by L. A. Meyer
"I am sure of it, Charlie," I say. "And thank you for adopting me, Father. Does that mean I shall be in your will?"
He laughs. "We will have to negotiate that part of your adoption."
"That we shall," I say. "Now, let us all be off for one last night at the Cockpit, for this week we will have work, and I fear it will be hot work, indeed."
I put my hand on Lord Allen's arm.
"Come, my gallant Hotspur, I am feeling apprehensive and in need of some cheer."
At least I will get to see you soon, Jaimy, and I pray that all goes well ... but I just don't know...
Chapter 48
James Fletcher, Highwayman
In the Saddle and Waiting
On Blackheath Moor
Jacky!
I have received reliable word that Harry Flashby, yes, that despicable bastard who has brought us both so low, will be on the Plymouth coach this night. How long I have waited, oh, how so very long! But now the base coward will be brought to bay. At last!
My pistols are primed, my sword is sharp. You will be avenged this night, dear girl, I promise it!
Jaimy
Chapter 49
We've managed to get a coach very much like the regular London-to-Plymouth carriage, and we are heading down Blackheath Road toward the Blackthorne Inn, probably for the last time, for better or for worse. Liam is driving the team of four horses, his hat pulled low over his face in case Jaimy is capable of recognizing anybody in his current state of madness.
On the seat across from me in the coach, Harry Flashby sits, well bound up and glaring. We have given him a decent shave. And, oh, how I shall always remember the look on his face as the smiling Mr. Lee Chi approached him with a gleaming straight razor in his hand. We have dressed Flashby in new black trousers, black shirt, and boots. After all, when first we took him, he was wearing only his underclothes. We have his gag in place and the curtains are drawn because we do not want him attracting attention. Night has fallen, but there is a very bright moon rising, with ghostly clouds scudding across its pale and pitted face.
Next to Flashby are Davy and Tink, and beside me sits Captain Richard Allen, a dark gray cloak hiding his scarlet regimental uniform.
I am too nervous to make much small talk on this journey. A knot of worry is gnawing at the pit of my stomach... Oh, Jaimy, what if things should go wrong, horribly wrong?
But if I am too full of dread and apprehension to make cheerful conversation as we clatter along, Richard most assuredly is not.
"There is a very good chance you will be killed this night, Flashby, old boy, and we do hope you will make a good show of it. After all, you have the reputation of the Black Highwayman to uphold," says Lord Allen to the gagged and moaning Flashby.
"We don't want future romantics to think he met his end as a groveling, sniveling coward, now, do we?" continues Allen, plainly enjoying Flashby's discomfort.
More grunts from Flashby, who finds his tormentor not finished quite yet. I know that Richard senses my unease and is doing this to cheer me, and, admittedly, it does help ... a little.
"For the love of God, Flashbutt, hold up your head! Don't you realize that stories and poems will be written about you? Yes, it is true!" he proclaims. "Think of it ... dewy young girls heaving great palpitating sighs and hugging their well-worn and tearstained copies of the sacred poem to their breasts, and all you have to do, for your part, is to perish nobly. Not too much to ask, is it, old top?"
On we go along the road that is now a pale ribbon of light under the glowing moon.
"Now there is a slight chance you might survive this night, in which case you will certainly be hanged at Newgate as fast as that can be arranged. Enough proof has been planted on you to ensure that, I promise you ... Yes, the evidence will be circumstantial, but it should prove damning. I can see it now—'Oh, the Highwayman stood on the gallows, his head on high, and proclaimed...' et cetera, et cetera. You know, all those things noble characters say when their noble necks are about to be stretched."
Flashby's face has by now turned a rather unsightly shade of pale, as he finally realizes just what is planned for him. I take the opportunity to remove the black silk mask from my purse, the one with the gathers so well described by Mrs. Beasley, the very observant seamstress, and tie it about Flashby's neck so that it will be ready to be yanked up into place when the time comes. And yes, I had stuffed all that cheap jewelry I had purchased at that pawnshop into Flashby's pockets, making sure that some spilled out so that all could take note.
