The Locket and the Flintlock

by Rebecca S. Buck

  Tom Smith picked up a thick branch from the ground and beat out a short rhythm of taps on a nearby tree. Len shifted in the saddle, irritated. Coded warning signals were entirely unnecessary, and she disliked the self-important pretence of organisation where there was clearly little. An emphasis on such masquerades prevented the men from focusing on what was most important: survival.

  However, the coded tapping did its job, for moments later, four men emerged from the trees surrounding the clearing where they had hidden. One of the men looked very much like Tom Smith, tall and thin, only a little younger. Another was shorter even than William, his small stature exaggerated by his stooped back. A light-haired, youthful man stood near him. The fourth man reminded Len a little of Julian, although his hair was fair. It was this man Len deduced to be their leader—if there was such a thing here—since he came nearest to her while the other three hung back.

  She met their gaze with hostility and waited for their questions. She would have had plenty herself if their positions were reversed. Would their leader be sensible and ask the most important questions? Or would his hostility obscure practicality? She waited, ready to judge the man as soon as he opened his mouth. First impressions were all important. Could she trust him?

  “We expected you back last night, Tom,” the fair-haired man said. Len knew she had been correct in assuming him their leader, since he had a certain edge of authority in his tone. His local accent was broad but his words clear. His keen but tired eyes looked with some hostility at the intruders in his clearing.

  “I know, Bill, sorry, wasn’t a lot I could do about it.” Tom Smith mumbled.

  The fair-haired man was now staring at Len, and Lucia in front of her in the saddle, with a combination of fascination and anger. His expression was just further fuel to the fire of Len’s irritation. “Never seen a damned woman before,” she muttered to herself, before dismounting quickly. Lucia was looking at her with a startled expression. Len ignored her. Lucia was the reason behind the man’s confusion, and she would not have Lucia become the focal point of her first encounter with the frame-breakers. It would distract from what was important. If the man was going to be bewildered by the presence of any woman, it would be Len herself. She pulled the scarf from her face and glared her challenge at him.

  Len saw the surprise on the man’s countenance and knew her disguise had fooled him effectively. Now he looked from her to Lucia, who was blushing, and back to her again. He was satisfyingly confused and Len enjoyed wresting back control of the situation.

  The man recovered his countenance quickly. He smiled slowly. “Fancy a good night of it, did you Tom?”

  “What?” Tom Smith cast a nervous glance at Len. He was afraid of her. Good.

  “Why else would you bring me whores?”

  Indignation rose in Len’s chest. For a moment the anger caught at her breath and gave her pause for thought. She’d been called names of many kinds, and usually they only amused her. But now she was offended. Glancing to her side she saw Lucia’s shocked expression and knew the reason she was so insulted by the man’s words. Lucia. She sighed. Had she not known this would happen? Lucia’s presence was already clouding her judgement. Why had she not forced her to return to Foxe Hall?

  Len rested her hand on the pistol at her hip. “You are General Ludd, I assume?” she asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm. She looked ostentatiously around her, a disgusted sneer on her face. “And this is your headquarters, where you muster and train, what is it, thousands of sworn heroes? That’s what your letters claim.”

  “Those letters were not sent from here,” the man said calmly. The fact he did not seem afraid of her only made her more annoyed.

  “So you are not General Ludd?”

  “No, I am not. I am Bill Wilcock.”

  “Oh, forgive my disappointment, Bill. Tom, here, led me to believe we were journeying into the very heart of General Ludd’s glorious army.” Len’s tone was withering, and she saw the resentment in Bill Wilcock’s face as he looked back at her. He was clearly unsure just how he should respond.

  “Who are you and what is your business here?” he said at last.

  “I wish to aid you when you attack Hawkins’s workshop on Friday,” Len said. There was no time to dance around the matter. But nor did she wish to dwell on her reasons or her identity and offered no further explanation.

  Bill Wilcock laughed. “And why should I require your help? Two women? Only the one useful man amongst you!”

  Len would not rise to his small-minded insults. She knew well enough what was expected of a woman and that the only way to prove otherwise was with action, not words. “There is another man of ours coming with your Daniel. They had to do a small duty for me first.”

  “Perhaps I will consult with him.” Bill Wilcock might have been described as handsome, but now a sneer made him ugly in the extreme.

  “You will consult with me or with no one,” Len said. “We could have killed your men at the roadside last night, but we chose not to. Instead we are here, offering you assistance.”

  Bill Wilcock frowned. “You would have killed them, would you?”

  “Since they attempted to rob us?” Len was aware of the irony behind her indignation. “Of course I would.”

  “So, what are you? Travellers?”

  “No.” Len paused for a second or two. How far to trust him? What to reveal? She was still in the position of power, knowing this man’s crimes and his hideout while she was still a stranger to him. But she had to risk some degree of revelation to win his trust. That was only fair. “We are outlaws just as you are. Only we use our pistols to get our bread.”

