Elias crossed the threshold and came to stand in the middle of the warm tavern. The man who had let him in creaked across the room to the back staircase and stumbled upstairs.
“So…” Elias addressed the room. “Can I get you boys anything to drink?”
* * * *
Once the two men from upstairs had departed in search of Augustus, Elias offered to go to the cellar to retrieve some of the Peach and Pear’s oldest wines. “To celebrate once the bastard’s caught,” he explained before slipping through the door to the back staircase.
Instead of going down, Elias went up and made his way as quickly as he could to the room at the end of the hall.
“Bess!” he hissed when he was outside the door, praying she was alone. He heard a muffled reply.
Elias plucked his key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. Bess’s muffled vocalizations grew louder.
“Shut up,” Elias said as he crossed the room, following her voice. “There’s still a bunch of them downstairs. They think I’ve gone to get them more alcohol from the cellar.”
He walked into Bess, who was apparently bound to the foot of Elias’s bed, right in front of the window. By the cold breeze ruffling his hair, Elias supposed the shutters were open. He reached out, touched Bess’s arm, and felt his way to her face. A wad of cloth had been stuffed into her mouth, so he pulled it out.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Bess swore in a harsh whisper. “That tasted like balls!”
Elias felt around for the ties binding Bess to the bed. He did not think now was an appropriate time to argue whether balls tasted good or not. He reminded himself she had never tasted Augustus’s.
“Careful!” she snapped as Elias felt his way down her arms to her wrists, which were bound behind her to the bedstead. “There’s a musket tied to me!”
“What?”
“It’s so I don’t wriggle too much! The barrel’s right in my tit too. It’s very uncomfortable.”
“How many restraints do you have?”
“My wrists and ankles are bound to the bed, and this fucking musket is strapped to my waist. They locked Father in the cellar. Did you know that?”
Elias ignored her last remark and set to work at the knots around her wrists.
“So the knot game comes in handy,” Bess muttered, referring to a favorite pastime they had shared in childhood. Their mother had taught it to them. Bess had used to tie knots in rope and ribbon for Elias, and he had had to undo them.
The knots at Bess’s wrists gave way, and Elias let her untie the musket and her ankles.
“Finally,” Bess groaned, and Elias heard her joints cracking. “I’m so fucking stiff!”
“Augustus came back,” Elias said. “He’s waiting for us in the stable. He’s taking us to Town.”
“Are you joking?”
“Dead serious.”
Bess seized his hand. “We’ll have to leave the candle here to maintain the illusion I’m still prisoner as long as possible. Now lead me to freedom.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Fuck, it’s dark,” Bess said when they were outside. “There’s a lot of cloud cover tonight.”
“Welcome to my world,” Elias muttered as they made their way to the stable. Augustus came to meet them in the garden. He gathered Elias in his arms and squeezed the breath from him, silent.
“Can’t breathe,” Elias rasped, his ribs aching. Augustus let him go.
Everything was perfect. He had rescued Bess, Augustus still wanted to be with him, and they were all going to Town. Except, as the crisp December air blew through his hair, Elias knew he was not finished with Kitwick. Not yet.
“Augustus, Bess,” he said. “Go get the horse. I’ll be with you in a second.”
“Are you daft?” Augustus demanded in a harsh whisper.
“Why the fuck would we separate now?” Bess hissed. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard all night, and I spent several hours with a bedroom full of redcoats. Not as fun as it sounds,” she added.
“I’m going to let Father out,” Elias said. “If I’m caught, I’ll tell them I’m searching for wine. It’s what I said I was doing when I came for you, Bess. Neither of you can come with me because that’ll set off alarm bells. Let’s rendezvous by the first branch in the post road.”
“No,” Augustus and Bess said together.
“You were right, Augustus,” Elias said. “I’ll regret leaving him here for the rest of my life.”
“Might not be very long at this rate,” Bess snapped.
“He’s our father,” Elias protested.
