“Will you be all right without me?” asked Alice.
“Of course. Go.”
“If you’re sure …”
“I am. Fetch the nightsoil man.”
“Very well. Try to get some rest while I’m gone, my dear.” And with a last solicitous murmur, Alice departed.
Kate waited until she heard the front door slam before uttering a fervent “Thank God!” Then with a blissful smile she settled down to sleep.
She woke to find that night had fallen. As the wisps of a very pleasant dream involving Mistress Rebeccah Dutton fled, she heard movement in the other room and realised it was Alice’s return that had woken her.
A face peered round the door. “Are you awake?” Kate yawned and nodded. “How do you feel.”
She took a quick mental inventory. “Better. I told you all I needed was to rest.”
“Thank heavens!” Alice entered, bringing a faint whiff of nightsoil with her. She crossed to the ewer sitting on the dresser, poured some water into the basin, and washed her hands.
“Did you solve the Wilsons’ problem?” asked Kate, remembering.
The landlady nodded. “Of course the nightsoil man claimed it wasn’t his fault. It never is.” She shook her head but she was smiling as she turned and rested her gaze on Kate. She tossed aside the towel, and came and sat beside her on the bed. “It is so good to have you here.” She took Kate’s hand in hers and held it to her cheek. “You gave me such a fright.”
“I know, and I’m sorry for it.”
“Promise me you won’t do it ever again.”
Kate looked up at Alice, perplexed. “You know I cannot. Such things are beyond my control.”
The landlady dropped Kate’s hand. “You mean you won’t.” Her tone was sulky. “The truth is, you love robbing coaches more than you love me.”
Kate sighed but said nothing. And when the reassurance she had angled for wasn’t forthcoming, Alice’s gaze became reproachful then a little resentful. But Kate was growing tired of the older woman’s need for their relationship to be more than it was. Perhaps this increasing clinginess was because Alice too could sense that their time together was drawing to a close.
She longed to get it out in the open, to say, “Let’s not ruin things now, Alice. Let’s make the most of the time we have left,” but feared it would only make matters worse.
Perhaps I should just get up right now, collect my belongings, and leave.
But it was dark outside, and she had nowhere else to stay, and Alice, her mood as volatile as ever, was removing her skirts and underthings in a playful, seductive manner, revealing the voluptuous body beneath.
As the other woman clambered into bed and began to unbutton Kate’s shirt, Kate hesitated. Alice sensed it and paused. “Are you too tired still?” The hurt in her eyes was obvious, and Kate knew that, even though her heart wasn’t in it, she couldn’t refuse Alice’s offer.
I may not be able to love her, God help me, but at least I can do this for her.
“Of course not.” She smiled, finished the unbuttoning Alice had begun, eased her shirt off over the bandaged shoulder, and threw the garment to one side. “Help me strip off my breeches, will you?”
“Gladly,” giggled Alice.
“That house there,” said Kate, pointing. “See?”
The urchin glanced at the elegant town house on the far side of St James’s Square. He scratched his nose then nodded.
“Good.” She handed him the parcel containing the livery and wig, then a sixpence that disappeared into the pocket of his breeches as if by magic.
“Now?” He cocked his head in query.
“Now.”
As he touched his greasy forelock and darted off to do as she had asked, she ducked behind a tree and watched his progress. He paused at the top of the steps leading down into the Duttons’ back yard, then disappeared down them. A few minutes later he was back, minus the parcel. He glanced over to where he had left Kate, then jammed his hands in his pockets and strode off, whistling.
Errand completed, Kate could have gone about her business, but the impulse to see Rebeccah one more time held her in place. She blinked as a figure appeared at the top of the Duttons’ back steps - a dumpy middle-aged woman in maid’s uniform.
Mary.
Rebeccah’s maid scanned the square, her gaze pausing at Kate’s tree before continuing. Either she couldn’t see the highwaywoman hiding behind it, slouching to disguise her height, or Kate’s skirts and the plain white cap pinned over her upswept hair had made her unrecognisable to someone who had only ever seen her in men’s clothing. Whatever the reason, Mary shook her head and disappeared down the steps, and Kate let out her breath.
