The next week was a blur of minor details, of arrangements and of visitors all to be politely received. In her black mourning dress, Lucia waited patiently in the drawing room, knowing more callers would arrive before long. Condolences were accepted with thanks. She had not been much in company all winter, and the strain of it all meant she fell exhausted into bed every night. She felt the grief of losing her father but did not truly mourn him. There was not opportunity.
Isabella travelled north for the funeral, her black silk gown decently loose over the growing child in her belly. Lord Hyde did not attend, important business keeping him in London. Instead, Isabella was accompanied by her sister-in-law and that lady’s husband. She seemed so at ease with them it was hard for Lucia to imagine Isabella was actually her blood relation and not theirs.
George, the new master of Foxe Hall, was unable to return from the Peninsular. The lawyers gave Lucia their word he had been reached and informed of his father’s passing, but it was a difficult moment and George’s duty was to remain in Spain with his regiment, preparing for an upcoming battle. There was slim chance he could have travelled home in time for the funeral, they told her. Lucia suspected, despite her faith in her brother, had he been able to travel home in time, he would not have done so. He had thrown himself into the wars as he always had any undertaking. She could not help but be proud of his achievements and vaguely envious of his ability to shrug off his family duties.
Isabella stayed at Foxe Hall with Lucia for a week and then returned to her husband. At first, Lucia thought she was glad to see her sister leave. Isabella was so changed, it unnerved her. However, alone in the house, she grew frightened. What did her life hold now? She did not want to become caught up in managing the estate, especially on behalf of her brother. She knew she would begin to grow old, lonely, lost among the rooms and their memories.
Nor did she have a greater degree of freedom than before. True enough, she could leave the house when she wished, but a large house, even a lesser one such as Foxe Hall, had many pairs of eyes and ears. Mealtimes had to be planned, grooms told if she wanted to ride out. Mary saw her into bed at night and woke her in the morning. Indeed, she was more watchful than ever, in her concern that Sir Spencer’s death and Lucia’s sudden solitude would throw her back into poor health. There was also village gossip to take into account, and it was noticed if Miss Foxe was away from home when she was called upon, or if she did not return a visit when it was expected she would. While it was maybe a little easier to see Len, still they met cloaked in secrets and shadows. The realisation that even such a huge change as the death of her father had not given them greater opportunity to be together only hastened the urgency with which Lucia contemplated her path into the future.
Eventually, as Len and she sat close together in the September sunshine, once more at the old folly in the park, a way forward—a product of both their minds—took shape.
Chapter Twenty
Len held Oberon steady at the front of the carriage they’d stopped in the road. Her pistol was trained on the driver of the carriage, perched on his box. He did not look particularly terrified, but he was at least doing as he was told. Julian was involved in some sort of quiet exchange with the wealthy gentleman they had encouraged to step out of his carriage and the young woman at his side, who did not appear to be his wife or his daughter. William was searching the carriage for further goods of use to them. Len trusted them to take what they had to, with as much speed as they could. It was better to remain mounted and masked, rather than risk speaking and ruin her disguise.
Her pistol arm was steady, although she knew she would not have to fire. A flintlock was threat enough to keep most men motionless. She knew, as she sat there, she was completely in control. There was no panic or concern in her heart or mind. Her pulse beat slow and steady, her mind even began to wander.
Where was the thrill? True, she might capture it while they rode away into the night or, perhaps, when they examined the spoils later. But the edge was gone. The part of her that could justify this way of life was fading. A smile or a glance from Lucia was more exciting than even the most successful robbery.
Had she grown weak? Now that the need for revenge against her father was eradicated, in the aftermath of her injury, with her heart full of love, had her strength somehow become diminished? Or was there a greater strength in being able to turn away from a life she had thought would always be her lot, in order to pursue a better one, in the name of a love she had absolute faith in? If all of her life was shaped around being able to choose her path for herself, surely she could not turn away from that now?
