“Well, good day to you an’ all, lord,” he said, apparently undaunted by the sight that had greeted him. Naturally, he too held a pistol.
“Good day,” Lucian said, not batting an eyelid. “I take it you have come to murder me on my uncle’s behalf and collect your reward?”
“That I have, your grace,” the chap said, quite amicably.
Lucian returned a withering look. “‘My lord’ is sufficient, I am a marquess, not a duke. I do hope this does not diminish your comrades’ estimation of your talents, as the title is less elevated than you imagined.”
“Ah, no, bless you, lord. Everyone knows Montagu is a wicked devil. You is as good as any duke by my reckoning. Better, even.”
“How reassuring,” Lucian replied dryly. “But before you put a period to my life, I wonder if we might have a little chat?”
The fellow sighed and pushed back his tricorn hat with the barrel of his pistol, returning a regretful expression. “Well, that would be right nice, but murdering a peer is a perilous business, and I’d rather get the messy part of the job done and get clear, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Well, as it is my life in the balance, it is not all the same to me,” Lucian said, crossing one leg over the other and sitting back against the squabs, apparently quite at his ease. “And as you say, murdering a peer of the realm is a perilous undertaking. I promise you you’ll never sleep sound again. You see, my solicitor knows to publish a deal of exceedingly unpleasant material if I were ever to die in suspicious circumstances. Which means many equally unpleasant men would be most displeased if I were to meet an untimely end. So, you see, it would not just bring you the inevitable difficulty of dodging the noose for having murdered a peer. Not only would justice need to be done quickly to set an example, but those men whose dirty secrets had been published to the world would likely want to seek retribution for the trouble that had befallen them.” Lucian gave him the benefit of a cool smile. “You do take my meaning?”
A glimmer of doubt flickered in the bloodshot eyes, and his would be assassin rubbed at his jaw, his expression thoughtful.
“They do say ’ow you is a dangerous fellow to cross,” he replied, his tone considering.
“I’m afraid that’s true,” Lucian said. “And I must also assure you I would by far rather shoot you before I die, than go peacefully. I’ve never been in the least biddable, I’m afraid. However, I have a proposal for you I believe you will find worth your while, should you decide to stay for that little chat after all?”
“Oh, aye?”
Lucian held his gaze. He’d had too many decades practise of hiding his own feelings to betray any glimmer of doubt or anxiety. This fellow would see nothing beyond the facade, just Montagu at his most icy and disdainful.
“I beg you to consider the facts, sir. I am the Marquess of Montagu and as such I control the purse strings of my entire family. Including my uncle. As I severely curtailed his spending some years ago, and recently crippled the man who has been financing his little schemes in the meantime, where do you think he’ll find the money to pay you?”
“You reckon he’d bilk me?” the fellow said, his head rearing back in disgust, his indignation genuine.
“I’m afraid he will have no option. He’s not got a feather to fly with.”
“Well, damn me, if the old gentleman hasn’t taken old Flash for a fool,” he said, shaking his head and then turning back to Lucian with narrowed eyes. “’Ere, how do I know you’re not telling me some Banbury story?”
Lucian shrugged. “You know who I am. You say you have heard of me by reputation. What do your instincts tell you? I suspect a man in your profession has learned to listen to them.”
“Cold as ice, just like they said,” the fellow murmured with obvious admiration as he considered this.
Lucian held his tongue for a moment, trying to remember where he’d heard the fellow’s sobriquet before and noting the large ruby glinting in one ear. It was pretty and incongruous on such a villainous character and, no doubt, the means by which the fellow had earned his name.
“Might you be Flash Jack, by any chance?” he asked, frowning.
The big brute brightened, grinning broadly. “Aye, lord. You’ve heard of me too, eh?”
Lucian nodded. “I once met a friend of yours. At least, he spoke of you being in the same, er… line of work. Galloping Johnson, I believe he went by. We did a little business together, though it was years ago.”
