London survivable long after it had lost its appeal.
Hooves and wheels clattered on the docks, a coach emerging from the lifting fog. Two men jumped out, coats swirling about them. One of them barked an order in a deep commanding baritone that carried in the morning air. Haviland smiled, recognising the voice. Nolan and Archer had come together and it looked as if Archer had brought a horse. Or the horse had followed Archer, which wouldn’t surprise Haviland at all. Archer was always collecting stray horses the way some people collected cats or dogs. In the gloom, Haviland could see Archer tying the beast to the back of the carriage. He heard Nolan’s voice carry across the pier.
‘I win!’ Nolan shouted as they approached. ‘Haviland is already here and he has his case.’ Nolan clasped him on the shoulder affectionately. ‘Good morning, Old Man. Is everything loaded? I told Archer you’d be here overseeing.’
Haviland laughed. ‘You know me too well. I saw the two coaches go on an hour ago and they loaded our trunks last night.’ They’d decided the best way to make haste to Paris and then to destinations beyond would be to supply their own private coaches for travel. They’d have to buy or rent horses in Calais, but Calais was prepared for such purchases. Travellers who could afford it crossed the Channel with their own carriages. Those who couldn’t afford to were reliant on public transport or whatever vehicles were for sale. Haviland had been more worried about finding two coaches for sale at prices that didn’t border on extortion when they arrived.
‘You trusted them with your trunks, which, may I emphasise, contain all your necessary belongings for the duration, but not with one small fencing case?’ Archer pointed to the case at his feet.
‘I told you that, too.’ Nolan crowed. ‘But, no, you insisted he’d have sent it ahead.’ Nolan tapped his temple with his forefinger. ‘I know these things. I’m a student of human nature.’
‘Too bad you couldn’t study that at Oxford.’ Archer goaded him. ‘You might have got better marks.’
But Nolan merely laughed. He and Archer had been sparring for years. They had each other’s measure. ‘What can I say? It’s true. You two were the scholars, not me and Brennan.’ He looked around. ‘Is Brennan here yet?’
‘No.’ Haviland couldn’t resist the ribbing. ‘Did you expect him to be? Scholar of human nature that you are?’
Nolan gave Haviland a playful shove. ‘A scholar of human nature, yes, a psychic, no.’ He grinned. ‘So who is she? We’ve only been in Dover a night. It’s not the barmaid from the inn. She went off with another fellow.’
Haviland shrugged as the captain of their packet approached. ‘Milord, you’ll want to get on board. We’ll be leaving in twenty minutes or so.’
‘Thank you.’ Haviland gave the man a short nod. ‘We’re waiting for the last member of our travelling party.’
He didn’t expect the captain to be sympathetic and the man wasn’t. ‘The tide does not wait, milord. You’ve been lucky. We can leave at once. Some folks sit in the inns for weeks, waiting for the right wind and weather.’
‘Understood,’ Haviland answered, casting a final look at the docks as if he could make Brennan materialise. The captain spoke the truth. He’d heard all nature of accounts from others who’d made the Channel crossing about the risk of having to wait, their travel plans at the mercy of the elements.
‘I should have stayed with him.’ Haviland said as the captain moved off. He blamed himself. One of the things that made his friendship with Brennan work was balance. Brennan made him laugh and, in return, he kept Brennan focused and out of trouble. But last night he’d been worried about the luggage and the arrangements and he’d left Brennan to fend for himself. Admittedly, he thought there’d be very little damage Brennan could do knowing there was an early departure. Apparently, he’d been wrong.
The trio headed towards the gangplank to board. ‘I’ll wager five pounds Brennan misses the boat.’ Nolan announced. ‘Archer, are you in? If I’m wrong, you can win back your losses.’
Once on board, they leaned against the rail, all three of them scanning the docks for a last-minute sign of Brennan. Haviland checked his pocket watch, the minutes racing by. It wouldn’t be the same without Brennan. Perhaps Bren could catch a later boat and meet them in Paris? Brennan knew the route they’d planned. Did he have enough money? Probably not. Brennan never had enough funds.
Beside him, Nolan started at the sound of chains rolling up. ‘They’re pulling the anchor. He’s not going to make it.’ Nolan blew out a breath and leaned on his arms. ‘Dammit, I didn’t want to win that bet.’ The three of them exchanged glances, their disappointment silently evident. Their trip was off to an ominous start.
The boat began to nudge slowly away from its moorings as commotion broke out on the docks. A horse pulling a heavy dray full of crates reared in its traces, followed by a loud, vituperative spray of cursing. A barrel fell. More cursing. Something, someone, was on the move. Haviland squinted. There was something else running, too. Was that a horse? He hadn’t time to consider it, all of his concentration was fixed on the figure sprinting towards them, two more figures some paces behind giving serious chase. Bare headed, shirt-tails flying, and coatless, the figure came racing.
‘It’s him! It’s Brennan!’ Haviland shouted. He waved and called out, ‘Come on!’ He didn’t like the looks of the men behind. As they closed, Haviland could see a pistol flash in one of the pursuers’ hands. He definitely didn’t like the looks of them now. Haviland cast a glance at the gradually widening gap between the boat and the dock. It would be impossible, even dangerous from where they stood, to hazard a leap. The gap was too wide, but at the rear, where the boat was still near the dock, it might be possible. It would be a hell of a jump, but Brennan would have his speed to carry him.
Haviland gestured wildly to the rear of the boat, shouting instructions through cupped hands as he raced towards the stern. ‘The back, Brennan, head for the back!’
Nolan and Archer were behind him. Archer shouted something that sounded like, ‘The horse, Brennan, get on the horse!’ The horse Haviland had spied had now passed the men in pursuit and had pulled up alongside Brennan, matching his stride to Brennan’s as if to encourage him to get on. This was madness! But facing two men with guns didn’t seem like much of an alternative. Brennan’s pursuers were too close now, the boat moving too fast for Haviland’s tastes. The horse would stand a better chance of making the leap. Haviland added his voice to Archer’s. ‘Bren, the horse, now!’ he urged.
Haviland watched Brennan swing up on the fast-moving bay, and watched the pier end.
They leapt.
They landed.
The horse went down on his knees.
Brennan rocketed towards Haviland, taking him to the deck as a pistol report sounded from the docks, a bullet whistling overhead. ‘Dammit!’ In the excitement over the horse, he’d forgotten about the gun and nearly gotten himself shot. What a fine start to the trip that would have been. Instinctively, Haviland wanted to rise and see where it had come from. He grunted at Brennan’s weight on top of him, but Brennan wouldn’t let him up.
‘Stay down!’ Only when the boat had moved a safe way from the docks and Brennan deemed it safe to rise did he let him up.
‘Good lord, Bren, what have you got yourself into now?’ Haviland rose and dusted off his trousers. Beyond Brennan’s shoulder he
