Read Online Memoirs of a Hoyden by Joan Smith - Free Book Online

meet up again after this business is settled.”
    “If we never meet again, it will be too soon for me. Good luck, Lord Kestrel. You’ll need it.”
    On that brave speech I drew Ronald away and left Kestrel standing in the street with several hedge birds gaping at his disgrace.
    “We shall send a note off to Canterbury after all, Ronald. I am too upset to give a proper speech this evening. Do you have any money?”
    “The few shillings that were loose in my pocket when we were robbed. It should be enough.”
    We sent the message before leaving Ashford. This gave Kestrel a head start on us. By the time we reached the edge of town, there was no sight of him, which is just as well. My temper hadn’t diminished since we parted ways.
    “The man is a fool,” I told Ronald. “He knew as long ago as yesterday when his curricle broke down that he was being followed. He should have left the letter for his groom to deliver. The spies wouldn’t have bothered him. But no, what did he do? He climbed aboard our coach—without his pistol—and had us all robbed. And even then he calmly went to bed, instead of going after the men. Really, one trembles to think such dilatory men are our defense against Napoleon.
    “As he knew he was being followed, you’d think he would have made some plans to defend himself—at least he could have hidden the letter a little better.”
    “He was too busy playing at coachman. Imagine, playing childish games at such a time. You know, I begin to think what we ought to do is follow him. The Frenchies will make minced meat of the man. It seems to me Dover is their likeliest destination. What do you think?”
    “I found it suspicious they told the tapster where they were going. Of course, they couldn’t know we were following them.”
    “It’s the last thing they’d suspect, if they’re familiar with Kestrel. Apparently they are. They cut his axle before he ever left London. There’s a farmer checking his hay. Let’s ask him if he happened to see three mounted men pass this way.”
    We dismounted and went to the fence to hail the farmer. Ronald has a way with provincials, and I let him handle the chore. “Good day, sir. That’s a fine crop you have there.”
    “ ‘Twill be, after a bout of sun. The rain flattened her last night. Can I help you, sir?”
    Ronald outlined our quarry. The farmer lifted his hat and scratched his head a moment. “I did see three bucks heading out Dover way a bit ago. The reason I noticed them in particular, they took the shortcut through my cornfield, the scoundrels. It cuts three mile off the main road, and meets up with it farther along. I hope old Ed Munster caught them and filled them with buckshot. They’d have to cross his barley as well. They leapt the fence and did considerable damage. I figured they must be local lads or they’d not know the shortcut, yet I didn’t recognize ‘em.”
    “Were they dark-haired men, rather short?” I asked.
    “They was on horseback. I couldn’t judge their size, but they didn’t look like big men. They was singing some song I didn’t recognize—disguised, very likely. Maybe ‘twas Gaelic. They speak queer in Wales, I’ve heard said.”
    I thought more likely it was French. Spies working the area would know all the shortcuts, if they had their wits about them. I briefly outlined the situation to the farmer, and he gave us permission to leap his fence and destroy his cornfield. As I put my nag over the fence, my heart soared with her. We’d be ahead of Kestrel! Wouldn’t he look nohow when he came upon us, with the Frenchies already captured! A farmer mending his fence, presumably Munster, let out a bellow as we plunged into his barley. We couldn’t afford to stop. I hoped the other farmer would explain our trespassing.
    When we met up with the road again, Ronald had lost his sense of direction. He wanted to turn west, but fortunately I was able to steer him toward the proper course. We rode hell for leather,