that. It was only Luke’s teasing when he said she should marry a viscount.’

‘Well, of course it was. I know that, but the truth…’ Again his voice was lost. He was evidently pacing back and forth.

‘Then can you not postpone speaking to her until she is ready to marry? Please leave her in ignorance a little longer, I beg of you.’

Louise did not hear his reply. She flung down the gardening fork, ripped off her apron and gloves and scrambled to her feet, her mind in turmoil. She did not know which way to turn and set off at a run down the garden path. But she was not thinking of the garden, not thinking of anything except the conversation she had just heard.

At the end of the path was an arbour of honeysuckle and pink climbing roses and here she flung herself on to a bench, too numb even for tears. She had lived all her life not knowing she was anything other than the beloved daughter of the Reverend Edward Vail and his wife, Elizabeth. And now it seemed that was a lie. She felt as if she had been broken into tiny little pieces, like a smashed vase dropped from a great height, never to be put together again.

She still could not take in what she had heard and wished with all her heart the last half-hour had never happened. If Papa and Mama were not her parents, who were? How did she come to be living with the Reverend? Had she been given away by her true parents? Whatever it was, it seemed it was a stigma that could possibly make a prospective husband reject her. She had often wondered why her own eyes were an unusual hazel flecked with green when all three brothers’ eyes were blue and her father’s were grey. The boys had fair hair, but hers was dark. Had she, along with her colouring, inherited some bad family trait she might pass on to her children? Even if that were so, how could any mother bring herself to give away her child?

Catherine. Catherine Fellowes. The name had burned itself into her brain. Was she her natural mother? Who was she? Where was she? From what she had heard, the woman was alive and afraid to divulge the truth, even to her husband. Did that mean Louise was not her husband’s child? It seemed the most likely explanation. How many people knew she was a…? What was she? A bastard? There, she had thought that dreaded word even if she had not said it aloud. She was a nobody without a name except the one given to her by the Reverend and his wife. Why had they taken her in? Why keep the secret from her?

Could she go on, living the life she had, helping her father teach the village children, helping her mother with good works, going out riding with Luke, the youngest of her brothers, the only one still living at home, going to social occasions, meeting her friends, looking forward to falling in love and being married one day, just as if she had never heard those words? It was impossible. From now on, she would look at everything and everyone with fresh eyes, as if she had never seen them before. The people around her, the comfortable old rectory, the church where her father preached and where the whole family worshipped, the servants, her friends, the villagers: all would look different.

A cuckoo sang somewhere close at hand, its note repeating itself in her head long after it had flown away and could no longer be heard. ‘Cuckoo. Cuckoo.’ She was a cuckoo in the comfortable nest of the vicarage. Oh, it hurt; it hurt badly. The tears flowed at last, hot and blinding, streaming down her face unchecked.

She mopped them up until her handkerchief was sodden, but they ceased at last and gave way to anger. It was easier to be angry, anger did not hurt quite so much. She stood up and hurried purposefully back to the house, intent on confronting her parents and demanding an explanation, but they were nowhere to be found. Her father had been summoned to a sickbed and her mother had gone into the village, so she was told by Hetty, the parlourmaid. Even Luke was out, but she did not think she could confide in him, even though they were very close and he was the favourite among her three brothers, perhaps because he was nearest her own age. Apart from the servants, she was alone in the house.

She went up to her room, the pretty little room that had seen her grow from a tiny child to a beautiful woman, had seen her in all her moods, happy and sad, but never as miserable as she felt now. She sat on her bed, staring at the wall opposite her on which hung a picture of Christ surrounded by children and under it the text: Suffer the little children to come unto me. As a child she had loved that picture, but today its message seemed especially poignant. Papa had suffered her to come to him, but it seemed now as if he had changed his mind. Who was Catherine Fellowes? Where was she? The unknown woman seemed to be beckoning to her from the past. Come unto me.

Viscount Jonathan Leinster rode into London on the Edgware Road in leisurely fashion. It was a warm day and he was in no hurry, which was just as well because the crowds around the Tyburn gibbet were thicker than usual. He had just come from a dutiful visit to the family estate near Barnet and had endured the usual lecture from his father about venturing into matrimony and settling down to raise a brood of children. He would do that when he was good and ready and not before and certainly not with Dorothea Mantle, whom his parents had decided was eminently suitable. By suitable they meant she had the breeding, the social position and the dowry they considered necessary for the heir to an earl, and the Earl of Chastonbury at that. They took no account of her looks, disposition or standard of cleanliness, which, as far as he was concerned, made her eminently unsuitable.

He understood, though he did not see eye to eye with, their anxiety to have him married and produce the next heir, but their marriage did not set an example he wanted to follow. His mother had once told him it had been arranged by their respective fathers and she had dutifully accepted it. To everyone outside the family, they were a contented married couple, but they led separate lives with very little in common at all, except their parenthood of himself and his young sister, Arabella. His mother had not said it was a disaster, but he knew it was. His father had had a string of mistresses and his mother in desperation had taken lovers, none of which seemed to bring either of them any happiness. Belle had followed in her mother’s footsteps and married the man her father had chosen for her and that had been an even bigger disaster. Henry was fifteen years older than Belle, a cruel man who used his wife ill. Jonathan had advised her to leave him, but she had a horror of the scandal and preferred to endure the misery, especially as their mother had told her it was her duty to do so. Jonathan had sworn it would not happen to him; he would need to be very, very sure before he got himself leg-shackled. The visit had not been a success.

He reined in, not so much because he was interested in what was happening around the gibbet but because the crowds were so thick it was almost impossible to force a way through them. It was then he remembered this was the day Robert Shirley, the second Earl Ferrers, was to be hanged for murder, the first peer ever to suffer that fate; the usual capital punishment for a member of the nobility was to have his head severed from his body with a blow from an axe. His pleas to be sent to the Tower for execution had been in vain; he was to be treated like any other common criminal. Even thinking about it made the hairs on Jonathan’s neck stand on end and he felt as if his cravat were choking him. Not that he had ever killed anyone, except once, and that was in a duel and did not count. It was a fair fight and a long time ago, when he was a cabbage-head and had not yet learned to temper conquest with mercy.

Instead of being taken to the gallows in a plain black mourning coach, the noble lord was being allowed to take himself there in his own landau in a macabre procession that was driving the populace wild with excitement. It was headed by five coaches, all belonging to the Earl, so that as each appeared the crowd cheered it to the echo, only to be fooled because it was empty. The sixth, however, did contain the Earl, dressed in a white suit embroidered with silver. He was accompanied by the Sheriff of London and the Tower chaplain, with warders as outriders. Behind them came more coaches bearing the Lord High Steward, Masters in Chancery and twelve judges and behind these the Earl’s friends come to give him a good send off. London had never seen anything like it. What, Jonathan asked himself, had James been thinking of to call a meeting of the Club today of all days? It wasn’t as if they had had a hand in bringing the Earl to justice; he had needed no searching out and his action in cold-bloodedly shooting his steward had left him no defence.

Jonathan did not wait to see him hang and moved on, turning into Tyburn Lane and thence to Hyde Park Corner and into Piccadilly to the London mansion of Lord Trentham, a member of the government, who had given up a room in his house for the meetings of the Society for the Discovery and Apprehending of Criminals, popularly known as the Piccadilly Gentlemen’s Club. Here he found the others of the group gathered in a room set aside for the meeting.

Jonathan breezed into the room, bade everyone good day and made them a brief bow before subsiding into the only empty chair round the table. The place at the head of the table was occupied by Lord Drymore who, as Captain James Drymore, had founded the Society nine years before. On his left was Harry, Lord Portman, immensely rich, who pretended to be a macaroni, but was as astute as any man and whose particular interest was in coiners, men, and women too, who counterfeited coins of all denominations. Their exploits were becoming so widespread they were beginning to threaten the stability of the economy.

On James’s right was Sir Ashley Saunders, a one-time naval man and a confirmed bachelor, or so he maintained, whose chief concern was with the security of the realm. Both these men had been with James from the beginning and Jonathan had joined them soon afterwards. A newcomer was Alexander Carstairs, one-time cavalry captain and an expert on weaponry. And lastly, at the foot of the table was Sam Roker, who, though not ranked a gentleman, was admitted to the company on account of being James’s devoted servant and friend and very useful to have with you in a tight spot. Besides, he knew his way round the rookeries of the capital where thieves and cutthroats were wont to hole up.

They were all very different men, both in background and temperament, but they worked well as a team and Jonathan was pleased to be counted one of their number. Sometimes they were joined by Sir John Fielding, London’s Chief Magistrate. Blind as he was, he had a fearsome reputation and it was said he could recognise any number of thieves by the sound of their voices. Today he had other duties, probably to do with Earl Ferrers.

‘I am sorry I am late,’ Jonathan said. ‘But there’s no getting through the traffic today. I never saw such a sight. Ferrers has the whole capital in a ferment. You would never think he was riding to his death.’

‘At least that is one more criminal who has received his just deserts,’ Ash said. ‘And I, for one, am glad to see the law deal even-handedly, no matter what rank the accused holds. There should not be one law for the rich and another for the poor…’

‘We all concur in that,’ James said. ‘But can we get on? I intend to set off for Blackfen Manor tonight. Amy will soon be brought to bed with our fourth and I wish to be there when it happens, even if it is only pacing the corridors. Now, Ash, what have you to report?’

