coast before they do.’
As he raced pell-mell across the bleak countryside he was trying to understand why Miss Forsythe was being transported to the sea, obviously with a view of disposing of her permanently. He soon reached the conclusion that Sir John wanted her money so badly he was prepared to murder in order to obtain it. The man must be her sole heir and would stand to inherit everything if she was to die unexpectedly.
Drowning would be the perfect way, no suspicion could fall on the perpetrator if the event took place so far from his home. It would be deemed a tragic accident, and he would have achieved his objective far more easily than if he had continued to coerce a reluctant bride to the altar and then steal her money.
He had travelled several miles at a gallop, keeping one eye out for the wheel marks and hoof prints, the other on the road ahead, when from the superior height of his stallion he saw over the hedge something in the lane half a mile ahead. Slewed across the track was a carriage, it’s wheels still spinning in the air.
Instantly he reined back, wrenching his horse’s head around to block the road and stop the other four from continuing their wild ride and revealing their presence. In the resulting melee one of the grooms, Ned, was thrown into a deep water filled ditch that ran a long side the hedge. Tom vaulted from his saddle hauled his friend back out. They were none the worse for their ducking, but Jonathan feared the noise they’d made could have alerted the men barely half a mile ahead.
He dismounted tossing his reins to the dripping groom and shinned expertly up a convenient tree. Although it was leafless there was enough ivy twining amongst the branches to give him the camouflage he required. He looked carefully along the lane in the direction of the tilted carriage. It was clear what had happened, it had obviously broken the rear axle. He waved his hand and put his finger to his lips, indicating the rest of his party should remain silent so that he could listen.
Thank God he’d seen the carriage before they’d rounded the bend. He smiled grimly, he had been calling on his Maker rather a lot lately – was he finally getting over his lack of belief? Had meeting a lovely young girl restored his faith in God?
He strained his ears and could just hear the noise of one man shouting, the stamping of horses and jangling or harness, but nothing else. He dropped from the tree and drew his pistols, loading and priming them, before tucking them in to his belt. He watched his companions do the same. Cudgels were unstrapped from their places behind sandals, and then they were ready. He beckoned and they moved in closer.
‘We must approach on foot, Tom, you and Ned go through the hedge and creep along the side, try not to fall in the ditch again. Sam, you and Jim go through and approach from the far side of the lane. I shall ride directly to them. With any luck they will mistake me for a passing squire and allow me the time I need to get close enough to shoot.
He turned and mounted his stallion. He hoped his scheme would give his men time to be in shooting range as well. He kicked Bruno forward and as soon as he was in hailing distance he called out loudly. ‘Good day to you – can I be of some assistance? I do hope nobody has been injured in the accident?’
There was only one man visible, an evil looking fellow dressed in rough clothes and with a mouthful of black and broken teeth. The man scowled, making a rude gesture in his direction. ‘We don’t need you– clear off – what’s going on here is none of your business.’
Jonathan looked round frantically. Where the hell was Miss Forsythe? Then with a sickening lurch in his stomach he saw that the carriage was partially submerged in the water of the same ditch that Ned had fallen into.
Forgetting he was supposed to be an innocent bystander he jammed his heels into Bruno’s side and, drawing his pistol, fired directly at the man