Kidnap Confusion Read online

  That thought draped a wistful smile across his face and Peter, watching Gillian out of the corner of his eye, shifted uneasily. From long association Peter knew that Gillian did not entertain many ideas, but those he did have he clung to with remarkable tenacity. John said it was because Gillian had so few ideas, and that left so much room for those that did plant themselves in his brain to grow, but then, Peter thought fairly, John would say that. Although thoroughly devoted to each other past and future, in any present John and Gillian could not scrape through more than half an hour together without rubbing each other quite wrong. Peter wondered why that was, and sighed heavily.

  He looked up to find Giles eyeing him with a slight smile and, when John's attention was diverted, Giles winked. It was ever so slightly, but he winked. Peter smiled back, and felt the better for it.

  There was little question, Peter thought reflectively a week later as he sat on horseback in a small grove of trees, feeling the mist turn into rain and watching the day's gray turn to slate as the hour grew later, that he would find himself in this situation. His eyes were fixed on his brother Gillian's dark bulk before him, and off to his side he could hear their lifetime friend and long-time groom, Jem, sighing heavily. Both Peter and Jem had been drawn into Gillian's schemes since they were barely breeched; there had been little doubt that it would happen this time, too.

  It wasn't that Peter hadn't tried to avoid their present situation. When Gillian came to him, eyes alight, to outline The Grand Scheme, Peter had been first stunned and then indignant that his brother meant to draw not only Peter but also their hapless servant into what Peter could not help but think of—with a great shudder—as a sordidly clandestine affair. He protested when Gillian said he planned to send Jem to London to discover where the fail Vanessa was, and if she had any travel plans in the near future.

  "It isn't that I wouldn't like to go myself," Gillian assured him, misunderstanding Peter's protest, "but with Giles so up in the boughs at the moment, I don't think this is the time for me to be nipping off to the city. Do you?"

  His "do you?" was so hopeful that Peter, in assuring him that it would not do at all, could not then make him understand why it would not do to send Jem, either. Gillian only looked at him blankly, and said that if he could not go, of course Jem must, because Giles was sure to notice if Peter was absent for a few days . ..

  Peter, who had no intention of popping off to London, gazed at him in amazement, and was frustrated to find his argument that the earl would not like to find either his brothers or his servants off spying on actresses—or anyone else—falling on deaf ears. Gillian, whose mind was on other things, said absently that neither of them had any intention of telling Giles about it, so there was nothing to worry about. When Peter represented to him that Giles had a way of finding out such things, a flicker of uneasiness crossed Gillian's face, but he waved it aside with an airy "Well, Giles isn't totally omniscient, you know!"

  Peter, who kept his own counsel, wasn't so sure. . .

  And so now they sat, as they had sat all day, waiting for a coach carrying the fair Vanessa to pass them on the Great North Road. Gillian had been ecstatic when Jem returned from the city, only slightly the worse for wear from his first great venture alone, beyond the influence of the earl's head groom, to report that after much nosing about, and lavish dispersal of the coins Gillian had so thoughtfully provided him with, he had discovered that the actress was to leave the city on Thursday next and travel by the Great North Road toward York.

  What's more, Jem informed them proudly, he had, as Gillian had straightly instructed him, discovered at which house the actress's coach was likely to hire outriders, and had gone there straightaway to bribe said outriders into being late with their defense of the coach if, say, three masked ruffians should accost it next Thursday. Such action had been judged necessary after Peter raised the sticky question of what they would do if those escorting Vanessa did not understand they were kidnapping her with the best of motives, and decided to fire at them.

  It had taken Gillian much thought and considerable hair pulling to find an answer to that one, and Peter had almost believed they would be saved by this seemingly insurmount­able problem. But when his brother bounded to his feet with the words "bribe them!" on his lips, Peter sighed, ex­changed commiserating glances with Jem, and said nothing.

  The only thing that still caused Gillian concern about those accompanying Vanessa was the unwelcome informa­tion that Jem had stopped short of bribing the coachman.

