The Highwayman Came Riding

by Qeturah Edeli

  “Are you going to give me a cover, at least?” Elias snarled. “I have to walk several miles back to Kitwick.”

  “No. Have a nice life.”

  Elias heard the highwayman gather his clothes, stuff them into something, and swing into his saddle.

  “Your accent is from Mitton,” Elias said. He could not let this man leave thinking he had bested him completely. “But you’ve spent time in London. The country air doesn’t agree with your sinuses. You’re light-footed and swift, and for all your airs, you’re young. Two and twenty or younger.”

  The wind rustled in the trees, wafting a familiar scent straight to Elias’s nose. He tilted his head, straining.

  “You smell like fresh bread. It’s deep in your clothes if I can smell it so far from Mitton. Not like you just passed a bakery, but like you live in one.”

  If he could not hear the highwayman and his horse breathing, he would have thought they had left. Finally, the highwayman spoke.

  “And you’re naked. Good-bye.”

  Elias’s loose hair danced around his face as the highwayman thundered past him, due north.

  “Fuck you!” Elias yelled after him.

  Chapter Two

  “Good day, Elias. Didn’t Bess tell you? You forgot your clothes.” Lizzy. There were giggling and whispers.

  “Ohhhh,” whispered another voice. Annette. “He’s handsome, don’t you think?”

  “Shh, Annette!” hissed yet another. Jane. “Don’t be rude.”

  “Didn’t forget,” Elias said past clenched teeth. He was shivering and it felt like he was walking on knives. “Highwayman took them.”

  The girls of Kitwick simpered. They must be enjoying the show; he knew others thought he was handsome, because he was not deaf, just blind. He thought about covering himself with his hands or Lord Nelson, but figured it was too late now anyway. “Aw, Elias.”

  “Elias?” cried a voice. Mrs. Scorsby. He jumped when footsteps approached and something was thrown over his shoulders. It felt like a sheet, and he wrapped it snugly around his naked body.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Lord above boy, what happened to your clothes?” She was breathless with indignation.

  “Stolen.”

  “And your feet! Blood, child, blood everywhere!”

  Elias supposed it made sense he could not walk miles of stony post roads barefoot and escape with his soles intact. “Boots were stolen too.”

  “Oh my goodness gracious, you poor thing. You, come, come inside. We’ll get you something to wear.” Mrs. Scorsby steered him by the elbow into a cool, shady place that smelled of dried paper and packaging twine (she made Lord Nelson wait outside, which did not endear her to Elias despite her concern). The post office. She lived above it with her husband, the postmaster. She told him to wait in the parlor while she thundered upstairs in search of Mr. Scorsby. Elias felt around for a bit and bumped into things until he found a sofa and sat.

  Everyone paid so much attention to what his eyes couldn’t do, and only Bess paid attention to what his ears could do. Elias had exceptional hearing. “The way you hear,” Bess liked to tell him, “you should look like a rabbit.” He listened to Mrs. and Mr. Scorsby’s conversation with as much ease as if they were in the same room.

  “It’s the Burgess boy. He’s naked!”

  “Naked?”

  “Said a highwayman stole all his clothes!”

  “He stole the clothes off a blind man’s back?”

  “So it seems!”

  “What about the post?”

  “Really, Alan, is that all you care about?”

  “That’s what we pay him for.”

  “He didn’t have his satchel with him.”

  “Damn.”

  “The poor dear wandered into town bare as a newborn baby and had all the girls clucking like hens.”

  There was a creaking sound as though Mr. Scorsby had just hauled his bulk from his chair. The floorboards squeaked in protest as he paced.

  “Blind man can’t even see highwaymen coming. It’s easy as falling off a log for them. I don’t understand why we keep him on,” Mr. Scorsby snapped. “He takes twice as long as the other post boys, even though his route is the shortest. I know they can ride and he can’t, but, really… And now he’s lost the post. It’s bad for business. Think of the correspondence that was lost! We’ve a tradition here, a tradition of reliability and punctuality.”