Minutes passed, and still Kate lingered. When a coach and pair turned into the square and pulled up in front of the Dutton residence, her hopes rose that she might at last catch a glimpse of the fair-haired young gentlewoman with the enchanting green eyes. But a plump, self-important-looking young man in clothes a size too small stepped down from the carriage and made his way to the front door. After doffing his tricorne and speaking to the footman, he was given admittance and the door closed behind him. Kate wondered who he was.
Her loitering was beginning to attract curious glances from passers-by, she realised. It was time to move on. Reluctantly, she left her hiding place and headed in the direction of Pall Mall, with the idea of taking a stroll in St James’s Park as she had no wish yet to return to Alice’s house in Covent Garden and some gentle exercise after her recent illness would do her good.
The fact that she was a woman alone, and her attire was neither of the best quality nor the latest cut, drew disdainful glances from the fashionable couples walking along the tree-lined avenue, but Kate ignored them, preoccupied as she with her memories. For her time in the sickroom had been a surprisingly agreeable one, especially when she had Rebeccah all to herself.
But I must put her out of my mind, she chided herself. For there is no future in this. So saying, she stopped, drew in a breath, and made a deliberate effort to take in every aspect of her surroundings. As if the Fates themselves were mocking Kate and the resolution she had just made, along the avenue, heading straight for her, came a familiar figure in a blue mantua.
Rebeccah!
It was a moment before Kate could collect her wits, unfreeze her limbs, and seek cover. A red deer grazing behind the flowering shrub she had chosen shied and scampered away. Kate wondered if her expression was as startled as the deer’s. Her heart was pounding as she peered between the branches, trying not to sneeze as pollen drifted up her nose.
Rebeccah had not seen her, of that she was sure. The young woman was deep in conversation with her companion, a handsome man of about Kate’s age or a little older. From his expensive, well cut clothes and assured demeanour, he was one of the gentry.
The pang that shot through Kate surprised her with its intensity, and her lips curved in a rueful smile. Just reward for the way I have treated Alice. The gusting breeze blew the man’s words to her straining ears as he passed the bush.
“But my dear Rebeccah,” he was saying. He must be an intimate acquaintance to address her so familiarly. “Your happiness is my first concern. You may rest assured that I will do everything within my power to -” But he passed out of earshot then and left a frustrated Kate wondering whether to follow or not.
For I doubt I shall hear much to my liking. He is at least a close friend if not a suitor. And by her manner she is not averse to his attentions, Devil take him!
Then she cursed herself for her selfishness. For did she not want every happiness for Rebeccah? And was the young woman’s companion not exactly the kind of fellow who might be best expected to provide it?
But as Kate turned, shoulders slumped, in the direction of the Park’s exit and headed back towards Covent Garden, she couldn’t help feeling aggrieved that Rebeccah had given her no inkling there was a suitor on the scene. For did I not kiss her, and did she not act as though she enjoyed it? And have
we not only saved one another’s lives but also exchanged intimacies about our pasts?
The realisation that she was behaving in a manner every bit as sulky and clingy as Alice made Kate stop and laugh out loud, attracting the wary glance of a woman selling brightly coloured ribbons. Determined not to lose control of her emotions again, Kate took a calming breath, gave the hawker a reassuring smile, and resumed her walk.
Face it, you fool. We move in different circles, and our paths are unlikely ever to cross again. Rebeccah must get on with her life, as I must get on with mine.
Talking of which … Her purse was sadly empty; she must set about remedying that tonight. And tomorrow, well tomorrow would be a much more sombre affair. For she must go and see her good friend, John Stephenson, hang.
***
“But surely you have an idea of the man you’d like to marry.” Thomas Stanhope, tucked Rebeccah’s arm more firmly in the crook of his elbow. “All young women dream of their ideal suitor. Come now, don’t deny it, for I know it is so. Caro has admitted as much.” He grinned. “Fortunately, her daydreams centred themselves on me. Or so she claims.”
