Chapter 3: Escape
Author's note: I'm having so much fun with this. In this chapter, Archie and Chase have some more banter and try to free Horatio from the prison. Thanks so much from all the positive comments so far.
Archive: Sure, but I'd appreciate knowing where to.
Disclaimer: I've said it before, I won't say it again.
~*~
"You're laughing at me," Kennedy muttered darkly.
Chase bit her lip to suppress a snort and shook her head vigorously. Then she drew in a deep, steadying breath and said with all the seriousness she could muster, "No. I wouldn't laugh at you." She turned abruptly away, her shoulders shaking in quiet fits of mirth.
Kennedy swiped at a clump of mud that hung from a golden tendril. "You would, and you are."
Chase snickered. "Plowing a field wasn't as easy as you thought was it?"
Archie gave a long suffering sigh as he unsuccessfully tried to remove more of the mud from his attire. "That much is glaringly obvious," he muttered. With a final swipe he too began to laugh. "I must be such a sight." Wide aquamarine eyes twinkled when he smiled.
"You're something all right." Chase took the reins from the officer's grasp and tethered the horses with deft fingers. She felt completely at ease, and tried not to think that, if all went according to plan, he and Horatio would be leaving in a matter of days. She felt a sort of kinship with both men, a sort of off kilter friendship that started under circumstances that never could have been predicted, and she would miss them both when they left.
It had been nine days since she had met Kennedy on the trail to her home. After sorting out who was who and Chase assuring that Horatio was indeed alive, she had invited the young British officer to her home in the woods. She had never intended to become so involved, but she had, and now it was too late to turn back...
Back on the trail, nine days earlier:
"Are you sure?" the blonde asked. "You say you live with your father. Will he object to my presence?"
"He might," Chase admitted, "if he were home. He's, away, at the moment."
"Do you expect him to return in short order?"
"I never expect him to return at any given time. My father will do as he always does, as he has done the last twelve years. Spend his time at some bar in another town until he is bled dry of the money I lent him the last time. Then he will return, soused and penniless as usual. He'll dry up, stay a few days, then take my money and move on to the next town, the next bar, the next woman, and the next drink," she couldn't hide the bitterness in her voice.
The subject then, and most definitely thereafter was closed. So Kennedy had agreed. Her cottage was small, with only three rooms. A small wood burning stove sat in one corner and there were a few wood chairs scattered about the rest of the room, and a table for dining. The other two rooms were bedrooms, as sparsely furnished as the rest of the house. Chase had pointed him to her father's room, which was dingy and stale from lack of use and left without another word.
She remained distant all that night and the next morning, although she had grudgingly agreed to carry a message to Hornblower. That afternoon she found herself returning with another message, this time for Kennedy. Her resolve to not get involved crumbling with every minute.
It was the next day she began to speak more casually with the two naval officers, not caring to watch what or even how she said anything. She lent Kennedy a horse to ride when he met with Wellard and upon his return, gave him as detailed a drawing of the prison as she could make.
"Did you not bring your friend with you?" She asked upon his return.
"I thought it would be better to have him remain in Richardson. Mr. Wellard, although a decidedly exceptional mariner thus far into his career, is but a youth. I do not wish his exuberance and impetuousness to compromise the mission. I have enough o think about now without having to concern myself with Mr. Wellard."
Chase smiled wanly. "Ah yes. Because you are so old and knowledgeable in the ways of the world at the age of what, twenty-one? Yes, old man, you must possess so much insight into our wondrous world."
Kennedy frowned deeply, lines setting themselves by his mouth and brow. He was not in the mood to be teased. "Thank you for the horse and the map. If you care to offer any helpful tips I would be much obliged, but otherwise I beg you to leave me be."
Chase held up her hands. "No, absolutely not. That map is tantamount to treason and is the last bit of help you will get from me. Frankly, I'm still at a loss as to how I ended up helping you this much already."
"Mr. Hornblower is an innocent man. Your sense of justice does not wish to seem him hanged."
"Do not presume to know me so well Mr. Kennedy," she replied a bit crossly. It seemed too late for that. In two short days the man had read her like an open book. Horatio had grown on her like a weed and now Kennedy was doing the same. She would help them at any cost, but she saw no sense in revealing that particular fact right away.
"You sir, are but a guest in my home and I would advise you not to assume things about my character. I could ask you why you care so much. In fact, why do you?"
"Horatio is a good man, honest and brave, in battle and in life. He is destined to become one of the great Commanders in the history of the Navy and I do not wish to see him die before he can fulfill that destiny. I want the death of no Englishman on my conscience but my own."
"It's odd you know," she began quietly.
"What's that?" his eyes never left the blueprint.
"You speak as well of Mr. Hornblower as he does of you. Just yesterday most everything that you just stated about him he stated about you. He speaks highly of your talents and believes you will make a fine Commander. What do you think of that?"
"Bah! What sort of Commander would I make? I can't even successfully ambush a lone woman on the road. And now it seems I must devise a way to free my friend from a prison when you have drawn it so that there is no possible means for my undetected entry."
She shrugged. "That's because there is no way for you to get in."
"Those were not the words of advice that I was looking for," he commented dryly. "Are you saying there is no way to free Horatio?"
"Not quite. It is not as yet hopeless Mr. Kennedy. As I said, there is no way for you to get inside," she paused, carefully considering the weight of what she was to say next, "but there is for me."
Archie shook his head vehemently. "Absolutely out of the question. If you were caught then they would surely kill you. I will not stand by and watch a woman risk her life..."
"You are right sir," she interrupted, "in the fact that it is my life to risk. What do you believe me to have been doing the last few days? Running messages between you two would almost certainly ensure my death if I were caught. I do not fear death Mr. Kennedy, but I do fear cowering in a dark corner while life passes me by. If you want to get Horatio out, then you will allow me to help in every way I can or not at all. You won't get in there without me." She held out her hand. "Agreed?"
Kennedy ran a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. "Are you always so sure of yourself?"
"Always."
He hesitated a moment longer. Then he took her hand and gave it a firm shake. "Agreed."
And so they had devised a plan. It was nearly ridiculous in its simplicity, and beautiful in the fact that it would almost surely work. Now all they had to do was wait. Of course, waiting was the hardest part of all.
