Mary Jo Putney (2 page)

H
orrified, Sarah wondered if she was hallucinating. But the voices continued. Another man grumbled, “I don’t fancy kidnapping a woman who’s increasing, Flannery. We’ll need to travel fast to escape and if she bounces around too much, it might kill her.”

“If she dies, she dies, Curran. We’ll go plenty fast with me driving,” a third man said. “Mebbe we can take the duchess’s curricle and her two fine horses with us.”

Dear heaven, why would they want to kidnap Mariah?

The answer was immediately obvious: Mariah was married to one of the richest men in Britain. Adam would pay any price for the safe return of his wife and newborn child—and then he’d kill the kidnappers with his bare hands.

As the men continued to admire Adam’s horses, icy fear swept through Sarah. Dragging Mariah off when she was in labor would surely kill her, but what could the two of them do against three or more men? This hilltop was open and grassy, so even if they escaped, they’d be easily spotted.

An idea struck. It was outrageous, but Sarah could think of no other solution. She spun about and raced back to her sister. “Several rough men are outside and they’re plotting to kidnap you! You must hide while I convince them I’m you.”

“Dear God, kidnappers?” Mariah’s shocked eyes flew open. As she absorbed Sarah’s words, she exclaimed, “If you impersonate me, you’ll be kidnapped instead!”

“If they find us both, they’ll either take me with you, or kill me because I’m a witness,” Sarah said grimly. “The trick is to convince them that I’m alone here, and I’m the duchess. They might not know you have an identical twin, and with the hood raised on the curricle, they probably didn’t see that two of us drove up here. So you must hide while we pray they think I’m you. Hurry, there’s no time to waste!” She seized her sister’s hand and helped her struggle to her feet.

“You should be the one to hide,” Mariah said unsteadily. “If it’s me they want, they won’t look for you.”

“Don’t be an idiot!” Sarah snapped as her gaze swept the small, plain church. The altar wasn’t much of a hiding place, and neither were the pews. “If you won’t consider your safety, consider the baby’s. You can’t risk him!”

Mariah’s face turned gray as she ran a shaking hand over her bulging abdomen. “You . . . you’re right. But please, if they take you, be careful! Adam will send men to rescue you, but don’t wait for that if you have a chance to escape.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Knowing they were running out of time, Sarah said, “You mentioned a crypt. Where is it?”

“In the Lady Chapel.”

Sarah scooped up the carriage robes and they headed into the chapel. When they stepped inside the small room, she glanced around and saw nothing.

Mariah pointed. “There. Behind the altar.”

The entrance to the crypt was a plain wooden trapdoor that wasn’t visible unless one circled the altar. Sarah lifted the trap to reveal a flight of stone steps leading down into damp darkness. She cringed, thinking it looked like a gateway to hell. “Can you bear going down there?”

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” Mariah started down the steps, leaning heavily on the wooden railing. “I’ve been down here with Adam. At least the bones have been removed and buried outside.”

Sarah shuddered at the thought of hiding in the crypt if it hadn’t been cleaned. Thank heaven the bones were gone!

“Wait!” Mariah halted halfway down the stairs and sank onto a step, pressing her hand to her belly as a new contraction convulsed her. Fighting the pain, she yanked off her glove and painfully wrenched off her wedding ring. “You’ll need this.”

Their hands caught and held for a moment as the ring changed hands. As Sarah gazed into her sister’s brown eyes, so like her own, she faced the agonizing knowledge that they might never see each other again.

She couldn’t afford such thoughts. Releasing Mariah’s grip, she slid the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. She wore no rings herself, so it was a good thing Mariah had thought of this.

The door of the church opened and the men entered. Pulse spiking, Sarah threw the carriage robes after her sister. “Keep silent!” she said under her breath.

As she lowered the trap soundlessly, she heard Mariah whisper, “I love you, Sarah. Take care.”

Sarah straightened and closed her eyes for a moment to summon calm and aristocratic arrogance. If her impersonation of a duchess failed, she, Mariah, and the unborn baby were doomed.

A voice in the nave said indignantly, “Where the devil is she?”

Sarah was small, blond, and would have trouble intimidating a basket of kittens, but she’d observed her share of commanding countesses and domineering duchesses. Telling herself that she wasn’t Sarah Clarke-Townsend but Mariah, Duchess of Ashton, she raised her chin and sailed into the nave. “Have you gentlemen lost your way?” she asked coolly. “This chapel is private.”

Three tough-looking men stared at her as if she wasn’t what they expected. The darkest man asked, “Are you the Duchess of Ashton?”

“She is, Flannery, I seen her once from a distance,” a heavyset man said.

