Chapter 18

Getting Away

After a heart-wrenching, sleepless, tearful night, Muriel sat up in her bed. Sleeping was useless.

She slipped into her dressing gown, walked over to her escritoire, sat down, pulled out a foolscap, dipped her quill into the standish, and tried to compose a letter. She put the quill back down in the standish. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a kerchief. She feared her letter would be stained with tears. Should she pour out her heart or make it quick. The end result would be the same. She decided to walk down the hall and check on Mr. Sanders. She approached the door, then opened it enough to peek inside. He was awake.

"Please, come in Lady Muriel. You are up early this morning. What is amiss?"

"You can tell?" She was swallowing to hold back a sob.

"I have known you for many a year, my lady. As I'm confined, perhaps I might act as a confidante. What troubles you?"

"I love him. It breaks my heart that he does not love me." She let the tears fall. Mr. Sanders reached over and opened a drawer on the nightstand and pulled out a kerchief. He began to blot her tears.

"And how do you know this?" He was speaking to her almost as her papa would.

"Because he has never told me. We have been together almost daily. He would know by now. I know I love him. He has been so good to me and this family. He would give me anything I wanted short of his love and that is what I really want."

"Have you told him how you feel? I think a conversation might be in order. That way you would know from his words rather than conjecture. What would the worst thing be if you spoke with him, hum?"

"He would tell me he could never love me." She sobbed.

"And if you fail to ask him, you will never know for sure." He took her hand. "Please think about it before you do something irreversible. If you love him, you should fight for him."

Muriel laid her head down on his chest. "I love you, Mr. Sanders. Always."

"I love you too, child." He patted her back. "Now, go and find something to occupy your time. Often when I have a problem, if I find something else to do, the answer suddenly comes to me. Perhaps you could try it."

She sat up, wiped her nose, and looked at him. "That does sound like a good idea. I will try it." She stood up and walked to his bedchamber door. "Thank you, Mr. Sanders."

"You are most welcome, my lady."

She closed the door with a new resolve. She had enough time. He would be gone for three days.

She need not rush. She did have options. Perhaps she could find an answer by distracting herself. And she knew the way to do it.

He really did not want to go. She had to recognize that he had obligations. Martin was on his way to Suffolk where he holds the title Earl of Suffolk. The Claymonts owned two estates in that county, Ipswich and Brecks. He had received a letter from his steward in Brecks. The gamekeeper indicated there was an issue breeding the herd due to the loss of a ram. The Claymont estate in Brecks was the largest of the two. They were both picturesque properties, however, Martin felt a comfort when he stayed at the Brecks property. The purple heath, the tall Scot pines, all the different types of plants, with the abundance of rabbits and Golden Pheasant. When his mother and father did travel to Brecks, which was rare, their dramatic vociferating drove him from the house. He would pick up his bow and his quiver filled with arrows and stay out in the woods all day. Occasionally, he would return home covered in mud with a brace of pheasant that always pleased Cook. He played alone much of the time unless they were at the estate in Bristol. Fred lived a few miles from him. Martin would invite himself over and enjoy Fred's family. Martin would look at Fred's parents as an oddity. They seemed to actually like each other. Looking back on that time, he could have spent more time with his mother. It was for the most part, only the two of them. She would read stories to him at bedtime. She loved to dance. She would sing a song and have Martin dance with her. That is how he learned all the more traditional dances. He remembered how much he loved to make her laugh. Mama had the most beautiful laugh and rarely had the opportunity. Many times when Martin would come home for the evening, she would be sitting with her kerchief. Her eyes were all puffy and her kind face was splotchy-looking. Reflecting, he can't even imagine how she existed during his time at Eton.

Once, while home for the holidays from Eton, Father was home. Martin could hear them arguing in the drawing room. Mama began to cry and the octave in Father's voice only increased. He heard a slapping sound and then a thud. Martin ran into the drawing room to find Mama on the floor.