  “It’s not his fault he’s blind!”

  “No, but I don’t owe him anything just because he’s sightless.”

  There was a cross tutting and the sound of a drawer opening.

  “Here. Can’t send him home to his father in a blanket. Those women will descend on him like a pack of harpies, and I’ll get my ass beat besides.”

  Elias feigned surprise when Mrs. Scorsby returned in a clicking of shoes.

  “Here, dear,” she said. “Mr. Scorsby’s lending you some clothes to get you home. I’ll let you get changed.” She deposited the clothes in Elias’s lap and left the room again, shutting the door behind her.

  Elias dressed with great care, the soles of his feet smarting as his trouser legs dragged over his wounds. He was just pulling on a limp pair of boots when Mrs. Scorsby knocked and bustled in again.

  “Best keep those clothes, dear. They fit Mr. Scorsby twenty years ago, but they certainly don’t anymore. He won’t notice they haven’t come back.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Can you get home all right? Shall I ask Alfie to walk you there?” Alfie was the boy Mrs. and Mr. Scorsby had adopted a few years ago. He had an annoying, whiny voice and a perpetual cough.

  “I walk to and from here every second day, Mrs. Scorsby,” Elias snapped. “I can get home all right.”

  He took his leave and limped home, eyes tight shut for he still had no hat, trying to ignore the girls’ comments as he passed them. Lord Nelson rejoined him and hissed at passers-by.

  “Looking good, Elias.”

  “You looked better before, though.”

  “Shall I go get Bess for you?”

  “I’m fine,” Elias growled. The last thing he wanted was for Bess to have an apoplectic fit if she saw him as he was now. With any luck, he could sneak into the house and change into his own clothes, and she would never know what had happened. Although she would probably ask after his missing outfit and new limp.

  When he was halfway home, he heard rapid footsteps approaching from in front of him.

  “What happened to you?” a voice panted. Bess. Blast. He had been so close. He mentally cursed Lizzy. “What the bloody hell are you wearing? You look like a goddamn molly. Where’s your hat?”

  “I am a goddamn molly,” Elias muttered.

  “Yes, well, you don’t normally dress like one. I make sure of that.”

  “Good to know Mr. Scorsby dressed like a molly when he was my age. No wonder he and Mrs. Scorsby don’t have any children of their own.”

  “Lord. He wore that in his youth?”

  “Apparently.”

  “I’ll have to keep an eye on him and see if he’s paying Barnaby Smith any visits.”

  “Just get me home. I’ve made a spectacle of myself enough already.”

  Bess took his elbow and led him along the road.

  “Where are your clothes?” she demanded as they walked. The girls who had harassed him earlier had ceased their verbal tormenting the moment Bess appeared. “I sent you off this morning, polished as a brass button, and you come back to me a sloppy ponce with Lord Nelson looking as rough as his namesake after Tenerife. You have some explaining to do.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Were you interrupted bedding the Mitton postmaster, then had to scarper naked?”

  I wish, thought Elias. “No, Bess, not everyone is as loose as you.”

  “If you don’t tell me, I’ll take you in through the front door and father will see you looking like a dandy molly,” she said, ignoring his ja
b.

  “They were stolen,” Elias admitted. He knew his father did not care about his preferences, but he did care about the image and reputation of their family. Threats to it were usually met with violence.

  “Stolen!”

  “By a highwayman.”

  “Fucking thieving filth,” Bess swore. She was always swearing when it was no one but her and Elias. She had the voice of an angel but the tongue of a sailor. Injustice against Elias usually provoked her most colorful comments.

  “Yes, yes, scum of the earth, flea-bitten mongrel, sodding riffraff.”

  “Was he a sod?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Looking good, Elias,” a smoky voice interrupted them. It was Emily, one of the whores who frequented the Peach and Pear, Elias and Bess’s father’s tavern and inn. Their father never opposed the whores, for their presence brought additional business. Besides, Elias had the sneaking suspicion he sometimes brought one or two back to his room on quiet nights.