Chase grew increasingly agitated as the days passed. She worked in a near frantic state every day, rushing from cell to cell and neglecting the complaints of some of the prisoners. She spent all the time she could with Horatio, going over the plan countless times. She tried to keep herself occupied, but it wasn't easy.
Kennedy, not wanting to risk showing his face around town, stayed at Chase's cottage. He resumed his old habit, pacing around the house and along the property line. The hours alone wore on thinning nerves, and he seemed not able to stop moving. He ate, but his ceaseless motion burned off the food faster than he could consume it and he began to lose weight. He slept less and less often, and twice had fits in the middle of the day when Chase was not around. The fits left him tired and bruised and he could feel himself sliding into depression.
He found it easier to avoid such depression when Chase was around. She gave him someone to talk to, someone to occupy his thoughts. She used him in much the same way, and the two drove each other to distraction. When they were not talking, Archie had his nose buried in the prison schematic as he questioned the plan over and over again.
"You'll drive yourself mad doing that," she said simply one evening.
"Doing what?"
"Questioning yourself. The plan will work. Trust in it, yourself and Mr. Hornblower."
"I trust myself and Horatio. The plan not so much. And I don't feel that I will drive myself to the brink of insanity merely by assuring myself that all will go as intended."
"Well you're driving me mad."
Kennedy stopped, crossing his arms over his chest. "You are not so composed as you appear. You've been standing at that window staring out into space for an hour and not once during that time has your foot ceased its infernal tapping." Surprised, Chase looked down at her uncooperative appendage. It was indeed, tapping faster than a woodpecker gnawed at the bark of a tree. She blushed and forced herself to stop.
"At least my mind is not consumed with self doubt."
"And what are you thinking of pray tell?"
"I am pondering how long it shall take me to plow the back field tomorrow. The ground is still fairly soft from the rain two days ago. If I hitch Jack and Silver to the plow I think I shall be finished before I need to leave for the prison."
"You're not going into the prison tomorrow?"
"Not in the morning." Kennedy's alarm was apparent. "I begged Stephen for a month to get tomorrow morning off. I am sure that Mr. Hornblower will not forget the plan if I am not there to school him in the dawn hours. It will seem quite odd if I show up after having made such a fuss about getting the time off."
Archie shrugged, relenting. "I suppose you may have something at that. Maybe I'll help you. Might get my mind off everything."
"Have you ever plowed a field before?"
He shrugged. "How hard can it be?"
Chase laughed at that. "If you insist. Just don't say I didn't warn you."
...And so he woke that morning, ready to head out to work, only to find that Chase and two of her horses were already gone. He tracked them to a well worn dirt path and followed he hoofprints in the soil. He found them hard at work some half mile away.
The sun rose majestically over the tree line, scorching the dew off blades of grass as it rose. Its bright rays brought with it the promise of a blistering hot day. The air was already warm, the dew scorched off the blades of grass.
Chase had stopped when she saw him coming. She eased the horses to a halt, reaching for the canteen that was slung over one of the plow's handles. Sweat dripped from her brow and beaded on her upper lip. Dark, damp tendrils of hair escaped their ribbon and clung loosely to her cheeks. She took a deep drink from the container.
Her face was red from exertion and she was breathing hard, but she looked happy nonetheless. He was surprised to see that she wore pants rather than a skirt. Chase must have noticed the look on his face for she quickly explained.
"Plowing in skirts is a ghastly thing. The damned thing is stifling, especially in weather like this and I carry more soil in my hem than you would believe. Breeches are simply easier."
"I'll take over if you need a rest. You shouldn't have to do such work anyway."
Chase smiled and handed over the lines. "Why? Because I'm female and frail like that? I have been plowing these fields on my own since I was fourteen. And you sir, are late. Farm work begins early, especially with a day that promises to be so hot."
"You should have woken me."
"Oh no. Last night was the first time you weren't up and down in the middle of the night, pacing all over. The walls in that house are thin you know. I thought I should let you sleep." He looped the reins over his shoulder the way he had seen Chase do it and clucked to the horses with his tongue. "Just be careful," she warned, "some spots are still muddy and rather slippery."
Those words of advice he had not heeded, and now he found himself drenched from head to toe in mud. His boot had slipped on a patch of deep and sodden earth, sending him face first into a murky mud puddle.
"You're laughing at me." He said again.
"I'm not really. But I'll tell you one thing."
"What's that?"
"It was a good thing you decided to join the Navy, because you were never made to be a farmer." This time even Kennedy had to laugh. Chase gazed up at the sky. The sun had drifted overhead, now hanging in the western skies. She sighed. "At least we managed to finish most of this field. But the prison dinners will not wait. Look, there is a lake not a quarter mile that way. You can clean yourself up there. I'll be back before dark." Then the two parted ways, not knowing what lay in store for them.
--
Lather flew from the horse as it galloped half mad down the road. Its ears were pinned flat and saliva dripped from his mouth. He burly chestnut wheezed with every stride, not accustomed to running so hard for so long.
Chase leapt from his back while he was still moving, not concerned with where he would wonder. Not that it mattered. The horse was too tired to do more than stand and pant outside the door of the cottage. She burst through the door and into the cottage, the sentence already half out her lips.
"Mr. Kennedy, it seems that we may have a bit of a complication. The..." she trailed off. "What in the world is going on here?"
The blonde man glared at her from his place across the room. He stood, facing off with another man, a small table set between them. The second man was shorter than Kennedy, and burlier. He hopped about awkwardly on one leg, brandishing a very large knife in one hand. "I could ask you the very same. This loon claims to be your father." He ducked as the short man swiped the knife at him again.
"He's not a loon, he's my father and he's drunk. Please don't hurt him."
"Hurt him?" Archie cried incredulously. "He's the one with the bloody knife! And you're telling me I shouldn't hurt him! Are you completely daft?"
"He's crippled Mr. Kennedy, in case you hadn't noticed and completely inebriated. He probably thinks you've done something to me."
"Well you're right here so call the bugger off!" Again he barely dodged an attack from the smaller man.
"Papa. Papa stop that." The man ceased his attack on the officer and turned to face his daughter. His face lightened almost immediately.
"Winnie!" He cried, jubilant. "There you are. Do you know this British bastard?"