  “Highwaymen?”

  “If you have spent many weeks in the neighbourhood, you will have heard of us.”

  “I have heard of a band of highwaymen in these parts. A band of seven men. Their leader rides a black stallion, sure enough, but there are no women.”

  “How do you know this for sure?”

  Bill looked her up and down. Len endured the inspection impatiently. “In the dark you might pass as a man,” he conceded, “but she would not.” He jerked his head in Lucia’s direction. Len turned as Lucia steadfastly looked at the ground. Len understood she was embarrassed to have all of their gazes directed at her.

  “Does she look like an outlaw to you?” Len said.

  “No. That’s what I mean. What is she, your sweetheart?” Tom Smith laughed out loud at his leader’s joke. Len’s lips set tighter, and she felt the colour in her face heighten.

  “She is our prisoner, who I want to keep in my sights.” Len did not look at Lucia. If the girl was offended to be reminded she was a hostage, she would get over it before long. It was the only explanation Bill Wilcock would trust.

  “And your other men?”

  “Arrested, I believe.” Len did not like to say it.

  “What? Four of your men arrested, and you think I would want your help?”

  “Three of my men arrested. I believe the other to be their betrayer.” She kept all emotion from her voice.

  “How do you know it wasn’t her ladyship there?”

  “That is precisely why she is my prisoner, what do you take me for?”

  “A woman who thinks she’s a man.” Bill made it sound as though that was explanation enough for doubting her ability and judgement. She felt the prickle of resentment and refused to allow it to take hold of her.

  “So you’ve lost your men and you’re looking for help?” Bill said.

  “No. My men were taken but I will find more. We will continue to work, in the meantime, without them. I am here because I want to assist your cause this Friday. After it is done, you need never see us again.”

  “And what interest do you have in frame-breaking?”

  “That is of no concern to you, beyond the knowledge that we need shelter for the week and will assist you if you allow us to stay with you.”

  “You could be sent to trap us.”

  “Do you think
it likely that the Lord Lieutenant would send me to trap you, when you have as little trust for me as you would if the colonel of the militia himself were to appear in your clearing?”

  Bill Wilcock was silent for a moment, conceding her point.

  “You will stay with us for the week, assist us in our work of Friday night?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “Your men are better clothed, better fed than we are. You take some rich wages in your work. Provide us with food, or the coins to purchase food, and you may join us.”

  In answer, Len walked back to Oberon’s side. She did not look up at Lucia, still in the saddle, as she reached into one of the bags she had burdened the stallion with and removed a small leather purse held tightly closed by a drawstring. She tossed it to Bill Wilcock, who caught it easily and opened the string with rather more eagerness than she expected of him. These were hungry and desperate men. There had never been any doubt Bill would allow them to hide here, not while he contemplated the prospect of food or money. But the game of convincing him had been necessary for his pride and his legitimacy as a leader. She understood that very well.

  “That is a gesture of goodwill,” Len said. “Now, where can we tie up the horses?”

  *

  Julian arrived in the clearing with Daniel—the older frame-breaker—about an hour after Len and her party. Bill Wilcock was instantly more respectful of Julian than he had been of Len and began to act as though the true leader of the band had finally arrived. Lucia could see how Len was irritated by this but respected the restraint she showed in not protesting and causing unnecessary discord.

  Len and William had tied their horses to a rail at the side of the cottage, loosened their girths, and ensured they had water to drink. The men who used this hideout had been collecting rainwater, and there was plenty to fill the trough. Meanwhile, Lucia had stood awkwardly where she dismounted Oberon, uncomfortable under the silent scrutiny of the men, until William, whose kindly attention was still remarkable to her, gestured to a large fallen tree and suggested she take a seat.

  “We’ll see about some food and drink, and a fire,” he said. She smiled her thanks weakly as she sat gingerly on the tree. It was really very cold in the forest, and the damp had penetrated her thin clothing to reach her very skin. The idea of a fire was overwhelmingly appealing.

  The kindling was just beginning to catch alight, bright orange and comforting in the clearing of greys and browns, when Julian strode into the scene, leading his mare calmly behind him. Despite his hostility towards Lucia, she found herself pleased when he arrived. Not only did he lend Len more credibility in the eyes of Bill Wilcock, his safe arrival meant surely nothing else terrible could face them today. She also looked forward to the conversation he would have later with William, when the latter revealed he believed she was to be trusted after events on the road today.

