“We must meet the others at the crossroads beyond Kirkby by four o’clock at the latest. I propose we take the road. You will ride Oberon, I will walk.”
“Why?” Lucia had expected a return to the forest, to travel between the trees.
“Because you will be a respectable lady on her horse, accompanied by a manservant. We could probably ride through the middle of a militia patrol in the daylight, and they would question nothing. Skulking in the trees would raise suspicions, however.”
“You are right, of course.” Lucia still did not like the idea of being exposed on the roads.
“Trust me.” Len smiled, finally.
“I do. Oh, I do trust you.” Lucia felt the passionate truth of her words as she spoke them.
Oberon was nibbling the short grass beneath the tree contentedly. Len stood up and patted his flank. She looked back to Lucia, who watched her every move, determined not to miss a moment of her time with Len. “We should leave the churchyard now. We will travel a short distance, then rest awhile. It is not so far to Kirkby.” She paused a moment, considering. “And I suspect you are hungry?”
“A little.”
“I am too. I did not have chance to bring any food. But I have an answer for that. If you are ready, we will set off in five minutes.”
Lucia rose stiffly to her feet and shook some warmth into her chilled limbs, wondering just how Len intended to find food for them, and nervous about what the day would bring. But for Len, she smiled.
*
They travelled out of the village unnoticed by all but a man with a handcart who passed them on the road and simply smiled a greeting. Lucia did not like being alone on Oberon’s high back and missed Len’s body behind her. Len had left off her mask so as not to attract suspicion, but with her tricorn pulled low there really was nothing to suggest to a passer-by that she was the beautiful woman Lucia knew her to be. Quite how they would manage if Len was required to speak, Lucia did not like to think.
After awhile on the road, which was really little more than a track, they reached a crossroads. Lucia was surprised when Len led them to the left. “Is Kirkby not to the right?” she said.
Len twisted to look up at Lucia. “It is. But I promised we would eat breakfast.”
Len grinned, then turned back to the road ahead. After about half a mile, Lucia saw a building up ahead with a sign which suggested it was an inn. It seemed an isolated place, probably frequented by farmhands after a day on the land and travellers who had lost their way.
“Welcome to the Red Lion,” Len said.
“But it can’t be safe.” Lucia wondered if Len was growing reckless with the approach of danger.
“This is one of the few places we are safe, Lucia.”
“How can that be?”
“Because the landlady of the Red Lion is Annie Birch.” Lucia simply looked at Len, bewildered.
They arrived at the front of the inn. It was a very small building, not more than a cottage, with whitewashed outside walls and a crooked roof. There was a small stable block to the side, and a yard was visible to the back. A wooden sign was painted with the symbol of a red lion, though the paint was old and faded.
Len aided Lucia to dismount, then led Oberon to the back of the building. Lucia followed and watched Len secure the horse to a rail next to a trough of water, of which he drank contentedly. Then Len took Lucia’s arm and walked with her to the door of the inn. “Now, don’t you mind Annie or anyone else. They’re friends,” she said. Then she pushed open the door confidently and went inside.
The room was low ceilinged, with dark beams only just above their heads. There were a few chairs and tables, and a door at the back of the room. The air smelled of brandy and lingering pipe smoke. A fire was blazing in the large stone hearth at one end of the room, and Lucia felt the heat gratefully.
The door swung open, and a woman emerged. She looked to be in her fifties, her dark hair threaded with white. She was dressed in a simple, old grey dress, covered by a cream apron. Stocky and strong looking, Lucia knew at once this must be the landlady Len had mentioned.
“Well I never, Len Hawkins!” Annie’s accent was broad, her voice loud and confident.
“Annie. Good to see you.”
“We read about you in the papers, Len. Almost keeled over with fright, I did, when we read that a highwayman had been took. But I said, I did, it couldn’t be Len.”
“It wasn’t me. But we are fewer than we were.” Len said it quietly, as though she did not want to think about it. Annie’s hazel eyes scanned Len and then looked behind her. She saw Lucia and frowned. Lucia was not encouraged.
