"Are you saying my Aunt Serena has gone to this trouble just to see that I wed Sir Helmsdon? That doesn’t make any sense. Why? To lay the field open for Millicent to succeed with Royce?"
Sophie snorted. The supposed Lord Willoughby shot her a glance of abject dislike, then turned to Jane. "What Lady Tipton’s doin’ you can be sure she’s doin’ for herself. And, if she can shoot off that featherbrained daughter of hers again, so much the better. Now shut your trap before I muzzle you like your husband-to-be there. I’ve got to think."
Sophie jerked her head toward him. "Listen to ’im. Thinks, ’e says. Might as well git comfy, this could tike awhile," she advised with a cheeky grin.
He moved to angrily backhand her mouth, then stopped, a sulky frown on his face. "Aw—you’re not worth the bother." He sat heavily on the edge of a wooden settle, his chin in his hands.
Sophie threw up her hands in disgust. "If it weren’t for your talkin’ fancy, I’d a done better with one o’the boys in the troupe. Can’t you see, if this ’ere parson can’t talk, we justs bundles ’em into the carriage and tikes ’em to one who can. That license Lady Tipton gave us is good with any autem bawler," she said.
"I know that, but that’s goin’ to take time, and time isn’t somethin’ we have! We got to have’m wed afore anyone comes lookin’ for her. Furthermore, we got this Chitterdean’s wife and maid as hostage to his good behavior. We don’t have that club with another."
"So we gets ’em," Sophie said with exaggerated patience. He rolled his eyes. "Easy for you to say."
An uneasy silence fell between them. Sophie hitched her hip onto the edge of the table, then slid back, swinging her feet off the floor, a frown of concentration on her strangely ageless features.
Suddenly, the would-be lord slapped his knees and stood up. "I’ve got it. Royal Tunbridge Wells."
Sophie slid off the table. "What? Are you daft? That’s at least fifteen miles from ’ere!"
"I know, but the Right Reverend Cranford Crawley’s there, and I think we know a thing or two about him," he said with a wink and a smirk.
Sophie smiled slyly. "Aye, that we do. But that’s a far piece, we’d likely be caught before we got there."
He grinned, his ugly face more horrifying. "I know how to throw them off. Look, if we just needed another reverend, we’d likely need go no farther than five miles in any direction. That’s where they’ll look for us."
"Yes, and 'ow does you propose to get to Crawley without leavin’ tracks they can follow? One of them aerial balloons?" she taunted.
"No, you cow, by carriage. I heard from another bloke in the regiment how in America the Indians dragged bushes behind them to hide their trail."
"So."
"So, we tie bushes and branches to the back of the carriage and drag them after us, wiping clean our road."
Sophie scratched her head, frowning. It didn’t set well with her to admit he had an idea. Finally she shrugged. "We’d best get busy then."
The two compatriots went outside to fix the carriage. "Reverend Chitterdean, where’s your wife?" Jane whispered anxiously.
The man jerked his head upwards to indicate upstairs.
"You mean you really can’t talk? You’re not shamming?" He shook his head sadly.
Jane looked over at Sir Helmsdon, a rueful, twisted smile on her face. "Looks like you’ll be getting your rich wife, sir."
Angrily he shook his head no. He worked his mouth against the gag until it slipped down a little. When he twisted his head and stretched his chin, it finally cleared his mouth. "I swear to you, Miss Grantley, that I’d not have it so," he gasped out, his gray eyes dark as a thundercloud.
"I believe you," she said softly.
"And don’t be so quick to give up hope."
"But you heard what they said—"
The mismatched Willoughby’s came back in. "That’ll serve," he grunted. "Here now, what’s this?" he demanded, seeing Helmsdon’s gag about his neck.
"Ah, live it be, Georgie. It served its purpose. Kept ’im quiet like till we bagged ’er. Give the two lovebirds a chance to plan their weddin’ night," Sophie said with a crude laugh.
Georgie grunted. He untied Helmsdon from the chair, then tied his two hands in front of him while Sophie did the same to Jane. With the rope's slack, he tied Helmsdon’s hands to Jane’s, leaving a four-foot span between them. "That’s so you don’t get any bright ideas of