  Len spoke with Julian, William, and Bill Wilcock before her attention returned to Lucia again. Lucia could not help the feeling of being rather unnecessary and out of place. She thought unavoidably of her father and of Isabella. Her thoughts touched but did not linger on the agonies they would be going through, even after the receipt of her latest epistle. Rather, she imagined they could happen upon her now, in this damp clearing with thieves and frame-breakers. What expression would she read upon their countenances? Surprise and astonishment, no doubt. Yet she suspected there would also be bewilderment, disgust, and maybe even horror. She did not like to picture such things, for they pulled at the place in her heart where she knew what she was doing was terribly, awfully wrong. She brought her attention back to the cold place in the woods. Clutching her shawl to her body, she was gazing at the ever-growing fire gratefully when Len seated herself astride the log next to her.

  Lucia smiled faintly at her and tried to think of something useful to say.

  “You’ve been thinking of home?” Len said, to Lucia’s astonishment.

  “Yes,” she confessed, “how did you know?”

  “I remember, Lucia.” Len paused.

  “Are there only these six frame-breakers?” Lucia asked, when Len said no more.

  “These are the men who organise the attacks. The other men are workers. There is no short supply of angry, hungry men ready to take up sledgehammers against the machines, they tell me.”

  “Are their lives really so awful?” Lucia asked the question before she considered her words.

  “Did you not believe me before?” Len asked. A shadow clouded her eyes. “There is no food here, other than what we have carried with us and a rabbit Bill caught yesterday. One of the men will take the coins I gave them into town tomorrow, and it will be the first real meal they have eaten this week. That is why Tom and Daniel were contemplating robbing Julian and William.”

  Lucia had always imagined the frame-breakers to be a well-fed group of men, organised in their hideout, feasting from ill-made gains, planning their next raid. The truth of it was apparent to her now: these men were desperate. Criminals, yes, and—if Bill Wilcock was anything to judge by—thoroughly unpleasant men. But it was their desperation she felt most powerfully.

  “You still mean to go through with your plan to help them?” Lucia asked.

  “Why would I change my mind?”

  “I just thought, with them already having so many men—and with him being so rude—you might think differently.”

  “It is not that they need my help. It is that I want to assist them, and it does us good to hide in the woods with them these few days.” Len’s face was grim. “Bill’s rudeness is nothing to me and should be nothing to you either.”

  “How do you grow used to such manners?” Lucia was not, in truth, offended on her own behalf. But for Bill to mock Len, to try to diminish her before the men, was an affront she felt very powerfully.

  “It is not hard.” Len smiled slightly. “I know you are very used to the import of manners, Miss Lucia Foxe, but really, you must consider, have his words done me any real harm?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Then I choose not to contemplate them further.”

  “It is a skill I am yet to learn.” Manners were everything in Lucia’s world. To abandon them so completely seemed impossible.

  “Like so many other skills you have had no need for before.” Lucia remembered then, Len had once not been so very different from herself.

  “You did not tell them the workshop is your father’s.”

  “No.” Her face darkened.

  “Why not?”

  “It was unnecessary,” Len said shortly. That seemed to be the end of the conversation. Len stood up, went to her saddle-bags, and then disappeared in the direction of the house. Shortly afterwards she returned with a pot of water which she set over the fire.

  “I am quite sure this is the first time fine China tea has ever been made in the heart of Sherwood Forest,” she said, with an amused smile.

  Lucia was about to question how on earth it was she had fine China tea in her possession. Then she noted the quality of the small silver-and-enamel tea caddy Len had set on the muddy ground at her side and could well imagine it having been among a traveller’s precious possessions. For a moment her recollection that Len was a thief caused a pulse of fear through her veins. Then she looked from the caddy to Len’s still smiling face, and she could not help but smile in return. Something about the way Len looked at her made her fears dissolve with alarming ease.

  *

  Later that evening when, warmed by the fire and with tea, salt meat, and stale bread comforting her hungry stomach, Lucia found herself in her first conversation with Bill Wilcock.

  She was still sitting on the fallen tree, having had no cause to move anywhere else. Len was sitting to her side but turned slightly away from her, in conversation with William and Julian. Tom Smith and the man who looked so like him—and proved to be his younger brother—were visible through the flames of the fire,
talking with Daniel. The eldest of the frame-breakers sat alone, gazing at the fire with a fixed expression of sadness. Bill Wilcock and his other men had been inside the house, but now they emerged and crossed into the glow of the fire. To her consternation, Bill came to stand directly behind her. Lucia glanced at Len, but she had not yet noticed. Bill bent forward so that Lucia might hear his quiet words, yet however she tried to turn to face him, she could not quite see him.

  “You are treated well for a prisoner, miss?”

  “Miss Foxe. And yes, tolerably,” she replied. How far did Len expect her to take the pretence she had begun when she had described her so coldly as a prisoner?

  “Miss Foxe. You do not have a family to search for you?”

  “I assure you sir, I do have a family.”

  “I am a little alarmed, you see, Miss Foxe, that your family will be calling out the militia to find you and putting me and my men at rather more risk than we would like.”

  “You need not concern yourself.”