Anna Jacobs (28 page)

* * * *

Deborah watched him pace up and down as she tried to come to terms with the news that Matthew was dead. How had he died? She wasn’t going to ask, wasn’t sure if she could trust herself not to weep if she did so. Elkin had killed him, of course. And if so, whether she was hanged for it or not afterwards, one day she would find a way to kill him for that.

As for his threat to tame her, just let him try. He would never be able to reduce her to the abject, mindless obedience of his mother, though he might make her pretend to it. She let anger fill her up, concentrating on it because if she didn’t she’d start weeping.

Strangely, when she tried to picture Matthew dead, she couldn’t. She wondered why not, then remembered suddenly that he’d gone out that morning to set a trap for Elkin. She frowned. Had it all gone wrong? Or was the trap still set and about to be sprung? Was it possible—could Matthew still be alive? Oh, dear heaven, she hoped so. Would never complain about anything again if she could only have him back.

That thought gave her the courage to ask, “How did my husband die?”

Elkin swung round, giving her his wolf’s smile. “He was shot by some passing villain.”

“You.”

“Why ever should you think that?”

She knew it was him, though whether the shot had killed Matthew . . . She let that thought comfort her. “I won’t marry you until I’ve seen his body.”

“You will, you know. You’ll do exactly as I tell you.” Again he glanced at the two old women, his message clear.

She realised that if she went through some form of marriage and Matthew did prove to be alive, it would be meaningless. So it wouldn’t matter—unless Elkin consummated it. She shuddered as she did every time at the thought of him touching her so intimately. She stared down at her lap, trying not to let her thoughts show.

Elkin said abruptly, “Mr Norwood will confirm that your husband is dead when he arrives. The whole village must know by now.”

She still wouldn’t believe it until she saw the body herself, Deborah decided. And clung to that thought as the minutes crawled slowly past to give herself courage.

* * * *

“That was Elkin riding past the inn,” Frank said suddenly, nudging Mr Lawrence. “I’m sure it was.” He got up and ran to the door, then dashed back to his master. “I’m going to follow him, see where he goes, then I’ll come back to you.” At his master’s nod of agreement he ran out, calling for his horse.

He kept a good distance behind Elkin, not wanting to be noticed, let alone recognised. The land hereabouts was hilly and the rough road twisted about a good deal, so he lost sight of him from time to time. When he came to a straight stretch of road, he realised he’d completely lost his prey and there was no horseman ahead of him, as there should be.

Well, if Elkin had turned off somewhere, it’d not be too difficult to find him. Retracing his footsteps, Frank checked the ground at every turn off. It had rained a little in the night and the earth was still soft enough to show hoof prints. When he found a turning with fresh prints clearly showing, he stopped to study it. The track had been used a few times lately, but not much previously, from the amount of grass growing along it.

It would be unwise to ride the horse openly down the track, for he’d be too conspicuous and someone could easily shoot him. He went back along the main road and found a gate, taking his animal through and tying it up inside the field. Then he bent his body into a half-crouch and moved along behind the dry stone wall that bordered the field.

At the far end, he had to climb over the wall to get to the next field, which soon gave way to yet another. Small fields. It meant rolling over the tops of a lot of cursed walls, each time praying no one had seen him, but it paid off, because as he breasted a small slope he found himself overlooking a cottage, a tumbledown place with a small barn behind it in even worse condition.

“Ah,” he said in satisfaction as he saw Elkin’s horse tied up outside the shed. A man Frank didn’t recognise was giving it a drink of water from a wooden bucket whose rope handle was broken.

What was Elkin doing in a shabby little place like this? Nothing good, Frank was certain.

He crept down the hill beside the wall, getting closer than was, perhaps, wise, but there was a lot of money at stake and he had to find out more.

An old woman came out of the cottage and spoke loudly, in the tones of one half-deaf, “Well, lad, the master’s already killed Mr Pascoe and is going to wed Mrs Pascoe. I told you it was worth keeping in with him.”

The young fellow scowled at her. “I don’t like this, Gran.”

“Not yours to like. You just do as you’re told.”