‘The City is quiet again after the latest onslaught of the mob, intent on pulling down the dwellings of the Irish labourers,’ Sir Ashley told them. ‘It was all stirred up by a building labourer who had been discharged as a troublemaker. He roused them to fury, but once I had him in custody and talked to his followers they dispersed and no real harm done, except a few bloody noses. But I will keep an eye on things.’

‘Good. What about you, Harry?’ James queried.

Harry stopped examining his beautifully manicured nails to answer him. ‘Jed Black has escaped from Newgate again. That man is as slippery as an eel and should have been hanged long ago.’

‘What’s his crime?’ Alex asked. Being new to the group, he did not know the story behind some of their operations.

‘He’s a notorious coiner and murderer,’ Harry explained. ‘Head of a gang. I had a hand in his arrest some weeks ago. He has a crafty lawyer who keeps finding reasons to delay his trial and he is not prepared to languish in prison when he has a lucrative operation waiting for him to return to it. He escaped once before and a devil of a job it was to track him down and have him taken up again. Now it’s all to do again.’

‘Do what you can,’ James said. ‘The man is dangerous and must be brought to book.’

‘Ten to one he had accomplices on the outside and bribed the guard,’ Harry went on. ‘I plan to go to the gaol and question the warders and the man’s fellow prisoners.’

‘He’s too fly to go to ground in his usual haunts,’ Sam put in. ‘Do you want me to help?’

‘Yes, if it’s agreeable to you, James.’

‘By all means.’ James turned to Jonathan. ‘Jonathan, what about you?’

‘Acting on information received, I recovered most of Lord Besthorpe’s property and returned it to him and no harm done,’ Jonathan reported.

‘By that I suppose you mean you did not arrest the perpetrator?’

‘No. He was a skinny little urchin. Couldn’t bring myself to hand him in.’

James laughed, remembering how he had done the same thing himself years ago and saved Joseph Potton from a life of crime. The lad had grown into a fine upstanding young man who now worked for Jonathan.

‘The nipper was used by others to climb into a tiny window at his lordship’s house,’ Jonathan went on. ‘I came up with them while they were dividing the spoils and the men made good their escape, leaving the bratling to carry the can, but I will unearth them. The boy gave me their names in exchange for his freedom…’

It was then Luke Vail interrupted the meeting, having begged the man on the door to let him in. He doffed his hat, bowed to everyone, then addressed himself to Jonathan. ‘My lord, I need your help urgently. My sister, Louise, has disappeared. We, that is the family, are beside ourselves with worry. I heard you were a member of the Gentleman’s Club that likes to solve mysteries and it seemed to me you might consent to help find her.’

Jonathan studied him carefully. The young man was dressed in the sombre clothes of a cleric, which sat ill on his broad, athletic figure and youthful good looks. ‘I know you, do I not?’

‘Yes, my lord, I am Luke Vail. We were at the same school, though not in the same year. My father is the vicar of Chipping Barnet, hard by your father’s estate. I am to take up a curacy in Bedfordshire in two weeks.’

‘Louise, you say,’ Jonathan said. ‘I seem to remember seeing her once when I attended your father’s church. We go to St Saviour’s as a rule. She was a pretty little thing.’

‘She is not a little thing now, my lord, she is twenty and the apple of my father’s eye, being the only girl in the family.’

‘When did she disappear?’ James asked. ‘Under what circumstances?’

‘Yesterday afternoon when everyone was out of the house. My mother came home from shopping to find her missing. Her gardening apron and gloves and the little fork she used for weeding had been flung down on the flower bed and abandoned. It is not like her to be so untidy; she usually puts them away in the potting shed before she goes indoors. I questioned all the servants and our young gardener told me he had seen her running down the garden path as if the hounds of hell were after her—his words, not mine. He said she sat in the arbour at the bottom of the garden for some time, then suddenly got up and ran back into the house. Later he saw her leaving with a small portmanteau…’

‘She has run away with a lover, perhaps?’ Ash put in.

‘Certainly not!’ Luke was indignant. ‘She would not, even if such a person existed, which he does not.’

‘Did the gardener speak to her?’ Jonathan asked.

‘No, he said it was not his place to question the young mistress and she frequently went into the village carrying a basket of provisions or a bag of clothes and such like to be given to the poor families. She is well known for it and he thought nothing of it.’

‘Then has she gone visiting friends?’ James asked. ‘Have you enquired?’

‘Certainly I have. No one has seen her.’

‘Did you enquire if she had boarded a coach?’ James asked.

‘Yes, it was one of the first things I did. No one saw her and everyone knows her in the village, so if she had done such a thing it would have been noted. Her horse is still in the stable. I rode to my brother Matthew’s house about three miles distant, in case she had taken it into her head to visit him. She was not there nor had been. No one had seen her. I searched the roadside in both directions in case she had met with an accident, but to no avail. She had not been to Mark’s either. He is another brother and has a living near Rickmansworth, though how she would have gone to him I have no idea. Someone would have had to take her. He had seen nothing of her. We do not know what to do next. My mother is distraught.’

‘I can understand that,’ James said. ‘And she left no clue as to her intentions?’

‘No, though she did leave a note telling our parents not to worry and she would soon be back…’

‘There! I said she had run away with a lover,’ Ash said.

‘No, she has not. I wish you would treat the matter seriously.’

‘We are treating it seriously,’ James assured him. ‘But we exist to track down criminals. If no crime has been committed…’

‘Please make an exception in this case. She would not willingly have worried our parents by staying away all night. We think something dreadful must have happened to her. Help us to find her, I beg of you,’ Luke said desperately.

‘This seems like a job for you, Jonathan,’ James said at last. ‘But you must lose no time or the trail will have gone cold.’

Jonathan rose to obey. ‘How did you arrive here?’ he asked Luke.

‘I rode.’

‘Good. I will ride back with you at once. Let us hope the crowds are not so thick now…’

They could not ride side by side until they had passed the Tyburn gibbet. The hanging had been accomplished and the body taken down, but some of the crowd still milled about, talking about it, buying mementoes, waiting to see if there would be any other convicts to meet the same fate. There was usually more than one dispatched on hanging days. As soon as they were on the open road and the noise behind them had faded to a distant hum, Jonathan questioned Luke more closely about his sister’s disappearance. Had anything happened to trigger it off? Had she been unhappy at home? Had she expressed a desire to visit friends or relations? To all of which the young man was noncommittal. And when he asked for a description of Louise, the only reply Luke made was, ‘Oh, she is beautiful.’

‘That is not much help. What does she look like? Is she tall or short? Fat or thin? What is the colour of her hair and her eyes?’ He still had that hazy memory of the little girl in church, in a blue dimity dress with a huge blue bow in her hair. It had been thick, curly hair, he recalled.

‘She is tall for a woman, I suppose, and slim. Her hair is brown, but not an ordinary brown. It has a special sheen to it. Her eyes are…’ He stopped to think. ‘Green, I think. Or perhaps they are brown. Do you know, I cannot be sure.’

‘No distinguishing features?’

‘She don’t wear patches. Nor powder. Nor a wig. Don’t need ‘em.’

It was as much as he could expect; brothers never were very observant when it came to sisters, though they might describe their mistresses perfectly well.

When they arrived at the Barnet vicarage, he was greeted by a sombre cleric and a woman beside herself with grief. He was of average height and breadth, wearing a bag wig and spectacles. She was approaching fifty, a small, neat woman, with greying hair and pale greeny-grey eyes. The pair appeared to be out of sorts with each other, but endeavoured to set aside their differences to offer him refreshment and answer his questions. They could only repeat what Luke had told him, that Louise intended to go because she had left a note, but that was understandable since everyone was out and would wonder what had become of her; it only said she would not be gone long and would soon be back. They did not, for a moment, believe she meant to worry them to death. She was a madcap, always ready for adventure, her brothers had seen to that, but that did not mean she was unfeeling. She would not hurt a fly, let alone her family, all of whom loved her.

‘Might I see the letter?’ he asked.

Mrs Vail fetched it for him. It was very creased and tear-stained. Dearest Mama and Papa, they say eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves, but I could not help listening, so you will understand why I have to make this journey, but I shall not be gone long, so do not worry about me. I promise I will be back as soon as I can. Your very affectionate Louise.

‘What was it she overheard?’ he asked.

‘It was nothing,’ Mrs Vail said. ‘My husband and I were talking. The window was open and she was weeding the flower bed. We had no idea she was there.’

‘Whatever it was would have made her unhappy?’

Husband and wife looked at each other as if unwilling to answer and it was left to Luke to reply. ‘She was always cheerful. She had nothing to be unhappy about.’

Jonathan felt sure they were hiding something; Mrs Vail was particularly uneasy. ‘What time did you go out and what time did you return?’

‘It was the middle of the morning,’ the Reverend said. ‘I had to visit a parishioner who was dying and took the gig. I gave my wife a lift into Barnet to do some shopping and arranged to meet her at a friend’s house to bring her home. It was about five in the afternoon when we returned.’

‘And young Mr Vail?’ Jonathan queried, turning to Luke.