Flash Jack’s eyes grew wide. “Old Johnny? Lord, yes, he told me once about a right fancy toff he’d worked for. A deep one, he said, and not to be crossed if you knew what was good for you. ’Ere, you don’t mean to say…. You’re not the cove what saved Johnny from the noose?”
“Actually I am,” Lucian replied with a cool nod and an inward rush of relief, suddenly certain he was back on solid ground. “I was indebted to him for information he’d brought me, and he was a thief, not a murderer. I saw no reason for him to hang, so I stepped in.”
Lucian waited whilst Flash Jack gave him a hard stare. He returned the man’s gaze placidly.
“Reckon I will have that little chat, lord,” the fellow said, and climbed into the carriage.
***
“What the devil is going on up there?” Matilda fretted, pacing back and forth.
She felt sick with fear and her heart was thudding too fast. It had been ages since the horsemen had thundered onto the bridge and since then there had not been a peep out of anyone. To her intense relief there had been no shots fired, no clash of swords or shouts of pain but… what on earth was happening?
“Perhaps we should go and see,” Phoebe said, peering around the side of the bridge.
Matilda grabbed hold of her coat and hauled her back again.
“No. We promised we would stay put,” she said, though the indignation of hiding down here was gnawing at her insides.
“Like good little girls,” Phoebe retorted in disgust, folding her arms.
Matilda looked at the child and shook her head. “Your uncle had better survive, for I’m not sure I have the stamina to see you come out to society.”
Phoebe shrugged. “He always says it’s society that needs to be prepared for my come out, not me prepared for society.”
Matilda smiled despite everything. “I believe he is correct.”
They both turned with a gasp as footsteps sounded outside the bridge and Phoebe swung the gun up, holding it in both hands.
“Miss Hunt, Miss Barrington… it’s Denton.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” Matilda said with a sigh of relief.
Phoebe did not lower the pistol though. The man himself appeared, peering cautiously around the corner of the bridge.
“Now then, Miss Barrington, everyone is quite safe. You can put the pistol down.”
“Are you sure?” Phoebe asked suspiciously, not budging an inch. “Where is my uncle, then?”
“His lordship is making arrangements with a Mr Flash Jack, miss, and begs you to come and meet your new travelling companions.”
***
Matilda stared disbelievingly as she saw Lucian lounging against the side of the bridge, deep in conversation with a large man who looked like a flesh and blood representation of every highwayman sketch she’d ever seen. She hurried to Lucian, who held out his hand to her before Phoebe barrelled into him.
“Hello, Bee,” he said, lifting the little girl up and kissing her. “I’m glad you didn’t shoot Denton.”
She giggled as he set her down again and shook her head before giving Flash Jack a furious glare.
“Don’t be silly, but why didn’t you shoot this man?” She pointed at the fellow who held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
“Ah, now don’t be like that, missy. Old Flash Jack wouldna done you no ’arm. I don’t hold wiv hurtin’ lasses.”
“But you would have killed my uncle,” Phoebe said, scowling at him ferociously.
The villain just shrugged and gave a mou
rnful shake of his head. “Ah, that were business, little princess. Nothin’ personal, but now your uncle has done me the honour of giving me employment, so we’re all fair and square, ain’t we, lord?”
“Indeed,” Lucian said gravely, though there was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that Matilda had not seen before.
It reminded her suddenly of the boy in the portrait Mrs Frant had shown her on her first visit to Dern.
“I have been looking for just such a fellow as Jack for some time, and it so happens he is desirous of retiring from life on the er… high toby.”
Matilda stared at Lucian in patent disbelief. He looked smug, and rather pleased with himself at having not only met a notorious highwayman but taken him into his employ.
“Ah, well,” the big brute said sadly. “What wiv poor old George Lyon going to the nubbing cheat last month, and me getting no younger…. ’Tis too perilous for little reward, not like in the good old days. Reckon the time of the highwayman ’as gone the way of all good things. I’m in no hurry to climb the three trees wiv a ladder, and I have a fancy to roost in a proper pad at night, so it’s about time I did an honest day’s work for a change.”
Matilda stared between the rather terrifying ruffian and Lucian with bewilderment. Phoebe took her hand.
