The Lady and the Highwayman

by Sarah M. Eden

  Were this any other night, she would have assumed the housekeeper had simply lit a fire in the kitchen. But both of the manor’s servants were away that evening, calling upon family and friends. Lucinda and Nanette were alone.

  “Do you smell smoke, Miss Ledford?” Nanette asked, her wide eyes looking about as if expecting to see flames at any moment.

  That the girl had detected the same aroma convinced Lucinda she was not imagining the worrisome smell. The oddity warranted investigation.

  She rose and crossed to the window. The forest, growing dimmer by the minute due to the setting sun, showed no signs of flame. She pressed her open hand against the window, leaning so near the glass that her face almost touched the cold pane. Nothing along the side of the house appeared to be alight. Curious.

  “It smells stronger.” Nanette even coughed a little.

  Lucinda, herself, could taste a bit of ash in the air and felt the tickle it produced in her throat. She looped one finger around the chain of her necklace, attempting to decide what was to be done. Was the fire they smelled a threat? A fire, and she alone with the girl, with no one to be of assistance!

  With a calm she did not entirely feel, she faced her darling charge. “Pull on your coat, dearest. We will make a turn about the house and see if we can’t solve this mystery.”

  They’d made but a half-circuit before the dire truth of their situation became devastatingly clear. A fire, indeed! A wing of the house glowed with the telltale amber of interior flame.

  “Oh, Miss Ledford! What are we to do?”

  “We must find help, Nanette. We simply must.” But where? Her nearest neighbors were some distance away, and she hadn’t her coachman to hitch up the horses. Neither could they simply stand idly by and watch the house devoured by fire. There was no choice but to make the journey on foot.

  She took the child’s hand in hers and turned swiftly toward the road—the road that led directly beside the forest. No matter that she had told Nanette time and again there was nothing to fear in those foreboding trees, no matter that she had told herself the same, fear tiptoed over her as they drew nearer.

  “Oh, miss!” Nanette’s quiet cry quivered, her tear-filled eyes watching the dim forest.

  “We will do our utmost to avoid stepping within,” Lucinda vowed.

  From deep within the woods came a howl, the very sound she had always believed to be the wind whipping its way through the many branches. Hearing it outside of the protective walls of her home, she no longer felt so certain.

  “It is the monster, miss,” Nanette urgently whispered.

  No. She could not believe that. She would not. Another howl sent a shiver over her, filling her with an undeniable dread, the likes of which she had never felt before. Her steps slowed even as her pulse quickened.

  Ahead, the road bent, turning directly into the forest. Had it always? She did not remember the path taking her into the woods, no matter that she’d traveled this road many times. Perhaps it was simply that her surroundings were more forbidding in the near-darkness of late dusk. Perhaps it was the influence of too many of her neighbors insisting the forest was dangerous.

  “We cannot go into the forest, Miss Ledford,” Nanette pleaded. “We must go back.”

  But looking back, Lucinda was met by the glow of the fire that was surely consuming her home. They could not return there, neither could they hope to save the manor without help.

  “We must press forward, dear. We must.”

  Keeping the girl close to her side, she followed the curve of the road directly into the forest. Seldom had her senses been as alert as they were in that moment. Every sound, every movement pulled her attention. Her eyes could make out so little. Night was nearly upon them!

  “I don’t want to go into the forest,” Nanette whispered.

  “We must find someone to help extinguish the fire, and we need to find shelter for ourselves.” Even knowing the utter truth of that, Lucinda questioned their current course. She questioned it all the more when the sound of footsteps reached her.

  Footsteps. Behind them.

  She tugged Nanette’s hand, moving more swiftly, praying with all the fervent hope in her heart that they would reach safety and shelter soon.

  The footsteps drew closer, louder, faster. Merciful heavens! She and Nanette rushed headlong into the woods, staying on the road as they plunged into darkness. This road would take them to her nearest neighbor, to help, to safety. If only they could manage!

  Ahead in the darkness, spots of reflected light suddenly appeared, all in pairs, all at the height of a man. She froze, her breaths tight and painful. They were eyes, she hadn’t the first doubt. Were these creatures of the forest? Or people?

  Footfalls sounded heavy on the ground behind them, so near that whatever pursued them must have been nearly upon them. Creatures behind. Creatures ahead. What was she to do? What escape was there?

  Nanette screamed. Lucinda pulled her close, offering what little protection she could. She held her breath, waiting for the creatures around them to attack.

  “It ain’t safe in the forest, miss.” A man’s voice. Not a creature at all.

  Without exposing Nanette in the slightest, Lucinda looked up and directly at the now-familiar highwayman. Her lingering fear, coupled with her utter surprise, silenced her. She could do naught but stare.

  “Are you hurt?” He spoke from under his wide-brimmed hat, just as he had all those weeks ago.

  She managed to shake her head. They’d been frightened but not injured.

  He seemed to look beyond her. In a carrying voice, he called, “Any sight of the beast?”

  “No, cap’n,” came the answer from the direction of the glowing, shimmering eyes.

  “Not a single hair,” another voice added.

  Did all those eyes belong to the highwayman’s people? She shook off the question, rising shakily to her full height once more. She’d come in search of help. Perhaps this man of questionable character would redeem himself and offer the assistance she needed.

  “Please, sir,” she said. “We need your help.”

  “I would say you do,” he answered. “Being alone in these woods isn’t wise.”

  “There’s a fire at our home, and not a soul at hand to help. I fear the house is lost now, but if there’s even the smallest chance—”

  “Come along, men,” he shouted. “To Calden Manor!”

  “You know where I live?” She could not say precisely why that mattered.

  Barely enough light shone to illuminate his dimpled grin. She’d forgotten how breathtaking it was. Sir Frederick’s smile had set little Nanette aflutter. If Lucinda wasn’t terribly careful, the highwayman’s smile would have the same impact on her.

  At least a half dozen men rushed past her, back in the direction of her home. The highwayman remained with her and Nanette. He, it seemed, was offering his escort and his protection.

  “The men’ll do what they can for your home, miss,” he said.

  “I thank you, and them. I would not have guessed when first I encountered you that you would be so immediately helpful.”

  “And why’s that?”

  With Nanette tucked against her side as they walked, she lowered her voice to prevent her words from carrying to the child’s ears. The poor girl was frightened enough without realizing they were dependent upon the mercy of a criminal. “You were attempting to rob me, sir. Or do you not recall?”

  “I assure you, I recall every detail of our time together.”

  Flattery. “Then you must understand why I am wary.”

  “If you can face the forest, you can certainly face me. I may be odd, the subject of rumor, a questionable fellow, even. But I am not dangerous.”

  “Nanette tells me there is a monster in the forest.”

  “There is,” he said quite seriously.r />
  “And can you be certain that monster is not you?” Though she posed the question with some humor, she asked it in earnest.

  “Nanette is not the only one to have seen the horrendous beast.” The highwayman gave them both a gentle but persistent nudge. “And she’s one of the fortunate, to have seen it and escaped. I’d not place money on her being so fortunate again.”

  No matter that she remained unconvinced of the reality of a monster in the forest, she could not argue the importance of not remaining among the trees. Her home was ablaze. If it were lost, she hadn’t any shelter for herself or Nanette.

  “Might we send word to at least one of the neighboring estates?” Lucinda asked as she and her dear girl followed the highwayman in the direction of Calden Manor. “The more people we have, the more likely we are to extinguish the fire before the entire house is lost.”

  “Word’s been sent to Hilltop House,” the highwayman said. “One of m’ men ran that way.”

  Hilltop House? “Sir Frederick does not have a high opinion of you or your men. Do you suppose he will heed your plea for assistance?”

  “For you, Miss Ledford, I suspect he will.”

  She was not convinced. “Perhaps one of the other neighbors would be more reliable.”

  “His house is nearest,” the highwayman said. “And he’s reliable. He’ll not neglect you.”

  His words proved prophetic, at least in some respect. Servants arrived to help save Lucinda’s home. Sir Frederick, however, did not come. Nanette eventually stopped asking after him. It was not Lucinda’s words that comforted her, though. It was the highwayman’s. He said something to her, something Lucinda did not overhear, whilst the remaining flames died down. The little girl took comfort and, from that moment on, would not leave the man’s side.

  Odd that one who plied his trade in such unsavory pursuits could prove himself so noble. He and his men risked arrest interacting with the Hilltop House servants, yet they did not desert Lucinda in her time of need. Through it all, the highwayman kept his hat tugged low. Had he reason to conceal his face? Was he disfigured? Someone recognizable who dare not invite discovery?

  Lucinda and Nanette had taken refuge in the stables, far enough from the house for safety. Blankets had been sent over from Hilltop House to guard against the bitter winter cold. They sat in the hay, wrapped in several layers. Nanette fell asleep, having worn herself to a thread, first with worries over Sir Frederick’s absence, then with waxing poetic over the highwayman’s kindness to her. In the silence left behind by the girl’s slumber, Lucinda could hear the raised voices of those men working to extinguish the flames. The panic she’d heard earlier had dissipated. Was that a good omen, or had they simply given up?

  A shadow crossed the open door of the stable. The hat was unmistakable.

  “Your house ain’t entirely lost, miss,” he said. “But none of us thinks you’d be wise to stay until some repairs’ve been made. There’s a touch too much ventilation just now.”

  She sighed, pulling Nanette closer. The girl was once again without a home. “Oh, what am I to do? I have nowhere to go.”

  The highwayman leaned against the doorframe, striking a casual and easy pose. For a man who seemed to have no home at all, he never appeared to be anything but at home, no matter where he was. What must that be like? How she wished she knew.

  “Sir Frederick has sent word that the both of you are to come to Hilltop House. Rooms’ve been prepared for you. You’re expected.”

  She could hardly believe it. “Sir Frederick does not particularly like me.”

  The highwayman slipped farther inside the stables. “I understand the one he speaks ill of is me. Rumor has it, he offers nothing but praise for you. Were I you, I’d accept his offer.”

  Nanette had said much the same thing. Yet Lucinda’s mind would not clear of the painful memory of Sir Frederick’s public rejection. At least this man treated her with kindness. Even the night he’d held up her coach, he’d been courteous.

  She carefully laid Nanette down, tucking the blankets about her more cozily. She then crossed to the highwayman, holding fast to the blankets wrapped about her own shoulders.

  “Thank you for all you did tonight, and for your kindness to the poor little girl.”

  He tugged at his wide brim. “My pleasure, Miss Ledford.”

  “Why is it you have chosen such an ill-advised profession? The more I come to know you, the more I see it does not suit you.”

  How well she remembered his laugh, no matter that she’d not heard it in some weeks. It echoed with low, rumbling familiarly. “Desperate times, my dear Miss Ledford, require desperate actions of us all.”

  “Are you wanting for money on which to live?” She knew the moment she asked that could not be the case. “No. When you held up my coach, you did not take anything.”

  “You didn’t have what I was looking for,” he said.

  He stood so very near, the warmth of him chasing away the chill of the night.

  “What was it you were looking for?”

  “Hope.”

  Elizabeth decided to forswear late-night visitors. Not because she hadn’t enjoyed the feel of Fletcher’s fingers caressing her cheek or the warmth of his hand enveloping hers—she certainly had—but because the mutton­head had done all of that, yet hadn’t come by or sent so much as a single word in the two days since.

  Men were, at times, utterly frustrating.

  To think she’d sat at her desk, watching him through the window, eager at the thought of his company, worried over the heaviness in his expression, confident enough in his trustworthiness to not tuck her latest installment by Mr. King away before letting him in. She’d believed in him, and he had essentially disappeared.

  Her publisher, delighted by the unparalleled success of her current serial, had begged for her to write faster so they could begin the next story as soon as possible. She’d used every spare minute, and a good amount of the time usually reserved for sleep, attempting to finish her tale.

  She’d carefully wrapped her papers in water-wicking leather as a guard against the constant drizzle of the morning and had delivered her pages to Timothy to be handed over to his go-between with her publisher. She needed to stop by Covent Gardens to obtain a few things, then head back to Thurloe to see to her duties there. She would need to return to her writing that night, just as soon as the girls finished their evening lessons and activities. There was no rest for the overworked woman behind the famously successful man.

  Making her way back down King Street, she came upon Hollis Darby just stepping out of a home and out onto the bustling street. He spotted her only minutes after she spotted him.

  “Miss Black.” He bowed with every indication of pleasure. “What a delight.”

  “You are choosing a poor time to step out into the weather,” she said. “The drizzle is picking up pace.”

  “Is that not just like a late English summer?” He tsked good-naturedly as he opened his umbrella. “How is your school faring? You expressed some concern when we crossed paths a few weeks ago.”

  No one would ever fault Mr. Darby’s manners. He was refined and genteel, considerate and civil. Though a woman in her position would do well to court the attentions of such a gentleman, she found she much preferred Fletcher’s rougher edges. Of course, those rough edges were currently keeping their distance from her.

  “We are doing well.” It was nothing less than the truth. The unexpected success of The Lady and the Highwayman had cleared her head of concerns over funds. “Several influential people have spoken highly of us lately, which has garnered interest from a few new families with daughters of schooling age.”

  “I am so pleased to hear it,” he said.

  They walked along the street, her arm through his as was customary between a gentleman and a lady. She spied more than a few penny dreadfuls in th
e hands and pockets of ­people around them. The amount of purple was very encouraging. She also spied a number of copies of the latest Urchins of London installment.

  “I have not seen Mr. Walker in a few days,” she said. “Last I spoke with him, he was worried over the fate of a young boy whom he feared was in a dangerous situation.”

  Mr. Darby didn’t look the least surprised at her knowledge of the situation. “There is every reason to believe the boy’s circumstances are still quite precarious. The man he is with, a thief who spends his time between criminal undertakings sweeping chimneys, is known to be a vicious and dangerous man.”

  Mr. Darby knew, then. But why? As far as she knew, he didn’t write penny dreadfuls and, thus, would not be a member of the Dread Penny Society. Or was he, like herself, writing the torrid serials in secret under a nom de plume? The possibility was both intriguing and reassuring. Still, she didn’t mean to press, knowing how closely guarded that particular secret could be.

  “And the poor boy still hasn’t been found?”

  Mr. Darby shook his head. “Sadly, no.”

  “How is Mr. Walker holding up? He must be beside himself with worry.”

  “He is being Fletcher.”

  She couldn’t help a smile at that cryptic response. “I’m not certain what you mean.”

  “When faced with the task of saving a child, Fletcher grows more determined the more impossible it seems. He is currently like a man possessed.”

  That very much fit the Fletcher she had come to know. “He cares about them.”

  “He was them,” Mr. Darby said.

  “Though I can hear much of his origins in his voice still, I confess I seldom think of him in those terms. Perhaps because he’s grown. Perhaps because he does not appear to be starving or desperate or any of the other struggles that plague so many street children.”