Rebeccah rolled her eyes. “I thought matrimony would cure you two of all that billing and cooing, but you are worse than ever.”
He chuckled. “If you mean by that that I am a fortunate man, I know that already.”
Thomas’s young wife was confined to her room with her monthly flowers, but she had insisted he keep their rendezvous with Rebeccah. Caroline had not forgotten her promise to her old schoolfriend - she had instructed Thomas to find Rebeccah a husband from among his acquaintance. And he was taking the job seriously.
It was touching, really, how concerned he was to take Rebeccah’s feelings into account - being so happily married himself, he wanted the same for her. But it was also slightly awkward. She could not tell him, after all, that her daydreams involved a certain blue-eyed highwaywoman.
“Paint me a picture of your ideal husband, Rebeccah.”
“I fear I cannot.”
“Young or old? Fat or thin? Tall or short?” His eyes danced. “You must have some partiality. I cannot imagine a gout-stricken old gentleman of four-and-eighty would suit, for example.”
They waited for a coach and four to trundle past then crossed the road and continued along the avenue. “Then you are wrong for he sounds perfect. He would not live long beyond our wedding day and I would be a merry widow.”
“Tsk!” Thomas pretended to be shocked. “How can you expect me to find you someone,” he resumed, his tone plaintive, “if you will not give me any indication of your requirements? You cannot surely be intending to marry someone you dislike? That would be insupportable.”
“Is that not a woman’s lot?” asked Rebeccah.
“Indeed not!”
“Oh, very well.” She relented. “The person I see in my daydream-“
“Aha!”
Rebeccah ignored his triumphant exclamation. “-is a little older than me, but not by much. More experienced in the ways of the world … but not to the point of dissolution.”
Thomas smirked. “Very wise.”
“He is tall, has dark-hair, high cheekbones, and the most striking pale blue eyes. He rides and shoots well … indeed he is an excellent marksman.”
“This is beginning to sound like that highwayman of yours Caro is always going on about. What’s the fellow’s name?” Thomas snapped gloved fingers. “I have it, ‘Blue-Eyed Nick’.” Rebeccah hoped she wasn’t blushing. “I can see that he would be attractive to a young lady, but he is hardly a suitable match, my dear.”
“I never said he was. But may I not be allowed to use him even as the model for my ideal husband?” she asked, with some asperity.
“I beg your pardon. You may indeed. Pray, continue.” They had reached a bench, and he indicated that she might like to sit for a moment. She nodded and made herself comfortable. He sat next to her.
“Very well then. My ideal husband is gallant and dashing, brave and considerate, witty, goodnatured and fond, and on occasion a rogue. I am always the centre of his attention - or at least he makes me feel so. He respects my person, my feelings and my property, and does not abuse them or take them for granted, even when they are considered his by law.”
Thomas nodded. “You have not mentioned wealth or connections.”
She considered the point then said deadpan, “A hovel would suffice, Thomas, for I will be unaware of my surroundings while in his company.” He snorted, and she continued with a smile, “I do not require that we move in court circles, nor that we live in a mansion in a fashionable part of town, or even in the height of luxury. I ask only that our life together be a happy and comfortable one.” She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
“A modest requirement indeed.” He sighed. “And yet I fear that at present I can think of no one amongst my acquaintance who remotely fits this description. Now if you had said your prime requirements were laziness, an overfondness for wine and gambling, and a tendency to selfishness and vanity… Well then the choices would have been too many to list, but as it is …”
She put her hands on her hips. “You asked me to specify my ideal husband’s attributes and I have done so.”
“And see what good it has done me.” He shook his head in mock chagrin then pulled out his timepiece and glanced at it. “But we should be getting back, my dear. For I want to see if Caro is feeling any better.”
She smiled at this display of husbandly concern. “Of course.”
They stood up and resumed their stroll, and Rebeccah let her friend’s husband tuck her arm through his once more.