He didn’t answer, stroking the horse’s neck as if that were more important than what the old dame was saying.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Gran.”

“She don’t want to wed him, o’ course, but he has her mother in there, so she’ll have to do as he says. He allus gets his own way in the end, Mr Anthony, don’t he?” She cackled and went to dip herself a drink of water from the butt with one twisted hand. “He’ll look after us once he’s settled in at Marymoor.” When her grandson didn’t reply, she went to grasp his arm and shake it as she repeated, “Now, mind you do everything he tells you.” She wiped her arm across her lips and turned back towards the cottage.

Crouched behind the wall Frank let out a long exhalation of surprise. Pascoe dead! As the knowledge sank in, he smiled. Well, that was one problem taken care of, anyway.

He began to make his way back to the road, his mind busy with the possibilities. Now Deborah was a widow, the way lay open for his master to take charge of her and therefore Marymoor House. Well, the way would be open if they disposed of Elkin. Pity they hadn’t brought help with them, though. They’d have to deal not only with Elkin but Seth, and the pair of them together were formidable. And there was also the old woman’s grandson, who would probably work with them, however reluctantly.

But he and his master had brought pistols and plenty of shot, and if they took things carefully, they might still be able to win the day. Mr Lawrence was always quick to see and seize an advantage and Frank knew himself to be a good shot.

He smiled as he crept back to the main road and retrieved his horse. Mr Lawrence wouldn’t like clambering over walls and walking over rough ground, but it was the only safe way to approach the cottage.

* * * *

Matthew, Jem and George rode along to the point where the latter had lost track of the two old women.

“This is the place, sir. The woman in that cottage said she definitely would have seen them if they’d passed. If Elkin did abduct them, he did it before this point.”

“Show us where you last met someone who had seen them, then.”

They rode on, noting the lanes that led off the road at regular intervals. There were far fewer lanes to the left and not far away they could see the rough-looking brownish grass of the moors sloping upwards. On the right the ground sloped downwards towards fields which looked more fertile than the higher terrain on the left and even had occasional clumps of trees. Jem shook his head at each turn-off, saying, “I know the folk there. They’d never get mixed up in anything like this.”

After a while George stopped and pointed. “This is where I spoke to a woman—she was weeding that very field. She was sure she’d seen the old ladies.”

“Right then.” Matthew turned his mount round. “We’ll just have to check every lane until we find where Elkin is hiding them.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Jem said quietly. “I think we should check the tracks on the moor side of the road first. There are less people living up there, often only the odd field or two belonging to one of the farms lower down the slopes. I think there are one or two cottages up there, but I can’t say I know exactly where they are. But Elkin wouldn’t be keeping prisoners where everyone else could see them, would he?”

“No. That’s good thinking.” Matthew’s side was hurting, but his determination to find his wife hadn’t faltered. And wound or no wound, he intended to batter Elkin senseless when he did find where the man was hiding his captives.

They went up two rough lanes, each of which soon petered out, then came back down them again in silence.

The third lane they came to looked more promising, for it was wider and bore the marks of recent traffic.

“Better watch our step from now on, sir,” Jem advised, pulling out his pistol and cocking it.

Matthew followed suit and George felt in his pocket for his slingshot and pebbles. A slingshot might not be a sophisticated weapon, but it had brought in many a meal for his family when he was younger, rabbits and such, because he had a good eye.

When they came to a bend in the lane, they all slowed by mutual accord and Jem pushed forward. “Let me go first, sir.”

George looked from one to the other and screwed up his courage to ask, “Wouldn’t it be better if I did that? They don’t know me as well as they know you two and I can pull my hat down.” He suited the action to the words with the disreputable felt headgear he usually kept for rabbiting.

Jem pursed his lips, then nodded. “But you’re not to take any risks, lad. If anyone sees you, pretend you’re searching for Mr Horrocks to give him a message from Mr Norwood in Marymoor. Horrocks has a farm just down the road a piece.”

George nodded and rode forward, hat pulled down.

They heard a voice call out then George reply, “I’m looking for Mr Horrocks. Does this lane lead to his farm?”

