the alternative bride 7

 

Chapter 7

 

“Th...that’s the master!” quavered Alice.

“Get on the floor, behind me, under the seat as much as you can, with the utensil,” said Jane, firmly, taking a firm grip on the coach pistol. She knew how to fire one, in theory, and cocked the hammer.

The coach door opened, and an individual with a muffler over the lower part of his face might be seen to be standing there.

“Come on, my fine lady, you’re going with me,” he said. “I’ve killed your husband, but I want to enjoy you.”

“Go away,” said Jane, and realised the incongruity and inadequacy of such words even as she said them.

“Put that thing down before you hurt yourself, you silly wench,” said the masked man. “You ain’t going to fire.”

Jane pulled the trigger.

There was a click, a spark, and then an almighty roar, which sounded like the heavens falling in the enclosed body of the coach. The figure of her assailant fell away, and crashed onto the leaves of the little valley. Jane leaped out of the coach, to meet Jelves, who had gone to the horses.

“Milady! What, footpads? Where’s the master?”

“Jelves, oh, Jelves, he says he killed him!” cried Jane.

“Not dead,” said Gerard’s voice. “Jane! Jane, you are safe?”

He was at the back of the coach, on his knees, his hands over his face.

“What has that blackguard done to you?” demanded Jane.

“My eyes... his pistol... I turned my head, the flash...” groaned Gerard.

“Help me get his lordship into the coach,” said Jane. “I need to lay him on the seat to look at him.”

“Yes, my lady,” said Jelves.

Between them, they manhandled Gerard onto the coach seat.

“I need to see your eyes,” said Jane.

“I... pain...” said Gerard.

“Hold his hands away, Jelves,” said Jane. “Oh!” her husband’s face was burned and burnt powder grains embedded. “I’m going to bathe it. Alice, pass me one of the canteens of water.”

Alice did so, obediently, and Jane poured some of the water into Gerard’s eyes. He bit off a scream. Jane pulled off his neckcloth, and soaked it with water, laying it across his eyes.

“Ahh! That helps,” said Gerard.

“Jelves, what happened?” asked Jane, pulling the coach door shut. It cut down the light, but Gerard was shivering. She wrapped her quilt over him.

“There’s some branch under piles of leaves in the bottom,” said Jelves. “One of the leaders is a bit of a daisy-cutter – likes to step small and low,” he explained, “And caught her hock on it. I think it’s only bruised, not broken, and the others managed somehow to avoid it. But it was too late to stop the wheel going over it and breaking, and I think the axle is broken too. It’s a real how-de-do.”

“Obviously we cannot move his lordship,” said Jane. “Very well. We have food. His lordship has funds. You had better take money, you and Alice, back to Dunstable, tell the constable what happened, and that I shot a highwayman who set this trap, and purchase another coach to come and collect us. Perhaps you can hire a team; I think we need to return to Dunstable, until his lordship heals because at least we know they know him there. I don’t suppose you’ll get back before tomorrow morning, and you’d better hire a man to help get the coach off the road as well, and clear that branch. But in the meantime we need to be as warm as possible. Are there horse blankets in the boot?”

“Yes, my lady,” said Jelves.

“Bale of hay,” said Gerard. “Spread it on the floor under a couple of horse blankets.”

“Are there four blankets, one for each horse?” asked Jane.

“Yes, lady,” said Jelves.

“Then I will sew some strips of cloth to the corners of two, to hang from the grab-handles over the doors, for more warmth,” said Jane.

“In the imperial, my driving coat, and fur-lined cloak,” said Gerard.

“Good; that should all help,” said Jane.

“I’ll get a fire going whilst Uncle Henry does all that, and get some hot stones to wrap up,” said Alice.

“Good girl, but be careful that fellow doesn’t have accomplices,” said Jane. “Jelves, do you know how to reload a pistol?”

