Devil's Cub (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 2)

She slept no more, but sat bolt upright, clasping her hands in her lap. Once she caught a glimpse of a rider abreast of the coach window, but he drew ahead, and she did not see him again.

They halted for the second time presently, but the change of horses was accomplished in a twinkling, and no one came to the chaise door. A cold grey light informed her that the dawn was approaching. She had not anticipated that her imposture would remain undetected for so long, and wondered uneasily how far into the day it would be before she reached home again.

As the light grew the interior of the chaise became dimly visible. She observed a holster within easy reach of her hand, and with calm forethought, possessed herself of the pistol it contained. It was rather large for her small hand, and having very little knowledge of firearms she had no idea whether it was loaded or not. She managed to put it into the big pocket of her cloak. It made the cloak very heavy, but she felt safer. The quivering alarm that had possessed her from the start of this queer journey began to leave her. She discovered that her hands were now quite steady, and felt that she could face whatever was to come with tolerable composure. She began to chafe at the

length of the journey, and wondered with a kind of detached interest whether she had enough money in her reticule to pay for her return. She hoped she would be able to travel by the stage-coach to London. The hire of a chaise would be beyond her means, she was sure. That Vidal might convey her to her door again, never entered her head. Vidal was going to be far too angry to consider her plight.

At the next halt she caught sight of Vidal for a moment, as he mounted a fresh horse, but he did not come to the coach door. Apparently the lover was forgotten in his desire to press on. She had heard from Sophia that he travelled always at a breakneck pace, springing his horses; otherwise, she reflected, she might well have supposed that he was flying for his life.

Pale sunlight began at last to peep through the clouds. Mary tried to calculate how far they had journeyed, but could arrive at no satisfactory estimate. Houses came into sight, and presently the chaise swept into a cobbled street, and slackened speed.

A corner was turned. Mary saw a grey tumbling sea, and stared at it in bewilderment. That Vidal meant to carry Sophia out of England had never really entered her head. She began to realise that such really was his intention, and remembering his late duel she felt that this possibility ought to have occurred to her before.

The chaise drew up with a lurch. She turned quickly from her contemplation of a yacht lying in the harbour and waited for the door to be opened.

Somebody let down the steps; it was Vidal who opened the door. ‘What, still masked?’ he said. ‘I shall call you Prudence, love. Come!’ He held out his hands to her, and before she could lay her fingers on his arm, caught her round the waist, and swung her lightly down. She had a momentary sensation of complete helplessness, and was annoyed to find that she liked it.

‘In with you, sweetheart,’ he said gaily. ‘There is just time for you to drink some coffee before I must bundle you aboard ship.’

A stout landlord was bowing her into the inn. Looking at him through the slits of her mask, she thought that she detected a sly expression on his discreet countenance, and concluded with a stab of anger, that she was not the first female Lord Vidal had brought to this inn.

He ushered her into a parlour overlooking the sea, and stood bowing and smirking while Vidal delivered his orders. Mary walked to the fireplace, and stood there with her back turned.

‘Yes, my lord, yes!’ the landlord said. ‘Some coffee for the lady, and a roll, and a tankard of small-beer for your lordship. Yes, my lord; on the instant!’

‘Let it be on the instant,’ Vidal said, ‘or I miss the tide.’

‘My lord, it shall be!’ the landlord assured him, and bustled out.

Mary heard the door shut, and turned. Vidal had thrown down his whip and gloves, and was watching her in some amusement. ‘Well, Mistress Discretion?’ he said. ‘Do you take off that mask, or must I?’

She put up her hands to the strings, and untied it. ‘I think it has served its turn,’ she said composedly, and put back her hood.

The smile was wiped from his face; he stood staring at her. ‘What the devil – ?’ he began.

She took off her cloak and laid it carefully on a chair; she had quite forgotten her pistol, for she had a part to play. She tried to smile archly, as Sophia could, and hoped she did not boggle it.

‘Oh, my lord, I vow you are too easy to trick!’ she said, and tittered, quite in Sophia’s manner.

He strode up to her, and caught her wrists in a painful grasp. ‘I am, am I? We shall see, my girl. Where’s your sister?’

‘La, where should she be but in her bed?’ Mary answered. ‘Lord, how we laughed when she showed me your letter! She was all for playing some jest on you to punish you for your impudence. So we put our heads together, my lord, and hit on the very thing. Oh, she will die of laughing when I tell her how you never suspected ’twas I you had in the coach, and not her at all!’ There was not a tremor in Miss Challoner’s voice as she spoke her part; she was all flippant vulgarity upon the surface. But under the surface, good God, is he going to murder me? she thought.

Murder certainly looked out of his eyes, his grip on her wrists made her wince. ‘A jest, is it?’ he said. ‘Her jest – or yours? Answer me!’

Her rôle was hard to maintain, but she continued airily enough. ‘Oh well, to be sure ’twas I carried it through, and I dare say I should have thought of it if she had not.’

‘She thought of it?’ he interrupted.

She nodded. ‘Yes, but I did not at all like it at first, only when she threatened to get Eliza Matcham to go if I would not I consented.’ She glanced up at him fleetingly, but dared not keep her eyes on his. ‘You need not think, my lord, that you can seduce Sophia so easily. She led you on finely, did she not? But when she found you’d no thought of marriage, she determined to teach you a lesson!’

‘Marriage!’ he said, and threw back his head and laughed. ‘Marriage! By God, that’s rich!’

Her cheeks were stained crimson. His laughter had a jeering, wicked ring; he looked like a devil, she thought.

He let her go all at once, and cast himself down in a chair by the table. The murderous look had left his face, but in his half-closed eyes was a gleam that alarmed her more. The man meant mischief. His glance stripped her naked. Her cheeks grew hotter, and she saw that an ugly smile had curled his thin lips. His very attitude, while she still stood, was an insult. He lounged at his ease, one leg stretched out before him, a hand driven deep into his breeches pocket.

‘You’ll forgive my amusement,’ he drawled. ‘I suppose the truth is that Miss Sophia has found some other fool who offered more than I did, eh?’