A RUSH FOR FREEDOM
The stables were silent. Inside, Arabella could hear the neigh of horses. There was, closer, the sound of men, walking over the rough stone flagging of the yard. Arabella leaned against the wall and drew in a steadying breath.
“Geoffrey! You almost done, eh?”
“Another ten minutes. Those blighters from the gate have to take our shift.”
“Aye. They're taking a long while coming, eh?”
Footsteps. Arabella breathed slow and even. She heard the church clock and jumped. It was six peals, then another for half an hour. She had to go, now! Rowell had told her to go to his lodgings at eight. This was her chance. When the guard changed. However, would they change now? She forced herself to calm.
“Eh! Hal? You heard the shouting?”
“At the gate?” The voice she'd identified as Hal asked in reply.
“Aye. Seems like our friends are detained there,” the new voice said. “Got a fight breaking out, so they have. Probably them blighters from the public house. Sots, the lot of them.”
“Aye.”
Arabella felt her heart clench. It was getting close to seven! Now the sentries were held up? What could she do?
Think, Arabella.
She saw a stone and flung it. Tap. It hit the wall by the gate, about ten paces away. She heard the sentries take note.
“Geoffrey? You hear that?”
“Aye, Hal.”
“What was it?”
A shrug. “Beats me. Horses, probably. They've been restless all day. Probably the weather.”
“Aye.”
Another stone. Click. Click.
“Blimey! What is that?”
“Calm down, Hal. It's the horses, I tell you. Restless chaps.”
“Not so sure. Sounded like it came from that gate yonder.”
“Well, let's check.”
Another stone and another. Click, click. Thump.
Then, the sound she'd been waiting for – the crunch of men's boots on stone as they walked the ten paces to go to the gate. No time to wait. She ran.
Round the corner, through the door. Into the stables. Search the rows. Her mind fed her instructions piecemeal and she followed them, no time to think about the logic, or not, of the plans.
Saddles. I need a horse that's saddled. There! In the last row of stalls, on the left. The chestnut.
Arabella walked to him as if her body was on strings, pulled by the puppeteer, her mind. She opened the gate and walked to the horse.
Hush. He's scared of you. Yes, he looks fierce, but wouldn't you be, if someone walked into your stall? He'll like you. Horses like you.
“Eh, lad,” she said to him softly. “You feeling hot in here? How could they leave you with your tack on?” She spoke gently and the horse stopped stamping and shying and stood and let her touch him. She heard footsteps in the doorway. The guards were coming back. Only a matter of seconds now before they noticed the gate to the horse's stable was open.
Careful to stay calm, Arabella walked round the side of the horse, and reached up for the reins. He tossed his head and for one heart-stopping moment she thought he might bite, or shy again, but he stood still. She slipped her foot into the stirrup.
“Hey, look there! Gate's open.”
“I didn't leave it.”
“Must have been the stable boy. Come on, better shut it, eh...why the blighter couldn't just remember is a mystery...”
She heard footsteps, heavy and crunching stone on stone. She threw her leg over, grateful that once or twice, long ago when she was a little girl, Douglas had taught her and Francine to ride astride.
I'm on!
She gripped with her knees and then they were shooting away, heading down the path.
“What? Hey! Halt! Stop, I say! Or I'll shoot!”
The voice that was Geoffrey shouted after her, and Arabella didn't stop to think – she gripped with her knees, held the reins and half-closed her eyes as the horse shot forward, racing for the gate.
They were in the town, on the cobbles, her horse running like a condemned man let loose from jail. They were heading straight down the main arterial road, heading for the gate.
“Yes!”
Arabella screamed it, and her horse neighed and ran, heading for the gate. Soldiers on the side of the road, in the market or coming from the guardhouse stared. None of them made any move to stop her, however – the sight of a woman riding astride at full gallop down the street seemed to stop them in their tracks.
Then she heard a voice she knew. “Stop! Thief!”
It was Rowell.
She screamed and a shot rang out over her head. That seemed to give others the reminder they needed that they were meant to shoot horse thieves, and bullets whizzed past. Arabella screamed and sent her horse hurtling toward the gate.
They ran through. Nobody reached out to stop them.
Then they were out on the road, finally free.
“Yes!” she breathed into her horse's ear. “Thank you!”
