But though I had willed it otherwise, Markyate Manor had been none of these. My stepfather had kept his whip over the fireplace as a reminder of his authority. And he had used it. The Diggers had been the only folk who offered me a welcome, and now that was ruined.
I could still make amends - give them recompense, if I had courage.
‘You can do it,’ Ralph’s voice echoed in my head.
I turned sharply, stuck a foot in the stirrup and leapt astride. Spooked by this night-time adventure, Blaze shot into a gallop.
I did not know then that someone was on the drive watching me go. And when I rounded the bend, I did not see the other horse until I heard the hoof beats behind me.
At first I thought it was Blaze’s hooves, but as the sound doubled, I glanced over my shoulder. The glint of a bit, a white star on the horse’s head, a white sock on the foreleg. One horse, one rider. Cloaked, no hat. Broad shoulders. A man. What did he want?
I daren’t slow down. It couldn’t be anything good, I knew that much. I pushed on. He was gaining on me, but I applied my heels and Blaze sped on. Thoughts of the highway thieves, the feeling of the muzzle of the gun, flashed through my mind. I could hear nothing now except the sound of my own breath, thick in my throat, over the pounding of Blaze’s hooves.
I veered left into the bridleway, branches whipped past my face. I ventured another quick look back. He was right behind me, his horse’s mouth white with foam. But I knew the set of that jaw, the bristle of sandy hair. Downall. I kicked Blaze on, but the track twisted like a noose and we were forced to slow. Moments later I felt his thigh bang into mine as he came alongside and reached to grab the rein with his hand. I lashed out at him with the slack of my reins.
‘Stop!’ he shouted, making a fresh attempt to grab Blaze by the bridle. ‘Where are you going?’
I did not answer. I was trying to manoeuvre Blaze past him, but Blaze was blocked in by the bigger horse. As he leaned to grab the bridle, I threw another lash at him with all my strength. The end of the reins caught him full in the face. He cursed and let go.
In the distance, a shot, then another. A third, and Blaze half reared.
Somewhere to the left of us. The noise ricocheted. Downall turned to look.
It was enough. I kicked Blaze on and he shot down the path. A branch scraped at my face and caught in my hair, tearing at the roots. My eyes watered so much I could not see, but I did not dare stop even to look back.
I crouched flat to Blaze’s neck, clinging to his mane, and veered left and right into the forest, not knowing where I was going, just choosing the smallest tracks where a bigger horse and rider would struggle to follow. My chest thumped uncomfortably, I gasped for breath. We came to a dense scrub of brush and holly and I forced Blaze through it. Only on the other side did I pause to listen. Blaze was panting, his flanks heaving against my shaking legs. I listened, but heard no other hoof beats.
I slumped forward in the saddle, my blood fizzing in my veins. Downall knew now that I was dressed as a man. But I had done nothing. He could prove nothing.
But though I waited a half hour or more, there was no other noise from the forest except the soft patter of a drizzle that had just begun to fall. My eyes had become accustomed to the dark, and now I could pick out the shapes of the trees and the silvery trail of the track, where the earth was pale and bare.
I had no idea where I was, I realised. Which way?
I patted Blaze’s neck, to reassure him. Perhaps he would know the way. Not back the way I had come. I could not risk meeting Downall again on the track. I let the reins hang loose, let Blaze pick his way through the trees. As we went, I put my hand to my cheek, and my fingers caught on a dried crust of blood.
Blaze was surefooted and certain. I hoped he’d find his way to the main road, and sure enough, the wider dirt road lay just beyond the trees. I looked both ways but all was quiet. I rode slowly, on the verge next to the road to muffle my hooves. Perhaps I had missed the Gawthorpes. Those shots did not bode well, and worse, Downall was still out there somewhere. I was nauseous, uncertain whether to go or stay.
I turned for home. I’d gone a mere half mile when a coach and horses loomed out of the darkness towards me. Wary, I withdrew into the shelter of the trees, but the horses trotted erratically, the carriage yawing from one side of the road to the other.
There was no driver. At the sight of another horse on the road, the horses slowed the carriage to a halt.
It was eerie, this driverless carriage. I waited.
Nobody leaned out to see what the problem was. I slid out the pistol from the pack on Blaze’s withers, then dismounted and hitched my reins to a tree. The carriage was still, but as I got nearer I saw the door was hanging open, as if no one had bothered to shut it. The insignia on the side was familiar. The eagle and claw of the Gawthorpes’ carriage.
I approached from the front and steadied the horses. They jittered and trembled in their traces. Inch by inch I crept towards the carriage door. A stockinged foot was jamming it open. A foot with no shoe.
Nearer. In one quick movement I flung it wide.