  Jem's long-term acquaintance with the redoubtable Mr. Peeks, who had been in the fifth earl's service and was growing old in the sixth's, bordered on such awe that the very thought of even approaching such an august personage with a dishonest scheme made his ears ring with the boxing he was sure they would receive. Nothing Gillian could say, not even the thousandth assurance that not all coachmen were as honest or as upright—or as big—as Mr. Peeks, could move Jem from his stand. In the end Gillian shrugged philosophically and assured Jem and Peter that the coach­man would be so busy with the horses that he would have no time to reach for a gun; the more he said it, the more he believed it himself.

  And so, beyond wishing aloud once or twice a day that Jem had brought himself to offer the unknown driver a bribe, he thought no more about it.

  And now, Peter thought, as he sneezed and sighed, here they sat, with Gillian still sure that his Grand Scheme would work, supremely unaware that Jem and Peter had considered it doomed from the beginning. Peter hoped that Giles wouldn't be too angry when he found out that Gillian hadn't been in the library all day, as instructed before John and Giles rode out with word they'd return late evening. That thought made him sigh again.

  In one thing Peter was wrong; Gillian was still not confident that his scheme would work. In fact, he had entertained grave doubts for the last hour, and the increasing damp and Peter's sneeze merely confirmed that somehow— by means unknown to him—the plan had gone awry.

  The first check to his enthusiasm had come hours earlier when, fresh for their adventure, they'd mistaken the coach of an octogenarian for that of the actress. The elderly gentleman, instead of showing the proper fright and concern of one whose coach has just been stopped by masked ruffians, waved his cane at them and advised them to come on, shouting he'd show them a little of the home brewed.

  Gillian's bow and explanation that it was a misunder­standing—they were looking for another coach—made the old man crow, "A misunderstanding, is it? You're right, it's a misunderstanding, you miserable highwayman! No doubt you're looking for easier pickings, you cowards! That's what you are—cowards, all of you! Coachman, drive on! Drive on, I say!"

  With a resigned wave of his hand Gillian sent the stunned coachman on his way, listening in gloomy silence as the old gentleman, gleeful in victory, hurled insults at them until his coach was lost to sight by a curve in the road.

  Peter had wanted to go home then, followed by the ready Jem, but Gillian assured them it couldn't happen again, and they had, with a great deal of heavy sighing and painful glances of resignation, settled in to wait. Their ears perked at the sound of each coach, only to find that it was the mail, or the stage, or a carriage with a crest that they knew could belong to no actress. Jem's suggestion that she might be riding in a gentleman's crested coach drew Gillian's scorn, but now, as dusk turned to darkness, he wondered woefully if Jem was right and they had missed her.

  Then, too, as Gillian sat miserably huddled in the frieze coat Jem had borrowed for him, he was beginning to have second thoughts about the brilliance of his scheme.

  Back at Willowdale, with the sun shining brightly and the ever-present optimism of youth, it seemed such a simple thing to abduct a woman from the King's road and bestow her upon an older brother who, eternally grateful, would realize once and for all that Gillian was more of a man to be reckoned with than Giles had ever thought.

  But now, sitting in the rain and hearing young Peter sneeze behind him—how he hoped
Peter wouldn't take cold; he couldn't forgive himself if that happened, and he was pretty sure Giles wouldn't forgive him, either—he was given to doubt.

  What if, the unwelcome thought presented itself—not that it was likely, but what if—Giles didn't want the woman back, as Peter had so stoutly asserted when Gillian first broached the subject to him? Not that Peter knew anything about women and the ways of the world, he assured himself hurriedly, but just suppose . . .

  Or suppose the woman didn't want to come. Suppose she really did hold Giles in aversion. He couldn't force her to stay with his brother, no matter how it would alleviate his own problems. No, that wouldn't be right. ..

  And another thing, he told himself glumly, ten to one she wouldn't even appear. Perhaps Jem's information was all wrong. Perhaps she had changed her plans.

