"Aye, mum." Stupefied, the ostler nodded.
Waiting for no more, Antonia hurried into the inn. The door was unlatched; there was no sign of the host but a lighted candle stood on a wooden table at the back of the hall. Her attention caught by wavering light from above, Antonia glanced up the dark stairwell in time to see shadows, thrown by candlelight, flung up against a wall. The shadows disappeared as their owners continued down one of the upstairs corridors.
Antonia grabbed the candle from the table and followed.
When she gained the head of the stairs, there was no one i
n sight. Following the corridor she was sure Geoffrey and Catriona had taken, she paused outside each door to place her ear against the panel. She heard nothing more than snores and snorts until she came to the last door, right at the end of the corridor.
Gruff voices rose and fell; others spoke but she could not make out their words. Antonia frowned—then glanced at the door to her right. Ear against the panel, she listened carefully but no sound came from within. Holding her breath, she gently eased the latch free. Pushing the door open, she warily raised her candle.
The room was empty. With a sigh of relief, she whisked herself in and shut the door firmly. Glancing about, she saw another door, set into the wall shared with the last room— the one on which she wished to eavesdrop. Thanking her stars, she set the candle down on a tallboy and gently eased the door open.
Beyond lay a small space, the space between the thick walls, bound by another door. As the voices beyond reached her easily, Antonia surmised this last door opened directly into the room at the end of the corridor.
"I knows as how that was what you asked for, but, like Josh here said, it ain't what you're getting."
The owner of the gruff voice sounded the opposite of refined. He also sounded smugly threatening. Antonia heard Geoffrey answer but her brother's accents were too measured, too controlled, for her to catch what he said. Grimacing, she carefully gripped the knob of the door; breath bated, she turned it until she felt the latch give, then eased the door open the merest fraction.
"Ain't no point arguing no more," came a second, very deep, distinctly menacing voice. “The whelp over there got us here—you've heard our price. T'my way of fhinkin', it's take it or leave it."
A whispered conference was the result. Carefully releasing the knob, Antonia leaned as close as she dared to the open door, her senses straining to pick up her brother's and Catriona's words.
A hand came over her shoulder, fastening over her mouth; an arm slid about her waist, hauling her back, locking her against a very large, very hard, definitely masculine body.
Eyes starting from her head, Antonia went rigid.
Then relaxed—and tugged at the hand over her lips.
Philip eased his hold, bending his head to growl directly into her ear, "What the devil are you doing here?"
Antonia ignored his tone—and all it promised. Pressing her head back into his shoulder, she managed to catch his eye—she decided to ignore the fury she saw there, too. With her own eyes, she indicated the room beyond the door. "Listen," she mouthed.
“My friend here hired you—you agreed on a sum to take us to London."
Antonia's eyes widened. She tugged again at Philip's hand. "That was Mr Fortescue."
Philip flicked her a warning glance. "Shh."
"Aye, that we did," came in gloating tones. "But that was afore we realized there'd be a young miss making one of your party. The way we figures it, now we knows the score, is that it's got to be worth a great deal more to you to make the trip to Lunnon. What with the pretty young miss an' all."
"Mind," came in the other, even more disturbing voice. "If n you're pressed for the ready, there's likely other ways we'd agree to take our cut."
Antonia suppressed a shiver.
The suggestion gave rise to a muted discussion centred on the far end of the room.
A long-suffering sigh distracted Antonia. Glancing up and back, she saw Philip close his eyes fleetingly. When he opened them, Antonia saw his jaw firm. Before she could speak, he lifted her bodily and set her back against the narrow side wall of the tiny space they shared.
"Stay there." His eyes boring into hers, Philip put all the dire warning he could into his necessarily muted tones. "Do not move."
"What—?" "And be quiet!"
Suppressing the urge to sniff disdainfully, Antonia did as he said.
Settling his coat with a deft flexing of his shoulders, Philip grasped the door knob and calmly walked into the room.
As he had surmised, the two hulking coachmen had their backs to him; beyond, a quartet of surprised faces stared at him, thoroughly stunned. The door had been well-oiled; no squeak had given him away. The room was furnished with a large square rug, muting the sound of his footsteps. The villainous coachmen had not heard him.