Page 70 of Betrayal from Beyond
“What?” Dalton asked. “You can emasculate him later. We might need him for information.”
Niall pointed at the tavern keeper. “Rope,” he ordered her. “Now.”
He turned to Dalton. “Roll him over. Tie his hands and feet behind him, and call the constables.” Reaching down, he helped Gyda to her feet. “Are you all right?”
She peered at the cut on her arm. “Yes. It’s just a scratch. The bleeding is already slowing.”
“Good. Now, tell me one thing.”
“Yes,” she answered. “I would have done it.”
“I know. That’s not what I meant.” He looked around the taproom, his unease growing. “Where the hell is Kara?”
*
Petra moved quicklydown Chiswick’s high street. Kara hurried in her wake, trying not to make a noise, and trying to stick to the darkness and avoid the bright circles left by the street lights. She was grateful she had worn her altered skirts. It was cold, and she might have been warmer in thicker petticoats, but there was more comfort for her in knowing she had potentially useful weapons and gadgets tucked away in her pockets, linings, and hidden compartments.
Petra ducked into the livery. Sticking to the shadows outside, Kara moved closer until she could hear the woman berating the grooms.
“Did I not leave instructions for the horses to be left in their traces? Get them out of those stalls. At once! This very minute!” The volume of Petra’s voice was rising. “Dullards! Idiots!”
“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but you did say as you was to be quick, and that was this morning.” One of the livery men was brave enough to stand up to the woman’s ranting. “One of our lads took a delivery at the station, and he saw you boarding thetrain for London. We knew you’d be some time then. The beasts were—”
“The beasts are mine and I will do with them as I please! If I tell you to leave them standing for a fortnight, then you do so! Get them back in their rigging and get that cart—” She stopped and let out a screech of fury. “You don’t even have the hay loaded yet?”
“Nearly done, ma’am! Nearly done!”
“Where the hell is my driver?”
“He’s just gone for a pint across the way. No one had any idea when you—”
“Fetch him!” she ordered the man. “I want to leave before ten minutes are up. Do you understand me?”
Cart? Had Petra saidcartinstead of carriage? Kara crept close enough to peer around and into the livery courtyard.
Itwasa cart the grooms were swarming around, a long, narrow farm cart with a grid of slatted boards inserted to extend the sides higher and contain a load of hay. Petra was stomping about, still ranting, and making the horses dance as they were led out of their stalls.
Kara ducked back into the shadows. A farm cart? What was the woman up to? And how was Kara going to follow her to find out?
She shrank back as a man came running from the pub across the street. As Petra turned her rage on him, Kara risked another glance. The cart had been turned so that the last of the hay could be added. Kara saw that a grid of boards had been added to the back, too. Attached at the bottom, it tilted back, the top secured with chains to allow it to fan out. It left an open, triangular space at the back of the wagon. Staring at it, Kara knew it was her only chance of discovering Petra’s hideaway.
She waited. The men hurried to get the cart ready—and Petra gone, no doubt.
When they had finished, and Petra and her driver had mounted the narrow plank that served as a seat, Kara watched, poised and ready.
The cart rattled out of the courtyard at a clip. It turned right onto the high street. Kara followed it out onto the street, not wanting to be glimpsed crossing the light that shone from the livery. Hurrying, she moved to the back of the vehicle, keeping pace with it. It was a complicated maneuver. Keeping her feet moving, she braced her hands on the side of the cart and on the slatted grid, and managed to hoist herself into the inverted triangle of open space.
Unfortunately, the cart shifted with her added weight.
“What was that?” Petra’s sharp question drifted back.
“Something in the road, most like,” the driver answered.
“Get this crate moving,” Petra returned. “We have to get it unloaded and filled again with the supplies for London.”
“Vehicles are meant to take it slow on the high street,” the driver replied.
“I don’t care! We are leaving tonight. There is work to be done. We have to move!”
