The countess shrugged. “And I have.”
The carriage slowed and pulled into the yard of a busy post-house.
Mr Ramsey shuffled to the edge of the seat. “Well, I’m famished. I’ll hurry inside and order supper. You must wake Miss Hart, help her from the carriage while they change the horses.”
“We cannot do it on our own,” the countess complained.
“We can
not take her into the inn in her nightgown. It will look mighty suspicious.”
“We shall have to leave her alone in the carriage. I shall tell the postmaster she’s sick. There will be no issue when he learns I’m a countess.”
Vivienne listened to them concocting their plan. Somehow she was going to steal the tea chest and make a hasty escape. Somehow she would find her way back to Evan Sloane.
Chapter 20
Vivienne’s first opportunity to escape came when the three other occupants of the carriage alighted. Mr Ramsey hurried through the rain into the inn, leaving the countess and Mrs McCready to explain the unfortunate nature of their sick passenger to the postmaster.
She could have simply climbed out of the vehicle, cried that she had been abducted. But she still felt a little woozy from the toddy and tonic, and a hysterical woman in a nightgown might be carted off to the nearest asylum.
Equally, the countess had taken possession of the tea chest, gripping it to her hip like a beloved babe. And Vivienne would not return to Evan without the precious letters.
As luck would have it, the yard was in chaos. Post-boys hurried about carrying luggage, lugging mail bags to protect the contents from the sudden storm, helping injured passengers hobble back to the inn. An armed guard barked orders while all stable hands darted left and right, not knowing which way to run. The accident had occurred half a mile away, and the postmaster insisted on retrieving his horses and the mail before he could think about hiring post-horses.
“Do you know who I am?” the countess complained when the postmaster informed her the inn’s private parlour was now a storeroom for mail. “It’s late, and I insist you change my horses at once.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, my lady, but you’ll have to wait.”
The countess did wait. Rain pelted the windowpanes. An hour passed during which Vivienne pretended to be asleep while her abductors squashed into the carriage and ate supper, for it was far too rowdy and uncivilised in the coaching inn.
More coaches and riders entered the yard, seeking shelter or fresh mounts. All were told the same story, all made to wait.
Needing to drain his bladder after consuming a flagon of wine, Mr Ramsey disappeared into the white stone building and did not return.
“No doubt the fool is gorging on beef stew and has the serving wench dancing to his tune.”
“Och, he’s been some time, my lady. Perhaps he’s unwell.”
“Good riddance.” The countess huffed. “I say we leave without him and he can forfeit his share.”
“But Mr Ramsey threatened to tell the earl of yer plans. And we’ve five days before the ship sails. We canna risk getting caught.”
“Mr Ramsey will sell the information, regardless.”
“Shame ye only purchased three tickets. It might have been better to take the loose-tongued rogue, too.”
Three tickets? But Mr Ashwood had mentioned only two.
The countess stared at the box as if it held the answer to her prayers. “Well, I’m tired of waiting. I shall instruct the coachman to head to the next inn. The horses are rested, and we should make the five miles without incident.”
“What about Mr Ramsey, my lady?”
“I must use the inn’s facilities if we’re to continue on our journey. I’ll not stoop behind the carriage. I shall see if he’s sprawled across a table in the taproom.” The countess gripped the tea chest. “Wait here. Give our charge a few drops of laudanum. Just in case she wakes.”
As soon as they were alone, Vivienne opened her eyes.
She turned to Mrs McCready. “My mother would be ashamed of you.” Tears welled instantly. “Drugging her daughter and stealing her away in the night. And to think I sang your praises, told Mr Sloane your loyalty knew no bounds.”