‘I was out riding. I arrived home just before my parents, but I did not think anything about Louise being missing, until my mother became worried.’

‘So the house was empty for five hours. May I question the servants?’

‘Certainly, you may,’ the Reverend told him. But I have already spoken to them all myself.’

‘I am sure you have, but they might have remembered something more.’

Jonathan swallowed the tea he had been given while the servants were summoned. One by one they denied any knowledge of Louise’s whereabouts or any intention she might have had to leave home. He asked and was given permission to examine the garden and speak to the outside servants. A young man weeding a flower bed looked up as he approached. He assumed he was the young gardener Luke had mentioned.

‘I believe you saw Miss Vail before she left,’ he said. ‘I have been asked by the Reverend to help find her.’

‘Yes. She was acting strange and so I told them, but I never spoke to her. I wish I had, ‘cos when I went home I discovered my sister had disappeared too.’

‘Your sister? Do you think they are together?’

‘I reckon they must be. Miss Vail would never be so foolish as to go anywhere but the village all on her own. An’ Betty left a note sayin’ she was goin’ on an adventure an’ it was a great secret and I wasn’t to tell a soul, but when I saw ‘ow worried Mistress Vail was, o’ course I told her. It seemed to ease her mind. It vexes me, that it does. Betty shouldn’t never ‘ave agreed to go, and I’m worried about her too.’

‘You did right to speak out. How many outdoor servants are there here?’

‘Only me and the coachman, Jaggers. You’ll find ‘im in the stables.’ He pointed in the direction of a group of outbuildings.

Jaggers, it appeared, had been with the family man and boy and he could tell his lordship all about the boys and their little sister. ‘Spoiled, she were,’ he said, ‘though not in bad way. She was the sunniest little thing you could imagine and a welcome daughter after three boys. They treated her like one o’ theirselves, always ready for mischief and for a dare.’

‘They have not always lived at Chipping Barnet, have they? I seem to remember an earlier incumbent when I was a boy.’

‘They come from Yorkshire. I were with them then, came along o’ them when they moved. Drove the carriage for them.’

‘Whereabouts in Yorkshire?

‘Moresdale.’

‘Could Miss Vail have gone there?’

The old man shrugged. ‘She were askin’ me about it earlier in the day, but then she was always full o’ questions. I didn’t think anything of it.’

‘When? What time?’

‘About noon, as near as I c’n say.’

‘Was she agitated?’

‘No, just talking, as if she were interested like, while she groomed her mare.’

‘But she didn’t take the mare out?’

‘No. An’ she couldn’t ‘ave asked for the gig because the Reverend had it out.’

‘So, either she was walking or she meant to take the stage.’

‘If she have bin so foolish as to attempt the stage, I fear for her, that I do, what with the terrible state of the roads and the chance of being attacked and robbed. I hopes you can fetch her back and no harm done, my lord.’

Jonathan thanked him and returned to the house where he found Mrs Vail alone in the parlour. ‘Ma’am, I have just been speaking to your coachman. He tells me that you moved here from Moresdale.’

‘Yes, we did. Fifteen years ago now.’

‘Do you think your daughter might be attempting to go back there?’

‘She does not know where it is. She was only five when we moved down here. I doubt she would remember it. And why would she want to go back there?’

‘I do not know, but perhaps you might hazard a guess?’ It was said meaningfully. ‘Why, for instance, did she abandon her gardening clothes on the flower bed? It seems to me that something startled her. Can you tell me what that could have been?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Cannot or will not?’

‘Cannot. I beg you not to ask.’

The lady was so nervous, Jonathan was sure she was hiding something. ‘Madam, I will do what I can to find your daughter, but it is necessary for me to know everything, you understand? I cannot work in the dark.’

‘My lord, forgive me, I am not myself.’ She seemed to gather herself with an effort of will. ‘All I can tell you is that we were talking of the place where Louise was born and that might have aroused her curiosity, but I can hardly believe she would try to go there. She has never travelled anywhere on her own before. It is two hundred miles away and goodness knows what at the end of it—’ She stopped suddenly as if conjuring up some dreadful calamity in her mind’s eye that she could not put into words.

He decided she was afraid of something else beside the hazards of the journey. ‘Nevertheless, you do believe that is where she is heading?’

‘Perhaps.’ It was said reluctantly.

‘Does she have any money? She will not go far without it.’

‘The Reverend gives her pin money…’

‘How far will that take her?’

‘I do not know. She has little reason to spend it. Furbelows and fancy ribbons never appealed to her, so she may have a little saved. And…’ She stopped and swallowed hard. ‘I fear she sometimes plays cards with Luke and his friends and is always boasting of how much she has won.’

He almost laughed aloud at the thought of a vicar’s daughter gambling, but restrained himself. It was not a time for laughter. ‘How much has she won?’

‘I have no idea. It is only a little fun, but if my husband were to hear of it he would be very angry. I cannot think it amounts to more than a few shillings.’ She was unhappy about his questioning and wished to bring it to an end. ‘Go after her, my lord, please, bring her safely back to us.’

‘I will do what I can to find her, but short of tying her up and carrying her off, I cannot force her to return, you understand.’

‘Yes, but do your best to persuade her, I beg you. But whatever you do, please see she comes to no harm.’

He was still not completely satisfied, but he did not think he would get anything more out of her and took his leave. Finding runaway daughters was not the sort of thing the Club took on, but there was no time to go back and consult James, who in any case had gone home to be with his family, so it was up to him to decide whether to proceed. There was a mystery here and if the law had been broken, then that was reason enough. Besides, he was intrigued.

‘I don’t know why we ‘ad to go all the way to Lunnon, only to come straight back ag’in,’ Betty said as the coach drew up at the Red Lion in Barnet. ‘You changed yer mind, Miss Louise?’

‘Shh,’ Louise whispered, glancing at the other passengers to see if they had heard, but the noise of the horses being changed and the ostlers and coachmen shouting to each other had drowned her voice. ‘I am not Miss Louise. I am Mr Louis Smith. And you are Mrs Smith. Call me Lou, like I told you. And in answer to your question, no, I have not changed my mind. We could not have boarded the coach here, everyone knows us.’

Betty giggled. ‘Not like that, they wouldn’.’

Louise looked down at herself. She was wearing a pair of breeches, which had once belonged to one of her brothers, tucked into her own riding boots, a blue wool coat with enormous pockets and pearl buttons, a long matching waistcoat, a white linen shirt and a black neckcloth, all once worn by one or other of her brothers. Her hair was tied back in a queue such as military men adopted and fastened with a slim black ribbon and topped by a tricorne hat. The ensemble was completed with a sword belt into which she had put Matthew’s small sword; since becoming a parson he had ceased to carry a weapon. And into the capacious pocket of the coat she had put a pistol, which she had taken from a drawer in Luke’s room, along with a pouch containing ball, powder and tinder. She was a good shot, but had never aimed at anything but a target and doubted she would have the courage to use it in any other circumstances. But having it made her feel a little safer, more manly.

The disguise was the result of much soul searching the day before on how best to travel. She felt she would be safer as a man and she knew there were some old clothes of her brothers stored in the vicarage attic, but even in men’s clothes the prospect of going alone had daunted her, although not enough to make her turn from her determination to make the journey. And she knew roughly where to go. Jaggers was a talkative man and liked to tell her tales of his boyhood in Yorkshire and how he had been taken on by the Reverend, ‘afore he come down south’ as he put it. He hardly needed encouragement and she soon had a place name, the one she had heard her mother mention, though he had no idea exactly where it was in relation to Barnet. ‘Moresdale is a fair distance,’ he said. ‘T’other side of York. It were where you were born, Miss Louise.’ She wondered if he knew the truth, but she couldn’t go round asking everyone she met if they knew she was not her father’s daughter.

She had been leaving the house with a portmanteau containing her disguise, together with some feminine clothes she would need when she arrived, when she became aware of Alfred Rayment, their young gardener, watching her. She thought her adventure had been foiled before it began, but he did not seem particularly curious and she supposed it was because she often took items of clothing to the village in a bag and he would think nothing of it if she acted naturally. She smiled and went on her way.

It was then she hit upon the idea of asking his sister if she would accompany her. Alfred and Betty lived in a cottage on the other side of the village. Betty was seventeen, a couple of years younger than Alfred, and acted as his housekeeper. They had no parents. She had a round, rosy face, blue eyes and thin pale hair. She was always clean and neatly dressed. When asked if she would like to go, she had become as excited as a child. ‘I ain’t ever left home afore,’ she had said. ‘It’ll be summat to tell me children, if’n I was ever to find m’self a husband.’

It solved another problem for Louise—where and how to change into her disguise. Betty thought it was a huge joke and Louise did not tell her it was very far from a joke.

‘Perhaps not, but I could not take the risk leaving dressed as a woman,’ she said in answer to her friend’s comment. ‘We would never have got away if someone had recognised me and told the Reverend.’

The girl was in her best dress, the bodice of which was laced across her stays and the neck filled with a cotton fichu. They were an unprepossessing couple, but that suited Louise’s purpose. ‘Yes, but why did we have to go all the way to Lunnon first,’ Betty persisted. ‘I never bin in such a frightenin’ big place afore.’

