The Highwayman's Daughter

by Henriette Gyland

  Humiliation and anger burned in her cheeks, and her distrust of him returned. She pulled away as he reached out to her and ran out of the gallery, ignoring Jack’s plea and Alethea’s confusion.

  ‘Cora! Wait!’

  She hurtled down the stone staircase as fast as she could in the darkness. Halfway down her ankle twisted as she trod on the hem of her dress, and her foot was yanked beneath her as it tangled in the fabric. She fell the rest of the way down and landed with a bump in the servants’ passage.

  Sobbing and cursing, she pulled herself up but cried out in pain when she tried to put her right foot down. She grabbed a broom which leaned against the wall nearby and used it for support as she hobbled down the passage.

  She had to get out of there. Now. Whatever their explanations, she didn’t trust Jack anymore and certainly wouldn’t let him ensnare her into playing any more foolish and irresponsible games, or allow him to toy with her feelings further. It was all right for the likes him to indulge in such idle pursuits, but it was people like her who ended up paying the price. For a short while he had beguiled her with the prospect of a better life for herself and Ned, but it had been nothing but a false hope. Lord Halliford was like everyone else belonging to his class, in pursuit of his own entertainment regardless of who got hurt in the process. Well, she was having none of it.

  Gritting her teeth against the pain in her ankle, Cora hobbled down the corridor, brushing past the startled butler, who had come to investigate the noise.

  Lord Halliford might be an aristocratic pleasure-seeker, but there was no escaping the deplorable fact that Cora had well and truly lost her heart to him.

  Jack was just in time to see Cora hurl herself onto her horse and disappear into the night, a yellow dot in the distance. He could pursue her, of course, but by the time he had saddled his own horse, she would be long gone and he doubted she was heading for the cottage in the woods anyway.

  A low moan interrupted his thoughts. Just a few feet away from him lay a broken flower pot and a crumpled heap of a man. Jack rushed over to help Benning up.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, the concern in his voice carrying in the still night air.

  Groaning, the groom rubbed his head. ‘Aye, my lord, I reckon I am.’

  ‘Well, you’d better have that knock tended to. Cook will put a cold compress on it.’

  ‘I’m made of sterner stuff than that,’ Benning protested, ‘even if that young scallywag packs quite a punch.’

  ‘Glad to hear it, but I’d feel happier knowing you’ve been seen to. And remember our agreement: you saw and heard nothing.’

  ‘Right you are, my lord. I’ve not seen nor heard nothin’. That being that, if I hadn’t known this were a lad in a dress, I’d have taken ’im for a female, punch or no punch,’ Benning added with a sly look.

  ‘Not even my father must know about this.’

  ‘You have my word, my lord,’ the groom reassured him. ‘Not even his lordship.’ Benning had always been loyal to Jack and trusted his judgement, but they both knew that the earl would probably hear of it one way or another.

  Clutching his sore head, Benning stumbled indoors, and Jack became aware of Alethea standing behind him.

  ‘I’m sorry I interrupted you,’ she said.

  ‘No matter. You weren’t to know.’ Jack ran his hands through his unruly hair and stared out into the night. He hadn’t meant to be gruff with his cousin, but Cora frustrated him.

  ‘Are you serious about this woman?’ Alethea put her hand on his arm. ‘If so, I wish you every happiness. From the bottom of my heart.’

  Jack didn’t reply; it wasn’t that simple. He had to find Cora first, and then persuade her to trust him again, and then … Then what?

  He cursed himself for having let her go, for having kissed her, although she’d kissed him back readily enough. Perhaps it had been too soon, and he’d only succeeded in making her question his motives. He couldn’t blame her for that; they had been about as clear as mud. One thing he did know – when he found her, he would make sure she didn’t get away again. He knew she wasn’t indifferent to him and he was eager to pick up from where they’d been when Alethea had interrupted them. There was still much he wanted to say to her. His feelings for her had stolen over him so gradually he hadn’t realised exactly when, but he knew now that he wanted her by his side, in his life, if she was willing.

