Her nostrils flared. At length she said, “We had more than one coach today. And I don’t never see ’em. I stay inside.”
“Did you see the young lady?” he asked.
The landlady paused just long enough to tell him there was more. Her eyes slid sideways—toward the doorway behind the bar—and Darcy understood. She knew, but she would not say it with an audience.
He inclined his head, the picture of reason. “I will not press you, madam,” he said, raising his voice to be better heard. He made a show of picking up the coin and dropping it back in his pocket. Her eyes followed the movement, then lifted to his.
Darcy met her gaze, looked over her shoulder at the back door, then to her again. She made no sign that she understood. He nodded and made his way out as the men offered a last round of jeers.
He did not hurry. He walked out with purpose and did not glance back.
Outside, Johnson stood near one window, watching. Anders came through the door after Darcy and lingered a few paces away, his gaze on the inn. But though he walked in the direction of the carriage, he did not stop.
There was a back entrance, and that was where Darcy meant to go.
As he approached, the back door was already being opened, but not by the woman. By a maid, her eyes darting about like a bird’s.
“Sir,” she whispered, gesturing for him to come closer. He complied.
For a moment she only glanced about. Darcy waited.
At last she swallowed and spoke in a rush. “Mrs. Briggs sent me. She—she can’t come herself.”
“What is your name?” Darcy inquired gently.
A pause. “Sally, sir.”
“Sally,” he repeated, letting the syllables be ordinary, safe. “You are doing me a service, and I will not forget it.”
The girl’s throat worked. She looked over her shoulder toward the inn, then quickly back. Her hand went into her pocket, and for an instant Darcy tensed.
But she drew out a small handful of dried peas—hard little beads, dull green and pale. She held them in her palm, then offered them to him.
His brows lifted and he extended his hand.
“She said you’d know I was telling the truth if I gave you these,” Sally whispered.
Darcy closed his fingers around the peas. “You have my attention,” he said, very softly.
“They left about noon, sir,” she said. “Ridin’ farther on down the road.”
He felt his pulse give a hard, steady thud.
Sally glanced around again, fear tightening her shoulders. “Mrs. Briggs says they’ve a little hideaway house hidden in the trees on the left, ’bout ten mile down. A sort of place folk keep when they don’t want neighbours.” She lowered her voice to nearly nothing. “The approach is direct, sir. Straight as a string. They’ll see you comin’.”
Darcy exhaled once, slow. He had asked for information. He had it. Now he must use it without losing the only advantage left to him: surprise.
“You have done exactly what you ought,” he said. He reached into his pocket and pressed two coins into her hand, closing her fingers over them before she could refuse. “One for you and one for your mistress. Keep them hidden. If anyone asks, you never spoke to me.”
Sally’s eyes shone with relief and terror. She nodded, sharp and quick.
Darcy stepped back. “Go,” he murmured.
He was already thinking of the road ahead, the house hidden in trees on the left, and how best to approach without being detected. The air was turning bitter; the day was beginning to lose its light. Ten miles would take an hour; there would not be much daylight remaining when they arrived.
They took the carriage as far as prudence allowed, careful in the gathering dark, before pulling it off the road behind a stand of scrubby elm. The coach would still be visible from the road, but Darcy did not plan to be gone long.
They unharnessed the horses and proceeded on their way, remaining in the woods but parallel to the road.