Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Her lip wobbles and she lunges for me, hugging me fiercely. The pain, I swear, is excruciating, but her hug, however, is wonderful. She has been so absent for so long. I am only sorry in this moment that her affections were wasted on that pathetic urchin. ‘Come now,’ I say, encouraging her from my chest. ‘We must get home before Mama and Papa send out a search party.’
‘Oh, Frank, please do not tell them.’ Her blue eyes are beseeching, but I do not know how I can avoid it.
‘What would you have me say?’
‘I was at the library.’
I laugh, hissing when my jerking body jars my shoulder. ‘The library was not open when Mama burst into my room at the crack of dawn after she’d found you missing from your bed.’
‘I was at the stables.’
‘You haven’t been at the stables once since we moved to Belmore Square. At least, not the Melrose stables, but perhaps the Fitzgerald’s.’
‘Do not speak of it,’ she warns, her voice strong but tight.
‘As you wish,’ I relent, struggling to my feet. ‘I will think of a story to explain your absence from your bed this morn, but, Clara, you will be indebted to me for a long time.’
‘Yes, yes, I know.’ She stands too and dusts herself off.
I rub at my arm and wonder … what now? I am no doctor, but I am certain I cannot remain on horseback with only one hand to hold on to the reins, especially at any speed. I will be forced to trot, and that will take us days to get back to London. ‘We need a carriage,’ I say.
‘We do not. I can ride perfectly well. You can be my passenger.’
I laugh, but not in humour. ‘Absolutely not, and if you know what is good for you, you will not defy me on this.’
‘What about what is good for you?’
‘I know exactly what is good for me, and it is to eliminate all women from my life, for they are a constant source of distress.’
‘You’re so dramatic.’
I ignore her and look up when I hear the tell-tale signs of hooves. ‘Yes,’ I sing, seeing a post chaise heading this way, its yellow paintwork glowing under the morning sun. ‘Perfect.’ I wave at the post boy who’s seated upon the front left horse of the four, calling for him to stop.
‘Do you have passengers?’ I ask, craning my head to see if there is any luggage strapped to the roof or any servants riding on the bench on the back. There is neither, a promising sign.
‘No, sir, we are to collect Mr Green from the next village and take him to Oxford.’
‘I will pay double for you to take us back to London.’
‘Two and thruppenny a mile,’ the boy says, and I scarcely conceal my baulk. He is trying to fiddle me, the little scoundrel! That is way over the going rate. Alas, I am not in a position to tell him to bugger off.
But, still, I am a businessman. ‘Two shilling and not a penny more.’
‘Hop on board,’ he says, smiling.
‘We must bring the horse too,’ I tell him, nodding for Clara to tie Figaro to the side of the yellow boulder. I look around for the black stallion I stole, seeing it nowhere in sight. It’s unfortunate, but I have not got time to find it and return it to its rightful owner, whoever that may be.
We board and settle in the seat, and Clara looks at me with sorry eyes as I rub my shoulder. She isn’t to know that I only have myself to blame. To throw oneself from their horse? How stupid! ‘We should take the short cut,’ I say, surprising myself.
‘Hampstead Heath?’ Clara blurts. ‘Are you positively insane, Frank? Good grief, we’ll be robbed and murdered.’
‘One hopes,’ I say quietly, making her eyes widen somewhat. ‘Well, robbed, at least. Hopefully we can talk our way out of being murdered.’ Poor Clara looks like she’s seen a ghost. ‘Oh, relax,’ I say, smiling, getting comfortable in my seat. ‘I’m sure we’ll avoid a brush with death.’ Or perhaps, thrillingly, we won’t. ‘My shoulder is bloody killing me, and I need to see a doctor without delay.’
I don’t see disbelief on my little sister often. It’s a novelty. ‘You are …’ she mutters. ‘You are insane. Frank,’ she hisses, leaning close. ‘Hampstead Heath is said to be the most dangerous place in England.’
‘I know.’
‘So why the buggery hell are we taking that shortcut?’
‘I told you, my arm is killing me and I need some pain relief.’
‘We’ll stop at the next village and find you some Scotch.’
‘I’m not drinking.’
‘Why do you lie?’ she asks, endearingly exasperated. ‘Are you saying you are going to get me killed by a deadly highwayman to save yourself a little pain?’