  At the bottom of the servants’ stairs he retrieved his coat, which Cora had dropped when she fell.

  ‘Damnation!’ he muttered under his breath as he checked the pockets: his purse was missing. Oh, yes, he certainly had things to say to her.

  Cora rode for a good mile, until she was certain she wasn’t being followed. She hadn’t meant to hit the groom on the head with a flower pot, but when he’d refused to hand over her weapons, desperation had seized her. She regretted it and hoped the man hadn’t suffered a grievous injury. He might not have even chased her anyway; Jack, however, was another matter.

  She remembered the look in his eyes when he’d kissed her. He was a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. He appeared to have full confidence in his plans to help her situation; but it seemed that he also wanted … her.

  That was the worst part.

  Catching her breath after her breakneck ride across the Heath, Cora dismounted and leaned against Samson with her arms wrapped around his neck.

  Something both wonderful and terrible had happened between her and Jack tonight. She couldn’t deny it, nor did she wish to. The memory of his strong arms around her made her go almost giddy with longing and she sighed against the horse’s mane, aware of the futility in imagining herself and Jack together. She was the illegitimate by-blow of the earl’s scandalous cousin, and even in the unlikely event society chose to turn a blind eye to that, there was no way she and Ned could ever fit into Jack’s world – whatever Jack said. She couldn’t bear the thought of trying to force Ned to be something other than he was – he would insist on trying out of love for Cora – but they had no place here. She had to find a different way to secure his comfort – maybe the air in another country would do him good.

  There could be no marriage between her and Jack. Perhaps she could be with him as his mistress, but that could lead to only lust and dishonour and abandonment – one day, he’d have to marry. Cora could live with the lust and the dishonour, but the thought that Jack might one day abandon her made her heart ache. Best not to allow herself such thoughts in the first place.

  The kiss had been magical, but it had been ruined by her return to reality. Sniffing loudly, she pulled herself together and patted Samson on the neck.

  ‘It’s all right, my friend, it’s all right. I haven’t lost my wits altogether.’

  Samson snorted as if in agreement and nudged her gently with his glossy head.

  ‘Let’s get you home, shall we?’ Stroking his nose, she guided the horse to a tree and tied the reins to it. ‘I just need to get out of these clothes before Father sees me.’

  Cora grabbed the bundle of clothes and weapons she’d swiped when fleeing Jack’s home and quickly changed out of the yellow dress, though the stays were impossible to unfasten so she kept them on under her jacket and shirt. For some reason getting back into her old clothes broke the spell and she was able to laugh at herself over how Jack had so nearly managed to persuade her that she could be part of his world when it was clear she never would. Samson stomped his hoof as if he too was relieved to be free of the curious enchantment.

  She placed the yellow dress carefully in one of her saddle bags. Although it pained her to part with such an exquisite garment, she knew she couldn’t keep it – it would only serve as a reminder of her humiliation, even if Jack hadn’t intended it as such. She would ensure that it found its way back to Lady Lampton again.

  Pulling herself back up in the saddle, Cora looked behind her one more time. She could no longer see the house, of course, but there was still that strange tug, the pull of adventure, of
emotion, and if she had been a fanciful sort, she could easily have imagined hearing the echo of Jack calling her name.

  But she wasn’t given to fancies. She was a no-nonsense, sensible young woman with a sick father to care for.

  And she was on the run.

  With renewed determination she picked up the reins and steered Samson in the direction of Mrs Wilton’s cottage. She and Ned were leaving for good, and she doubted that she would ever see Jack again.

  She should have felt relief at her narrow escape, so why did it feel as if there was a huge, gaping hole in her chest where her heart should have been?

  ‘Where’ve you been? Your father has been worrying himself sick.’

  Cora turned at the sound of Mrs Wilton’s throaty voice. She had rubbed Samson down and seen to it that he had fresh water and a couple of turnips when Mrs Wilton appeared at the lean-to where she stored her firewood, and which served as a temporary shelter for the horse.

  ‘I had an errand to run,’ Cora replied, guilt gnawing at her insides for leaving Ned so soon after they had abandoned their cottage. ‘Is my father all right?’