“Not Julian?” Annie asked, fear in her words.
“No. Not William either, before you worry.”
Annie looked relieved. Her eyes jolted back to Lucia sharply. “Well, since I can breathe easy on that score, you better tell me from what carriage you stole this pretty treasure.”
Len smiled slightly. Lucia did not, unsure how to react to being described in such a way. She had never encountered a woman like Annie before. All the etiquette of a formal introduction was useless here. But then Len took her hand and pulled her forward, closer to Annie, who was inspecting her appearance.
“Annie, allow me to introduce Miss Lucia Foxe, of Foxe Hall. Lucia, this is Annie Birch. My friend.”
“Her bloody mother, more like. I worry for her like a mother.” Annie winked at Lucia, who blushed and looked awkward. “Good to meet you anyway, darling. Foxe Hall? You mean the Foxe Hall, that fancy place a few miles hence?”
“A pleasure to meet you. And yes. The Foxe Hall.” Lucia’s nerves were audible in her voice. It seemed as though she was admitting to some fault in revealing that she was from Foxe Hall, and she almost wished Len had left out that particular detail.
“How on earth does Miss Foxe of Foxe Hall come to be with this good-for-nothing wretch in the Red Lion?”
“I am good for some things, Annie, really I—” Len protested.
“I am a prisoner.” Lucia said. It was the simple explanation, though hardly one which still applied.
“Hush your tongue, Len, you know I love you.” Annie winked again. “And a prisoner?”
“Lucia ran after me for the sake of her mother’s locket. And has not yet returned home.” Lucia found herself blushing, wondering if Annie would understand the reasons she was still with Len.
“She is hardly bound to the back of your horse.”
“No.” Len smiled. Lucia was alarmed by the image.
“A willing prisoner then?”
“Are you a willing prisoner, Lucia?” Len directed the question towards her. Hesitant for a moment, she forced herself to breathe, to relax. She had spent a week with robbers and Luddites. Surely the landlady of an inn should be no problem?
“I am a willing prisoner, yes.”
“Good for you, my girl.” Annie smiled warmly, and Lucia couldn’t help but smile in return.
“Thank you.”
“Bet you couldn’t believe your eyes when a pretty thing like this came running after you, eh, Len?”
Now even Len was blushing slightly. “I don’t believe Lucia’s looks were the first thing on my mind when she followed us in the night.” Len looked at Lucia contemplatively. Lucia wondered what she was thinking. Lucia herself couldn’t help but reflect on how short a time it really had been since that fateful night on which she’d followed Len in a quest for her locket. How much had changed since then.
“A brave one too. She would have to be, to be with you, Len.”
Len turned even pinker and let the subject drop. “Any chance of some breakfast, Annie?”
Annie grinned. “You know there is, darling. Just give me a minute or two to rustle something up.” She winked again and went through the door through which she had appeared when they’d entered the inn.
“Shall we sit?” Len asked Lucia.
“Yes.” They sat on a wooden bench in the corner of the room, close to where the fire
crackled in the hearth. The only other patron in the inn was an elderly man seated across the room from them. He had not looked up from the tankard in front of him since they had entered, and showed them no interest now. Lucia watched him for a few moments and decided he was no threat. She began to relax.
“How do you know Annie?” she asked.
“Julian knew her before I did. She’s well known in…well…certain circles. Annie will always help you out. For a fee, of course.”
Lucia felt she should be condemning, or at least morally concerned. But instead she found herself smiling. It was impossible not to feel warmly towards someone as kindly as Annie, who had clearly helped Len, who seemed to love Len. Who apparently understood something of what was between her and Len and who thought nothing remarkable of it, rather seemed to be happy for them.
Annie brought them breakfast then. There was bread, cured ham, devilled eggs, and creamy butter Len said Annie made herself. She also brought them a flagon of ale, which Lucia eyed cautiously, drawing another smile from Len. They were both ready for food and ate hungrily. Lucia thought she had never enjoyed a meal so much.
