“Do not be alarmed,” he added. “You'll be safe and well taken care of.”
“Are you on an errand for the King? Has he sent you for me?” This did not seem likely, and yet, it would be the only satisfactory answer she could think of. Again he responded slowly.
“No.”
She made a muffled exclamation of some sort, and thought frantically of what she might do to help herself in this dire situation. Huxton Hall was an ancient property that had passed to the Earl of Dorchester with the title. It somewhat calmed her, for men did not take women to the family seat for supposed purposes of indiscretion. But she would be even more firmly within his power once there, and she assuredly did not want that to happen.
“I need to stop.” It occurred to her that if they stopped at a road-house or inn, she might be able to solicit help.
“We're only just off,” he said, lightly.
“You are only just off,” she answered. “I have been in this coach longer than you.”
“Very well.” He immediately struck the wall forcefully with one well-shaped, booted leg, which she could see perfectly in outline while he moved.
“What, here, on the road?” she asked. “I need to stop at an Inn.” The carriage slowed to a halt, and there was silence.
“Do you—or do you not—have personal needs to attend to?” There was nothing particularly ominous in his tone, but Allisandra felt a fresh wave of alarm.
“I do.”
At her words, he felt beneath the seat as though searching for something. Finding it, he pulled out a chamber pot, which he proceeded to place gingerly upon the seat beside her. She looked at him, aghast.
“I shall wait outside the door,” he said, and rose. “I will give you five minutes, and if you need longer, you may tell me.”
She was about to let him know in no uncertain terms that she would never make use of that—that chamber pot in a coach, when she silenced herself. He was outside the carriage and it was a sudden relief. She heard the thud of his boots as they hit the road, and then the murmuring between Dorchester and his postilions, who had jumped off their perch from the back of the coach.
Without having planned it at all, Allisandra slid sideways in her seat and silently pressed down the handle of the door opposite to where the men were. It opened with a light 'click,' and she hesitated, listening. Still hearing the murmurs of speech, she slipped silently out and into the dark night.
The voices were louder out here, and she crept to the end of the coach and peeked behind it. Good! No one in sight. Gathering her ample skirts in her hands, she began to carefully pick her way along her side of the rutted road. Her plan was to get a good minute's distance away quietly, at which time she would make an all-out run for it. They hadn't been driving for that long, and with luck and God's providence—she could make it back to Langley within an hour.
Picking her way around rocks and ruts from the wheels of coaches in the road—little were her small heeled shoes intended for such things--she turned to peek back, once. She could see the man and his two servants on one side of the carriage, and then, dizzy with the hope of freedom, began to move in earnest. She had never had much call for running aside from playing with a royal niece or two, but she put her heart into it, now.
“The laidy, melord!”
She heard the cry with a sinking heart, but tried to move faster than before. There was no more need to be quiet, and Allisandra hoisted her skirts and cape to her knees—no, it wasn't enough, higher, still, and--ran.
(Three Weeks Earlier)
Lady Allisandra had scarcely left court since she had come to her own apartments at Whitehall as a protected ward of the King. So when the message came that she was to pack off for Langley, she was surprised, but not displeased. Without even seeing His Majesty, and with barely time to kiss the hand of the Queen, she was hurried off by footmen. Her maids were stopped at the entrance to the grand coach that awaited, much to Lady Allisandra's astonishment, but the explanation was that the duchess had already appointed maids for the girl, and there was no time to petition the King to change plans.
His Majesty had chosen a trusted minister, one Lord Weldon by name, to accompany her to Langley. Any other man and Allisandra would have refused to go. But, since Weldon was old enough to be her grandfather and greatly trusted by His Majesty, she thought it best not to insult him—or the King—by being squeamish. She was smarting from the slight of not having her own maids with her and not in the best of moods, therefore, when they set out.
