The Penniless Bride

by Nicola Cornick

  Jemima jumped down to the ground whilst Letty, every inch the lady, gave her hand to the highwayman and descended the carriage steps very prettily.

  ‘Would you like my jewellery?’ she asked. ‘I have a very elegant pair of earrings and a matching necklace.’

  ‘Letty,’ Jemima said, ‘you are not supposed to offer…’

  Letty was slipping the earrings off and handing them over. She put her hands up to unfasten the necklace, fumbling a little with the catch. ‘Oh, I cannot quite manage it.’

  The highwayman stepped forward gallantly. ‘Allow me, ma’am.’

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, I would offer to help myself if I thought you wanted it!’ Jemima snapped, as the highwayman stowed one pistol in his belt and lifted Letty’s hair to unfasten the necklace. Letty was blushing now. The edge of the highwayman’s cloak brushed her breast and his gloved fingers tangled in her hair.

  ‘Do apologise, ma’am,’ the highwayman said to Letty, stowing the jewellery in his pocket and stepping back. ‘No wish to importune a lady.’

  ‘That is quite all right,’ Letty breathed.

  Jemima rolled her eyes in exasperation.

  The highwayman took Letty’s arm and guided her back to the coach. ‘Shan’t keep you a moment, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Need a word with Lady Selborne.’

  Jemima drew away from the coach and into the thick shadow at the edge of the wood. She watched him settle Letty back in the carriage and turn towards her. As he reached her side he pulled down his neckcloth. Jemima gave a sigh that was sharp with irritation.

  ‘Jack,’ she hissed, ‘what the devil do you think you are about?’

  Jack’s hand closed about her wrist as he pulled her deeper into the shade. ‘Quiet! I don’t have much time.’

  Jemima freed herself. ‘What are you doing here? And what are you playing at, stopping the coach? Don’t you know that highway robbery is a crime?’

  ‘It was all I could think of,’ Jack said. There was a white line about his mouth and his eyes were tired. ‘I’m in trouble, Jem. I could hardly stroll up to the house or send you a note, could I? I need your help.’

  Jemima flashed a quick look back at the carriage. Letty was watching them and talking animatedly to Lady Marguerite at the same time. She looked pink and excited. Jemima sighed.

  ‘Tell me what’s going on. Quickly. Tell me in the cant, so no one can overhear.’

  As cover, she started to unfasten her necklace and fiddled about with it a little more, keeping her eyes riveted on Jack’s face.

  Jack rested his broad shoulders against the nearest tree. He lapsed into the sweep’s cant, the language they had talked in since they were children.

  ‘The out and out last night—’

  ‘At the Speckled Hen?’

  ‘That’s the one. They’re trying to pin it on me.’

  Jemima’s eyes widened in amazement. ‘They are trying to frame you for murder?’

  ‘Quiet!’ Jack said. ‘What’s the point of me speaking in cant if you blurt it out like that?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Jemima said, recovering herself. ‘What were you doing there in the first place?’

  ‘Can’t go into that now.’ Jack slid her necklace absentmindedly into his pocket. ‘There was something rum going on and I landed in the middle of it. Took a topper and the next thing I knew they were trying to fit me up. They locked me in the clink, but I got out and ran.’

  ‘How did you escape?’ Jemima asked. She knew the gaol in Burford was close by the church and it was no mean feat to break out.

  ‘I climbed,’ Jack said succinctly. ‘It’s the one thing I can do.’

  ‘And the pops?’ Jemima gestured towards the pistols.

  Jack grinned. ‘Bought them from a real scamp who was picked up on Otmoor Heath and was in the jail with me.’

  Jemima nodded towards Jack’s horse, which was helping itself to a blackberry bush. ‘And the nag?’

  ‘Mangy fellow. Bought him in Aylesbury. He walked all the way here. Won’t go at more than a trot. Luckily he was still at the inn when I went back.’

  Jemima stared. ‘You went back?’

  ‘Had to. I needed to find out how to get hold of you.’

  Jemima rubbed her forehead. ‘Jack, this is not amusing.’

  ‘I don’t need you to tell me that.’ Jack looked her over. ‘Don’t you have any more jewellery, Jem? Can only make so much fuss over one necklace.’

