“Aye—but we didn’t think he was dangerous. Not then.”
Kit held on to his patience. “He who?”
“The man with the boards front and back.” Ollie stared into Kit’s face, willing him to understand. “You know—one of those who paces back and forth on the Butts and the quays and blathers on about God and damnation and redeeming people if only they’ll come to his chapel. Well, we thought he was a man of God, didn’t we? That he was harmless, just a nuisance, only it turns out he’s a blackguard, after all. We saw him take her!”
“This morning?” Kit was battling to piece events together.
Ollie nodded. “We was watching outside the church, all three of us, and she came out and talked with some church people, then she started off home, and we followed—hanging back a-ways so she wouldn’t see us. That’s when the man came up and stopped her. He was dressed better than usual, but we recognized him. Jack and I hung back, but Ned—he’s the sneakiest of us—he sidled really close, and he heard the man say as he’d been staying next door to Miss Buckleberry’s father and that her father’s doing poorly and the doctor had sent him to fetch her home straightaway.” Ollie added, “The man wasn’t wearing his boards, but it seemed Miss Buckleberry knew him...or at least, she believed him, ’cause she went off with him.”
“To where?” Kit realized he was holding his breath and forced air into his lungs.
“He led her around the corner into St. Maryport Street. He had a gig waiting in a yard along there.” Ollie rushed on, “Well, we didn’t know what to do, did we? We didn’t want to let Miss Buckleberry go off with the man because we thought he might be a bad’un. We knew he hadn’t been staying near some vicarage—his room is off the Butts—and if he’d lied about that, perhaps all the rest was made up, too. But with the man right there, we didn’t think we could explain and talk her out of going—not when she thought her father was dying. So Jack waited until the man handed Miss Buckleberry into the gig to dart up behind it, then when the man—he was holding the reins by then—went aroun
d to climb in himself, Jack slipped into the gig’s boot. Because the man was rocking the gig himself, he didn’t notice.”
“You sure of that?” Smiggs rumbled.
Ollie nodded earnestly. “And they didn’t see me and Ned, either.”
“Mercy me!” Mrs. Macintyre had come to the gate and had been listening to Ollie’s outpourings.
Kit knew just how she felt. He was still floundering, trying to make sense of it all. “So Jack’s gone with them to wherever the man is taking Miss Buckleberry.”
“And me and Ned followed the gig to see which road the man took. It wasn’t so hard in the city, what with all the other carriages. We ran behind all the way across the bridge, down St. Thomas Street, and into Portwall Lane. We saw the man turn the gig onto the Bath Road. Ned’s faster’n me, so I came running back to fetch you while Ned followed the gig to see which way the man went—to Bath or to Wells.” Ollie caught Kit’s coat and tugged. “We’ve got to go and help. Ned’ll be waiting at the junction to tell us which way to go.”
Kit was astounded and also trying to think ahead.
Ollie tugged again. “So can we go? I had to run all the way to Queen’s Parade, and Mr. Smiggs has brought your carriage with the fast horses. Ned’ll be wondering what’s become of us by now, and then there’s Jack and Miss Buckleberry, driving on with that man...”
“Yes.” Kit met Ollie’s eyes, then gripped the boy’s shoulder, glanced at Mrs. Macintyre, and nodded. “Let’s go and get Jack and Miss Buckleberry back.”
Mrs. Macintyre gripped her gate. “You’ll bring her home safe and sound?”
Kit’s jaw clenched as he marched Ollie to the rear of the curricle. “Count on it,” he replied.
He tossed Ollie up to his perch, then climbed to the box, exchanged a swift glance with Smiggs, and sat.
Then Kit took up the reins and, ignoring all other traffic, drove hell for leather for the Bath Road.
CHAPTER 15
Kit drove like a madman through the city streets and out onto the highway.
Eventually, Smiggs, white-faced, begged him to slow down. “Won’t do your Miss Buckleberry any good if you wreck this rig.”
Kit could see Durley Hill rising ahead. He grunted and consented to ease the pace, knowing that, regardless, he had to save his horses for the long climb into Keynsham, or they’d be blown when they reached the town.
They’d found Ned at the junction where the road to Wells peeled off to the south. Ned had scrambled up beside Ollie and confirmed that the gig had gone on toward Bath. The boy had run like a Spartan and had managed to keep the gig in sight until then.
Kit sent up a prayer of gratitude for the boys’ efforts. If they hadn’t acted as they had... He thrust the thought away. What was before him was bad enough; his imaginings were no longer relevant.
While managing his horses and avoiding catastrophe, he’d dredged his memory, going over his conversations with Sylvia as well as the snippets he’d heard of her background and home at the wedding.
As the increasing grade slowed the horses even more, Kit raised his voice so the boys could hear. “It’s possible the man is taking Miss Buckleberry to her father. This road goes through the village of Saltford, where Reverend Buckleberry has the living.”
After a moment, Ned called, “Does that mean her father preaches in the church and lives at the vicarage?”
Despite all, Kit’s lips twitched. “Yes—that’s exactly what ‘having the living’ means.”