The horse seemed to hear her whispers. He redoubled his efforts and they burst ahead toward the woods. She had the impression that the horse didn't like her very much – he certainly fought her directives to turn as they reached the forest – but nevertheless he seemed as pleased as she to be away. He was running for the pleasure of it, she thought, for his own fierce need to be free.
They stopped running when they had ridden through the trees about five minutes. By then, they were quite far in. Arabella leaned forward, shaking and exhausted. They did it. They were out.
Her horse stood still, sweat pouring from his body, head down. She felt bad for having sent him on so fast a run, but what could she do? They could both have been shot. It was, in fact, a miracle they weren't.
She was too tired to do anything for what felt like a long while. Around them, the woods had grown dark with dusk. She looked around.
“Let's go on,” she whispered.
The woods were darkening and there was a chance they would get lost. They had to stick to the path, and it would be best to reach some place of shelter while it was still possible to see.
They went on, heading into the dark trees.
* * *
Richard walked back from the offices, unable to think or feel. He didn't even know where he was – the town passed by, unseen. He reached his home by sheer habit, his body carrying him there without any need for his mind to guide him.
In his head was a whirling blankness, and the same picture, over and over. Rowell, touching Arabella. Talking to her. Making who knew what agreements.
Arabella, not walking away. Listening to him. Letting him touch her.
“Blast them,” he whispered.
He felt an incandescent rage against Rowell, but the hurt that Arabella dealt him was worse. Why would she even have gone near Rowell?
Rage and hurt mixed inside him, combining with a worse feeling directed at himself. Impatience. He had been a fool. He had believed her when she said she loved him, when she said that she trusted him.
What agreement was she making with Rowell?
It made no sense, none of it.
He marched up the steps and into the house.
“Hello?” he called out.
Nothing. The house gave back an echo of emptiness. Richard looked around and felt oddly frustrated. He had hoped Arabella would be here, that he could talk to her, ask her what was happening. However, she wasn't here.
“Blast,” he said again.
He marched up the hallway and to the dining room, sticking his head in round the door. It was empty, though from somewhere there issued a smell of food, cooking. His stomach made a noise reminding him of hunger.
“Bromley?” he called.
When even Bromley wasn't there, he felt a sour rage build inside him. He kicked the mantel and then winced as his foot ached. Swearing, he limped toward the chair.
“Sir?”
“Blast, Bromley,” he swore. “Where is everyone?”
Whether or not Arabella was planning adultery, he still would have liked to see her! Nothing was worse than this isolation, this emptiness where, just recently, his house had been a place of such complete happiness.
“I was in the cellar, sir,” Bromley said. “Chasing out the rats.”
“Where's the mistress?” he asked, dragging off his boot grimly, feeling his foot start to swell. Blast it; he'd likely broken that, too!
“She...” Bromley frowned. “She went out, sir.”
“Aye,” Richard said acridly. “I know.”
“Sir?”
“Nothing, Bromley. Just get dinner, will you? And don't wait for the mistress,” he added, seeing Bromley's affronted expression.
“Yes, sir.”
Swearing under his breath about Bromley and his divided loyalty, Richard swung back to the table. His foot ached like perdition and he was sure he'd cracked a toe.
Serves you right for being such a stupid fool.
He sighed. His life seemed to be all about serving him right just lately. All he could hope was that Arabella returned. If he confronted her about it, she would tell him the truth. He'd rather know the truth, whatever it was. Better to know.
“I made a soup of greens sir,” the man said, bringing in the first course hesitantly. “I was meant to make a stew with beans for the second, but the mistress went out to fetch them and she didn't bring any back, so...” he shrugged. “I made what I could with the fish from yesterday.”
“Fine,” Richard snarled. Bromley, sensing the anger in his tone, promptly left.
So she'd gone out to fetch some beans. That would explain why she was in the center of town in the first place. Why in Perdition could she not just have stayed in the cottage? That would have been so much safer! They had said Bromley should do the cooking, so why was she even trying to help him?
“There's more to it than that,” he sighed.
He lifted the spoon and started on the soup. It was good, but it tasted oddly of nothing. He sighed. It was his temperament that was doing it, he knew. He was dull and sad and nothing was going to aid him.
When Bromley came through with the second course, Richard's resolve left him. He stood. It was seven o' clock, according to the mantel. If Arabella wasn't in now, there was only one reason for it.
She was with Rowell.