Her face with large, red handprints and blood from her lip. Now, Martin was as big as his father. He was much stronger. He recalls the incident clearly. He charged at his father, put a hand around his throat and continued to slap him until he had his father up against the wall. "Why not fight with a man. Come on, please. I will even let you hit me first." Even now, he could still see the fear in his father's eyes. He could feel his father trembling. "You will never touch my mother again; do you understand me?" His father nodded. Martin yelled in his face. "You tell me or I will slap you again."

With a quivering voice, his father responded. "I will never touch her again."

He would not let him go that easily. "Her? Who is ‘her'? Say it again. Say it right this time."

Martin could barely hear him speak again. "I will never touch Hester again."

"Here is a reminder." With his one hand still around his father's neck, he pulled his right arm back and punched him hard in the face. His father slithered down the wall. Martin walked over to his mother and picked her up off the floor. He carried her to her bedchamber, then used the bellpull. Mama's chambermaid entered and he asked for tea, brandy, a kerchief, and a warm washing cloth.

"Mama, we will be so much better without him. I will always take care of you. Never worry." Martin did write her once a week and always came home, where ever she was–which was more often at the Claymont Estate in Bristol. That was absolutely his favorite of all the Claymont properties.

He needed to focus on the now and the future; he was not traveling to reminisce. The memories were too painful. He felt so guilty for his mother being so lonely. He thought he could have done so much more to make her happy. As the coach started up the lane to Little Suffolk, he brought his thoughts back to what was needed for this property. He thought Muriel would love this place. It was smaller than all his other properties. Cozy. He had a maid, cook, and footman that stayed on the property. Since he arrived, he had a coachman and an extra footman that had traveled with him. His goal for this trip was to resolve the issues the steward wrote him about. The sheep had multiplied in the last two years. He should have known they needed more rams .

As the coach pulled up to the front of the manor, Cook, the maid, and the footman were at the front, waiting to assist him with his belongings. The footman opened the cabin door. "Welcome to Little Suffolk, my lord. I will unload your things and take them to your bedchamber."

"Thank you."

Cook gave a demi curtsey. "I'm sure you are hungry. I have rabbit and a nice stew with fresh bread when you are ready."

"That sounds delicious, Cook. I need to ride over to speak with the gamekeeper, Mick. I will be ready for that meal when I return."

Martin's coachman, Walter, knowing Lord Claymont's purpose for the trip, had one of the horses saddled. Martin turned the horse in the direction of the gamekeeper's cottage and urged the horse to a gallop. Being able to ride through the fields without the fear of carriages, hacks, or other riders was exhilarating. The wind in his hair, for some reason, made him think of Muriel as she ran her hands through his hair. Her touch was like none other. Having a cockstand while speaking with Mick would not be wise.

Muriel asked for the coach. She went through the house and found Carl preparing venison that had been delivered by Benefactor . "Carl, I'm going to Hatchard's. I was going to see if you would go, but I can see you are elbow-deep in venison."

"My lady, I can clean up and be ready to go in fifteen minutes if you care to wait."

"I think all is well, Carl. There have been no occurrences in almost two months. I feel the McDonnell family is free of any danger. I shan't be long. Only going for a book."

"If you are sure, my lady. Beg pardon, I do think I should come along."

"I look forward to a venison dinner. Tell Mama and Amina where I have gone, if they come down before I return."

"Yes, my lady."

Muriel put on her heavy coat, her favorite muff, reticule, and her bonnet and walked down the front steps. "Jimmy, I want to go to Hatchard's."

"Is Carl comin' along, my lady?"

"He is butchering the venison that was delivered this morning."

Jimmy got down from his coach bench to assist her into the coach. "Ya' sure ya' wanna go without Carl?"

"Yes, yes. Everyone is too concerned. We have not had any incidents for six weeks or more. I shan't live in fear because of some deranged oaf."

"Yes, my lady. Hatchard's, it is."

As Muriel sat in the coach, she wondered what Martin was doing about this time. No doubt he was busy with work and had nary a thought of her. She needed to stop thoughts of him as well.

