“Something badly amiss, my lord?” Goodman tried but failed to hide his curiosity.
“I hope not, sir.”
Jack drove on, unsettled and worried. There was nothing more he could do tonight. Where had they taken her? Was she afraid, hurt? Or worse? He couldn’t believe she was gone. It seemed impossible. She’d become too dear to him. He saw her lovely face in his mind’s eye: the defiant flash of purpose in her green eyes, the stubborn lift of her chin. Unthinkable to lose the one woman he cared for. He’d guarded himself from such pain since his mother disappeared, fearing it would destroy him. Rather he faced a murderer’s gun than this. But he wouldn’t give in. He would find her.
The next morning, he drove away from Bow Street, having learned nothing new. Will Darby was apparently more frightened of the man who’d hired him than the prospect of ending up in Newgate to await the hangman’s noose. Jack wondered why.
It was early afternoon when Jack returned to Richmond. It would probably prove fruitless, but he wanted to check if anyone else had noticed the coach and might be able to give him the direction it had taken, although where he’d go from there, he couldn’t say. And as one who liked to have a plan and know what he was about, it did not sit well with him. This was the third day Lady Prudence had been missing and the desperate need to find her made him groan in anguish.
Chapter Fifteen
Prue arrived ata staircase without meeting another soul. Voices and the clatter of dishes rose from below. She ventured down a few steps and stared over the railing at the stone floor of a wide hall. No one appeared. Her freedom seemed tantalizingly close as she hovered there. She had to go down. There was no other option; it was useless to retrace her steps. She must find a way out of the convent before her escape was discovered.
She carefully descended, praying none of the aged, wooden treads would emit loud creaks and give her away. At the bottom, she stepped off the stairs and looked around at the hall with its high, curved ceiling. Three doors opened onto a long corridor that led off it. At the far end of the corridor, a shaft of light shone from somewhere. A window? It might show her the way outside. She stopped to listen at the first door she came to. The voices she’d heard on the staircase came from within, along with the clinking of crockery and the smell of hot food. A dining room, she assumed. Her breath held as long as she could, she crept past the next two doors and stood, heart pounding, before a set of tall, wooden arched doors, the high window above it the source of the light she’d seen.
Expelling her breath with a gasp, she darted over and took hold of the big, brass doorknob, and turned it. The door swung open with a fearful groan to reveal a wide porch, and beyond it, the drive curlingaway up the hill. The voices from the dining room seemed to hush. Had they heard her? Prue didn’t wait to find out if they would emerge to follow her. She darted out into the cold air, eager to put some distance between her and those in the convent. She had no notion of what direction she might take, or how long she had before they came to find her, but she was free, and, exhilarated, set off at a run up the steep slope.
She reached the top of the hill and darted behind the trunk of an old chestnut. Bent double, she tried to regain her breath. A cautious glance around the tree at the aged, stone building told her she had not yet been discovered to be missing. Would she learn who had been behind her abduction, and the reason for it? She wasn’t about to wait to find out. They would try to recapture her. She took a moment to calm herself and gain her bearings. Her decision made, she started off along the road. The church’s spire she had seen from her high prison window was somewhere to the south and beckoned like a beacon. She would continue on this road as long as it led in that direction.
The breeze was cool, making her glad she’d brought her pelisse, and she warmed a little as she half-ran, half-walked into the forest. The road took her through dense shrubbery and towering trees, the canopy of their branches blotting out much of the daylight. When she’d walked another mile or so, the sound of horse hooves and the clattering of a carriage came from behind her. It was still out of sight, which gave Prue time to leave the road and sprint into the bushes. She gathered up her skirts and leaped logs, then squatted behind a thicket of brambles.
