I cannot sleep, not here in this strange bedchamber, but I do not know what time of night it is, and I may not have long before…
I cannot bring myself to write the words. I shall simply say what happened.
I was on the top road – at the very place where I made my first attempt at robbing. I was masked, with pistol at the ready. It was a still evening. Down in the valley to the right I could just make out the lights of the Stag’s Head. Mist pooled and swirled round the main building, and I could see nothing of those two silver ribbons of water that I’d seen before, no, not even the bridges.
As I’d wished and longed for, I heard wheels rattling along the road. The way was rutted, and the driver shouted at his horses to hold steady, keep pulling.
A carriage appeared around a bend. It had a riderless horse tied on, still saddled. The rider, I reasoned, must be taking a break in the carriage, which suited me admirably.
I surprised myself at my confidence. Just a while ago, I was afraid to tackle a carriage, but it actually seemed easy – easier than a man on horseback.
I pushed Moonbeam on, into the middle of the way. There was no need for me to shout, “Hold!” The driver, who looked exhausted, pulled the horses up immediately. They’d hardly been making any speed over the rough ground anyway.
“You! Get down,” I growled. The driver practically fell off in his haste to do as I said. I moved to the window, and – well, it all happened so fast. A woman looked out, screamed and shrieked, “Wake up! Quick! We’re attacked!” and the man behind her stirred and looked at me.
It was Sir Staveney Vean!
He roared in fury. I should have made as if to fire my pistol, but I panicked. I was sure he’d recognize me. I yanked poor Moonbeam’s head round and galloped off downhill as fast as I could, not caring where I went. Some instinct told me to keep off de Gracy lands, but otherwise I rode blindly. As I reached a dip where the road rose steeply before dropping down into the valley I glanced round. He was behind me. I cursed. That horse, still saddled. Oh why had I ever thought it was easy?
Sir Staveney roared again and I heard a shot. Of course he’d be armed. I cannot say what terror seized my heart when clouds masked the moon. All chance of escaping across country was lost if I, and particularly Moonbeam, could not see.
I had no choice. I knew where I had to go. Shouting encouragement at Moonbeam, I leaned low and we galloped down the track. Branches brushed my hat, and I thanked heaven that I wasn’t using a side-saddle, or I might have taken the top of my head off. Even above the noise we made, I heard Sir Staveney’s curses, and the steady pounding of his horse’s hooves.
There! At the end, where the track curved to the left, there was the Stag’s Head. If what Ned told me about it was true, I felt that I – a criminal – would find help there.
Faster, faster, skidding round the corner into the inn yard. A burly man rolling a barrel. He looked up in surprise. Sykes MacPhee? It must be.
“Help me!” I cried. “I’m in fear of my life!”
Sykes MacPhee motioned me behind an outhouse. I hunched low in the saddle as Moonbeam and I fought to catch our breath.
I listened. I could hear the other horse coming nearer. At the same time, I became aware of the shadowy figures of men moving around behind me. There were murmurs. I caught one: “’Tis a wench.”
My hat had come off, and my hair was loose! If I escaped Sir Staveney, I knew there’d be fresh dangers to fear.
But now my attention was on the sound of the horse that clattered into the yard.
“Out of my way, MacPhee!”
There was a sharp cry of pain, then Sir Staveney’s voice again. “I said out of my way! If you’re harbouring a damned highwayman, I’ll see you swing. Stand aside!”
Another cry of pain. I could expect no protection here. Once more I panicked. Kicking wildly, I urged Moonbeam to a gallop, off down a side track to where I saw the gleam of water. We crossed the first bridge and I pulled Moonbeam left, to head down the raised path between the river and the stream. But the poor exhausted horse couldn’t make the turn. He plunged into the water and I flew off his back. Good luck and ill luck were with me. Good luck that it was the shallower stream rather than the faster-flowing river, but bad luck that there was little water to break my fall. I was stunned.
My next memory is of being dragged to the carriage, which must have followed Sir Staveney to the Stag’s Head. No one gathered round this time. They all kept well back in the shadows.