Never having travelled by public coach and having little idea where they habitually stopped, they had walked towards London, carrying their bags. It soon became obvious to Louise they must find transport. Their bags, though containing the minimum possible, were heavy and it would not be long before she was missed and being searched for. To be found on foot within half-a-dozen miles of home would be the ultimate humiliation. They had stopped a carrier’s cart and asked the driver for a lift. He had taken them right into the heart of the Capital and directed them to the Blue Boar in Holborn where, so he told them, they could pick up a coach to almost any destination they cared to name.

But there had been no coaches leaving for the north until the morning. They had walked about all night, not daring to ask for a room anywhere, and at dawn had made their way to the inn and paid their fare to York. Louise was taken aback by the amount she had to pay; three guineas left little for bed and board on the way and she feared her small savings would not last and she might have to sell what little jewellery she had. She had no idea how to go on after they reached York, but she told Betty, as confidently as she could, they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

She was almost holding her breath in case someone whom she knew boarded the coach at Barnet, but no new passengers claimed seats and the original four were soon on their way again. The die was cast. She was going to find Catherine Fellowes and then she might have her questions answered. It had briefly occurred to her that the lady might no longer live in Moresdale even if she ever had; she could not even be sure of that. She might have moved away, or even died. Louise hoped not; it would be sad never to have known her. She would never find out if she did not go, would she? Curiosity had always been one of her characteristics, but this was more than curiosity; this was a need to discover her identity. But it did not mean she wanted to leave the loving couple she would always look upon as her parents; she would come back. She had said so in her letter. She hoped they understood that this was something she had to do and it did not mean she loved them any less.

She settled back in her seat, prepared to sleep if she could, and advised Betty to do the same. ‘We have been awake all night,’ she whispered, with one eye on the couple sitting opposite them. ‘And if we are asleep, no one will engage us in conversation, will they?’

Most of the roads close to the metropolis had been turnpiked, but even those had been churned up by heavy wagons in winter and baked into ruts in summer. They were jolted from side to side and sleep was almost impossible. They passed through Hatfield, changed horses at the Duke of York at Ganwick Corner, then again at Stevenage without incident and were approaching Baldock when it happened.

Louise was drowsing, but was jolted fully awake by the shout of the guard and the coach being pulled to a sudden stop, followed by the sound of a gun being fired.

‘Highwaymen!’ she gasped, as the door was wrenched open and a black cloaked figure wearing a mask and brandishing a pistol ordered them out on to the road.

Chapter Two

Jonathan left the vicarage and rode to Chaston Hall, which was only eight miles distant, where he kept his coach and carriage horses. Finding a standing for them in London was difficult and his father’s estate in Barnet was large enough for them to be no trouble to him and near enough to the capital for him to send for them if they were needed.

He told his parents he would be away some time on the Society’s business, though he did not explain the nature of the business. And though they decried his secretiveness, they had become used to it. They bemoaned the day he had ever met James Drymore and his band of gentleman thieftakers. If it were not for them, he would be dancing attendance on the year’s hopefuls at London’s society balls and finding himself a wife. He would not find one chasing all over the countryside after criminals. At twenty-five, it was high time he set up his own establishment; his bachelor rooms in town did not count.

He smiled politely and allowed them to go on for some minutes before excusing himself and hastening out to the stables to tell Joseph Potton to harness up his travelling coach. He might be quicker on horseback, but if and when he caught up with the runaway he would need a vehicle to convey her home. ‘You and I are going alone,’ he told Joe. ‘Take a change of clothes, I do not know how long we will be gone.’

Joe grinned. ‘Chase ‘em and nab ‘em business, m’lord?’ he queried, using his own name for the Society. He was a sturdy twenty-year-old, though sometimes he behaved like someone twice his age, which was hardly surprising considering he had been born in poverty without a father and with a mother who turned him out when she was entertaining her men friends. The courts and alleyways of Ely had been his home. He would still be there if James had not rescued him and given him an education to fit him for a life in service. It was on James’s recommendation Jonathan had taken him on.

‘Yes, now make haste—we have not a moment to lose.’ The young lady had a day’s start and must be well on her way by now. In Jonathan’s favour was the fact that he had a far superior vehicle and was prepared to drive through the night, which the public coach would not do.

He left the boy to do his bidding while he went to his room to supervise his packing and console Hilson, his valet, for not taking him too. He changed swiftly from his silk coat, waistcoat and breeches and his lacetrimmed shirt into something resembling a yeoman farmer: brown stuff breeches tucked into sturdy boots, dark brown wool coat over a long narrow waistcoat and flat-crowned felt hat. He had never worn a wig and his own hair was tied back in a queue. The whole outfit horrified Hilson and though he had seen it before he bewailed that his young master should so far forget his rank and dignity as to dress like one of his father’s hired labourers. Jonathan simply laughed and pointed out he would not have the embarrassment of dressing him if he did not accompany him. Even so, he did allow the man to pack some decent clothes for him in case it became necessary to revert to being the Viscount. He heard the coach being brought to the front door and, picking up his bag, raced down and climbed in.

While daylight lasted, they made good time and had passed through Stevenage and were approaching Baldock, in the gathering twilight when Joe pulled the horses to a halt. Jonathan stuck his head out of the door. ‘What’s up?’

‘Something blocking the road ahead, my lord. A coach I think. Oh, lor’, it’s a hold-up!’

Jonathan left the carriage and climbed up beside Joe, the better to see. There was no doubt of it; the coach ahead of them was being searched by armed robbers. One had his head and half his torso in the coach searching it while its passengers stood on the verge being guarded by a second man with a pistol.

Jonathan, who always travelled with a pair of loaded pistols against such an eventuality, withdrew them from his pocket and urged Joe to spring the horses and make as much noise as he could.

Joe enjoyed doing that and between them they managed to make it sound like a cavalry charge. Joe brought the horses to a shuddering halt only inches from the back of the coach. Jonathan stood up on the box and fired his pistol at the gun hand of the man guarding the passengers. It flew from his hand. He swore and put his injured hand to his mouth. The man who had been searching the coach emerged and stood beside it empty-handed. ‘Stand still if you value your life!’ Jonathan commanded, aiming his second pistol at him, at the same time handing the first to Joe to be reloaded, which was done in record time. It was a routine they had practised many times and it meant he nearly always had a loaded weapon to hand. The robbers, seeing themselves outmanoeuvred, gave themselves up.

‘Thank you, sir,’ the coachman said, looking daggers at his guard, whose blunderbuss lay undischarged on the seat. ‘A most timely intervention. We are in your debt.’

Joe, the coachman and the guard tied the men securely with spare cord usually used to secure luggage on the roof, and bundled them into Jonathan’s carriage, while he turned to see if the passengers had been hurt.

‘You are to be congratulated, sir,’ a gentleman in the plain black suit of a cleric told him. ‘Such presence of mind I have rarely met. I am persuaded you are a military man?’

Jonathan bowed towards him, neither confirming nor denying it. ‘Is your good lady hurt?’ The lady in question was sagging against him, a handkerchief held to her face.

‘Very shocked, sir, but not hurt. She will be calmer by and by.’

Jonathan turned to the other couple, a slight young man and a girl, who was white as paper and shaking like an aspen. The man had his arm across her shoulders. ‘I must add my thanks to the others,’ he said, in the rather reedy voice of a youth. It puzzled Jonathan because it was so out of keeping with the look of him.

Dressed in a coat and breeches of blue woven silk, well made but not of the highest order, he stood erect, his head high, one hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist, the other round the young lady, protecting her. His face looked as though it had never needed a razor, and his eyes—oh, those eyes! They were wondrous eyes for a boy: the colour of a hazelnut, flecked with tiny spots of clear green. And his hair, for all it was tied back and crammed under a hat, was like dark, burnished copper; brown, yes, but it only just escaped being red. He assumed they were two not-quite-adult youngsters running away to Scotland to be married against the will of their parents. He smiled at them. It was none of his business.

‘I suggest you return to your coach and continue your journey,’ he said. ‘I will follow in my carriage and make sure you are not waylaid again.’

‘You would travel with those two?’ the young man asked in surprise, indicating the two prisoners.

‘No, I shall ride up beside my driver and take them to the magistrate in Baldock. Have no fear, they will not trouble you again.’ He watched as the four passengers climbed in. The coachman inspected the vehicle for damage; having satisfied himself there was none, he climbed up beside the guard and they set off.

Jonathan returned to his own carriage and followed, cursing his luck because he had to drive slowly behind the coach when he would rather be further on his way. He could only hope that Miss Vail did not deviate from the usual route to the north and throw him off the scent. It was unlikely; the Great North Road was the only viable road and even that had not been turnpiked its whole length.

‘He were impressive, don’t you think?’ Betty murmured to Louise, watching the cleric trying to comfort his sobbing wife.

‘Who?’

‘Why, our rescuer, o’ course. The way he made those two ruffians stand still and allow themselves to be trussed up was summat miraculous.’

‘He had a pair of pistols.’

‘So he did, and he knew how to use them.’

‘You think I should have pulled mine from my pocket and fired it?’

‘No, course not. You didn’ hev the time.’

‘It is not loaded either.’