With the warmth of the blaze in the hearth, a good meal in her belly, Annie’s best ale and good cheer, and Lucia by her side, Len was close to contented. It was impossible to entirely dispel the sense of anticipation and fear of the night to come, but the darkness and the raid seemed like a long way away from this warm moment. She began to feel drowsy.
Suddenly the door opened quickly, with a rush of cold air into the room. Len was alert in an instant. Her heart began to pound when she saw a man in the uniform of the militia stride into the room. His red coat with green facings and brass buttons seemed unnecessarily vibrant and formal in the sleepy, cosy inn.
Beneath the table, Len gripped Lucia’s hand. She could see that Lucia was staring at the militia man with wide-eyed fright. She looked back to the door and was relieved to see that the man, a mere corporal, appeared to be alone. He came a few feet inside and looked about him awkwardly, just as Annie bustled into the room.
“Hello there, young sir. A corporal in His Majesty’s militia no less. We are honoured. What can we do for you, sir?”
Len took advantage of the man’s attention being diverted to Annie to whisper hurriedly to Lucia. “He cannot talk to me, Lucia. He might not know who I am, but I cannot draw suspicion onto us. It is dark in this corner, and warm. I will pretend to sleep with my hat obscuring my face. If he approaches, you must talk to him—”
“But I can’t do—” Lucia began.
“You must.” She hated to make Lucia do anything of the kind and fiercely regretted the illegality of her life that forced her to drag Lucia into the murky realm of disguises and lies. But there was nothing for it now but to depend on Lucia. Len knew she was brave enough and trusted in the rest. There was no time for more discussion. The man was done talking to Annie and was glancing around the room. She tilted her tricorn over her face and closed her eyes, slumping in her chair and pretending to sleep. Her hand still gripped Lucia’s beneath the table. Lucia’s hand was sticky with perspiration and Len could feel the pounding of her heartbeat, even in her fingertips. She could no longer see what was happening in the room, but the tightening of Lucia’s grip told her all she needed to know, even before she heard the heavy footsteps approaching across the oak floor. She squeezed back with all the reassurance she could.
“Good day, madam.” A clear man’s voice, more youthful than his appearance had suggested. Len was relieved. The young were generally easier to deceive.
“Good day, sir,” Lucia said. Len could hear the strain in her voice, but Lucia concealed it well.
“Corporal Harding of the Nottinghamshire Militia, madam.” Len imagined him giving Lucia a polite bow.
“Miss—er—Mrs. Western. I hope your presence here isn’t an indicator of anything I should be alarmed over, Corporal?” Len prayed the solider wouldn’t notice Lucia’s slight hesitation. Her tone was the perfect mixture of earnest enquiry and supercilious disregard.
“Oh no, madam, nothing to worry too much about.” Highway-men and frame-breakers were clearly not too much of a concern. “Nothing you need concern yourself about, with the militia on patrol. We are merely seeking the whereabouts of some notorious outlaws.”
“Outlaws?” Lucia managed to sound sufficiently alarmed. Len was proud of her, though her stomach still twisted in knots of apprehension and regret.
“Yes, madam, but do not be alarmed. You are accompanied by your husband, I see?” Len tensed, knowing the corporal’s gaze had settled upon her and hearing the suspicion in his question.
“Yes, sir. I apologise for my husband’s despicable lack of manners. I fear Mr. Western spent his night drinking rather too much ale. He has only been awake for a full thirty minutes so far today.”
“And he expects you to pass your day in such a place as this, madam?” Feelings of anger stirred in Len’s belly. She resented the implication that Lucia would be uncomfortable or suffering some way by being here in Annie’s inn. After all, she had brought Lucia here, exposed her not only to this humble place but also to the interrogation she was subject to now. And the implication in the soldier’s tone, that he would have been a far more protective and considerate husband, was hard to miss.
“It is not so bad, sir. I am warm and fed. It is a suitable place to break our journey.”
“Where, may I ask, are you travelling to?” He was tenacious, Len would give him that credit.