By the time Martin got to the gamekeeper and tied the horse up, Mick was standing outside the cottage. A widower without children. He enjoyed his solitude. "Lord Claymont. Thank you for comin' so quickly."

"I need to know what the issue with the rams."

"Come on in, I'll fix ya' a tea." Martin had to duck down to get past the threshold. It was lucky Mick was a short man. Mick had a small dining table with three chairs. The kitchen was against the left wall with the fireplace on the back wall. He had a couch, a thread-worn padded rocking chair, a low table with papers of all kinds strewn all over the top, and a door next to the couch that led to the bedchamber. Mick pulled the pot of water from the fireplace, filled the cups with water and brought them over to the table. As he sat down, he gave Martin a pat on the back. "Good to see ya'. Haven't seen much of ya' since your father passed." He handed Martin a spoon to stir the loose tea leaves. "Well, we lost a ram, the most virile of the three. I'm not sure if it was stolen or escaped through the fence line, all I know is that it's gone. I can't imagine anyone around here stealing him. We have our brand on all of the herd and everyone in these parts knows of the Claymonts. Anyway, looks like we need two more good rams unless we aren't able to pick up a couple of quality. In that case, we will need three. The herd has doubled in two-three years. We need more rams anyway."

"So, we will need to go into Ipswich and see what we can find at the market. We can go in the morning if you agree."

Martin was intruding into Mick's routine; he reminded himself that he was the Master of the Manor. "Yes, I'm here. We need to get it done."

"Yes, my lord. That works fine. I'll hitch up the wagon with tall sides. It'll be ready in the morning. If we can leave here by five o'clock, we should make it to the market by eight. We should still be able to look over the stock and see if there are any rams worth staying for."

"Five o'clock. I will be in the stables. Thank you Mick." He took one more sip of the tea as he stood. Mick walked him to the door. "See ya' then."

All Mick's tea did was make him aware of how hungry he really was. As he rode back to the manor, he took his time, looked around at the landscape and smiled to himself. Happier times. Then he thought about Muriel. She was his happy time now. She could be so funny, say the strangest things one minute, then say something so brilliant he would think ‘ how could she possibly know that,' the next. She was a wonder. Ethereal. She was flesh and blood. If he ever doubted that, she thoroughly convinced him last night. He thought the experience was erotic and spiritual, simultaneously. He was certain, when he returned in three days, he would ask her again, to marry him and she would say ‘yes'. He knew it. He felt it. If she turned him down again, he would hound her. Camp out in front of her house. He would do whatever it took to get her to say ‘yes'. He thought he would be a good catch. Unlike sweet Muriel, he was aware of his looks, his physical person. It was confirmed at every damn ball. Despite that, he had other assets. He was very wealthy. He knew how to manage things, resolve things to a positive outcome. He treated Muriel very well. He wanted to; in the time they had been together, he lived to make her happy. And from last night, he knew without a doubt that their sex would be out-of-this-world. He chuckled. How apropos.

After eating, he went into his study, sat down and wrote a missive to his steward, Ed Cowen. He asked for Ed to meet him tomorrow evening and to bring all pertinent paperwork with him. He rang the bell sitting on his desk for the footman, asking him to deliver the missive and await a response. As it was early evening, he went into the library, sat down with a scotch and a book and began to read. His concentration was continually foisted by images of the ‘scruffy oaf.' He could have retained at least one of Frank's men, yet six or seven weeks had passed without one incident. A strange feeling emanating from his gut began to clench his thoughts. Finally, he gainsaid the possibility and returned to his book.

The footman entered the library. "My lord. Mr. Cowan responded that he would be here tomorrow evening at seven o'clock with all necessary for a successful meeting."

"Thank you. Please tell the staff that I'm retiring for the evening. I need to have a horse saddled and ready to ride no later than five o'clock on the morrow." He closed the book and ascended the stairs to his bedchamber.

The coach came to a stop and seconds later Jimmy was assisting Muriel out. "Watch for me. It is too cold today. You should wait for me inside the coach and try to stay warm."

"My lady, thank ya'. I think I will." He watched her go into the bookstore, got into the coach, and leaned back to rest his eyes for a few minutes.

