all of their idiocy they were certainly discreet about their employer.
Frank went on, “Anyways, killin’ is not my way. That’s why I agreed to cart her to Wales and leave her to fend for herself.”
Spade leaned to within an inch of Frank’s face. “Ye are the biggest muttonhead I ever did meet! No killin’. What kind a criminal are ye? Ye might as well set yerself up as one o’ them dandies and call yourself Francis!”
The time and the miles sped by but suddenly Victoria had a wild idea. She glanced at her quarrelsome captors and then envisioned Taviston standing, straight and proud, in St. George’s with Peyton beside him. She could not hurt him, if at all possible. She would make it to the church, even if she died trying. Well, she prayed it wouldn’t come to such a drastic end. At least she had Frank to plead for her life. Maybe. She had doubts about how much she could trust a kidnapper.
She shook her head, trying to clear all of her errant thoughts and concentrate on what she was about to do.
“Pardon me, gentlemen.”
The two of them never even glanced her way. They still faced each other, spitting contentious words back and forth.
She raised her voice and used the tone that had worked so well with the village children in Rippingale. “Spade! Frank!”
Ceasing their squabbling, they eyed her expectantly. She smiled. “I do beg your pardon, gentlemen. I hesitate to point this out, but clearly one of you has the wrong information.” Twin looks of fierceness overtook their irritated expressions. Victoria smiled more charmingly. “I mean no offense. But I can think of no reason why you two fine...fellows would want to kidnap someone like me. I cannot help but wonder if you might have made a mistake.”
She looked them over enquiringly. They stared dumbly back at her. Again, she refrained from raising her eyes to the ceiling.
“Frank, Spade,” she began deferentially, “I am asking if possibly you kidnapped the wrong person? Who is it you were meant to take to Scotland... or Wales?”
She had no doubt they would foolishly answer her question and she half expected to receive two different answers.
“Miss Victoria Forster,” Spade said shortly. Frank nodded in agreement.
Victoria let her shoulders sag in relief. “Oh, dear me. This is all wrong.”
“Ain’t you her?” Frank asked.
“Most certainly not! I am Miss Eliza Simpson.”
Frank and Spade exchanged uncertain looks. Spade broke the minute-long silence. “Ye ain’t Victoria Forster?”
“I am not. What address were you given? Where was this girl supposed to be?” Victoria tried not to let the giddy feeling of success overtake her. She had to play this through to the end.
“No. 6 Somerset Street.” Frank looked to Spade for confirmation. Spade nodded his head and then scratched it.
Victoria chuckled, softly at first and then a little more loudly. “How utterly amusing! I can hardly credit it.” As she noted the growing impatience from across the carriage, she quickly stifled her laughter. “I live at No. 9 Somerset Street. However, I can readily understand how your coachman made such an error. Not two days ago the uppermost nail on our house number came loose. The nine flipped around and now appears to be a six. Can you believe it? Mother nagged Dixon about fixing it, but I know the lazy man hasn’t as yet.”
“Ye live at No. 9? An’ the number fell down?” Spade used his index finger to illustrate the flip the number must have made.
“Indeed. Your coachman must have mistaken the upside-down nine for a six and I most unfortunately walked out of my door at the wrong moment.”
They both stared at her, mouths slightly open. Oddly, she wanted to cherish the sight, but knew time marched on.
“Might I make a suggestion, gentlemen?” she said gravely, all of her former amusement gone.
They nodded in unison. “Why don’t you have Sam stop the carriage? Wherever we are, you may leave me.” She held up her hand in front of their shocked faces. “I cannot imagine you will be paid for kidnapping the wrong woman. I am of no use to you. I shall find my own way home and I will forget this entire disastrous affair.”
For the first time in over thirty minutes Spade let his pistol fall limp in his hand and the odious gun no longer pointed her way. He contemplated her proposal briefly, then reached up and slammed his fist against the ceiling. The carriage drew to an abrupt halt.
Victoria wanted nothing more than to jump up and down with joy and thanksgiving, but she contrived to restrain herself. She still had to ensure they left her alone. Then she had to find a way back to St. George’s—with all due speed.
Frank tried one more time to understand what had occurred. “You sure you ain’t Victoria Forster?”
She smiled sweetly at him. “I am sure. I have been Eliza Simpson these past twenty years and so I shall remain.”
Spade reached past Frank and opened the door. He waved her out with the pistol. She climbed down with as much decorum as possible and with relief breathed deeply of the fresh air. Spade did not exit the vehicle with her but stood crouched in the doorway.