“Yes, and? It’s not like they’re going to torch the place.”
“They might, who knows?”
“This is the man whose abuse drove our mother away to join travelers and spend the rest of her days living a nomad’s life all over Britain.”
“Is she in earnest?” Augustus asked, incredulous.
“No,” Elias growled. Now was not the time to rehash childhood fantasies. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Elias, I’m serious! She’s been sending me letters for years!”
“What?”
“We can discuss this later.”
Elias forgot where they were and why they were there. His ears were ringing. “Why did you never share them?”
“Elias, I share everything with you, everything, and I just needed one thing to myself for once! I know you know what I mean because you kept Augustus to yourself for a while, and I understand. Besides, you thought she’d drowned herself in the Thames! We each believed our own stories, and then when her letters started arriving, I never bothered to tell you because you’d already written her off dead and it seemed unlikely we’d ever reunite.”
“Oh, I think I might have one of your letters, then,” Augustus interrupted. “I stole one off Elias that was addressed to a ‘B. Burgess.’ I never bothered to read it. Later, when I heard your father’s name was Brian, I assumed it was for him.”
“It’s convenient my father never rises before noon. I always get the post first, and as Elias can’t read anything anyway.”
“Do you mean to tell me I spent my entire post boy career carrying letters between you and mother and you never told me?”
“Yes. That’s literally what I just said.”
“Fuck you!” Elias had a sudden raging headache.
“No wonder you hated me so much when you found out I was the highwayman,” Augustus said to Bess in wonder. “I was preventing you from corresponding with your mother.”
“And you humiliated my twin,” Bess added.
“Go get the damn horse,” Elias snarled. “And don’t either of you shits dare follow me.” He tore away from them and went as quickly as he could to the back door of the inn.
“Eli, please, just come with us now,” Augustus called to him in a loud whisper.
“Go. Get. The. Damn. Horse.” Elias continued through the door and down the cellar steps.
The cellar, at the end of a winding underground corridor, was illuminated with a screaming lantern of sorts, so Elias closed his eyes and followed the sounds of his father’s muffled exclamations. His father never liked lanterns or torches in the cellar, which was why Elias always did the cellar runs when the upstairs stores were running low. Elias neared the back wall, reached, touched stone next to the source of the screeching, and trailed a hand down the wall until he touched the top of his father’s head. He must be hogtied on the floor. Elias had never touched this part of his father, and he paused as the smooth skin of his father’s scalp played against his fingertips. It was covered in a light fuzz.
Coming to his senses, Elias felt his way down his father’s face and pulled out his gag.
“Your damn pistol-waving beau murdered the Joneses, is that it?” his father said between pants.
“He didn’t,” Elias said, feeling his way along his father’s arms until he found the ropes binding his wrists together. This seemed to be attached to the knots at his ankl
es. “You’re trussed like a turkey,” Elias muttered. He would have this undone in no time.
“How do you know he didn’t?” his father snapped.
“Because he was shagging me when they were killed. His pistol was planted by Mr. Sweeton. We have an unofficial confession.”
“Not that redcoat who had his eye on you?”
“Yes, that one.”
“Knew he was a dishonest fucker. Never liked him,” his father grunted.
“Augustus is taking me to London with Bess.”
There was a long pause. “That’s nice of him. You’ve always wanted to go. It’s about time you did.”
Elias finally got the knot and tugged the ropes away. His father made a small commotion getting to his feet.
“I take it there are a bunch of drunk redcoats in the tavern?”
“Yes. How’d they overcome you?”
“Good question. I’ve half a mind to go up there and—”
“Hey!” a gravelly voice interrupted them. Elias recognized it as belonging to Keys. He had not heard him come down the cellar corridor as he had been too distracted. Then, louder, “Hey! You little bitch!”
“Shit,” Elias muttered. His father looped an arm through his elbow.