That done, I draw back the curtain and stick my head out the window to look down the road we have just traveled. There is a cloud of dust back there, and I know it has been raised by Richard's company of Royal red-coated Dragoons, who are trailing us by a quarter mile. They bear orders to stay out of sight behind that hillock at the turn of the Blackheath Road until they are called. They lead Richard's horse and a few extra mounts.
Hmmm... I'm thinkin'... they'd better stay in the rear. It won't do for them to be spotted. Hey, what's that? High on the crest of a hill I see a boy, framed by the rising moon, standing beside a horse, looking back from whence we had just come.
Uh-oh... Could it be that Bess, the landlord's daughter, who has so far proved herself most cautious, has allies in her enterprise? God, I hope not...
Hope or not, the boy bounds into the saddle and pounds off to the south. Maybe it's nothing ... but maybe he's headin' to the inn ... Maybe he will tell... Oh, Lord, let us beat him to the spot...
I pull my head back in.
"We're gettin' close. Everybody ready? Remember, we must stay hidden. We don't want to spook him and send him flying off after all this trouble we've gone to. Got that? Good."
All nod, with Davy and Tink each putting their hands on a Flashby arm, and holding him upright. Richard loosens his pistol in its holster and says, "Ready, Princess. Let's get to it."
Liam leads the coach around the treacherous tight turn and there ... there ... there in the moonlight on his great black horse, stands the Black Highwayman of Blackheath Road, his mount rearing, his black cloak swirling around him.
"Stand!" he roars, pulling out his pistols. "Stand and deliver to me the base coward I know rests within that coach! Bring out Harry Flashby now!"
"Tink! Davy!" I hiss, yanking the gag from Flashby's mouth and pulling up the mask. "Put him out!" My shiv is already in my hand and I use it to cut the bonds that bind his wrists.
Davy kicks open the door and Flashby is tossed out to lie squalling and writhing in the dirt.
"No! Fletcher, please! Don't do it," croaks Flashby, now on his knees. "I beg of you! Mercy!"
The Highwayman looks down upon him, ignoring the rest of us.
"Take this pistol. You shall have the first shot." He tosses the pistol to the ground in front of Flashby.
I jump out of the coach and pull back the hood from my head.
"No, Jaimy, don't do this," I plead. "He's not worth it! He's—"
There is the sound of approaching hoofbeats, the sound of a horse being ridden desperately hard.
"NO, JAMES! WATCH OUT! IT'S A TRAP! RUN! RUN!"
The Highwayman's head jerks up to see Bess, the landlord's daughter, come pounding toward him.
"THERE'S A BAND OF REDCOATS BEYOND THAT HILL!" she screams. "YOU MUST FLEE! RUN!"
The girl jumps down from her horse and runs to his side and wraps her arms about him.
The Highwayman, confused, looks down upon her, his remaining pistol still in his hand.
"Jaimy! No!" I yell. "It's me, Jacky! Put down the gun! We can work this out!"
But it turns out we cannot work this out. Not now, not ever...
Flashby, now unbound and seeing confusion all about, reaches down to pick up the pistol that was tossed to him. To my horror, he aims and fires. Following the flash, I see the bullet find its mark. No, it doesn't penetrate the dear body of the Black Highwayman but instead goes straight into the chest of Bess, the landlord's raven-h
aired daughter.
She jerks and slumps to the ground.
Flashby, realizing that he has missed his target and can only expect a bullet in return, jumps up and runs away, up the road and toward the safety of London.
The Highwayman drops his pistol and sinks to his knees in the dirt beside his stricken girl, gasping as her heart's blood flows out of her. He gathers her to his own chest and holds her.
"James..." she whispers. "I..."
"Hush, dear Bess," says Jaimy, for it is now plain that it is he, the mask having dropped from his stricken face. He buries his face in the thick mass of her long black hair. "Just you rest now..."
I come up to him. Maybe I shouldn't, but I do.
"Jaimy ... please ... we must fly from here, we must..."
But he does not see me. His mind is closed to all but the girl who lies dying in his arms.
He places a kiss upon her brow as she gasps her last breath on this Earth and slumps lifeless against his chest.
"All I ever loved..." whispers Jaimy. "Jacky ... and now Bess. All I ever loved in this world ... gone ... taken from me..."
