Rossiter said with an answering smile, “You’re too kind, Jamie, but my stay has been only for an hour, and is now done. I’d supposed you to have reached Sevenoaks by this time. Trouble?”
“No. Just dawdling about.” Morris walked to the door with him. “Riding in this weather is a bore, so thought I’d rack up here. Hah! I say, did you rest your orbs on those two beauties who just left? Be dashed if ever I saw such a pair. I’d have wangled an introduction, but the fellow with them was a curst cold-looking old duck, so I daren’t try my hand.”
Rossiter expressed his regrets at having missed the “two beauties” and enquired what Morris meant to do. “If you’d care to come to the Point with me, you can overnight there, then continue to your home tomorrow. Out of your way, I know, but you’ve no chance of hiring a coach tonight. We can tie your hack on behind, and at least you’ll have a dry ride and a decent bed.”
Morris hesitated. He had no wish to become involved in what he suspected would be a sticky homecoming. On the other hand, his wound was a little troublesome and he was rather tired, and the prospect of a night spent on two chairs did not appeal. His was not a quick mind, and his silence had caused his friend’s eyebrows to lift enquiringly. He reddened and said hurriedly, “Jove! Yes! Thank you, Ross. Dashed good of you. Wouldn’t want to intrude, mind. Family gathering, what?”
Rossiter assured him it would be no intrusion and they started out to pay their reckoning. Morris said, “Did I tell you about those two beauties? One was the small, vivacious type. A real Fair. But the other! Curse me if ever I saw such loveliness. Graceful as a—a young—er, gazelle. And—”
“And went leaping out of your life, eh?” interposed Rossiter, laughing at him.
Morris said aggrievedly that some insensitive clods had no understanding of matters of the heart, and debating this, the two men paid the host’s cheerful wife, and repaired to the stableyard. The rain had stopped, the horses were rested, and the postilions having eaten well and enjoyed some good Kentish ale, were ready to leave. They were just as eager as their customers to complete the journey before nightfall, and in no time Morris’ heavy saddlebags had been loaded into the boot, his horse tied on behind, and the light coach was off, rattling along the muddy roads at a respectable pace.
It very soon became obvious that Rossiter would have little chance to dwell on his problems. Morris, in a garrulous mood, continued to rave about the dark-eyed goddess who, with one fatal smile, had apparently won his heart. She was sublime, exquisite, and as kind as she was beautiful, he dare swear. He discoursed upon her dainty nose, the sweet curves of her red lips, the pale purity of her skin, until Rossiter cried for mercy.
“Enough, Jamie! I beg of you! I acknowledge her to be incomparable. I apprehend you areaux angesand have met your Fate. If ever you see the lady again, you must at once drop to your knees before her and beg her hand in marriage. Either that or shoot yourself, old boy!”
He had no sooner spoken than both men tensed to a distant sound. Through the deepening gloom of this very gloomy dusk their eyes met.
Morris said, “A shot. No?”
Rossiter opened the window. “What’s to do?” he shouted.
“Looks to be trouble ahead, sir,” called a postilion. “You want as we should take another road?”
“Devil I do! Spring ’em!”
The horses leaned into their collars and were off at the gallop. The coach fairly flew.
Soon, another coach loomed up with several men about it. A dark shape lay motionless on the ground. A woman was struggling with a big, roughly dressed individual.
“A hold-up, by Jupiter!” exclaimed Rossiter, and was out of the vehicle and running before the coach stopped. Morris charged along behind, trying to extricate a pistol from his pocket.
The woman had fallen and was sprawled in the mud. With the arrival of reinforcements the big man fled, one of his cronies hobbling along after him.
“Stop! In the King’s name!” thundered Rossiter, sword in hand.
A fourth man had ridden up and flung himself from the saddle. At Rossiter’s shout, he swung around, a long-barrelled pistol levelled.
“No you don’t, you murdering hound!” roared Morris, and fired.
The rider dropped his weapon, staggered back, and went down.
Dragging herself to her feet, the woman let out a piercing scream. “Youmonster!” she cried wildly.
“Eh?” said Morris, surprised.
She ran to drop to her knees beside the fallen man. “Oh! My heavens! Are you much hurt?” She reached out imperatively. “One of you, give me something I can use for a bandage.”
“Women!” said Morris in admiration. “They’re saints, curse me if they ain’t. Here’s the lady willing to bind the wound of the very scoundrel who robbed her and—”
“You triple-damned… clodpole…,” groaned August Falcon, blood trickling between the fingers that gripped his left arm.
Peering at his victim, Morris exclaimed, “If it ain’t the cold old duck! Be dashed if I’d have taken him for a rank rider.”
“Fool!” hissed Lady Naomi Lutonville, glaring at him furiously. “He was my escort!”
“Whoops!” muttered the lieutenant and drew back.