Inside lay the crumpled figure of one of the Gawthorpe boys. A shot wound dribbled like a black blot on his temple. I rocked him, called him, but he was lifeless. The rest of the carriage was empty. There was no sign of his father or his brother.
Hastily, I stepped away. Looked over my shoulder. I was too late. I had to get out of here. Some other thief had stolen the trunk of gold, the one that should have been mine, and the thief could be still in the woods somewhere. I rode tentatively along the verge, eyes skinning the landscape.
Two lumps of dark in the road. I stayed in the saddle, ready to gallop.
The father and the other son. Both dead.
As far as I could tell, both had pistol wounds to the chest. In the ditch at the side of the track, something caught my eye. It was the box, the one they’d brought with them; the deposit for the house.
Was it worth the risk? Hurriedly I dismounted.
Only a few paltry coins remained, as if the highway thieves had been surprised and had been in too much of a hurry to take it all. I stared at the dull shine of the silver discs a moment before scraping them up and pocketing them.
Later that night I rode by Whistler’s house. It was an unkempt single-roomed dwelling of brick and lath, with holes in the roof. Outside the door was an upturned milk churn. I righted it, dropped the coins inside and heard their metallic chink as they landed. After them I pushed a note:
No labour should go unrewarded.
13: Moonlight and Murder
The next day I slept longer. My limbs were heavy, and it was past cock crow when I woke. My body was objecting to my new profession, but I didn’t want to listen to it. It was telling me a story I didn’t want to hear. I began to dress without looking at myself in the mirror. The night before, I had stuffed my men’s clothes into my closet and told Abi to leave me to dress by myself. I would have to hide the breeches somewhere else, especially now Downall had seen me wearing them.
Downall did not challenge me about the clothes, or about where I had been. It was strange, and it made me even more on edge than if he had mentioned it. It hung between us, making me so nervous that I waited a few more nights before daring to take to the road again. The next time I rode the back way to the village, down the bridle path, glad of the meagre moonlight. I did not want to encounter Downall again, and kept looking over my shoulder to check nobody was following. I passed not a soul; it was as if nobody dared to venture outside. No ploughmen rolling home from the fields, no cows tethered on the common, no lights in the tavern. It was eerie.
I had my list of Diggers in my haversack. Only one person had been paid, and there were almost twenty more to pay. Perhaps when I’d paid a few more, they would realise who their benefactor was.
The road was quiet. A merchant in a horse-drawn buggy almost leapt off his seat when I appeared before him.
‘Hand over your purse,’ I
said, the pistol pointing at his face.
He threw it down on the road. ‘Now get on your way,’ I said.
Needing no further urging, he cracked the whip, and careered away. When he’d gone, I dismounted and picked up the bag.
When I took up the reins again, the bag hung from my belt, heavy as a turnip. At Margery Barton’s house I saw she had a corn sieve by the door for feeding the chickens. I looked around, but saw no one. I emptied the coins into it and dropped in the note. Then I kicked Blaze on, back to the manor.
Two paid.
I pulled open the stable door, but took a step back. A glowing lantern swung from the beam above, and Cutch and Abi were waiting for me.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Cutch stood up from the upturned bucket where he’d been sitting. ‘It’s foolish to ride out so late. Abi was worried something had befallen you.’
‘You’ve been on the highway.’ I saw her eyes rove over my men’s breeches, then down, taking in the shiny leather boots that were too big for my feet.
‘What if I have?’
‘Are you mad?’ Abi said. ‘You risk your life! Jacob came by. He’s worried. He says folk already think you had something to do with the Gawthorpes’ deaths.’
I shook my head vehemently. ‘I know nothing of that.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Cutch said. ‘Why are you doing it? Surely a maid in your condition—’
I cut him off. ‘So I can pay the Diggers. To make up for the fact they trusted me. Ralph wouldn’t have wanted them to be treated so meanly.’ I explained my scheme. ‘It was the only way I could think of. Thomas is missing, and I get not a penny from my stepfather,’ I finished.
Abi was mutinous. ‘I thought all that was over.’
‘I want to prove to them that I’m with them, not against them and—’
‘Well, choose another way to do it,’ Abi said. ‘I for one won’t be turning a blind eye to any robbery.’
‘Why not?’ Cutch suddenly broke in. ‘If she’s determined? We could help. It would be one in the eye for Sir Simon.’ Cutch’s face was alight with enthusiasm.
I took a step back, shocked. ‘I don’t need your help. I’ll do this alone.’ The last thing I needed was some do-gooder trying to help me.
Abi was staring at Cutch as though she had never seen him before. ‘Have I heard aright? You want to help her?’