“Yes, my lady; and there’s one in each pocket, and I’ll leave you my blunderbuss too,” said Jelves. “Never occurred to me it’d be some damned trap from the high toby, no it didn’t.” He scratched his head. “Downright sneaky, I calls it.”

“Diabolical, more like,” said Jane. “I hope the poor horse will recover, but I must put my lord first.”

“O’ course, my lady,” said Jelves. “Reckon I can lead her back into town.”

“Good,” said Jane. “I am a bit concerned that we shall have enough water.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that, my lady. I keeps a barrel o’ fresh water for the nags,” said Jelves. “It’s an old ale firkin; nine gallons. That oughta be enough for a few days,” he added. “I’ll lash it to my seat; you can get out the road side, where there shouldn’t be no varmints, to come round, aye, and I’ll fill all four canteens too. There’s beer in that hamper, won’t do you no harm to drink that, but his lordship better not have wine, and brandy only for pain.”

“Thanks, Jelves,” said Jane. “All being equal we won’t have to stir out, and I’ll empty the utensil out of the window and if it lands on anyone, so much the better. If we stay quiet, hopefully they’ll think we all went off with the horses. Did I kill the fellow I shot?”

“I’ll check, my lady,” said Jelves.

“Be careful; I’m not certain, but I have a feeling it was that fellow, Whittington,” said Jane. “Something about his voice. And he had two pistols, but I shot first.”

“Aye, best way to be about shooting,” approved Jelves. “I’ll be careful.”  His unspoken thought was that if it was Whittington, and he was not dead, this unfortunate state of affairs could be rectified, and the lady none the wiser.

 

oOoOo

 

Whittington had been truly astonished that the woman had actually fired. He had felt fire through his upper arm, and had been flung bodily off the steps of the coach, and on landing had not only been winded, but had so much pain searing through his arm that he swooned.  He came to, to see the coachman, who had a blunderbuss and was to be avoided, and the woman, lifting the body of the viscount into the coach. Doubtless they would leave him and send out undertakers. The woman thrilled him; the thought of taming her, and making her submissive had set him afire, but at the moment the pain in his arm was too great for lust, and Whittington knew enough to know that he should seek medical aid as soon as possible.

He scuttered backwards into the dried, dead bracken when they were in the coach. He heard a stifled scream; well, maybe the viscount was still alive, but it could not be for long. He could put no pressure on his injured left arm but he must move as fast as possible.  With some difficulty, Whittington finally reached the tree line, and rested in a bush.

The manservant came out, looked around, picked something up, surveyed the tree line; and got back in the coach. Whittington let out his breath in relief that he had not come looking.

Whittington made a supreme effort and got to his feet, and tied a kerchief over the wound.  He had heard the servant say something about footpads; he would go to the family doctor and claim to have been shot by footpads. That would do it.  If others had been attacked and reported it, it was a reasonable claim. His arm was broken, he was sure of it.

Bloody woman.

One day, he would have a reckoning with her.

 

oOoOo

 

Jelves approached with caution the position of the counterfeit footpad. Any man who would cheat when boxing was beyond the pale. And the man had only fired one pistol.

Jelves had a horrible, crawling feeling on his back as he saw that the body had gone; the lady had not killed him. It wasn’t hard to kill someone with a coach pistol; the weight of the ball was considerable, and a hit almost anywhere on head or body was likely to kill a man of shock.  There was plenty of blood, however; the lady must have nicked an ear, or his arm.

And Jelves laughed to himself.

Cully had dropped both his pistols. He picked them up and went back into the coach.

“He isn’t dead; he’s made a run for it. Here’s his pistols, my lady; I’ll reload the one he fired for you as well, I’ll use a blunderbuss pellet. It’ll be better’n nothing.”

“Those are a gentleman’s weapons,” said Jane.

“Aye; most highway robbers have old naval issue pistols and take off the belt hooks,” said Jelves. “But he’s disarmed, which is something of a relief.  Happen you caused him enough damage that he’s gone for a doctor; there was a good bit o’ blood.”