  The muffler wound round his head to prevent his being recognized—another donation from Jem's shadowy friends— was scratchy, and as it grew damper the smell of sweat and onions, strong enough when the muffler was dry, grew almost overpowering. Gillian tried not to breathe too deeply.

  Yet heavy as the mufflers were, they could not disguise another sneeze from Peter, and Gillian was about to turn and say they might as well go home when the sound of horses' hooves, traveling at a steady pace, reached his ears.

  "This has got to be it, men!" he whispered, feeling rather than seeing Peter and Jem also prick up their ears. "Now remember, just ride at them and brandish your pistols, and we'll have it done in no time!"

  Gillian had decided earlier that he was the only one who could be trusted to fire, and had thoughtfully removed the ammunition from his brother's and Jem's pistols. His plan was to ride down on the carriage from the front, creating a commotion and startling the coachman so that he would draw up. When he moved cautiously out of the trees, the failing light showed there was no crest on the carriage door, a piece of good luck that so delighted him that he neglected to note what Jem saw after his employer began his ferocious charge, Peter thundering gamely behind him. There were no outriders.

  "Mister Gillian!" Jem cried, spurring his horse after them. "Mister Gillian!"

  Gillian did not hear the frantic call, so intent was he on his task; nor did Peter, whose hat had slipped down over his eyes and ears, and who was busy trying to keep his horse moving while he strove to remove the hat's blinding influence. In that he succeeded too well, for the hat flew off, displaying his golden curls.

  The first part of Gillian's plan worked brilliantly. The sight of three horsemen galloping down upon them did indeed cause the coachman to draw his horses up and to sit gaping at them before he realized the full attack. Then, shouting "Highwaymen!" he thrust the reins into the hands of the slack-jawed groom goggling beside him, snatched the old-fashioned blunderbuss that individual held in a nerveless grasp, and let fly.

  The sound startled the lady in the coach, and she was about to stick her head out to inquire what was happening when she heard an indignant young voice shout, "Here, I say! You could hurt someone with that thing!"

  Gillian swerved around toward Jem, who came panting up behind him. "I thought you paid these people off—" he began angrily, and had not yet started to assimilate Jem's hurried warning that there were no outriders, only a coach­man and groom, and this must be the wrong coach, when the man with the blunderbuss let fly again, and Gillian felt a thud and violent stinging in his right shoulder. As he slid to the ground before the horrified eyes of his brother and Jem, one thought remained uppermost in his mind.

  "I told you," he whispered. "Should have. . . bribed. . . the coachman. . ."

  Chapter 4

  The occupant of the carriage was recovering from the shock of gunfire at such closes range when the carriage door was wrenched open and a pale young face, its eyes large with horror, peered in.

  "Miss Vanessa!" the boy gasped. "You must help! It's Gillian—my brother! He's—he's—"

  The face disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and when Miss Margaret Tolliver stepped down from her coach it was to see, in the fast vanishing light, that the owner of the frightened face was even now kneeling over a still figure in the road. Another young man—almost a boy himself— stood nearby, staring in stupefaction at the still figure. The reins of three horses hung loosely over his arm.

  Miss Tolliver's brother's coachman, busy on the box, was reloading his old gun with enthusiasm, the stories he could spin of this night already forming in his mind. He had just pointed the gun gleefully at the kneeling figure when Miss Tolliver commanded him sharply to put up. He gazed down at her in astonishment.

  "But Miss—" he gasped. "Highwaymen—" One mobile eyebrow quirked as Miss Tolliver gazed up at him. "Highwaymen?" she repeated, her voice scoffing the word as she gazed at the scared young faces turned toward her. "Children dressed up for play, more like."