Muriel had entered the bookstore and was removing her gloves when someone came toward her with labored breathing. She looked to her left and there stood Michael Crumb. "My lady, I attempted to catch you before you entered the store. I have some important information to impart."

"Mr. Crumb, you need to calm yourself. Do you wish to sit down?"

He looked rather anxious. "No, my lady." He put his hand to his chest. "Give me a moment, if you would." She had heard he was a scoundrel, yet he had been apologetic about his faux pas. Written a nice note and send a lovely bouquet of flowers. She had no reason for a cut direct.

"There," He looked to have caught his breath. "I have information about Mr. Trenchard. I know where he is. I was coming to your home to get you, then as I rounded the corner, I saw your coach leaving, so I followed. I left my coach in the back. I think we should make haste as I'm not sure how long he will stay in one place."

She was looking at his behavior. He did seem extremely anxious. "Yes, we should make haste. I must tell my coachman."

"Alright. Please be quick. "

Muriel started out to speak with Jimmy to find that he was not there. Of all the times for him to go for coffee. She could see Mr. Crumb rocking side to side. He was likely correct; it was important to make haste. No one had been able to find him. Evidently, he kept moving from place to place. Although, based on Martin, she needed to be leery however, she needed to find Trenchmouth to get the family's money back. She quickly weighed the pros and cons as she ran back into the bookstore. By then, she had made up her mind. The McDonnell family needed their money. "Alright, your coach is in the back, you said?"

"Yes, my lady. He had her follow him to the back entrance. They walked out and the coachman pulled up to the door. Mr. Crumb assisted her into his coach. He pulled out his kerchief. She sat down, he stepped in and closed the cabin door. He tapped on the roof and the coach started moving. He looked at Muriel. "Sorry." He put the kerchief over her nose and mouth. She tried to pull his hand from her nose and mouth. Her muffled screams were only heard by her abductor. Whatever it was, it was sweetly pungent. Suddenly, everything went black. Crumb laid her down on the seat. He sat across from her, praising himself for the ease of his cozen. It was a long way to Gretna Green. He would wait until she woke before he administered another dose of ether. He had extra washing clothes and a decent sized bottle of the liquid to keep her quiet until they arrived at their destination.

He would make it a point to seek out the deuced maggot Claymont after their ‘over the anvil' wedding. Crumb would most certainly consummate the marriage before they returned to Town. Claymont had thwarted Crumb repeatedly; insulting, mocking, belittling, calling him out, and besting him. He had tolerated Claymont and his thugs humiliating him at Eton. It continued years past graduation. Once, Crumb had seen a classmate, Ralph Sloan with his sister; a pretty maiden. Claymont and Windham ordered him to stay away from her. When Ralph entered the sweet shop and left his sister on the sidewalk, he took his opportunity. All he wanted was a quick kiss and a bit of skin but she had to fight him so he taught her a lesson. He then decided it easier to satisfy himself with doxies or street whores. Shortly after, as he was coming out of a brothel, he was attacked and told to stay away from innocents. He knew it was Claymont. Not too long ago, Claymont assaulted him and threw him out of his favorite bordello.

Now, he had the best revenge right here in his coach. Crumb had never known Lord Claymont to care for any lady. He had overheard that Claymont was going to propose. Crumb laid in wait. Finally, he had the perfect opportunity and took it. He took her. After he consummated the marriage, there would be nothing that prick could do. It would devastate him. Destroy him. He would be overcome with dudgeon and would be able to do nothing. A man has every right to tup his wife. Crumb was delirious with anticipation. The grand revenge.

The coachman stopped in Baldock, at the George the vertigo forced her head back down. She was attempting to focus on Crumb's face. "Mr. Crumb. Whatever your thoughts, it would be wise to return me to Hatchard's. This is kidnapping, Mr. Crumb." She laid on the cool bench wondering what was in that kerchief. "Can you at least tell me where we are going?"