  Mrs Wilton eyed Cora’s breeches and jacket and looked as if she was about to comment, but then she merely shrugged. ‘As well as can be expected with the ague. I gave ’im some of that fancy tincture. Lord knows it won’t cure ’im, but he’s resting now, so I suppose it must’ve done ’im some good.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Wilton,’ said Cora. ‘I appreciate all you’ve done for us. If there’s anything we can do to repay—’

  Mrs Wilton gave a dismissive wave. ‘Pah! At my age there ain’t much excitement in life, so you’ve done me a favour just by visitin’. Now, go and see to your father, you wayward girl. He’s been asking for you all evening.’

  Cora ducked inside Mrs Wilton’s cramped cottage and went straight to her father, who lay on the only bed in the dwelling. She and Ned were poor, but nothing compared to Mrs Wilton, who lived in what could only be called a hovel. Cora was thankful that the older woman, who was as thin and scrawny as they came, had had the foresight to push the bed closer to the fire. It was banked down for the night now but gave off enough heat to keep Ned comfortable. He always suffered more when he was cold, and the evening was chilly despite it being high summer.

  Her father opened his eyes as she knelt down beside the bed. In the sparse light from the fire and a candle on the table she noticed that his eyes had taken on a feverish shine and his hand was clammy to the touch. A hard lump formed in her stomach.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Ned asked and sat up. He waved her hand away with an impatient gesture when she tried to prop up the straw-filled cushion behind him, and Cora moved back, allowing him his pride.

  ‘I’m not in my dotage yet, girl,’ he growled as he rose from the bed and moved to sit in a wooden chair closer to the fire, ‘and I’m not an invalid either.’

  ‘No, Father.’

  He sent her a suspicious look. ‘And you don’t fool me with your simpering. Where have you been, and in those clothes?’

  It seemed a little late in the day for feeble explanations. Ned had known what she got up to for a while anyway. ‘We needed travel money,’ she said simply. ‘I held up a carriage.’

  Behind her Mrs Wilton gasped, but Ned regarded her steadily, with a twinkle in his eye and an almost imperceptible smile tugging the corners of his lips. ‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘And were you in luck?’

  Cora dug into one of her saddle bags and handed him the purse she had lifted out of Jack’s pocket when she lay at the bottom of the stairs. Holding it brought back memories of their kiss and sent the blood rushing to her cheeks, as well as a feeling of shame that she had stolen from him so coldly. Her hand shook, but she controlled herself and handed the purse to Ned, in the hope that her father hadn’t noticed her agitation. Without a word he took it and poured the coins out into his hand, counted them and handed half to Mrs Wilton together with the purse. ‘For your trouble, Martha.’

  A look of understanding passed between them. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Ned.’

  ‘I know,’ he replied in a rasping voice, ‘but I’d be a damn sight happier knowing that you’re well looked after. Keep the money in a safe place and burn the purse.’

  ‘I ain’t in my dotage either,’ protested Mrs Wilton, and they exchanged another look. ‘I know how to take care of meself.’

  Ned and Martha, was it? Cora raised her eyebrows. She didn’t blame her father for his generosity towards Mrs Wilton; after all it was what she would have done if the widow had allowed her to, but it worried her that they had so little money left. When they travelled, they would need to buy food, and the tincture for Ned’s cough would need replenishing eventually. What then? Would they find work and lodgings, or would they be doomed to stay on the road forever? There was no way her father would survive such an ordeal.

  ‘You’re a foolhardy girl,’ Ned said, turning to Cora again, ‘but a brave one. No father could be prouder of his daughter than I am.’

  Cora took his hand. ‘And no daughter could have a more attentive father than you. But I must beg your permission to let me do one last thing before we leave. I need to say goodbye to Uncle George before … before they hang him tomorrow.’

  Ned clasped her hand in his with what seemed like the last of his strength. ‘Cora, it’s too dangerous.’

  ‘Why should it be dangerous?’

  ‘The thought of you walking into Newgate fills me with dread.’