"Yes papa. He's, a friend." With a demeanor that appeared too well practiced, Chase picked up the man's crutch from where he had dropped it on the floor. She handed it to him and helped him to get settled in a chair. The stump of his left leg stuck out awkwardly.
"A friend!" His face colored in an ugly purple hue. "We are no friends to the Brits."
"Well father, he is my friend. I am going to help him free another man from prison. He's innocent and he needs to be released."
"Innocent," he grunted. "Another Brit I suppose." She nodded. "No such thing as an innocent Brit. You know, I have never liked you working in that horrid place. Stephen's a jackass."
"I wouldn't work there if we didn't need the money," she snapped. "You spend all that I make."
The man's face seemed to age ten years. His eyes partially closed and his features sagged. He was near tears. "I have tried Winnie, really. I've done the best I can. But your mother..." a sob racked his body.
Chase signaled Kennedy to go outside with a nod of her head. "I know Papa. I know. But you must promise me that you will make no mention of this to anyone. It is important."
"I won't tell a soul Winnie. I love you." With those words he drifted into a drunken slumber. She retrieved a blanket from the trunk by her bed and placed it over top of him. He had been a god man once, smart and kind and happy. But the years had taken their toll and now he was nothing more than a broken shell. Chase wandered outside, and found Kennedy tending to her horse in the stables.
"His mind is not all there," she told him softly. "I don't think he would have really tried to hurt you. And I know you had every right to knock him flat, but I'm glad you didn't."
"Don't mention it, and I mean that. How did it happen, his leg I mean?"
"He wandered out in front of a six horse hitch about five years ago. The wheel of the wagon crushed his leg and the doctors had to remove it. Anyway, thank you."
"It's just lucky that you came bursting in the door when you did."
The memory hit her like a slap in the face. "Oh Lord I almost forgot. We have a problem. The French are returning tomorrow afternoon. We must move up the day of the escape."
Archie glanced up sharply. "They're coming? When did you find this out?"
"I heard Stephen mention it to another guard. WE need to act tomorrow. The French will bring guards of their own and this plan rests on a song and a prayer as is."
"But the Indy doesn't sail through here for three days!"
"You can hide here until you need to leave, but if we wait I fear that this will not work."
"Then we shall move on the morrow and hope that fates are smiling on us. It's all we can do."
--
Horatio tensed. The muscles in his jaw flexed convulsively and his intense dark eyes shifted. He rolled the tiny key in his hand, impatiently waiting to escape. Chase was doing her part, flirting ridiculously with Stephen and trying to get him into his office, but for once the man did not seem ready to leave. HE stood at the end of the aisle, watching Hornblower like a hawk.
Horatio could feel the drum of his own heart inside his chest. He needed to go inside and relax; allowing the drug Chase had slipped into his whiskey bottle to take affect. Finally, Chase leaned into his chest, whispering something into his ear. He flashed that gruesome, yellow smile and followed her inside.
Horatio fairly leapt forward. He jammed the key into the lock and twisted it. The lock snapped open and the door slid silently open on newly greased hinges. He trotted to the left, into the shadows and picked up the dark green trunk. The trap door underneath it led to the old cellar. He tugged on it, the wood, swollen by moisture, not wanting to give. He heaved on the handle with all his might and it popped up, nearly sending Horatio to ground. He slipped inside, his feet finding the ladder he knew would be there, and let the hatch settle back into place.
He felt along the wall to his right. The stones were wet and cold and the cellar smelled of old earth and decomposing food. He could see nothing in the dark. After what seemed an eternity his palms scraped on something that was not stone. He pushed on the door that would lead him outside and to his freedom.
The glare of sunlight and the merry face of Archie Kennedy, who was grinning wildly, greeted Horatio. "How is it to see the light of day once more, and feel the sun upon your back."
"Outstanding, but may I suggest that we hold off celebrations until we are actually outside the prison walls?"
Kennedy clapped his friend on the back. "Good old Horatio. So level headed at all times." He peered around the corner of the building. "Now, over the wall."
The two friends made a mad dash for the rope dangling over the rock wall. Horatio climbed up like a cat, nimble and lithe. Kennedy too was over in good order, but without the grace of motion that Horatio displayed.
Chase's two other riding horses, Jack and Silver waited for them on the other side. They stopped grazing momentarily as the men scaled the wall, but otherwise took no notice of anything unusual. Archie swung neatly onto the larger bay. "Follow me." Horses and riders disappeared into the dense foliage.
--
The escape had proven a success. Horatio and Archie arrived back at Chase's without delay. She returned later that evening, as the sun set and it approached dusk. She bore a wide grin form ear to ear.
"You should have seen the look on Stephen's face when he found you missing!" She exclaimed. "He was furious! Positively livid. It was wonderful. And the French officer," she laughed gleefully a she recounted the tale. "Those Frenchmen really know how to yell."
The evening wore on. Chase cooked something of a feast and both Englishmen ate until they thought they might burst. Not long after they started, her father came in. He said nothing however, obviously not pleased to have Archie and Horatio in his home, and marched directly to his room.
They celebrated late into the night. Words like wonderful, outstanding and brilliant were thrown about with abandon. Nothing seemed like it could go wrong. Of course, that only furthered the proof that the fates like to screw with people's heads.
The following morning dawned crisp, sunny and cool. The sky was a brilliant blue. But everything may as well have been gray, when Chase saw the two riders coming toward the cottage at a brisk trot. It was Stephen and a French Lieutenant, both looking more than a little cross.
Chase whirled toward her father. Her eyes were wide and fearful. "Why are they here? Papa, where did you go last night?" He looked at her from behind glassy eyes and shook his head sadly. "Were you drinking last night? What did you say?" She wailed.
Ashamed, he could not answer. "Stay here. Just stay in here while I fix this." She took a deep breath and left the cottage.
Horatio and Archie watched the riders from the barn loft where they had spent the night. Chase left the house to meet them. The two friends exchanged pensive glances. Nothing good could come of this.
"What is it Stephen?"
The jailer jumped from his stocky black horse and strode over to her. He towered over her, his face blotchy and red. "Where do you have him you little bitch?" HE spat.
"Have who?"