Crumb mocked her, imitating her voice. ‘Please take me back.' What a cute lil voice. You get everything you want. Well, we are going to Gretna Green. We are going to have a lil ‘over the anvil,' wedding. Then we will return to Town with you as Mrs. Muriel Crumb. Sounds great. Oh, we will stay in Gretna long enough to consummate the blessed event." He took another drink from the scotch bottle. He put the cap back on, set it on the bench, reached for the bottle of ether and a washing cloth. He poured the liquid on the cloth.

"What is that? Please. I will do nothing to escape. Please."

Crumb put the cloth over her nose and mouth. "Nighty-night." The blackness returned.

When the coachman stopped again, they had made it to Huntingdon. Crumb was foxed. The coachman came around, opened the coach door, and looked at Crumb. It was more than obvious that he was in his cups. "Mr. Crumb, I think we should stay here overnight. This is the Lion Coaching Inn. We can start early on the morrow."

The coachman was beginning to be concerned about the lady's safety. Mr. Crumb had told him that they were eloping. "Sir, give me some blunt and I will go rent a room for you and the lady." Crumb reached for his waistcoat pocket and pulled money out, dropping money on the bench and floor.

"You stayin' in the stable. Get ha room in back if available. You hear me."

"Yes, sir. A room farthest from the stairs. I will be back to carry the lady in." Crumb picked up the bottle and took a drink. "Hey. You." He pushed on Muriel's hip with his shoe. "I'm gonna fuck you all nigh lon. You wi–will love it." Muriel was waking from the stupor. This time she decided to feign her sleep for her own safety. She was feeling more disoriented than the first time she woke. Crumb appeared very intoxicated. She hoped that by the time he passed out, she would be sufficiently oriented to escape him and find help.

She laid still until the coachman returned. Mr. Crumb, I got you a room in the back. Let me help you out, then I'll pick up the lady and carry her in. I told the owner she was asleep."

Crumb cackled. "Wha ya' know. She is." The coachman got Crumb out and he staggered toward the inn. Then the coachman stepped in and so very gently tucked one hand under Muriel's head and the other, under her knees. "You are too pretty to be with this fool." Muriel continued to feign sleep. The poor coachman was surely underpaid for his efforts. He sounded like a nice man yet she could ill afford to take the chance. He could be an accomplice, of sorts.

The coachman unlocked the chamber door, carried the lady inside, and laid her on the bed. "Listen, Mr. Crumb, you're pretty foxed. How about sleeping out in the coach house with me?"

"Fuuuck–no. I'm sleepin' right here wi' my be-be-troffed." The coachman surmised Mr. Crumb was much too foxed to be of any harm to the lady.

"I will wake you on the morrow." He laid the keys on a nightstand, walked out, and closed the door.

Crumb sat down in one of the two lounge chairs at the foot of the bed. His head was bobbing and he was slurring his words –completely indistinguishable. She laid on the bed, which was much better than that hard bench, waiting for him to pass out. There was a knock on the door. "Who's it?" Muriel peeked; her eyelids less than little slits to see his head bobbing. Someone knocked again. It was probably someone from the inn. "Come in." Crumb yelled. The door opened. She kept her eyes closed. She heard Crumb. "Who' you?" She heard some kind of noise like someone had cut into a melon. "Man, mother fuuucher. Why'd you do that?" Then heavy footfalls approached. Big, foul smelling arms lifted her and carried her out of the inn. She took a chance and barely opened one eye to see the scruffy oaf. Oh, God help me. First, being forced to I marry Crumb. Now I fear I will be dead with this man. I need to get away. I must. I need help. Martin! Someone! Please, come find me. She was terrified. The best thing that she could do was continue to feign sleep until she could better understand where he was taking her and what she thought he was going to do with her. She had to find a way to escape. She prayed for her own safety and for her to be able to see Martin and her family again.

Muriel had no idea what time it was; it had been dark for a while so she surmised it was late. She decided the best thing for her to do, allowing her time to consider her options, if there were any, was to continue to give the appearance of sleep.

"How did it go?" came a voice from above. Probably the coachman.