Betty had a fit of the giggles, which Louise put down to nerves. ‘Do leave off, my dear,’ she said, managing a gruff voice for the benefit of the other passengers. ‘I am sure the Reverend and his wife do not find the situation amusing.’

Betty became serious for a moment, then smiled again. ‘Oh, but he was handsome, don’ you think?’

‘I did not notice,’ Louise lied. You would have to be made of stone not to notice a man like that. Their eyes had met and held for a long minute as if each were trying to memorise the features of the other. He had a clean open face and blue eyes, which reminded her a little of Luke, whom she had left behind. His hair, the colour of ripe corn, had been cut short and curled around his face, leaving the back long enough to be secured in a short plait and tied with a narrow ribbon. His clothes were nothing to speak of, but he wore them with distinction. The clerical gentleman was probably correct and he had been a soldier. But she agreed with Betty—he was extraordinarily handsome. She had to remind herself she was supposed to be a man and should not be thinking such thoughts.

She and Betty had rear-facing seats and if she leaned a little towards the door, she could see the other coach, still following them. It was a rather grand equipage and not at all in keeping with the man, which made her curious, curious enough to make her forget, or at least push from her mind, the reason for her journey. She began to wonder if he was all he seemed. Had he stolen the carriage? Had he had designs on their coach himself and been foiled by the highwaymen ahead of him? But if that were the case, he would hardly have arrested them and promised to take them to the magistrate. Of course he could let them go as soon as they were out of sight, but the coach stayed close behind, the young driver matching the pace of his horses to theirs. It did not stop; no one left it.

They were soon in Baldock and passing under the arch into the yard of the Bull. Louise felt some trepidation on entering such an establishment, but stiffened her spine and in her best masculine voice requested a room for himself and his wife, giving their names as Mr and Mrs Smith. If the innkeeper thought that was an alias, he gave no indication of it and conducted them to a tiny room tucked away at the back of the building. If you want a room to y’selves, this is all I’ve got,’ he said. ‘It’s this or share.’

It was hardly more than a large cupboard with a foot-square window, but sharing was the last thing Louise wanted to do. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It will do. And we should like a meal.’

‘Dining room’s downstairs,’ he said, lighting another candle from the one he held and putting it down on a chest, which, with a bed and a single stool, was the only furniture in the room. There was a jug of water and a bowl on the chest and a rough towel hanging on a hook.

As soon as he had gone, Louise sank on to the bed and looked about her, glad the candle was so feeble; she did not think she would like to see her surroundings any clearer. ‘Well, here we are,’ she said with an attempt at cheerfulness. ‘Our first night.’

Betty stood looking down at her. ‘How many other nights like this do you reckon we shall hev?’

‘Four or five. I suppose it depends on the state of roads and not having any more hold ups like we had today.’

‘I pray we do not, though if we was to be rescued every time by a couple of handsome strangers then I shouldn’ mind.’

‘Oh, Betty, how can you say that? And remember you are supposed to be my wife. If you start making eyes at strange men, I shall have to become very jealous.’

‘Oh, wouldn’ that be fun!’

‘I do not want to draw attention to ourselves, Betty,’ she said severely. ‘I am not sure my disguise will bear close scrutiny.’

‘Nor I don’ neither, ‘specially if you was to tek your coat off. That binding you put round y’self ain’t tight enough.’

Louise had stripped off her coat in order to wash and could see what Betty meant. As soon as she had completed her ablutions, she tightened the binding that was supposed to flatten her breasts and was not at all comfortable and put the coat on again. ‘Let us go down and find the dining room,’ she said. ‘I am hungry.’

‘T’ain’t to be wondered at, we had no supper last night, nor breakfast this mornin’, and the bread and ham we had at that inn in Welwyn were not enough to feed a sparer,’ Betty complained.

‘Come along then. And please remember I am Lou, not Miss Louise, not Miss Anything.’

‘Yes, m…Lou.’

The dining room was crowded, but the first person Jonathan saw when he entered was Mr Smith sitting on the end of the bench at the refectory table, which all but filled the room. He had taken off his hat and his thick hair seemed to spring out round his face. His nondescript wife sat beside him. Both were tucking into their pork chops as if they had not eaten for a week. He smiled, walked down the length of the table and took the vacant seat at the head of the table next to the young man.

‘Good evening,’ he said, as a waiter put a plate of food in front of him. ‘I trust the rest of your journey was uneventful?’

Louise lifted startled eyes to his. She had been talking about him only a few minutes before and here he was in the flesh. He was searching her face as if puzzled by it and she felt the colour rise in her cheeks. How stupid for a man to blush! ‘Yes, uneventful,’ she murmured, remembering to lower the timbre of her voice, then turned to look down at her food and concentrate on eating.

‘We didn’t think we should see you again,’ Betty told him, picking up a chicken leg in her fingers and gnawing at it. ‘What happened to those two highpads?’

‘They are safely locked up,’ he said, and though he was addressing Betty it was at Louise he was looking.

She knew that if she continued to behave like a nervous schoolgirl he would soon penetrate her disguise and she must do something to assert herself as masculine. She started by taking a long pull at the quart of ale which stood at her elbow and was glad her brothers had dared her to try theirs so she was not as shocked as she might have been by its bitter taste.

‘Glad you turned up when you did, sir,’ she said, putting the pot down again. ‘We were taken aback by the suddenness of the attack and I did not have time to draw my own weapon…’

‘Your weapon?’ Jonathan queried, smiling faintly.

‘Yes. One of Mantle’s best.’ She thrust her hand into the pocket of her coat and pulled out the pistol.

‘Good Lord! I never thought you meant it. Can you fire it?’

‘It would not be much use to me if I could not, would it?’ It was put back in her pocket before he could pick it up and realise it was unloaded. Mark, who was the best marksman of her brothers, had always said it was dangerous to carry a loaded pistol; it might go off in one’s pocket, and the sight of an unloaded one was often enough to save one’s life. The gentleman’s arrival on the scene had saved her from having to put that theory to the test. ‘I fear highpads are the scourge of travellers and one needs to defend oneself.’

‘True,’ he murmured, endeavouring not to smile. ‘And the sword?’

‘Given me by my fencing master,’ she said. That was partly true. Matthew had taught her to fence and it had been his sword, one she practised with until Papa had told her it was not a suitable accomplishment for a young lady.

‘And no doubt you can use it?’

‘Oh, you need have no fear on that score.’

He was amused. No doubt the young shaver was boasting to impress his young lady, though to look at her she seemed singularly unimpressed. At that moment she was making eyes at Joe, who had seated himself opposite her. He would have to have words with that young man.

‘Let us introduce ourselves,’ he said. ‘My name is Jonathan Linton.’ It was a name he used when on Society business. It left him free to assume whatever pose he chose; sometimes a title could be a hindrance.

‘Louis Smith. This is my wife. We are on our way to York to visit relatives.’

‘What a coincidence, so am I, travelling to York, I mean.’

She stifled her dismay; he was altogether too perspicacious for her peace of mind. ‘I hope you have not been too delayed by having to come to our rescue.’

He smiled. ‘I could not have gone past, could I? Your coach was blocking the road. Besides it would have been unchivalrous and it behoves all of us to maintain law and order where we can.’

‘You are never a Bow Street Runner!’ gasped Betty.

‘No, I am not. I am simply a private citizen doing his duty as he sees it, and glad I am that I did. I have learned those two men are wanted for other crimes in London and will be sent back there to stand trial. I am happy to have been instrumental in bringing them to justice.’ He smiled as he spoke. The two men had seen no reason to hide their real names when asked for them at the Baldock magistrate’s office and he had been surprised and delighted to discover they were the two he wanted in connection with Lord Besthorpe’s burglary, fleeing London. His journey had not been a wasted one, even if he never caught up with Miss Louise Vail.

He ought to have driven on through the night in an effort to catch her, but had decided not to risk his horses on the roads which, north of Baldock, were not always kept in good repair, in spite of the tolls. If his own horses were given a night’s rest, he could take them on the next day instead of hiring post horses. Besides, he was intrigued by the young whippersnapper who faced him now. There was something smoky going on and he hated unsolved mysteries.

The meal was finished and the cloth removed. A jug of ale, a bottle of Madeira wine and another of cognac were put on the table alongside glasses and a pack of cards. Jonathan, still amused by the boy, decided to test him further. He picked up the cards and began to shuffle them. ‘Do you play, Mr Smith?’

Louise hesitated. She could play a good hand of whist, but no doubt the man expected to play for money and she did not know if she dare risk it. But dare she refuse? She was sure he was already suspicious of her. And supposing she were to win, how much easier it would make their journey to have a few extra guineas in her pocket. ‘Yes, I like a game, sir, but I do not play deep. To risk more than one can spare seems to me irresponsible in the extreme.’ This was a long speech for her and was said in the deepest voice she could manage, which made her cough. She took another long pull of ale to clear her throat.

‘We are in agreement, Mr Smith,’ Jonathan said, pouring more ale for himself. ‘But one must do something to wile away the rest of the evening.’ He paused and again scrutinised her face. ‘Unless you prefer conversation?’

‘No, let us play a hand or two of whist,’ Louise said quickly. At least playing cards she would not need to talk much and the men might not notice she drank very little.

