Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [66]
He held her close for a moment and said gently, “Are you all right? They haven’t harmed you in any way?”
She shook her head. “There isn’t one of them would dare to lay a finger on me. They’re too scared of my uncle. But what about you? What was all the shooting about?”
“I haven’t got time to explain in detail,” he said, “But your uncle shot Dennis Rogan in the back.”
“Is he dead?” she said in a shocked voice.
“I don’t know,” Clay told her. “Shaun Rogan carried him away in his trap. I must get to the lad to see if I can do anything. I should imagine all hell is going to break loose round this house within another hour.”
“Then we’d better leave as quickly as possible,” she said. “I’ve got a key to a small door that leads to the stables.”
She led the way, and Clay paused only to pick up Clark’s shotgun. The house was filled with an unnatural stillness, a brooding calm, as if everything waited for the storm to break, and he wondered why the servants had left. Presumably word must have come to them from the village, or perhaps the murder of Dennis Rogan and the shooting which followed had been the final straw. One thing was certain, Sir George Hamilton was reaping what he had sown over the long years. Now he was left with only his imported bullies and Burke to protect him until the soldiers arrived, and they would have to be quick.
They descended two flights of servants’ stairs and turned into a narrow passageway, at the end of which stood a door. Joanna fumbled with the key for a moment and the door opened.
The cobbled yard was quiet and deserted and the stable doors stood open. Clay peered out cautiously, then he took her hand and started across.
At that moment, a door opened some twenty yards away and Burke came out, two men at his heels. He was obviously unaware that Clark lay unconscious in the passage outside Joanna’s room, for he stared at them, astonishment on his face.
In those few seconds of precious time, Clay pushed Joanna through the stable entrance. As he followed, Burke’s men fired at him and lead shot scattered through the air. Clay returned the fire, and Burke and his men stepped back into the shelter of the kitchen door to reload.
“Get out while you have the chance, Clay,” Joanna cried, getting to her feet. “Remember Dennis Rogan needs you. I’ll be all right. They won’t dare to harm me.”
What she said was right and there was no point in argument. Pegeen was standing in a nearby stall and he led her out and slipped a bridle over her head. He vaulted onto the mare’s bare back and smiled down at Joanna.
“I’ll be back,” he said savagely. “I swear it!”
He gave a blood-curdling cry and slapped Pegeen on the rump, sending her out through the door.
Burke’s men had never heard the Rebel yell before and the sound of it, plus the speed with which Pegeen bolted from the stables, sent them hastily back into the shelter of the kitchen door, as if expecting an attack.
It was Burke who recovered first. Snatching one of the shotguns, he levelled it and fired. Leaning low over Pegeen’s neck, Clay heard the shot whistle through the branches of the trees as he labored up the slope through the orchard, and then he was through the gap in the wall and safe amongst the trees.
He gave Pegeen her head, gripping her bare sides firmly with his knees, and urged her into a gallop when they reached the moor. Fifteen minutes later, he rode down through the trees to Claremont.
When he went into the kitchen, he found the whole place in complete disorder and there were signs that a struggle had taken place. He went upstairs, two at a time, calling anxiously, but there was no reply. He found his saddlebags lying in a corner where they had been thrown by Burke’s men searching the bedroom, and checked that his surgical instruments and drugs were in order as he went back downstairs.
He hurried across to the stables and saw, with a feeling of relief, that the other horse had gone. It was more than likely that Joshua had recovered from his blow on the