In the ensuing confusion, the Reverend struggled to free the rolling pin which had somehow got stuck down his drawers. Finally freeing it with a triumphant shout, he lifted his arm in the air, ready to give the varmint a headache he’d never forget. Unfortunately, behind him, Percy was at that precise moment executing a complex boxing move (Chapter Ten – Planting A Prime Facer) which he discovered was not quite as effective on a wooden cooking implement.
Seconds later, Henry Atkins scrambled to his feet and fled.
∞∞∞
‘I’m perfectly well, Augustus. Please don’t fuss so.’ The Reverend stared at his wife in astonishment. He’d spent the last five minutes delving into her reticule in a fevered attempt to find her salts, only to have her push them away.
‘I think I might have broken my thumb,’ Percy complained.
‘You’re lucky it wasn’t your deuced head,’ Reverend Shackleford muttered. Shaking his head, the clergyman climbed to his feet and went to let Flossy in through the window.
‘We certainly sent the blackguard off with his tail between his legs, though, didn’t we, Sir?’ Percy continued, his voice uncharacteristically excited.
The Reverend threw his curate an irritated look. ‘Since when did you become Blackmore’s answer to Gentleman Jack?’
Percy went pink but didn’t think mentioningThe Illustrated Art To Manlinesswould add anything positive to the situation.
‘Old Atkins has likely run back to that nob he works for, so we can assume they’ll be sending reinforcements before long.’
‘I didn’t tell them anything,’ Agnes declared, indignantly.
The Reverend chuckled. ‘The puff guts definitely got more than he bargained for when he took you on, Agnes old girl. Still, I’ll wager he suspects we know more than we’re letting on. We need to get word to Anthony pretty sharpish.’ He looked over at the curate, still nursing his thumb. ‘Should I count you out, Percy?’
‘Certainly not, Sir. Once Lizzy’s bandaged me up, I’ll be ready to give the varmints their just deserts.’ (Chapter Twelve – Staying the Course).
Raising his eyebrows, the Reverend couldn’t help wondering if the curate had suddenly developed a maggot in his head. Still, this new brazen-faced Percy was a distinct improvement on the old chuckleheaded one.
Giving an approving nod, the Reverend picked up Flossy. ‘I suggest we make Seth comfortable, put on some deuced clothes, then get over to Grace. I want to find out if she’s sent word to Nicholas. I’ll feel a sight happier once the Duke’s here to put a deuced rub in the way of the whole havey cavey business.’
Chapter Nineteen
‘She’s hanging on the sleeve of a young bumpkin by the name of Shackleford. From what I could see, the cake still thinks she’s a boy.’
Linfield stared at the private detective thoughtfully. He’d heard the name Shackleford before, but for the life of him couldn’t remember where.
It was nearing eight in the evening. The two men were sitting in the corner of the bar in the same inn they’d met previously.
Earlier that same evening, Pettigrew had sent word that he’d located their quarry in a manor house not far from the Plymouth Road near to the village of Little Bovey, but had unfortunately been unable to snatch her.
‘Now here’s where it gets complicated,’ Pettigrew went on. ‘The young cove she’s working for is by all accounts the brother-in-law of the Duke of Blackmore.’
Thatwas where he’d heard the name before. Linfield swore softly. ‘She must have run into him when she got off the bloody stagecoach,’ he ground out, resisting the urge to punch something. ‘No doubt she fed the idiot a bag of moonshine. Does the manor house they’re in belong to Blackmore?’
Pettigrew shook his head. ‘Not anymore. Gifted it to his brother-in-law according to the locals.’ The private detective took a large swallow of brandy before adding thoughtfully, ‘Looked to me as if there were only the two of ‘em in the house. Well, them and a bloody yapping mongrel. If you take ‘em by surprise and manage to shut the dog up…’ He shrugged. ‘The house is in the middle of nowhere, so no one’s likely to hear any commotion - though Shackleford’s likely to put up a fight…’ He paused and eyed the brooding man in front of him. ‘Is she really important enough to piss off a powerful duke?’
Before Linfield had the chance to answer, the door opened to reveal an anxious looking Henry Atkins. Never an appealing sight at the best of times, Atkins’s pallor looked almost waxlike in the candlelight.
‘Well?’ Linfield barked, as a greeting.
Atkins sank into a chair as the other two men regarded him distastefully. In answer, he simply shook his head and mopped at his sweating forehead with a kerchief, leaving an unappealing streak of glistening muck. He didn’t dare admit he’d not only failed in getting any information but had actually revealed far more than he’d learnt.
‘For God’s sake, go and dip your bloody head in a barrel of water,’ Linfield spat in a heated whisper. ‘You look and smell disgusting. When you look halfway presentable, meet us at the Plymouth Road gates no later than midnight.’
‘But I just come from there m’lud,’ Atkins wheezed. ‘Me throat’s fair parched. I need a drink afore I die o’ bloody thirst.’
Linfield narrowed his eyes. ‘You won’t be swallowing anything but your own blood through a slit throat,’ he ground out. ‘No thanks to you, we have the location of the chit. I want her back in our hands before dawn.’
∞∞∞
