Rebeccah and the Highwayman

by Barbara Davies

  ***

  Chapter 2

  The clock on the landing struck six o’clock.

  “I cannot apologise for my daughter enough, Mr Ingrum.” Mrs Dutton’s voice floated up from the hall. “It is very unlike her to miss an appointment.”

  “Indeed it bodes ill for our future,” came the answering growl. “Please tell her I called and was disturbed to find her not at home as arranged.”

  “You can be assured I will, Sir.”

  “Thank you. Good night, Madam.”

  “Good night to you, Sir.”

  At the sound of the front door closing, Rebeccah left the second floor landing, where she was eavesdropping, and made her way back to Anne’s bedchamber. Where in heaven’s name was her sister? Anne had made no mention of going out, and indeed her favourite walking dress and shoes were still in her dressing room.

  A shadow loomed and she turned to find her mother, still a little out of breath from climbing two flights of stairs, standing in the doorway. “He was not pleased,” she said, entering.

  “So I heard.”

  As Rebeccah had done before her, Mrs Dutton surveyed Anne’s room, her gaze troubled. “Are you sure you have no idea where she has gone, Beccah? Anne would not upbraid you for revealing her secret if she knew how worried I am.”

  Rebeccah threw her an exasperated glance. “Mama, as I have already told you half a dozen times, I have not the least idea.” She chewed the inside of her lip. “Perhaps Nancy …”

  Her mother’s brow cleared. She crossed to the bell pull and tugged it. But it was a breathless Will rather than Anne’s skinny maid who appeared a few minutes later.

  Of course, remembered Rebeccah. It’s washday and all the female servants are up to their elbows in soapsuds.

  “Yes, Madam?”

  “Will you fetch Nancy, please?”

  While the footman hurried off to do her mother’s bidding, Rebeccah prowled round the bedchamber and the adjacent dressing room once more, looking for clues to her sister’s current whereabouts, and feeling a growing sense of disquiet. Anne’s velvet slippers were missing, which meant she must still be wearing them. And a drawer in the tallboy was half open. She knelt, pulled it fully open, and began to riffle through the neatly folded garments.

  A sound of puffing and panting drew nearer, then a skinny young woman in an apron, her mousy hair coming adrift, hands red and chapped from much scrubbing, came into view.

  She curtseyed and took a moment to catch her breath before saying, “You sent for me, Madam?”

  “Yes, Nancy,” said Mrs Dutton. “Do you know where my daughter is?”

  The maid’s gaze slid to where Rebeccah was kneeling by the tallboy. “Um, isn’t she there, Madam?”

  Mrs Dutton rolled her eyes. “I am referring to Anne.”

  Nancy flushed. “Beg pardon, Madam…. In that case, no, Madam. “

  “When did you last see her?”

  “At dinner, Madam,” answered Nancy promptly. “She said she knew I would be busy helping out with washday, but that was all right because she would have no further no need of me until nearer to her appointment with Mr Ingrum. And then I was to come to help dress her and pin up her hair.”

  Rebeccah got to her feet. “And did you?”

  Nancy looked at her. “Um, no, Mistress Rebeccah. Truth to tell, I got so caught up in all the scrubbing and rinsing, I lost track of the time. … I knew Mistress Anne could send Will for me, you see,” she added. Her brows drew together. “But she never did.”

  She gestured at their surroundings. “Do you see anything odd about this room, Nancy?”

  The maid cocked her head to one side. “In what way, Mistress Rebeccah?”

  She pointed at the open drawer. “If I don’t miss my guess, there is a garment missing from that drawer. Do you know what it was?”

  Nancy crossed to the drawer, knelt, and as Rebeccah had done moments before began to go through its now not-so-neatly folded contents. After a moment, she looked up.

  “Her newest nightgown is missing.”

  Rebeccah’s heart sank. “Nightgown,” she repeated. “Are you certain?” Nancy nodded and got to her feet. “Is anything else missing?” Thoughts dark, she watched the maid inspect the adjacent dressing room.

  “Her hairbrush,” said Nancy at last. “And her slippers.” She turned an expectant look on Rebeccah.