Through the bushes, she watched a tilbury, a man driving with the nun who had brought her meals, seated beside him. So, they had already discovered her escape. They proceeded slowly while searching the woods. Prue feared she’d startle the cluster of birds in the trees above her and give away her position, so she scrunched down further to hide her face, dragging in the aromas of rotting leaves and dampearth with each breath. Finally, she heard the noise fade as the tilbury disappeared down the road. They were sure to return before long. It would be safer to avoid the road and make her way through the woods as best she could.
Forced to stop and remove her stockings, which were so badly torn, they made her half-boots rub her heels, Prue resolutely continued on, the brambles catching at her skirts.
She despaired at how difficult and slow it proved to be, and, frustrated, considered returning to the road, when the rattle and clop, clop, clop of hooves alerted her to an approaching carriage. The tilbury soon came into view. From behind a bushy rhododendron, Prue watched its slow progress. She parted the leafy branches and watched them, not liking the look of the big, burly man hunched over the reins with a whip in his hand, and a sour expression on his hard face. A shiver raced down her back at the thought of him getting his hands on her. They must not find her again.
“The young lady can’t have gone far.” The nun’s anxious voice carried across the greenery. “We must find her, or I shall be blamed.”
“Would serve her right if she spends the night in the woods with foxes, asps, and spiders for company,” he said. “When I catch her, she’ll be sorry.”
“You are not to lay a hand on her,” the nun warned. “You have your instructions.”
“She’s been a damned nuisance,” he muttered, hunching his shoulders.
The nun put a hand on his arm. “Let’s try the other road, Ambrose.”
With a vicious crack of the driver’s whip, the horse cantered away, wheels clattering on the rough surface, and soon, they had gone from sight.
Prue shuddered, lamenting that she still didn’t have her hat, and she was sure spiders were already nesting in her hair. She wadedthrough the high undergrowth to the road. Then determinedly went on. At least now the going was easier, and she could walk faster. How long before she emerged from this oppressive woodland? Prue agreed with the man. She would hate to spend a chilly, miserable night here. Those in the tilbury or others searching for her must come back this way after failing to find her on the road leading north.
As Prue jogged along, Lord Hereford entered her thoughts. How he had been the last time she’d seen him. His warm gaze reassured her and made her feel safe. Surely, he searched for her? Or did he find her an inconvenience who interfered with his investigation? Was she expecting too much when his work must keep him very busy? By now, Gramma would certainly have asked him to help find her. And even if he did try to find her, how would he know where they’d taken her? Her spirits slumped, but despite the leaden exhaustion, she increased her pace, intent on reaching that church while alert to any sounds.
*
The sun washigh overhead by the time Jack had traced the coach with its one black horse as far as Slough. But there, it seemed to have vanished. He continued driving for several miles, then finally stopped at a coaching inn to water his horses and for him and Joseph to eat luncheon.
In the inn’s dining room, the air redolent with the smell of hot food, a young serving maid brought tankards of ale, chicken soup, a basket of bread, sliced ham, cheese, and pickles and placed them before him and his groom.
“Stay a moment, miss,” Jack said, smiling, a hand on her arm, before she rushed away to attend to the other diners in the busy inn. “What is your name?”
She looked startled and fiddled with her apron. “Bessie, milord.”
“Just one question, Bessie.” Jack described the vehicle and theblack horse with little hope that she would have seen it. Apparently, the coach had not stopped here, for Jack had asked the innkeeper earlier.
Bessie’s large, brown eyes brightened. “We saw the coach go by. Harry and me, he’s the ostler here.” At the ostler’s name, she flushed pink. “Well, we was in the forecourt, just talkin’, and we both saw the old carriage pass by. Harry said the black horse was a thoroughbred. He thought it odd to be there among three inferior breeds. Harry prides himself on being an authority on horses, he does,” she said, lifting her chin with a proud look. “Said it was likely stolen from some toff.” Her eyes widened. “Begging your pardon, my lord.”
“That is very helpful. Thank you, Bessie.” Jack pressed a gold coin into her hand, which made her blush again and dip into a curtsey.
