The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [127]
Just before he reached the town, soaked to his skin and trembling with cold, he knew that it would be next to impossible to find Cadoudal by himself. He would need much more than luck; he would need help. He needed many men to scour the inns and the docks and check into all the ships’ passages.
He was tired, exhausted really, and knew that there was simply nothing more he could do. Yet he still rode into Eastbourne and stopped at three inns. None recognized his descriptions, that or they’d been paid by Georges to lie. Defeated, he mounted his horse, more exhausted than he was, and rode the fifteen miles to Northcliffe Hall.
Hollis took one look at His Lordship and called immediately for his valet. Douglas was bundled off to his bedchamber and put into a warm dressing gown. Hollis then deemed it appropriate for him to receive family, beginning with himself.
He said, “John Coachman told us what happened. I’ve sent out word and there are thirty men ready to do your bidding. You have but to give me instructions.”
Douglas stared at his butler and wanted to fling his arms around the man. He said instead, his voice slow and slurred with fatigue, “Georges Cadoudal has her, Hollis, and I fear that he has already taken her to France. I did track him nearly to Eastbourne but it began to rain. I had no luck at the local inns.”
Hollis patted his shoulder as if he were a lad of ten again. “No trouble, my lord. You will provide me with a description of this Cadoudal and I shall give it to all the men. They can be off within the hour. As for you, you will rest before you leave this chamber.”
Douglas wanted to resist but he was so weary he merely nodded.
“I will bring you food and some nice brandy. Your brain will commence to work again very soon.”
So it was that twenty-two men fanned out toward Eastbourne within thirty minutes, such an efficient general was Hollis.
He said to Douglas, “I also sent word to Lord Rathmore. I expect him shortly. His Lordship has never let you down before, you know.”
Douglas grunted and sipped at the stomach-warming brandy. He’d eaten his fill, the fire in the fireplace was warm and soothing. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He slept deeply for an hour undisturbed, awoke and was greatly refreshed.
He opened his eyes to see Sinjun standing by his chair. For an instant he didn’t remember and said, “Hello, brat. Where is Alexandra?”
The truth slammed through him and Sinjun watched as he paled.
“I’m sorry, Douglas. Despite what Mother says, I will accompany you to search for her. Shall I notify Tysen?”
“No, leave him be at Oxford.” Douglas rose and stretched. “I don’t believe this,” he said to no one in particular.
“It’s late, Douglas. Too late really for you to set out again. ’Tis nearly midnight.”
“There are twenty-two men out searching, Sinjun. I must join them.” He paused and gently cupped her face in his palm. “I thank you for wishing to come, yet I must ask you to remain here and run things. You know Mother . . . well, I want to be assured that all will be in readiness for Alexandra’s return.”
Douglas rode from Northcliffe Hall toward Eastbourne. It had stopped raining, thank the benevolent Lord, and there was a half-moon to light the way. He met McCallum, his head stable lad, at the Drowning Duck Inn on the docks in Eastbourne.
“Ah, Your Lordship needs a pint. Sit down and I will tell you what we’ve learned. I’ve made this inn a headquarters and each thirty minutes a group of fellows come to report their progress to me. That’s right, drink your ale and sit down. Now just listen, my lord.”
At two o’clock in the morning, five men trooped into the taproom to report that Cadoudal and Her Ladyship had taken a packet to Calais. Unfortunately they