by Joan Smith
“Where are we going?” she asked in alarm. “This can’t be the road to a hospital.”
“The captain knows where we’re going,” Miguel replied. “He’s driving.”
“Where is the coachman?”
“Him and t’other lad are riding our nags—and they’d best not cripple them. The captain is mighty fond of Juno.”
She soon came to the conclusion that the captain was driving them to his lair, to conceal that he had killed the duchess, who had not stirred a muscle since her attack. He would not leave Marianne and the servants alive to bear witness. He was going to kill them all. That is why he was taking them down this narrow, twisty lane.
Why were Beeton and Tom going along with it? But with the duchess and herself as hostages, what choice did they have? The captain had taken their pistols from them. She was trapped for the present. She could not jump out and leave the duchess to these killers, but as soon as they reached their destination, she would try to work out some plan with Beeton.
The three of them should be able to overpower one man. Miguel was not able to fight with his wounded arm, though he could probably fire a gun well enough with his good one. She needed a weapon. She sat silent, mentally reviewing what was in the carriage. Blankets, books, reticules, a basket of apples, wine bottle. The bottle was the only item with any potential for inflicting damage. She would conceal it in her skirt and wait for an opportunity to strike the captain over the head with it as hard as she could and count on Beeton and Tom to overpower Miguel. It was not much of a plan, but it was the best she could think of over the next half hour while the carriage jiggled and jostled over the rough track.
After what seemed an eternity, Miguel stuck his head out the window and announced, “Nearly there, miss. It won’t be long now.”
The words no sooner left his mouth than there was a loud crack. Marianne’s first thought was that the captain had shot Beeton. Before she could fly into a panic, the carriage lurched perilously and tilted. The left side hit the ground with a jerk. Marianne was kept busy preventing the duchess from sliding to the floor.
“The axle’s gone,” Miguel announced. “I’d best see if the cap’n needs a hand. No tricks now, miss.” He waved the gun at her as he opened the door and leapt out.
Within seconds, he was joined by the captain. Marianne listened at the open window, but again they spoke that foreign language. She didn’t understand a word they said, but she knew from their voices they were distressed. It did not seem the optimum moment to use her wine bottle, when Beeton and Tom were some yards away.
After a moment, the captain’s head appeared at the window. “The cottage is only a few hundred yards farther. I’ll carry the duchess. You follow me. Bring your bandboxes and anything you need.”
When he opened the door, Marianne saw that he had removed his mask. It was dark in the carriage, however, and she could not really see what he looked like. He opened the door, bundled the duchess into the blanket, and lifted her into his arms. She was old and frail and the captain was young and strong. He carried her as lightly as if she were a sack of feathers. Marianne gathered up her reticule and the duchess’s, added their bandboxes and the wine bottle, and followed him down a rutted lane to a cottage nestled in a clearing in what she now realized was a forest or spinney. The wind had risen. It bucketed the treetops and howled around her head, lifted her skirts and whipped the duchess’s blanket about. A fine mist was in the air, not quite rain, but promising a deluge soon.
She took some comfort in seeing Beeton and Tom following on horseback. At least she would not be alone with these dangerous criminals. If it were not for the duchess, she would leap on that big bay mare with Beeton, and the three of them could thunder off to safety. But of course they could not abandon Her Grace.
The door of the cottage opened as they approached. A small, grizzled man in shirtsleeves welcomed them.
“Captain Jack! What brings you out on such a night?”
“Necessity, my friend. I have a sick lady here. Is there somewhere I can leave her?”
The man stood aside to let the captain enter. “You didn’t shoot her, lad! The law takes a dim view of shooting your victims. There’s no bribing your way out of murder.”
Any hope that this man might help them died with this warning. He was a friend of the highwaymen.
“I said sick, not wounded,” the highwayman replied. “Heart, I think, from the looks of her.”
“This way.” Their host took up a lamp and led them, with the captain carrying the duchess, through a cozy parlor to a small bedchamber at the back of the cottage. There was only the one story to the building and, she suspected, one bedchamber. Their host handed Marianne the lamp and left. She saw the room was modest, with a simple uncanopied bed, a chair, a toilet table, and a braided rug on the floor. A small fire was burning in the grate. She placed the lamp on the bedside table.
The room was at least clean. Marianne turned down the quilt to allow the captain to place the duchess on the bed.
“We have to send for a doctor,” she said. She sensed that the duchess was looking a little better. Her complexion had a hint of color now.
“Ned, our host, is as good as a sawbones,” the captain replied. He went to the duchess and felt her pulse, laid his hand along her cheek, and seemed satisfied.
“He is only a woodchopper or some such thing,” Marianne objected. “You must get a proper doctor. Tell the man it is for the duchess. He’ll come. We’ll pay whatever he asks.”
The highwayman lifted a well-arched eyebrow and said, “What will she use for money? Or is it your own two guineas you mean to spend?”
“I believe you will find the Duchess of Bixley’s credit is good,” she replied loftily.
The man’s lips quirked in an amused way that was not quite a smile. In the confusion of settling the duchess, Marianne had not taken time to look at him closely. She stared at him now, assessing him as an opponent.
