Free Springtime Pleasures by Sandra Schwab Page A

something from the bottom of the carriage.
    “Eh!” Randy shouted. “No funny stuff, I said!”
    She must be hard of hearing because she straightened and held up what looked like a crutch. “See? My friend is an invalid . So you simply cannot rob us!”
    The chit thought…? The mind boggled.
    “Oh Miss Stanton,” the other one whispered. Beet-red she was.
    The cork-brained chit turned to her. “Was it wrong of me to have said that? I am so sorry. I didn’t want to embarrass you, but he simply cannot–”
    At that point Randy had had enough. Clearly, the stupid girl was a lunatic. “Your money!” he yelled, loud enough to startled the horses. “ Now !”
    She turned to him. “Didn’t you hear a word of what I said?” She waved the crutch. “Poor Lady Isabella is an invalid and you want to rob her?”
    “What do I care ‘bout a damned nob?” he snarled—menacingly enough to shut the stupid chit up, he saw with satisfaction. Unfortunately, it wasn’t for long.
    “That’s… that’s…” she spluttered. With her free hand she righted her spectacles. “You pig !”
    At first sight a wooden crutch might look like no match for a dangerous firearm. Indeed, in most cases it is no match for a dangerous firearm. But thrown with a degree of force and a measure of accuracy, it can do a certain amount of damage, alright.
    Especially if it hits a person right between the eyes.
    Even more so if the person in question is sitting on a horse at the moment of impact.
    With a dull thud, Randy But hit the ground.
    His poor, confused horse took a nervous step to the side—and stepped on his hand. The pain of a myriad of small bones breaking was enough to rip Randy out of blessed semi-unconsciousness.
    He howled.
    Not for long, though.
    “That will teach you!” somebody said. It was the dreadful, bony chit. No, two of them. They had doubled… tripled, even… ‘Arpies, all of them.
    Gritting his teeth, Randy fumbled for his pistol. “You bloody…” he panted. “…damned…”
    “Oh no, you don’t!” And with these words the ‘arpy kicked his privates.
    The world went dark around Randy.
    ~*~
    The comfortable sound of crunching gravel in her ear, Charlie used a corner of her blanket to rub a smudge of dirt off the pistol. “It’s a pretty little thing.” She glanced up at Lady Isabella, who still wore an alarmingly stunned look. “I haven’t damaged the crutch, have I? I would hate if that had happened. You see,” she said earnestly, “I acted instinctively . It’s because of the song.”
    “The song,” Lady Isabella echoed faintly.
    “Our school song. It’s very uplifting. And instructive. See?” And she began to sing in a loud, lusty voice as became a student of Miss Pinkerton’s Academy for Young Ladies. “Maidens of St. Cuthbert’s” was a most uplifting song and contained much useful advice in regard to Grabbing the Nearest Weapon as well as a detailed elaboration on The Importance of Getting One’s Blow in First. The song ended triumphantly on “St. Cuthbert’s, St. Cuthbert’s, will live forever ever more!"—in forte fortissimo, of course.
    Lost in reminiscences, Charlie gave a happy sigh. “Miss Pinkerton was always so careful that we should learn for life . That is so important, don’t you think so?”
    “You saved our lives,” Lady Isabella said, her voice still trembling.
    Charlie felt a blush rise in her face. “Nonsense,” she said briskly in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. “It was all a matter of getting one’s blow in first. It wouldn’t have been necessary, of course, if that pig-person had had better manners. Or at least, if he hadn’t been so stubborn. A most unpleasant man, I have to say. How unfortunate that such unsavoury characters seem to abound in England. I trust it is advisable to be armed when going out and about in these regions.”
    “Armed?” If possible, Lady Isabella’s voice had become even fainter.
    A new difficulty occurred to Charlie.