  ‘If I had known you were coming, I would have worn the contents of my entire jewellery case,’ his sister said drily. She could see Letty’s anxious little face still peering at them through the coach window.

  ‘I have to go. There’s a place on the estate you can stay and I’ll come to you tonight.’ Jemima raised her voice. ‘You’re fit for nothing but the pigsty, you scoundrel. We have the very place for you on the Home Farm. Now, get you gone!’

  She pushed her purse into his hands.

  Jack squeezed her hand as he took it. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘Bring some food with you.’

  ‘Give yourself up!’ Jemima said, whirling away and hurrying toward the carriage. ‘You’ll only get caught, you villain!’

  The highwayman raised his hand in a salute. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ He sketched a bow in Letty’s direction and vaulted on to the horse, which looked affronted at being expected to carry so much weight. Jemima was afraid it would keel right over under the strain.

  As soon as she was safely in the carriage the coachman let off a volley of shot from his blunderbuss, which only served to raise the crows from the trees and frighten the horses. Lady Marguerite called him sharply to order.

  ‘Drive on! We have wasted enough time on this incompetent thief!’

  ‘Why incompetent, Grandmama?’ Letty questioned. ‘He seemed quite accomplished to me.’

  ‘In the art of seduction, perhaps.’ Lady Marguerite sniffed. ‘Can’t abide these handsome fellows!’

  ‘It was a shame that he did not try to steal a kiss.’ Letty sighed.

  ‘Yes, it was,’ Jemima concurred, ‘for then you might have glimpsed his face and been able to describe him to the constable.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Lady Marguerite approved. ‘The man should be caught and damned well hung!’

  Letty sighed. ‘I thought that he looked as though he was—’

  ‘Letty!’

  ‘I was only going to say that he looked as though he was down on his luck, Grandmama,’ Letty said. ‘Poor man, I do believe that was a sack he was wearing. It must be dreadful to be a criminal.’

  Jemima turned away and looked fixedly out of the window. What Jack was doing at Delaval was one question that required an answer, and a second was how he had managed to get himself tied up in the murder at the inn. Jemima frowned out at the passing countryside. This was a devilish pickle Jack was in, for if he was already a wanted man the constable would be scouring the neighbourhood for him. News of the highway robbery would only add to his tally of crimes.

  Jemima sighed. She suddenly felt very tired. No more secrets, she had said to Rob. But this…This might be too much for even Rob’s generosity to take. It could be one secret too far.

  The constable, when he arrived, was reassuringly inept and the witnesses soon improved upon the confusion with their descriptions of the highwayman of Wychwood Forest.

  ‘He was a big man, very fat,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘And he had a North Country accent.’

  ‘He was tall, dark and handsome,’ Letty said breathlessly. ‘No, I didn’t see his face or his hair. How do I know he was dark?’ She screwed up her face. ‘I suppose I don’t really…Except that I just know…’

  ‘He was about five foot seven inches tall,’ Jemima said, knocking at least six inches off Jack’s height, ‘and he was fair. Yes, I did see a bit of his hair, which is how I know. He was riding a brown horse.’

  ‘No, it was piebald,’ Letty objected.

  ‘Skewbald,’ Lady Marguerite said.

  They were sitting in
the drawing room at Delaval, with Rob and Ferdie present to give them support in the unlikely event that any of them should be overcome at relating their experiences. The constable, Mr Scholes, was looking flustered and was perspiring heavily as he tried to make sense of the conflicting evidence. He sucked his pencil and flicked the pages of his notebook.

  ‘Lady Marguerite,’ he appealed, ‘you say that the fellow let you remain in the carriage and did not take any of your money or jewellery?’

  ‘Certainly he did not,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘I was not going to hand it over to any old riff-raff.’

  ‘Whereas he took your necklace and earrings, Miss Exton?’

  ‘Oh, yes, but I gave them to him,’ Letty said helpfully. ‘He did not really steal them…’

  The constable frowned. ‘Lady Selborne?’

  ‘He took my pearl necklace and my purse,’ Jemima said composedly. ‘I was not wearing any other jewellery.’

