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Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
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Phoebe.”
They both did as they were told, but Harding was reckless with temper. “You won’t get away with this. Kidnapping is a capital offense. I’ll see you hang for it!”
“Then I’ve nothing to lose if I shoot you, have I?”
Finally convinced that he was dealing with a lunatic, Harding backed up another step.
Jo entered the chaise. “Quick, get us back to the inn,” she shouted to her postboys. She was careful not to give the inn’s name.
The chaise jolted into motion and was soon rattling over cobblestones. Jo edged into the corner to give Eric more room. There was only one banquette, and he took up most of it. Although there wasn’t much to see in the coach’s dark interior, she could feel his eyes on her. She wanted to comfort him but, remembering how he’d reacted to her in the closet, she decided that her best course was to leave him to her aunt.
Mrs. Daventry cooed and made soothing sounds as she fussed over Eric. Satisfied that all was well with him, she said to Jo, “Thank the dear Lord you had the presence of mind to bring my pistol with you. I was in such a panic when I left, I never even thought of it.”
“Yes, it certainly did the trick. I don’t know what I would have done without it.”
There was a thoughtful silence, then Mrs. Daventry said, “Do you think he’ll press charges?”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s any doubt of that.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
Jo tried to concentrate, but reaction was setting in, and she couldn’t see further than the next hour or two. “What we’re going to do,” she said slowly, “is settle up at the Red Lion and leave for London before Harding sets his brother on us. He’s the constable, by the way.”
“Yes, I know. Phoebe told me. It’s iniquitous, that’s what it is. But, dear, you surely don’t mean to cross Finchley Common at night? What about”—she looked down at Eric and whispered—“highwaymen?”
Jo was too tired to argue. “We have no choice. Besides, we have a pistol. If I see a highwayman, I’ll shoot him.”
Eric, who had been following the conversation with interest, piped up, “Aunt Jo isn’t afraid of anything.”
Mrs. Daventry laughed. Jo managed a weak smile.
They were passing the Green Man. There was no sign of Mr. Bowman or his carriage. He must have taken her at her word and decided to push on to town. She was wishing now that she’d been nicer to him and taken him up on his offer. She had so many burdens to juggle—Chloë, Eric, and now the authorities. It seemed to her that Waldo Bowman was the kind of man who would make short work of them all.
This was fatigue speaking. She didn’t need a man to take care of her problems. She was quite capable of taking care of them herself. Not that that would impress Mr. Bowman. According to Chloë, his taste ran to alluring, fashionable beauties who had made a study of pleasing men. Women like her mother, she supposed.
Now, where had that last thought come from? Certainly not from Chloë.
The chaise hit a pothole, jerking them forward then back. Eric gasped and curled into Jo. Very tentatively, she put her arms around his thin shoulders to steady him. He didn’t flinch or try to pull away, and she wondered if he knew who was holding him.
“Eric?” she said softly.
He stirred and turned his face up to her. “Mmm?”
Maybe he couldn’t see her clearly. “It’s me, Aunt Jo.”
“What is it?”
There was an odd sensation in her chest. “Nothing,” she said, and swallowed hard.
When the chaise turned into the Red Lion’s stable yard, Mrs. Daventry took charge. “No, you stay where you are, Jo, and look after Eric. I’ll settle up and get our boxes.”
She went off with one of the postboys. Eric didn’t say anything, but his breathing was quick and shallow, and Jo was becoming anxious. Her mind wouldn’t be easy until he’d seen a doctor, but that would have to wait until they were clear of Barnet. If the authorities caught
They both did as they were told, but Harding was reckless with temper. “You won’t get away with this. Kidnapping is a capital offense. I’ll see you hang for it!”
“Then I’ve nothing to lose if I shoot you, have I?”
Finally convinced that he was dealing with a lunatic, Harding backed up another step.
Jo entered the chaise. “Quick, get us back to the inn,” she shouted to her postboys. She was careful not to give the inn’s name.
The chaise jolted into motion and was soon rattling over cobblestones. Jo edged into the corner to give Eric more room. There was only one banquette, and he took up most of it. Although there wasn’t much to see in the coach’s dark interior, she could feel his eyes on her. She wanted to comfort him but, remembering how he’d reacted to her in the closet, she decided that her best course was to leave him to her aunt.
Mrs. Daventry cooed and made soothing sounds as she fussed over Eric. Satisfied that all was well with him, she said to Jo, “Thank the dear Lord you had the presence of mind to bring my pistol with you. I was in such a panic when I left, I never even thought of it.”
“Yes, it certainly did the trick. I don’t know what I would have done without it.”
There was a thoughtful silence, then Mrs. Daventry said, “Do you think he’ll press charges?”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s any doubt of that.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
Jo tried to concentrate, but reaction was setting in, and she couldn’t see further than the next hour or two. “What we’re going to do,” she said slowly, “is settle up at the Red Lion and leave for London before Harding sets his brother on us. He’s the constable, by the way.”
“Yes, I know. Phoebe told me. It’s iniquitous, that’s what it is. But, dear, you surely don’t mean to cross Finchley Common at night? What about”—she looked down at Eric and whispered—“highwaymen?”
Jo was too tired to argue. “We have no choice. Besides, we have a pistol. If I see a highwayman, I’ll shoot him.”
Eric, who had been following the conversation with interest, piped up, “Aunt Jo isn’t afraid of anything.”
Mrs. Daventry laughed. Jo managed a weak smile.
They were passing the Green Man. There was no sign of Mr. Bowman or his carriage. He must have taken her at her word and decided to push on to town. She was wishing now that she’d been nicer to him and taken him up on his offer. She had so many burdens to juggle—Chloë, Eric, and now the authorities. It seemed to her that Waldo Bowman was the kind of man who would make short work of them all.
This was fatigue speaking. She didn’t need a man to take care of her problems. She was quite capable of taking care of them herself. Not that that would impress Mr. Bowman. According to Chloë, his taste ran to alluring, fashionable beauties who had made a study of pleasing men. Women like her mother, she supposed.
Now, where had that last thought come from? Certainly not from Chloë.
The chaise hit a pothole, jerking them forward then back. Eric gasped and curled into Jo. Very tentatively, she put her arms around his thin shoulders to steady him. He didn’t flinch or try to pull away, and she wondered if he knew who was holding him.
“Eric?” she said softly.
He stirred and turned his face up to her. “Mmm?”
Maybe he couldn’t see her clearly. “It’s me, Aunt Jo.”
“What is it?”
There was an odd sensation in her chest. “Nothing,” she said, and swallowed hard.
When the chaise turned into the Red Lion’s stable yard, Mrs. Daventry took charge. “No, you stay where you are, Jo, and look after Eric. I’ll settle up and get our boxes.”
She went off with one of the postboys. Eric didn’t say anything, but his breathing was quick and shallow, and Jo was becoming anxious. Her mind wouldn’t be easy until he’d seen a doctor, but that would have to wait until they were clear of Barnet. If the authorities caught
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