"Too easy. Stupid bastard was foxed. I made quick work of him. They won't find him til tomorrow. We'll be long gone." He gave a snicker.

"What happened to her?"

"He did me a favor. He must a' drugged her. I told ya,' it was too easy. Get down here and open the door for me." The oaf smelled of dirt and weeks of filth. She heard the coachman walk close to the oaf and opened the cabin door. "Get over to the other side and help me get her in. Let's put her facin' the back." She heard the second door open. "Grab her legs." They tossed her onto the seat. Thankfully, the seat was cushioned. She had not eaten since breakfast and even that was not much. Thankfully, she had not needed the necessary which enabled her to continue her act. "Let's head back." She could feel the coach lean to one side as the oaf entered the cabin. She prayed he would keep his filthy hands off of her. She was frightened he would take liberties with her person. If he was going to try, it would likely be right away. From the sound of it, he was sitting across from her. If he fell asleep, she could think about escaping the coach. She had no idea where she was or where they were going. She recognized that getting away from him was critical. She could handle the rest.

Mick and Claymont left at five o'clock, as planned. Martin was much more comfortable riding on a horse than in a wagon. It was cold. Happily, the sun was out, eliminating the concern for weather impeding the trip. By the time they arrived at the square; they barely had enough time to look over the livestock.

"There is a Southdown. By far the best ram. Southdowns can cross breed. Great wool. Actually, it's probably the best. Southdown fleece sells very well. We need to find out how old he is. Let me see if I can find the owner." Mick was a valuable asset.

Martin continued to walk through the livestock and spotted a Dorset ram that would be acceptable, all the same, the best ram would be the Southdown. It might pay to speak with the owner of the Southdown; see if he had any others he might be willing to sell. To pick up two Southdowns and one Dorset would accomplish the needs for Little Suffolk.

Mick slowly swaggered back to Martin. Put his hand on his chin to cover his mouth. "He's gonna pull the Southdown from the auction and he said he has another one, young. I'll get him, too. Now, you wanna bid on the Dorset?"

"Yes, I believe we should. What say you?"

"I agree. Let's see how the bidding goes on him, then I'll jump in."

It was well worth the trip. They purchased the two Southdowns for four pounds and the Dorset for one pound. "I think we did a grand job on these rams. A good Southdown is worth up to five pounds. That young one is a true bargain, Lord Claymont." Mick looked to Martin for praise.

"Yes, Mick, you are good at the barter. I should remember that when I go to Tattersall's. " He slapped Mick on the back as a ‘good job'. "Shall we get these boys home?"

"Yes, my lord." Mick had the rams in the wagon, Martin mounted, and they were on their way.

During the trip back, Martin and Mick had discussions on the need for another shearer, a better grain supplier for birthing season, and researching the cost versus benefit of bringing cattle onto the estate. By the time they had completed their conversations, they had arrived at the manor.

Martin turned his horse over to Walter, then went into the house. The footman was there to take Martin's heavy coat. "Would you bring hot water upstairs to my bedchamber? I want to clean up before dinner."

"Right away, my lord. "

He pulled his pocket watch from his fob pocket on his waistcoat. Almost six o'clock. That allowed for very little time to bathe and have dinner. He went into his chamber and started taking off his topcoat, waistcoat, boots, and stockings. The footman entered with two large buckets of hot water.

"I will return with two more buckets."

"Very good." Martin sat down on the leather wingback. He hated leather furniture. Cold in the winter, warm in the summer. He needed to bring a better chair from home for this bedchamber. Home made him think of Muriel. It had been less than four months, yet it felt like she was ‘home' for him. He missed her. Martin had planned to ride the perimeter of the property the next day. He abruptly decided to return to Town. I am going home. I miss my little Ethereal Sweet Muriel. Yes, I am going home.

The footman brought two more buckets of hot water. That was enough to ablate. He was unaware that he was whistling, A-Hunting We Will Go. It struck him. He had to laugh. That damn family is rubbing off. He shook his head with a chuckle.

