Death on the Romney Marsh by Deryn Lake Read Free Book Online Page A

the times that lay ahead, wondering how and when the savagery of war would end. And thus with their thoughts miles away were startled when the postillion riding the second team turned and tapped on the window with his whip.
    â€˜Are you gentlemen armed?’ he called through the glass.
    â€˜I am,’ John answered, ‘but I don’t know about the others.’
    He moved in his seat, pulling back the curtain which separated the two places, drawn earlier by the Squire when he decided to have yet another doze and consequently cutting Dr Hensey off from his other companions.
    â€˜Are you both armed?’ he called into the dimness.
    His fellow travellers woke up abruptly, the doctor giving a small snug snore which he disguised with a cough, Sir Ambrose bellowing, ‘Who’s there, dammit? What?’
    â€˜It’s John Rawlings,’ the Apothecary answered quickly before the Squire leaped to his feet in alarm. ‘The postillion has just asked if we are carrying weapons.’
    â€˜I am not,’ answered Dr Hensey firmly. ‘It is my vocation to heal not to harm.’
    â€˜Well, I’m armed to the teeth,’ Sir Ambrose rejoindered with satisfaction. ‘Always travel with a pair of pistols, to say nothing of a sword. Why does he want to know?’
    John turned back. ‘Yes, we are. Why?’ he called through the glass.
    â€˜Just heading through Tenterden, Sir. Rum place. Used to be a haunt of smugglers and there’s word amongst the carriers that they’re coming back. A stagecoach was stopped here a few nights ago, and it wasn’t by highwaymen.’
    â€˜Tally ho,’ said Sir Ambrose, leaning forward so that his face appeared between John and Miss Tireman. ‘Let the bastards just try, that’s all I ask. Shoot their heads clean orff, so I will.’
    In the dimness John felt rather than saw Henrietta’s grin and would have laughed had not every effort gone into keeping upright on his seat as, with a crack of whips, the two riders urged the horses to a frenzied pace as they charged through the small town, determined to stop for nothing.
    â€˜Oh, my goodness, I’m sorry!’ exclaimed Miss Tireman, as she was hurled against him, displacing the Squire who went sprawling on to the floor.
    â€˜My pleasure entirely,’ said John, and used the excuse to hold on to her tightly as the flying coach lived up to its name and crashed over the main track between the dwellings.
    For a few frantic minutes, the occupants of the post chaise were thrown about like toys in a box, then the pace slowed and there was a cry of triumph from the two postillions.
    â€˜We’re through! But keep your weapons handy, gentlemen.’
    â€˜Where are we going now?’ called John.
    â€˜We’ll pick our way round Shirley Moor, then on to Appledore, Sir,’ the postillion answered over his shoulder.
    â€˜Will somebody help me up?’ said Sir Ambrose plaintively, and for the first time since they met the Apothecary felt sorry for him, quite unable to get his balance and rolling round the carriage floor like an upturned beetle.
    Dr Hensey recovered his equilibrium. ‘My dear Sir, pray allow me to give you a hand. You have sustained no injury I trust.’
    â€˜M’leg feels a bit the worse for wear. I think I cracked my knee as I went down.’
    Somewhat reluctantly, his better nature winning the day, the Apothecary released his hold on Miss Tireman and went to the Squire’s rescue, somehow heaving him up and back on to his seat, all the while travelling at a lively pace across the rough terrain of the marshlands.
    â€˜Permit me to examine the injured limb,’ said the doctor, which the Squire, with a great deal of grunting, allowed him to do.
    Henrietta looked up at her companion. ‘Mr Rawlings, if we drive over bumpy ways again, may I trouble you to hold me as you did before. I am quite certain it was your strong arm that