  “My dear.” Mrs Dutton’s voice was anxious. “What are you thinking?”

  “That her departure was a hasty one,” said Rebeccah. “For she is still wearing the clothes she wore at dinner. And that -” her voice cracked “- she planned to be away overnight, for she has taken her nightgown and hairbrush with her.”

  Her mother looked horrified. “Surely you are not suggesting an elopement!”

  “It bears the hallmarks of something of the sort, Mama.”

  “But Mr Ingrum …”

  “Is not so accomplished an actor,” mused Rebeccah. “No, I do not think it is Mr Ingrum she has eloped with.”

  “Mr Filmer then? Or another suitor? … Nancy?” Mrs Dutton confronted the maid, who would surely be the first to know if such were the case. But Nancy shook her head, and her consternation looked genuine.

  “The mistress had her sights set on Mr Ingrum, Madam. Weren’t no other suitor.” Her certainty was cast iron.

  Rebeccah considered what she knew of her sister and the scant clues she had unearthed so far. “I am of the same mind. Which means,” she continued heavily, “that her absence may not be a voluntary one.”

  “What?” At this, her mother turned so pale that Nancy took her by the elbow and helped her to a highbacked cane chair. “What can you mean, Beccah?”

  “What I said.” She turned to the maid. “Nancy, did any of the servants see my sister leaving the house? And if so, was anyone with her?”

  “Not that I know of, Mistress Rebeccah. But then, we’ve been run off our feet with washday. And as if that weren’t enough, some of the male servants went to see the hanging, so we’ve been short handed. What with that and Titus coming back drunk…” She trailed off, obviously chagrined at revealing this last snippet.

  “Titus?” Rebeccah’s ears had pricked up at his name.

  The skinny maid sighed. “I’m not normally one to go telling tales out of school, Mistress Rebeccah, but the past couple of days he’s been like a bear with a sore head. Coming back drunk from Tyburn was the last straw as far as Mr Danby was concerned.”

  “The butler disciplined him?”

  “Ay. Told him to pull himself together sharpish or he could find himself a position elsewhere.”

  “George said that!” said Mrs Dutton faintly.

  Anne and Titus! Rebeccah didn’t like the picture these puzzle pieces were forming. “And have you seen Titus since, Nancy?”

  “No, Mistress Rebeccah.”

  Anne wouldn’t willingly elope with her footman, would she? Which meant he must have coerced her somehow. But what about the slippers - her sister could not walk far in those. Perhaps he had hired a sedan chair to convey her. “Thank you, Nancy. That will be all. Please don’t mention this conversation to the others.”

  The maid glanced at Mrs Dutton, who nodded confirmation. “Very good, Madam.” She curtseyed and left the room. Only when the receding footsteps on the stairs had faded did Rebeccah resume the conversation.

  “Titus has her,” she said flatly. “There is no other explanation.”

  “Bless me!” Her mother looked ill at the thought. “Is that what you really think has occurred?”

  Rebeccah nodded. “An unlicensed marriage would transfer Anne’s fortune to her husband, would it not?”

  “He would force her to marry him?”

  “Yes. In revenge for the humiliation and pain she has visited on him in recent weeks.”

  “What humiliation?”

  “How can you not have noticed, Mama? At every turn, Anne treated Titus as her favourite, encouraged him to dote on her. … Then, as if his
feelings for her were of no account, she blithely announced she was to marry Mr Ingrum.”

  “Even so.” Mrs Dutton wrung her hands. “We cannot let this happen, Beccah. We must tell the constables.”

  Rebeccah bit a fingernail. “And have it bandied about that Anne and her own footman … Mama, we cannot. Her reputation will be ruined, if it isn’t already. Besides, what good will the constables do? By the time they run him to earth, a crooked clergyman will already have performed the ceremony and Titus will have …” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

  “Consummated their wedding to make it legally binding,” murmured her mother.

  “Yes.” Rebeccah began to pace. “We must act quickly if we are to save her.” It may already be too late. “Oh, if only there were someone who knew where Titus might take Anne, or where clandestine marriages are enacted.”

