“Oh, but he’s a beauty.” Penny stroked Artur’s long nose, appreciatively cast her eye down his length. “Powerful, too.”
Madeline nodded as she pulled Ben’s clothes from her saddle pocket.
Beside them, Charles nudged Gervase. “We’re redundant.”
“Not for long.” Madeline turned with the clothes. She offered them to Charles. “How do you want to do this?”
After consulting with Gervase, Charles elected to put both dogs on leashes. He pulled the long leather strips from his saddlebags. “We don’t want them finding the scent and then racing too far ahead of us. If your brother’s on his own, he might get a nasty shock to see these two charging toward him.”
“They won’t hurt him,” Penny put in.
“But they won’t be very friendly toward anyone who’s with him, regardless of whether they’re friend or foe.” Charles finished fastening the leashes; he handed one to Penny. “Let’s go to this bench he was last seen sitting on and start from there.”
They did. Abel stayed on outside the inn, but those searchers who had returned—all with no news—followed Charles, Gervase, Penny and Madeline down to the old docks. The shadows were starting to lengthen. The tavern was deserted; all the patrons were helping with the search.
Charles had the dogs sit before the bench, gave each a piece of Ben’s clothing to sniff, then he showed them the spot on the bench where Edmond said Ben had been sitting. Both dogs sniffed, milled, danced—looked up at Charles expectantly; this was clearly a game they knew. “Find,” Charles said.
Instantly both dogs put their noses to the ground, turned, and headed back along the dock, then up a street that ran roughly parallel to Coinagehall Street.
Everyone followed, hurrying. Charles and Penny jogged, keeping the dogs from racing ahead. The wolfhounds tracked with confidence and ease, moving fluidly; it seemed Ben’s trail was, to them at least, obvious.
The small procession tacked onto a side street, then swung around another corner. The turns continued, but it was apparent that their quarry had struck across the town in one definite direction.
Gervase felt his chest tighten as that direction became plain. He glanced at Madeline, saw from her set expression and the dawning horror in her eyes that she had worked it out, too.
As he’d feared, the dogs reached the High Road, ran a little way along, then stopped. And sat. And looked at Charles; even unfamiliar as he was with the beasts, Gervase could interpret their confident and satisfied demeanor.
They’d followed the trail to the end.
Charles glanced around, then cocked a brow at Gervase.
“The London road.” Face impassive, he turned to Madeline. “The man brought Ben here, then he got into—or was put into—a carriage.”
Madeline met his eyes; her face was nearly as expressionless as his. She nodded, then looked around. Then she turned to those who had followed them through the streets. The group had halted a few feet away, not liking the conclusion of their search any more than Gervase and Madeline.
Somewhat to Gervase’s surprise, Madeline singled out three of the men. “Harris, Cartwright—Miller. You all live in this area, don’t you?”
All three nodded, pushing through to the front of the small crowd. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Right—come with me. Ben was taken in broad daylight in the middle of the afternoon. This is one of the busiest parts of town at that hour—someone must have seen something.”
Gervase joined them; he went with Miller down one side of the street, knocking on doors, speaking to the occupants. The shops along the street had closed for the day; all had their shutters up, but most of the shopkeepers lived above their premises; once they understood what had occurred, all were only too happy to answer their questions.
They soon found three different people who unequivocally confirmed than Ben had been steered by a man, not a local and not a gentleman, to a waiting carriage, then lifted into it. No one had noticed him struggling, but all agreed he’d been lifted quickly, and might not have had time to react. Then the man had climbed into the carriage, shut the door, and the carriage had rolled off—toward London.
“Four good horses.” Charles repeated the words of one of the witnesses, an ostler from one of the inns who’d been passing.
Gervase met his eye, then looked at Madeline. “London. No reason to have four unless they’re traveling that far.”
Madeline looked into his amber eyes and tried to contain her fear. Whoever had abducted Ben, they were taking him to the capital.
They hurried back to the Scales & Anchor, mounted up, and took to the London road in the wake of the unknown carriage. There was an outside chance that the barriers outside Falmouth had been put in place in time…they rode furiously, the sun sinking at their backs.
The last red-gold rays were fading, the sky in the west ablaze, when they came into sight of the improvised blockade, a gate set across the highway manned by soldiers from the Pendennis garrison.
The lieutenant in charge came up as they drew rein. He recognized both Gervase and Charles, and snapped off a salute, with a nod for Madeline and Penny.
“No sign?” Gervase asked.