Fifteen

“I am sorry, but my husband is ill. May we speak to you at a different time?” called Emma, in a desperate attempt to put off the magistrate.

“I won’t keep you long. Just a few questions will do.”

“Yes, all right,” said Emma, for what else could she say? “One moment while I make ourselves presentable.”

She ran back to Dare’s side. “Do we dare trust him?” she whispered.

Dare frowned and shook his head. “Too great a risk he would tell those men. If they should learn we are here, they could kill us at their leisure. I fear I am in no condition to protect you.”

“We need to convince him you are sick,” whispered Emma. “Not shot. The pox would do. That would keep everyone away. What can we use to make red spots?”

“Miss St. James,” Sally interjected, head down.

“Yes, Sally?”

“I…I…” She turned quickly to her small bandbox and rustling through it pulled out a small case. “Here.”

Emma took the case from her and stared at the lid. “Pear’s Liquid Blooms of Roses? Why Regina was furious looking for her rouge.”

“It fell behind the cabinet and I found it cleaning. She threatened anyone she caught stealing it, so I was afraid to give it back.”

“This carmine color will work nicely for the illusion. You probably should have returned it as soon as you found it, but I am glad you did not, for it will render us a service. Thank you, Sally.”

A knock came again on the door, causing Emma’s heart rate to climb. She was a country girl. She could not lie to a magistrate and pretend to be someone else. What was she doing?

“It will be fine. You can do this.” Darington’s low voice broke through her worries.

She realized she was trying to open the rouge with trembling hands. “Yes, of course.”

The knock sounded again, louder this time.

“One moment please,” called Emma. She opened the carmine rouge and dabbed her pinkie finger into the dark-red paste to apply spots to Darington’s face and hands. It would not serve under close inspection, but she counted on a fear of smallpox to prevent anyone from coming close. She tossed the case to Sally as she walked to open the door.

She opened the door halfway, blocking entry into the room, though the large man before her would have no difficulty barging in if he so chose. His mouth and eyes were grim, and he looked her up and down as if weighing her worth. He was wearing a wool hunting jacket and riding boots, clearly called away from an intended day of sport.

“Yes, may I help you?”

“I am Sir Gerald, the magistrate here. Do I have the honor of addressing Mrs. Anders?” The man spoke in a deep voice and had a salt-and-pepper mustache that almost completely hid his mouth. His tone was reserved and she was certain he was irritated at having been kept waiting at the door.

“Yes. How can I help you, Sir Gerald?”

“There has been a report of a serious nature. I need to speak with your husband.”

“I fear my husband is not well.”

“Forgive this intrusion, but my business cannot wait.”

“I do not wish to raise alarm, but my husband is quite unwell.”

“I hate to be blunt, Mrs. Anders, but a man is dead. Three men report the culprits are individuals fitting your description, who would have come to this hamlet around the same time as you. Now I will speak to your husband.” He stepped forward, and there was nothing she could do but step back.

“As you wish, but I fear my husband’s illness has taken a turn for the worse. We were traveling by post, and he took ill. I am not familiar with this but…” She lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned closer to the magistrate in a conspiratorial manner. “You do not think it could be smallpox, do you?”

Emma’s heart was beating so fast she hardly had to act to give her tone a tremble of anxiety. She stepped aside to reveal the patient. Dare was doing an excellent job at looking ill. Of course, he was already pale from his ordeal and the smattering of small red dots across his face was convincing. He lay still, eyes closed, mouth slightly ajar.

“The fever burns him so,” added Emma, hoping to keep the man away.

Sir Gerald took a step back and put a handkerchief over his mouth. “Yes, well, I see, very ill indeed.” He backed up as he walked until he had removed himself from the room and was standing in the hallway, still staring at Dare. “He is clearly not the man we seek. Thank you for your time. I wish your husband well. I will notify a doctor for you.”

Emma had been relieved to see the man go, but a new danger gave alarm. She was about to protest the sending for a doctor when the magistrate continued.

“Though I know he is visiting his sister. Probably won’t be able to get him until tomorrow morning.”

“Please, do not trouble yourself. I am sure he will be well.” She gave him a nervous smile. She certainly did not have to fake her concern.

Sir Gerald looked over her shoulder at Dare in the bed. “I’ll send for the doctor,” he said in a low voice. He shook his head and walked back down the corridor.

Emma closed and bolted the door and breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, at least that has bought us a little time.” She smiled at Dare and Sally.

Dare revived himself and passed a hand over his eyes, smearing his spots. “Won’t be long before those men hear of us and come to look for themselves. Wish I knew who they were or why my sister and I were targeted.”

