No, Sabrina thought to herself, she hadn’t forgotten their first year in England. Five years had now passed since her grandfather had died, so long ago that she sometimes wondered if they’d ever lived in Scotland. And then she would have one of the nightmares. She would see again the blood-soaked heather and tartan, smell the death and fear on the moors, the scene haunting her nighttime dreams. She would waken, feeling that choking, horror-filled fear that left her sweating and gasping for breath, her body shaking uncontrollably.
So long ago, yet still so vivid. They had sailed away from the destruction in the Highlands. The slaughter of men, women and innocent children. The burning and sacking of their homes. Sometimes she wondered what had been the fate of the castle.
They had arrived safely in England, Aunt Margaret and Mary ghastly ill with seasickness from the turbulent crossing, Richard fretful and confused, and herself so full of hate she could scarcely conceal it from the English coachmen and innkeepers they’d dealt with on their journey to Verrick House.
The ancient family home had been uninhabited and inhospitable. The marquis, their father, whom they had not seen in the ten years since his Scots wife had died, had long ago abandoned it for the more refined atmosphere of London life and countless other diversions.
But their hard work and determination had made a home out of the small Elizabethan manor house that had changed little over the past two hundred years. The high gables, mellow brick and mullioned windows gazed down on a garden and orchard overgrown with weeds and fields that had lain fallow year after year. But the richly carved oak paneling and strapwork ceiling of the entrance hall still welcomed the visitor. The finely worked tapestries that hung from the walls were still in good condition, and with a little beeswax the old oak furniture glowed into new life.
They had managed to live comfortably through that first summer, their money stretching through the warm months, but with the advent of winter their hardships began. Aunt Margaret had caught a cold that lingered and kept her in bed with a fever and cough. The doctor’s bills had mounted daily, despite Hobbs’s efficient care of her mistress, and food bills had risen each month until they were forced to ration their meals.
The marquis had already sold years before any valuable object that might have brought a good price, leaving only the bare essentials of the house that would bring very little if sold.
Her resentment had grown as their neighbors had called, partly out of good manners, but mostly out of curiosity, to see the family of the long-absent marquis. In their finery they had rolled up to Verrick House in elegant coaches, displaying their wealth to their impoverished neighbors. Graciously accepting tea as they laughed behind their fans at vague Aunt Margaret busily sewing her tapestry, patronizing their awkwardly young hostess as she tried to serve them. Sabrina had seethed as she’d watched Mary reduced to tears.
Sabrina had seen the poverty of the villagers, the maimed limbs of many unsuccessful poachers who’d only been trying to feed their families. The unfairness of it all had finally goaded and angered her into action.
It was a problem not easily solved by a young girl, but once she discovered the solution she set about making plans and strategies that would have complimented any general.
It was indeed ironic that the solution should come from Lord Malton himself. He’d been complaining of the unsafeness of the roads and apparent ease with which travelers were held up and robbed.
“Like taking candy from a child,” he said angrily after church one Sunday morning while Sabrina listened, “the way these ruffians and footpads steal a person’s property. No fit place to live anymore.”
How easy, indeed, Sabrina had speculated, to act the highwayman.
The first attempt had been a terrifying failure, nearly costing her her life and limbs when the coach she’d tried to waylay had not stopped and had nearly run her down.
Her second attempt had been more successful and netted her a ruby brooch and a gold watch, relieved from her first victims, Lord and Lady Malton. She had sold the jewelry, then retired the old mare for a speedier mount and with what was left, a cow for the barn.
Fortunately, misfortune had turned into good fortune when she’d inadvertently stumbled across the path of Will and John Taylor. Rabbits poached from forbidden land were slung across their shoulders when she interrupted them, a company of dragoons on her heels at the time, and time being of the essence, they had saved introductions until later.
Sheltering under the trees, they had watched the soldiers thundering by, turning to inspect each other suspiciously when the immediate danger had passed.
She remembered now with amusement how the two big men had towered over her as she’d stood bravely before them in her jackboots, her paling face hidden by her mask.
John had looked down at her from his great height, his thatch of straw-colored hair gleaming like silver under the bright moonlight
“Well, what have we here?” he’d asked with interest.
“Looks like a little Scots gentleman to me, John,” Will laughed deeply.
“Aye, tha’ I be, lads,” she had answered huskily, her hands placed arrogantly on her hips.
“Well, little man, you’re a bit south of the mark, then. Don’t you think you oughta head north a bit? Wouldn’t want you stumbling into us again,” John had threatened.
“Yeah, looks as though you’d been busy, too, little Scot. What’d you get for yourself? Maybe you oughta share it with us for our trouble,” Will had suggested with a smile splitting wide his mouth.
Sabrina remembered reaching for her pistol, unwilling to share her first profits with those two country bumpkins, but before she could find it she’d found herself wrapped in a fierce bear hug. Her little bag of loot was searched to their disappointment and then her mask had been tugged loose. Their surprise had been very satisfying to her ruffled feelings.
“Lord, but it’s little Lady Sabrina Verrick,” John had said, shaken.
