Before Gabriel could respond, Hope climbed out of the carriage, her face white as the surrounding snow. ‘I’ve wrapped Percy in a blanket, but he seems much more himself,’ she offered shivering.
‘Well, that’s a deuced relief. He already had more hair than wit even before the extra knock on his head,’ groused the Reverend, turning his attention back to Gabriel who was staring at them, clearly nonplussed by the conversation.
‘Mr Atwood,’ fumed Hope finally, stamping her foot in vexation. ‘No more shilly-shallying. You need to tell us what in blazes is going on.’
Gabriel sighed, impatience showing in every line of his body. ‘At least let us continue the journey. I don’t know what caused those men to turn tail, but they may yet get some pluck to their backbone and choose to finish what they started.’
‘Which I assume is putting you to bed with a deuced mattock,’ returned the Reverend darkly.
‘I don’t know wot the bloody ‘ell is goin on, or who those gallows birds were but why the bloody hell are you lot still standing around in the snow?’ came an exasperated shout from the box. ‘It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey out ‘ere and Nelson mightn’t need ‘em anymore God rest ‘im, but I for one would like to keep my stones for me once yearly.’ There was a pause as they all stared up at the coachman open mouthed. ‘And at this rate, I might not even survive the bloody night, let alone have a quick strum, so if’n you don’t mind could you please get yer arses back in the bloody carriage so we can be gone afore they come back.’
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ commented Gabriel drily after a last incredulous look up at the coachman.
‘Hmph,’ muttered the Reverend, ushering Hope back into the warmth, ‘He’s got be one of Blackmore’s.’
Five minutes later they were off again. Gabriel eyed Percy with concern. ‘What the devil’s wrong with him?’ he asked pointing to the red dots decorating the curate’s face.
‘That’s what sent the varmints packing,’ chuckled the Reverend. ‘You should have seen that fellow’s face when he thought it was smallpox.’
‘I am actually here you know,’ protested Percy weakly, ‘and a little bit of warning might have been beneficial.’
‘We had no time I’m afraid,’ responded Hope, leaning forward to pat the curate’s knee in sympathy. ‘When you sustained the bump on your hea…’
‘When did he take a bump on his head?’ interrupted Gabriel.
‘When you slammed the carriage door on it,’ declared the Reverend.
‘I.. what…?’ Gabriel shook his head, clearly thinking them all addled. ‘So how…or when did he develop deuced smallpox?’
The Reverend sighed. ‘He didn’t and he hasn’t.’
‘It’s rouge,’ added Hope, pulling out a small pot from her reticule.
Gabriel frowned for a second before their explanation sank in, then he shook his head and gave a shout of disbelieving laughter. ‘God’s teeth I could have done with you in Spain,’ he chuckled. ‘Are you always this quick thinking?’
‘If you’re referring to me,’ stated Hope, ‘I like to think I generally have my wits about me. And speaking of intellect, now that we have established that none in this carriage are entirely bacon brained, mayhap you’d be kind enough to finally enlighten us as to the circumstances that led up to your presence in this conveyance. I suggest as you’ve already let it slip, that you start with Spain.’
In the event their carriage finally turned into the long sweeping approach to Ravenstone just as full dark descended. The occupants of the house had clearly been waiting for their arrival because no sooner had the horses pulled up, blowing and snuffling in the cold air, than the imposing front door was thrown open and a whirlwind of bodies rushed down the steps shouting.
‘Merry Christmas…’
‘It’s snowing…’
‘Freddy…’
‘We thought you’d never get here…’
‘We supposed you murdered…’
‘Or kidnapped…’
‘Mother forgot her salts…’
‘Or lying in a ditch, mortally wounded…’
‘And she swooned headfirst into the syllabub…’
‘Nicholas and Adam were coming to look for you…’
