A fist hauled her up by her collar, near strangling her. “What ya doin?” She lowered her voice to what she hoped sounded like an East London growl and brushed the gravel off her hands. “There be no need for this.”
“Shut it.” That was the big man.
They were speeding her along, walking quickly north toward Clampton, a good thing, she decided. She’d find a way out before they reached the turning for the village, and scoot her way back to Gorse Cottage.
Or… the Baronet’s manor was nearby. If she could find out where, she could seek assistance from him.
“This be Sir Richard’s land,” she muttered, hoping for confirmation.
One of the dark heads snickered. “He’ll not help you, boy.”
She clenched and unclenched her hands. They’d taken her pistols. They’d found the knife on her arm. They’d not found her breasts. Praise be to God, hers were smaller than most.
They also hadn’t taken the time to question her.
She needed a story. If only she knew who these men worked for, or who they knew in the neighborhood. They must certainly know the innkeeper Scruggs. Everyone knew Scruggs, except her, so saying she worked for him would lead to more trouble.
They wouldn’t probably know Fox. Or MacEwen. She could say she was one of the servants from Gorse Cottage. Her master was a painter. He’d sent her to Scarborough at night for a particular color of paint. Had to have it by the morrow.
Would Scarborough have a shop that sold paint?
No, not paint. Something else.Think, Perry.
If you’re going to lie, keep the lies as close to the truth as possible, and simple. Charley had shared that advice with her more than once, bless him.
Coffee, then. Fox hadsaidhe wanted coffee, so there must be none to be had in the village. Temperamental and spoiled, he was. Had run out and needed it in the morning, and she was making the trip down and back before then. Thus, he’d armed her with pistols and knives in case of trouble. Like this.
She still had the one knife in her boot, along with her jewels and her money, her chance for freedom. She would use that knife on someone before surrendering her freedom, even if it killed her.
I’m a fool, running away like this. Fox is right. I should have gone home.
No. Father and Bakeley would lock her away in the country. They’d send an armed guard when she went riding or into the village to visit the seamstress. Or they’d marry her off to a man who, besides locking her up, might take away her horses, and possibly raise a hand to her also. No, no, and no.
Anyway, she’d have to get away from these men first.
“Oof.” She collided into the large villain. “What the—”
A hand clamped over her mouth, smelling of onions and fish.
A boy came round a bend in the road.Pip.
Her pulse quickened and her neck prickled. If Pip was here, surely the men from the village would be nearby. Maybe Fox would have followed them. Yes, of course, he would be out and about tonight.
Under the supper odors of the villain’s unwashed hand, she could almost sense Fox’s presence.
“Be you the Scarborough men?” Pip said. So brave, he sounded. He’d shown more nerves when he’d encountered her ghostly presence.
“What if we are?”
“Might be that you’re with the revenuers.”
The big man took a step nearer. “And might be I’ll throw you over that cliff.”
“I come from Scruggs,” Pip said indignantly. “Deliverin’ a message.”
“What message?”
“He says, be on the lookout for John Black.”