“Come now. Do not fret. You are smearing your spots.” Emma took a handkerchief, dipped it in water, and proceeded to scrub the red off of his face. He might have been able to do it himself but put up no resistance to her ministrations. “I am sure help will come or we will think of something.” He had encouraged her and it was her turn to do the same. Hope was the one thing she was not about to give up.

He nodded in agreement.

“We must find a way out of here without being noticed.”

“Indeed, we must,” Dare agreed. But how this feat was to be accomplished, neither of them knew.

* * *

Eustace Ludlow stared at the overturned coach. He had arrived late to Waverley Hall the day before only to find the house in chaos, his mother frantic, and Emma St. James gone. He had questioned the staff, threatening more than just their positions if they did not tell him everything, but everyone pleaded ignorance. The missing coach, however, was a clear sign of Emma’s escape.

He had left early the next morning to find the brat and drag her to an asylum, where she belonged. He could not believe that such a little country nothing had the power to destroy his whole life. It was entirely unfair. It had taken him most of the day, but he had finally found the coach, crashed in a gully on the side of the road. The scene had gathered a small crowd of rustics, who had come to gawk.

Eustace tramped through the muddy slush, cursing Emma under his breath for ruining his polished Hessian boots. They had cost him dear and now were a complete loss. He looked through the smashed window, hoping to find evidence of a bloody demise, but none could be found.

“What happened here? Where is the occupant of the coach?” he asked a man with a silver mustache who had taken charge of trying to remove the coach from the side of the road.

“They’re looking for ’em,” replied the man.

“Them?” A shiver of dread crept up his spine. His mother had assured him that Emma had no contact with any man who could remotely be seen as marriageable. If she were to wed, all was lost.

The man tied a sturdy rope around a broken axle. “’Tis all the talk. They say a man and woman were in this here coach and run into another coach, robbing them and killing one o’ them. The body was found right in the middle o’ the road, shot dead.” He leaned closer. “Bad sort, you could tell, and not just ’cause he was dead. They moved the body out o’ respect for the ladies.”

“What?” Eustace rocked back on his heels, trying to make sense of what the man was saying. He thought very little of Emma, but she was no murderer.

“’Course, they couldn’t just leave the body there in the mud. Blocking the road, it was.”

Eustace checked again to make sure the coach was indeed Emma’s. What had happened here? “You say there was a man and woman?”

The man tugged on the rope that connected the overturned coach and a team of black horses. “I didn’t say it. The men they robbed did.”

“And where are these men now?”

“Here now, I got a job to do. I’ve got to get this here coach off the side o’ the road.”

Eustace rubbed two shillings together, making a distinctive metallic noise. “Where can I find the woman from this coach?”

In one swift move, the shillings disappeared from his hand and the man doffed his cap revealing a mostly bald head. “Don’t know where they are, sir, but they can’t have got far, not with the weather we’ve been having. They’d be on foot too, ’cause we found the nags from this here coach, the harness cut with a knife.”

“Where is the nearest town or hamlet?”

“Straight that way, through the hedgerows, about two miles. Follow this road here and it’ll take ye ’round the fields.”

“Thank you,” muttered Eustace and mounted up again, squinting into the cold rain as he trotted down the road to the little hamlet. He would not be kind when he found Emma. If anyone deserved a sound beating, it was she.

When he arrived at the hamlet, he was pleased to see only one inn. If Emma had come this way, she must surely have stayed at the Green Man Inn. Fortunately, the news of the robbery and murder was all the talk, so information was not difficult to glean. He heard of strangers in town, a Mr. and Mrs. Anders who arrived the night before on the mail, which Eustace found suspect.

“I would like a room for the night,” Eustace said, addressing the elderly landlord. “I would like to inform my mother I have arrived safely. Could you post a letter for me?”

“Yes, of course, sir.” The landlord gave him a nod of the head and a genial smile.

“I’ve heard a Mrs. and Mr. Anders are staying here,” commented Eustace in what he hoped was an offhand manner. “I believe they may be friends of mine. Could you describe the lady?”

“She’s a pretty, young thing, she is—head full of blond curls, bright-blue eyes. Why her smile could—”

“Yes, yes, that sounds like her.” Eustace did not wish to hear anyone sing the praises of his stepsister. “Could you let me know the room? I’d like to surprise them by giving my regards.”

“Oh, I don’t think that would be good.” A cloud fell over the landlord’s countenance. “Mr. Anders is quite unwell, in fact…” The landlord leaned close and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t want to spread rumor and cause a panic, but the magistrate thinks he’s got the pox.”

“How dreadful.” Eustace was not sure what to make of it but decided against a knock on the door. It would not do to expose himself to illness only to find the lady in question was not the one he sought. “Could you let me know when the lady emerges? I should very much like to offer my assistance to Mrs. Anders.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”