“Exactly so.” Miss Greenaway became cordial. “I’m so glad you understand my predicament at last. You must concede that I had no choice but to escape.”
“Dare say I must, but I can’t conceive why you must choose to do so in my coach!”
“Well, I am sorry, but yours was the only other coach. And when I saw them make ready to get you away, I slipped from ours while they were in the inn and crept around the back so that your coachman would not see me. Marjorie was in our coach, but she’d dropped asleep. Was ever anything more fortunate?”
Alex could think of a number of things that were a good deal more fortunate, but he did not say so. He regarded her with a resurgence of exasperation, tempered by that sliver of admiration. “You do realise you’re completely feather-brained, don’t you? I could have been anybody.”
The mischievous look reappeared, and Alex had to exercise severe self-control not to laugh.
“Well, you aren’t anybody. You’re you. I expect it was fate.”
Chapter Two
While she could not help a little flush of triumph at the success of her tactic, Apple was conscious of inordinate relief. This Mr Dymond had fathomed it exactly, for her apprehension had indeed centred upon what sort of person she might encounter in the coach. She’d been prepared for an amorous villain, which was why she’d had the forethought to provide herself with the pistol.
She had not known whether it was loaded, but suspected not. It had been sitting in the holster in the coach for all of the three years she’d lived with her cousins, and she’d never seen Walter remove it. She’d remembered it when she was making her plan and resolved to possess herself of it before her escape.
She would have to make Mr Dymond give it back to her before she left his coach. It was her only protection. An idea occurred, and she gave voice to it at once.
“Will you show me how to load the pistol, if you please?”
“No, I will not.”
A flurry of annoyance entered her breast. “You are very disobliging.”
“More than you think, because I ain’t about to give it back to you either.”
She was chagrined, but it was plainly useless to argue with him. Apple regarded him from under her lashes. The gloom outside the window made the coach dark, his features unclear. She was able to note the strength in the line of his jaw, however, and the beak of a nose. He was not unattractive, in an odd, saturnine way. His eyes were keen. She rather thought they saw too much, but strangely, they’d made her trust him. He did not hide what he thought.
Apple had been hedged by people keeping things from her all her life. Even her papa had caught himself up time and again, beginning to say something and clamming up.
“Well, that’s neither here nor there, Apple, my dear. You’ll not regard it.”
How could she regard it when she didn’t know what he was about to say? But it had rankled every time. Cousin Walter was as bad. Saying how clever she was and how useful and helpful, and then starting to mention Mr Cumberledge and stopping himself when Cousin Marjorie gave him a look.
They thought she did not notice, but it had put Apple on her guard. She had long suspected there was some plot afoot. Especially when Mr Cumberledge began to show her attention. She had managed to evade him for some time. Only Walter grew impatient and showed his hand. Foolish of him. They might have succeeded otherwise. She shuddered at the thought.
“Cold, Miss Greenaway?”
Startled, she looked across at Mr Dymond. Lost in remembrance, she’d not realised he was watching her.
“I am well enough, thank you.” A thought surfaced. “How far to the next stage?”
“Winchester? A few miles yet. I’ll be pushing on to Romsey if I can.”
Apple considered. Romsey would put her further out of reach of Cousin Walter and they had been heading for Winchester. Romsey might be better. They were bound to pursue her, but Walter would surely waste time hunting around Alton before setting out. He was impetuous enough to take off at once, but Cousin Marjorie had a head on her shoulders. She would not jump to conclusions. She’d think Apple had gone into the inn, so they must search for her there first. Or she might have slipped off to one of the shops.
“They will scour the town first,” she said aloud, forgetting she was not alone.
“Your people?”
Mr Dymond was acute, she had to give him that. He’d grasped her meaning at once. She could make use of his intelligence at least.
“I was trying to work out how long a start I have over them.”
“Well, if they don’t set out soon, they’ll not do so at all. Weather’s worsening.”
Apple looked out of the window. A fine trickle of snow was falling. Her heart pumped painfully. “But the stage won’t run in snow!”