Lord Weldon added to her discomfort by looking her over rather blatantly as he sat across from her in the coach. She pulled her cape around her as they set off. It was a large, grand coach and four, much larger than was necessary for such a trip, but as it belonged to Lord Weldon, and saved the King the trouble of sending an equipage of his own, it would do.
“It was gracious of His Majesty to grant me the privilege of delivering you to Her Grace.” Lady Allisandra nodded—just enough to be polite--and looked back to the scenery outside. ‘Gracious’ was not the word she would choose to characterize his choice of escort, but it was not her place to question the monarch.
“One would think the King was actually displeased with his favorite ward,” he added, to her annoyance. It was a remark intended to cause a response in her, but my lady steadfastly refused to rise to it, and continued studying the passing landscape.
“I daresay it must displease you to be en route to Langley? The duchess is well nigh old enough to be your mother, and her family seat is not known for, shall we say, amusements? Particularly as you are so accustomed to the diversions at court.”
Allisandra was goaded, and she snapped, “I happen to find in Her Grace one of my dearest and best of friends. I assure you,” she added, “nothing could please me more at this time than Langley.”
He eyed her steadily, his mouth set in a perpetual frown that seemed deeper at the moment than it had earlier. The sound of the team of horses pounding the road was the only one for some time.
Lady Allisandra was relieved when they stopped at a posting house for a meal. Not knowing how long a distance they had yet to go, she ate the food slowly to postpone her time in the carriage with his lordship. Too soon, however, he came up to her.
“Unless you wish to stop for the evening, we must leave now. There's a long stretch of lonely road ahead, and I daresay you'd prefer not to be set upon by highwaymen in the dark.”
Her eyes shot up to his. In moments he was handing her into the coach, a satisfied look upon his face.
Hours later, Allisandra did not know how many, they were forced to stop due to a wreck in the road. His lordship was red with rage by the time they were given passage. He had counted the minutes they had been forced to suffer to wait—all thirty-nine of them—while an overturned coach had been moved aside. And now he swore under his breath at the hour. Dusk would be upon them soon, he told her, and the loneliest passages of the road would have to be covered in darkness.
When the time came and the sun fell behind the clouds and darkness settled around them, he was no less agitated. He had already carefully extracted a pistol from a pocket of his long frock-coat, inspected it and judged it to be loaded, and then placed it gingerly upon his lap, keeping one hand upon it.
Allisandra was less worried than he, for, after giving the matter some consideration, she scoffed at the idea of anything so momentous as being set upon by highwaymen happening to them. It seemed hardly possible. She eyed Lord Weldon with doubt, however, thinking that if they were indeed set upon, he would most assuredly need that weapon. He was not a man of strong appearance.
It was a moonlit night, and they rode on with only the heavenly orb to illuminate the interior, which left it in near-blackness. Weldon had opted against lighting the lamp, the better to conceal their presence on the dark ribbon of road. Allisandra had no complaint, preferring the dark to his lordship’s ogling eyes. The outdoor coach lamps, too, had been extinguished (much to the distress of
the coachman, who complained that it would force him to drive but slowly).
The last bit of warmth seemed to have fled with the sun and she snuggled deeper inside her expensive fur-lined cape. The heated bricks from the posting-house had long cooled to uselessness, and her hood was already about her head. The addition of a single warm coverlet would have found her greatly obliged, she thought.
The earl was occupied with keeping an eagle-eye out the window, first one, and then, sliding himself across his seat, the other. “Ah!” he proclaimed at last. “I think we're through the worst of it. There are seldom reports of any attacks at this location.”
Allisandra eyed him with mild consternation. “Why is it the King did not afford us protection if such dangers are abroad?”
Weldon gave her an odd look, and seemed to stumble for an answer. Then, he said, as if happy to think of it: “I assured him, myself, madam, that such was not necessary. If we had not been delayed earlier by that cursed wreck we should have arrived ere night-fall.”
With a last look at the blackness outside, he allowed himself the pleasure of sitting back against the cushion, and sighed.