Martin was not going to dress. He slipped on his banyan, went downstairs into the study, poured himself a scotch, and waited for Ed Cowen. He was tired. If he retired early, he could rise with the sun and be home before noon. He was making a mental list of what he needed to take back with him when the footman entered. "My lord, Mr. Cowen is here."

"Very good. Send him in." Martin knew what he wanted to hear, wanted to ask, and see the books. As Ed entered the study, Martin stood to greet him. Ed bowed slightly. Martin extended his hand and Ed took it. "Good to see you. Glad you could make it. Please sit down." He had two chairs on the other side of the desk. Martin asked about Ed's family and segued into the reason for the visit. "What do you have to tell me?" Ed explained the slight increase in income for the last year and the increased profit projected for this year. It took him about twenty minutes. "What is this ‘paid out' for ‘other'?"

"I thought I wrote to you about that. A big branch on the east side of the house fell and hit a window. The glass shattered so I had to have someone come in to repair the window. The receipt should be in there with a notation."

"Yes, I saw it." He scanned the pages one more time. "It looks like we have a good start for the new year. One thing you need to get from Mr. Stanley; he and I went to Ipswich and purchased three rams. I should have taken it. He has it." He closed the ledger and returned it to Ed. "Unless you have anything else pertinent, I believe we are done." Martin rose and walked around the desk. "Good job, Ed. Thank you for keeping us on the green side of the ledger.

"When do you think you will come back to see us? Only out of curiosity."

"I never know. Sending me those monthly reports is helpful. Continue that. Unless some particular issue requires my presence, I never know when I will show up." Martin walked him to the foyer. The footman helped the man with his coat. Martin said ‘good-night.' As the footman closed the door, Martin had specifics for him. "I'm retiring. Please tell Walter I expect to depart between six-thirty and seven on the morrow.

The coachman was driving Scruffy Oaf and her somewhere. They had stopped and traded out the horses. The coachman came to the coach door and poked his head in. "After I trade out the horses, I need some coffee and maybe some biscuits or scones. We haven't eaten. You want me to get you something?"

"Please. I'm starved. Whatever you can get your hands on that I can eat in here." Oaf moved from side to side. "I'm gonna get outa' here. I need ta' stretch my legs." He dragged himself out of the coach. It had poor suspension. "I'd like ta' know what that stupid bastard gave her. Hard to believe she is still out. That's lucky for me. I guess. I wouldn't mind slappin' her around. I can hold off, I guess. This otta be fine. I bet she's a fighter. That would be a lot of fun."

"Just let her sleep." He and Oaf locked eyes. Oaf was not pleased. "Well, I'm goin' in. I'll bring whatever I can find." It was beginning to get too cold in the cabin when Oaf closed the door. Muriel knew he was standing by the coach door. After hearing him being anxious to hurt her, she knew she would not be able to get away unless she was positive she could escape from him. She did not want to be hurt. If he wanted to hurt her, he would not care to kill her. She needed to stretch out. She squinted to see where Scruffy Oaf was standing exactly. He was far enough from the door that she could see his silhouette. He would have to turn around and get a step closer to the door for him to see her. She would not be able to move much. Anything was better than laying hour upon hour like a statue.

She was not good with estimating time, but she suspected the coachman had been gone for less than one hour before she could hear someone walking back toward the coach.

"Here is your coffee."

"What did ya' get me to eat?"

"Bread, cheese, and biscuits. That is the best I could do."

"I'll take it." The coachman and Oaf stood outside by the coach door while they ate their bread and cheese and drank their coffee. If she could be happy about anything, she was glad that Oaf was still outside. The cabin had aerated and the foul Scruffy Oaf smell had almost dissipated. She had remembered exactly how she had been laying and aligned herself into the position she had been laying in since they put her inside the coach. She wondered how much longer they would be traveling. She felt that Oaf would not hurt her while they were traveling. She worried for her safety when they arrived at their destination. She prayed it would not be her ‘final' destination.

