A figure on horseback came into view. Lucia breathed a sigh of relief and watched Len’s stance relax as she recognised Julian. After him came two men Lucia had not seen before, on foot and breathless. William followed them and dismounted first.
Lucia rose to her feet, unwilling to sit and watch as an idle spectator. She had viewed the expression on Len’s countenance change from one of relief to one of suspicion and curiosity when she laid eyes upon the two strangers.
These two men looked about them hesitantly and ended staring at Len open-mouthed. Thin men both, one considerably taller than the other. Both had unkempt brown hair, and their clothes were poor, if not quite ragged. The taller man was the younger, the other’s face creased with age. Both looked weary, though natural hostility burned in their eyes and disbelief suffused their expressions.
As Lucia moved towards the little group, they turned to her, took in her fine yellow gown and unruly hair, and directed their gazes back to Len. Lucia pitied them in their bewilderment. Len wore no manner of disguise, and Lucia saw them glance from her woman’s face to her boots and breeches and back to her face, much as she herself had done when she had first encountered Len. That confusion seemed so long ago now. Len no longer left Lucia bewildered with her unusual attire and unladylike mannerisms. Those things simply did not matter.
In fact, watching Len now, Lucia realised she had begun to delight in such things, that she felt privileged to know the secrets behind the façade Len presented to the world. That in itself was another sort of confusion. Why did she yearn to know Len in this way? Why was she so compelled to watch Len’s every movement? Why did it make her ache inside to do so? Lucia could not fathom it and tried instead to focus her attention on understanding whether there was new danger on their hilltop.
“Who are these men?” Len asked of Julian. Lucia sensed no anger in her tone and understood how much Len trusted Julian. More than she would ever trust Lucia, surely. Lucia resented Julian for that, however unreasonable such sentiments were. But Len was still suspicious of the strangers.
“We found them at the roadside, poised to rob us if you can believe it,” Julian said. He dismounted his horse and allowed William to take the reins. William led both horses to the nearest tree and secured them to low branches.
“We stopped, of course, to politely explain the error of their ways.” Len looked from Julian to the two men, who could not meet her gaze.
“It appears they are not robbers at all,” Julian said. “They tell us they are frame-breakers. We were about to release them when they told me something I think you need to hear.”
As soon as he described the men as frame-breakers, Len had looked at them more keenly. Now Lucia saw her interest deepen further. “What is it?” she asked.
“Tell her of your plan for the coming Friday,” Julian urged.
Sensing they were in no immediate danger, the men relaxed perceptibly. Their shoulders loosened and they stood less stiffly. The younger, taller one spoke first. “The noble men of General Ludd’s army will attack a workshop that is bringing shame upon the trade,” he said archly.
“Shut your mouth if you’re only going to talk twaddle,” the older man reprimanded his companion. His accent was broader and Lucia struggled to understand him perfectly. He turned to Len himself. “There’s a lot of us now, madam, been making our point slowly but surely. A frame or two here or there. Sure you’ve heard of it. Only it’s not enough, the bad practices is still going on. So we’re going for a whole workshop this time.”
Lucia saw the comprehension in Len’s face as she glanced quickly at Julian for confirmation. “Which workshop?” she demanded.
“The one belonging to Mr. Nathanial Hawkins, miss.”
Lucia was surprised how little reaction she saw in Len’s face as she heard her father’s name. How much strength did it take to maintain that mask? Lucia felt the pain of that necessity and was filled with compassion, alongside tremendous admiration. “And how has this man offended you?” was all Len said.
“By cutting and with colting,” the younger man said, as if he hoped to mystify her.
Len was far from bewildered, and her tone was friendly but authoritative as she replied. “Then I see your grievance. Stay and eat with us. We have food and drink. I wish to hear more of your plans.”
“Thank you, madam,” the elder man said, “but why should you be so interested?”
“Because I am considering helping you in your enterprise.” Len’s words were calm, and she spoke as though there was nothing extraordinary in her considering such an idea. Lucia stared in surprise and her heart fluttered in her chest. She was frightened, true, but she was also enthralled by the world she had discovered in which it seemed it was impossible to predict what would occur next.
*
Len left the two men with Julian and William, who retrieved bread and salt-meat from their saddle bags and shared it with their guests. The news that the men would attack her father’s workshop had produced a strange sort of dark exultation in her heart. It was the only justice a man like Nathanial Hawkins would ever face, and she wanted very badly to be there when it was meted out to him. True, these men were hardly the instruments of the people she would like them to be. However, if they were to be believed, they were part of something. She felt the thrill of potential, of the risk too, but mostly the desire for revenge.
She watched the small group squatted on the low wall of the ruins. Criminals all, but in her eyes they were men, betrayed by their masters and their country. She looked from the men to the lonely figure hovering a little awkwardly a short distance away. Lucia was watching the men too. Her countenance was full of wonderment and something like fear. Oddly, Len sensed Lucia was more alarmed by the presence of the frame-breakers than she was to be the hostage of a band of robbers.
Len sighed with the reminder of the world Lucia belonged to. Of course she was more frightened of the frame-breakers. Robbers were a commonplace and constant threat to travellers and had been for centuries. But in this county, frame-breakers, men whose only means of protest was to smash the machines of their masters, had become the representation of evil itself. They were storybook villains to be feared, though rarely encountered.
The papers were full of the disturbing detail of the Luddite raids, as they had come to be called. The frame-breakers, it was claimed, pledged their allegiance to a mysterious General Ludd, who was rumoured to hide out in the thickest part of Sherwood Forest, like some modern-day Robin Hood. Chilling letters and mocking poetry sent to workshop owners added to the atmosphere of fear. If the manufacturers did not cease their offensive practices, General Ludd’s foot soldiers would smash their machines in the name of the defence of their historic trade.
It was almost laughable that the people of the county were more afraid of these ragtag gangs of workers than of the organised highwaymen who stalked the roads. And yet the rumours fuelled the terror: The machine-breakers were revolutionaries, sponsored by the French. They were plotting an uprising which would bring the guillotine to England. Tension and suspicion were heavy in the air, and the militia were more interested in frame-breakers than thieves.
Len had discounted most of the rumours. These were hungry men, treated so badly by their employers they were forced into violence. They were no more French revolutionaries than she was. Yet she could not help her own curiosity as to the way the Luddites plotted their raids, who their leaders were, and how such attacks were coordinated. Now she saw a chance to see into the heart of the shadowy rumours and to gain, at last, the revenge over her father he deserved.
Watching Lucia, Len knew what was going through the gentlewoman’s mind. These men did not look as though they had been sent by Napoleon. They wore no masks, nor were their faces sinister caricatures, blackened with soot. They were simply ragged, hungry, aged men. Yet Lucia looked as though a nightmare had come to life in front of her. Len couldn’t help a wry smile that Lucia was more afraid of these men than she was of a gang of highw
aymen.
Then she reminded herself that Lucia’s fear could be her only protection. Lucia was unsafe, a stranger in this world too. It was right that she was frightened, even if the cause of her fear was misguided. She worried that in telling Lucia her tale, compulsively and selfishly as she had, she had made such things seem commonplace, when they were in fact extraordinary and should remain terrifying. Lucia looked so very vulnerable here, out in the wild countryside surrounded by thieves, frame-breakers, and hardships she’d never encountered. Len’s urge to protect her surged fiercely. She would not have Lucia tarnished.
Slowly, she made her way to where Lucia stood. Lucia appeared startled when Len reached her side but managed a tentative smile in greeting. Len said nothing to begin with, trying to choose her words carefully. She noticed Julian looking in their direction, suspicion in his expression. It did no harm that she showed her confidence in Lucia now. She knew instinctively that Lucia had not betrayed them, nor would she. She turned so that she could not see Julian and he could not catch her eye.
“They intend to attack your father’s workshop?” Len was startled out of her contemplation by Lucia’s boldness.
“Yes.”
“And you are considering helping them?”
“Yes.” She knew Lucia wanted an explanation, but having revealed so much of herself already today, she felt vulnerable now and further words deserted her.
“What did they mean by cutting and colting?” Len sensed Lucia needed a longer answer more than she really wanted to know the men’s grievances.
“Cutting means making cut-ups. They’re stockings that are cut out of a large piece of cloth made on a wider frame and sewn together. They are cheaper but fall apart before long. Colting is their term for employing unskilled apprentices. Making cut-ups means you don’t need as many skilled stockingers. Hence the unskilled boys, who are paid less, take the jobs of the men.”
Lucia appeared impressed by Len’s knowledge. “And your father does this?”
“Of course he does.” Bitterness made her tone sharp. “Money is all that matters to him. He began by gathering his workers into shops rather than allowing them to work from their own homes. It is hardly a surprise he has moved on.”
“But you cannot support the idea of these men destroying his machinery?”
Len raised her eyebrows at Lucia’s naïvety. Did the woman forget she was in the company of outlaws? She could not allow her to forget. “If I can countenance robbing a traveller at gunpoint, do you think I will have a problem seeing my father’s workshop destroyed?”
“But these are evil men.”
Len couldn’t help a surprised snort of derision. “Evil? They are no more evil than I am.” For a moment she resented Lucia’s simple and sheltered view of the world. Then she met the questioning but frightened blue-eyed gaze and found she could not hold the resentment. She sighed. “They are not French revolutionaries Lucia, whatever you might have heard. Do you know they leave the frames of the men who are good masters untouched? Even when those frames are in a shared workshop alongside the ones they break. Does that sound like revolution to you?”
“No.”
“No, not to me either. My father need not have his frames broken. He knows well what the grievances of the men are. Only he is arrogant enough to think he can escape their justice.”
“You call it justice?”
“Do not sound so offended, Lucia. The men are starving, and they protest their starvation by causing financial damage to men with money enough to stand it, the very men who cause their starvation. Is that not justice?”
“Not according to the law.”
Len swallowed her frustration. Lucia’s view of the world was not her fault. “The law wants to hang a man who breaks a frame because he has not enough to eat. Even your good Lord Byron could not countenance that, when he spoke in the Lords. You would defend that law, would you?”
“No.” Lucia’s concession was not so much reluctant as thoughtful. Len was pleased Lucia did not seem surprised at her knowledge of political events. She knew it should not matter whether Lucia thought her an ignorant wretch, yet it seemed to be of exceeding importance to her. And she wanted Lucia to understand.
“You will comprehend then, Lucia, why I am considering joining them.”
“You mean becoming a frame-breaker yourself?”
“Just for the one night.” She heard the grim determination in her own words. “Can you blame me for wanting to gain the satisfaction of seeing my father’s property destroyed?” Len found some comfort in the knowledge that Lucia knew her story now and would perceive just why she craved such satisfaction.
“No, I cannot.”
They watched the two frame-breakers eating their bread and meat hungrily. It seemed odd to Lucia, she could put her confidence in Len and her highwaymen, yet she had been instantly terrified of two frame-breakers. But now they were frail to her, weak, and at the mercy of a system which no longer needed them. She had never contemplated the world in such terms, and it was a revelation which quite startled her. For a moment she experienced Len’s own rage at the world that had tried to suppress her and which she now fought against every day. Feeling quite giddy with the unexpected emotion, she was forced to draw a deep breath.
“Where is Peter?” Lucia gathered herself and found more questions ready to be asked.
“I don’t know.” Lucia saw the concern in Len’s face, the strain around her eyes. “He should have been here by now. I fear he has met with the same fate as Isaac and John. Or worse.” Her mouth set in a grim line.