Jonathan turned to two men who sat on the other side of Louise. They were dressed in fustian coats and leather breeches and wore black bag wigs. ‘Gentlemen, will you make up a four?’

They agreed and moved to join Jonathan and Louise at the head of the table, introducing themselves as Bill Williams and Charlie Burrows. Betty moved away to talk to Joe. Louise did her best to concentrate on the cards at the same time as she kept an ear for what Betty was saying. She was not sure the girl would not inadvertently give the game away. She lost the first hand and reluctantly added a half guinea to the pot. ‘Betty, my dear, I think you should go to bed,’ she suggested. ‘I am sure you are tired and we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.’

Betty scowled but obeyed. Louise realised everyone was grinning. She laughed. ‘Must keep one’s hand on the mare’s bridle, don’t you think? Shall we go on? Your deal, I believe, Mr Burrows.’

The evening wore on. Without having to worry about Betty, Louise was able to concentrate and luckily for her the cards fell well. She put them to good use and soon had a small pile of coins at her elbow. But the strain of maintaining her role and her previous sleepless night were beginning to tell. This was nothing like making up a fourth with her brothers, even though they had taught her well. This was fraught with tension. And Mr Jonathan Linton seemed not to be able to take his eyes off her. Was he studying her face in order to intimidate her into playing badly? She began to feel more and more uncomfortable.

‘I think this must be my last hand.’ she said, putting her hand to her mouth to stifle a yarn.

‘But the night is young,’ Williams protested.

‘Nevertheless I am for my bed.’

‘Ain’t anyone ever told you, ‘tis not done to go off with the winnings without giving a body a chance to win some of it back?’ Burrows added.

‘There is no sense in going on if one is going to lose everything one has gained,’ she said, putting her hand over the coins she had won and drawing them towards her, intending to put them in her pocket. Before she could do so Jonathan put his hand over hers and stopped her.

‘You can’t do that, Mr Smith.’ He was enjoying himself hugely. Those wide eyes, the unruly hair, the delicate hands with their neatly manicured nails, the voice that wavered from a squeak to a rumble, the delicate colour in his cheeks, all proclaimed a young lad barely out of puberty, trying to act like a grown man. Burrows and Williams had undoubtedly come to the same conclusion and had determined having some sport with him.

Not that he would be an easy victim. Jonathan had watched him closely; the young man seemed to know which cards each of his opponents held, had played his own hand judiciously and won. Had he cheated? If he had, he had not detected how it had been done. But what if he were not the innocent, but an accomplished confidence trickster? His apparent innocence would deceive most people.

Solving mysteries was the raison d’être of the Club; as long as they were travelling in the required direction, he would to stick with his mission and have a little fun, at the same time. He still had his hand over the young man’s, imprisoning both it and the coins beneath it. ‘You have to prove your success was not beginner’s luck.’

She longed for her bed and the feel of his warm, strong hand over hers was having a very strange effect on her. It made her feel weak and womanly and that would never do. She pulled her hand free. ‘I have to prove nothing, Mr Linton. It was a little game to wile away the evening. They were your words. The evening has sped by and now I am for bed. My wife will be waiting for me.’

‘We must not keep the little lady waiting, must we?’ Williams said with a laugh. ‘Whose hand is on the reins now?’ Then everyone laughed. Jonathan’s own lips twitched, but he refrained from joining in; he did not like to see the boy humiliated. Why that was, he did not know.

Furious Louise snatched up her winnings and left the room with all the dignity she could muster.

Betty woke as she was taking off her coat. ‘Did you win?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. We can eat well tomorrow then.’

They could, but what it had cost her in nervous tension was only now beginning to make itself felt. She was shaking with relief to have escaped so lightly. Those men could easily have detained her and taken her winnings from her—Burrows and Williams, in particular, frightened her. She did not include Mr Linton in her condemnation, though why she did not she was not so sure. He was not like the other two, being more of a gentleman, but what difference did that make? Gentlemen could also be rogues.

She put the extra guineas in her purse and slipped it under her pillow before climbing into bed beside Betty. If her study of the timetables of the York coach had informed her correctly, she had three more nights to endure like this one. At least, they might not be so bad. She put her hand under the pillow and felt the comforting presence of the purse. Betty was right; they would travel in more comfort the rest of the way.

Before he undressed for bed himself, Jonathan sat down to write his daily log, which was required of him when on the business of the Society. He stated the facts without embroidery. Mrs Vail’s attitude had led him to believe there was something suspicious about her daughter’s disappearance and after questioning everyone at the vicarage, he had come to the conclusion she was travelling to Yorkshire, probably accompanied by a young girl, the sister of her father’s gardener. He had followed in his own carriage and come upon a coach being held up by highwaymen, whom he had apprehended. The Society would be pleased to hear that the two men involved had turned out to be Lord Besthorpe’s burglars. He had handed them over to the Baldock magistrate and was continuing his pursuit of Miss Vail.

Louise did not see Mr Linton at the breakfast table next morning, even though, to her shame, she looked for him. He had probably set off much earlier. She and Betty ate a hearty breakfast to prepare them for the day ahead and, having paid their dues, boarded the coach to continue their bone-shaking journey. She was disconcerted to discover the cleric and his wife were no longer with them and they were joined by a very fat lady with a kitten in a basket and the two card players of the evening before. It meant she had to be doubly on her guard and speak as little as possible.

It was not long before she became aware that Mr Linton’s rather splendid carriage was behind them again. Sometimes it stopped when they stopped, sometimes it overtook them and disappeared in a cloud of dust, but then it must have stopped to change horses somewhere else because it was soon behind them again. They were on a turnpike road which was better than most and made good progress, though sometimes they were held up by lumbering wagons and sometimes they had to squeeze themselves to one side to allow a carriage to go past at breakneck speed.

On they went, up and down hills, through woods, alongside fields of growing corn, past cows grazing in meadows, through tiny hamlets where women at their doors stopped to stare as they passed and children, playing in the road scampered to one side. Through Ware they went, then Wadesmill and Puckeridge to Buntingford, where they stopped at the George and Dragon for a whole hour instead of the two or three minutes allowed for a change of horses. Jonathan and his man followed them in, much to the delight of Betty, who was convinced Joe had taken a shine to her.

‘Mr Linton, it is strange, is it not, that we keep bumping into each other?’ Louise ventured. ‘Are you following us?’

‘Not strange at all, Mr Smith,’ Jonathan said. ‘This is the Great North Road; in truth, it is the only road worthy of the name going north from London and even then it is very bad in parts. It seems reasonable to assume that anyone beginning a journey at about the same time, will arrive at stopping places on route at about the same time. That is why the coaching inns are where they are.’ He ignored her question that he might be following them. ‘I am about to leave, but I have no doubt somewhere along the way we shall meet again. I shall look forward to it.’ He swept her a bow. ‘Your obedient, sir.’ And with that he strode out to the yard and climbed into his carriage, now sporting a fresh set of horses. Joe was on the driving seat.

Louise watched it go, half-relieved, halfdisappointed. Was he right, would they see him on the road again? In spite of herself she liked him; she liked his good looks, his captivating smile, his teasing good humour. Above all she liked to know he was close at hand in case they had any more frightening adventures and especially now when she was forced into the company of Burrows and Williams.

They heard the passengers being called to the coach and left the remains of their dinner and went out to it. It was becoming a familiar routine, this bumping along and then stopping to change horses and then bumping along again, sometimes at a canter, sometimes no more than a walk, but whatever speed they went, it made her whole body ache.

They passed through Huntingdon, a quaint little town with narrow twisting streets, once the home of Oliver Cromwell and Samuel Pepys, so she was informed by Burrows, who was the more talkative of the two men. Somewhere they must have passed Mr Linton without knowing it, because soon afterwards he was behind them again.

‘What is the man about?’ Williams demanded. ‘He comes and he goes. It is almost as if he were following us.’

‘I asked him that,’ Louise told him. ‘His answer was that if two coaches set out at the same time to go to the same place, they are bound to come across each other from time to time.’

‘That might be true if they were equal in weight and horseflesh, but that vehicle is lighter than this, carries only two passengers and is pulled by four of the finest cattle I have seen for an age. He must be very high in the instep to be able to command the best the posting inn can procure. He could outrun us easily if he had a mind to.’ All of which, Louise realised, was true.

‘He’s keeping an eye on his money,’ Burrows said with a laugh, nodding towards Louise. ‘Wants the chance to win it back.’

‘He is only watching out for us,’ Betty said, relieving Louise of the need to comment. ‘We were held up afore and he’s making sure it don’ happen again.’

‘When were you held up?’ Burrows asked.

‘Yesterday. Two vicious-looking men with pistols tried to rob us. Mr Linton shot the gun out o’ the hand of one o’ them, cool as you like. Then he tied ‘em up and took ‘em to the beak.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘What else was he to do with them? Couldn’ leave ‘em there, could he?’

‘No, I meant why take it into his head to keep pace with this coach?’

‘I dunno, do I? Mayhap he’s one o’ them thieftakers. I reckon he’s done that sort of thing afore.’

‘Do you think so?’ Louise queried. It seemed the most logical conclusion and she wondered why she had not thought of it herself.

