Both warmly wrapped in greatcoats and mufflers, with blankets over their knees, he and the groom set off within an hour of discovering Apple’s absence. He nourished a hope of catching up with his quarry on the road, since he could not be more than two or three hours behind. Assuming Vergette was travelling by coach and must make several stops, he might reasonably expect to overtake the man.
With this in mind, he pressed on after the change at Salisbury, resolving to take a late luncheon at the Dragon at Winchester if there was no sign of the travellers before.
His luck held. Carver was driving, which was why Alex was able to give his attention to the unhorsed carriages standing in the yard as the curricle swung through the arched entrance.
A sense of déjà vu attacked him, throwing him back to the moment of his very first meeting with Apple. An image surfaced: of her face, half-concealed under the hood of her cloak, her gloved hand holding the useless pistol steadily aimed at him. A swooping sensation within took him unawares, and he was obliged to grip the side of the curricle even as it came to a standstill.
Lord, how he missed her! She’d been gone, what? A matter of hours? And it felt like a lifetime! How had she insinuated herself so thoroughly into his mind and heart in the short time he’d known her? Indeed, he could hardly remember a time when he hadn’t known Apple, so embedded was she in the fabric of his life.
With renewed energy, he leapt down from the curricle. “Stable ’em, Carver. We’ll bait here, no matter what.”
Leaving the groom to his duties, he strode into the inn through the busy back entrance. A couple of maids and waiters made room for his passage, and he came to the hallway just as the landlord came bustling out of the tap. His brows rose in recognition.
“My lord, is it you again?”
“On my way to London and I’ll take a late luncheon, if you can accommodate me.”
The man assured him he could and proceeded to a list of the viands on offer. Alex approved a meal of cold meats and pie, washed down with ale.
“Stay, though. Was hoping to run into a friend of mine who’s on the road. Fellow of middle years, a trifle portly, name of Vergette. Seen him?”
The landlord beamed. “Mr Vergette? Why, he’s a regular with us, my lord. Indeed, he’s but just stopped for the change and came in for a quick bite.”
Hope soared. “You mean he’s here?”
“He left but a moment ago.”
“Good God! Then his coach may be still here.”
Striding to the door through which he’d just entered, Alex dragged it open and flung out into the wind. A coach and four, the horses clearly fresh and restive, stood in the yard, the groom just about to take his place behind.
“Hi, you! Wait a bit!”
Alex leapt forward as he yelled. The groom paused with his foot on the step up to the box and looked back.
“Me, sir?”
Reaching him, Alex seized his arm. “Is this Vergette’s coach?”
The man pulled his arm away, his expression turning surly. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m Lord Dymond. Is he within?”
The groom hesitated. Cursing, Alex left him and went to the coach door. He seized the handle and wrenched it open.
“Vergette!”
The dim figure within leaned forward and Alex found himself looking into the lawyer’s features, exasperation for once overlaying the fellow’s customary urbanity.
“My lord Dymond! I suppose I should have anticipated this.”
Alex wasted no time, but pushed his head through the doorway, searching the coach. There was no other occupant.
He glared at Vergette. “Where’s Apple?”
The lawyer sat back. “My dear Lord Dymond, you are her keeper, not I.”
“Don’t play games with me! If she ain’t with you, then you’ve a deal of explaining to do.”
