Alan had almost reached Sysabel, but was now sinking, his ankles deep in the slurping muck around him. Then, to Emeline’s right, there was a moving shadow, a call, and the sound of hooves. She yelled, “Who is it? Help us.” The two other paths, unreachable but open beyond hedge and bog, stood pale in the sun and one now echoed with arrival.
Alan turned. “No, my lady, for if it’s this creature’s brothers as he promised –”
“There are no brothers,” Emeline shouted back. “I’d swear to it. That pig thief is a bumpkin and a liar. Just get Sissy safe, then throw the bastard into the bog to drown.” Avice struggled to take her sister’s hand but Sysabel, managing no more than a grunt and squeak, was still trapped and flailing.
Then from the right hand path the galloping shadows grew huge and the first horseman appeared, shouting, “Hold still,” and dismounted, boots heavy to the mud, one hand tight on the reins, the other to the woman half swallowed in mire, unrecognisable for filth. The western roadway had brought him far closer. The man reached Sysabel’s waving wrist. “Hold still, my dearest girl, I have you.” And caught, his grasp firm and tight, then calling to the two men behind, “Here, take control. I have the reins, Lead the horse back and you’ll pull us both free.”
The second rider took the horse’s bridle and calming the beast, led it steadily backwards. Sysabel held tight now, safely within an embrace she welcomed. The slick streaming mire gulped and released, losing suction. The man led Sysabel to dry land.
Alan Venter, trampling his own way out to dry land again, called out, “We’ll find a way to reach you, sir, and thank you for the rescue. But we may need to double back in order to reclaim the lady to our party.”
The new arrival bent his head, looking at the girl in his arms. He ignored Mister Venter. “My dear girl,” he said softly, “this is both miracle and hell hole. What, in the good Lord’s name, are you doing here?”
And Sysabel laid her head on her brother’s shoulder and whispered, “Oh Adrian, only looking for you. And you’ve found me. God is kind after all.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
As Adrian carried his sister to the waiting horse, his two companions trotted forwards. One leaned down over his horse’s neck and threw a rope, spinning it to land directly at Alan’s feet. Alan caught the rope, wrapped it three times around his forearm, clutched tight and was pulled slowly and carefully to the western path. He stepped from the mud beside Adrian and Sysabel, breathed deep and thanked his saviour.
The rider retrieved and rewound his rope, nodding to Alan. “Surely only a brigand,” he said, staring at the great cross in the square and the man still hovering uncertainly beneath it, “watches a man facing death and leaves him to his fate.”
“May I know who to thank, sir?” Alan asked. “And to bless for saving my life?”
The man smiled. “My name’s Christopher Urswick,” he said, “and I might need that blessing, for I’m leaving the country on the morrow, and if there are more storm like that last night, I’ll be using this rope to lash myself to the mast.”
The lout, his horse and his dog, had now quickly disappeared into the long shadows of the southern path. “Look,” Emeline pointed, “If you’ve a liking to be a hero, then catch that thief, for it’s all his fault that Sissy nearly died, and our guide too. He was going to rob us and rape us and now he’s getting away, no doubt to do the same to others.”
It was Urswick’s silent companion who turned his horse and leapt the high bramble hedge between the paths, galloping south. Adrian still held Sysabel, cleaning her face and hands with his cloak until both of them seemed creatures of the earth, thick with black slime. Sysabel was now weeping, great heaving sobs as she clung to her brother.
There were noises coming from the southern roadway, the howling of a dog, a thud and a man’s howl, more desperate than his dog’s.
Emeline sat down very suddenly on the path, buried her head in her hands and began to cry very quietly to herself. Avice came to sit beside her, both arms around her sister. Petronella sat shivering and terrified behind them, still clutching to her horse’s reins, but Hilda dismounted and came to kneel beside Avice, saying hesitantly, “You’ll be ruining your gowns in the mud, my ladies. Let me help, if I may.”
The third man, his sword bright stained, returned at a gallop and began to cut a great wedge into the bramble thorn hedges that separated the western lane from the northern, making a way for the horses to pass without again approaching the turgid and hungry swamp. Mister Urswick strode in to help, chopping down with both sword and knife to widen the space sufficiently for a horse to pass without scratches and welts. Coming together one by one the group thanked each other, exhausted but deeply relieved. Avice whispered, “I have never fainted, not ever. But I think any moment now –”
Mister Urswick said, “Mistress, you’re safe with us. And since Sir Adrian has found his sister, you know to trust us. The Fox and Pheasant is just a short ride from here. We stayed there last night, and will be glad to escort you there now.”
Emeline sighed. “What bliss, sir. Food. Bed. Bath. I thank you all, and with all my heart.”
It was three hours later when Sysabel slumped back in the bath tub, the barrel well-worn and smooth within its planks and copper hoops. Her face appeared pink scrubbed above the rim, eyes blinking in the day’s shimmer through the small window. “It is,” she decided, raising the sponge so that scented water poured over her hair, trickling in hot ripples down her cheeks, “the most terrible – and then the most wonderful – of all things. No nightmare could ever compare. But I am the most blessed – just when I thought myself the most cursed.”
Petronella and Hilda were bustling between upstairs and downstairs, trying to brush the dried mud from their mistresses’ gowns. Small sighs and sniffs came in regular measure from the one huge bed where Emeline and Avice were curled, wearing only their shifts. The fire was lit and the bath stood before it. Avice squinted through the steam. “It was most peculiar. Did you know Adrian would be just there and just today?”
Sysabel pulled a face. “Of course I had no idea. But when he went away, he said he had business in Weymouth. He had to meet someone there, that Mister Urswick I suppose, and said he might have to wait so he didn’t know how long he’d be away.” She slumped a little lower into the water, her shoulders sliding deeper under steamy lavender swirls. “But I always told you my brother was a hero.”
Dolefully, “I know Nicholas is around here somewhere too, and I do wish he’d just appear like Adrian did.”
“Nicholas,” sniffed Sysabel with a splash, “if he ever made it this far in the first place – and why would he – is probably lying drunk in an alehouse with Uncle Jerrid beside him. But Adrian isn’t hurt, and that’s all that matters to me. I was so worried in case – I mean Nicholas – and Uncle Jerrid – and the awful things that could have happened.”
Emeline paused and the silence lengthened. Then she said very softly, “You really thought my husband only came down here to murder your brother, didn’t you? You really did. Probably you still do, even though Adrian is obviously quite safe. It does seem odd that they both separately came to the same area. But Sissy, tell the truth. Why in heaven’s name makes you think such villainy of Nicholas? He is such a – kind man.”