They did. Abel stayed on outside the inn, but those searchers who had returned-all with no news-followed Charles, Gervase, Penny and Madeline down to the old docks. The shadows were starting to lengthen. The tavern was deserted; all the patrons were helping with the search.
Charles had the dogs sit before the bench, gave each a piece of Ben’s clothing to sniff, then he showed them the spot on the bench where Edmond said Ben had been sitting. Both dogs sniffed, milled, danced-looked up at Charles expectantly; this was clearly a game they knew. “Find,” Charles said.
Instantly both dogs put their noses to the ground, turned, and headed back along the dock, then up a street that ran roughly parallel to Coinagehall Street.
Everyone followed, hurrying. Charles and Penny jogged, keeping the dogs from racing ahead. The wolfhounds tracked with confidence and ease, moving fluidly; it seemed Ben’s trail was, to them at least, obvious.
The small procession tacked onto a side street, then swung around another corner. The turns continued, but it was apparent that their quarry had struck across the town in one definite direction.
Gervase felt his chest tighten as that direction became plain. He glanced at Madeline, saw from her set expression and the dawning horror in her eyes that she had worked it out, too.
As he’d feared, the dogs reached the High Road, ran a little way along, then stopped. And sat. And looked at Charles; even unfamiliar as he was with the beasts, Gervase could interpret their confident and satisfied demeanor.
They’d followed the trail to the end.
Charles glanced around, then cocked a brow at Gervase.
“The London road.” Face impassive, he turned to Madeline. “The man brought Ben here, then he got into-or was put into-a carriage.”
Madeline met his eyes; her face was nearly as expressionless as his. She nodded, then looked around. Then she turned to those who had followed them through the streets. The group had halted a few feet away, not liking the conclusion of their search any more than Gervase and Madeline.
Somewhat to Gervase’s surprise, Madeline singled out three of the men. “Harris, Cartwright-Miller. You all live in this area, don’t you?”
All three nodded, pushing through to the front of the small crowd. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Right-come with me. Ben was taken in broad daylight in the middle of the afternoon. This is one of the busiest parts of town at that hour-someone must have seen something.”
Gervase joined them; he went with Miller down one side of the street, knocking on doors, speaking to the occupants. The shops along the street had closed for the day; all had their shutters up, but most of the shopkeepers lived above their premises; once they understood what had occurred, all were only too happy to answer their questions.
They soon found three different people who unequivocally confirmed than Ben had been steered by a man, not a local and not a gentleman, to a waiting carriage, then lifted into it. No one had noticed him struggling, but all agreed he’d been lifted quickly, and might not have had time to react. Then the man had climbed into the carriage, shut the door, and the carriage had rolled off-toward London.
“Four good horses.” Charles repeated the words of one of the witnesses, an ostler from one of the inns who’d been passing.
Gervase met his eye, then looked at Madeline. “London. No reason to have four unless they’re traveling that far.”
Madeline looked into his amber eyes and tried to contain her fear. Whoever had abducted Ben, they were taking him to the capital.
They hurried back to the Scales & Anchor, mounted up, and took to the London road in the wake of the unknown carriage. There was an outside chance that the barriers outside Falmouth had been put in place in time…they rode furiously, the sun sinking at their backs.
The last red-gold rays were fading, the sky in the west ablaze, when they came into sight of the improvised blockade, a gate set across the highway manned by soldiers from the Pendennis garrison.
The lieutenant in charge came up as they drew rein. He recognized both Gervase and Charles, and snapped off a salute, with a nod for Madeline and Penny.
“No sign?” Gervase asked.
“No, sir. We halted every carriage and cart and searched them. No boy of any sort has gone through.”
Gervase looked at Madeline, met her eyes. “We’ll continue on to London.”
We. There hadn’t been any question, of course, yet Madeline had been relieved not to have had to argue. Being left in Cornwall while Gervase chased the carriage to London was unthinkable; she couldn’t not follow Ben, no matter that it was unlikely they could catch the carriage before it reached town, and that she had no notion of how to proceed once they got there.
Gervase would have; she clung to that and asked no questions-explanations would only slow them down and she could ask all she wished in the carriage once they were away-and let him organize all that needed organizing.
He was good at it, and thorough to boot. At his suggestion they rode to the main posting inn just outside Falmouth. By then, evening was drawing in, the long twilight taking hold; it deepened as the innkeeper, recognizing both Gervase and Charles, leapt to carry out Gervase’s orders. Ostlers scurried, readying horses, a coach was selected and made ready, and the inn’s best coachman summoned from his cottage.
The inn yard was lit by flickering flares by the time all was ready.
Charles and Penny, who’d declared themselves at Gervase’s and Madeline’s disposal, had agreed to go to Crowhurst Castle, to explain and watch over things there and at the Park. Gervase concisely outlined the mission he’d delegated to Harry-to watch over the beach where the boys had found the brooch.
“I’ll go to the beach myself, speak with Harry, and ensure the watch is kept up day and night. No telling what this blackguard or his henchmen might do.” Charles met Madeline’s eyes, took her hands in his, pressed reassuringly. “Don’t worry. You two concentrate on getting young Ben back safe and sound-you can leave all here to us.”
Sober and serious beside him, Penny nodded. She held Madeline’s gaze. “We’ll watch over your other brothers. We’ll be here when you get back.”
Madeline tried for a smile, but it was a weak effort. Having some other lady step in to watch over Harry and Edmond-she knew without asking that Penny understood; she’d mentioned she’d had a younger brother herself-was a huge relief. With that aspect taken care of, she could indeed focus her entire being on rescuing Ben.
Gervase turned aside as someone called to him.
Opening the door of the carriage, a sleek vehicle with four strong horses between the shafts, with the experienced driver who swore he knew every pothole on the London road and just how to manage his leaders to get the best pace now on the box, Charles handed Madeline up.
Then Gervase was back; with a last word to Penny, then Charles, he climbed into the carriage and sat beside her.
Charles leaned in through the door. “If you reach London without catching them, call on Dalziel.”
Grim-faced, Gervase nodded. “I will.”
Charles saluted, stepped back and shut the door. He called up to the coachman.
A whip cracked, and they were off.
Night had fallen, the darkness dense and complete beneath thick clouds before Madeline’s mind cleared enough to appreciate the comfort of the coach, the warmth of the bricks Gervase had placed at her feet, the softness of the traveling rug beside her on the seat.
They were incidental comforts, but soothed nevertheless. The weather had turned; the night was cool.
Her blood seemed cold, too-too chilly to warm her.
Glancing out of the window at the variegated shadows flitting past, she wondered how far they’d come, how far ahead of them the carriage fleeing with Ben was.