He picked up the valise, then gestured with his gun toward the coach. Meg followed Mrs. Garrow and Basil back inside and was relieved when Harry climbed in, too.
“Drive on!” yelled the highwayman at the front while the other brandished his pistol menacingly at the window. Basil chortled.
The carriage jolted forward immediately, and as she watched the robbers run for the woods on their left, lugging Harry’s valise with them, Meg released a sigh of relief.
“Well,” Mrs. Garrow remarked lightly, “that was an adventure!”
“Can we go with the highwaymen?” Basil asked eagerly. “Can we?”
“Goodness, no, they’re long gone,” Meg said, then frowned. “On foot.”
Harry rose, reaching for the door and bashing on the ceiling. “Halt!”
Barely underway, the carriage slowed again. Harry seized the pistol from the corner pocket and jumped from the coach before it had properly stopped.
“Harry!” Meg exclaimed, in fear for his wound as much as anything else.
“I’ll meet you at Calvert Court. Drive on!” he called to the coachman and loped off across the road toward the woods as the carriage moved on once more.
“What is he doing?” Mrs. Garrow demanded.
“He’s going after them,” Meg said grimly, “the big, stupid…Halt!” She, too, knocked on the ceiling as she shouted, and yet again, the carriage lurched to a standstill.
“Lady Meg, you can’t!” Mrs. Garrow exclaimed as Meg jumped down. “It’s insanity!”
“Oh, can we go, too?” Basil demanded. “Oh, please let us, Mama!”
Meg cast him a distracted smile and ran off toward the woods. She could no longer even see Harry.
“We’ll wait!” Mrs. Garrow called.
Chapter Five
Harry’s suspicions were high when he jumped from the carriage, but he could not deny his chief motive was irritation. With a hefty dose of stubbornness. He had faced the might of the French army and never lost more to them than a bit of blood. And half an ear. He was damned if he would lose anything to cowardly strangers, let alone the ring in his purse.
Now, slipping into the cover of the trees, he faced them on more equal terms, armed and without fear for Meg or the child, or even the enigmatic Mrs. Garrow. In fact, he had the advantage. He had led troops silently over more difficult terrain than this in surprise attacks. And he could hear the robbers blundering about in the undergrowth, unaware he was following them. It would never have entered their heads.
Although, on some level, he was aware of his wound aching, it did not trouble him now he was in the midst of action. He moved silently and rapidly between the trees, following the sounds of the undergrowth and then their voices.
Before long, he could tell they had paused, perhaps to split the loot between them, perhaps—a more dangerous prospect for Harry—to meet up with comrades. He slowed a little, taking greater care as he approached them, but the trees were thick enough to provide reasonable cover.
He found them in a small clearing, crouched around his open valise. To one side of it, his purse lay open, the loose paper money extracted from Meg, presumably to prevent the breeze robbing them of their ill-gotten gain. On the ground on the other side of the valise, lay a pistol.
Since Harry had planned only to stay one night at Calvert Court, there was not much in the valise besides a change of clothes and a few overnight necessities. But the robbers were shaking out his shirts, even feeling the linings and pockets of his spare coat. Which was odd and tended to confirm at least one of Harry’s suspicions.
He strained his ears to listen to their conversation but could make out very little.
“There’s nothing in here,” one said disgustedly, throwing his coat on the ground and rifling beneath his undergarments. “If you ask me, there is nothing.”
The other only grunted in reply.
Harry decided to take a hand. He stepped out from behind his tree and strolled into the clearing, cocking his pistol as he went. Both robbers leapt to their feet.
“If you tell me what you’re looking for, perhaps I can help,” Harry said mildly. “No, stand still,” he added as one edged toward the pistol on the ground. “You’d be dead before you touched it. Hands in the air if you please. Now, satisfy my curiosity. Who paid you?”
The men still wore their masks and overcoats, although they’d pulled the scarves down from their faces. They both looked very clean-shaven.
One said, “You did.”
“Yes, but I’m taking it back,” Harry said, gesturing with his pistol to make them back off a few paces. He bent and picked up the purse. “Let me try a different question. Who instructed you?” He felt the presence of Dewar’s ring through the leather and pocketed the purse, along with Meg’s money. “You are not inclined to tell. No matter. You still have the lady’s earrings.”
He made one of his frequent sweeping glances about the surrounding trees, wary of approaching accomplices who would not hesitate to shoot him. He had no time for interrogations. Something moved at the edge of the trees, a fleeting glimpse of blue. The color of Meg’s pelisse.
Oh, yes, he had run out of time.
The thief nearest him reached for his right-hand pocket, perhaps for the earrings he had demanded.
“Slowly,” Harry instructed, though by the hang of the large pockets, the thief’s pistol was in the other. His next, darting glance showed no signs of anyone else in the woods, but Meg emerged from the trees as silently as she had ever played hide and seek. From the corner of his eye, he was aware she even held her skirts above her shapely ankles to prevent them from rustling on the ground.
The thief in front of him produced the earrings. His hand, gloveless now, was smooth and well-manicured. Slowly, he held them out to Harry at arm’s length. Harry, keeping his gaze on the man’s face, stepped closer.
The other thief stood very still, poised, all his attention on Harry as he waited for his chance, no doubt to snatch up the pistol barely two feet away. At least this goal kept him from noticing Meg flitting up behind him.
Harry closed the distance to the first highwayman and held out his hand. The thief’s right hand dipped as though about to drop the earrings into Harry’s open palm. His eyes barely flickered, but Harry had already sensed the clenching of the man’s left fist and knew what was coming.
Only feet away, the other highwayman had suddenly seen Meg. He dived for the pistol, but she was quicker, snatching it up in triumph.
Harry snatched the earrings just as “his” thief swung a brutal left hook. Prepared, Harry ducked, and before the earrings even hit his palm, he changed direction, plunging his hand into the man’s other pocket to seize his pistol.
Staggering as his fist missed its target, the highwayman was caught off-balance, and Harry leapt back.
He glanced desperately across at Meg, who was pointing the pistol at her own thief who merely curled his lip.
“It isn’t loaded,” he snarled and reached for her.
Harry didn’t think twice. He fired the pistol in his right hand while ramming the one just received against his man’s ribs. His shot was wide—he meant it to be—but the warning jerked Meg’s attacker to a halt.