The Reverend Llwyd thought for a moment while Idris Parry hopped from foot to foot. But no longer than a moment—he would have wished his sermons came so easily if he had spared a thought to the matter.
“We must have a little while before the constables arrive in the village,” he said. “Quick, Idris. But listen carefully first. Go and find Gwilym Dirion and any other lad you can think of. Take them with you and fan them out so that between you you don’t miss one single man returning to Glynderi. Divert them. Send them up into the hills and around to Ninian Williams’s farm. That is where they are to come, all of them. Get them to clean up on the way.”
“Yes, sir.” Idris was at the door already.
“We are going to have a party,” the Reverend Llwyd announced. “I am going to hurry around to all the women and send them up with all the food they can gather together. Ninian Williams and his good wife are giving a party to celebrate the engagement of Ceris to Aled Rhoslyn. Now, on your way, is it?”
Idris exited the house so fast that the door was left swinging on its hinges.
The Reverend Llwyd grabbed his hat and his cloak and followed the boy outside, though he did take the time to close his door behind him. The shadows of little boys slunk past him as he hurried along the street, knocking on doors, issuing hurried commands. Most of the women, eyes wide with anxiety for men out with Rebecca, agreed to call at various farms on their way out to Ninian Williams’s so that there could be a proper community celebration when the men came home.
Before setting off for the party himself, the Reverend Llwyd returned home for his Bible. He set off on his way with it tucked under his arm. He paused twice in his walk along the village street to bid two strangers a good evening and to wish them God’s blessing.
Word had somehow been kept from Marged. The crowd was smaller than usual since only the men from the vicinity of Tegfan had been called out. It was easy to see that Marged was not of their number. It was a relief. Geraint did not know quite what danger they were facing. Perhaps they were being foolhardy. But no, they were not that. There was Mrs. Phillips to rescue. And a human life was worth any risk.
His spies could see no one lurking in the vicinity of the Cilcoed gate except Thomas Campbell Foster, who had been invited to come early and to stay late. But it was a great deal earlier than usual—not even quite dark. One felt strangely exposed to view when not enclosed by total darkness.
He led the way down onto the road as usual and proceeded along the road to the gate as usual, riding upright at the head of his men, in full view of whoever might be inside the tollhouse. His spies had said only Mrs. Phillips was there. But his flesh crawled as he neared the gate.
And then a little whirlwind came rushing out through the door brandishing a large club and swearing eloquently enough to put a navvy to the blush—in Welsh.
“Get away from here,” she said when she ran out of swear words. “Cowards and bullies. The Earl of Wyvern will give you what for, he will. And I will smash the knees of every one of you. Come and get it if you dare.”
Geraint smiled behind his mask despite himself. He rode as close as he dared, bent from the saddle, and spoke with quiet courtesy. “We wish you no harm, Mrs. Phillips,” he said. “We have come to rescue you. There are those coming after us who plan to hurt you simply because Wyvern promised you his protection and they wish to teach him a lesson.”
“Oi.” Mrs. Phillips peered suspiciously up at him. “I know you. I know that voice. What are you doing here dressed like that for, then, my—”
He bent lower toward her. “Let it be our secret, my dear,” he said for her ears only. “I promised that you would be safe from harm, did I not? Let me keep my promise, then. You will ride up with me and I shall take you to a place of safety.”
“This is my gate,” she said. “It is my job to defend it. I have to charge you all—all except you—for passing through it. Duw, you look like a corpse with that mask on.”
“I believe you have served the road trust well, Mrs. Phillips,” he said, trying not to think of the urgency of the moment. “I am pleased with the service you have given. I am going to see to it that you retire honorably and comfortably on a pension from Tegfan in a cottage somewhere on the estate. Will you come with me? I am afraid my men are going to destroy the gate and the house—after your possessions have been removed. This will be a lesson to those who will be coming in an hour or so’s time.”
“The real Rebecca?” she said. “Shouldn’t we stay to catch them?”
“They have guns; we do not,” he said. “Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor, my dear. Charlotte, my daughter,” he called over his shoulder, “ask one of the men on foot to oblige me by lifting Mrs. Phillips before my saddle, if you please. And then have a few more remove her possessions from the house.”
Mrs. Phillips looked at him severely when she was before him on his horse’s back, in the place Marged usually occupied. “I think you are the real Rebecca after all,” she said. “They all say that you are courteous to the gatekeepers and never do them harm or carry guns. And they say you pay them from the coffers of Rebecca.”
“Sometimes,” he said, “extreme measures are needed in extreme times, Mrs. Phillips.” He raised the arm that was not about her waist to hold her steady and gave the order for the destruction of the gate. But out of deference to the gatekeeper, he did not stay directly in front of it as he usually did, but began to ride up the hill.
“You can stop,” she told him when they were only partway up the slope. “It is not a place I exactly love, you know. But when Mr. Phillips died, it was here or the workhouse. We never did have any children to look after us in our old age. But now I will have a cottage of my own and a pension? There is kind you are, my lord. I will say so even though it is very naughty of you to dress up like this and put the fear of God into innocent people.”
Although there were fewer men than usual, both the gate and the house were gone within a few minutes. There was still no sign of the impostor Rebecca and the ruffian gang hired by Hector. Geraint raised his arm again and all his men turned to him for further instructions.
“The deed is well done, my children,” Rebecca told them. “Go home now quickly.”
He watched them scramble up the hill and make off together in the direction of Glynderi—perhaps for the last time as followers of Rebecca. Certainly it was the last time for him. He would never get away with this again. He must take Mrs. Phillips to a place of safety and then return to Tegfan with all speed—and brazen out all accusations that might come his way either later tonight or tomorrow.
There was nothing they could prove. And his job was completed. Aled came up beside them and together they rode after the walking men.
He missed Marged dreadfully, Geraint thought. He wondered what she would say tomorrow when he called at Ty-Gwyn to tell her the full truth. He had tried to pave the way yesterday by getting her to admit her attraction to him in his own person. And it had almost succeeded. But perhaps he had only made matters worse.
And what the devil had she meant by saying that Rebecca had promised not to abandon her? He had made her that promise the first night he made love to her, when he was promising to stand by her if she was with child. Was she? He had tortured himself with the question for longer than twenty-four hours.