  ‘I can look after myself,’ Cora insisted. ‘Please, Father, say you’ll let me. I have no desire to go against your wishes, but … I believe I must go.’

  ‘I know you can. That’s not what worries me.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  Shaking his head, Ned stared into the embers of the fire, and it seemed like an age before he spoke again, this time in a voice so low that Cora had to strain to hear what he was saying. ‘As you know there are those who believe that George left behind a secret stash, a treasure if you like, before he was arrested.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard the story,’ Cora scoffed. ‘It gets better each time it’s told.’ When Ned said nothing, she asked, ‘It is just a story, isn’t it? It’s not true?’ She’d always thought so, but perhaps Ned knew differently.

  ‘Of course it’s not true. George likes his drink a little too much to have put anything aside.’ Ned shrugged. ‘But it’s a popular myth and there are some who believe it. You can be certain that someone will be watching the prison for any of George’s cronies going in. If you’re recognised, there’s a good chance these characters will think George has revealed his secret to you.’

  ‘Why should he reveal it to me?’ Cora asked. ‘If, indeed, there is anything to reveal?’

  Ned patted her hand and gave her a tired smile. ‘Because, dear heart, everyone knows that he saw you as the child he never had. If he reveals anything to anyone, it’d be to you and no other.’

  Defeated, Cora sat back on her haunches and stared into the fire. The tale of George’s secret loot was legendary; had been even when he was a free man. The threat Ned referred to was real.

  But she had an idea. ‘I won’t go as me. I’ll go as a fine lady, in a veil, and I doubt if anyone will recognise me.’ She rose and pulled the yellow dress out of the saddle bag, then held it up in front of her.

  Mrs Wilton clasped her hands together. ‘Lord in Heaven! That is a handsome gown. I never saw one quite so fine.’ She stretched out her hand and ran an arthritic finger over the fabric gently, almost reverently, as if she feared that the material would snag on her rough labourer’s hands.

  ‘Are you robbing the clothes off people’s backs now?’ Ned grumbled. ‘Or are you risking your life riffling through their luggage?’

  ‘No, I found this inside the carriage itself,’ Cora lied. ‘Perhaps someone changed clothes during the journey.’ Carefully, without meeting Ned’s eyes, she lay the dress over the back of the rickety chair.

  ‘Perhaps
.’

  Cora’s skin prickled under her father’s penetrating stare, but she set her mouth in a firm line. If only you knew, she thought. If only you knew that your beloved daughter was nearly ensnared into …

  Into what exactly? She had assumed that Jack had been manipulating her because the arrival of his cousin in the gallery, at such a late hour and at a moment when Cora had felt entirely vulnerable, had seemed too deliberate, almost as if Jack had engineered it. Except that didn’t quite tally with the way he’d acted with her, the kindness he’d shown her and his gentle humour. Their attraction was mutual, she was sure of that. Maybe she had been a little hasty. After all, she hadn’t given him much chance to explain.

  Either way, there was little doubt that she had acted like a fool, and she pushed the thought aside, not wanting to be reminded of it. She had a hanging to go to.

  Mrs Wilton was still admiring the dress and didn’t seem to have noticed the looks which passed between father and daughter. ‘You’re quite right, Cora, my love, I don’t think anyone will recognise you in that. But you’ll be needing a chaperone.’

  ‘A chaperone?’ Cora laughed. ‘I’m not some pasty-faced little miss who can’t go to the outhouse without an escort. I can take—’

  ‘Take care of yourself?’ said Ned. ‘Aye, we know that, but Martha’s right. A young lady wouldn’t go anywhere without either her maid or a relative to accompany her. It wouldn’t be considered proper, and improper behaviour is likely to rouse suspicion. That’s what we want to avoid.’ He coughed suddenly, for a long time, as if the effort of scolding her had been too much.

  Cora watched his shoulders heave with the effort of catching his breath. Realisation hit her that Ned would soon be taken from her and she swore she would bring him somewhere safe, somewhere warm. Spain, perhaps, the country that had inspired her name. Ned was all she had in the world and she was determined that his last few months should be as comfortable as possible.