The Riddle of Alabaster Royal Read Online Free Page B

general, and Lord Wellington in particular. A sullen-faced youth arrived at last, with an ill-matched team harnessed to an equipage which had indeed seen better days. The host was embarrassed and said he hadn’t remembered its being quite this shabby, and that perhaps the captain would be better advised to drive into Andover and secure a more suitable vehicle. Jack was eager to reach Alabaster Royal before the sun went down, however, and in no time Secrets was tied on behind and the antiquated chaise rattled out of the yard.
    The miles slipped away, and far from springing his team the postilion had all he could do to keep them to a steady trot. By mid-afternoon the weather closed in and the view from the windows was obscured by misting rain. Despite the poorly sprung coach and lumpy cushions, Vespa felt relaxed and drowsy and eventually slipped into a doze.
    He was awoken by an outburst of shouts and curses. Starting up in confusion he thought for an instant that he was back in Spain, but then a large coach loomed up dangerously close to his own. The post-boy screamed with fear and fury. Vespa reached for the window, but he was too late. He had a fleeting glimpse of small, dark eyes in a coarse-featured face that grinned at him from the other coach. A violent shock was followed by screams, a sense of falling, and the swift fading of sight and sound. His last thought was that the man in the big coach was one of the two who had stared at him this morning when he came down to breakfast.…

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    He was cold and uncomfortable. His leg was even more painful than usual and his head throbbed so spitefully that he didn’t want to wake up. In addition to all the rest, it was most unfair that he should have this heavy weight on his chest. Reluctantly, Vespa opened his eyes.
    He was lounging about in somebody’s garden, evidently, and it must be getting foggy because it was hard to distinguish who bent over him. He blinked. A remote voice spoke unintelligibly. He began to sort out his unknown companion’s features. It was an odd face. Small, and heavily bearded, and with a long nose that looked almost like— He gave a gasp and opened his eyes wider. A small bedraggled dog was sitting on his chest and peering at him hopefully.
    â€œWhat the deuce!” he exclaimed, and sat up abruptly, which was a major error.
    The voice, which he now recognized as belonging to the dog, growled distantly. Gradually, the world stopped spinning and he was able to breathe normally again. His surroundings drifted back into focus. The dog had retreated to a safe distance from which to watch him. Instead of the garden hammock he had at first assumed, his couch was a weedy ditch. When he saw the overturned post-chaise that lay nearby, he remembered. He crawled to the wreck and used the wheel to drag himself to his feet.
    The narrow road was deserted. A chill wind moaned across a sweep of equally deserted moorland fringed by distant hills that loomed like grey-blue humps on the horizon. His gaze shortened and held on a dead horse. His heart seemed to stop, then gave a leap of relief as he saw that the poor creature was one of the postilion’s mismatched team. The other horse was gone. If the occupants of the big coach had stopped they would surely have made an effort to revive him, or at least had the decency to convey him to a doctor or an apothecary. It seemed likely therefore that the conscienceless clods had not stopped and that the post-boy had ridden away on the surviving hack in search of help.
    â€œBlasted rogues!” Vespa peered about anxiously in search of Secrets. There was no sign of his beautiful black mare, but when he whistled, she trotted from a nearby hollow and came straight to him. She was favouring her right front leg. He ran a practised hand down it and found the knee slightly swollen.
    â€œNothing too serious, old lady,” he told her, and she snorted into the hollow of his neck and lipped at his ear,