And then it began. A report was heard, and then the sound of the bullet whizzing by. The horses were jumpy, and whinnied, though they still ran. Then another report, closer than the first, and the horses this time were thrown into confusion, rearing and snorting, making the carriage come to a precipitate stop, which, in turn, sent its occupants flying onto the floor. The earl was swearing loudly, heedless of my lady's presence, and rose, blustering that he would kill the blackguards who dared to stop his coach.
Without waiting to assess the situation any further, he burst forth from the car, and cried, “Use your arms!” to his servants, only the attackers must have supposed he was addressing them and another volley of reports was heard, at close range.
“Lor', but if he ain't stupid!” exclaimed a rough voice. Another man shouted, “Don't kill him, you fools!” in a deep, hearty tone of authority. And then, not as loud, added, “Not yet, at any rate.”
Allisandra wanted desperately to peek out at the scene, but had merely picked herself off the floor and was sitting, frightened but half-fascinated, in a tight huddle of clothes and nerves, against the seat, endeavouring to remain out of sight.
She had heard many tales of highwaymen; usually the ladies were left unharmed. There were some alarming instances where their favours had been stolen, and terrible exceptions where every soul had been slaughtered, but Allisandra instantly thought to put herself and the earl in God's hands. Let heaven alone decide their fate! She felt a reassuring strength of mind, or was it faith? She wasn’t sure what it was, but somehow her fear was reined in. Hysterics might be a conceivable reaction in her situation, but she concentrated on imploring the Lord for aide and mercy, and felt comforted.
Just then, in the eerie glow of torchlight, the earl was marched past, a pistol against his head, his face red with rage. Then there was a great commotion of men shouting, and her coach, horses whinnying afresh, began moving slowly in a turning motion that Allisandra saw was bringing them off the road. She fought then against a deep shudder of fear. Where were they being led? And what would they encounter, once arrived?
When the coach was far enough from the road to elude the notice of any vehicles that might pass, it stopped moving. Allisandra saw nothing outside the window except the dark night, with leafless tree boughs outlined by the moon. Taking more of a peek, she saw they had reached an opening in the woods. Whoever had stopped them had clearly planned on bringing them hither, evidently knowing the countryside.
The right-side door of the coach was suddenly pulled ajar, though no one appeared at once to add to her fright. She could see now, however, that the servants were being forced to a spot on the ground, on their knees, with two men armed with pistols to stand guard. The earl was roughly forced forward and added to their number, only they took the extra precaution of binding and gagging him. As Allisandra watched in numb disbelief, her only thought was, /she/ would be next. And, that if she were merely bound and gagged, she would consider her lot fortuitous. Again, she prayed furiously.
“Well?”
The man in charge had spoken. He was dressed in dark, nondescript clothing like the others, but was booted fashionably and sported long, curly locks which she could perceive despite his tying them back. He wore a black mask across his face, reaching just below the cheekbones. He seemed a fit figure, all in all, a well-shaped man. One of the ruffians stepped forward and searched the pockets of the aristocratic prisoner, whose countenance grew even redder with fury, and who tried to protest with all his might, though the cloth gagging him prevented any comprehension of his meaning.
They pulled forth what appeared to be a purse, while the earl's muffled protests grew yet more pronounced.
“Keep looking!” The man in charge barely noticed the purse, which Allisandra found singularly strange. His minions continued searching the earl’s clothing when suddenly a piece of paper was pulled forth from an inner pocket, and—wonder of wonders—the earl fell silent. The leader was given the paper, which he unfolded, read, and then tipped his head at the earl, with a mockingly gallant gesture of gratitude. The earl remained silent, eyeing him sullenly, while the other ordered, “Search the carriage.”
Allisandra's heart sank. She heard her trunk at the back being forced open, and shut her eyes for a moment in sheer helpless acceptance of her fate. When she opened them, it was to see the face of a minion staring at her, who gave the announcement she dreaded: “It's a laidy, melord!”