He grabbed her arm, twisting it mercilessly. "The British officer that's who. Don't play dumb with me girlie. Your falling down drunk of a father came into town yesterday and had a few drinks. Loosened his tongue a bit. Mentioned something to Hatcher about you keeping strange company, British men. Hatcher told me last night after you left. Now I want to know where they are."
Archie shifted in the hay, his usually tranquil blue eyes darkening. Horatio placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
At that moment things went from bad to worse. Chase's father came out of the building then, hopping along with his crutch tucked under one arm and a rifle under the other. He leveled the gun at Stephen. The jailer snorted. "Put that thing down old man. You don't have the stomach to shoot me."
"Don't be so sure of that."
"Papa please go back inside. I can handle Stephen."
"Right Winnie. Let me get you alone and we'll see how much you can handle."
She spit in his face. "Not to save my life." He growled, his eyes two dark glowing embers. He struck her down with his hand. She crumpled to the earth with a small whimper.
The two shots rang out almost instantaneously. Stephen and her father fell to the earth. Her father's aim was true and the jailer was dead before he hit the ground, a seeping, bloody wound in the center of his chest. The French officer smiled snidely before turning his horse around and trotting away the same way he had come. When he disappeared around the bend Horatio and Archie moved from their hiding place in the loft.
They reached the place where her father had fallen. Chase sat with him, crying unabashedly and stroking his face. She pulled him farther into her lap. The man's eyes were thick with tears and he struggled for each breath. "I love you Winnie."
Chase brought a rough, blood soaked hand to her face and nodded. "I know papa."
"You look so much like your mother. You have her smile. My women were always so much stronger than I. Don't cry Winnie. I'll see your mother now."
She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. "Tell her hello for me." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. He took a last shuddering breath, then slipped away. Horatio and Archie stood awkwardly to one side, uncomfortable at having witnessed such a private scene.
"Chase," Horatio began softly.
"Go. You need to go now. They're going to come looking for you."
"You could come with us."
She shook her head. "No. Please, take the horses and go while you still have a chance. Don't let this all be for naught. Take the path around the lake. They'll have the main roads guarded. You'll get to the crossroads in three hours. Now please leave."
Neither wanted to leave her there, but they saw they had no real choice. The jogged back to the barn. "They'll hang her for sure Horatio."
"She knows Archie. She knows."
--
Portsmouth never seemed so foreign to her. Streets she had traveled a thousand times felt distant and out of place. Her mind blocked out the sound of the people on the streets, but she knew they were whispering. She felt numb all over. She let Stephen's black horse wander as he might toward the apothecary. Her father was slung across the back of her giant chestnut. She had left Stephen where he fell.
She delivered the body without a word. She had no need to speak anyway. The blood on her clothes and the horse she rode were enough. Portsmouth was a small town and there was no doubt in her mind that everyone knew what had transpired that morning. She was equally sure that most people blamed her.
It was only by chance that she overheard the conversation of three men. She was watering her horses at the trough outside the livery and they took no notice of her. "Yep. Those French boys are offerin' ten gold pieces to whoever finds 'em. I hear they already got a man waiting for them at the crossroads." They all started to laugh, muttering about 'them unlucky British bastards don't know what's coming."
Her head snapped up. The fog around her mind seemed to lift a little. Her earlier despair was replaced by something else, anger, hostility. It was because of the French that her father was dead. Maybe. Maybe if she worked quickly she could still make it in time.
She delivered her chestnut to the livery, asking the stable boy to take good care of him. She drew her father's rifle from the saddle and swung onto Stephen's black. She spurred him forward and they streaked from town.
--
It was embarrassing. Horatio and Archie had not thought of a sentry stationed at the crossroads, although they should have. And by the time they realized that someone was behind them it was too late. The French officer held his weapon on Archie and motioned for them to dismount.
They heard the rifle being readied. They breathed a little faster. Each knew that the French only really needed one man to get information from. The other was fated to die on the spot. Both jumped when they heard the shot.
Horatio blinked. Kennedy looked down at himself, running his hands down his chest to make sure that he was indeed intact. They sighed. They lowered their hands and turned slowly. Chase road toward them, smoke still billowing from the nose of her rifle. Her eyes were somber and she didn't smile. She looked from the Frenchman to the English. "Is the offer to come still on the table?"
"Most definitely," they responded in unison.
--
Epilogue
"What's this?" Chase asked. Her eyes left the endless sea and drifted to the envelope in her hand.
Kennedy leaned against the rail of the Indy next to her. The wind blew through his hair, making it billow. "A letter."
"To what purpose?"
"It was Horatio's idea actually. He figured that you would need some sort of job when you reach England."
"And you found me a job? As what? Assistant in a prison? May I remind you that I was not too good at that job the first time around."
"We're scheduled to meet up with the Solo today. You will be leaving, much to the disappointment of some." The crew, some of whom had not seen any woman in months, had grown attached to the American woman.
"And the glee of others." She smiled. It was a humorless smile that did not reach her eyes.
Kennedy chuckled. "I thought Pellew was going to throw a fit. Thank God it was Horatio convincing him to let you stay and not myself. You would have been thrown overboard in the first five minutes."
"It was only because you offered to give up your cabin to me that he agreed at all."
"Perhaps. But that's not my point. Horatio mentioned your horses a few days ago and how fond you seemed of them. Well, my uncle has a farm a few miles outside Gloustershire. He also raises and races horses as a habit. I think you will be quite happy there."
"Who says he'll even hire me?"
"My uncle would be loathe to refuse his favorite nephew. Now here is where I must say my goodbyes. I have to be on duty in another few minutes."
Chase smiled again. This time it was real, although small. "Just remember when you come to visit, if you come, to stay away from the plows."
He grinned. "Of course I'll come. And so will Horatio if I don't miss my guess."
"Where is he anyway? I was hoping to say goodbye."
"Horatio is not fond of goodbyes. His is more, 'till the next time we meet.' But I'll properly scold him for it, don't you worry."
"If all of Britain and all her people are like you and Hornblower then I will not have a worry in the world. Goodbye Archie Kennedy."
"Goodbye Winifred Eudora Chase. Till the next time we meet."
FIN
Okay, so it got a little sappy in the end, but I couldn't help it. Please tell me what you think of it. Thanks so much for reading. Now I have to go start the next one.