Sarah heard a barely audible groan from the Lady Chapel. Raising her voice so they wouldn’t notice, she said, “My identity is none of your business. I belong here and you don’t.” She raised her brows. “Who are you? Apart from being trespassers.”

The man with the hoarse voice said, “We was told the duchess is pregnant.”

“Babies get born,” she said frostily. “My darling son came early.”

The dark man gave a raucous laugh. “So her high and mighty ladyship was spreading her legs for the duke before they wed! So much for being a lady.”

“You forget yourself,” she said in a tone so icy that the man unconsciously retreated a step. “Please leave.”

“Where’s the baby?” the hoarse one asked, his eyes cunning. “I’d like to wish the little fellow luck. Did you bring him up here for a bit of fresh air?”

“Of course not. He’s with his wet nurse.” Sarah’s tone delicately implied that only peasants would nurse their own infants.

One of the men swore. “We’re too damned late, Flannery.”

“She’ll have to do, then.” Flannery stared at Sarah with narrowed eyes. “Come along, your ladyship. We’re taking you for a ride.”

Refusing to flinch, she said, “The correct title is ‘your grace,’ and I have no desire to go with you. I suggest you leave quickly. I sent my groom to summon my husband and our guests to join me for an impromptu breakfast. Several of them are military men. It would not be wise to challenge them.”

“I expect not,” Flannery said with some regret. “We’ll be long gone by the time they arrive. We’ll have to leave the curricle and horses so they’ll waste time searching around here.” He reached out to take Sarah’s arm. “Move your pretty arse, your bloody grace.”

“Don’t touch me!” she said with such ferocity that his hand dropped.

The hoarse man swore and pulled out a long, vicious-looking knife. “Then get a move on, or I’ll carry you. In pieces if that’s what you want!”

Terrified by the blade, Sarah pulled her cloak around her, raised her head, and stalked toward the door. The sooner she got these brutes away from Mariah, the better.

After that—God help her.

R
alston Abbey was hardly the shortest route from Glasgow to London, but Rob Carmichael decided to avail himself of Ashton’s open invitation to stay at his family seat for a few days. The duke was always easy company when he was in residence, and if he wasn’t, the Ralston Abbey servants knew that Rob was to be treated as an honored guest. Since Rob was feeling unsociable, he rather hoped Ashton was in London.

That hope was shattered as he approached the impressive entrance to the abbey, where a small riot was taking place. As he spurred his horse to investigate, the movement and noise resolved into a flat hay wagon surrounded by worried people, some of them on horseback.

As Rob reached the group, a harrowing cry shattered the morning air. The cry came from the woman writhing on the thickly padded bed of the wagon.

Good God, the Duchess of Ashton! Her husband knelt beside her and held her small, white-knuckled hand as she writhed in agony. She was in labor, Rob realized, and from the blood saturating the feather bed, it wasn’t going well.

Kneeling on her other side was a petite, dark-haired woman who was also very pregnant. She spoke calming words to the duchess while servants and others churned around the wagon.

The head Ashton groom, Murphy, was the wagon’s driver. He and Rob were old friends, so Rob moved close enough to the driver’s seat to say quietly, “She was taken suddenly while driving on the estate?”

Murphy looked ill, and it took him several moments to identify Rob. “Carmichael. ’Tis much worse than that. The duchess and her twin sister were taking a quiet morning drive when several villains caught up with them. The sister hid the duchess and pretended to be her grace, so the bastards took her.” He nodded to the wagon behind him. “On top of being in labor, the duchess is frantic about her sister.”

Brave sister to protect the duchess like that.
Rob switched his gaze to the wagon. Rob had briefly met Mariah, Duchess of Ashton, in better times, when she was a laughing, golden-haired charmer who lit up a room when she entered and who had a smile for everyone.

Now her face was red and tearstained as she gasped, “You must rescue Sarah, Adam! Every minute those brutes are farther away, and if they discover Sarah isn’t me . . .” Her voice broke as she bit her lip through another shuddering contraction.

Ashton said soothingly, “I’ll send men after her as soon as possible, but now I must get you inside so Julia can take care of you properly.” Though his voice was calm, his eyes showed a man in hell.

Two strapping servants approached the wagon carrying a litter. They were directed by a lean blond man who looked as tense as Ashton. Major Alex Randall. Randall and Ashton had been classmates at the Westerfield Academy while Rob was a year behind. The school had been small, so students all knew each other.

Lips tight, Randall said to his friend, “Hand her to me.”

Ashton slid his arms under his wife and gently lifted her over the edge of the wagon into Randall’s arms. As Randall turned and laid her on the litter, Ashton leaped to the ground and took his wife’s hand again.

Randall reached up to the dark-haired woman. “You have your day’s work cut out for you, my love.”

