Page 72 of Betrayal from Beyond
“Where the hell did she go after that, then?” Niall was growing more frantic by the minute.
“What if our bloody big brute didn’t come alone?” asked Gyda. “What if Kara caught a glimpse of Petra?”
“She wouldn’t chase off after her alone,” Niall protested.
“She would if the alternative was to lose the woman again.” Gyda turned and strode down the main stairs. The others followed, with the tavern keeper scurrying after them at the rear.
“Would there have been anyone posted here? Anyone who might have seen what happened?” asked Niall.
“No.” The tavern keeper paused, frowning at a coat rack in the corner. “But my market shawl is not where I left it.”
“The farm,” Dalton said tightly. “If that woman spotted us together, she would likely run, right? But whatever is happening at that farm, she would go back to hide or remove it, wouldn’t she?”
“Let’s go,” said Niall.
“Wait!” the tavern keeper protested. “What about that mountain of trash you left tied up in the taproom?”
Niall glanced at his companions.
“Forget it,” Gyda scoffed. “You know better. There is no way I’m staying here while you go off after her.”
“You need me to find the farm,” Dalton reminded them.
Niall turned to the tavern keeper. “Keep him quiet until the constable arrives, then tell the officer that the man assaulted the Duke of Sedwick. That should convince the law to hold him until we are ready to deal with him.”
“But who is the Duke of Sedwick?” the woman asked, looking confused.
“I am,” said Niall as he strode out the door.
“He is,” Gyda confirmed as she followed. “And you don’t want him as an enemy.”
Niall paused as Dalton spilled out of the tavern after them. “How far?”
“A little over three miles, I would say. We take the road to the north west, toward Ealing.”
“Our horses will be tired,” Niall mused. “Fresh mounts will be faster.” He looked to Dalton. “Lead us to the livery.”
The teacher nodded. “This way.”
*
The farmhouse hada large and robust garden planted behind it, reaching right up to the back of the house. Winter crops still flourished near the shelter of the walls, which meant that Kara now crept between a row of cabbage and another of leeks. She kept close, trailing a hand against the rough bricks as she moved.
She’d been obliged to remove two of the horseshoes from her belt, as they would not stop slipping about. She left one tucked in, discarded another, and held the third in her other hand asshe made her way toward the little courtyard outside the kitchen door.
A lighted window lay between her and the kitchen. Kara crouched down and crept low. She thought she could hear Petra’s strident tones from inside as she passed.
Gripping tight to the bottle of horse tonic, she moved on, stepping carefully over a row of herb boxes and onto the paved stones. She pressed up against the kitchen door, listening. She could hear nothing. No chatter. No chopping. No clang of pots or pans. It was late. The odds were that the kitchen was empty.
She hoped.
Twisting the latch, she eased the door open a bit, then listened again. Nothing. She pulled it open just enough to slip inside.
A short, narrow passage led directly into the brick-floored kitchen. The room was empty and dimly lit. A single lamp stood on the center table, next to a tall bronze samovar. The tang of citrus hung in the air.
Kara stepped in, peering into the dark corners to be sure no one lurked there. There was no one, yet the samovar bubbled, and a teapot sat atop it, warming and exuding the lovely, fresh scent of Russian tea. She paused. Petra would be urging her minions to get ready to leave. Would they pause long enough to take a last cup of tea? She doubted the woman would allow it. But perhaps someone would prepare hot flasks to carry with them into the cold night?
She had to take the chance.