His left hand holds the girl's body, while his right searches through the dust and finds the unfired pistol. He fits it into his fist and lifts it...
Wait, Jaimy! Flashby's gone. You can't hope to hit him! You can't...
But it ain't Flashby he's aiming to shoot ... no, it ain't...
He lifts the gun and points the barrel to his own head, his eyes dead.
"NO!" I scream, and throw myself over the pistol. His finger tightens and the gun fires, tearing a hole in my shirt and a narrow burning groove in the skin of my belly. "JAIMY! DON'T YOU KNOW US? WE'RE YOUR FRIENDS! THERE'S LIAM, AND DAVY, AND TINK ... THE DOLPHIN! THE FORETOP! OH, DON'T YOU KNOW US, JAIMY?"
But he doesn't know us. No, he doesn't...
He gently lays the girl's body down and rises into a crouch, facing me.
"Demons ... all of you. Jacky's dead. My Bess is dead ... They're all dead ... and you have come here to torment me, you hellish fiends, you..."
Jaimy, his face a mask of pure insane rage, fixes his mad gaze upon me.
"No, Jaimy, it ain't like that, it ain't!" I plead. "We're your friends! I'm your girl, I am—"
What I am is standing there pleading with him as his fist comes rounding about and slams into the side of my face.
Oh, God! The shock, the pain!
I fall back and my head hits something hard and my senses cloud and I ... I can't get up, I can't ... I swim in and out of consciousness. Through the thudding pounding of my brain, I hear shouts...
Here, Delaney, get this rag over his face! That's it. Don't breathe it yourself, man, it'll knock you on your ass. Ah, yes, Mr. Fletcher, be calm now, that's it, relax ... just relax ... Everything's gonna be all right. Good. He's out. Jones, Tinker, get him in the coach.
I groan and roll over in the dirt.
Christ! She's got blood on her front! Here, hold her!
I feel my dress being ripped open.
Thank God, it looks superficial! Get her into the coach!
I am lifted up and my swirling senses slowly return to me. I find I am leaning against Richard Allen and being held up by his right arm.
"No ... wait," I manage to say, still weaving on my pins. "Jaimy...?"
"He is all right, Princess," says Allen. "Don't worry. Now, as for you..."
Just then the red-coated Private Archie MacDuff bursts into our little circle of dim moonlight, followed by the rest of the Dragoons, with a struggling Lieutenant Harry Flashby secure in the burly arms of Sergeant Bailey. He had run off only to shortly find himself locked in that firm and quite unfriendly embrace.
"We nabbed 'im roight off, Sor," announces Bailey. "He's the Highwayman, roight, Sor?"
"He is, indeed, Sergeant," says Allen, who goes up and puts his face in Flashby's. Leaning down and picking up Jaimy's wide-brimmed hat, he claps it on Flashby's head. He then pulls the little silken mask up over his nose and taps it down securely.
"Take him back, Sergeant, and parade him through the streets of London for the delight of the mob. Let them hoot and holler at him, as he's got it coming," says the grinning Lord Allen. "That'll be a bit of fun, won't it, Flashby, before the rather grim stuff to come? Yes, I hear, Mr. William Brunskill is the hangman at Newgate and he favors the short drop, don'cha know ... the one you had planned for Jacky, remember? Cheerio, now, old top. Sergeant, take him to Newgate and dump him there, on my authority. Make sure his accommodations are of the very worst."
"Aye, Sor."
Flashby, wild-eyed, is dragged away as Richard leads me, still woozy, off to the coach.
"Here, Princess, up with you. There. I shall ride behind you."
I am put up and placed within, as Lord Allen mounts up to follow.
In the coach, Tink and Davy have Jaimy between them, trying to bring him around.
"C'mon, Jaimy, we're back on the foretop o' the Dolphin, don'cha remember? C'mon, mate, good times then, eh?"
"Nay, lads," I say, still trying to clear my battered mind. "Don't do that. Here, let me over." And I move over to take Tink's place, such that Jaimy's head is lowered into my lap.
I take my hand and smooth his hair from his face and look down upon him.
