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the cart and taking the reins. "Thank you, Jennings," she murmured. "Be careful, miss." His voice rose to follow her, since she was even now slapping the reigns over the Haflinger's creamy mane and tail. The cart clattered out of the stable yard. The squire's residence was on the far side of the village about three miles on. But she was betting she did not have to go so far. The woods flashed past the pony's brisk trot. They would have discovered Sincai's escape by now. The squire might well have been called to town. She might even meet them on the road as they came to inform Erich. But there was no one on the road to Maitlands. With anxiety rising in her breast, she urged the Haflinger to a canter. The cart jolted over the road. She slowed him only when she reached the outskirts of Cheddar Gorge. She allowed him to trot by the Hammer and Anvil and up to the town hall. People in the street pointed and whispered. She tried not to notice. She needed the squire. She must focus on that. Pulling up in front of the hall, massive and solid with its hewn stone walls, she leapt from the cart and patted the pony. "Good boy, Max." The pretty blond beast was blowing. "Boy," she called to an urchin nearby. "A shilling if you walk my pony up and down." He rushed up, hand out. Max threw his head up and down twice and blew out a whicker through his flaring nostrils. Ann went round back of the hall. A crowd there muttered around the open door to the two gaol cells. She could hear their fear talking. "Just disappeared, he did." This from Jemmy. "The cell door was still locked, I hear," Mrs. Scrapple cawed. "All that garlic and such didn't keep him in. What was Van Helsing thinking?" "What was 'e that 'e could get out through a locked door? Maybe Van Helsing was right." Mr. Watkins sounded unsure, but there were several grunts of agreement. The crowd turned. She stopped. Silence fell. "Is Squire Fladgate here?" she asked in a voice she hoped wasn't tremulous. "Do you have information?" The familiar stentorian tones carved a path through the crowd as they parted, heads pivoting. Squire Fladgate's paunchy figure stood at the open door. "I need to see you, sir." "And I need to see you, young lady." He strode forward. The crowd fell away, muttering. Ann swallowed. "Can we talk somewhere private? At the inn perhaps?" "Did you have anything to do with this?" The squire frowned. "With& ?" Ann looked around at the reflected accusations. "With Sincai's escape." So. Erich was right. They thought she was his partner. That would make her job more difficult. "Has he escaped?" she asked, craning to look around the squire's bulky form. "You're a bad dissembler," the squire accused. "How could I have gotten him out of a locked cell?" she asked, trying for incredulity. "Ye're a witch," Jemmy screeched. "Ye can do magic." "You think I got him out with magic?" She chuckled. "Surely, Squire, you don't believe that. You are an educated man." The squire flushed. "He got out of a locked cell somehow. The key has been in Mr. Steadly's possession here all night." He nodded behind her. Ann turned. The Bow Street runner had come up behind her. His eyes were dark blue and cold. His mouth was set in a grim line. The crowd leaned closer. "Perhaps we can talk, miss?" He reached out and before she could pull away he took her arm just above the elbow. Crashing sensation engulfed her. Steadly was under suspicion by his department for taking bribes. That was why he had been sent to what his superiors considered the hinterlands on this wild-goose chase. Their suspicions were true. His life flashed before her; an impoverished childhood, being taken in by a philanthropist, educated, rejected by his patron's friends because of his background, finding his place in Bow Street, disillusion that corruption prevailed even there, joining the corruption, his shame and his relentless rejection of that shame. It all cascaded over her. She watched his eyes grow big. With a supreme effort, she wrenched away and staggered to the side. "Girl, where do you think you're going?" The squire pulled her back. Self-congratulation! Bitterness at his wife's death. Angry confusion mat he did not know how to talk to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |