Caroline and I remained in silence for a few minutes, both our minds dwelling on the sight of Lady Bruce riding away with her stern face and borrowed orange coat.
Caroline sniffed, and I let go of the reins with one hand to pat hers where it rested on my ribs. The rain had soaked us through, and I was having to blink quickly to keep my vision clear. Droplets ran down my nose, my hair stuck to my skin, and my fingers had gone wrinkled and white.
'She'll be alright, Princess,' I murmured. 'She'll make it home before we do.'
Caroline didn't reply, but I felt her rest her head against my shoulder. Grimacing, I pulled back a terrified sob and forced the image of our friend riding, perhaps to her death, out of my mind. I couldn't afford that distraction – she had made her choice.
Hooves sounded close by, and I pulled the horse swiftly to a stop, standing in the saddle to scout ahead. In front of us, a group of seven men in long dark jackets were powering in our direction on horseback. Only one wasn't wearing the same uniform as the others, and I gasped in relief as he looked up and I saw it was Willoughby.
Holding my hand up high, I hailed them over and spotted Grenville and Humphrey among the other men, both in sturdy coats and hats pulled low over their faces.
'Your Highness, Miss Wentworth,' Grenville removed his and bowed his head, 'I'm sorry it has come to this.'
Caroline's voice was shaky and thick, 'that is kind of you to say, Prime Minister – but it didn't have to.'
Willoughby winced and looked away.
'No sign of Beresford?' I hurried the question.
'Nothing,' he pressed his lips together. 'The bastard disappeared into the woods the second I caught onto him. Couldn't get the horse in and once I was off he was gone.'
'I'm sure he'll make himself known. Lady Bruce has ridden to the Eastern Gate in hopes of drawing him away.'
Grenville's eyebrows raised imperceptibly, 'she's acting as a decoy?'
Willoughby whistled, 'that's a brave thing.'
'She is the bravest of us,' Caroline interrupted, fingers clenched on my jacket. 'And I swear to God there will be hell to pay if anything happens to her.'
'We'll head towards the Western Gate,' I said. 'It's more open down there which I don't like, but it'll be faster over the ground and once we get out of the Park it's not long until we're back at the House.'
'You can't go through the Western Gate,' Grenville looked exhausted.
I stared at him, 'what?'
'It's blocked – several trees fell this morning and crushed the gate. They can't get it open and are preventing people from getting too close.'
I gritted my teeth, 'for the love of all that's Holy, he's felled trees for this?'
'We don't know it was him,' Grenville reasoned, but he didn't look convinced.
'Most of the large trees in this Park have stood since the Tudors, and they conveniently fall just as someone needs the exits blocked?' I gripped the reigns harder. 'Right, so that puts the East and Western Gates out of the question. The South Gate is closer but I don't like the terrain, and if Beresford hasn't fallen for Lady Bruce's decoy then that's the most obvious place to try again.'
'So North Gate it is?' Willoughby said.
'North it is.'
Grenville motioned to the four guards surrounding us, 'we'll accompany you, my men will station at the front and rear. They'll scout the path.'
'Thank you,' I nodded. 'We'll ride fast and hard directly there.'
Willoughby glanced up at the sky, 'and the lake? The ground on the Western side may be unstable with the rain.'
'We'll take the East side of the lake – it's more sheltered.'
All seven of them nodded curtly and waited for my signal.
I breathed in one, long, deep breath and readied my grip on the reins. 'Right, let's go.'
We made good time, our horses powering over the ground like the cavalry at a battle, each of us riding with our heads down and shoulders braced. Two of Grenville's guards, one slightly taller than the other but both elite fighters from the looks of them, rode ahead of us, galloping in unison and keeping trained eyes on our surroundings. I didn't know them well enough to be completely at ease – but it was comforting to know we had some back up again.
Caroline's grip was still firm around my middle, but she'd been silent since we started. I could barely stand to imagine what she must be thinking, her worry for Lady Bruce was palpable.
I pushed the rising anxiety away, and focused back on the ride.
The Northern Gate of Richmond Park was an ornate thing, all tall metal and stone lions and gilded embellishments. It stood out even from a kilometre away, on the other side of a small lake where swans glided in the mist. Willoughby had been right about the Western side of it, it was boggy and shining with mud, where the Eastern side was firm, and protected by an avenue of light trees.
Hope started to glow in my chest – we were going to make it. We'd live to fight another day.
'Kate, hold up!' Willoughby drew to my side and we all came to a gentle halt by a grove of trees.
I frowned and cast around for the danger, 'what is it?'
One of the rear guards, a stocky man with a wide-set mouth, nodded towards the West, 'I saw something big move through those trees. Probably nothing, but worth a look.'
Grimacing, I scanned the trees. They were thick and heavily wooded, and perfect for sneaking up on someone if you had deadly intent. I didn't like being held up, but they were right.
I nodded, and Willoughby gestured to the guards scouting ahead, 'check it out, make sure the path is clear.'
They nodded and rode off, leaving us paused nervously at the side of the path.
'Are you alright?' Willoughby's voice was low and gentle.
I gave him a look, and he nodded slowly, reaching over and pressing my arm. 'She'll be alright. Both of them will.'
Caroline sniffed against my shoulder, and I stared out over the lake. 'I killed Paulette.'
'I know.'
'It's been a while since I've killed anyone.'
'I know that, too.'
My eyes started to sting. I was so tired, cold, wet, aching, and had nearly lost Caroline already. Thank God Willoughby hadn't tried to make me feel better – if he'd said something like you had to do it or he deserved it or you'll feel better in the morning or it wasn't your fault I thought I would break down right then and there.
