Chapter 99

Splendor strove not to dash down a volley of curses as another clap of thunder rolled over her head and rain lashed down her face, plastering her hair to her cheeks and forehead.
"Gawd's sake, we can't stay stuck 'ere in this muddy ditch, Splen." Topaz leaned over the side of the cart, her knuckles shining white in the moonlight. "If yer can't shift it, I'll get out."
Old Stumpy wiped a hand across his mouth. "T'would be a help if ye were to consider shiftin' that lazy, soddin' arse of yours. Oih told ye t'were nuttin' short of insanity to set out loike d'is. But was anyone listenin' to the words of great sense Oih did speak? No. And stands to reason Oih can't help. Not with me art'ritis killin' me and all."
Although the breath tore in Splendor's throat, she set her shoulder to the wheel. Old Stumpy was testing her resolve to the limit as he nursed another mouthful of gin, or whatever it was he had in that vile smelling green bottle, while she tried budging him and the cart, not to mention Topaz, back onto the road. Who did people think she was? Hercules?
As for Stumpy's old nag, Clitherow, standing and eating the grass as if it hadn't a care in the world, that took the biggest biscuit. Wasn't Clitherow meant to be a fine horse that would soon whisk them after the missed stagecoach in seconds? Three hours ago.
"No. No, Topaz," She gritted her teeth. "I'll manage it, although it really would help matters if you'd consider getting down, Mr. O'Taggart."
Thank God all the years skivvying had taught her to regard Old Stumpy's cheek as water off a duck's back. If only she could do the same with the water that was dripping down her back, gluing her dress to her spine.
It was her idea to flee. What else could she do with Gabe sending her packing like that and the earl expecting to do awful things with her? Shocking things. Dreadful things. Things she might enjoy. It was what had determined her to escape, even if the rain battered her senseless and the cart wheel was stuck fast.
She slithered out of the ditch, gasping as another flash of lightning rent the sky. None of this was doing Topaz, who was cowering under a blanket, any good. But so long as she found the reins and made Clitherow move his stubborn, recalcitrant horse's backside so they could get back on the road, it would be all right, even if she'd to get back in the ditch to tug them.
"If Oih may say so meself, yor doin' well. Not so well as the colleens in Galway Bay, but not so far off Oih won't raise another mouthful to ye."
She grabbed hold of the harness. "It would help if you would stop doing that and-"
"Stop doin' that? When t'is the one certain cure for me art'ritis? Which, if Oih may be so bold as te say, is not bein' helped by d'is weather and the stubborn pig-headedness of certain folks havin' te set out in it. Do ye know t'is said gin is the only cure? For me art'ritis that is." O'Taggart's gnarled hand traversed his face, wiped itself across his mouth. "Aye. AlthoughOih'm sure there are other cures for pig-headed-"
"In great abundance is it?"
"What? Yor pig-headedness is not somt'in Oih'd be knowin' about, not possessin' it meself."
She dropped back into the ditch and dug her heels hard into the sludge. If she could get some purchase and yank the reins with every ounce of strength in her bones, this recalcitrant nag might shift. But it was like its master, more bent on stuffing its face than in helping in any way. She cursed the fact she hadn't worn Nathan's clothes and boots. Perhaps high heels gave her purchase, but they didn't exactly aid her efforts to move a sturdily planted horse. Still, she fisted the reins as tightly as she could. If she could have lifted that cart and its contents, she would.
"Come on! Move! Damn you!"
Thunder and lightning cracked and flashed above her head, illuminating trees that were as gnarled, as blackened, as frazzled, as she probably looked. Clitherow didn't budge.
She gave another cry as her foot slithered and she splattered down on her backside in ditchwater. Could anything hurt so much, smell so badly either? Rotten eggs and fetid treacle. Her stomach curled. With difficulty, she sucked the single pitiful cup of tea, she'd had all day back into place in her gullet.
"You all right there, Splen?" A writhing white streak split the clouds, illuminating Topaz's bony hand grasping the side of the cart. "Only yer coat's ruined. Yer gown too."
"Of course, the colleen's coat will be ruined," O'Taggart piped up before she could answer. "Her gown too. If there's one thing Clitherow doesn't take kindly te, t'is stroppy colleens tryin' te tell her what te do. Begorra, but she has a mind of her own, that pony. A very definite one. But perhaps a little swallow of the gin would not go amiss ..."
She could see that, although there was a great difference between a swallow, as in little, and sucking half the bottle. Her shoulders sagged. She could also see-hear rather-that someone was cantering somewhere close at hand. The sound skittered down the long avenue of bushes and desiccated shrubs. Her shoulders sagged further. Wasn't that just great when she sat up to her waist in bog-water, one squelchy move and she'd sink further?
Whoever it was might help them though. The coach they were going to catch was long gone. By now it had probably reached Oxford and was on the return journey. But there was sure to be an inn close by they could stay at, herself and Topaz anyway. That horse and its wring-the-gin-from-him owner could stay on a park bench, could lie in the gutter, could perch on a tree branch for all she cared.
After that, after a lot of things actually, she'd decide on her next move. Unless it was Gabe? Imagine if he saw her looking like a drowned rat. If she was to pull any iron from any fire here, she needed to look appealing. She pulled her palms free. Appealing? With this amount of oozing black mud coating them? Unlikely.
Still she took a deep breath, scrambled up, and grasped the driver's side of the cart.
"No, no, lass, ye can't have it." Old Stumpy clutched the bottle to his breast. "Whatever Oihsaid with regard to the wee drop, Oih was meaning for meself, so Oih was. Not d'at Clitherow doesn't swear by the odd nip on occasion. The Lord's birthday and the loikes. But Oih'm not for handing any to ye, ye understand?"
She leveled her gaze on him. "Mr. O'Taggart..."
"Stoompy. Friends and enemies alike call me Stoompy."
"Mr. O'Taggart. What I was really hoping was that you might see it in your heart to help me-"
"With me art'ritis playin' cruel on me bones?"
"Yes, with your arthritis. But since you can't, what I'd really appreciate ... what I'd really like ...Love, in fact-"
"Say the word, lass-"
"Is you shutting up before I take that bottle and I shove it-"
"Splen ...Listen, will yer?" Topaz pulled herself onto one knee. "Somebody's comin'. Maybe they'll help us?"