Milord! Was it really a gentleman of some rank? Or did this fellow simply call his master this title in imitation of his betters? The man who had discovered her was peering in at her but without emotion, most like a soldier or—a servant. At least he wasn't leering at her with a horrid expression; she had heard tell of such things. And then, the man in charge was there.
He poked his head inside the door holding forth a small torch in one hand, and took a curious look at her. His eyes—despite the mask leaving only slits for their use—held a gleam which she did not relish. He seemed to like what he saw, entered the carriage easily and lighted the inner lamp. After handing off the torch to his servant, he sat down directly across from Allisandra, hardly able to keep a smile off his face.
“Leave us,” (to the man at the door). The coach door was shut and they sat, facing each other. Allisandra's face was a picture of controlled fear. The man sported a large, feathered hat, such as was fashionable, especially for cavaliers—those who supported the monarch. Allisandra felt a surge of hope that she was dealing with a man of some civility.
“Well, well,” he said, mildly, “Weldon travelling with the King's ward--'s more than a man's brain can grasp.” He knew her! He must be a courtier. He asked, “Has he abducted you?”
Allisandra was shocked at such a question, but answered, “No.”
“He is your chosen companion, then?”
She eyed him resentfully, but answered honestly, “I’d sooner choose a wolf,” making him chuckle. At this, she averted her eyes, refusing to add to his mirth. Her hope that he was gently bred was fading with each word he spoke. While he had the smooth hands and accoutrements of an aristocrat—and had recognized her—his speech betrayed a lilting, un-genteel accent. It reminded her, oddly, of the speech of seamen.
He moved across the space that separated them and sat near her with the hint of a mischievous smile about his mouth. Allisandra’s heart jumped into her throat and she froze. When he proceeded to reach to remove her hood, Allisandra, with a gasp, prevented him, adding, “I perceive you are no gentleman, sir!”
“Ah, and I suppose the fact that I'm masked and stopped your coach would not have suggested that to you any sooner, ay?” She ignored this raillery, but pulled her cloak about her the more tightly, and refused to look at him.
“Are ye frightened, then?” he asked, in an almost intimate tone, far too close to her ear. “Don't be.
” He leaned in yet closer, forcing her to sidle against the wall of the carriage.
“I like my women to be willin'--if ye know what ah mean.”
He had a soft, intriguingly nice voice, which was extremely irritating. When she remained silent, he studied her appraisingly again and said, “My, my, but we are lovely. Do not say that the King has given you to that—that sorry piece of humanity what owns this coach.” His voice rose. “ Ay? Has he?”
“No!”
“Ah! Very good.” He smiled shortly. “Is the good King savin' ye for 'isself, then?”
Allisandra stiffened involuntarily and turned to him in anger. “Don't be absurd!” They were practically eye to eye. Behind the slits of the mask she thought she could see that he was greatly enjoying their encounter. She turned away hurriedly.
“For what are ye goin' to Langley?”
She was surprised he knew her destination, but then realized the earl must have given the information, before being gagged, that is.
“To stay with the duchess, of course.”
“You and the earl?”
“No. He was to see me there—safely,” she said, and blushed. “And will leave directly come morning.”
“Ah, so he is followin' orders. Did you request his protection?”
“No.” She gave him an odd look, wondering what direction his thoughts proceeded from, as the questions seemed strange.
“It was the King's bidding, then?”
“Yes.” She wondered what it signified to him.
“Has he sent you from court?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why?”
“No.”
“An' are ye sorry for it, I wonder?”
“On the contrary; I welcome seeing Her Grace.” She had been keeping her face turned from his, looking straight ahead as she answered his questions, but she was indignant. What impertinence to be asking her so many things! A flare of anger made her demand, “What is it you want in this carriage? Take it and go!”
Coach and Four: Allisandra's Tale Page 2