Author's note: I'm having so much fun with this. In this chapter, Archie and Chase have some more banter and try to free Horatio from the prison. Thanks so much from all the positive comments so far.
Archive: Sure, but I'd appreciate knowing where to.
Disclaimer: I've said it before, I won't say it again.
~*~
"You're laughing at me," Kennedy muttered darkly.
Chase bit her lip to suppress a snort and shook her head vigorously. Then she drew in a deep, steadying breath and said with all the seriousness she could muster, "No. I wouldn't laugh at you." She turned abruptly away, her shoulders shaking in quiet fits of mirth.
Kennedy swiped at a clump of mud that hung from a golden tendril. "You would, and you are."
Chase snickered. "Plowing a field wasn't as easy as you thought was it?"
Archie gave a long suffering sigh as he unsuccessfully tried to remove more of the mud from his attire. "That much is glaringly obvious," he muttered. With a final swipe he too began to laugh. "I must be such a sight." Wide aquamarine eyes twinkled when he smiled.
"You're something all right." Chase took the reins from the officer's grasp and tethered the horses with deft fingers. She felt completely at ease, and tried not to think that, if all went according to plan, he and Horatio would be leaving in a matter of days. She felt a sort of kinship with both men, a sort of off kilter friendship that started under circumstances that never could have been predicted, and she would miss them both when they left.
It had been nine days since she had met Kennedy on the trail to her home. After sorting out who was who and Chase assuring that Horatio was indeed alive, she had invited the young British officer to her home in the woods. She had never intended to become so involved, but she had, and now it was too late to turn back...
Back on the trail, nine days earlier:
"Are you sure?" the blonde asked. "You say you live with your father. Will he object to my presence?"
"He might," Chase admitted, "if he were home. He's, away, at the moment."
"Do you expect him to return in short order?"
"I never expect him to return at any given time. My father will do as he always does, as he has done the last twelve years. Spend his time at some bar in another town until he is bled dry of the money I lent him the last time. Then he will return, soused and penniless as usual. He'll dry up, stay a few days, then take my money and move on to the next town, the next bar, the next woman, and the next drink," she couldn't hide the bitterness in her voice.
The subject then, and most definitely thereafter was closed. So Kennedy had agreed. Her cottage was small, with only three rooms. A small wood burning stove sat in one corner and there were a few wood chairs scattered about the rest of the room, and a table for dining. The other two rooms were bedrooms, as sparsely furnished as the rest of the house. Chase had pointed him to her father's room, which was dingy and stale from lack of use and left without another word.
She remained distant all that night and the next morning, although she had grudgingly agreed to carry a message to Hornblower. That afternoon she found herself returning with another message, this time for Kennedy. Her resolve to not get involved crumbling with every minute.
It was the next day she began to speak more casually with the two naval officers, not caring to watch what or even how she said anything. She lent Kennedy a horse to ride when he met with Wellard and upon his return, gave him as detailed a drawing of the prison as she could make.
"Did you not bring your friend with you?" She asked upon his return.
"I thought it would be better to have him remain in Richardson. Mr. Wellard, although a decidedly exceptional mariner thus far into his career, is but a youth. I do not wish his exuberance and impetuousness to compromise the mission. I have enough o think about now without having to concern myself with Mr. Wellard."
Chase smiled wanly. "Ah yes. Because you are so old and knowledgeable in the ways of the world at the age of what, twenty-one? Yes, old man, you must possess so much insight into our wondrous world."
Kennedy frowned deeply, lines setting themselves by his mouth and brow. He was not in the mood to be teased. "Thank you for the horse and the map. If you care to offer any helpful tips I would be much obliged, but otherwise I beg you to leave me be."
Chase held up her hands. "No, absolutely not. That map is tantamount to treason and is the last bit of help you will get from me. Frankly, I'm still at a loss as to how I ended up helping you this much already."
"Mr. Hornblower is an innocent man. Your sense of justice does not wish to seem him hanged."
"Do not presume to know me so well Mr. Kennedy," she replied a bit crossly. It seemed too late for that. In two short days the man had read her like an open book. Horatio had grown on her like a weed and now Kennedy was doing the same. She would help them at any cost, but she saw no sense in revealing that particular fact right away.
"You sir, are but a guest in my home and I would advise you not to assume things about my character. I could ask you why you care so much. In fact, why do you?"
"Horatio is a good man, honest and brave, in battle and in life. He is destined to become one of the great Commanders in the history of the Navy and I do not wish to see him die before he can fulfill that destiny. I want the death of no Englishman on my conscience but my own."
"It's odd you know," she began quietly.
"What's that?" his eyes never left the blueprint.
"You speak as well of Mr. Hornblower as he does of you. Just yesterday most everything that you just stated about him he stated about you. He speaks highly of your talents and believes you will make a fine Commander. What do you think of that?"
"Bah! What sort of Commander would I make? I can't even successfully ambush a lone woman on the road. And now it seems I must devise a way to free my friend from a prison when you have drawn it so that there is no possible means for my undetected entry."
She shrugged. "That's because there is no way for you to get in."
"Those were not the words of advice that I was looking for," he commented dryly. "Are you saying there is no way to free Horatio?"
"Not quite. It is not as yet hopeless Mr. Kennedy. As I said, there is no way for you to get inside," she paused, carefully considering the weight of what she was to say next, "but there is for me."
Archie shook his head vehemently. "Absolutely out of the question. If you were caught then they would surely kill you. I will not stand by and watch a woman risk her life..."
"You are right sir," she interrupted, "in the fact that it is my life to risk. What do you believe me to have been doing the last few days? Running messages between you two would almost certainly ensure my death if I were caught. I do not fear death Mr. Kennedy, but I do fear cowering in a dark corner while life passes me by. If you want to get Horatio out, then you will allow me to help in every way I can or not at all. You won't get in there without me." She held out her hand. "Agreed?"
Kennedy ran a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. "Are you always so sure of yourself?"
"Always."
He hesitated a moment longer. Then he took her hand and gave it a firm shake. "Agreed."
And so they had devised a plan. It was nearly ridiculous in its simplicity, and beautiful in the fact that it would almost surely work. Now all they had to do was wait. Of course, waiting was the hardest part of all.
