Once back on the road, Jack was more hopeful. It seemed probable the carriage would have been headed toward Reading, and he hoped that in the larger village, someone might have seen the coach pass through. If he had no luck, he would be forced to retrace his steps. Something he was loath to do. For where else could they have gone? He had driven past nothing but paddocks, woods, and the occasional farmhouse.
A bank of heavy, gray clouds moved in low over the landmark redbrick buildings of the Simonds Brewery, where they perched on the River Kennet, a sign they had arrived in Reading.
“Looks like rain, my lord,” Joseph said, gazing skyward.
Jack drove the curricle into the bustling town and pulled up in the main street. As he handed the reins to Joseph and jumped down, a woman walking past with a basket over her arm gave him an inviting smile. Jack raised his hat then turned and went into the haberdashery.
He returned to the curricle a half hour later, having learned nothing helpful. Busy shoppers and shopkeepers apparently rarely took notice of passing carriages. Pure instinct told him to continue driving west, so he drove down the turnpike road, and while paying the toll,his guess was proven right. The coach he sought had passed through here two days ago. Inside had been a man and a woman who’d appeared to be asleep. Their coachman had asked the way to Wantage.
Wantage? He should have been buoyed at discovering their direction, but deep concern for Lady Prudence’s condition made him grip the reins tight. Had she been drugged? Might she be ill? Jack’s insides twisted. He turned to his groom with a nod. “We’re on the right track, it appears, Joseph.”
Joseph, known for his gloomy disposition, shook his head. “I hope so, my lord, but two days have passed. I mean, anything could have happened since then.”
“But we know they headed for Wantage,” Jack countered. “And the good Lord has gotten us this far, so let’s remain optimistic.” He struggled to do so himself as he urged his horses on. The alternative, that he might be too late, that he failed to save her, made him utter a curse. No, he told himself, that fiery beauty who’d fought so bravely to uncover her father’s killer must still live. He found it impossible to think otherwise.
Chapter Sixteen
For over anhour, Prue trudged along, her rubbed heels causing her to limp. The tilbury had not yet returned. She was sure it would, and the fear constantly tormented her. The trees thinned out and pale sunlight filtered through, warming her a little. Had she finally reached the edge of the forest?
A half hour later, when she was sure she couldn’t go another step, the road sloped downward and gave a view of a village, and beyond that, the church spire! With a whoop, she ran, ignoring the pain in her feet and the tight band of fear which was still lodged in her chest.
Gasping, Prue slowed to a walk and entered the busy market town. People passing stared at her. She must have looked an absolute fright. No stockings or gloves, hatless, her pelisse and gown soiled, and her face probably streaked with mud after she’d tripped and fallen once onto the damp earth. She was tempted to stop someone to ask for help but feared no one would believe her strange story. At the end of Church Street stood the large, gray stone medieval church, its fearsome gargoyles glaring down from the slate roof, which had turned greenish with moss. There was a sign in front, Church of St. Peter and St. Paul. Could she risk it? Or would she find more danger inside? She had to take a chance, to run if she must, although she feared her energy sapped away. Her pulse pounding, Prue rushed up to the arched wooden doors. One stood open. She tried to tidy herhair, then took a deep breath to calm herself and went inside.
A gray-haired, elderly man dressed in a black cassock with a clerical collar stood in front of the altar. He turned and stared at her, his brows knitting as he took in her disheveled appearance. In her mourning clothes, now somewhat worse for wear, she must have presented a disturbing picture as she hurried up the aisle toward him. She swallowed, finding it hard to speak. “Vicar, please. I need your help.”
“But of course, my dear. Have you suffered some kind of accident? Why don’t you sit here, and I’ll fetch you some water.”
“No, please don’t bother, Vicar.”
“You are not from our village. Are you here for the wedding tomorrow?”
Prue swallowed hard. ‘Wedding’? Chaotic thoughts whirled in her head, making her dizzy. Her knees weakened. She groped for the back of a pew and sank down.
Concern in his eyes, the vicar hovered over her, placing a hand on her arm. “Are you feeling well, my dear? May I escort you home? Where are you staying?”
“I…”
A vehicle rattled down the street and stopped outside.
Prue looked wildly around but couldn’t see the carriage through the narrow doorway. Was it the nun back to grab her? Would this elderly man of the cloth prefer to believe a story the nun might tell him over her own?
Prue jumped to her feet and bolted for the back of the church. She found herself in the vestry and flung open the door to a side street.
“Miss!” the vicar called after her in obvious alarm, but his voice was soon lost as Prue left the church and ran for her life.
She sped through the twisting streets, searching for somewhere to hide. But doors were all closed and most windows shuttered. Another turn in the road brought her out into the countryside. She stopped and looked around, then waded through the grass to a huge oak standingalone in a field, a cluster of sheep nearby. Hunkering down behind the wide trunk, she waited. She was forced to admit the futility of it. For where could she go now? Any options she might have had were gone, for she couldn’t return to the church. Prue blinked tears away, annoyed with herself. She had gotten this far; she was not about to give up now.
The sound of an approaching carriage made her moan in distress. She risked rising to take a peep. And lost her breath. It was two men in a curricle. One of them had seen her and leaped to the ground. He ran toward her.
Prue’s knees buckled and she clutched the rough bark to stay upright. She closed her eyes. Surely, this must have been a dream? Strong hands pulled her gently to her feet and wrapped her in strong, muscular arms. “Prudence! I feared I’d never find you.”
At the gruff voice filled with emotion, she opened her eyes. Raising her chin, she gazed into his familiar gray eyes and dear face. She blinked as tears ran down her cheeks. Then she sniffed and swiped at them with a hand. “Lord Hereford. How on earth did you find me?”
“Fortunately, the carriage that brought you here was distinctive. And the vicar told me of this strange woman who had just ran out. I knew it must have been you.”
“I suppose he did find me odd. I have such a lot to tell you…” She ran out of words and clung to the lapel of his wool greatcoat. He produced a clean square of fine linen, and she blew her nose. It smelled of his citrusy soap.
“Plenty of time to talk of this,” he said. “Come. I’ll take you somewhere warmer and more comfortable.”