The last I saw, before I passed out, was Moonbeam being led into a stable by Sykes MacPhee.
I came to, to find my hands and feet tied, and Lady Staveney sitting bug-eyed, staring at me. There was a small girl in the carriage, too – Elvina? – but, fortunately, no Dunby. I could not have borne him seeing me like this. Seeing the child shocked me. I can’t believe I would have robbed a little one. I smiled at her, to calm her fear, though it can’t have been greater than mine. Her little pinched face looked coldly back. It is not a loving household, this one.
Sir Staveney rode alongside, pistol at the ready. I wondered where we were going. Not for long. We drew up at what I could only imagine, by its grandness, to be the Vean home.
“You can’t bring her in the house, husband,” whimpered Lady Vean.
“It’s late, woman. I’m not going to do anything more about it tonight. I’ll keep her under lock and key, and she can be dealt with tomorrow by the justice of the peace.”
“What will happen to her, Grandfather?” asked the little girl as he lifted her down, not too gently.
“The sheriff will put her in gaol, then she’ll be taken to court and judgement will be passed.”
“What does that mean, Grandfather?”
“She’ll hang.”
At these words, terror overtook me and I struggled against my bonds. It was futile, and I soon collapsed in a sobbing heap. I remember begging Lady Vean to make her husband spare me, but she looked at me icily, stepped carefully over my sodden boots and was helped down from the carriage.
So here I am, locked in a gloomy bedchamber. It is well furnished, with tapestry hangings, a large bed, a closet full of women’s clothes, and a close-stool, so I have no need of a chamber pot. There is a carved table with tiny painted dishes, for cosmetics, I suppose, and a pretty ivory comb. It also holds a dressing-box, which I have not opened, and there is a pen, some ink and a supply of paper, all of which I am using. I am convinced no one will notice, because I believe that this is the bedchamber of Dunby Vean’s poor dead wife. Oh, perhaps it is used occasionally for guests, but it has the feel of a room gone cold.
There is no escape from the window – it’s a sheer drop and at best I would break my legs. I thought I might tie the bed coverings into a rope and escape by lowering myself down the wall, but it is too far. I would have too dangerous a jump to the ground.
The key is in the door – I can see it when I look through the keyhole – and I hear someone outside, snoring deeply. They have posted a guard. I have a stump of candle, set in a bowl of water. How I should like to take the candle and set the bed hangings on fire. The only thing that stops me is the thought of the danger to that innocent child.
Later
I cannot sleep. I shiver with fear. I am to die, I know it. Sir Staveney will show no mercy. He knows my de Gracy relations will be glad to be rid of me, once they know I am a common criminal who would bring shame on them. And he himself hates me because I rejected his son. Well, his son will get what he deserves – Juliana. She will fit well with this mean, cold family.
But I … I will die. And what will become of poor Dominic? Who will help him then? I have let him down and I cannot bear it.
Oh, how cruel life is. Just when I have enough to get me to the ship, and probably to secure a berth on board, just then everything turns sour. Poor Ned, poor Bid. They’ll be wondering what’s happened to me. Though Bid will hear soon enough when news gets round Gracy Park.
I am so afraid. Afraid of
the rope. And the gibbet…
Days later
That night! That dreadful, soul-destroying, fearsome night!
I was wakeful. When I saw a glimmer of light in the sky, I knew I would sleep no more.
And then the smell. Smoke! But my candle had gone out long ago.
The smoky smell grew stronger. It wasn’t the smell of cooking, or of a good log burning. It was a bad smell.
Fire!
The house was on fire! As I ran to bang on the door, there were shouts from below, and the sound of feet running – away! Thank the Lord, I thought, the fire has been discovered. But as minutes passed, and the shouts grew louder and more terrified, and the smell grew worse, I realized I was forgotten.
I hammered on the door with my fists. Hammered and hammered. Then I picked up the poker from the fireplace and beat upon the door with that. Surely the guard would come back and let me out? Was I forgotten in the panic downstairs?