Chase grew increasingly agitated as the days passed. She worked in a near frantic state every day, rushing from cell to cell and neglecting the complaints of some of the prisoners. She spent all the time she could with Horatio, going over the plan countless times. She tried to keep herself occupied, but it wasn't easy.
Kennedy, not wanting to risk showing his face around town, stayed at Chase's cottage. He resumed his old habit, pacing around the house and along the property line. The hours alone wore on thinning nerves, and he seemed not able to stop moving. He ate, but his ceaseless motion burned off the food faster than he could consume it and he began to lose weight. He slept less and less often, and twice had fits in the middle of the day when Chase was not around. The fits left him tired and bruised and he could feel himself sliding into depression.
He found it easier to avoid such depression when Chase was around. She gave him someone to talk to, someone to occupy his thoughts. She used him in much the same way, and the two drove each other to distraction. When they were not talking, Archie had his nose buried in the prison schematic as he questioned the plan over and over again.
"You'll drive yourself mad doing that," she said simply one evening.
"Doing what?"
"Questioning yourself. The plan will work. Trust in it, yourself and Mr. Hornblower."
"I trust myself and Horatio. The plan not so much. And I don't feel that I will drive myself to the brink of insanity merely by assuring myself that all will go as intended."
"Well you're driving me mad."
Kennedy stopped, crossing his arms over his chest. "You are not so composed as you appear. You've been standing at that window staring out into space for an hour and not once during that time has your foot ceased its infernal tapping." Surprised, Chase looked down at her uncooperative appendage. It was indeed, tapping faster than a woodpecker gnawed at the bark of a tree. She blushed and forced herself to stop.
"At least my mind is not consumed with self doubt."
"And what are you thinking of pray tell?"
"I am pondering how long it shall take me to plow the back field tomorrow. The ground is still fairly soft from the rain two days ago. If I hitch Jack and Silver to the plow I think I shall be finished before I need to leave for the prison."
"You're not going into the prison tomorrow?"
"Not in the morning." Kennedy's alarm was apparent. "I begged Stephen for a month to get tomorrow morning off. I am sure that Mr. Hornblower will not forget the plan if I am not there to school him in the dawn hours. It will seem quite odd if I show up after having made such a fuss about getting the time off."
Archie shrugged, relenting. "I suppose you may have something at that. Maybe I'll help you. Might get my mind off everything."
"Have you ever plowed a field before?"
He shrugged. "How hard can it be?"
Chase laughed at that. "If you insist. Just don't say I didn't warn you."
...And so he woke that morning, ready to head out to work, only to find that Chase and two of her horses were already gone. He tracked them to a well worn dirt path and followed he hoofprints in the soil. He found them hard at work some half mile away.
The sun rose majestically over the tree line, scorching the dew off blades of grass as it rose. Its bright rays brought with it the promise of a blistering hot day. The air was already warm, the dew scorched off the blades of grass.
Chase had stopped when she saw him coming. She eased the horses to a halt, reaching for the canteen that was slung over one of the plow's handles. Sweat dripped from her brow and beaded on her upper lip. Dark, damp tendrils of hair escaped their ribbon and clung loosely to her cheeks. She took a deep drink from the container.
Her face was red from exertion and she was breathing hard, but she looked happy nonetheless. He was surprised to see that she wore pants rather than a skirt. Chase must have noticed the look on his face for she quickly explained.
"Plowing in skirts is a ghastly thing. The damned thing is stifling, especially in weather like this and I carry more soil in my hem than you would believe. Breeches are simply easier."
"I'll take over if you need a rest. You shouldn't have to do such work anyway."
Chase smiled and handed over the lines. "Why? Because I'm female and frail like that? I have been plowing these fields on my own since I was fourteen. And you sir, are late. Farm work begins early, especially with a day that promises to be so hot."
"You should have woken me."
"Oh no. Last night was the first time you weren't up and down in the middle of the night, pacing all over. The walls in that house are thin you know. I thought I should let you sleep." He looped the reins over his shoulder the way he had seen Chase do it and clucked to the horses with his tongue. "Just be careful," she warned, "some spots are still muddy and rather slippery."
Those words of advice he had not heeded, and now he found himself drenched from head to toe in mud. His boot had slipped on a patch of deep and sodden earth, sending him face first into a murky mud puddle.
"You're laughing at me." He said again.
"I'm not really. But I'll tell you one thing."
"What's that?"
"It was a good thing you decided to join the Navy, because you were never made to be a farmer." This time even Kennedy had to laugh. Chase gazed up at the sky. The sun had drifted overhead, now hanging in the western skies. She sighed. "At least we managed to finish most of this field. But the prison dinners will not wait. Look, there is a lake not a quarter mile that way. You can clean yourself up there. I'll be back before dark." Then the two parted ways, not knowing what lay in store for them.
--
Lather flew from the horse as it galloped half mad down the road. Its ears were pinned flat and saliva dripped from his mouth. He burly chestnut wheezed with every stride, not accustomed to running so hard for so long.
Chase leapt from his back while he was still moving, not concerned with where he would wonder. Not that it mattered. The horse was too tired to do more than stand and pant outside the door of the cottage. She burst through the door and into the cottage, the sentence already half out her lips.
"Mr. Kennedy, it seems that we may have a bit of a complication. The..." she trailed off. "What in the world is going on here?"
The blonde man glared at her from his place across the room. He stood, facing off with another man, a small table set between them. The second man was shorter than Kennedy, and burlier. He hopped about awkwardly on one leg, brandishing a very large knife in one hand. "I could ask you the very same. This loon claims to be your father." He ducked as the short man swiped the knife at him again.
"He's not a loon, he's my father and he's drunk. Please don't hurt him."
"Hurt him?" Archie cried incredulously. "He's the one with the bloody knife! And you're telling me I shouldn't hurt him! Are you completely daft?"
"He's crippled Mr. Kennedy, in case you hadn't noticed and completely inebriated. He probably thinks you've done something to me."
"Well you're right here so call the bugger off!" Again he barely dodged an attack from the smaller man.
"Papa. Papa stop that." The man ceased his attack on the officer and turned to face his daughter. His face lightened almost immediately.
"Winnie!" He cried, jubilant. "There you are. Do you know this British bastard?"