He strode to the door as soon as Bromley had left, lifted his coat from the peg and walked to the front entrance.
I will go there and confront them both, he decided boldly. I don't wish her ill. If Rowell can offer her more than I can, I will wish her well and leave. However, I cannot stay here. I would rather move to another regiment. I can't see her and him every day.
He was surprised that he wished her no ill will. Tales of soldiers brutalizing their wives over less made no sense to him. He had sworn before a holy man to love Arabella forever, and he did. He wished her no harm. He just wished himself as far away as possible. He had been a fool. A miserable, useless fool.
“Blast,” he swore, limping up an alley, walking briskly past a fallen bag of victuals from the storehouse. Three soldiers almost collided into him as he swerved to avoid it. They blinked at him.
“Lieutenant!”
“Heathfield,” Richard said through gritted teeth. “What?” He could absolutely have done without seeing the man's smooth, untroubled gaze just then.
“You are part of the search party?”
“Search party?” he frowned.
“Someone stole a horse, sir. I don't know the particulars, but Geoffrey and Hal – they're from another unit, sir, you don't know them – set up a cry and now we're searching the barns for thieves.”
“Oh.” Richard frowned. “Is there some reason to expect more than one?” It sounded odd to him, but maybe that was because he was preoccupied. All the same, he was interested.
Heathfield looked down. “Well, Geoffrey said it seemed likely.”
“Maybe Geoffrey was just feeling foolish for having let the thief go?”
“Maybe.”
Richard nodded. “Well, good luck, lads. I’m just off on some other business. I'll join you in the search when I'm done.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
They headed off and Richard continued grimly up the street toward the office where Rowell was billeted.
“Rowell!” He yelled, beating on the door.
“Yes, sir?”
The same man appeared at the door. Richard looked levelly at him.
“Where is Rowell?” he asked.
“Sir? He's not here. He went out about an hour ago. Hasn't been back.”
The man started to shut the door but Richard, moving quickly, put his foot in it.
“I need to see him, now.” He wasn't having it. Rowell was here, somewhere, he knew it. He was here, with her. He shouldered past the man into the bright lit hallway.
“Sir!” Rowell's man looked shocked. “You have no right here! He's not in, in any case! Now, clear off or I swear I'll shoot you...”
“He's here,” Richard snapped and marched up the stairs.
“Sir, he isn't,” the man called after him. “I swear it. He went out about an hour ago and hasn't been back. I think he's after these thieves. Now please, leave? Or I'll have to call someone.”
Richard sighed. “Fine,” he said wearily. Maybe the man was telling the truth, after all. He'd been all the way to the top of the flight of steps and all the doors on the next floor were open. If Rowell was in the house, he wasn't in his bedroom. He walked down the stairs again.
“If you need to leave a message for him, I'm very pleased to take it,” the man said, nervously. He looked as if his goal was to avoid a confrontation between Richard and the major.
Richard sighed. “I don't have a message, no,” he said. “But if he comes back, send me word.”
“Yes, sir.”
Richard walked stiffly up the street.
Again, three soldiers ran past, this time different ones. By this time it was getting dark outside and they had torches with them. He frowned as they ran past.
“Hey! Men!”
“Yes, sir?” One whipped round.
“Are you looking for thieves?”
“No, sir,” one of them called. “A fight at the gate.”
“Oh.” Richard frowned. “I'll go directly.”
When he reached the gate he saw that there was, indeed, a fight, or at least there had recently been one. Two men stood in the center, a small group milling about. More men stood on the edge, with torches. The military police.
“What's going on?” Richard called.
“Those two were in a fight, sir,” one of the bystanders explained. “Geoffrey let a thief go, and Albert there says he's a fool, and they starts a barney.”
“Oh,” Richard frowned. “Was it Albert's horse?”
He squinted at the man, and recognized him as one of Rowell's. A twinge of alarm pricked up his spine.
“No, sir,” the man frowned. “He was fighting 'cos he said Major Rowell, sir, he didn't want the thief escaping.”
Richard had a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something about this story seemed to make sense, to march with total implacability towards one inevitable conclusion.
“Who was the thief?” he asked.
“A woman, sir.”
“And where,” he asked softly, “is Rowell?”
“After her, sir.”
Richard stared. Shock rooted him to the spot, but then haste gripped him, sending him forward to the stables. He had to reach her soon, before Rowell stopped her.