Change of Address (5 page)

The girl in the tree needed to be rescued.

“You were right,” Amanda admitted. “We do need to do
something. Now I want you to—”

“Hit him on the head with the fireplace poker?” Honoria
suggested hopefully.

“No. What you need to do is—”

“Break his kneecaps?”

“No. Run up to the manor house and fetch some help. Bring
some of the servants.”

“But I can—”

“You can run faster than me,” Amanda insisted firmly. “Much
faster. Now please bring help as quickly as you can. And you can bring more
pokers from the manor house.”

“Oh, yes!” Honoria jumped to her feet and started for the
door.

“You should dress first.”

“But this is an emergency.”

“Oh very well.” The girl had probably always wanted an
excuse to run through the dark in her night shift like a ghost. “Take a cloak.”

“I will.”

The man’s shouting and banging had not wakened her mother on
the west end of the house, but the sound of her sister thundering down the
stairs might do it. Once her mother learned of the situation, she was as likely
as Honoria to try to take after the villain with a fireplace poker herself. It
was essential to send her sister to fetch outside assistance as soon as
possible. “Have a care,” she warned as she followed her down to the front door.
“Open the door slowly so he won’t hear you. And don’t run on the gravel.”

“My girls,” Mama called down the stairs. “What is the
matter?”

“I shall explain to Mama. You just go.” Amanda urged her
sister forward.

“How many fireplace pokers should I—”

“Ask Mr. Hilliar,” Amanda instructed her. “Do whatever he
says.”

Together they clasped the door handle. Amanda fumbled for
the key in the lock, turned it, and slowly pulled the door inward.

“You’re not scared?”

“No, of course not.” And Honoria was soon a faint white blur
in the night.

All at once, though, Amanda wondered whether she might have
sent her sister into danger. She shivered and though she closed the door most
of the way, she left it open enough so she could watch to make sure the man did
not come around from the side of the house and follow her sister up the hill.

“What in heaven’s name is going on?” Her mother demanded as
she pounded down the stairs in her dressing gown, clutching her heavy woolen
nightcap. “Who was that yelling outside? Where is Honoria?”

Amanda decided to answer the question she didn’t know before
the one she did, since that answer was not calculated to set her mother at
ease. “There is an unknown man out in back threatening a girl who climbed up in
the cherry tree.” She paused for a moment. “At least, we believe it to be a
girl. We have not clearly seen or heard her.”

Her mother ran the last few steps to the door. “Is your
sister out there with them?”

“No.” Amanda shook her head. “Well, not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“She is outside, but not near the drunken man. I sent her in
the opposite direction to fetch help from the manor house.”

“Well that was…but I guess you…still, it could be…” Her
mother sighed as she peered out into the darkness. “It’s done now so it doesn’t
matter.”

For a moment they both watched in silence. Moonlight
illuminated the silhouettes of hedgerows and Amanda was fairly certain she
would have seen the man if he’d followed Honoria, but what if he’d strayed far
from the house and then caught sight of her sister on the hill? “I haven’t
heard anything for a while, I’m going to see if he’s still on the side of the
house.”

She started for the side window, but then the sound of the
stable door slamming shut in the yard made them both run for the back door.

Her mother grabbed the door latch. “He’s taking Juno!”

“Wait!” She put hand on her mother’s arm.

“I will not allow some drunken man to steal my horse.”

“Think, Mama. If he has her saddled and is astride, he may
run you down. It would be better to let riders from the manor catch him.”

“But if I can stop him from—”

Amanda held her so she could not open the door and run out
in haste. “If he is not astride, perhaps we can distract him, but let’s think,
first, about how to approach him. And we should look—he may not even have taken
the horse.”

She released her grip to allow her mother to lift the latch
slowly and cautiously crack open the door. Neither man nor horse was visible in
the sliver of yard within their view.

“I will look out the window upstairs and see if I can see
him,” Amanda offered in a low voice, making her way softly toward the stairs.

