Slightly mollified, Reverend Shackleford nodded. ‘I’ll speak with them now. Be ready to leave within the hour.’ He shoved the note in his cassock pocket and started towards the door, onlyto pause and turn back. ‘You do think Mercy will be safe with Harding? I mean, he’s not likely to … well…’
‘Flossy thought so,’ Agnes declared stoutly, echoing Mercy’s opinion, ‘and that’s good enough for me.’
‘So, you don’t think the fellow intends to … to … well, you know …errin the way of his breeches?’
Agnes stared at him for a second. ‘You mean is he likely to force her into his bed and ravish her?’
The Reverend stared back. ‘Have you been reading those deuced periodicals again, Agnes?’ The matron went an uncommon shade of pink, but fortunately she was saved from replying by a knock on the door.
‘Stay back, Agnes,’ the clergyman ordered in the tone of voice he usually reserved for one of Percy’s fire and brimstone sermons.
‘Here, take this,’ Agnes breathed, lifting the large poker from next to the fire and handing it to him.
Grasping the makeshift weapon, Reverend Shackleford tiptoed to the door. ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded, lifting the poker for good measure before dramatically flinging open the door.
The maid on the other side, screamed and nearly dropped her tray. ‘I was just bringin’ the missus ‘er chocolate,’ she babbled, backing away. ‘I swears it, Sir.’
The Reverend put down the poker, feeling four ways a fool. ‘I … er … there was a bit of a disturbance last night...’ It was true, there was – just because he didn’t actually hear Mercy doing a runner, didn’t make it a plumper.
‘My wife and I didn’t sleep well…’ Half-truth perhaps – he certainly didn’t sleep well. In his experience, Agnes usually slept like the dead, and he didn’t think the events of last night would be any exception.
‘No matter, Sir,’ the maid responded cheerfully, stepping past him into the room. ‘I know just how noisy the inn can be when it’s busy – people coming and going at all hours.’
‘Did anyone leave last night?’
‘I don’t rightly know, Sir. I ain’t bin told so.’ The maid placed the hot chocolate onto the table and gave a small curtsy. ‘Will you be wantin’ breakfast?’
Before Agnes could order her customary five course meal as she generally did when someone else was footing the bill, the Reverend shook his head. ‘We’re leaving as soon as possible. If you could supply us with some bread and cold meats to take with us, that would be most appreciated.’
‘With a spot of piccalilli,’ Agnes added as the young woman went through the door.’ The maid nodded and hurried away.
‘Thunder an’ turf, if Reinhardt asks around, he’s sure to find out Harding left last night,’ the Reverend groaned. ‘It won’t be long before he puts two and two together once he realises Mercy’s missing.’
‘But why on earth would he link Harding with Mercy?’ Agnes scoffed. ‘I think you’re beginning to believe your own Banbury stories, Augustus Shackleford.’
‘That as may be, but we can’t discount the possibility. We need to get to the Earl as soon as possible. I’ll go and tell the coachmen not to spare the horses.’
***
Mercy woke with a start, and for a few seconds couldn’t imagine where she was, then it all came flooding back. Heart sinking, she stared up at the moth-eaten canopy above the bed she was lying in and thought back to the events that had brought her here.
It had taken them just over an hour to reach the house, and though frightened out of her wits, she’d been heartened to watch her would-be rescuer’s concern for his horse, even slowing their pace for the mare’s comfort. They spoke very little throughout the trek, and already exhausted from her long journey, Mercy had concentrated on putting one foot in front of another. Surprisingly, it hadn’t been particularly cold, and she suspected a thaw was already setting in.
In the note she left for her grandfather, Mercy had advised that they continue on to Cottesmore with all speed. She hoped the Reverend had either kept the note with him or put it onto the fire as soon as he’d read it. If Reinhardt got hold of it, he might not know where she’d gone, but at the very least he’d suspect they were on to him.
Then of course, she couldn’t help wondering whether the whole business had been blown out of all proportion, or whether Mr. Harding had even been telling the truth. But what could he have hoped to gain? Did he want money? Mayhap he hoped her father would pay for her safe return – but then, he hadn’t even known who her father was until she told him in the stable.
Her thoughts had gone round and round as she’d trudged alongside the horse. Strangely enough, the one thing she hadn’t felt was fear of her companion.
Dawn was well underway by the time they got to their destination. They’d come upon the house with no warning, stepping out of the trees and onto an overgrown path fronting a large Tudor style manor house. At the sight of it, she’d stopped in surprise.
‘Did you think I lived in a hovel?’ Nate commented drily.
‘I … well, no, but I confess, I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so large.’
He laughed harshly. ‘It might be large, but in truth, hovel is a good description.’
She looked over at him. ‘Is it yours?’ she asked carefully.