I heard crashes and screams. People calling each other.
I wept, sobbed, and threw myself at the door with all my might.
“Don’t let me burn!” I screamed and, finding strength I never knew I had, I threw myself again at the door. This time, the lock gave – I felt it give! With a fresh burst of energy and hope, I hurled myself twice more at the door. It burst open! I tumbled through into a corridor. I could see stairs at the end, but clouds of smoke billowed upwards from below. The noise of crashing and roaring and breaking glass was louder now. I hurtled down the first flight of stairs, but could go no further. Flames licked at the next landing, and the smoke churning upwards was dense and black and choking.
There were two ways I could go, corridors to left and right. I chose left – the air looked clearer there.
I ran to a window at the end and flung it open. There was a drop down on to a flat, roofed area. I remembered my idea of tying bedding together, and darted into the nearest room. I grabbed the sheets and coverlet from a bed and tied them together in big clumsy knots. Knowing how knots in washing would never come undone if they were wet, I looked around. There! A jug and bowl, and mercifully the jug was full. I poured water over my knots. Back in the corridor, I dragged a chest to the window. It had iron handles on each side. I tied my rope of sheets to one handle, and climbed on to the sill.
As I gripped the sheets and swung myself over, I gasped as I dropped suddenly, then stopped. The chest must have pulled up against the window. Slowly, my heart thumping, and terrified to open my eyes, I began my downward climb. There was no one below, and I began to think I might get down and away before I was spotted. Everyone was at the front of the house. I imagined the scene. Family, servants and animals running round in confusion, buckets of water…
I looked down to check how far it was to the temporary safety of the flat roof and, as I did so, I heard thin screams from above. Glancing up, I saw, to my horror, the pale, pinched, terrified face of the little girl from the carriage – Elvina. And behind her, the angry tips of flames darted amid the smoke.
What should I do? If I dropped down now, and lowered myself from the flat roof, I could get away, I could. To go back, to help the child, meant time lost and probable discovery. I would hang, for sure.
They’d left me to die in the flames. They had. I should leave the whole lot of them and save myself.
But I could not do it. My shoulders shrieked with the pain of holding on, but I climbed up, back up the rope of sheets.
Suddenly, cries and shouts from below told me I’d been seen.
“The child!” shouted a man “She’s still inside!”
“Save her!” cried a woman’s voice. “Oh, save her, please!” She began to cry hysterically.
At least, if I could rescue the child, there would be help for the last part of our descent. I reached the sill. “Help me up,” I cried, but the child just grabbed me, crying, her fingers digging into my arm and neck.
“Quiet!” I snapped. “Help me up, and I will carry you down.” How I would do that I wasn’t quite sure.
My harsh words jerked her out of her shock. She pulled and I strained, and soon I was back on the landing. My legs and arms trembled uncontrollably. I took off my belt – Dominic’s belt – and bound her to me, her face to my chest.
“Don’t be afraid,” I said. “Just hold on with all your strength.”
I lowered myself more carefully this time, but our combined weight was too much for my aching, strained arms. My hands lost their tight grip on the sheets, and slipped, taking us ever faster, down towards the flat roof. I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain of landing.
But there was no pain. Strong hands grasped us and lowered us down. Then the child was taken from me by two men who had climbed on to the roof, and she was passed down into other stretching arms, and to safety.
Then it was my turn, and I was lowered down with just as much care. When I reached the ground, I crumpled, crawled away from the building and was violently and painfully sick.
A servant woman helped me up. She smelled of milk and cheese. I saw Sir Staveney looking down at me.
“Take her to the lodge,” he said. “Guard the door.”
A stable boy carried me to a cottage, where a plump, kindly woman gave me strong drink. It was harsh on my throat, but warmed my blood.
“You’m a brave girl,” she said. “The child would have died else.”
“How did she get left behind?” I asked.