‘Yes, an’ glad I am he’s there,’ Betty said.

From Huntingdon they progressed to Stilton, a hilly village which had given its name to a cheese, where they stopped at the Bell only long enough to change the horses and see to their comfort and that enabled Mr Linton to pass them again. They approached Stamford through woods that made Louise wonder if that might be a place to expect more highwaymen, but they continued without incident and found themselves in a beautiful town rising from the banks of a slow-moving river. It had narrow streets, grey limestone buildings and a proliferation of churches. They stopped at the George for the night.

Louise had hardly left the coach and stretched her cramped limbs than the Linton carriage hove into view and pulled up in the yard. Mr Linton, as cheerful as ever, jumped down and greeted them with a sweeping bow before accompanying them into the inn. It really did seem as if they were stuck with him.

‘Mr Linton, are there no other inns in this town?’ Louise asked.

‘Oh, very many, but I like this one,’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘The company is so congenial.’

Chapter Three

The inn was an extremely busy one and Louise wondered if she and Betty would be able to obtain a room to themselves, but while she was trying to persuade the innkeeper to find one for her, Jonathan stepped in and offered his room, which a few sovereigns had already procured. ‘I will take whatever mine host can find for me,’ he told her. ‘I can sleep anywhere.’

She hesitated—she did not like being beholden to this man. It was not just pride, but the feeling that before long he would penetrate her disguise and know her for what she was and then he would have his fun with her and everyone would know she was a female and she would look foolish and vulnerable. She did not want that, but on the other hand, sharing a room with men was something she most certainly could not do. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘I would not mind for myself, but my wife is nervous of being alone, you see…’ She looked at Betty, who was once again chattering to Joe and not looking at all nervous.

‘I understand.’ he said, assuming the young man was jealous and not inclined to let his wife out of his sight. If she really was his wife. ‘You are welcome.’

Louise and Betty were conducted upstairs to a spacious room that looked out on to the busy yard. Water was brought for them to wash. Louise stripped off and sponged herself down, but the clothes had to be put on again. The only others she had were feminine garments. She smiled suddenly, wondering what Mr Linton would say if he could see the contents of her bag. It might be fun to change and appear as Miss Louise Vail. She imagined him staring at her in disbelief and then smiling and kissing her hand and saying he liked her much better as a woman. She suddenly became cross with herself for thinking like that. It was pure fantasy and she was doing herself no favours indulging in it.

They went down to the dining room for supper and found themselves again sitting with Jonathan Linton and Joe Potton. Burrows and Williams were a little further down the table. Louise was beginning to perfect her masculine voice, but she did not use it any more than she had to. Mr Linton’s attempts to engage her in conversation were met with little more than polite monosyllables. When he offered her a dish, she took some from it and said, ‘Thank you, sir’, and when he commented on the fine weather, she said, ‘Very fine, sir.’ She thought she was doing well until the meal ended and Burrows suggested they continue the game of cards abandoned the night before. ‘You must give us the opportunity to recoup some of our losses, Smith,’ he said.

‘I did not win so much,’ she said, pretending indifference. ‘’Twas only a trifling amount.’

‘A trifling amount,’ he repeated. ‘Then let us put up the stakes.’ He turned to Jonathan. ‘Will you join us in a game for trifling stakes?’

Jonathan considered declining, but they would only ask someone else, and he wanted to be near the boy, if only to protect him if his losses became too great and he found himself at odds with his playing partners. He accepted, cards were called for, the seal broken and the game began.

Louise was careful, very careful, especially as the half-guinea stake was now a guinea. If she lost all her money, what, in heaven’s name would she do, stranded miles from her objective and with home so far behind her it seemed like another life? Some way must be devised to end the game before that happened. They would not allow her to plead tiredness as she had the evening before.

They played several hands in which she won a little and lost a little, mainly due to inattention. ‘Mr Linton, I could have sworn you held no more trumps,’ she said after he had trumped her winning hand.

‘Are you accusing me of cheating?’ It was said angrily.

Now what to say? She had not meant to accuse him, simply to point out that her concentration had momentarily lapsed. Admit it and let them walk all over her? Tell them she was too tired to go on? She shrugged. ‘If the cap fits, Mr Linton…’

The boy had nerve, more than he would have dared under the circumstances, Jonathan conceded. ‘I have no cap, Mr Smith. Nor anything up my sleeve.’ He shook his sleeves out one by one to prove it.

‘God’s truth, the young shaver’s bold as brass,’ Bill Williams put in. ‘Call him out, Linton. You can’t let him get away with calling you a cheat. I’ll stand second for you.’

The whole thing was getting out of hand and Jonathan wanted to bring it to a speedy conclusion, but he had been insulted and he was not in the habit of letting anyone, least of all a green bantling, get away with that. He hesitated. ‘Go on,’ Charlie Burrows urged him, while Louise held her breath. ‘You are not afraid of that skinny young cub, are you?’

Frowning inwardly, Jonathan took a deep breath and addressed Louise. ‘You give me no choice, sir. I must call you out.’ It was either that or be accused of cowardice, which was unacceptable to him.

How on earth had she got into such a pickle? Louise asked herself. She wanted to turn and run all the way back to Barnet. Never, in her wildest dreams, had she imagined something like this. The teasing and banter that went on when she played her brothers for pennies and shillings had not schooled her for such a situation. She should never have started to play either yesterday or today. Now what was she to do? Admit herself in the wrong and take the ridicule of everyone in the room, not only the other players but everyone else who had stopped whatever they were doing, to listen and wait. And she would have to abandon her winnings. She had been counting on those.

‘You give me no choice either, sir,’ she said. ‘I accept.’

‘You accept?’ he asked in astonishment, then to give the boy a way out, added, ‘I will take a simple apology in lieu.’

She was nothing if not stubborn. ‘Would that not be tantamount to admitting I am in the wrong?’ she asked.

‘Yes, but you are.’

‘Stop beatin’ about the bush, Linton,’ Williams said. ‘Mr Smith, as Mr Linton’s representative, I ask you to name your second and choose your weapon.’

‘Swords,’ she said without hesitation. Unless Mr Linton was particularly cruel and determined, he would not deal more than a glancing blow, just enough to draw blood, before saying he was satisfied. A pistol shot could kill without him meaning it to. Why she thought he did not want to kill her, she did not know. And in the last few days she had become more than a little reckless. As for a second…She looked round the room. ‘Will anyone here stand by me?’

‘I will,’ Joe said, at a nod from Jonathan.

‘I’m not having duels on my premises,’ the innkeeper said. ‘If you must fight, take yourselves off somewhere else. There is a field on the other side of the river just outside town. Go there.’

‘It’s too dark now,’ Bill Williams said. ‘We will meet there at dawn.’

‘I will take charge of the pot,’ the innkeeper said, scooping it up. ‘You can have it back tomorrow.’

Louise went up to her room to find Betty taking up most of the bed and snoring her head off. Should she wake her and insist they leave at once? Where would they go if she did? And did she really want to be branded a coward? Would they come after her and exact their pound of flesh anyway? Why, oh, why had she been so foolish as to start this escapade in the first place? If her parents had not been out when she returned to the house after the shock of hearing what she had, if she had been able to speak to them there and then instead of being alone to stew over it, she might not have done what she had. Now it was too late.

She sat on the edge of the bed and let the tears roll down her cheeks. They were the first tears she had shed since sitting alone in the arbour. She had been so determined to find her lost mother, she had given herself no time for tears, no time for reflection or considering where it was all going to lead. If only she could have confided in Luke, he might have come with her, kept her safe, let her be herself, not some mythical Mr Smith. And on top of all that she felt responsible for Betty.

In a few hours the sun would come up and everyone would gather in the field on the outskirts of the town to wait for her and Mr Linton to appear. To the onlookers it would be an entertainment, like a play, to be watched and applauded. She dreaded it and wondered how to get out of it without making a complete cake of herself. She could say her sword was broken, but they would find her another and she needed a weapon she was familiar with. She rose and went to the hook on the back of the door where she had hung her belt before going down to supper. She withdrew the sword and made a few practice moves. It felt comfortable and balanced in her hand and reminded her that she had always enjoyed fencing and been good at it. She had to go through with this charade of a duel or lose all credibility as a man of honour.

Jonathan had no intention whatever of killing the lad. He would not hurt a hair of his head. He had killed once before in a duel and the sight of the man’s bloodied body being carried away had been a terrible shock and one he would never forget. Ever since then he had avoided getting into situations that called upon him to defend his honour. So how had it happened this time? He was annoyed with himself for handling things so badly. He had only to declare he did not fight children and everyone would have laughed and there would have been no challenge.

But how could he have done that? The boy would have been humiliated, made a laughing stock and he did not want to subject him to that, but he was of a mind to teach him a lesson. One simply did not go about accusing people of cheating at cards without a shred of evidence. He wondered why the pair had embarked on the adventure in the first place—could it have been for a jest, or a wager? Or was there something deadly serious behind it all? Once or twice he had caught an expression on the young man’s face that hinted at sadness, and a softness to those extraordinary eyes that belied his confident strutting. Jonathan found himself changing from being annoyed, to sympathising and wanting to help. But that did not extend to failing to appear at the duel himself. Honour had to be satisfied.