He had a rugged, weathered face with a strong jaw. When he lifted his hand and removed his hat, she saw that his hair was as black as a crow’s wing, with the same glossy iridescence. He wore it barbered close to his head, combed back, not brushed forward in the more stylish Brutus do. This surprised her, as his clothing was that of a dandy.
He was still in afternoon dress, but beneath his dark cape she glimpsed an elegant blue worsted jacket and a finely striped waistcoat of dark blue and yellow. A dotted Belcher kerchief was knotted casually at his throat in lieu of a white cravat. A pair of buckskins revealed a board-flat stomach and well-muscled legs. His top boots were a little the worse for dust, but they were of finest leather, not down at the heels. He wore no jewelry except a watch chain, with presumably a watch in his pocket. A ring could prove dangerous for a highwayman. One of his victims might recognize it if she saw him again and identify him by it.
His general appearance told her the captain was well-to-do, which only proved that he was a successful thief. She was more interested in assessing his character. That he was a thief already told her a good deal, but what sort of thief was he? Were there some personal weaknesses she might put to advantage? This would reveal itself in his eyes and mouth, and of course in his behavior. She studied his eyes. Dark blue, intelligent, heavily fringed—and pitiless. Her gaze lowered to his lips, which were set in a grim line. She could expect no mercy from this criminal. He would have abandoned her on the road with her dying mistress were it not for the severe penalty her death would bring him.
The penalty for a convicted highwayman was hanging, but it was commonly said that he could buy his way off the gallows for five hundred pounds as long as he had not physically harmed his victims. That was all their fine manners amounted to.
“Well, are you going to send for a doctor?” she asked.
“Let us ask the duchess if she wants one, if she is through with her performance now,” he said, and turned toward the bed.
On cue, the duchess emitted a low moan, then opened her eyes and strug
gled up, resting against the pillows. “A sawbones will not be necessary, Marianne, but I shall have some of that wine now. Or brandy, if you have it, Captain.”
“It will be my pleasure,” the captain replied and left.
“Your Grace!” Marianne exclaimed in astonishment.
“I am fine now,” the duchess said, “though I really feared I was going to have one of my attacks.”
“But why did you—”
“I could not let that jackanapes ride off with my diamonds. I needed a ruse to stay with him. He has them in his pocket. He is a wide-awake scoundrel. He’ll not be easy to fool. We must come up with a plan, or at least discover what cave or shack he calls home. He will not sell them to a fence right away. He knows I shall report the theft as soon as we reach civilization. The necklace will be too hot to unload for a month or two. Hush! He is coming back. We’ll lay our plan later.”
The tread of the highwayman’s footfalls sounded like a death knell to Marianne.
Chapter Three
When the captain returned, the duchess lolled back against the pillows as if too weak to sit up. He was carrying a tray holding her brandy, along with a bottle of wine and one glass. Marianne assumed the wine was for himself, and was surprised when he passed the glass to her.
She felt in need of liquid courage and accepted it with an automatic “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Miss Harkness,” he replied punctiliously. “Shall I send Ned in to see you?” he asked Her Grace.
The duchess gave him a sneering look. “What is he, a horse doctor?” she asked.
“Yes, a very good one. He cured my Juno of the heaves,” the captain said blandly.
She emitted a cackle of appreciation. “You are a cheeky rogue for one in your position. I shall not require your horse doctor’s assistance. I am feeling stouter now.”
“It is yourself who is in a vulnerable position, Your Grace,” he pointed out. His tone was perfectly polite, but the firm timbre of his voice left no doubt who was in charge of the situation.
“Your high friends will be no help to you here,” he continued, “and I fear I must detain you for the present. I shall undertake to see no harm comes to you so long as you do not leave the house. You may stay here a day or two until your carriage is repaired and you are well enough to continue on your way. If you are hungry, Ned can rustle you up some gammon and eggs. And now, if there is nothing else you require, I must leave.”
“What about my companion and my servants?”
“They will be Ned’s guests as well.”
“Where is Miss Harkness to sleep? What assurance do I have that you will not be slipping into her room? A pretty young girl will be a strong temptation to you. She is under my protection.”
The captain gave Marianne a brief, dismissing glance that displayed not an iota of interest in her charms. She might have been an old shoe or a bone. “I assure you I am no menace to your charge’s virtue. She will have to sleep here with you in any case. The cottage has only the one bedchamber.”
Marianne felt thoroughly embarrassed by both the question and his quick, dismissing answer. The captain bowed to them and left. The duchess took a sip of her brandy and said pensively, “He is well spoken for a common criminal, is he not?”
“He makes my flesh crawl.”
“What you felt was a quiver of anticipation, Marianne, a shiver of romantic interest,” she said with a naughty twinkle in her rheumy old eyes. “Naturally a well-bred young lady would not recognize it for that. The man reeks of animal magnetism. Those low, mongrel types often do. I once had a chair man— But that is of no account now. You must be on your guard against his lowborn charms, especially when he has drunk too much. These fellows all have a taste for hard liquor, loose women, and gambling, and a distaste for work. I mention it, as you will be seeing something of the fellow.”