“He has a pistol,” his father said. “Elias,” he repeated urgently, “he has a pistol!”
“Extinguish the lantern,” Elias ordered.
“But—”
“Put it out!” Elias cried, just as a deafening bang reverberated through the small space and his father dragged him to the ground. The screaming of the lantern was silenced, and the cellar was plunged into darkness.
Elias knew the layout of the cellar like the back of his hand. A rectangular room with the long sides covered in shelves full of wine bottles and barrels, with a table of more of the same down the middle. Bess liked the sacks of flour stored under the table, as it was a dry and relatively weevil-free space. It was impossible to keep the surfaces of the cellar clean of the light, gritty powdering of flour that gusted up whenever the sacks were moved.
“Fuck!” Keys roared.
“Are you all right?” his father asked, clutching Elias’s arm.
“I’m fine. You?”
“Fine.”
“Good. I’m going to get us out of here.” By the sound of it, Keys was reloading his pistol with the fumbling hands of a drunk. “Before that idiot blows this place to kingdom come.”
Elias led his father through the cellar, praying Keys would not reload his pistol before they reached the door, and that Keys would not be standing directly in their way.
Elias could tell three feet before they reached the door that Keys was blocking the way. “You’re going to have to fight him,” Elias said, right before his father, still with one arm linked with Elias, lunged forward.
Keys fell to the ground, his pistol clattering over the shelves, the force of his sprawling energy upsetting bottles and starting a cascade of tinkling glass that disintegrated to fragmented chaos. A small screech sprang up on the floor.
“Jesus,” Elias’s father whispered. It was the first time Elias had ever heard him sound fearful. “Oh Christ, no. Shit. Elias. Get us out of here now!”
Elias dragged his father through the door (his father kicked it shut behind them), down the winding cellar passage, up the cellar steps, over the back threshold, and into the frigid night air as fast as he could.
“What was that?” Elias panted, only now realizing his own panic. His heart was pounding in his throat.
“Spark from his flintlock,” his father replied. “All that flour, this place is going to—”
Elias was cast forward, sprawling on his stomach as a forceful gust of scalding air and shattered glass blew through the back garden. An angry, alien roar blotted out all other sound. Dazed, he thought he tasted blood. His nose again, probably.
He lay still for a while, trying to figure out what had happened. His back ached and he smelled smoke. He felt as though he was spinning.
Eventually, he became aware of a repetitive, urgent ringing. It mutated until he recognized it: a deep voice screaming his name so fast it did not sound like a name anymore. “Eliaseliaselias!” Someone had turned him onto his back and was shaking him by the shoulders.
“Father?” his voice sounded strange.
“Oh God, oh good, I thought you were—”
“It’ll take a bit more than a sprinkling of flour to kill Brian Burgess’s son,” Elias muttered, sitting up. A screeching orchestra of light arose from the direction of the Peach and Pear. “That doesn’t sound good,” Elias said of the wails.
“Why’d you do that?” his father asked, ignoring Elias’s comments. Elias understood his father’s shock. He was shocked himself; he had just risked his life for his father.
“You’re a shit father, but you’re not evil,” Elias explained, after considering a moment. He shifted and flexed his back, then cracked his neck. It did not feel broken. “You bought me a pianoforte, even if it was always out of tune. You gave me a roof over my head and fed me for twenty years, in a manner of speaking. You’re not my favorite person, but I’d rather you weren’t imprisoned or burned to a crisp.”
“You’re a good man, Elias.”
“Wish I could say the same of you.”
His father sighed, then sniffed. “So you’re moving to Town?”
“For now. Who knows where later? I’ll…” Elias swallowed. Why was this so hard? “I’ll have Bess write for us.”
“Give me a return and I’ll write back. Emily and I are getting married. She’s pregnant. I’m going teetotaler. I’ve been weening myself for a few weeks now. I can do it. I know I can.”
Elias could hardly believe his ears. He chose not to express his surprise. “Good of you to do the right thing,” he offered.
