They gathered outside the Scales & Anchor, a crowd large enough to fill the street. Abel Griggs and his lads joined them, as did many of the local men and boys. It was early evening when Gervase organized the assembled multitude into groups and sent them out searching, quartering the town, spreading outward from the old docks where Ben had last been seen.
Leaving Abel installed on the bench outside the Scales & Anchor to receive any reports, Gervase took Madeline’s arm and together they walked swiftly to the mayor’s house, a short distance away.
“Good gracious!” Mr. Caldwell, the mayor, was shocked by their news. “Of course you must search. Do you have enough men? We could call out the militia—entirely appropriate in such a case.”
Gervase inclined his head, acknowledging the offer. “No need as it happens, not because we can’t use the men, but because most have already joined us.”
“Good, good.” Short and tending toward rotund, Mr. Caldwell bobbed his head, looking stunned. “Shocking thing, to have a youngster kidnapped.”
“Indeed.” Taking Madeline’s arm, Gervase eased her away—before Caldwell started speculating on Ben’s plight, something Madeline didn’t need to hear. “If you’ll excuse us, we must get back to the search.”
“Of course, of course!”
With a nod, her face expressionless, Madeline turned away and let Gervase lead her down the path and back into the street. Her features were set; she felt locked away inside herself, as if everything were happening at a distance, yet she knew that it was real, the here and now.
She knew Ben had been kidnapped and was in danger.
Gervase had explained all she hadn’t known while they’d waited for the others outside the inn. In large measure the explanation was incidental; to her, the only thing that mattered was Ben—finding him, rescuing him, safe and unharmed.
Her detachment, she was beginning to realize, was a boon.
If she thought about the situation too much, let possibilities form and take shape, panic welled and threatened to overwhelm her, to sink her mind in a morass of emotions, but with Gervase beside her she could hold back the black tide and function as she needed to—as Ben needed her to.
Gervase’s hand tightened over hers on his sleeve. “One thing at a time—that’s how to approach this.”
Her gaze on the pavement ahead of them, she nodded.
The sound of clattering hooves, deep woofs and a sudden hail had them both looking up. Two riders were walking their horses up the street, a gentlem
an and a lady, with two huge hounds ranging alongside, drifting from one side of the road to the other, scenting this, then that.
Drawing rein just ahead of them, the riders dismounted, the lady kicking her feet free of her stirrups and sliding down before the man could assist her. He glanced at her, then, his reins in one hand, came forward. Smiling. “The old tar outside the inn said you’d come this way.”
Gervase’s lips lifted; he shook hands with the gentleman, then turned to Madeline. “Charles St. Austell, Earl of Lostwithiel, and his wife, Lady Penelope. The Honorable Miss Madeline Gascoigne.”
Madeline forced a weak smile and shook hands.
“Just Charles,” the gentleman said, squeezing her hand in kindly fashion. He was as tall as Gervase, but black-haired, with large dark eyes; beyond that, they were of similar build, and shared the same elusive sense of intentness, of being very much alert and aware, even when relaxed.
“You must be quite frantic with worry.” Lady Penelope, a willowy blonde with a look in her gray eyes that said she was not to be trifled with no matter what her husband might imply, took both Madeline’s hands in hers and smiled understandingly. “And do call me Penny.” She looked at Gervase. “So we’re here—the dogs are here. I suggest we make a start so we can find this young lad.”
Charles flashed Madeline a grin. “She’s a bossy sort.”
Madeline raised her brows. “In that case, she and I will get along famously.”
Penny chuckled. “Indeed.”
The dogs pressed close, one on either side of Charles and Penny, looking up at Gervase and Madeline with great canine grins, as if they, too, were eager to get on.
“I brought two pieces of Ben’s clothing,” Madeline said. “Things he’s recently worn. I left them in my sadde pocket.”
“Our horses are at the inn,” Gervase said. “We can start from there.”
They walked quickly back to the inn, dogs and horses in tow. Madeline noticed Penny glancing at her trousers, visible beneath her gown’s hem given she was striding along.
Penny was striding, too; although a few inches shorter than Madeline, she was taller than most ladies. As they reached the archway leading into the inn yard, Penny caught Madeline’s eye. “I confess I’m intrigued. I assume you ride astride? How do you find others take to the trousers?”
Madeline’s smile was wry. “I’ve been wearing them—usually under a riding dress—for more than a decade, so everyone around here has grown used to the sight. But I have to ride a lot, and this is Artur”—she gestured as she led them to where the big chestnut stood tied to a rail—“so a sidesaddle isn’t really an option.”