“Very well.” Her mother’s voice was still taut with anxiety,
but at least she had restrained herself from running out into the yard.

Once away from the door, Amanda no longer felt the need to
keep her footsteps quiet, so she pounded up the last few stairs and dashed into
the east bedchamber to peer out the window. In the dim light of the moon, she
could see the top branches of the cherry tree shaking more, as if whoever had
climbed it was now trying to climb higher. She could not see the—

“Now I have ye.” Even through the pane of glass, the man’s
voice conveyed an ugly note of triumph. An instant later, there was a loud
whump of something heavy hitting the tree and an answering cry of terror.

Again and again the drunken man struck the tree with some
implement, but from her angle, Amanda could not see well enough to tell what he
used, only that he stepped back between strikes.

The screams were now mingled with cries of pain.

“He took something from the stable, something long, like a
rake,” she called to her mother as she ran back down the stairs tugging herself
into her dressing gown. “He’s hitting her with it.”

“Poor girl,” her mother gasped opening the door wider,
trying to get a glimpse of her.

“Don’t let him see us,” Amanda warned. “But we have to get
him away from the tree so the girl can make her escape.”

“We can let her inside.”

“Yes but…” Amanda bit her lip for a moment and tried to
think. What would frighten the man away? They could wait for Honoria to bring
men from the manor, but at any moment one of the man’s blows with the rake
could knock the girl from the tree. The groom at Holingbroke kept a monstrous
hound that would have been just the thing to set loose on the man, but of
course they were not at Holingbroke. The groom had something in common with
this man, though, and that gave her an idea.

“I will lure him to the front of the house,” she announced,
“and when I do, you must help the girl down and bring her in the back door.”

“How will you—”

“With a bottle of gin.”

“We haven’t any gin.”

“He doesn’t know that.” Amanda hurried to the kitchen and
fished around the dinner basket they’d brought from Holingbroke until she found
the empty stone bottle that had held posset two days before.

She could put water in it and pretend it was gin.

Another scream ripped through the air.

Or she could leave it empty and still pretend it was full of
gin and be ready much faster.

“Mama,” she instructed as she headed toward the front door,
“once I’m out, go to the back door and be ready to let the girl in. When I hear
the back door shut, then I’ll know she’s safe so it’s time to come back inside
myself.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “That makes sense. Be careful.”

“I will.” Clutching the bottle tightly in her fist, Amanda
hurried out the front door. As soon as she heard her mother close it behind
her, she slowed her steps and added a swagger, trying to pretend she was a
woman of loose morals. Loose morals seemed to involve loose hips. She tried to
swing her hips and tripped on the hem of her dressing gown. Maybe she didn’t
need to be that loose.

As she rounded the corner, she was relieved to see that the
man appeared to be tiring somewhat since his strikes with the rake missed the
tree more often than they hit. This clumsiness, however, only increased his
rage.

How could she capture his attention? She couldn’t let him
get too close to the bottle because he would quickly realize it was empty. She
had to entice him to follow her from a distance.

She cleared her throat and that had no effect at all.

So, taking a deep breath, she swaggered a little closer,
hoping to enter his field of vision while staying well out of range of the
rake. She waved the bottle. “Ahem, you there?”

No effect. A woman of loose morals would be more brazen than
that, in any case. “Would you be thirsty, by any chance?” she offered in a
husky voice.

Still he gave no sign that he noticed her. He backed up few
steps then charged forward with the rake held out like a lance. Though he
snagged the tines in a low branch, he continued to charge forward, snapping the
wooden handle in two.

“Hey!” Amanda shouted indignantly. “You’ve broken our rake!”

Now she had his attention. He wheeled around to face her,
the sharp edge of the broken handle reminding her very much of a sword as he
pointed it toward her.

To counter any attack by him, she had only a bottle. An
empty bottle.