So this was Lady Julia Randall, duke’s daughter and experienced midwife. She went into her husband’s arms and clung to him, her face white, after he set her on the ground. As she pressed a hand to her belly, he said with horror, “Dear God, are you going into labor, too?”

“False labor,” she assured him, though her face was strained. “But send for the local midwife who visited here. She’s very good and she can help me with Mariah.”

Randall nodded, but he looked worried.

Rob called, “Ashton! I gather you’re in need of my services?”

Ashton looked up, startled, then relieved. “Divine intervention! I can’t think of a man I’d rather see, Rob. Mariah’s sister Sarah has been kidnapped, and someone needs to rescue her as soon as humanly possible.”

The servants were about to carry the duchess away, but she exclaimed, “Rob Carmichael? The Bow Street Runner? God be thanked! Please, find Sarah for me!”

“I will, your grace,” he said, his gaze holding hers. “What does she look like?”

“Exactly like me.” The duchess managed a wry smile as she waved her free hand at her swollen body. “At least, when I don’t look like this. We’re identical twins.”

“Can you tell me about the men who took her?”

“I didn’t see them.” The duchess closed her eyes as another contraction wracked her. “She said they were rough looking, but that’s no help.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find her. They can’t have gone far.” And finding people was Rob’s specialty. “I’ll need to see where the kidnapping took place.”

Ashton flinched as Mariah gave a low cry. “Murphy knows more than I do,” he said swiftly. “Take him along if you need help on the hunt.”

Rob hesitated a moment. Murphy had been a soldier and was a tough, capable man. Then he shook his head. “I’m used to working alone, and it will be safer to extract the young lady quietly rather than in a pitched battle. I’ll keep you posted as I can.”

Ashton gave Rob’s shoulder a quick, hard clasp. “Bring Sarah home safely, Rob.” Then he turned and headed into the house, holding his wife’s hand as the litter bearers kept her as steady as possible. Behind them walked the Randalls, the major’s arm around his wife.

Rob spared a swift prayer for a safe delivery, then turned to the head groom, who was still on the driver’s seat of the wagon. “Do you hear that?”

Murphy nodded, casting an expert eye over Rob’s mount. “Your horse has been working hard. Bring him around to the stables and I’ll get you fixed up with Strider. He’s the best we have for stamina.”

Rob nodded, knowing his own mount, Sultan, deserved a rest in the lavish Ashton stables. He followed Murphy’s wagon around the sprawling abbey to the stable yard. In a matter of minutes, Rob’s saddlebags were transferred to Strider, a large, relaxed chestnut.

Murphy swung onto a sleek dark bay and the two men headed out into the sweeping Wiltshire Downs at a fast trot. Rob asked, “How long since the kidnapping?”

Murphy glanced at the sun. “Going on three hours. The duchess woke feeling very restless and persuaded her sister to take her for a drive. I followed, of course. When they reached that old church on the other side of the estate, her grace went into labor. I came back to get help. When we returned, the duchess was hiding in the crypt and her sister had been taken.” He swore viciously. “I never should have left them!”

“It sounds like you didn’t have much choice,” Rob said. “Any idea how the kidnappers had such good timing?”

Apparently Murphy hadn’t thought of that. He frowned as he turned his horse into a lane leading up a long hill. “The duchess doesn’t like being shut in, so she went out whenever the weather was fair. Ashton generally drove her and a groom would ride behind. There are several public paths through the property, so someone watching the stables would see that she went out almost every day.”

“That suggests several men and a lot of patient waiting,” Rob said, thoughtful. “Well disciplined, not common criminals.”

Murphy’s face tightened. “The ransom for a duchess could pay for a small army of watchers.”

“Was a ransom note left in the church?”

The groom looked chagrined. “Didn’t think to look, not with all that was going on—the duchess begging for help for her sister and the duke trying to get her safely into the wagon so we could drive her home.”

“With luck, we’ll find a note,” Rob said. “If it’s ransom they want, they probably won’t take her too far and they’ll have prepared a safe place to go to ground.”

Noticing his wording, Murphy asked, “You think it might be something other than ransom?”

Rob shrugged. “A duke makes enemies. Ashton has had trouble with those who disapprove of his Hindu blood.”

Murphy frowned. “Aye, but this was aimed at the duchess.”

“True. Tell me about the sister. What’s her name?”

“Miss Sarah Clarke-Townsend. She and the duchess are nieces of Lord Torrington on the father’s side and Lord Babcock on their mother’s.”

“What’s she like?”

Murphy hesitated. “I’ve not seen much of her. She’s a pleasant little thing. Not so outgoing as the duchess, but she’s always polite and cheerful. The sisters were like as peas in a pod before the duchess began increasing.” After a pause, he added, “Miss Sarah is a good rider and driver.”