Poor Jaimy, that you had to go through all this for me ... and I am so unworthy of it all, you know. Me, Jacky Faber, just a scrap of skin and hair and bone and that's all there is to it when all is said and done. So much better for you, lad, if you had never got on the Dolphin and I had stayed in the streets of London. I don't know what leads us on our paths to whatever destiny awaits ... Sometimes I think it's just a flip of the coin, a turn of the card ... I just dunno...
Jaimy gives a bit of a moan, a shudder goes through him, and then he subsides again.
That's it, Jaimy, just rest. Don't worry, things will get better, you'll see, you'll see...
I lean over and lift his head and place his face on my breast and hold it there and let the tears drip from my eyes.
Oh, Jaimy, this world was not of our making, why do we have to suffer through it so?
As we ride on through the night, I know that I should be rejoicing because we were successful in rescuing Jaimy from the gallows. Here he is, after all, in my very lap, safe for the moment from the authorities and maybe from himself, but I am not joyful, no ... I can only think of that poor, loyal, and loving heart left lying back there on the road ... back in the waning moonlight ... blood on her shattered breast, the red love knot that had been twined in her hair, now trailing in the dust...
Chapter 50
I am again seated in the office of the First Lord of the Admiralty, the unworthy Faber bottom once more pressed into a very fine chair. The Faber ears are listening, once again, to Mr. Peel speak to matters of Naval Intelligence. Mr. Peel is standing, while Baron Mulgrave, the First Lord himself, sits with his hands clasped over his belly. He does not seem to be at all favorably disposed toward my poor self. But that's all right ... I sit with my hands demurely folded on my lap, with chin up and the Lawson Peabody Look firmly upon my face. I am dressed fairly military, as I believe befits the moment. I'm wearing the blue jacket, white skirt, and all, and I sit and listen.
"Now as to your status, Miss Faber," Mr. Peel intones. "The amount of historical treasure you have very ingeniously managed to obtain from the East has been very well received by the Crown and we are directed to act kindly toward you ... and yours..."
And you, too, Mr. Peel, should be well disposed to be kind to me and mine as I got your job back for you ... the Affair of the Misplaced Watch, you will recall...
It turns out that Mr. Peel is, indeed, well disposed toward me for all that.
"...and it has been decided that Lieutenant James Fletcher, whereabouts unknown, shall be restored to his full rank in the Royal Navy—that is, of course, if he should ever turn up again. It has been determined that his conviction at court-martial was tainted by the testimony of false witnes
ses."
"That is good, Sir," I say. "Mr. Fletcher is entirely devoted to the Service, no matter what aspersions might have been cast against his good name."
"You mean the charge that he led a mutiny on an East India Company ship?" growls the First Lord, speaking up for the first time.
"That was the East India Company, Sir," I purr. "Not the Royal Navy. And, you will recall, he was serving out an unjust sentence."
"As opposed to your very just sentence to life in the penal colony at New South Wales for your own crimes against the Crown?"
"Whatever you say, my lord," I murmur, eyes cast modestly down. "If you want to dispose of me, then just do it. I have always tried to serve my country to the best of my ability."
That gets a slight cough of disbelief from Mr. Peel, but he soldiers on.
"However, for all your good work, you have done some damage to this Branch of the Service. Agents Moseley and Bliffil are now gone and Agent Flashby is ... indisposed."
Indisposed? Ha! I'll bet he is, trying to talk his way out of that one!
"You shouldn't hire such lowlifes to work for you," I say evenly. I cast an eye on the agents Carr and Boyd, who stand guard at the door. They aren't so bad, but they do follow orders from the top, and I'm not anywhere near the top ... but we'll see...
Last night, when Jaimy, all bound up, had been brought down to the wharf, he was taken not to the Nancy B., but rather to the Celestial Light, where Chopstick Charlie Chen waited.
"Leave him to us," said Charlie, upon my breathless arrival. He was once again clad in his Oriental garb. "We will take care of him. We have herbs, potions, curatives ... We have our ways. As a matter of fact, we have just given him a dose to calm him down. He is now very quiet and you can see him if you wish."
I did so wish, and went down into the cabin where Jaimy lay on a pallet, Sidrah beside him, placing a cool compress to his forehead.