Naturally, she expected to see Bletchley, idly watching the last of the morning gallops as he had for the past week.
To her consternation, she didn't see him. She couldn't find Gillies, Cross or Hills, either. Sitting straight in her saddle, she scanned the gallops-the rising stretches of turf where the last strings were pounding-then turned to survey the surrounding flats. To no avail.
"Isn't that just typical!" Gathering Jessamy's reins, she wheeled the mare and rode straight into town.
Without any idea what to do, Flick walked Jessamy down the paved street. Most of those about belonged to the racing fraternity-stable lads, grooms, trainers, jockeys. Some knew her and bobbed respectfully; all looked Jessamy over with keen professional eyes. Flick barely noticed.
Where had Bletchley been staying? She couldn't remember the inn's name. Demon had said it wasn't in Newmarket, but somewhere to the north.
But what had happened to Gillies and the others? They'd watched Bletchley for this long without mishap-could he finally have identified them and…
And what? She had no idea.
Doggedly, she headed north up the High Street, an ill-formed plan of inquiring at the inns to the north of town in mind. Halfway up the street, she came to the Rutland Arms, the main coaching inn. The mailcoach squatted like a huge black beetle before the inn's main door; she glanced at the passengers waiting to board.
A flash of scarlet caught her eye; abruptly she reined in. A curse from behind had her turning in her saddle. "Oh-I'm so sorry." Blushing, she drew Jessamy aside to let the racing string she'd impeded pass. The long file of horses with lads atop gave her useful cover; screened by them, she peered across the street.
"Yes!" Eyes lighting, Flick saw Bletchley, his red neckerchief a beacon, clamber up to the coach's roof. Then she frowned. "Why is he going to Bury St. Edmunds?"
Raising his yard, the guard blew a warning; the next instant, the coach lurched. Overloaded with men, apparently in rowdy mood, clinging to the roof, it ponderously rolled off up the High Street.
Flick stared after it. While she had no idea why Bletchley was heading to Bury St. Edmunds, it seemed unlikely he'd stop anywhere en route. There simply wasn't anywhere en route.
She had to find Gillies, and find out what had happened to him and Hills and Cross. She quickly turned Jessamy south, toward the stud farm.
And spied Gillies mounted on a hack not ten yards away. With a muttered exclamation, she trotted Jessamy over.
"Did you see?" She drew rein beside him. "Bletchley's gone off to Bury St. Edmunds."
"Aye." Gillies's gaze drifted up the street in the wake of the departing coach.
"Well"-Flick settled Jessamy as she danced-"we'd better follow him."
Gillies's gaze snapped to her face. "Follow 'im?"
"Of course." Flick frowned. "Isn't that what you're supposed to be doing?"
Gillies looked uncertain.
"Where are Hills and Cross?" Flick asked impatiently.
"Hills is at the farm-he was last on watch. Cross is over there." Gillies indicated with his chin. "He was watching Bletchley this morning."
Flick located the lugubrious Cross lounging in a doorway across the street. "Yes, well, now Bletchley has made a move, we'll need to organize to follow him."
"We will?"
Flick stared at Gillies. "What is the matter with you? Didn't Demon leave you with orders to follow Bletchley?"
Gillies stared back, then, mute, shook his head.
Flick stared even more; she couldn't imagine what was going on. But Gillies and Cross were out and about. "What are your orders?"
Gillies's face fell; his eyes took on the look of a mournful spaniel's. "To follow you, miss, and keep you out of trouble."
Only the fact that they were in a crowded public place prevented Flick from giving Gillies her opinion of his master's arrogance. His overweening conceit. His ridiculous male ego.
By the time she, with Gillies and Cross in tow, had retreated to the now empty Heath, she'd calmed down-to simmering. "I don't care what orders he gave before he left, he couldn't have foreseen Bletchley leaving. But he has, so we must improvise."