  She was very aware that Rob was watching her. He had not moved or spoken through the entire interview and curiously his silence was more difficult to bear than any number of questions. When they had returned home, Letty’s excited descriptions had released Jemima from the need to speak at all, and whilst she had reassured Rob that she was unhurt, she had not told him any more of the encounter than that. She had not confided in him, and every second that went past seemed to make it more difficult.

  Rob was scrutinising her with a very perceptive regard. Jemima reflected that either she had a guilty conscience or Rob already suspected that she knew more than she was telling.

  ‘So…’ the constable said heavily, reviewing his notes. ‘He was tall, fat, shortish, fair, dark, spoke like a northerner and rode a brown piebald horse—’

  ‘Skewbald,’ Lady Marguerite corrected. ‘I know about horses, my good man. M’father bred them.’

  The constable sighed and put his notebook away.

  ‘He sounds a desperate fellow,’ Ferdie drawled. ‘Do you think him the chap you are seeking from last night, Scholes? The one who escaped the gaol after the murder?’

  ‘Very probably, sir,’ the constable said.

  ‘A murderer!’ Letty said, whitening. ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘No cause to worry yourself, ma’am,’ the constable said with heavy-handed gallantry. ‘Doubt he’ll be on the loose for long.’ He turned to Ferdie. ‘You were in the Speckled Hen yourself last night, weren’t you, sir?’

  ‘Bertie Pershore and I took some ale there,’ Ferdie admitted, shifting a little under Lady Marguerite’s disapproving glare. ‘Don’t know anything about a murder, mind. Knifed, was he?’

  ‘No,’ the constable said, seeming disappointed. ‘Hit his head. No doubt about foul play, though.’ He turned to Rob. ‘You might remember him, my lord. Henry Naylor. Groom here in your grandfather’s day, he was. Went to the wars and had just come back again.’ He shook his head. ‘A sorry end.’

  Jemima was puzzling over the name Naylor. She knew that she had heard it somewhere before but she could not quite recall where. She saw Ferdie and Rob exchange a look and it puzzled her even more. Ferdie was looking ill at ease now and quite unlike his usual urbane self.

  ‘I do not believe that the highwayman could have been a northerner,’ Letty said suddenly. She blushed as everyone stopped talking and looked at her. ‘He was speaking London cant,’ she said in a rush. She looked at Jemima appealingly. ‘When he was talking to you, Jemima…I heard him.’

  Jemima felt a little sick. ‘Was that what it was?’ she said lightly. ‘I did not understand him, I am afraid.’

  ‘I should think not,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘London cant! Whatever next, Letty? You’re as likely to know cant as I am to know Chinese!’

  Letty flushed bright red but looked stubborn. ‘I heard it.’ She looked at Jemima again.

  Jemima shook her head very slightly and Letty fell suddenly silent, her eyes widening. Looking up, Jemima saw that Rob’s gaze was riveted on her with quizzical interest.

  The constable got up to leave. Ferdie showed him to the door whilst Rob went across to the sideboard to pour a glass of Constantia for his grandmother. Jemima got up and moved across to the long windows. She knew that Rob would follow her; she could feel him watching her and felt her skin prickle under his scrutiny. A second later she repressed a shiver as he spoke in her ear.

  ‘London cant,’ he said. ‘How very interesting.’

  Jemima looked up and met his eyes. He was leaning very close to her and his gaze was challenging. Jemima’s heart skipped a beat.

  ‘You know, don’t you?’ she whispered.

  ‘That I have a highwayman as a brother-in-law?’ Rob’s brows lifted. ‘What the devil are you up to, Jemima?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’ Jemima cast a quick look round the room. They were barely out of earshot of the others. She put a hand on Rob’s lapel and drew him closer still. He came, but his face was hard.

  ‘Jack is in some sort of trouble,’ she said. ‘He has been framed for the murder last night.’ Jemima gripped Rob’s jacket. ‘He is in hiding. I have said that I will go and see him tonight.’

  ‘I do not want my wife running around the countryside at night,’ Rob said. ‘It is not safe.’ His eyes were cold.

  ‘Please, Rob,’ Jemima pleaded with him. ‘I will be quite safe. I need to find out what has happened.’

  Rob’s jaw set. ‘Why did you not tell me sooner?’ he asked. ‘Why did you say nothing when you came back?’