And brave enough to put herself into danger for the sake of her sister and the unborn child. He wondered if she was regretting that now.

 

 

Rob would have called the old stone building a chapel rather than a church. It stood on a high point of the downs. Nearer to God, but closer to the winds.

After tethering their horses, he and Murphy searched the chapel. Even with the newly built pews, the stony interior offered few places of concealment. Rob didn’t envy the duchess her time in the crypt, but the dank hole had saved her.

There was no ransom note. They headed outside so Rob could search the area around the church. Rain during the night had left the ground soft. He pointed to a deep set of wheel tracks. “This would be the wagon you brought up for the duchess?”

Murphy nodded. “The lighter tracks over there were made by the curricle Miss Sarah drove.”

“A curricle, not a pony cart? As you said, she’s a good driver.”

“I doubt she’s strong enough to manage a coach and four, but she handles the curricle as well as I do,” Murphy said.

Rob’s brows arched. “Surely you exaggerate.”

A hint of amusement showed in the other man’s eyes. “Yes, but only a little.”

Rob began pacing around the chapel, studying the grassy soil. On the western side, he found what he was looking for. “A carriage with a team of four stood here for a while. Not too long.” He pointed down the hill, where a subtle trail of crushed vegetation could be seen. “They headed west. Did they follow one of the public pathways you mentioned?”

Murphy shaded his eyes with one hand. “Aye, the tracks join up with a public way at the foot of this hill. The path continues west to the back of the estate and crosses the Bristol road.”

Rob swung onto his horse. “Any chance a field hand or tenant might have seen the coach?”

“Possible,” Murphy agreed as he mounted.

The coach tracks were easy to follow in the damp earth since no other vehicle had come this way recently. Rob scanned the quiet green landscape, looking for any signs of the kidnappers. Nothing. The estate was vast and empty.

They were nearing the Bristol road when Rob spotted a flock of sheep grazing the fresh spring grass on a hill to their right. “Shall we see if there’s a shepherd?”

“There should be one.”

The sheep were grazing peacefully under the watchful gaze of an efficient herd dog, and the less watchful care of a carrot-haired boy drowsing under a tree nearby. Hearing horses approach, he scrambled to his feet and tried to look alert.

Reining in his mount, Rob asked, “Did you see a carriage traveling along the public pathway earlier this morning?”

“Aye,” the boy said. “Noticed it, I did, because I never seen a carriage along there before. Traveled like a bat from hell. Figgered it must be a guest of the duke’s taking the short way across the estate to the Bristol road.”

Rob leaned forward intently. “Can you describe the carriage?”

“Oh, aye!” the shepherd said, coming alive. “’Twas a neat traveling coach, not flash, but solid. A tan body and black trim. As fine a team of Cleveland bays pulling as I’ve ever seen. The off leader had a white sock, and both the wheelers had blazes.”

“Can you describe the driver? Was there a guard? Were there passengers inside?”

The boy’s face screwed up with thought. “The driver was dark. Beefy. Not sure if there was a guard. Might have been passengers, but I didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t see a pretty young woman inside?”

“No, sir,” was the apologetic answer. “Didn’t notice aught but the horses.”

“Were you able to see which direction the carriage turned into the Bristol road?”

The boy shook his head. “Can’t see the road from here.”

At least they had a good description of the carriage. “Thanks for the information.” Rob pulled a half crown from his pocket and tossed it to the boy. “Maybe you should see if they need help in the Ashton stables since you seem to like horses.”

The young shepherd gaped. “Could I do that?”

“Never hurts to ask,” Murphy said laconically. “I know the head groom. If you come in to ask for a job, Murphy will hear you out.” He turned his horse toward the road.

When they were out of hearing, Rob asked, “Do you need a stable hand?”

“Aye.” Murphy gave a glimmer of a smile. “I like a lad who notices horses more than people.”

“As long as that red hair of his doesn’t scare the horses.” Rob thought about the boy’s description. The carriage sounded expensive and Cleveland bays were good quality, specially bred carriage horses. A fashionable gentleman would prefer his team to be free of white markings, but men interested in speed and reliability wouldn’t care. The kidnappers had money as well as intelligence and patience. Formidable.

The tracks led to the Bristol road and didn’t continue on the other side, so as expected, the coach had turned onto the main road. Rob dismounted to study the tracks, but it was impossible to judge which direction the coach had turned.

“What now?” Murphy asked.

Rob stood, brushing grass from his knees and stepping back as a wagon loaded with barrels rumbled by. The road was heavily traveled and a dozen or more carriages and wagons were in sight. “My instincts say they went left. West.”

“From what I hear, those instincts are pretty reliable,” Murphy remarked.