  She stopped, remembering a pair of pale blue eyes and an offer of help should she ever need it. The address Kate had left with Mary had been somewhere in Covent Garden, hadn’t it? Not a very salubrious area, especially at this time of night, but ‘needs must …’.

  Rebeccah became aware her mother was looking at her in bewilderment and gave her a reassuring smile. “I know someone who can help us.” She strode to the bell pull and tugged it.

  “Oh? Who?”

  “Blue-Eyed Nick’.”

  Shock brought her mother to her feet. “The highwayman? Have you lost your wits, Beccah?”

  “No, Mama, I think I may have found them.”

  A little while later a panting Will appeared in the doorway. “Tell Robert to bring the carriage round from the mews at once,” said Rebeccah. “And tell Mary that I will need her to accompany me.”

  “Very good, Madam.”

  “But where are you going?” asked her mother.

  “To Covent Garden, of course.”

  Rebeccah gave the peeling tenement a dubious glance then turned to her maid. “Are you certain this is the correct address?”

  Mary nodded. “Ay, Madam. You’re to ask for the landlady, Alice Cole.”

  “Very well.” Rebeccah reached for the door handle, which turned as the coachman anticipated her need. “Thank you, Robert.” She let him help her down from the carriage, watched by two wide-eyed children playing on the pavement - a smart coach-and-four must be a rarity in these parts. Mary made to follow, but Rebeccah held up a gloved hand. “No, Mary. Please wait for me.”

  “But -“

  “I am sure I shall be quite safe.” She smiled up at her indignant maid.

  Muttering darkly, Mary sat back down. Robert closed the carriage door with a click, and gave Rebeccah an enquiring glance. She shook her head.

  While he went to settle the restless horses, she lifted her skirts and took the two steps up to the tenement’s front door, which was slightly ajar. Pushing it open with a ginger forefinger, she stepped into the gloom, then wrinkled her nose at the faint aroma of nightsoil.

  A flight of stairs on the left beckoned. She grasped the wobbly banister and began to climb. It wasn’t long before her gloves, clean on today, were as grubby as the children’s faces had been.

  Several doors opened off the first landing, but there was no indication who lived there. She was wondering whether to knock on each in turn when the nearest one opened, and a grey-haired old woman with a basket of washing on her hip came out, pulling the door closed behind her.

  “Excuse me,” said Rebeccah.

  The woman paused. “Eh?” Rheumy eyes raked Rebeccah from head to toe and an eyebrow arched. “Bit out of your way, ain’t you, dearie?”

  “Can you tell me where I may find the landlady, Alice Cole?”

  “Alice Red, more like.” The woman cackled at her joke and shifted the basket to the other hip. “Not the next landing up but the one after that.”

  “Thank you.” Rebeccah continued up the stairs….

  This must be it.

  There was only one door on this landing - the others had been boarded up - and the main stairs ended, becoming a steep flight of narrow steps leading up to the roof.. Rebeccah took a moment to catch her breath, then rapped her knuckles on the door. She was just beginning to think there was no one home, when she heard the faint thump of footsteps and the door creaked open.

  A middle-aged woman with a sulky expression and tousled red hair eyed her. “If it’s lodgings you’re after,” she said, “we’re full up. Come back in a fortnight.”

  “Wait!”

  The closing door paused. “Well?”

  “I don’t want lodgings. I’m looking for Kate. Is she in?”

  The landlady’s gaze sharpened. “Who told you Kate lives here?”

  “She did.”

  The woman folded her arms. “Did she now? And what does she look like.”

  Rebeccah blinked at this odd question. “Very tall. Raven black hair. Striking blue eyes. … Please. There’s no time to waste. Is she here or not? I need her help.”

  “She’s out.” The tone was one of grim satisfaction.

  Rebeccah bit her lip. “When will she be back?”

  “Couldn’t say, I’m sure.”

  “Then may I come in and wait for her?”

  “No.”

  The unreasonable refusal made Rebeccah blink. “But surely … I wouldn’t be any trouble.”

  “So you say. But I don’t know you from Adam.” The door started to close once more.