  “Thanks, Emily,” Elias muttered as Bess led him in through the back door, which led straight up a flight of stairs to the inn rooms. He tripped over the stoop as he did more often than not, but Bess kept him from falling and bloodying his nose. Lord Nelson gave a reproachful snort as though to tell Bess he could do a better job.

  “You ought to report him,” Bess said in hushed tones as she escorted him up the stairway and down the hall to their bedroom. They slept in one of the inn rooms at the end of the hall, and their father slept two doors down.

  “To whom? This isn’t London. There’s no Bow Street Runners here.”

  “I don’t know, someone. The militia?”

  “They have better things to do than chase down a post boy’s ensemble. Besides, what would they have to go on? He smelled of bread and sounded rather well to do?”

  “That’s something.”

  “Don’t be stupid, it’s nothing.”

  They walked into their bedroom, and Bess pushed him onto his bed under the window. “You should rest. I’ll go brew some tea. Wait here.”

  Elias loved his sister, but she could be bossy sometimes. He was too tired to argue, so he flopped back onto his bed and awaited her return. Lord Nelson leaped onto the bed and curled next to him. His contented purrs pulsed through Elias as he petted him.

  “Father knows. Everyone in Kitwick was talking about it,” Bess said when she came back a little while later. Elias sat up, and she deposited a teacup in his hand. “Careful, it’s hot and very full.”

  “Wonderful,” Elias grumbled, sipping his tea. Bergamot with honey, his favorite. “Shall I expect a sound smacking this evening?”

  “No, he didn’t seem too upset. And I won’t leave you alone with him.”

  “Much obliged.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  There was a creak as Bess sat on her twin bed opposite Elias’s. It sounded like she was drinking her tea.

  “So, this highwayman,” she said after a pause. “What did he say to you?”

  “‘Stand and deliver!’ You know, the usual. He swore a lot too because Lord Nelson attacked him.” He scratched behind Lord Nelson’s ears. Elias did not know anyone in Kitwick who swore like he and Bess did. He gulped his scalding tea; he had not realized how thirsty he was.

  “Good,” Bess murmured. “But did he say anything else to you?”

  “Wanted to know why my eyes were freakish, what I could see, that sort of thing.”

  “So he knew you couldn’t have a picture of him drawn up and posted around the villages.”

  “Yes.”

  “Bastard.”

  “We didn’t discuss his parentage.”

  “And he stole the post too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was that his primary motivation for holding you up?”

  “I didn’t have that impression. He seemed to want to chat, at first. Then he noticed my clothes would fit him, so he ordered me to remove them.”

  “He held you up to chat?”

  Elias positioned his empty teacup on his bedside table. Now that he thought about it, it was a strange thing to do. “At first, yes. He told me he had a blind grandmother who could still see out the corners of her eyes.”

  Bess snorted. “So we’re looking for a highwayman who has a blind grandmother. There can’t be too many of them.”

  “Bess,” Elias said, drawing Lord Nelson into his lap. He was warm and heavy against Elias’s thighs. “I’m not hunting him down. I don’t care. If I never have to deal with him again, it’s fine.”

  “I’m not letting the shit who robbed my baby brother walk free!”

  “I’m not your baby brother, I’m your goddamn twin.”

  “And so he’s wronged me as much as he’s wronged you!”

  Elias made a gargling sound of frustration. “It doesn’t work that way, you bird-witted bitch.”

  “It works however I want it to work. I’ll make inquiries and keep you posted. Do you still have a job?”

  “Mr. Scorsby didn’t sack me, if that’s what you mean.” Even though he wanted to, Elias added silently.

  “Good. Else I’d have even more to do.”

  “You create your own work. I can’t pity you.”

  Bess came to sit beside him. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, which he shrugged away.

  “Don’t be like that, little brother. I’ll take care of you.”

  “Ugh. Don’t you have beaux to keep you busy?”