  Jemima felt a little sick. ‘I could not. We have visitors. And then the constable arrived! There was no chance.’

  Rob’s cold expression did not alter. ‘There was plenty of time if you had wanted to do it.’

  ‘What are you two whispering about?’ Lady Marguerite demanded, from across the room. ‘You know that a husband and wife should never whisper intimately together!’

  Jemima caught Rob’s sleeve as he turned away.

  ‘Robert—’

  ‘No,’ her husband said. His face was set hard. ‘We may talk of this later, Jemima.’

  Jemima watched him go. She knew that he was right. She had hesitated over whether to tell Rob about Jack, and what to tell him. And then the secret had caught up with her, as secrets had a habit of doing. She could not blame Letty, whose innocent remarks about the cant had never been intended to cause trouble. She thought that Rob had suspected even before then. She was not practised at deception, particularly when her loyalties were torn.

  She doubted that Rob would see it that way, though. To him it could only appear that she had failed to trust him a second time. First Tilly, now Jack. He had forgiven her Tilly and she had promised that there would be no more secrets. She had kept her word for all of two days.

  And to make matters worse, she was going to go against Rob’s express wishes. Jemima squared her shoulders. She could not leave Jack alone and friendless. No matter what Rob had said, she would have to seek Jack out.

  The disused pigsty made a cosy enough shelter for an autumn night. Jack Jewell hooked the reins of the exhausted horse over the broken end of a wooden beam, and went back out into the forest to hunt for some wood to make a small fire. The wood was dry and burned well, its resinous scent mingling with the pine fragrance of the trees that surrounded the pig man’s hut. It was a risk, but Jack reckoned that no one but Jemima would be wandering in the woods that night to see or smell the smoke. He hoped she would hurry up. He was starving hungry.

  The fire made him feel a little better. He sat down on his makeshift cloak and stared at the flames. Fire had been his life and almost the death of him on more than one occasion. It was as familiar as an old friend, which was good because just at the moment he needed all the friends he could get. Jack was still not sure how he had stumbled into such a mess, and he had even less idea how he would get out of it again. He wondered if Jemima would tell that swell of a husband what was going on. He absentmindedly chewed a piece of dry straw. He was not sure about Robert Selborne. The man seemed straigh
t enough and he had seemed to like Jemima a lot. Jack had seen the look on Rob’s face when he had been standing at the altar and there was more to it than a gentleman taking a fancy to a pretty little piece. But even so, he was not sure that he would trust him.

  The horse made a deep sighing sound, an indication of its disgust that there was not a scrap to eat. Jack felt much the same. He gave it an encouraging pat. He was beginning to feel quite affectionately towards the old nag, his companion in criminality. Jack had not been in gaol since the long-ago incident after Beth’s death, but he had no illusions what would happen to him if the constable caught him. Never mind Newgate—he would be on his way to meet his maker before he could draw breath. Murder and highway robbery were capital offences, after all.

  The shadows shifted as the fire flickered. The door of the pig man’s hut squeaked a little in the draught. A twig cracked. Jack cocked his head. Was that a step outside? No doubt it was Jemima with a fat marketing basket stuffed full of food. His mouth watered but he reached for one of the pistols at the same time. It would not do to be too careless.

  The door opened an inch. Someone was definitely outside, and probably not Jemima, who would not be so timid. Jack eased himself to his feet and tiptoed across to the door. It opened slowly. Jack raised the pistol and the firelight glinted along the barrel. He had never shot anyone in his life but he thought that at close range he would probably manage not to miss…

  ‘You!’ he said. ‘Not the visitor I was expecting.’

  Letty Exton stepped into the room and closed the door behind her very precisely.

  ‘Would you mind putting the pistol away, Mr Jewell?’ she said. ‘You are making me nervous.’

  Jack lowered the pistol again and stuck it in his belt. He watched her as she came forward into the firelight. She was dressed in a rich velvet cloak with a hood and it made her look as though she was on her way to a ton ball. When she put the hood back, the firelight burnished her curls to a copper halo. She had a small stoop of hay in her hand and she fed it to the horse, which guzzled it greedily.

  ‘Piebald,’ she said, with satisfaction, stroking its nose. ‘I knew it was.’