“One of his friends, George Lyon, was hanged in April for holding up the Liverpool mail coach,” she explained kindly. “Flash Jack says he’d rather not hang, and he’s tired of sleeping in rough places, so he’ll work for uncle instead.”
Lucian sighed and shook his head as he stared at his niece. “I have a dreadful feeling I’ve taken being honest with you way too far, you young scapegrace. I also forbid you—again— to mimic the grooms, nor read the papers when I’m not looking.”
“Oh, but, Uncle,” Phoebe said in delight, eyeing Flash Jack with fascination now. “He’s a real life highwayman. Isn’t it marvellous?”
From the glittering look in Lucian’s eyes, Matilda rather believed he did think it was marvellous.
Flash Jack seemed to swell visibly in the light of Phoebe’s admiration.
“Ah, well, little lady. Not no longer. Now, old Jackie will keep you and his lordship, and the pretty lady here, out of trouble,” he said, casting a rather warm and approving glance upon Matilda.
“Indeed,” Lucian replied, drawing Matilda closer to him and turning to see that the horses had been put back in harness. “And now we must be on our way. I’m afraid we shan’t make Market Harborough before dark if we don’t make haste.”
Matilda allowed him to hustle them back to the carriage and forced herself to still her tongue long enough for them to get moving.
“One of Jack’s men will take John Coachman back to Stony Stratford to fetch Mrs Frant and Pippin. So we’ll meet up with them in Northampton before heading onto Market Harborough.” Lucian said with perfect calm, as though he made deals with highwaymen as a matter of course.
Perhaps he did, for all she knew.
Matilda stared at him. “Lucian Barrington, if you don’t explain yourself this instant, I shall hit you. How the devil do you know that fellow isn’t just biding his time, waiting to murder you?”
“Because I saved Galloping Johnson from the scragging post,” he said with perfect gravity. “There is honour among thieves, love.”
And then he burst out laughing.
Matilda stared him with mingled astonishment and outrage. “I don’t see that there is anything the least bit funny about it,” she protested, folding her arms. “That awful man was sent here to kill you!”
“Oh, but it was nothing personal,” Lucian replied with just a slight twitch of his lips.
Matilda threw up her hands.
“Uncle,” Phoebe said, a little frown tugging at her smooth brow. “Where and when was Mr Flash going to meet with Great-Uncle Theodore to collect his money?”
“What a clever girl you are,” Lucian said, regarding his niece with a combination of approval and deep apprehension. “I fear for your future husband, I truly do. The poor devil will never have a moment’s peace. I know I haven’t.”
Phoebe preened as Matilda looked between the two of them.
“What do you mean— Oh, no!” she said, shaking her head at Lucian and folding her arms as her heart raced. “Oh, dear me, no. You can’t mean it.”
“But my uncle is so eager for proof of my demise, love,” Lucian said, his eyes twinkling, and it was not mischief that shone there now. Now it was the gleam one saw on the edge of a blade in the moment before it struck with deadly precision. “I do think we ought to provide it. Don’t you?”
***
They made the Three Swans in Market Harborough just as the last rays of sunlight were sinking beneath the horizon. To Matilda’s intense disappointment, only two rooms were available. As the day had been fraught with tension on all sides, she could hardly complain at Lucian’s decision of giving one room to the ladies, and for him to share the remaining room with Denton. Still, she was bitterly discontent. They had so few nights together that losing even one of them seemed a heavy blow. Neither were they to have a moment alone, as they had arrived so late that dinner was served almost at once and everyone hurried off to bed immediately after.
They at least had the good fortune of securing the largest room, which had two good-sized beds. So, Matilda shared with Phoebe, and Mrs Frant and Pippin shared the other.
Though she was exhausted after the trials of the day, Matilda did not immediately fall asleep. Phoebe had snuggled into her, her soft curls tickling Matilda’s chin, one little arm flung about her waist. Matilda hugged the child tightly and allowed herself the foolish indulgence of an impossible dream, of a future where she could stay with Lucian and they could give Phoebe the parents she longed for. A place where the real world never interfered. Her eyes prickled with the impossibility of it and she scolded herself for a fool.