“I love her anyway. And I was tired of being miserable. Thank God she and Lulu wanted to spend Christmas with their mothers and left Kitwick yesterday or… Anyway, the vicar says I can remarry by now since he assumes your mother’s dead.”
Again, Elias was flabbergasted but restrained. He decided not to share Bess’s secret. “That’s nice.”
“Do you love that man?” his father asked. “The gentleman highwayman?”
“His name’s Augustus.”
“Do you love him?”
“I don’t know. But I want to be with him, so I’m going with him.”
“Don’t ever let him treat you wrong. Write me if he does. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks.”
“I was serious.”
“So was I,” Elias replied. His father touched his elbow and helped him stand. Before he could say anything more, Elias took a deep breath. “I should go,” he said. “My beau’s waiting for me. So’s Bess.”
“Right. They’re coming. Er, running. Brace yourself.”
Elias was knocked clean off his feet for the second time in as many minutes when Augustus collided with him.
“Thank God,” Augustus murmured into Elias’s neck. He cupped the back of Elias’s head and had taken the full force of their fall on his arms.
“Ugh, get off me,” Elias croaked, winded.
“Mr. Burgess,” Augustus said to Elias’s father. He did not release Elias.
“Mr. Westwood. My son says you’re taking him to Town.”
“That is the plan.” Augustus squeezed Elias tighter.
“And will you treat him well? With the utmost respect and care? Will you lead an honest life together and make sure Bess doesn’t fall pregnant before she’s married?”
Elias was so mortified he could think of nothing to say. He remained stiff and still as a board.
“Yes, sir, you have my word.”
“Then he’s yours. Be good to him.”
“Of course, sir. I will be the best beau to Eli.”
Augustus helped Elias to his feet, dusted him off, crammed Mr. Sweeton’s stolen hat onto his head, and whistled to his horse, which promptly joined them. There was a
squabbling as Augustus tried to help Bess mount but she refused, and then they assisted Elias into the saddle behind her. Elias could not remember the last time he was on a horse before tonight, and now was the second occasion in the matter of an hour. He felt awkward and uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry about your inn,” Augustus said as an afterthought as he jumped up behind Elias. He must not even be on the saddle; with three people on one horse, it was a very tight fit. His chest pressed into Elias’s back and his crotch was against his ass. Elias decided riding was no longer awkward and uncomfortable.
“Don’t be. I’ll collect the insurance and do something new. Something without alcohol. I’ve had enough of that.”
“Probably for the best,” Augustus said.
“Take care, Elias, Elizabeth,” their father said.
“Bye, Father,” Bess said. “I’ll write. Do check for my letters with Mr. Scorsby.”
“I’ll make sure Bess is faithful with her updates,” Elias said. His voice sounded rusty to his ears. “Take care. And look after Lord Nelson.” He felt a violent pang of sorrow in his breast. Elias had heard Lord Nelson leave the inn when the redcoats arrived, so he did not fear he had been caught in the explosion. But they did not have time to go hunting for him in the dark. A lump rose in his throat.
“Thank you, good sir, for everything,” Augustus said, squeezing Elias between his thighs.
“Farewell,” Elias’s father said.
“Now don’t be getting any ideas,” Elias quipped over his shoulder to Augustus as he wrapped his arms around Bess. He was trying to avoid thinking about Lord Nelson. Where was he? What would he do without Elias?
“Too late,” Augustus muttered.
“Fuck you both,” Bess said. “How long’s it to Town? I can’t bear this and it’s only been five seconds.”
“And we haven’t even started moving yet,” Augustus said into Elias’s ear.
“Fuck you,” Elias murmured.
“Wish you would, darling.”
“Just you wait.”
“Is that a promise?”
“On my life,” Elias swore.
Augustus gave a guttural cry and kicked his horse into a forward gallop. They rode off into the night.
The Highwayman Came Riding Page 25