She pulled out the cork and pretended to take a drink.
“Mmm.” That’s what she said outwardly. Inwardly she was thinking “
Eeewwww.”
There had apparently been a hair on the rim of the bottle and now it was in her
mouth and she had to fight the urge to pick it out.

“Wot ye got there?” he asked eagerly.

She forced a grin, trying to ignore the sensation of hair
between her teeth. “It’s not cow juice, that’s for sure.” Unable to stand it
any longer, she spat several times in an attempt to evict the hair, hoping her
actions made her look uncouth in an attractive sort of way.

The man started toward her. “Be gen’rous, now. ‘Tis
Christmas eve an’ all. Ye should share.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Wiping her mouth on the sleeve of
her dressing gown, she sauntered away toward the front of the house, hoping he
would follow.

“A lass like yerself don’ need a whole big bottle on her
own.” His footsteps sounded behind her at a more rapid pace than she would have
believed possible, given his uneven staggering at the base of the cherry tree.

She left off trying to swagger and just hurried to keep out
of his reach. “It’s really not very good.”

“I don’ care.” He was gaining on her, but now they were
turning the corner so her mother should soon be coaxing the girl out of the
tree.

“The bottle’s almost empty.” She started to run until after
about three steps she tripped on her dressing gown again. This time she was so
far off balance that she tumbled to the ground and that enabled the man to
catch up to her.

“I’ll take whate’er ye’ve left,” he insisted, panting
somewhat as he stood over her with his hand outstretched.

Instead of giving him the bottle, she took his hand in hers
as if he’d offered to help her up. “Thank you,” she said very sweetly as he
pulled her to her feet. For a moment she held the bottle out as if handing it
to him, but then at the last moment she pulled it away and started to run
again.

“What’re you about, woman?” he growled as he took after her
with heavy strides.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she called over her shoulder.

“Don’ like games.” His voice was a lazy grumble, but from
the sound of his footsteps, his pace quickened. Drunkenness was supposed to
slow a man down wasn’t it? But apparently the desire to be more drunk enabled
him to accelerate.

Fortunately, she heard the door closing in the back, so that
meant the girl was safely in the house.

Breathing hard, she stretched toward her goal—the heavy
oaken front door banded with thick iron strap hinges with a big iron latch
right in the center.

“Gimme the bottle!” he demanded. From the sound of her
pursuer’s voice, she could tell he had not gained any ground in the last few
moments so she should have adequate time to get inside and shut the door before
he reached it.

Right about now her mother should be opening the door for
her.

Right about now.

This was really the best time—

Oh very well, so she’d have to open the door herself, it
still wouldn’t give him enough time to catch up.

Except that the door was locked. She grabbed the latch and
while it lifted easily enough, the door would not move either in or out.
Finally she just rattled it in frustration. “Mama!” She pounded on the
unyielding door panel with the heel of her hand.

“Caught ye, wench!” The man heaved himself into the door and
snatched the bottle from her hand. His moment of victory soon soured, however.
“Hey!” he yelled indignantly as he shook the bottle. “It’s empty.”

“Is it?” She feigned surprise. “Let me take a look.”
Grabbing the bottle back from him, she squinted down into the neck as if she
had a chance of actually seeing something. “No.” She shook her head. “There’s
still some left. See?” She held it out to him.

Just before he took the bottle from her hand, she tossed it
into the rose bush several yards away. “Oops! Slipped right through my
fingers.” She kicked the door softly with her heel, hoping her mother would
finally open it.

The man started toward the bottle like a dog following a
bone, but then stopped and turned back to Amanda as if it had just now occurred
to him that she might be trying to trick him.

She giggled, partly because it seemed to fit the role she
was trying to play but mostly because if she didn’t laugh she’d scream and that
wouldn’t help matters much.

As soon as the man turned back toward the bottle, she kicked
the door again, this time with much greater force.

At last she was rewarded with the clicking of a lock and the
opening of the door. She pushed her way inside and immediately slammed the door
closed. The jarring motion knocked the key out of the lock and it clattered to
the floor.