  She moved toward the huddled trio in the road and knelt beside the youngest member, watching his anxious if inexpert efforts to staunch the flow of blood from his uncon­scious brother's shoulder. In a few moments, Margaret took matters into her far more capable hands, asking if the young man kneeling and the other standing had handkerchiefs that she could use to pad the wound before binding it up. Peter's hand dived into his pocket and pulled out a large, white linen square, which he quickly handed to her. After several moments of searching, Jem produced a bedraggled speci­men that she declined with a polite word and only the tiniest quirk of the lip. With a sigh she turned slightly and a ripping sound was heard as one of her petticoats gave its ruffle for the nursing cause.

  "Now, Miss—" By this time the coachman had clamped his jaws together and climbed down from his perch, leaving the reins in the hands of the hapless groom he castigated as a regular jackstraw. He advanced upon them, incensed, talking all the time. "Miss Tolliver, whatever be you about, helping those nasty varmints after they tried to hold us up? Think you, do, and come away from there this instant. What would your brother say if he could see you?"

  "A great deal, probably," the lady replied. Her voice was dry. "But I wish, Johns, that you would rid yourself of this disagreeable habit of thinking I would care at all what my brother says."

  Drawing himself up, the coachman was about to launch into a catalog of what the absent Sir Charles Tolliver expected of those who drove his sister about, and how those who did not live up to Sir Charles's expectations could expect to suffer, but his speech was cut short by the boy kneeling in front of him.

  "Miss—Tolliver?" Peter said dazedly, and Margaret glanced up from her work to smile at him.

  "Yes," she said, extending a hand. "Margaret Tolliver. And you?"

  Peter made an automatic and really quite credible bow, for one kneeling in the road, and stammered his name even as he continued to stare at her, forgetting he held her hand until, with a twinkling eye, she told him gently that if he were quite done with it, she would like it back. Then he startled and blushed, dropping said appendage as if it were hot, and spoke again. "But—" he said, "you.. .you—" There seemed to be a large lump in his throat, and he had to swallow twice before his words emerged around it. "Aren't you Vanessa, the actress?"

  "Actress?" The coachman harumphed the word loudly into the night, and Peter turned to stare at him before his eyes, aghast at their mistake, returned to the woman before him.

  "My dear boy," Miss Tolliver said, her amusement evident, "do I look like an actress?"

  It was not a question that had occurred to him before, so for the first time Peter surveyed her carefully. Under her hat he glimpsed a lock of light brown hair, and blue eyes and a mouth that even now brimmed with laughter. She was dressed neatly, and with propriety, and although Peter was not an expert on female garb, something told him the cut of her garments and the tone of her voice and the way she carried herself bespoke very much the lady.

  "Oh, no," he groaned, glancing down at Gillian still lying quietly in the road. "What have we done? Oh no, oh no, oh no!"

  He rubbed his forehead hard, as if to clear
it of the vision in front of him, and Miss Tolliver felt her ever-ready sense of humor threaten to overtake her as she continued her handiwork on the unconscious Gillian.

  "But—" Peter seemed to feel an explanation was neces­sary as he looked from her to Gillian to Jem to the frowning coachman and back to Miss Tolliver again, but he didn't know where to start. "But you're supposed to be—I mean, we thought—we've been waiting all day to—"

  Peter was searching for the right words but Jem, thinking him lost in his sentences, came helpfully to his rescue. "We've been waiting to kidnap the actress," Jem explained soberly, nodding at Miss Tolliver as if it were an everyday occurrence.

  Miss Tolliver was visibly startled, and stared at the boys in front of her. "Kidnap?" she gasped, wondering if her first impression was wrong.

  "Kidnappers!" The coachman fairly stumbled over the word, then turned on the run to retrieve his gun from the coach.

  "No, no, not really!" Peter was appalled by the turn of events, and tried to correct them. "You don't understand!"

  Jem, finding his help had not been appreciated, tried to excuse himself with "But that's what Mr. Gillian said—"

  "I know," Peter assured him, clearly harassed. "Only it wasn't really kidnapping! It was more like. . . borrowing. For my brother!" The last was said to Miss Tolliver, who regarded him in bemusement. She looked doubtfully down at the still figure in the road, and Peter's confusion grew. "No, no!" he said. "Not that brother. My other brother!"