They traveled perhaps another two to three hour when Muriel began to hear sounds of Town and lights. She could see them through her eyelids. So they have returned me to Town. My God, they could hide me anywhere. I must get away.

She felt every pot hole, bump, and cobblestone on the road. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remain still riding through these types of roads. She wondered if they were driving in the direction of the rookery. If they stopped in the rookery, and if she did escape, she could easily be murdered by anyone as she was attempting to get away. This had gone from worse to the very worst. She was calculating her odds of getting away and came up with less than thirty percent. If she escaped, she calculated her chance of getting out of the rookery to be less than ten percent. It looked grim. She told herself not to give up hope. Once she resigned to her fate, it could be inevitable. Keeping positive thoughts could make the difference.

It felt like they had pulled into a lane. It was not long until they turned into a large building. She could tell. She could hear the echo sound of a large, empty building. The coach stopped. The coachman walked to the door. "You ready to get her out?" The coachman sounded anxious.

"Give me a minute or two to stretch my legs. That coach is too small for me. The stupid bastard could have given me a bigger coach. You stay here, I gotta take a piss." She could hear him walk away. She felt the coachman lean against it. She worried about what they were going to do with her now. She knew she would not be able to keep up the sleeping act much longer. She hoped when they put her somewhere and thought she was still passed out, they might leave her. That would give her the opportunity to at least try to get out .

She knew that it was only less than an hour after Crumb had taken her that Jimmy had to have realized something ominous had happened. She wondered if anyone in the house knew how to find Mr. Frank Stewart. She knew Lord Windham. She was the only one that knew him. Mama would reach out to Lady Maxwell and Lady Green. She hoped they understood something had happened instead of thinking that Martin and she had eloped. Oh, God if they thought that, they would not begin a search until Martin returned to Town and he told her he would be gone three days. Realistically, it could even be longer. Today would be three days since she was taken by poor Crumb. Rosa would know she was not even close to eloping with Martin. She wished she had said yes now. They would have been married in a day and he would have taken her with him.

Scruffy Oaf returned. "Let's get her outta this coach. I gotta go and let the stupid bastard know I got ‘er. This whole thing is ridiculous to me. He should let me kill her and be done with it."

"Jesus, Harry, she is too young, too pretty. That'd be a real waste." Thank you, Mr. Coachman. Please convince him–please! " And if ya' don't want her to freeze to death, we need something to cover her up."

"Well, she is gonna ‘ave ta' freeze, at least until I get back." Oaf did not sound at all happy about going to speak with the person that was responsible for this kidnapping. In her poor nervous mind, she fought not to laugh at the most macabre thought. She realized she was kidnapped from the kidnapper.

"Let's get her out and take her upstairs. Help me get her out. She don't weigh nothin', I can carry ‘er." The Oaf ordered.

"Alright, let's do it. This building is too damn cold. I hope that fireplace up there is usable." The coachman's question sounded more rhetorical.

"Hell, how'd I know. Try it and see. If the damn room gets the buildin' to burnin,' leave her in there and get out."

"What the deuce, Harry? She don't deserve that."

"Come on, let's get her out. It's really somethin' she's still out. Musta' been some good stuff that poor dead bastard gave her." Jesus, he killed Crumb? She assumed he had knocked him out . What was it he said? I made quick work of him . That means he killed him? He was calm as could be. He murdered Crumb and it had no effect on him at all. Oh, God. Please save me from this murderer.

The coachman walked around to the other side of the coach, stepped in, and grabbed her legs as Harry, aka the Oaf, lifted her head. He and the coachman had her about half in and out of the cabin. "I can get ‘er from here. She is really nothin,' you know it?"

"She looks like she wouldn't weigh much. I'll go on up. The doors' unlocked?" The coachman asked.

"Yep. Wasn't much reason to lock it with nobody around here. I'll leave you the keys. If you need to take a piss, you can lock the place up. Make sure you do that, too. She could wake up any time."

"Yes, I know."

From the footfalls, it sounded like Oaf had taken her up three flights of stairs. That would mean if there were windows, she would not be able to jump out. She would come up with something. She had to come up with something.