“Too many nursery maids,” said the woman. “Each thought one of the others had her safe, but no one had her at all, poor mite. They’ll be in trouble, that’s for sure.”
She patted my head and left me alone. I heard voices outside the room and a key turned in the lock.
I hurt so badly. My arms and shoulders felt stretched and strained, and my back was sore. I curled up in a corner and breathed deeply, trying to clear the smoke from my lungs, but all I did was cough.
And then Sir Staveney stood before me again.
“For the crimes you committed,” he said, “you deserve to hang.”
I put my head down and began to weep, silently.
“But I cannot forget,” he continued, “that you could have saved yourself, but you chose to save my son’s child.”
Days later
So here I am. The air is clean and fresh, with the tang of salt, and it is so good to be alive.
Sir Staveney freed me. Well, not exactly. He sent to Keeper’s Cottage for my clothes.
“And search the place,” he ordered his men. “Bring back everything she stole.”
At least Bid and Ned will know what’s happened to me, that I have not deserted them willingly.
When my clothes arrived, Sir Staveney flung them at me.
“Get dressed. At least go like a lady.”
His final words to me. He still despises me.
I was brought here, to this ship. The cost of my passage is Sir Staveney’s gift to me, in exchange for his grandchild’s life. I am in the care, and under the watchful eye, of the ship’s master. And on tomorrow’s tide we are bound for America!
And so I leave England. I have some regrets. My darling Jack. It breaks my heart to know I’ll never see him again, the poor little soul. I couldn’t say farewell to Ned and Bid. I couldn’t bring Moonbeam. And all the money and silver and jewels we’d put away will have been taken by Sir Staveney’s men. I suppose they’ll have taken Moonbeam, too.
Perhaps Bid will look after Jack. I shall never know.
The breeze is strong. It plays tricks on me. I keep hearing my name. Perhaps it’s blowing on a breeze from America. Perhaps it is Dominic calling me.
I’m coming, Dominic!
Later
Yes, Dominic, I’m coming! But not alone! I did hear my name on the breeze. And when I heard it more clearly, I looked ashore and who did I see? Moonbeam! And riding him were Ned and Bid.
As if that wasn’t wonderful enough, when I called out to them, a white bundle in Bid’s arms started to wriggle. Jack!
; What a joyous reunion!
“We couldn’t let you go alone, Susannah,” said Ned. “Soon as we heard you’d been saved from the hangman’s noose, my Bid went up to the house to find out what was happening to you.”
My Bid, eh? I smiled. “You say you’re coming with me? I suppose we could sell Moonbeam to pay for your passage, but will it be enough for both of you?”
Bid laughed aloud. “Susannah, we have plenty! Sykes MacPhee sent a man to tell us about your capture. Ned hid your money and jewels and things in such clever places, Sir Staveney’s lackeys didn’t find a thing!”
My clever, clever friends.
“I hid some of it in the badger’s skull,” said Ned, “and some in Jack’s bed. He growled at them, and they didn’t bother him no more. And the rest I bundled in rags in among the keeper’s rubbish.”
“And when they started to poke about in it,” Bid continued, “I said ‘Be careful, that lot’s been there since the plague.’ Didn’t they move!”
And so, with money in hand, I go at last to my brother. Ned and Bid will settle down with us in the new land and, between us, there’s nothing we can’t do. We’ll look after Moonbeam until Dominic is strong again. And if he doesn’t get strong I will take care of us all. After all, I’ve learned to garden, I can teach French, and I can cook (with help). I can also ride like a man, and if we are ever truly desperate I could always…
No! I mustn’t let those thoughts into my mind. Not ever again.
Historical note
Thieves have always been ready to steal from travellers for as long as there have been tracks from place to place. In medieval times, huge robber gangs terrorized some areas, and whole stretches of forest were cut back from the roadside so that there were fewer places for robbers to lurk. Along what’s now the A31 road near Alton in Hampshire, hundreds of members of a gang had to be rounded up and hanged before travellers could feel even remotely safe.
Highway Girl Page 10