“If you were not already taken, Thomas,” she said, “I think we would have suited. For we are friends and comfortable with one another, are we not? And that is a great deal more than many couples can say.” He made her a mock bow, and two women passing raised their eyebrows and tittered. “You may tell Caro that you have done your duty, but that my requirements are impossible to fulfil. And then we can all resign ourselves to the idea of my becoming an Old Maid. Indeed the prospect no longer daunts me but rather is becoming more enticing by the day.”
Thomas looked shocked at the very idea. “Do not give up hope yet. For someone as sweet and goodnatured as you, there is a suitable husband out there, I am certain of it. It is just a matter of finding him.”
Her, corrected Rebeccah sadly, but she managed a smile for her companion. For I have already found and lost her, I fear.
“May I take those, Madam?”
“Thank you, Mary.” Rebeccah removed her wrap and gloves and handed them to her maid. “Whose coach and pair is that outside?
Before her maid could answer, the swish of skirts, clatter of shoes descending the stairs, and murmur of voices announced her sister and mother.
“Did you enjoy your walk, Beccah?” asked a smiling Mrs Dutton, reaching the bottom of the stairs and coming across the hall towards her youngest daughter.
“It was very pleasant -“
“Never mind that,” interrupted Anne. “I have some news.” From her flushed cheeks and glittering eyes that much was evident.
“Oh?”
“I have accepted Mr Ingrum’s offer of marriage.”
“Is that all?”
Anne’s eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean ‘Is that all’?”
“Indeed, your response to your sister’s news does leave something to be desired, Beccah,” chided her mother.
Rebeccah flushed. “I beg your pardon, Anne. That was unpardonably rude of me. I wish you and Mr Ingrum every future happiness.”
“Thank you,” said her sister, mollified.
“Have you set a date?”
“Not yet. He is discussing the matter with his parents. But it will be soon, I wager, for he seems eager.”
And why should he not be eager, when he will be getting his hands on Papa’s business and fortune? wondered Rebeccah. But she kept that thought to herself.
“May
I ask,” she said instead, “what made you opt for him rather than your other suitor? Before your stay in the country with Anne Locke I would have said you favoured Mr Filmer slightly.”
“True. But a lengthy conversation with Anne persuaded me otherwise.”
Rebeccah could imagine the two friends huddled in a corner, heads close, gossiping about her sister’s suitors, itemising their every plus and minus, then totting up and comparing the grand totals. What had swung it in the end? The smart Bond Street townhouse Ingrum’s parents had recently purchased and that would in due course come to him?
But several of the servants were lingering within earshot, among them Titus, whose normally handsome countenance was this morning marred by a frown like a thundercloud. She took her sister’s elbow and said, voice lowered, “Should we not adjourn to the parlour where it is more private?”
For a moment Anne looked baffled then she glanced at the lurking servants, becoming visibly smug at the sight of the disgruntled footman. “Oh, I have no secrets from them.” Her tone was dismissive.
It dawned on Rebeccah that Titus was annoyed about her sister’s forthcoming marriage, and what’s more that Anne was flattered by his reaction. From the start Rebeccah had feared that Anne’s encouragement of the handsome young footman, who had taken to following her around like a devoted hound, would mislead him, and it looked like she was right. How cruel on Anne’s part to raise Titus’s hopes. And how foolish on his to entertain such ambitions. She pursed her lips in disapproval.
“Besides, the parlour is occupied,” added her sister as an afterthought.
“Oh?” Rebeccah turned to her mother, who nodded.
“You have a visitor,” said Mrs Dutton, meaningfully. “Come all the way from Chatham.”
“From Chatham?” Rebeccah’s hand flew to her breast. “Oh, you cannot mean …” Her heart sank. “Is that Mr Dunlop’s carriage outside? But I gave him no encouragement, Mama, I swear. Surely he cannot -“
But the other women were nodding, and Anne’s expression was almost gleeful as she said, “Just think of it, Beccah, we could have a double wedding. Me and Frederick, and you and … what is Mr Dunlop’s Christian name?”
Rebeccah and the Highwayman Page 12