Chapter 13

The object of everyone's concern was presently trussed up and confined in a large trunk.

After being bounced across the countryside in a wagon under sacks of flour, David Fogg had been transferred to a coach's baggage box, where he traveled the rest of the day and evening. David was a tall man. The baggage box had been a tight fit. The jarring he received on dirt roads had left bruises and cramping muscles. He spent most of his time fighting panic. The hood had never been taken off or loosened. Breathing had been a laborious task. Several times he had blacked out from a hard jolt or lack of air. David had been allowed out to stretch and relieve himself only once. He had not been fed or offered a drink all his first day in captivity.

He had been thrown into the cellar of an inn the first night. The proprietor had been told he was a convict. The hood had been taken off then, giving him a view of the dark, dirty storeroom, and the mice he would have for company. Every time he drifted to sleep; he woke to the feel of tiny feet scurrying across his clothing.

The next day the hood was replaced, looser this time, before he was removed from the cellar to resume his place in the baggage box. Dirt roads gave way to cobblestones, then a plank road. The smell of the sea was strong here.

He was pulled out of his cramped prison and carried up the gangplank of a ship. Onboard, he was tossed into another trunk. The trunk felt luxuriously roomy by comparison. Once locked in his new prison, David was carried down to the hold.

All hopes of tracking time were lost as the sea rocked him on the way to Ireland in the trunk. David slept most of the day, safe from rodents. A kick to the side of the trunk shook him awake when his captors made an unprecedented offer of food. They even let him use a chamber pot. His bindings were checked after the meal. His boots had protected his ankles and legs from chaffing against the ropes, but David's wrists were raw and bloody.

One of his guards pulled David's arms back hard, lifting him off his seat and onto the floor on his stomach. Once in place, the two men held him while another took the ropes off his wrists and replaced them with cloth bindings. No cleaning of the wounds was offered. The prisoner had then been locked back into his trunk and left alone.

This trunk was removed from the ship after a long voyage. He was given one chance to eat and drink on a lonely road in the countryside. Like all the other times, he was fed while bound and made to hop to the brush on rope bound legs where his pants were manipulated for him. The care his guards were taking to make sure he could not get away was almost flattering enough to make up for the indignities and discomforts–Almost.

Sealed back into his hood and trunk, David settled in for the last leg of his trip, knowing his final destination. He only hoped it would free him of being trapped in a box.


The man who had been described as looking like David Drummond's brother was making quite a stir as he took possession of David's horse. Bridget again was the first to see him and thought him the real David Drummond at last. She repeated her earlier enthusiastic welcome. Phileas accepted her greeting with amusement, beginning to enjoy this ruse. The gentleman in him finally won out. Fogg gently corrected Bridget and asked that she fetch her father.

The innkeeper had two horses ready. "You mean to ride through the countryside looking like that?" the father asked Phileas with none of his earlier disapproval. Brass of that sort apparently made up for his poor accent.

"I do. I want to put some doubt in the enemy's minds." Phileas told him.

The innkeeper smiled and then talked him through a route to their destination in a more friendly manner. "Follow this path," he offered, holding out a map. "It will take you by several places where friends can be found. David has not been reported brought back yet. When he is, he will be taken to this city," he said, tapping a spot on the map. "Stop and rest the horses here, and again here. I don't know his helpers beyond that. The priest at the church here might be of help to you if you need sheltering. You will pass by a burned-out manor house on the way there. Do your best to get there before dawn. You won't be safe looking like this after sunrise."

Phileas thanked him for the directions, and mounted his horse, leading the way across the country road.

The cousins did not avoid anyone as they made their way. Most of the people they passed gave him a hardy wave and would relay the message that David Drummond had returned. The first rest stop had been by a stream running behind a farmhouse. Rebecca held the horses as Phileas scouted their surroundings. A small girl appeared to have spotted him, but did not stop on her way into the house. A few minutes later, Phileas heard the door of the house open again. The child came out with a bag in her hand. She walked out to the fence and laid the bag by a post near where he had been when she saw him. She then scanned the area, looking for David, but saw nothing. The bag was gathered up after the girl went back into the house. It contained an apple and slices of cheese. Rebecca and he shared the gift and rode on.

The church with the helpful priest was seen in the distance an hour later. The blackened ruin of the O'Donnell estate was passed a half hour later. One could tell it had been an impressive place. There were no lights, there were signs that the less damaged areas were being lived in. Irene's cousin seemed to be slowly cleaning out sections for renovation.

Their second rest stop was in the shelter of a barn. They walked the animals into it and took water from the pump. Rebecca sat down in a hay pile behind a wagon to rest while Phileas kept close to the entrance to keep watch.

As he let himself relax, a voice called out, using his cousin's name. Phileas had heard no one approach. He did not see anyone until a woman walked out into the open. She appeared by a tree a short distance away. The woman, wearing a dark brown robe over her gown, beckoned him with her hand to follow. Phileas walked toward her. She raised her hand to her mouth, cautioning for silence. She took his hand in hers and led him to a small shed built off the barn. Inside, she raised her hand to his lips and then replaced her fingers with her lips.

Over half an hour later, the woman rose from the small bed in the makeshift guest room. She gave the still silent Phileas a final kiss goodbye and went back to the house, re-synching her robe around her waist. Her guest just smiled as he redressed himself and left.

Phileas found Rebecca asleep in the hay, obvious to what had happened. Smiling to himself, he woke her. They were all rested now. He checked the map and led the way to the Boar and Lion.


The last leg of the journey led to a coaching station, with a fair size two story inn. The proprietor took in the man's appearance. He looked like Drummond, who should still be on his way, a captured prisoner. Then he saw the woman behind him. She had fiery red hair and eyes of blue; just as the young man had told him. The Irishman raised his lamp to Phileas's face and looked him over hard.

"You are Drummond's relative?"

"Yes," Phileas said.

The inflection in that one word was all the verification he needed. That was not Drummond's voice. "Ye've got nerve, I grant you that ridding into the enemy camp looking like that," he said in admiration. "The young Frenchman had me looking for a gray-haired man and a woman."

"Things have changed since he saw us last. Where is he?" Phileas asked.

"Not here," the Irishman said. "The lad took rooms at the Queen's Inn and wanted to be told of your coming as soon as you arrived. Got in with Kingston, the young dandy did. Had dinner with the scoundrel and is being given royal treatment. I'm to tell you Drummond is being brought to the Kingston estate before a trial and hanging. Don't know when, late today at the earliest. Shall I send word to the Queen's Inn now?"

"Yes, but tell him to meet us at noon," Phileas said.

After all arrangements were made, Rebecca giggled softly after her cousin closed the door. "Young dandy…? Our Verne?"

"Our Verne seems to have used my offerings to great effect," Phileas said. "I just hope his elevated status in this backwater does not go to his head." With that and the sound of a cock crowing dawn, they both collapsed on the narrow, hard beds and succumbed to an exhausted sleep.