“No more than I can help.”
“Don’t be a Bath miss, Marianne. If I were half a century younger, I would do it myself. As I am too old, I must count on your wiles to discover where he has hidden my diamonds.”
Marianne stared in disbelief. It was the first time she had ever been accused of possessing wiles. As to using them against this formidable captain, she would as lief try to ride a tiger.
The duchess continued unconcernedly, “The diamonds are not in his pocket. I gave it a jiggle as he handed me this brandy. They are still somewhere in this little cottage.”
“He said he is going out. He’ll take them with him.”
“I think not. It is still the shank of the night. He is off to rob someone else. He would hardly take them with him, in case he is apprehended. No, he has certainly concealed them here in the cottage, and we must discover where. If you feel your charms are not up to the task of sweet-talking the captain, you will have to search the place after everyone has gone to sleep. It is true he displayed not one iota of interest in you.”
“It is too dangerous, Your Grace! There will still be two men here. Miguel won’t go out again. He has wounded his arm. He might kill me.”
“Rubbish. They have had ample opportunity to kill us all if they wished. They would not dare to kill me or any of my employees. I have no patience with these missish quibbles. One would think you were the old invalid. You will feel better after you have finished your wine and eaten a bite. I am feeling peckish myself. Tell the horse doctor the old gray mare is ready for her oats now. Keep your eyes and ears open and see what you can discover while you are about it.”
The duchess settled in as comfortably as if she were in her own mansion or a fine hotel. And it was not costing her a penny.
When Marianne went to the parlor, she saw the captain was at the door, just leaving. He stopped and leveled a scowl at her from those dark, dangerous eyes. He was not wearing his mask, but he was carrying it in his hand. His expression was wary, watchful. She felt as if he were looking right through her. She could no more sweet-talk this man than she could trade quips with an archbishop.
“Is there some trouble, Miss Harkness?” he asked. “Has Her Grace taken a turn for the worse?”
“No, she is fine,” she said in a breathless voice.
“What is her trouble, exactly?”
“It is her heart. She had an attack a year ago. It bothers her still, especially when she is upset.”
“You know how to deal with her problem?”
“I can handle it, as long as it is not a serious attack. I would feel better if she could see a doctor.”
“If you run into trouble, call Ned. He has considerable experience with more than horses. If she is not unwell, why have you left her?”
“She is hungry.”
“Ah, just so. You will find Ned in the kitchen,” he said. He tipped his hat and turned to leave. Before stepping out, he stopped and turned back. His face had assumed a sneer. “By the by, your groom is fine. Tom’s wound was not serious. Ned patched him up. No doubt you are concerned about him, though you did not bother to inquire.” Then he left without molesting her.
Marianne drew a deep sigh of relief, both for Tom’s safety and the highwayman’s departure. In her nervous state, she had been too upset to think of the grooms. She wanted only to get away from the captain as quickly as possible.
She found her way to the kitchen with no difficulty. Ned was there, already busy at the stove. He looked up and smiled reassuringly. “Hungry, miss?” he asked.
Some sense of normalcy returned as she watched this ordinary-looking man stirring a pan of eggs in an ordinary kitchen, with a deal table and four chairs on one side, a blazing grate on the other, and the stove at the far end. The tension began to seep out of her stiff joints.
“Yes, I am. We didn’t stop for dinner this evening,” she replied. “Her Grace would like something as well, if it is not too much trouble.”
“No trouble, miss. Captain Jack pays us well. Sit you down by the fire whilst I rustle up a bite.”
The name Jack didn’t suit him. He should have some mor
e dangerous name, like Genghis Khan or Napoleon. She went to the grate but did not sit down. “Was Captain Jack in the army?” she asked, wondering why he was called captain. It occurred to her that he did have a military bearing and an officer’s easy way with a command.
Ned laughed and began cracking more eggs into the pan. “Oh no, miss. It’s what you might call an honorary title. Many of the scamps called themselves captain in olden times.”
“He walks like a soldier,” she said, hoping to learn more about the man. “An officer, I mean.”
“He’s no officer, but he is, or was, a gentleman, to judge by his ways. I don’t ask questions. It might be best if you don’t either, miss. The captain’s very shy about his past,” he said.
Ned began slicing bread. As he was busy, and as Marianne was accustomed to making herself useful, she offered to help him. He suggested she toast the bread at the grate with the long-handled fork kept there for the purpose. Ned busied himself with gammon and tea and setting up the tray. As they worked, they chatted.
“Are you a woodcutter by trade, Ned?” she asked.
“That I am, miss. I work for His Lordship. That’s Lord Kerrigan. He owns this tract of land and several others hereabouts. I clear away the dead lumber for him and take down the trees he tells me to.”
“The captain says you are a horse doctor as well.”
“That is the captain’s little joke, like. I know something about horses. I used to work at a breeding stable, but I was let go. His lordship wanted his nag to win a certain match. He gave me a bottle of medicine to give the horse before the race. The Jockey Club found out about it. One of us had to take the blame. For payment, his lordship lets me live here and look after this bit of forest.”