Sabrina had enjoyed their discomfiture for a few brief moments, then had made them her startling proposal, having been suitably impressed by their strength and also preferring to have them a part of her secret rather than just knowing about it.
Never once had she regretted her decision, as Will and John made themselves indispensable to her and her family, finding servants and gardeners from the village to work at Verrick House and somehow managing to get them credit with all the local shopkeepers until they had built up their income enough to pay.
It had worked out beautifully, almost too well, she sometimes worried.
“Are you going to soak until dawn?” Mary demanded sleepily. “You’re going to be as wrinkled as a prune.”
Sabrina climbed from the tub, wrapping her slender body in a warm towel as she dried herself before the fire and then slipped into her nightgown, smoothing the soft material over her hips.
Mary gave her a hug and disappeared into her own room. Sabrina walked over to the chest, opening the lid and looking down at her sword and pistol lying on top. She glanced at the claw-handled pistol and then dug down deeper, coming up with her grandfather’s dirk, the haft richly wrought with silver. She cradled it to her breast for comfort, trying to visualize her grandfather’s face, the glint in her violet eyes and the half-smile on her lips very reminiscent of the old man’s, had she but known it.
“I promised I’d take care of Richard, didn’t I? But I don’t think you’d planned it quite this way, did you, Grandfather?”
She replaced the knife in the chest and climbed into bed, her eyes closing with sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.
Alas, regardless of their doom
The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond today.
—Thomas Gray
Chapter 2
Sabrina happily descended the stairs, her thoughts cent
ered solely on the lovely summer morning. Birds were chirping melodiously from boughs near the open casement windows, and the scent of roses was carried in with the slight breeze.
She barely resembled the armed highwayman of the night before in her light blue silk damask gown with a creamy yellow, quilted satin petticoat showing in front. Her long black hair had been waved back from her face and secured in a simple knot atop her head, the thick coil looking too heavy for her slender neck that rose like a fragile stem from the bodice of her gown. Golden rings pierced her ears and gleamed on her fingers, and as she checked the gold watch slung from a chain around her neck she looked up sheepishly.
“I’ve overslept horridly, haven’t I?” she called to Mary, who was arranging a vase of fragrant lilies in the center of the oak table in the hall. “And it’s such a beautiful day, I hate to waste a minute of it.”
“I know, but I’ve the accounts to settle and the linen to check before we can go on the picnic you’re planning,” Mary smiled.
“Always practical, Mary. And I have yet to keep a secret from you. Is there nothing you don’t know?” she asked as she lifted a lily from the woven basket and held it to her nose.
Mary’s smile faded. “You know how I wish I didn’t have the Sight, Sabrina. I don’t want to see the future. It frightens me. I have this feeling, this dread”—Mary paused thoughtfully—“this awful fear that something is about to happen to cause everything to fall in upon us.”
“You’ve seen something since last night, haven’t you? You weren’t this nervous then,” Sabrina said.
Mary shook her head. “No, it’s just that feeling again—nothing more. It’s making me edgy.” She smiled apologetically.
“Something usually does happen, though, when you get these feelings.”
Mary looked into Sabrina’s clear violet eyes, tears clouding her strangely light gray ones and whispered, “Oh, Sabrina, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Mary dropped the lilies she held and hugged Sabrina to her. “You’re so small and sweet, and yet so brave to risk your life for us. I just couldn’t bear it if they should catch you.”
Sabrina shook her head admonishingly, returning her hug. “Silly goose. Nothing will happen to me. I have Will and John, and your gift to guide me. What can happen?” she scoffed, full of confidence.
“Now, shush.” She held a finger to her lips. “We promised never to discuss this during the day in case we might be overheard by the servants. Anyway,” Sabrina added, holding her arms out as if embracing the morning, “it’s far too glorious to be worrying about what isn’t about to happen.”
Mary shook her red head in defeat. “I give up. No one can resist you when you turn on the charm.” She finished arranging the last lily and stood back to admire the effect, and obviously satisfied, turned to Sabrina.
“Come along, you must be famished.”
“I’m absolutely starved. I can’t understand how I manage to work up such an enormous appetite,” Sabrina puzzled. “It must have something to do with the company I keep,” she added innocently, a twinkle in her eyes.
“Really, Sabrina, you’re an incorrigible little minx,” Mary laughed as they entered the dining room and she helped to fill her sister’s plate from the sideboard laid with covered dishes.
“Proper society ladies would look with horror upon what you’re eating this early in the morning,” Mary stated as she added sausage to the eggs and buttered toast on Sabrina’s plate, taking a small plate with only bread and butter for herself.
“I’d like to see them riding about at midnight and then be satisfied with a little piece of bread and butter,” Sabrina replied as she swallowed a piece of sausage and took a sip of hot tea. “Will you be out this morning?”
“Later, after I’ve seen to the household duties. I’ve prepared a basket for Mrs. Fisher. Some eggs and cheese and beef pies.”
“Mrs. Taylor will probably have gone over after Will told her last night,” Sabrina said. “You might take an extra blanket or two. Mrs. Fisher has been ill.”
“All right, I’ll see what I can do,” Mary replied, her mind going over the contents of the linen cupboard.