“Worse?” Lucia felt infected by Len’s tension.
“Yes. For us, not them. I fear it is either Isaac or Peter who is responsible for the attention which has suddenly been cast upon us, through some perverse motivation or conducive promise. If that is the case and we are betrayed, I hope it is Peter. He does not know of this place. Isaac does, and if he is the snitch, we are in danger if we remain here.”
Lucia hoped her alarm did not show on her face. Clearly she was not so good at hiding it as she wished, for Len glanced at her and then attempted some manner of reassurance. “I do not imagine you are in danger, Lucia,” she said. Her wry smile seemed to mock Lucia. “I do not think they will take you for a robber or frame-breaker.”
“I am not concerned merely for myself.”
“I know you find Julian handsome,” Len said soberly.
Lucia had to glance at her to understand that she was in jest. A slight smile played at the corners of her mouth even as her eyes showed a new intensity. Of course Len understood that Lucia felt the connection between them, that her concern was for Len. At least, Lucia hoped she did and thought she saw the acknowledgement of it in Len’s eyes. She wondered if that sense of a bond was at all mutual. Surely Len could not have shared so much of herself with someone with whom she did not feel some kind of unspoken empathy? Lucia looked into Len’s eyes and willed her to understand, realising as she did so that she was also seeking answers, imploring Len to help her. Len looked to be about to say something, then she paused. Lucia held her breath, and the pain was almost physical as Len turned away.
“Do not let your sympathies fall too strongly with us, Lucia,” Len said, to Lucia’s consternation and profound disappointment. “It is dangerous for you.” She turned and walked away to consult with Julian. Lucia watched her go reluctantly and clenched her hands against their inclination to tremble.
*
Later, as night drew in, Lucia sat shivering, pulling the shawl ever tighter. Suddenly she felt a heavy warmth about her shoulders. She glanced up to see Len above her, draping her own cloak around her. It was still heated from Len’s body, and instantly Lucia’s chilled muscles relaxed into the warmth.
“No, I cannot take it,” she protested half-heartedly.
“Nonsense, I have a coat and you have a muslin dress and a thin shawl.” Len sat down beside her on the ruined wall. “Besides, I don’t suppose you are used to nights in the o
pen.”
“No.” Lucia pulled Len’s cloak closer, knowing some of the warmth seeping into her was from Len’s own body. It inspired a little thrill—of excitement and awe, of pleasure that Len would even consider sharing her cloak with Lucia. The evidence that Len cared about her, even in the simplest sense, made her want to smile. There was something protective about that heavy cloak too. Whilst it was wrapped around her, she felt safe. Len made her feel safe. It took a lot, when Len was near her, to remind herself of the danger they were all in. She felt a nervous stirring in the pit of her stomach. She had been managing well enough to avoid the reality of the situation, even as she had sat with only her own thoughts for company, watching Len talk to the men. However, Len seemed determined she should confront it now.
“Do you not worry your father is missing you?” she asked.
“Of course I do. Only, somehow, Foxe Hall and my father and Isabella seem part of quite another world. I can scarce believe they’re out there, barely a few miles away.”
“They are your world, Lucia, don’t lose sight of it.” Len sighed.
“I see the limits of that world,” Lucia said. It was a surprising confession, even to herself, for she had not thought such a thing before she spoke the words.
“That is dangerous for you, and I am sorry for it,” Len said. She took out the bottle of brandy again and tilted it to her mouth.
“Why should you be sorry for it?” Lucia asked, with some hostility. “You should be pleased I begin to understand you.”
“And what place does understanding the thoughts of a criminal, be it a robber or a frame-breaker, have in your world, when you return to it? Do you think Isabella will giggle over it with you?”
Lucia was wounded by her tone and wondered what fed this renewed tension. “Isabella and I have not giggled over anything together since we were children.”
The Locket and the Flintlock Page 12