  “Yes, but you’re more important.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. He gave a snort of annoyance. “Anyway, we need to take care of your feet.” She knelt in front of him and began sliding off his boots. It took everything Elias had not to kick her away. He clutched Lord Nelson tighter. “Mrs. Scorsby stopped by while I was brewing the tea to tell me they were all cut up when she saw you.”

  “I can wash my own feet!”

  “Don’t be an ass. You won’t see all the gravel that’s in the wounds and they’ll fester. Bloody hell, these look awful.”

  They felt awful. Elias bit his lip to keep from shouting when Bess touched his soles.

  “I don’t think you should walk on these for a few days.”

  “My job is walking.”

  “I’ll tell Mr. Scorsby you need some time off.”

  “Time off? After I just lost the post? Never. I’ll crawl to Mitton if need be.”

  Bess made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “I can’t take you seriously when you look like such a fop.”

  “Fiend seize it!” Elias kicked out in pain, and Lord Nelson bounded from his lap. Bess had manhandled one of his feet. “Watch what you’re doing!”

  “I’ll go get a basin of water and some soap. Your soles are awful, Elias, awful. Christ. I wish we had money for a doctor.”

  “Tell that to the bottom of Father’s whiskey bottle. Or Emily.”

  “Wait here.” Bess stood and crossed the room in a swishing of skirts and creaking of floorboards.

  “Where would I go?” Elias huffed and collapsed back onto his bed.

  Chapter Three

  Elias’s wounds were slow to heal because he went back to work two days later. Bess hounded him for it, insisting that if he was determined to ruin his feet, he should at least do so with them bandaged. She redid his wrappings every morning, exclaiming over the state of his soles before he stuffed them into his boots and went to work either around the tavern or to Mitton and back.

  He pretended it did not hurt him, but every step was hell. He was slower than usual, and returned to Kitwick in the evenings, hours after his normal time. This did nothing to appease Mr. Scorsby, who was even surlier with him than usual.

  “This contains an important package,” he warned Elias one morning. Elias’s wounds were all but healed, for three weeks had passed and Bess no longer emitted hisses of horror when he removed his boots in the evening. “Don’t make a hash of it, boy.”

  “I’ll do my best, Mr. Scorsby.” He took the heavy pa
rcel, which was too bulky for the new satchel Bess had made him, and hugged it to his chest.

  The day was dim and humid, and Elias smelled rain in the air. Lord Nelson had, by the sound of it, scampered off to hunt, so Elias progressed with greater caution along the post road.

  “Good morning!” a voice crowed. Elias froze. He knew that voice.

  “What, no more ‘Stand and deliver’?”

  He heard a horse canter down the hills from the forest lining the post road and come to a stop a short distance in front of him.

  “What the fuck do you want?” Elias demanded when the highwayman said nothing.

  “I took what you said into consideration. I’ve decided to be more gentlemanly in my approach.”

  “Gentlemanly!” Elias scoffed. “Are you going to rob me blind again?”

  “Yes. You have a very large package.”

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  “Yes.”

  The highwayman dismounted and came to stand in front of Elias.

  “I thought you said you hadn’t money for another hat.”

  “That was true.”

  “Then where’d you get the hat?”

  “I already had it.”

  “You deliberately misled me!” The highwayman sounded indignant.

  “And you stole my fucking hat anyway!” Elias barked.

  There was a long pause.

  “Are you wealthy?”

  “I’m a post boy. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re a rich daddy’s boy who wanted to prove he can look after himself.” It sounded like the highwayman had invested a great deal of thought in developing an explanation for Elias’s life circumstances.

  “One out of three.” Elias delighted in correcting him.

  “Sorry?”

  “One out of three. You fail.”

  “Explain.”

  “Not rich. Definitely not a daddy’s boy. Did want to prove I could look after myself. Also wanted to get out of Kitwick.”

  “You don’t like it?” The highwayman sounded curious.

  “Anyone who’s from Kitwick and has half a brain loathes it.”