She was not born to be a highway robber after all. She had fallen to thievery because she had been able to think of no better option. True, she was good at it. There were moments of pure, all-consuming excitement. She was even able to convince herself of the quasi morality of it all, since she stole from the rich and overfed in order to feed herself and her band of hungry men. She was no killer, nor did she pillage indiscriminately. The men followed her, and she relished their trust, the responsibilities of being their leader. But when, as a girl, she had dreamed of the future, it had not been one of running from the gallows and pointing a pistol at unfortunate carriage drivers. She had dreamed of love.
Now she had love. She just had to make the decisions which would allow her to embrace it. It would be the first real choice of her life, and thinking of Lucia, she knew she had the courage to make that choice.
Julian and William were mounting their horses again. Lucia lowered her flintlock and returned it to the holster at her waist. She gave the driver a polite nod, touching her fingers to the brim of her tricorn, and gestured to Julian and William that now was the time to depart. She nudged Oberon into his lurching canter, and soon she was galloping alongside Julian and William, away from the plundered carriage, towards their makeshift hideout.
It was a gallop through the night like so many others. But Len knew, in her heart, everything was different. And it was all for the love of a fair gentlewoman, a love she had never thought possible. If that love was possible, anything was. Their plan would work, and the sacrifices would seem as nothing.
*
Lucia met with Mr. Royston as soon as he would spare her the time. He was an affable man, yet with an air of being in a continual hurry about him. Lucia asked him if he thought it was possible Foxe Hall could be closed, while she spent the winter in Bath with friends.
When he had agreed there was no obvious problem with such a proposition, Lucia ventured a little further. “And I wonder, Mr. Royston,” she said, with an uneasy smile, “if there is any way I can receive my father’s allowance before I marry? I am, you know, very nearly in my three-and-twentieth year. There is a chance I may not marry. If I am to reside in Bath, I will need some money.”
Mr. Royston looked dubious to begin with. The ever-present furrows of his brow deepened further. But he was a kind and sensible man, who understood Lucia’s predicament quickly. “We would have to ask permission of your brother.” From the honesty and willingness in his intelligent hazel eyes, Lucia had confidence in him to do his best by her. “George controls the estate now. However, I am sure he will consent for an allowance to be paid to you.”
“Yes.” Lucia’s smile was warmer now. “I am sure he will.”
It took longer than Lucia had hoped for her brother’s permission to be sought. He was somewhere uncertain, his regiment continually on the move. However, eventually the letter came, and Mr. Royston and Lucia were together in her father’s study once more. George had no objections either to the closing of Foxe Hall over the winter or to Lucia’s being granted an allowance. Technically, her allowance came from her brother, the money reserved by her father for when she married being forfeit by the new arrangement. That settled, she began to write letters.
First, she wrote to Isabella to tell her she would be spending the winter in Bath, with friends she named but with whom she knew Isabella was only vaguely fami
liar, being acquaintances Lucia had gained on a previous trip she had made alone to Bath. Isabella was now well into her confinement and would be travelling nowhere for several months. Nor, Lucia supposed, with the distractions of her new family and the coming child, would she take much interest in her sister’s winter plans. Since their brother had already been informed of her plan, Lucia did not worry there would be any discrepancy, should he and Isabella communicate.
She also informed her local acquaintances she would be wintering with friends in Bath. Some of them voiced their own plans to spend winter at the spa, and Lucia promised to look out for them at the Pump House and Assembly Rooms, while not disclosing the address at which she would be residing. Since they had seen little of Lucia in society for the last year, she knew they would not be especially disappointed when they did not meet with her at the spa.