“My dears, how lovely to find you here,” Aunt Margaret commented as she drifted into the room. “Pour me a cup like a dear, Mary.”
She sat down opposite, glancing at Sabrina’s plate curiously, then looked away politely.
“Thank you, dear. You know, I don’t know where it goes?” she said looking out of the window distractedly.
“Where what goes, Aunt Margaret?” Mary inquired as she buttered a small wedge of bread and placed it before her aunt. She followed Aunt Margaret’s stare, but could only see flowers abounding in the garden. “Everything is blooming beautifully. The Sweet Williams are especially lovely this year.”
“Oh, are they dear, well, that is nice,” she smiled and then directing a look at Sabrina added, “Blue suits you admirably, dear, but where are you putting that vulgar display of food? One should really just nibble delicately at a morsel. A lady, no matter how hungry, must never show that she is hungry. One really should leave the table quite famished. Which reminds me, dear, I really must have some more scent. Aqua Mellis, if you please, nothing else will really do, and another bar of that lovely Genoa soap. Do you think I should use the indigo blue or the violet, dear?” she asked worriedly.
Sabrina and Mary exchanged tolerant glances, well used to Aunt Margaret’s vagaries by now.
“The violet, Aunt,” Sabrina answered automatically.
“Do you think so? Well, I suppose so,” she murmured, wrinkling her smooth brow, “but I really should think about it, dear. We mustn’t be too hasty.”
She rose gracefully and patting Sabrina on the top of her head affectionately wandered from the room, her tea untouched.
“Dear, sweet Aunt Margaret,” Mary sighed. “I do wonder where she is half the time. She wasn’t always this scatterbrained.”
“I thought she’d always been a bit dreamy and abstracted,” Sabrina commented as she wiped the corner of her mouth delicately, having cleaned her plate of its contents.
“No, something to do with unrequited love,” Mary explained sadly.
“Unrequited love? Rot.”
“Sabrina!” Mary looked astonished.
“Well?” Sabrina demanded. “No man’s worth losing your wits about. I’d sign his death warrant first, and then launch him into eternity riding my sword,” Sabrina vowed with a laugh.
“The way you do chatter at times. I don’t know whether to laugh or pray for salvation? Grandfather often said he’d thought you’d been left by the merfolk from the loch as retribution for some offense,” Mary replied. She sometimes worried; Sabrina could be so elusive, like quicksilver in her moods. She was much too passionate, so easy to provoke into a rage and so stubborn when she’d set her mind to something.
“You’d better pray to the ancient god Mercury that my feet remain fleet, for I’ve no desire to join them on Mt. Olympus yet.”
“More likely into Hades, Rina,” a boyish voice predicted. “It’s the fate of all fallen angels.”
Sabrina sent Richard a warning glance while Mary only shook her head.
“Not before I see you there, Robin Goodfellow,” Sabrina retorted with a smile.
“I never do get in the last word with you,” Richard complained, taking a slice of bread and spreading it liberally with butter. “Men don’t care for sharp-tongued females, Rina.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of that, Dickie.”
Richard smiled, seeming far too adult for his ten years of age. His red hair looked as though he’d just run an impatient hand through it, and there were faint shadows beneath his blue eyes. “Rather that than a fathead. I couldn’t stomach that.”
“Were you up reading late again last night?” Sabrina asked.
Richar
d’s mouth turned sulky as he concentrated on a small crumb next to his plate. “I can’t sleep when you’re out, Rina.”
Mary choked on her tea, glancing up at Sabrina with wide, startled eyes full of consternation, but Sabrina continued to stare calmly at Richard’s bent head.
“Out where, Richard?” she asked quietly.
Richard looked up then, a brightness in his eyes as he said impatiently, “You know where—Bonnie Charlie.”
Mary gasped, opening her mouth to speak, but Sabrina shook her head.
“Well,” Richard continued obstinately, “aren’t you going to deny it?”
“No, that would be foolish, wouldn’t it?” Sabrina answered.
“Yes, it would. I’m not a fool. Don’t you think I know what’s been going on all these years?” He looked over his shoulder and then continued more quietly, “Do you think I like to have my sister ride about the countryside at night as a highwayman? Don’t you think I ever wondered where the money came from that paid for my tutors, or put food on the table.”
He smote his fist on the table causing the dishes to rattle. “Well, I did. I never believed the tales you made up about getting it from the solicitor as a special allowance from the marquis. He doesn’t give a damn about us. Don’t you think I ever wished I could help in some way? I’ve always been too young, or too much of a coward. A poor-spirited milksop, afraid to even ride a horse, much less shoot a pistol. What good am I to you?” Richard demanded angrily, and jumping up, overturned his chair and ran from the room.
Mary and Sabrina remained seated, silently staring at each other.
“What a coil. I had no idea he even knew, much less felt this way. It’s hard to believe, Mary, but Richard’s grown up on us. He’s always been a serious fellow, so we’ve just never noticed how mature he’s become.”
“I’ll go to him,” Mary said worriedly. “I hate to have him so full of self-doubts. He’s still just a little boy, despite how mature he tries to act, and he shouldn’t be ashamed because he doesn’t ride,” Mary said in his defense.
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