He thanked his fencing master that he was proficient enough to pretend to be fighting with a will, to defend himself while holding back from dealing a fatal blow. He wished he had learned it before he had killed that last time. He did not know why he was thinking like this; his adversary would not show up. He would be gone by dawn. Sighing, he sat down to write his log, making it sound dull and uneventful; he certainly did not mention he was to fight a duel.

Louise watched the dawn come up, heard the ostlers and grooms busying themselves in the yard and wished herself anywhere but where she was. There was a knock at the door and Joe’s voice called, ‘Time to get up, Mr Smith. You have half an hour. Shall I order breakfast for you?’

‘No, thank you,’ she called back. Food would choke her. ‘No breakfast. I shall join you directly.’

She heard him move away and his footsteps going down the stairs. She left the bed and dressed herself. It occurred to her that if her coat were to be torn, she did not have another. She was shaking with nerves as she pulled on her boots and buckled on her sword belt. She turned, intending to shake Betty awake, but changed her mind and left her sleeping.

Downstairs the dining room was empty; there was no one eating breakfast, nor even any waiters. She went outside. The yard was deserted; the people who had been working there earlier had disappeared, but Joe came from round the side of the building to join her. ‘Where is everyone?’ she asked.

‘They’re all at the field, waitin’ for you.’

Her heart sank. There would be a huge crowd to witness her humiliation. Would they be baying for blood? She wanted to dawdle and delay her arrival, but what would that avail her? Putting her hand on the hilt of her sword, she fell into step beside Joe, their footsteps echoing on the cobbles. In her mind she rehearsed all the moves she had been taught and wondered if she would be given the opportunity to execute them or whether Mr Linton would pierce her defence before she could make any move at all.

The field was crowded, but they made way for her and some cheered. ‘Go to it, young shaver. Show the bully he can’t walk all over you.’ Others laughed, calling her a bratling who wouldn’t have the strength to lift a sword, let along wield it. The gibes hardened her resolve; she put her chin in the air and made her way to where an arena had been roped off. Mr Linton and his second, together with the innkeeper, who was acting as referee, stood waiting. Mr Linton was in breeches and shirt sleeves and she became uncomfortably aware of his powerful physique, his masculinity, so very different from her own slim figure and lack of muscle. But here she was and there was no going back.

Jonathan watched as she drew her sword from its scabbard and tested its blade with her thumb. And then Joe was helping her off with her coat and cravat and she was obeying the beckoning hand of the innkeeper and joining him in the middle of the arena. Jonathan was a bag of nerves himself, but only on the boy’s behalf. He must not hurt him, he told himself, remembering that other duel so many years before, when he had dealt that fatal blow for which he had never forgiven himself.

The formalities were gone through and then they were alone, facing each other, the flat of their swords held point up against their lips in salute before taking their stance. They were given the command and the duel began.

They sparred a little, feinting, moving backwards and forwards and once Smith lunged and nearly had him. He parried with a riposte, which the boy easily avoided, and suddenly Jonathan realised the lad did know what he was doing and really could put on a good show. He began to be a little less diffident and made one or two real moves, which his opponent answered with moves of his own.

Louise found herself enjoying the cut and thrust and was annoyed when she realised he was holding back. She renewed her attack, making him defend himself. They danced back and forth, lunged and parried while the crowd cheered. Wanting to finish it quickly, Jonathan lunged a little wildly and the boy came back with a high outside riposte that nicked his upper arm, drawing a pinpoint of blood.

If she had been the challenger, Louise could have said she was satisfied with first blood and put an end to it there and then, but as she was the one who had been challenged, it was left to her opponent to admit defeat. The crowd roared their appreciation; they were in no mood to agree that honour had been satisfied. The duel went on, though Jonathan had to use all his skill to defend himself, let alone try not to hurt his adversary. It was this that made him momentarily lose his concentration. His weapon was suddenly knocked from his grasp. Louise stood back and waited for him to pick it up.

He hesitated. Where was this all going to end? He was a man of the law, the Society required him to uphold it at all times and what was he doing breaking it? Having a game? Did Louis Smith think it was a game? He had to end it, but not in this ignominious way. He bent to pick up his sword.

It was then, as he straightened up, he noticed her gently heaving breasts from which the binding had slipped and was confronted with the fact that he had been crossing swords with a woman. What a fool he had been! Why had he not seen it before? Those magnificent eyes, the unruly hair, the sensitive hands with their neatly manicured nails, the delicate colour in her cheeks, all proclaimed he was facing a member of the gentler sex. Why had he not realised it before? The signs had all been there. What did she think she was playing at? He could not fight a woman. His sword arm dropped.

She noted his reluctance and wondered at it; he was a long way from defeat. ‘You hesitate,’ she said, pointing her sword at him. ‘Do you concede?’

The crowd roared their disapproval. ‘Fight on,’ they shouted. ‘You can’t let a stripling like that best you.’

They saluted each other formally and began again. He danced about her, parrying her advances and watching for his opportunity to bring it to an end without betraying her for what she was.

She was beginning to tire chasing after an illusive target, who seemed not to abide by the usual rules, but kept moving back. His defensive tactics did not please the crowd, who began cheering the boy. Jonathan saw his chance, knocked her sword aside and went in to the chest, his blade hovering half an inch from the material of her shirt. He pricked it just enough to put a tiny tear in the cloth, but not enough to pierce her skin. A sharp downward stroke would have had the shirt off her back. He saw her eyes widen in horror. ‘Give in?’ he murmured, knowing she would never risk being exposed.

She dropped her sword, all the fight gone out of her. The crowd turned away, a few of them muttering with disappointment that the youth had given in when none of his blood had been spilled, but most praising him for the show he had put on. It had been a fair fight between skilled opponents and most had no complaints. Louise turned to Jonathan, who was dabbing at the cut on his arm. ‘Are you hurt, Mr Linton?’

‘A scratch, nothing more. You fight well, Mr Smith.’ Did she imagine it or did he put unusual emphasis on her name?

‘Thank you, Mr Linton. So do you.’

They walked side by side, the tall muscular man and the slight, effeminate youth, to where their seconds held their coats. Betty had joined Joe and was watching them approach, her eyes alive with excitement. As Jonathan reached out to take his coat from Joe, his arm accidentally knocked against Louise who was reaching out for her own garment. Already more than a little shaken by her ordeal, it took her off balance and she would have gone down if he had not reached out and grabbed her.

The contact of his hands on her shoulders was only momentary, but it was enough for him to feel the soft feminine flesh beneath his hands and for her to shudder at the sensation his touch caused. She felt so weak with the shock of it, she was afraid her knees would give way. This man was so strong, so masculine, so…so physical. The feeling was different from anything she had experienced before. Her brothers often grabbed hold of her, especially when she was younger and joining in their rough and tumble; her father sometimes took her shoulders in his hands to emphasise some point to her, but it had not felt like this. This made her tremble all over.

Pulling herself together, she stepped away from him. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘My pleasure.’ Her masculine attire was off-putting and alluring at the same time and made him feel ill at ease. He could not smile at her as a man would smile at a woman, he could not take her hand, certainly he could not kiss her, which he had been very tempted to do as they stood so close, facing each other.

Betty came forwards to help her on with her coat. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she whispered. ‘You shouldn’t hev took your coat off. The binding’s slipped.’

‘I could not have fought in a coat, could I?’ Resisting the temptation to put her hand to her breasts, she hurriedly did up the buttons, picked up her sword and strolled off arm in arm with Betty, as casually as she could manage.

Jonathan watched them go. Here was the missing Miss Louise Vail, he was sure of it, though why she was not miles ahead he had no idea. She had not been abducted and as far as he could see, no crime had been committed. She was simply a spoiled young lady looking for adventure. It annoyed him to think he had been sent on a wild goose chase. The Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club was never founded to investigate such a paltry affair. He would return to Barnet and make his report to her parents and then wash his hands of her. But could he leave her where she was, prey to whoever decided to have some sport with her? Besides, the memory of those lustrous eyes, appealing to him not to tear her shirt off, could not be cast aside. And had not Mrs Vail entreated him to see no harm came to her? And had he not promised to do his best to return her to the bosom of her family?

‘Do you think anyone else noticed the slipped bindings?’ Louise asked when they were out of earshot and making their way back to the George.

‘Don’ know. I reckon Mr Linton did. He was closest.’

Too close, she realised. ‘We will stay in our room until the coach is ready to leave. Perhaps we will not see him again.’ It was said more in regret than hope, she realised. But now was not the time to be mooning over a handsome man; she was on a mission, a most important mission, one that would probably dictate how the rest of her life would evolve. It was certainly not the time to get involved with cards and duels and handsome young men, whose touch excited her. She must hold herself aloof.

‘Much hope of that,’ Betty said. ‘He’s bin with us all the way so far, so I don’ reckon he’ll stop now.’

The coach was in the yard, the horses harnessed and the driver and guard inspecting the vehicle, tackle and horses, making sure all was well before taking his passengers on board. A woman with a young child, a young man escorting a schoolboy, and a man in a black coat, green with age, were waiting to board it. Louise and Betty just had time to go to their room, rebind her breasts, collect their bags and pay their bill before hurrying out to take their seats.

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