"Yes papa. He's, a friend." With a demeanor that appeared too well practiced, Chase picked up the man's crutch from where he had dropped it on the floor. She handed it to him and helped him to get settled in a chair. The stump of his left leg stuck out awkwardly.
"A friend!" His face colored in an ugly purple hue. "We are no friends to the Brits."
"Well father, he is my friend. I am going to help him free another man from prison. He's innocent and he needs to be released."
"Innocent," he grunted. "Another Brit I suppose." She nodded. "No such thing as an innocent Brit. You know, I have never liked you working in that horrid place. Stephen's a jackass."
"I wouldn't work there if we didn't need the money," she snapped. "You spend all that I make."
The man's face seemed to age ten years. His eyes partially closed and his features sagged. He was near tears. "I have tried Winnie, really. I've done the best I can. But your mother..." a sob racked his body.
Chase signaled Kennedy to go outside with a nod of her head. "I know Papa. I know. But you must promise me that you will make no mention of this to anyone. It is important."
"I won't tell a soul Winnie. I love you." With those words he drifted into a drunken slumber. She retrieved a blanket from the trunk by her bed and placed it over top of him. He had been a god man once, smart and kind and happy. But the years had taken their toll and now he was nothing more than a broken shell. Chase wandered outside, and found Kennedy tending to her horse in the stables.
"His mind is not all there," she told him softly. "I don't think he would have really tried to hurt you. And I know you had every right to knock him flat, but I'm glad you didn't."
"Don't mention it, and I mean that. How did it happen, his leg I mean?"
"He wandered out in front of a six horse hitch about five years ago. The wheel of the wagon crushed his leg and the doctors had to remove it. Anyway, thank you."
"It's just lucky that you came bursting in the door when you did."
The memory hit her like a slap in the face. "Oh Lord I almost forgot. We have a problem. The French are returning tomorrow afternoon. We must move up the day of the escape."
Archie glanced up sharply. "They're coming? When did you find this out?"
"I heard Stephen mention it to another guard. WE need to act tomorrow. The French will bring guards of their own and this plan rests on a song and a prayer as is."
"But the Indy doesn't sail through here for three days!"
"You can hide here until you need to leave, but if we wait I fear that this will not work."
"Then we shall move on the morrow and hope that fates are smiling on us. It's all we can do."
--
Horatio tensed. The muscles in his jaw flexed convulsively and his intense dark eyes shifted. He rolled the tiny key in his hand, impatiently waiting to escape. Chase was doing her part, flirting ridiculously with Stephen and trying to get him into his office, but for once the man did not seem ready to leave. HE stood at the end of the aisle, watching Hornblower like a hawk.
Horatio could feel the drum of his own heart inside his chest. He needed to go inside and relax; allowing the drug Chase had slipped into his whiskey bottle to take affect. Finally, Chase leaned into his chest, whispering something into his ear. He flashed that gruesome, yellow smile and followed her inside.
Horatio fairly leapt forward. He jammed the key into the lock and twisted it. The lock snapped open and the door slid silently open on newly greased hinges. He trotted to the left, into the shadows and picked up the dark green trunk. The trap door underneath it led to the old cellar. He tugged on it, the wood, swollen by moisture, not wanting to give. He heaved on the handle with all his might and it popped up, nearly sending Horatio to ground. He slipped inside, his feet finding the ladder he knew would be there, and let the hatch settle back into place.
He felt along the wall to his right. The stones were wet and cold and the cellar smelled of old earth and decomposing food. He could see nothing in the dark. After what seemed an eternity his palms scraped on something that was not stone. He pushed on the door that would lead him outside and to his freedom.
The glare of sunlight and the merry face of Archie Kennedy, who was grinning wildly, greeted Horatio. "How is it to see the light of day once more, and feel the sun upon your back."
"Outstanding, but may I suggest that we hold off celebrations until we are actually outside the prison walls?"
Kennedy clapped his friend on the back. "Good old Horatio. So level headed at all times." He peered around the corner of the building. "Now, over the wall."
The two friends made a mad dash for the rope dangling over the rock wall. Horatio climbed up like a cat, nimble and lithe. Kennedy too was over in good order, but without the grace of motion that Horatio displayed.
Chase's two other riding horses, Jack and Silver waited for them on the other side. They stopped grazing momentarily as the men scaled the wall, but otherwise took no notice of anything unusual. Archie swung neatly onto the larger bay. "Follow me." Horses and riders disappeared into the dense foliage.
--
The escape had proven a success. Horatio and Archie arrived back at Chase's without delay. She returned later that evening, as the sun set and it approached dusk. She bore a wide grin form ear to ear.
"You should have seen the look on Stephen's face when he found you missing!" She exclaimed. "He was furious! Positively livid. It was wonderful. And the French officer," she laughed gleefully a she recounted the tale. "Those Frenchmen really know how to yell."
The evening wore on. Chase cooked something of a feast and both Englishmen ate until they thought they might burst. Not long after they started, her father came in. He said nothing however, obviously not pleased to have Archie and Horatio in his home, and marched directly to his room.
They celebrated late into the night. Words like wonderful, outstanding and brilliant were thrown about with abandon. Nothing seemed like it could go wrong. Of course, that only furthered the proof that the fates like to screw with people's heads.
The following morning dawned crisp, sunny and cool. The sky was a brilliant blue. But everything may as well have been gray, when Chase saw the two riders coming toward the cottage at a brisk trot. It was Stephen and a French Lieutenant, both looking more than a little cross.
Chase whirled toward her father. Her eyes were wide and fearful. "Why are they here? Papa, where did you go last night?" He looked at her from behind glassy eyes and shook his head sadly. "Were you drinking last night? What did you say?" She wailed.
Ashamed, he could not answer. "Stay here. Just stay in here while I fix this." She took a deep breath and left the cottage.
Horatio and Archie watched the riders from the barn loft where they had spent the night. Chase left the house to meet them. The two friends exchanged pensive glances. Nothing good could come of this.
"What is it Stephen?"
The jailer jumped from his stocky black horse and strode over to her. He towered over her, his face blotchy and red. "Where do you have him you little bitch?" HE spat.
"Have who?"