“No. You missed the turn-off,” a voice yelled back. “Go back to the road and turn right. It’s about a mile away, on your left as you ride towards Marymoor.”

“Thank you kindly.”

There was the sound of a horse clopping gently along and George reappeared, his face full of suppressed excitement. “Mr Elkin’s horse was there, sir. I only saw its head, poking round the side of the cottage, but I’d know that horse anywhere, because it’s a nasty-tempered brute.”

“Ah,” said Matthew softly.

“Best ride back towards the road and hide the horses, then approach the place on foot,” Jem advised. “They’re obviously keeping a careful watch and if we give them warning that we’re coming, they may hurt your wife.”

Matthew nodded, feeling frustrated and anxious. He felt reluctant to leave Deborah in Elkin’s hands for longer than necessary, but Jem was right. They had to approach the cottage stealthily.

Without knowing it, they retraced Frank’s footsteps, tying up their horses in a field which had a dip in the ground where they’d be hidden from the road, then striking out across the fields.

It was a matter of grim endurance for Matthew, whose side was getting more painful by the minute and who was having to force himself along. He was aware of Jem looking at him in some concern and said to his old friend, “You can coddle me after we’ve rescued Deborah. Till then, as long as I can move, I shall keep going.”

They came to the piece of rising ground that hid the cottage and checked out the landscape.

“We can go round the cottage that way and approach it from the rear.” Jem pointed. “If we crouch down behind the wall, we won’t be seen till the last minute, and if we choose our time carefully, perhaps not even then.

* * * *

Inside the cottage Elkin was getting bored. The old women kept staring at him while Deborah avoided his eyes. Time was passing with infuriating slowness and he was eager to tie up all the loose ends that still remained and take possession of Marymoor.

He went across to Deborah and began fumbling with her bonds. “I thought you might like a short walk, my dear.” He might even take her there and then on the rough moorland grass. The thought of that titillated him. It wouldn’t matter how much she screamed out there. In fact, he’d enjoy making her scream. A good lesson in obedience never came amiss.

Chapter 15

At Marymoor House the parson and Denise went straight inside. They both kept watch for Elkin, but to their relief there was no sign of him.

As they went up to Mrs Elkin’s bedchamber, they passed Ben, still guarding the bedroom door.

The parson stopped to ask, “Is Matthew Pascoe’s body in there?” and when Ben nodded, he said quietly, “I’ll come in to pray for him after I’ve seen Mrs Elkin.” He was surprised to see a look of uncertainty on Ben’s face, but as Denise was tugging him onwards, he couldn’t stop to ask if anything was wrong.

Mrs Elkin started sobbing at the sight of them, saying, “Thank you, thank you, oh, thank you!” over and over again.

Denise bolted the door while the parson went to sit beside her mistress. The maid then went to stand at the end of the bed with her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes lowered.

Harriet Elkin faltered out the tale of her own weakness over the past few years and Anthony’s crimes, which included even highway robbery, something she was not supposed to know about.

“Are you sure?” Mr Norwood asked, horrified.

“Yes. Denise and I overhear many things.” She looked at her maid. “She’s been wonderful to me. If it weren’t for her, I think I’d have taken my own life.”

He found it hard to believe that the son of a well-known local family could turn to evil like this, but spoke gently to the distraught woman and prayed with her, assuring her of the Lord’s forgiveness if she truly repented

It was some time before he took his leave, but when Denise tried to show him out of the house, he shook his head. “I must go and pray by the body of my old friend now,” he said firmly, walking towards the door of the other bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Mr Norwood, but no one’s allowed inside.” Ben put one arm across the door to bar the way.

The parson puffed indignantly and his cheeks took on a red tinge. “I’m sorry, too, but I’m definitely going inside and if you want to stop me, you’ll have to keep me out by force. Shall you dare do that to a man of the cloth?”

Ben hesitated for a moment, then looked round with a distinctly furtive air and drew the parson inside quickly, bolting the door behind them.

Mr Norwood looked towards the bed and gasped in shock, for it was empty and there was no sign of a body anywhere in the room. He stared round for a moment, then realised what this might mean and whispered, “Is Matthew Pascoe still alive?”