The stable behind the Public Hospital was deserted when Lavender slipped in by a side door. Cautiously she made her way back to the third stall, where a secret door was concealed beneath a pile of hay. Going down a ladder, she closed the door behind her. Already a candle had been lit, so Lavender knew Nicodemus had been here before her. This was where she kept the many disguises she used when she became the Swallow, and where she was able to change quickly and slip out of town.
She hastily slipped into her black britches and fastened a rapier about her slender waist.
As her hand touched the ivory handle of her rapier, Lavender's mind drifted back to the happy times in her childhood when she had first taken up the sword.
The year Lavender and her brother had turned ten, their father had engaged a renowned Italian master to instruct Chandler in the art of swordsmanship. At first, Lavender had only been allowed to watch while Chandler had his lessons. But, after each session, Chandler would get a foil for himself and one for Lavender, and the two of them would escape to a deserted cove down by the river. For hours on end he would instruct her in whatever he had learned that day. It soon became apparent to Chandler that his sister displayed a quick wit and a strong wrist. Ultimately, when they crossed blades, she would often force him to yield. In no time at all she had gone beyond anything that he could teach her about fencing.
When Chandler had recounted Lavender's mastery of the sword to their father, and after the elder Daymond had seen this for himself, Lavender had been allowed to have lessons with her brother, much to her mother's dismay. Lavender conquered the rudiments of the manly art and earned her instructor's high praise.
Since Lavender had become the Swallow, she had been compelled to hide her accomplishment. Fencing was not an accepted pastime for a young lady, and if anyone became aware of her talent, they might conclude that she was the Swallow. Since coming to live with her aunt, she was forced to practice in her bedroom at those times when her aunt thought she was napping. Whenever possible, she practiced each day.
Forcing her mind back to the present, Lavender pulled on her boots. She then twisted her hair atop her head and concealed it beneath a wide-brimmed black hat with a crimson feather. Later, when she and Nicodemus were safely away from Williamsburg, she would tie the crimson mask about her face.
As silently as possible, she slipped out the door and found Nicodemus on his horse waiting for her. Without fanfare, she hoisted herself into the saddle and nodded that she was ready. As far as Lavender was concerned, this was just another mission she had been sent on, and, as always, she knew there was the possibility that she might not come back alive.
Down the back road they raced, finally disappearing into the woods like phantom riders.
4
In the distance, dark storm clouds boiled and rumbled, promising rain before evening. Even the threatening storm did not prod the four spiritless horses pulling the coach that pitched and rolled over the road to Williamsburg. It was unbearably hot and dusty for the passengers, and the driver seemed to hit every rut and bump, making their plight even more miserable.
His Grace, the Duke of Mannington, shifted his weight, trying to find room for his long legs in the cramped space the coach allotted him. Accustomed to his own coaches that provided him with every comfort, he was in an ill humor because of the inconvenience of the public conveyance. This was also the first time he had traveled without Hendrick, and he was now sorry he had decided to leave his valet behind.
Hell and damnation, he thought to himself. If this was what it was like to travel by public transportation, he could well do without it. Beside him, a portly man snored in his sleep and was beginning to irritate Julian. Across from him sat a matronly woman with several caged chickens in her lap. If matters were not bad enough, at the last stop a woman and her two unruly sons had come aboard. The older boy had an irritating habit of pinching his young brother when their mother wasn't looking, causing the child to howl with pain.
Julian tried to push his annoyance to the back of his mind by staring out the window at the passing countryside. The dense woods were plagued with wild undergrowth stretching as far as the eye could see. As time passed, the wilderness slowly gave way to small settlements and villages. Split rail fences snaked their way across green meadows, reminding Julian of the wild and unpredictable Scottish Highlands. There was a certain beauty about this country, he grudgingly admitted.
Julian glanced down at his plain gray attire, hoping he would blend in with the locals. The role he had adopted was that of an artist, Julian West from Georgia, which forced him to imitate the southern mode of dress. He was not overly concerned about his manner of speech, since the southerners spoke very like his native countrymen, especially the wealthy landowners, since many of their sons and daughters were educated in England.
He flicked dust from his coat sleeve, thinking how his talent for painting would now stand him in good stead. His grandmother had always urged him to do something with his talent; he wondered what the dowager duchess would think if she knew she was about to get her wish.
Julian did not realize he could not throw off his identity by merely changing his wardrobe. He had not hidden his imperious manner beneath humble clothing. He did not guess that the reason the passengers avoided meeting his eyes was because he made them feel uncomfortable when he turned his lordly glance on them.
Julian smothered an oath as the elder of the two boys pushed his brother off the seat and the child landed atop Julian. "Madame," Julian remarked, glancing at the mother with annoyance written on his face. "Would you kindly remove your child from my lap."
The flustered woman pulled her now screaming child back onto the seat and tried to quell his outburst. "I am truly sorry, but I can do nothing with the two of them, sir," the woman said as way of apologizing. "They are a handful, even when their father is present."
The matronly woman addressed her sympathy to the young mother's plight. "Some people could be more tolerant where children are concerned." Her heated rebuke was for Julian. "Do you not like children, sir?"
Julian glanced at the two children, who were now exchanging blows despite their mother's attempts to intervene. "I have no trouble tolerating well-behaved children, madame" came his supercilious reply.
"I agree with you, sir," the gentleman at Julian's side said, coming full awake and speaking for the first time since coming aboard. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am George Groves, and I was headmaster at a boys' school in London some years ago. I can tell you we made short work of this kind of misbehavior and would not have accepted such conduct."
"We do not raise our children by English standards, sir," the matronly woman admonished, with anger sparking her eyes. "You would do well to return to that island and teach little English boys how to serve their king. I can assure you, we do not need your advice!"
The duke swung around and stared at Mr. Groves. Was the man a complete fool that he would flaunt his British background before these ladies? Since Julian was trying to pass as an American, he knew he would have to distance himself from Mr. Groves at once. "The lady is right, sir. We need no Englishman telling us how to raise our children."
At that point, the coach came to a sudden halt, tossing the two children on the floor, immediately bringing howls when their mother tried to pull them back on the seat.
"Why are we stopping here?" the matron wanted to know. "We are still miles from Williamsburg, and this is not a scheduled stop."
Julian looked out the window but could see nothing from his vantage point. However, an unknown voice could be heard speaking to the coachman. "Step down, sir. We want to see all your passengers. If you don't want anyone to get hurt, follow my instructions at once."
"May the saints preserve us all," the young mother cried out, clutching her two offspring to her. "Have we been put upon by bandits?"
Julian was quick to react. "Try not to panic, ladies," he advised, knowing nothing could be gained by hysterics. Reaching into his brea
st pocket, he was about to withdraw his pistol when the door was wrenched open by a hooded man who was wearing a gray cape. The gun the man had aimed at Julian's head forced him to reconsider drawing his weapon.
"Everyone step down," the man ordered. "Do as you are told, and no one will suffer."
Not knowing what danger might present itself, Julian stepped out before the ladies. As his feet touched the ground, he saw a second man, a slender youth, on the back of a spirited black horse that pranced and pawed at the earth. Julian had to admire the rider's horsemanship, because with effortless ease he kept the animal under control. The young man was slender and dressed all in black but for the crimson silk handkerchief that was tied about his face. On his head he wore a black cocked hat with a crimson feather, leaving Julian to conclude he was something of a dandy.
The two ladies now stood beside Julian, and for the moment the two boys were silent. Mr. Groves seemed the most disturbed by the incident, and he hung back near the coachman, as if the man's presence would protect him.
"Don't anyone do anything foolish," the muffled voice of the rider rang out. "We are only interested in the gentlemen, so you ladies have nothing to fear."
"Look here," the coachman sputtered, his dark eyes snapping angrily. "This is damned irregular. I am responsible for the safety of my passengers."
The slender man slid off his horse and approached the driver, while his companion kept his gun trained on Julian. "I suggest you advise your passengers to cooperate, and they will come to no harm, then, good sir."
"You are nothing but a common highwayman come to rob us," Mr. Groves accused in a voice of bravado. "You can be sure the authorities will hear of this."
Amused laughter came from behind the crimson mask as the man stepped up to Mr. Groves. "For the moment I want nothing from you other than your name. What are you called?"
"I will not tell you my name. You have no right to ask," Mr. Groves sputtered.
A rapier suddenly appeared from the folds of the black cape and the slim youth held the point at Mr. Groves's throat. "Perhaps I can persuade you otherwise, good sir. It would be wise for you to identify yourself came the muffled threat.
Mr. Groves's face whitened as he stared at the slits in the crimson mask. He could feel the sharp point of the rapier at his throat, and his knees almost buckled beneath him. "Your name," his tormentor reminded him. "Give me your name."
Julian was carefully watching the slender man in the crimson mask, realizing that this was no ordinary holdup. If it were, the two men would already have taken the valuables and ridden away. For a moment he entertained the notion that these men might have come for him. But how could they know his identity since he'd taken such precautions to protect himself?
Julian realized that Mr. Groves was in real danger and decided to intervene on behalf of his fellow countryman. "I think it only fair, if you want to know our names, that you offer your own," he said calmly.
The youth in the scarlet mask turned to him, and placed the rapier at his throat. "Hold your tongue until I am ready to deal with you," he demanded in a muffled voice.
Undaunted, Julian casually moved the point of the rapier aside. "I have all day to wait. How long do you have before someone comes along the road?"
The man in gray stepped forward and waved Julian back against the coach. Julian got the impression this man was being very watchful and protective of his slender companion. Suddenly the man in black turned sideways, and Julian saw the gentle swell of two soft breasts. A smile curved his lips. He should have known all along that the one in black was a woman! Staring at the two slits that had been cut in the red silk mask, Julian tried to see her eyes, but the disguise was too clever, and he could distinguish none of her features. His heart was pounding with the knowledge that he done the right thing in coming to Virginia. Instinct told him that this woman was none other than the Swallow herself!
Julian glanced back at Mr. Groves and saw that the poor man was visibly trembling and incapable of giving his name. The man dressed in gray stepped forward and withdrew some of Groves's papers from his inside breast pocket before moving on to Julian. "I also want to know your identification, sir."
As Julian reached into his inside pocket, he entertained the thought of drawing his pistol, but Nicodemus read his intentions. He pushed Julian's hands aside and took the gun. With a snarl, he crammed the pistol in his own belt.
"Your name, if you please." There was a sharp note to the man's voice. Julian was wise enough to know that now was not the time to be a hero—there would be another time. Nicodemus's eyes were watchful as Julian gave him a letter with his identification on it.
Lavender sheathed her rapier, and took the papers when Nicodemus held them out to her, hastily inspecting them. When she saw the name "Julian West," she raised her head and stared at Julian. This man was her aunt's new lodger. With a sweeping glance, she saw that he was tall. His dark hair was unpowdered, his manner of dress was that of a country gentleman. His face was finely chiseled and he was handsome in an overpowering manner. He was broad of shoulder, and Lavender was sure he was arrogant where the ladies were concerned. His dark eyes stared into hers, and she had the feeling he could read all her secrets. What if later he were to remember something familiar about her?
Drawing a deep breath, she glanced at the second man's papers. Yes, he was George Groves, whom she had been sent to intercept. She avoided Julian West's eyes as she handed him back his papers, and moved on to the unfortunate Mr. Groves.
"I believe you have something that does not belong to you, Mr. Groves. You will kindly turn over to me that which was stolen from the people of the United States."