“You may, sir. We travel from Northampton to visit acquaintances in Yorkshire.”
“A long journey, madam.”
“That is why I am glad to rest here awhile.”
“Of course.” There was a long pause. Len wondered if the man was going to suggest waking her, in order to corroborate the story. Then she realised she was thinking too much about it. No one would possibly suspect Lucia was anything other than she presented herself as being.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” Lucia asked the question dismissively. An excellent tactic, Len thought. Exactly how a gentlewoman with no concerns over her own guilt would behave.
“No, madam, I will leave you to your rest. Only beware if you are travelling the north road after dark. There are reports of highwaymen in these parts. And the Luddites are abroad in the small hours too.”
“Luddites?”
“The machine breakers.” There was extreme distaste in the soldier’s words.
“Since I am not a machine, I believe I will not worry myself too much about those men. And I will heed the warning about highwaymen and ask my husband that we travel only by day. Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome, madam. I bid you good day.”
“Good day, sir. Happy hunting.”
Len did not dare breathe until, after a long moment of silence, she heard the man’s footsteps retreating. Even then, she did not move from her pose of slumber until she had heard the door open and the man leave. “Is he gone?” she murmured to Lucia.
“Yes.” Lucia’s voice sounded weak. Len pushed her hat back and opened her eyes. When she looked at Lucia she saw her face was pale, but there was an alarming glimmer in her eyes.
“I am very sorry, Lucia.” The regret was fierce and bitter inside her. She could not bear any harm to come to Lucia, and she did not like the way Lucia’s eyes glistened now.
“Do not be. I am quite all right.” Lucia said.
“You did well.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Not at all. Only I might have expected you to be more afraid.” Len was honest.
“You remember that I am the woman who followed you in the night, for a locket.”
“I do, very clearly. But then you were prepared to put some faith in outlaws who had not harmed you once before. That man could have happily seen us both on the gallows.”
“I know.” Lucia was more sombre. Then she smiled. “But somehow, the life and death of it adds to the thrill, doesn’t it?”
“I would not have you think like that, Lucia.” The way Lucia’s face flushed and her eyes sparkled was terribly alluring, and Len understood very well the feelings she referred to. But still she was alarmed by this development.
“And why not?” Lucia was mildly indignant. “You feel the thrill yourself, I know you do.”
“I do, Lucia, I will not lie. But I would not have you talk of life and death so lightly. You should not take life for granted or think the Reaper merely a phantom.”
“My mother died.”
“When you were a child and did not understand, and of an illness at that. Not at the will of the law, at the order of another person. That sort of death is different and just as ready to strike. Do not forget.”
“You forget it yourself.”
“I do not. It is why I am still safe.”
“And afraid of tonight’s raid.” Lucia was clearly well at ease with Len by now, and despite herself Len almost smiled at the accusation.
“I am not afraid, Lucia. I am anxious. I know the risks the night brings.”
“Yes. I know. And I promise I am aware of it. I am not so naïve, you know…”
Lucia looked away from her, and Len knew she was offended. That had not been her intention. “I am sorry, Lucia. I did not mean you are naïve.” Lucia looked back into her eyes. Len smiled. “And you did do very well with the good corporal.”
Lucia finally smiled once more, though that dangerous glimmer was gone from her eyes, and Len was glad. “You truly think so?”
“I do. We will make an outlaw of you yet, Miss Foxe.”
Lucia looked pleased. Len was not so. In contemplating the idea of indoctrinating Lucia into her own way of life, outside of the law, she saw that life for what it was. And she did not like what she saw.
*
Len decreed it was not safe to remain in the inn for the rest of the day if the militia were patrolling the area. They were too visible. It was far safer to take shelter in the nearest patch of woodland. Len said her thanks and goodbyes to Annie. Lucia noticed she gave her no information about their plans for the remainder of the day or the raid that night. Then they made their way along the hedgerows, leading Oberon rather than riding him until they reached the treeline.
The Locket and the Flintlock Page 22