The Reverend and Percy looked at each other. Clearly the lick spittle was George’s former foster father.
‘The old woman - she knew summat, I know she did,’ Atkins jabbered. ‘She asked if ‘is name were George. Give me twenty-four hours an’ by the time I’ve finished wi’ the fussock, she’ll be beggin’ to tell me wot she ‘ad for ‘er bleedin’ breakfast.’
The Reverend felt as though he’d been kicked in the breadbasket. Agnes. They were talking about Agnes.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Please send our fastest rider, Huntley. I would like this missive to reach my husband by tomorrow morning.’
‘As you wish your grace.’ The elderly butler expressed no curiosity as to the message’s contents, but simply bowed and withdrew.
‘I hope your father’s still with Jago,’ Grace fretted. ‘It could take days to find him if he’s not at Tredennick.’
‘Why all this sudden anxiety, Mama?’ Jennifer frowned, helping herself to an orange. ‘Has something happened since this morning?’
The Duchess shook her head. ‘I can’t really put my finger on it, but this business with Georgiana has put me on edge, and I’d feel much happier if your father was here…’ She paused before adding, ‘These men looking for her – I’m certain that one at least has a connection to the Earl of Ruteledge. The man might be old, but he has a dreadful reputation. According to Nicholas, he has no conscience to speak of, and I’m aware they’ve had more than one confrontation in the Lords.’
‘And you really think this odious individual is the one looking for George?’
‘I don’t know,’ Grace murmured, ‘but I feel certain that the Earl’s involved in this unholy business somewhere.’
∞∞∞
The voices continued, but Reverend Shackleford was no longer listening. ‘We need to get back to Blackmore before Atkins does,’ the clergyman hissed, climbing to his feet and taking hold of Flossy.
Without further ado, the two men hurried back up the alleyway, and a few minutes later emerged back onto Fore Street.
‘I think it’s time we sent word to the Duke,’ Percy wheezed as they hastened back to the carriage. ‘If Agnes is in danger…’ He trailed off, and for once the Reverend entirely agreed with him.
‘This whole business is too smoky by half, and we’re ill-equipped to deal with it.’
Turning the corner, Augustus Shackleford finally spotted the carriage, thankfully right where they left it. ‘We also need to get word to Anthony,’ the clergyman added, hurrying towards it. ‘Warn him that these people have no issue with using violence to get what they want.’
On reaching the coach, he was about to climb inside, before suddenly pausing. ‘I think we’d better remove our frocks, Percy lad. I can’t imagine Nicholas will take kindly to having potentially putrid body parts decorating his upholstery.’
A few minutes later, they were seated in their underclothing, cassocks relegated to the floor. If Thomas was surprised at the sight of the two clerics sitting in their smalls, he had the good sense not to mention it.
‘Blackmore as quickly as you can,’ the Reverend demanded.
‘Do you really think they’ll hurt Agnes?’ Percy fretted.
‘We can’t rule out the possibility that they’ll try. Mind you, I doubt very much they’ll have come up against anyone quite like my wife.’
∞∞∞
By the time Andrew Pettigrew arrived at the village of Little Bovey, he was beginning to tire. This was the third such village he’d investigated, reasoning that since no one in Blackmore had seen the chit, it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that she was hiding in one of the other hamlets lying close to the main Plymouth Road.
He was almost certain she hadn’t made it to Plymouth itself, and while it was possible she was being sheltered somewhere in Blackmore; his gut told him she wasn’t there.
And he’d learned over the years to listen to such feelings.
Still, the road to Little Bovey was almost impassable since the storm the night before, and it took him an extra hour to actually persuade his horse to venture through the water flooding the lane. If Georgiana Huxley had been here before the storm, then it was very likely she was still here.
When he finally reached the small green, he sat for a moment and took in his surroundings. The village was undoubtedly pretty, but it was much smaller than Blackmore. He doubted it would contain many places the chit could actually hide in; especially given she was likely starving. If she was here, he’d easily find her. And since it was well into mid-afternoon, he decided he would start at the inn.
∞∞∞
In the absence of any additional wood, Anthony decided to make a start on an area of the kitchen garden nearest the house. Initially, he eschewed George’s offer of help with the excuse that there remained plenty of unfinished tasks inside. Somehow, since he’d privately determined to do the right thing, the thought of her undertaking such backbreaking work seemed entirely wrong.