Mr. Groves's face was by now chalky in color. "I. . . I'm sure I don't know what you are inferring. If you want my purse, take it and be done."
A cold voice rang out from behind the crimson mask. "I care not for your purse, sir. I would rather have that document you somehow managed to pilfer from our Congress."
George Groves appeared to shrink in size, but he still managed to address his accuser. "I have nothing that would interest you, cutthroat—highwayman." His words were meant to convey a bravery he was far from feeling.
"And you, sir, are a British agent and have on your person something that belongs to my government," Lavender declared, losing patience.
Nicodemus cocked the hammer of his pistol and pressed the barrel against Mr. Groves's temple. "Will you give the document over, or should I take it off your dead body?" There was something menacing in Nicodemus's voice which made Mr. Groves fumble in his pocket to extract a document that had been carefully wrapped in oilcloth. With trembling hands, he held it out to Lavender.
While Nicodemus kept a watchful eye on the three men, Lavender carefully unwrapped the oilcloth and glanced at the parchment. She could hardly believe she actually held one of the three original documents that had been approved and signed by men of such renowned prominence in the Continental Congress. By affixing their signatures to the documents, they had proclaimed themselves traitors to England, while declaring the United States a free and independent nation.
She glanced at Mr. Groves, who inched closer to the coachman for protection. His fearful eyes darted from Lavender to Nicodemus.
Lavender propped her booted foot on the coach step and allowed her anger to cool. "What a pity you felt you had to steal this, Mr. Groves. Had you wanted a copy of our Declaration of Independence, no doubt Congress would have been only too happy to oblige. I have heard it said that the men who signed it wrote their names big enough for your king to read without his spectacles. Your mistake was in wanting one of the original copies, and that we cannot allow."
A hiss of disapproval came from the matronly woman. "Have we been traveling with a traitor and a thief?"
While Lavender's attention was drawn to the woman, Groves's hand slowly moved to the hilt of his rapier. She was alerted to the danger by the woman's warning shriek. With a quick motion, he brandished the blade and made a thrust
at her.
Lavender was like liquid lightning; with a speed that surprised her opponent, her blade caught and held his thrust. For long moments, they were locked together in a struggle for supremacy. The Englishman had the greater strength. He was taller and stouter. But Lavender had been well trained at swordplay, and she did not know the meaning of fear.
High color drained from Groves's face and his mouth turned purple. He exerted his strength in an attempt to free his sword. At last, Lavender's blade rounded the Englishman's, and she sent his flying through the air to land at Julian's feet.
Julian wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the sword and Lavender tensed. She read the challenge in his eyes, and she knew he was toying with the notion of crossing blades with her himself. Julian smiled slightly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Bowing to her, he offered the weapon to Groves so the poor man could defend himself, as best he could, against the superior ability of his opponent.
The Englishman took the rapier, his face livid, his mouth etched in a scornful sneer. "Prepare to die. I have had enough of you, highwayman, upstart!"
Lavender's laughter was swift. She flourished her blade in a salute "You have not had near enough of me yet, sir, but you shall before I am finished with you."
Nicodemus quickly stepped forward between Lavender and Groves, his pistol aimed at the man's heart. Lavender motioned for Nicodemus to move aside. She was determined to teach this treacherous dog the lesson he deserved.
Julian watched as she became poised and graceful. When she sliced her deadly blade through the air, it was with trained accuracy. The notion that a woman could wield a sword, and do it better than most men he knew was a novel thought. It was inconceivable to him that any woman could best a man at swordplay, so he watched the proceedings with interest.
The clash of steel was the only sound that could be heard as the two rapiers met in battle. Groves drove forward, advancing and thrusting like a charging bull. As Lavender agilely sidestepped the charge, her rapier sliced through his coat sleeve ripping the material to within a hairsbreadth of the skin underneath.
Lavender Lies (Historical Romance) Page 5