Torn between indignation and a sneaking thread of relief, Apple seethed for a while in silence. At least Mr Dymond had abandoned the notion of returning her to Walter’s care. Or had he? Was it a trick? She gave immediate voice to her suspicion. “Is this a scheme to lull me?”
He let out another of those snorting laughs of his. “Lull you? What nonsense is this, pray?”
“Are you trying to make me believe you wish to help me, only to trick me after?”
“No wish about it, my dear girl. Let’s be clear about that for a start.”
“Then you do mean to trick me!”
“Don’t be such a widgeon! Not going to give you back to your guardian, if that’s what you mean.”
Relief swept through Apple. “Thank you. But please just drop me off when the coach stops, and I shall do very well by myself.”
“You won’t, because I’m not letting you go.”
“But you must!”
“Already told you what I mean to do. Only thing is, how to keep you safe while I’m doing it.”
“But you can’t see Mr Vergette on my behalf. He doesn’t know you. He wouldn’t tell you anything.”
“You’ll write a letter of authority to say I’m acting for you.”
Apple thought about it, and found her spirits lifting. She was sorely tempted to accept Mr Dymond’s help, however grudgingly offered. Yet she was reluctant to put her affairs in anyone’s hands than her own. After all, what did she know of this man?
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“A little late to be thinking of that, ain’t it?”
She could not deny it. What in the world should she do?
She was still pondering when the coach began to slow and drew up at last before the Dragon at Winchester. Apple sat up, leaning forward to look out of the window. If the stagecoach was already here, it would make things a lot simpler. She could slip off when Mr Dymond was occupied — for he must wish to refresh himself or answer the call of nature at least — and then she had only to find the guard and purchase a seat on the coach.
The matter was taken out of her hands as Mr Dymond reached for the door handle. “No use your scheming, Miss Mischief. I have your measure.”
Apple looked at him with reproach. “I don’t know what you mean.”
By this time, the groom was at the open door, letting down the steps.
“Yes, you do. Come along. We’ll take a refresher here while I decide what’s best to do.”
Seething, Apple gathered her dignity and prepared to exit the coach. She caught sight of the groom’s staring face, his mouth at half-cock.
Before he could voice his astonishment, Mr Dymond took a hand. “Mum’s the word, Carver. Explain it to you presently.”
The groom’s eyes turned to his master and his brows climbed under the brim of his hat. “I hope you can, my lord. Nor I never suspicioned you’d had a drop too much back at the Swan.”
With a start, Apple took in the groom’s form of address.My lord?Was he not then Mr Dymond? He was swinging himself out of the coach, but took time to glare at his groom.
“Damn your eyes, of course I’m not foxed! Just keep your trap shut for now, will you?”
He turned to offer his hand to Apple, helping her to alight. She looked eagerly about, but the only other vehicles were a gig and a chaise to which ostlers were harnessing a new pair. No sign of the stagecoach. She would have to find an opportunity to ask the landlord when it was due.
Meanwhile, she had nothing to do but submit to her captor’s firm hand on her elbow, ushering her into the inn.
Chapter Three
Having procured a private parlour and requested the necessary refreshments, Alex obliged his unwilling charge to sit down at a neat round table and himself took the chair opposite, closest to the door.