He grabbed her arm, twisting it mercilessly. "The British officer that's who. Don't play dumb with me girlie. Your falling down drunk of a father came into town yesterday and had a few drinks. Loosened his tongue a bit. Mentioned something to Hatcher about you keeping strange company, British men. Hatcher told me last night after you left. Now I want to know where they are."
Archie shifted in the hay, his usually tranquil blue eyes darkening. Horatio placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
At that moment things went from bad to worse. Chase's father came out of the building then, hopping along with his crutch tucked under one arm and a rifle under the other. He leveled the gun at Stephen. The jailer snorted. "Put that thing down old man. You don't have the stomach to shoot me."
"Don't be so sure of that."
"Papa please go back inside. I can handle Stephen."
"Right Winnie. Let me get you alone and we'll see how much you can handle."
She spit in his face. "Not to save my life." He growled, his eyes two dark glowing embers. He struck her down with his hand. She crumpled to the earth with a small whimper.
The two shots rang out almost instantaneously. Stephen and her father fell to the earth. Her father's aim was true and the jailer was dead before he hit the ground, a seeping, bloody wound in the center of his chest. The French officer smiled snidely before turning his horse around and trotting away the same way he had come. When he disappeared around the bend Horatio and Archie moved from their hiding place in the loft.
They reached the place where her father had fallen. Chase sat with him, crying unabashedly and stroking his face. She pulled him farther into her lap. The man's eyes were thick with tears and he struggled for each breath. "I love you Winnie."
Chase brought a rough, blood soaked hand to her face and nodded. "I know papa."
"You look so much like your mother. You have her smile. My women were always so much stronger than I. Don't cry Winnie. I'll see your mother now."
She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. "Tell her hello for me." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. He took a last shuddering breath, then slipped away. Horatio and Archie stood awkwardly to one side, uncomfortable at having witnessed such a private scene.
"Chase," Horatio began softly.
"Go. You need to go now. They're going to come looking for you."
"You could come with us."
She shook her head. "No. Please, take the horses and go while you still have a chance. Don't let this all be for naught. Take the path around the lake. They'll have the main roads guarded. You'll get to the crossroads in three hours. Now please leave."
Neither wanted to leave her there, but they saw they had no real choice. The jogged back to the barn. "They'll hang her for sure Horatio."
"She knows Archie. She knows."
--
Portsmouth never seemed so foreign to her. Streets she had traveled a thousand times felt distant and out of place. Her mind blocked out the sound of the people on the streets, but she knew they were whispering. She felt numb all over. She let Stephen's black horse wander as he might toward the apothecary. Her father was slung across the back of her giant chestnut. She had left Stephen where he fell.
She delivered the body without a word. She had no need to speak anyway. The blood on her clothes and the horse she rode were enough. Portsmouth was a small town and there was no doubt in her mind that everyone knew what had transpired that morning. She was equally sure that most people blamed her.
It was only by chance that she overheard the conversation of three men. She was watering her horses at the trough outside the livery and they took no notice of her. "Yep. Those French boys are offerin' ten gold pieces to whoever finds 'em. I hear they already got a man waiting for them at the crossroads." They all started to laugh, muttering about 'them unlucky British bastards don't know what's coming."
Her head snapped up. The fog around her mind seemed to lift a little. Her earlier despair was replaced by something else, anger, hostility. It was because of the French that her father was dead. Maybe. Maybe if she worked quickly she could still make it in time.
She delivered her chestnut to the livery, asking the stable boy to take good care of him. She drew her father's rifle from the saddle and swung onto Stephen's black. She spurred him forward and they streaked from town.
--
It was embarrassing. Horatio and Archie had not thought of a sentry stationed at the crossroads, although they should have. And by the time they realized that someone was behind them it was too late. The French officer held his weapon on Archie and motioned for them to dismount.
They heard the rifle being readied. They breathed a little faster. Each knew that the French only really needed one man to get information from. The other was fated to die on the spot. Both jumped when they heard the shot.
Horatio blinked. Kennedy looked down at himself, running his hands down his chest to make sure that he was indeed intact. They sighed. They lowered their hands and turned slowly. Chase road toward them, smoke still billowing from the nose of her rifle. Her eyes were somber and she didn't smile. She looked from the Frenchman to the English. "Is the offer to come still on the table?"
"Most definitely," they responded in unison.
--
Epilogue
"What's this?" Chase asked. Her eyes left the endless sea and drifted to the envelope in her hand.
Kennedy leaned against the rail of the Indy next to her. The wind blew through his hair, making it billow. "A letter."
"To what purpose?"
"It was Horatio's idea actually. He figured that you would need some sort of job when you reach England."
"And you found me a job? As what? Assistant in a prison? May I remind you that I was not too good at that job the first time around."
"We're scheduled to meet up with the Solo today. You will be leaving, much to the disappointment of some." The crew, some of whom had not seen any woman in months, had grown attached to the American woman.
"And the glee of others." She smiled. It was a humorless smile that did not reach her eyes.
Kennedy chuckled. "I thought Pellew was going to throw a fit. Thank God it was Horatio convincing him to let you stay and not myself. You would have been thrown overboard in the first five minutes."
"It was only because you offered to give up your cabin to me that he agreed at all."
"Perhaps. But that's not my point. Horatio mentioned your horses a few days ago and how fond you seemed of them. Well, my uncle has a farm a few miles outside Gloustershire. He also raises and races horses as a habit. I think you will be quite happy there."
"Who says he'll even hire me?"
"My uncle would be loathe to refuse his favorite nephew. Now here is where I must say my goodbyes. I have to be on duty in another few minutes."
Chase smiled again. This time it was real, although small. "Just remember when you come to visit, if you come, to stay away from the plows."
He grinned. "Of course I'll come. And so will Horatio if I don't miss my guess."
"Where is he anyway? I was hoping to say goodbye."
"Horatio is not fond of goodbyes. His is more, 'till the next time we meet.' But I'll properly scold him for it, don't you worry."
"If all of Britain and all her people are like you and Hornblower then I will not have a worry in the world. Goodbye Archie Kennedy."
"Goodbye Winifred Eudora Chase. Till the next time we meet."
FIN
Okay, so it got a little sappy in the end, but I couldn't help it. Please tell me what you think of it. Thanks so much for reading. Now I have to go start the next one.