The next letter Lucia composed was to her friends in Bath, Mrs. Jane Croft and her daughter Annabelle. She begged their forgiveness, told them she had intended to visit them this winter, as they had invited her to do on several occasions, but at the last minute, her aunt from the Lakes had asked her to stay, and she felt she could not refuse. She told them she had already let it be known to some acquaintances where she would be staying, and though she would try to remember to inform them of the change, mistakes could be made. Therefore, there was a chance they might receive letters addressed to Lucia. She asked them to forward any such letters to Foxe Hall, where the servants would send them on to her in the Lakes. This was really a precaution. There was little chance Isabella or George would write to her in Bath, and she had given the address to no one else.
The last part of the scheme was the one Lucia was most fearful over, for it depended upon more than her own resources and ability to mislead, at which she realised she had clearly become adept. One afternoon in October she approached Mary. “I have to discuss something with you,” she said.
The maid’s face was surprised and yet solemn as she blinked at her mistress. “Yes, miss?”
“Yes. I am to go away for a while,” Lucia said.
“Yes, miss, to Bath, I heard you telling Mrs. Drew when she called for tea.”
“Yes.” Lucia paused. “I mean, no.” She stumbled over the words in the face of Mary’s easy acceptance of her lie. “I did tell her that,” she clarified, “but you see, I am not going to Bath after all.” It was the first time Lucia had spoken something of the truth out loud, and she felt she had reached a point from which she could not retreat. She was partly terrified and partly overjoyed. She tried to hide both emotions, as Mary looked at her, clearly bewildered.
“You’re not, miss?”
“No, Mary, I’m not.” Lucia looked into her eyes and prepared to tell her what was largely the truth. “I have taken a quiet cottage, not far from here. I am looking for some peace, away from people. I have not entirely recovered, you know, from my ordeal of last winter, and my father’s death has been very difficult for me.”
“I’m sure, miss, but would not a visit to Bath, where you would be amongst friends and could take the waters, be a better cure than solitude?”
“No, Mary,” Lucia said firmly. “Bath is a place of society and gossip, even out of season. I do not want to be there. Only it suits me that people think I have gone there. Do you understand?”
“Not quite, miss.”
“If they know I am still nearby, they will wonder why I am not here, keeping house in my brother’s absence. If they know I have retreated to a hideaway they will think me eccentric. I cannot have that, my reputation is already damaged enough of late, since I have not been much in company. Please do not concern yourself beyond that. What I ask is this: Whilst I am absent, you remain at Foxe Hall and keep it in good order, so it does not have to be closed entirely, should our family wish to visit. I also ask that you keep any letters that should arrive for me. I will call to collect them from time to time. I will pay you a shilling extra a week if you tell no one of my plans.”
“Yes, miss,” Mary said. She continued to regard Lucia with bewilderment in her expression. However—and how Lucia hated herself for exploiting it—it was not a maid’s position to press any further questions upon her mistress. Mary had been told her duty, and Lucia knew her loyalty was exemplary. The extra shilling was not a bribe. It was a reward, a token of Lucia’s gratitude towards her, which was truly heartfelt.
And so the web was spun. Lucia hated every lie that had to be told. Yet they were so necessary to her happiness. She understood now how Len could compromise her own moral code and turn outlaw in order to win that so tenuously held right to choose. She had not become a robber herself, but in her society she knew the crimes of dishonesty she had committed, and their eventual end, would be just as soundly condemned.
*
As October drew to a close, Lucia asked for the carriage to be made ready, and it carried her and her small travelling bag into town. She told the men to return to Foxe Hall, since she would visit an acquaintance then meet with her Bath friends, who were in the area and would take her onwards in their own carriage.
As soon as the carriage was out of sight, Lucia began to walk out of town, along the main Derby road. She was alone in the world, with no one to miss her or question her, and such independence sent a thrill through her that forced a quite idiotic smile to her lips. She had chosen to be able to choose, just as Len had once done.