“I hope he takes a fever of it, and dies,” said Jane, viciously. “His eyes... the way he looked at me... horrible.” She shuddered.

“Well, you’ve knocked him down twice, lady, happen third time’ll pay for all,” said Jelves.

He spread hay, and put down the blankets, and Gerard’s heavy cloak and driving coat, with half a dozen capes on it, and an old cushion as a second pillow, and Jane helped Gerard down onto as soft and warm a bed as might be expected. Jelves reloaded all the ordnance, and stood guard over Alice, lighting a fire and heating stones in a pit. He put more stones in the embers, banked up the fire with fresh wood and covered it with the earth dug out of the pit.

“Happen that should smoulder like charcoal burnings, and warm more stones if they need ‘em,” he said, before going to explain to Jane what he had done.

“You and Alice have been splendid,” said Jane. “God speed.”

“And may He be with you, my lady,” said Jelves, who was not a religious man, but was not about to turn down a bit of divine aid.

 

oOoOo

 

 “Jane...” Gerard whispered.

“I’m here,” said Jane.

“Fine husband I’ve been to you so far,” said Gerard. “Hurt by that little puppy and now he’s blinded me.” His voice was bitter.

“We went through the first instance, so stop chewing on it,” said Jane. “If you are blinded for good, I will be your eyes, and we will convince everyone that you can see. You are too fine and brave a man to give up entirely because you have lost your sight. And we do not know if you have; your eyes were hurt and you are swollen and burned all around them, but we will not know until the swelling goes down so that you can open them properly how badly damaged your sight is.”

“If you want a divorce....”

“Don’t be a fool, Gerard! I married you, not your eyes. In sickness and in health, remember? I know you will learn to compensate, if you are blind. I will be your guide.”

“I will not be able to read to you, whilst you sew.”

“Then we shall have a footman read to both of us,” said Jane. “Or, you shall tell me stories. You must have read a sufficiency of novels to tell the tale, even if you do not want to talk about yourself. I... I thought for a moment you were dead, and that was how I had the courage to fire the coach pistol, because if you were dead, I did not much care what happened to me.”

“Oh, my mouse! You roared most convincingly,” said Gerard.

“You give me courage,” said Jane. “And whilst we are together, that is all that is important.”

“You will have to help me with the utensil, at times,” said Gerard.

“Then I will look after your monster whilst he is subdued,” said Jane. “It seems to me a most extraordinary thing that bodily waste should be disposed of in the same region as the intimacy leading to childbearing.”

“I expect the Good Lord had his reasons,” said Gerard. “It is not for us to second-guess Him. But then, the idea of men having nipples also shocked you, so I fancy there is more to the design than we mortals are permitted to know.”

“You are probably right, Gerard,” said Jane. “I am going to snuggle up to you so we keep each other warm. You have your hot stone?”

“Yes, it is very comforting. Will you refresh the cold water on my bandage first?”

“Of course,” said Jane. “As it gets dark, I will have to light the lanterns, I thought I should go outside, to avoid risking a spark in the hay.”

“Yes, a good idea; but look out well first,” said Gerard. “And take a pistol.”

“I will,” said Jane.

She was able to snuggle to him and sew strips of cloth to two corners each of the other blankets to hang up; and decided to go out then to light one of the lanterns that hung up in the coach, before it was dark, and before Whittington might return with friends, if indeed he did.

 

oOoOo

 

Whittington managed to reach a small hamlet, and was carried, swooning, in a cart to the nearest doctor, where he related the story of footpads.

The ball was extracted expertly, and he was put to bed to sleep it off, with laudanum. His dreams were muddled, but his overwhelming desire was for revenge. He had lost a large portion of muscle and tendon to the ball as well as breaking his upper arm, and he would never box with facility ever again. Nor would he drive with such skill. And it was all the Viscount Wintergreen’s doxy’s fault.