“In that case, we must resume our journey as quickly as possible.”
Delia was just beginning to entertain the hope the situation was coming under control when the worst happened.
“You there! Put away your firearm or I will shoot you down!”
Her aunt’s threat produced a deathly silence.Oh, no! Why, Aunt?
“Sam, what do I do?”
The other man did not answer. A quick footstep sounded and then a dull thud. Delia heard a croaking cry in her aunt’s voice, shouted protests from several throats and the unmistakeable thump of a body hitting the ground.
“What you go and do that fer?”
“Stubble it!”
Alarm racing through her veins, Delia crept forward and dared to peep out of the doorway. Lady Matterson lay in a heap, one of the ruffians leaning over her, while the other still held a pistol levelled at the groom Scoley, who stood aghast, his frantic eyes on his mistress’s prone body. Delia could not see the coachman, who must still be on the box controlling his team.
Everything in Delia screamed to go to the rescue, but her aunt’s parting words rankled. It would not help matters if she was also rendered unconscious — or worse. A vision of hideous violation sprang into her head. Was that what Aunt Gertrude meant?
Reluctant, but mindful of her instructions, Delia inched back out of sight and turned as quietly as she could. The argument without between the two ruffians had now reached near violent proportions and the coach shifted forward and back slightly. The horses were indeed restive.
Under cover of the noise, Delia stealthily opened the offside door, wincing as the latch clicked. Already on the floor, she was able to slide her legs down until her toes reached the ground. Her petticoats rode up, exposing a good deal of stockinged leg, but that could not be helped. Pushing up, she held the door slightly open and slid carefully through the narrow gap, slipping it to behind her. The latch clicked again and she went still, holding her breath with her fingers on the handle and listening hard.
The men’s argumentative voices had been joined by a low-toned conversation between Vowles and Scoley. Delia recognised their voices, but she could not hear what was said.
Heart in mouth, hoping her escape would be concealed by the bulk of the coach and the horses, Delia trod softly across the narrow piece of road and onto the verge, slipping at once between two trees, and hiding behind the largest.
She dared to turn and look back. Nothing had changed. She could see the coachman’s back as he leaned to talk to Scoley, and dropping to her haunches to peer beneath the coach, she was able to catch a glimpse of the edge of her aunt’s petticoats and a pair of boots marching up and down while another pair stood firm. She could make out the voices now.
“Let’s get out of it, Sam,” pleaded one.
“Not before I check if he’s hiding in this here rattler.”
Fright claimed Delia. If the ruffian meant to look inside the coach, he might see her through the window. She must get further into the trees. Turning, she penetrated deeper into the forest, slipping from tree to tree until she was sure she was far enough away to be safe from discovery.
When she turned again, peeping from behind a concealing trunk, she saw the ruffian had got into the coach and seemed to be employed in hunting behind the squabs. Was he looking for a strongbox? Fury swamped her. Not content with knocking poor Aunt Gertrude out of her senses, he must needs rob her as well. For two pins, she would go back and harangue the man for his cruelty.
Except that she would put herself in danger, and then she would not be able to help her great-aunt once the men rode away again. If they rode away. Surely they must, once they found nothing.
Lady Matterson’s jewellery was safely disposed around the person of her elderly maid. Miss Pegler had gone on ahead to Weymouth in the luggage coach, accompanied by Delia’s Sally. There were no concealed valuables in this coach, thank heavens. If only her aunt was merely stunned and not seriously injured, there was hope they might get out of this horror intact.
Then she heard a slight sound behind her and her breath caught.
Before she could turn, a hand came about her mouth, an arm snaked around her waist, and she found herself pulled back tight against a solid body.
CHAPTER TWO
Unable to scream, Delia gave a muffled whimper. A male voice murmured in her ear.
“Don’t screech! I mean you no harm, but you must be quiet!”
She managed to turn her head and found a strong jaw and unshaven cheek close to hers. Her heart was leaping like a landed fish, but the voice soothed.
“If I take my hand away, will you promise not to scream?”
Delia managed to nod and gasped for breath as the hand came away. She was still clamped hard against the man’s chest. “Let me go!”
“Yes, but don’t go haring off, will you? They’re still arguing.”