Instead, she turned her attention to the events of the day, how very bold Phoebe was, and how her daring plan had not been dismissed by Lucian, but executed. He never treated the girl with condescension, always listened and valued her opinion. What a marvellous father he would be. Cursing herself, Matilda tried again to turn her mind to other things, and worried instead about the night when Flash Jack was due to meet Theodore Barrington at High Tor on the Heights of Abraham.
A confrontation between Lucian and his uncle seemed to her to be a recipe for disaster. It could only ever end in bloodshed and, whilst Lucian may well prevail, he did not need that stain upon his soul nor the taint that such a scandal would leave upon his reputation. At the very least she must be with him, he must not be alone when he faced that wicked man, and she swore that he would not be. No matter the cost.
Chapter 18
We are having the most marvellous adventure and are now travelling with a real Highwayman. Though he is a villain and says himself he ought to have been choked by a hempen quinsy by now—he means hanged of course—he has given his word of honour to keep us safe. His honour seems as precious to him as it is to my uncle, so I believe him. Flash Jack—Jackie, he says I may call him—has also promised to teach me how to pick a lock, though I made him swear not to tell Uncle Monty. I would never tell my uncle a lie, but I don’t see why I should tell him about things before I do them.
―Excerpt of an entry by Miss Phoebe Barrington to her diary.
8th May 1815, on the road to Matlock Bath.
Matilda spent the entire day plagued by a dreadful sense of unease. They would arrive at Matlock Bath that night and Lucian would meet with the press at Liddon Mill the following morning. She stared at the countryside beyond the window as the journey progressed and the scenery became ever more dramatic. Leicestershire, Mount Sorrel and Loughborough came and went and the wide expanse of the River Trent, glittering in the afternoon sun. The weather closed in as they reached Derby, and by the time they arrived at the Old Bath Hotel the skies were dark and forbidding as evening settled over Matlock Bath like a heavy wool cloak.
Phoebe, who had been in high spirits all day, had finally given in and was sleeping with her head in Matilda’s lap. Matilda smiled down at her. In sleep, Phoebe’s usual mischievous expression was replaced by a peaceful one, as innocent as an angel. She reached out and tucked a stray curl behind the girl’s ear and stroked her satiny cheek. Saying goodbye to this funny child would break her heart as much as it would to turn away from her uncle.
Matilda blinked and forced herself not to think of it.
As the carriage finally rolled to a stop Matilda, looked up to find Lucian’s gaze upon her, and upon the hand that protectively cupped Phoebe’s head. Their eyes met and she saw something fierce and hot in the cool silver, but then a footman opened the door and Phoebe stirred, and the moment was lost.
Matilda admitted herself a little disconcerted to be shown into the hotel via a back door.
“We are incognito,” Lucian reminded her gently at seeing her confusion. “And you ought not be here, but I know the manager, and we may rely upon his discretion. I have taken the entire south wing of the hotel to ensure our privacy, however.”
Matilda nodded, wondering if she ought to care more for her tattered reputation. She wondered if the whole of the ton was abuzz by now. Word must have spread. It always did. Did the world know she was his lover? Did her friends, her brother? She waited for the burn of shame, but it did not come. There was regret for any pain or embarrassment she would bring to those she cared for, but all her friends were happily settled, and she could do them no harm now. She was as free as she would ever be to follow her heart, and so she would and, when it was over, she would travel and see how far away she could get from everything she loved most.
The Old Bath Hotel was large and luxurious, and the manager, Mr Elliot, greeted Lucian with an effusion of obsequious delight guaranteed to irritate him. Matilda watched, a little amused as Montagu surfaced, dealing coolly and efficiently with Mr Elliot, ensuring dinner would be served as soon as it was convenient—which the manager correctly interpreted as at once—and that the hot bath, which the hotel was famous for, be made available for the private use of the party should they wish it.
To Hunt the Hunter (Girls Who Dare Book 11) Page 19