“Thank you for understanding,” he said sardonically. “You are all goodness.”
He sat next to Sophie, leaving as much distance between them as the narrow bench allowed. Seated on his left as she was, she could see the unmarred side of his face when she sneaked a glance at his profile. Was that his intention?
He certainly kept his word to sit quietly and paid neither of them any attention, staring out at the passing countryside with a vague expression.
As the journey began, Mrs. Thrupton tried a few times to engage him in conversation. He responded civilly but remained aloof. Mavis soon wearied of his terse replies and lapsed into silence.
Hours later, they passed a mile marker and few buildings, and Captain Overtree announced they had reached the outskirts of Plymouth. Suddenly the carriage lurched violently to one side and careened to a halt. Sophie, half asleep, lost her balance and pitched forward. The captain’s arm shot out and stopped her from falling off the bench.
“Thunder and turf!” he exclaimed.
“Are you all right, Sophie?” Mavis asked.
“Yes, perfectly well,” she murmured, straightening her bonnet. Though she’d likely feel the impact of the captain’s hard arm against her shoulders for days to come.
“Must have hit quite a hole,” he said, pushing open the door. “Hopefully we did not break an axle.”
He stepped out to survey the situation, and Sophie followed, needing to stretch her legs. The groom hopped down as well.
While the men checked the carriage underbelly and wheels, Sophie walked a few steps away.
“Stay close,” the captain warned. “Rough area.”
“I won’t go far.”
She had walked only a few yards, when she passed a wheelwright’s shop. How convenient for him to have a nasty hole in the road so near his door. Or perhaps it was no coincidence at all.
A young man leaning against the building pushed himself upright. She had not seen him in the shadows.
“Hello, love. Can I interest you in this fine gold watch fob?” He held up a tarnished brass chain. “A gift for your husband? Only a bob for you, pretty lady.”
She almost replied that she had no husband but bit back the foolish words. “No, thank you.”
A second youth leapt from an alleyway and snagged her reticule. Its ribbons around her wrist bit into her flesh as he jerked it away.
She cried out in pain and alarm. “Stop!”
In a flash of black coat and gleaming brass, Captain Overtree struck the young man with his sword stick, knocking him to the ground. The second youth turned to run, but the captain grasped him from behind, one arm across his throat while twisting the youth’s arm behind his back.
“Give the lady her reticule.”
“You’ll break my arm!”
“I said... give it back.”
The youth extended it to Sophie, who stood trembling nearby.
The coachman jogged into the fray with his blunderbuss and held the men until the constable could be found.
Sophie walked unsteadily back to the coach, rubbing her wrist, the captain beside her. She noticed Mavis’s face in the window, staring wide-eyed.
Although relieved to be safe, and have her bag returned to her, Sophie was stunned by his violent strike. “You needn’t have done that,” she hissed.
“I should have let him take your reticule?”
“No. But they are only boys—not more than eighteen.”
“I have killed men even younger.” The captain jerked open the carriage door. “Now, wait inside.”