The guards came riding back down the pathway, their horses at an easy pace. 'Just a deer,' the stocky one said. 'Big one at that.'
Grenville audibly sighed with relief.
I readied the horse again, 'alright, shall we?'
The guards set off, and arranged in a bizarre box of riders we moved onwards, towards the lake and the Northern Gate. It was so close, we were so nearly there.
But, of course, I had begun to hope too soon.
As we got to the lake, just as we turned our backs to the copse of trees we had scouted, there came the sharp crack of a gunshot.
Grenville's horse, riding where Caroline and I had been just a moment before, gave a sickening scream and reared up. Grenville cried out, Willoughby yelled. The Prime Minister was thrown off and the horse came crashing down over him. I heard bone crunch.
Caroline shrieked and I made a split decision. Digging my heels hard into my horse's flank, I sped off. I could hear Willoughby yelling behind me and the shouts of the guards, but a voice – Humphrey's voice – rang out over all of them.
'Go!' he shouted. 'Protect the Princess!'
A moment of indecision.
'Go!'
The two guards who had led came to match me on either side, and I heard Willoughby join us at the rear.
My heart was thundering at a hundred miles an hour and Caroline was clinging to me. I could feel her fingers shaking.
We were too exposed out here. Beresford was in the woods, with a clear view of us. Any second now he would finish reloading and try again, and he was clearly skilled enough to hit someone riding at pace.
We needed a surprise.
'Change of plan!' I yelled at the guards, and pulled the horse towards the left, forcing it headlong into the lake. My horse barely hesitated, ploughing into the shallow waters with ferocity. It got deeper than I expected but only came to the horse's knees. We powered through, water flying in huge arcs on either side and birds scattering in our wake. Our guards forged ahead, their dark coats billowing black against the flying clouds of spray we threw up around us. Willoughby was urging his horse on, Caroline was clinging to me. Water sprayed up, soaking into my trousers and I thanked God that Caroline's body was protecting the rifle slung over my back and keeping it dry.
God knows I thought we might need it before the day was out.
We crested the ridge sodden and shivering, water sluicing off our horses' legs and puddling in the mud at our feet. Caroline gasped at the chill but gave me a small, reassuring smile when I twisted back to check her over.
Willoughby was panicking, staring back across the lake to where Grenville had fallen, his horse skittering under his obvious anxiety. 'We shouldn't have left them,' he muttered. 'We should go back. They'll need help.'
'Humphrey told us to go,' I climbed off my horse and got to checking that the saddle had stayed firm in the soaking. 'You know he's right, Willoughby. We need to go.'
'Did you hear his bone break?' His voice was absent-minded, like he was speaking to himself more than to me.
'He'll be alright,' I rebuckled some straps, pulling perhaps tighter than I needed to. 'Humphrey will get him out.'
'I should have stayed.'
'Willoughby,' I went over and took his arm where it lay slack and tangled in the reins. 'Grenville will be fine. Humphrey will get him home and patched up. But Beresford is lurking somewhere close enough to take a shot at us, and neither of them – neither of them' I repeated as he opened his mouth to argue, 'will thank you for putting the Princess at risk.'
He stared down at me, his face stricken and clouded.
It shocked me suddenly that I could see every emotion running across his face. Only weeks ago, weeks ago, I had sat in his carriage and studied him, noting that I hadn't a clue what he was thinking or feeling. He'd been a total enigma to me. And now, I saw it all. Anxiety twisted his eyebrows, anger tightened his jaw, fear held a vulnerable edge in his gaze.
When had he become as familiar to me as my own name?
Grenville was a father to him. And now here he was, being forced to abandon the man who had given him a home and purpose and acceptance, as he lay trapped and injured just on the other side of the lake.
What would I do if it was Father?
Glancing back at Caroline, I saw her safe between the two guards, both gripping their pistols with determination. And the Northern Gate was so close. We'd be alright.
'Go back,' I turned to him and smiled. 'We've got Caroline, we'll get her home, and you can join us there when Grenville is safe. Go and help Humphrey.'
Willoughby's eyes flashed at me, daring me to give him the permission he so clearly wanted. 'Are you sure?'
I squeezed his arm, 'you've never doubted me before. Why now?'
His hand met mine, 'thank you.'
'We'll see you soon.'
And he was gone, thundering away around the Eastern side of the lake, shoulders set and coat flying out around him.
I watched him go, still feeling the warmth of his hand on mine. They'd be alright. They had to be alright.
Willoughby's dark form had only just begun to blur in the distance when I heard Caroline gasp. Whipping around, I saw one of the guards, the taller one, staggering. He lolled on his feet, away from Caroline, and stumbled to his knees, hand clutching his neck.
The whole scene seemed comic, bizarre, and I had no idea how to process it. I took an involuntary step forward, hand outstretched.
Then I noticed the blood. It ran in thick, heavy waves out of a deep slash in his throat and down his collar, turning his coat red with terrifying speed.
The other guard, new blood staining his sleeve, held his pistol to Caroline's head.
'Finally,' he said, pushing his hat back off his brow and revealing the dark hair and triumphant expression I knew so well. 'I thought he'd never leave.'
YOU ARE READING
A Matter Of Delicacy
Historical Fiction1806, England - When Katherine Wentworth, trained killer known as the Silver Sword, is called to the service of Princess Caroline in London she is apprehensive. Years of training and foreign missions means she has had little experience of society a...