  Panic overtook Rebeccah as she saw her only means of helping Anne beginning to disappear. “No, wait. Please. Will you give her a message?” Surely even this unpleasant woman couldn’t refuse to do that?

  Alice Cole pursed her lips, then said grudgingly, “I suppose so.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you. You don’t know what this means to … Do you have a pencil and paper?”

  “Sorry.”

  Rebeccah resisted an urge to shake Kate’s landlady by the scruff of her neck. “Then will you tell her the following: Rebeccah Dutton needs her help, and there is no time to waste.” The other woman’s expression was unfathomable. “Have you got that?”

  Alice Cole nodded.

  But what if she forgets my name. What if … “And please give Kate this.” Rebeccah pulled off her glove, then tugged off the garnet signet ring that had been her father’s. She held it out, and after a moment the other woman accepted it.

  “No time to waste,” repeated Rebeccah, at a loss as to what else to do.

  “I heard you the first time,” said the landlady. And this time, she did close the door.

  Resisting the unladylike urge to swear, Rebeccah turned and stamped back down the stairs. What on earth did Kate see in that woman?

  As she emerged onto the street, the children, who at their age should surely have been in bed, looked up from their battered spinning top. Robert jumped down and rushed to open the carriage door for her.

  “Thank you.” She let him help her up.

  Mary’s face fell when she saw her mistress was alone. “Wasn’t she there, Madam?”

  “No,” said Rebeccah shortly. She banged on the carriage roof and called, “Home, Robert.”

  “Very good, Madam,” came his muffled reply, and seconds later the coach lurched forward.

  Inside the carriage, silence fell. Eventually a tentative Mary asked, “If she wasn’t there, Madam, then may I ask what -“

  “I left a message for her.”

  “Ah.” Mary sat back in her seat. “For your sister’s sake, let’s hope she receives it in time.”

  ***

  “What kept you so late?”

  Kate looked at the bed. Alice, who had been sleeping when she tiptoed in, now lay propped up on one elbow. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. And don’t you mean early? For it is two in the morning.” She threw her sopping skirts to one side. “I ran into that whoreson, Josselin.” The expected comment didn’t come, so she threw the widowed landlady a wry glance. “You may say ‘I told you so’.”

  Alice merely looked a
t her. “He recognised you?”

  Kate nodded. “These damned blue eyes, I think.” She removed shoes that would never be the same again and peeled off torn stockings. Her garters were nowhere to be found. “Took me a while to shake his men off.” She removed her cap and let down her hair.

  The chase back from Tyburn had exhausted her. Not wanting to lead her pursuers back to Alice’s house, she had taken a roundabout route, along rubbish-strewn back streets and once even through a crowded snug bar. Under arches and over rooftops she ran, evading lecherous drunks and cursing harlots. With every step she wished she were in breeches and on horseback instead of wearing flapping skirts that sopped up puddles like a sponge and shoes that were a danger to her ankles.

  In a Soho alleyway, two of Kate’s pursuers trapped her, their staves coming close to braining her. But the commotion outside his premises attracted the attention of a Huguenot silk weaver working late. His “Qui est la?” changed to “Oof!” as Kate scrambled through the sash window he had opened and made her escape out the back way.

  At Charing Cross, one of Josselin’s men grappled with her, and they rolled to and fro on the pavement, until something hard in her back proved to be an empty gin bottle which made a useful cosh. She untangled herself from her limp assailant, staggered to her feet, then took off running once more. Another of her pursuers sought to come to grips on the banks of Thames, but she toppled him head first into its stinking waters and didn’t linger to see if he came up again. Not long after, she managed to give the last of her pursuers the slip, and turned her limping steps towards Covent Garden.

  Kate poured cold water into the basin and began to soap away the dirt and sweat.

  “So now Josselin knows you in skirts too,” said Alice.

  “Ay.” She winced as the soap found every scratch and burst blister. “Perhaps it would pay me to leave London for a while.” She yawned.

  “Perhaps.”

  She towelled her feet dry, then snuffed out the candle and crossed to the bed. The feel of cool sheets against bare skin as she slid in beside Alice was wonderful, and she groaned with relief. The other woman looked at her, opened her mouth, then closed it again.