Before long two riders brought their horses to walk alongside Lucia. They were leading another horse, a pretty grey mare. She looked up at the riders. Julian smiled easily down on her, raising his eyebrows slightly, as though he still could not believe she was the woman he had robbed on the road almost a year previously. Len rode Oberon side-saddle, her dark blue skirts flowing over her legs. Her cloak was her usual blue velvet, but it did not matter it was more suited to a man. Her flower-decorated bonnet met the eye first, and the illusion was thus created. There was nothing to suggest this couple on horseback were anything to do with the highwaymen who terrorised travellers. Len’s eyes met Lucia’s as they stopped, a little group of well-dressed acquaintances by the roadside, and the intensity of her gaze set something alight inside Lucia, a feeling which had never stopped smouldering since that first horseback ride.
“Hello again, Miss Foxe,” Julian said, as he dismounted to aid Lucia in mounting the grey mare.
“Hello, once more,” Lucia replied. “No pistol today?” She was no longer intimidated by him as she had once been.
“I thought it unnecessary today, Miss Foxe.” He smiled. “Though I can tie your hands if it would seem more appropriate.” His eyes danced and Lucia laughed.
Len said nothing, but her silent gaze said more than a thousand words that did not need to be uttered. Lucia rode with them out of town and into the countryside. The golden- and russet-hued trees showered them with their drifting leaves, and the damp air smelled of wood smoke. Lucia wanted to sing with joy at the beauty of it all, which she seemed to see with fresh eyes.
They rode for over an hour, eventually reaching a place where the enclosed land ended. Beyond, the vegetation was untamed and unruly. Here, along a track, and obscured by a large yew, they came to a cottage.
“So, here it is. What do you think of it?” Len asked, as they halted outside. Lucia contemplated the small building. Its roof was of slate and sound, though it sagged a little in the middle. The casement windows were clean, the wood, though old, not at all rotten. The walls had recently been whitewashed. There was a well in the front garden and a patch cleared to the side where vegetables could flourish. A large apple tree, unruly with lack of tending, stretched for the sky to the left.
“It’s beautiful,” Lucia said, sincerely. No building had ever been as gorgeous to her as the cottage.
“I’m glad you think so.” Len looked pleased.
“It is rented in the name of Miss Josephine Grey, who looks suspiciously like a certain Miss Helena Hawkins,” Julian said. “But being as Miss Helena no longer exists, it wou
ld be difficult to trace the lady who really took out the lease on the cottage. There will certainly be no link to Miss Lucia Foxe of Foxe Hall or to the mysterious rider of a black stallion who haunts the roads by night.”
“It is perfect then,” Lucia said.
“Providing the rent is met.”
“That is no problem.”
*
And so it was Lucia, who had grown up in Foxe Hall and become used to the workings of genteel society, came to be in a small cottage on the edge of humanity’s reach into the countryside. The house was far enough from any village to arouse no curiosity and obscured enough from the road not to be often noticed. It was warm and snug in the cottage, even on cold nights, and the darkness no longer held any terrors for her.
Lucia intended to visit Isabella as Christmas drew close. She knew she would tell her sister nothing of the life she had chosen. Still, she entertained idle notions of Len accompanying her on the journey, wearing her fine blue dress, passing for a new acquaintance she had made. She found the idea amusing and rather thrilling in the same moment. To sit beside Len in company—in full gaze of her family and acquaintance—and to look into Len’s eyes and see her own secrets and hopes safe, how wonderful that would be.
She was, for the moment, essentially alone in the world. It was at once the price of her new liberty and the facilitator of such freedom. Perhaps, when the war ended and George returned, she would have to look for more excuses, create more secrets. There would be time yet to ponder just how she could continue the illusion she had begun for many years to come. For now, however, she found her liberty had come to her more easily than she could have anticipated.
Lucia remembered how Len once told her they could not command the changes in their lives; they simply had to wait to see what life brought. She loved Len’s trust in the path the stars had set out for them, in the hand of destiny. Lucia had never suspected she would understand Len so well before the year was out.
The Locket and the Flintlock Page 28