Death at Dawn - Caro Peacock [126]
‘Ready?’
We walked on, past the old oak where Mrs Beedle had waited for me, its branches black against a darkening sky. At last there were hedges right and left and beaten earth rather than gravel under our feet.
‘Another minute, please.’
Before I could answer, a voice sounded a long way behind us.
‘Celia? Where are you, Celia?’
Her body turned as stiff as one of the oak branches.
‘It’s Stephen. My stepfather must have sent him out to look for me.’
‘It’s some way off,’ I said. ‘He’s probably on the terrace.’
But she was running down the lane, leaving her bag behind. I picked it up and followed at a fast walk.
‘Celia?’
Still distant, but a little closer. I could make out her shape, a few dozen yards ahead of me. Then it lurched and disappeared. She gasped.
‘Elizabeth.’
‘Stay there, I’m coming.’
She was on the ground, hands round her left ankle.
‘What’s happened?’
‘I can’t get up.’
I knelt to give her my shoulder and she managed to get herself upright, but gasped when she tried to put her foot to the ground.
‘Then you must hop,’ I said, drawing her arm round my shoulder.
‘What about the bags?’
‘We’ll have to leave them.’
We managed fifty yards or so. We couldn’t hear her brother calling any more but now the hunt was up and when they’d failed to find her in the ballroom or on the terrace it was only a matter of time before somebody came after us. Then, as we stopped for another rest, the ground vibrated and the sound of hooves going at a slow and steady walk came out of the darkness below us.
‘Oh thank god,’ Celia said. ‘It’s Philip come for me.’
I was less certain. Philip was supposed to be bringing a coach for her, but I could hear no wheels. It was almost completely dark now, with the hedges dense on either side. We walked on. The black shape of a horse’s head and ears came into sight from below us, then became a horse and rider. Celia’s fingers dug into my arm.
‘It isn’t him.’
I was scared too, thinking that some of Sir Herbert’s men had come to cut off our escape. A second horse’s head came into view. The horse stopped suddenly, aware of us, and blew sharply through its nostrils. A voice reassured it.
‘Don’t be feared, girl. Nobody’s going to hurt you.’
Amos Legge’s voice.
‘Rancie,’ I said. ‘Rancie girl.’
‘Miss Lane, is that you?’
He was riding the first horse, a big cobby type as far as I could make out.
‘Yes. Is anybody behind you?’
‘Gentleman with a phaeton, just turning it round in a gateway.’
‘Philip,’ Celia said. ‘That’s Philip.’
‘How far down?’ I said.
‘Half a mile or so.’
Celia would never walk that far.
‘I’ve a friend here wanting to get to the phaeton,’ I said. ‘Can you take her up in front of you?’
I managed to get Celia alongside the cob and he reached down and swung her in front of his saddle as easily as if she’d been a bag of apples.
‘Could you take hold of the other one, miss? She’ll likely follow in any case.’
He handed me down Rancie’s reins and wheeled the cob round. She and I followed them down the lane. Rancie’s head was up and she was sniffing the air. We’d only been going for a minute or two when she let out a whinny. I looked past the hindquarters of Amos’s cob and saw a circle of light coming up the road. As we drew closer together I could make out a carriage lamp with a man on foot behind it.
‘Philip.’
From up above me, Celia’s voice sang out as confident and clear as a blackbird. How she knew when he could have been no more than a dark shape to her was a minor miracle.
‘Celia.’ A deeper-toned bird called back to her.
The light came sliding and dipping towards us at such a rate it was surprising the candle stayed burning. When he reached us and the light fell on him I saw a slim and pale-faced man, probably tolerably good looking but so full of hurry and anxiety it was hard to tell. Celia practically threw herself off the saddle bow at him and without hesitation he dropped the lamp and caught her in his arms. There was a flurry