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“Coombe wants to see you, Miss Dupre.” She was breathless from the stairs and all the knocking. “He’s downstairs in the kitchen. I told him such a request in the middle of the night is very irregular but he says you’ll agree to speak to him.”
“Coombe?” Antoinette tried to gather her wits.
“Do you want to see him?”
“I…yes. I do. I’ll be down directly.”
Coombe was wanting to see her? He must have made up his mind about her request for help to return to London. Why else would he be here? And yet why respond so dramatically? He’d had plenty of time to ponder the matter. Surely his decision could have waited until the morning?
Something must be very wrong.
With a sense of urgency Antoinette pulled on a dress and swung her scarlet shawl around her shoulders. She twisted her hair into a knot and stuck in some pins to hold it. Her gaze slid involuntarily to the window and the dark woods beyond. No light tonight. But of course it was late, and even the highwayman needed his sleep.
Had he tried to visit her and found his way barred? Probably not. She’d likely dragged that heavy dresser about for nothing, and when he heard what she’d done he’d be laughing. “There’s always the window,” he’d say. His voice in her head was so exact that it gave her a start and she glanced behind her, wondering if he was right there in the room with her. Of course he wasn’t. The room was empty; she was alone.
Coombe was hunched before the kitchen fire, attired in his familiar smelly jacket and muddy boots. When he saw her he stood up. Antoinette was surprised Mrs. Wonicot allowed all that dirt in her kitchen, but the formidable cook seemed to have a surprisingly soft spot for the groom. Cautiously she sat down a short distance from him and waved her hand for him to resume his chair.
“What is it, Coombe? What do you want to see me about?”
He was watching her, the firelight shining in his eyes in the shadow of his cap and that atrocious hair. “We need to go tonight, miss,” he said. “His Lordship’s on his way. You said you wanted help to get away, remember? Well, we need to do it now.”
“Now…?” The full meaning of his words struck her like a dash of cold water. “Lord Appleby is coming here!” she cried, jumping to her feet, ready to run.
“Calm yourself, miss,” he said sharply, in a very un-Coombe-like voice. “We’ll manage it, don’t you fret.”
“How will we manage it? He will find us and—” She stopped herself, not wanting to tell Coombe what Appleby had in mind for her. The less he knew, the better for them both.
“I know this countryside,” Coombe said with smug self-confidence. “Lord Appleby’ll never find us. Now, you go and pack. Not much, mind. Just the one bag.”
She nodded a little wildly. “Yes. Yes, of course. One bag.”
“That’s it, miss.”
Antoinette hesitated. The highwayman didn’t know she was leaving, and she realized she couldn’t tell him. Being Appleby’s man, he’d be obliged to stop her and tell his master, and she couldn’t allow that. It was more than likely she would never see him again.
“What is it, miss?” Coombe was looking at her strangely, as if he read her mind. “Is there someone…something you’ve forgotten?”
Antoinette shook her head with finality. “No, no one and nothing.”
“Well, don’t fret,” he repeated as she bolted out of the room.
Something about his tone struck her as so familiar, like the dream she’d had earlier, but Antoinette didn’t have time to consider why that was. There was just too much else to think about. Once in her room she turned into a whirlwind, throwing her belongings about, cramming a few bits and pieces into her carpetbag, hardly aware of what she was doing.
Until she remembered her most important possession of all.
The letter.
She swung her cloak around her shoulders and fastened it at her throat—the attached hood would help to disguise her. A last glance about at the chaos of her room, and she was snatching up her carpetbag and hurrying for the stairs.
The Wonicots were huddled together in the entrance hall but they stopped speaking as soon as they saw her. What were they planning to do? Tell Lord Appleby where she was going? Well, she could hardly stop them. Right now it was everyone for him- or herself.
Antoinette rushed past them and into the library. The letter was where she’d left it, and with an exclamation of relief she tucked it down inside her bodice.
She was ready.
Back outside in the hall the Wonicots were still standing together, rumpled from sleep, but now Coombe had joined them. He didn’t look any different, and, obviously, washing before he set out on their journey wasn’t one of his priorities. But Antoinette said nothing. He was helping her to return to London with her precious proof of Appleby’s evil intent, and in the circumstances she wouldn’t have cared if he had two heads.
There was a sound. Startled, Antoinette turned and noticed Mary for the first time. The girl was sitting in a chair against the wall, smothering a yawn with the back of her hand, her fair hair spilling out from beneath her crooked mobcap.