‘If she is to do this, then she will need us. She’s…, well she’s…’ He tailed off. He was looking at me as if I should say something, but I knew what he was getting at and ignored him. ‘I say we help each other,’ he said. ‘Stand up for Ralph, and the Diggers’ way.’
Abi whipped round to face him. ‘Keep out of it, Cutch,’ she said. ‘The Diggers never condoned stealing! She’s the one who started this, she should be the one to take the risks. Jacob says that highway robbers are the scum of the earth and should hang.’
‘Jacob says. So it’s all about what Jacob thinks, is it now?’ I said. ‘He’s not worth your breath. He hardly pays you any attention, and yet you—’
‘Stop it.’ Cutch stepped between us. ‘Ralph and I spent many nights on the road. I know what I’m doing. If Thomas is dead we will need to amass enough money to set up somewhere else, Diggers or no Diggers. She’ll need somewhere when…’ again he stopped.
‘When what?’ Abi asked. ‘What do you know that we don’t?’
‘Nothing,’ Cutch said, giving me a meaningful look. ‘We could set ourselves up in business somewhere else.’
‘Us? Where? What business?’ Abi’s voice was too loud in the small space.
‘Bath, Bristol, some other big city. If I had tools I could set up as a wheelwright. You could help me, do the scrivening, the bills, and so forth. Kate too.’
I laughed. ‘You’re a useless wheelwright. Everything you make falls to pieces.’
‘Only because I haven’t the tools.’
He was stubborn. I could almost see his heels digging into the floor. I had to stop this idea before Abi fell for it.
‘But I don’t want you to help me,’ I protested. ‘I’m fine on my own. Why would I need your help?’
He sighed. ‘All right. Say nothing. Have it your own way.’ He turned slightly so Abi could see his lips. ‘But don’t forget, I was a soldier. You need me because I’m good with firearms. Because I’m a man, and a man’s voice will do more on a dark night than a woman’s can.’
Abi, who had been watching this unfold with growing disgust and disbelief, stood up. ‘What about Martha? What will I do with her in your fine plan? Leave her behind? You’re both like children. You just don’t think.’
‘We’d take her with us to our new life,’ Cutch said. ‘Soon as it was safe.’ I could tell by the vitality of his movements, by the way he latched onto the idea that he wouldn’t let it go easily. And that he was desperate to see the action.
‘So you’re admitting you’ll bring danger here,’ Abi said. ‘And hasn’t this house seen enough bloodshed?’ She snatched up her cloak and banged the door as she went.
‘I’ve known nothing but bloodshed my whole life,’ Cutch muttered, ‘so what’s new?’
*
Five Diggers paid. This was the third time we had taken ourselves to this bend in the road, yet still I was nervous. The first two nights Cutch and I had relieved two wealthy tradesmen of their purses. They had been riding solo, and capitulated when they saw us, thinking us to be two armed men. Tonight though, my stomach was fluttering as if it held something trapped within, and my hands were damp with sweat. I turned to look over my shoulder. I had the uncanny feeling of being watched.
I glanced up for reassurance. It was a warm night, and light. There was a three-quarter moon lighting up the road like a ribbon that snaked away into the distance. A fine night like this meant more travellers on the road and more chances to try our luck. On the opposite side of the road, Cutch was waiting on foot. I could see the glint of his firearm, and the pinpricks of light from the buttons of his doublet.
A rustling behind me. I whipped my head round, but in the dark of the trees I could see nothing. I strained my ears to hear. ‘I heard something,’ I called to Cutch.
‘Someone coming?’ Cutch asked.
‘No, behind me – in the woods.’
I saw the whites of Cutch’s eyes as he looked through the trees behind me, still, listening.
‘Probably just a deer,’ I said. Though the feeling of unease persisted.
We waited another half hour and Blaze grew restless, anxious to be moving. I quietened him, then saw a dark shadow round the bend before us. Another lone horseman. I raised my palm at Cutch – our signal. One person on his own was a good target for us. The traveller was riding slowly at a trot, not in any hurry. From here I saw no obvious saddlebags, but we wouldn’t know if he had coin until we stopped him.
I pulled the scarf up over my face and tilted my hat.
He didn’t see me until I rode out before him, one of Cutch’s pistols aimed at his chest. The horse saw me before he did and sidestepped, nearly unseating him. When he saw me, he tried to kick his horse on, but the horse seemed to sense our intention and shied, throwing up its head, eyes wild.
‘Dismount.’ Cutch appeared next to him, grabbing the reins of the horse.
‘I haven’t got anything,’ the man protested, as he slithered down. ‘Please, don’t kill me.’
I had no intention of killing him, but I didn’t want him to know that. ‘Empty your purse,’ I made my voice gruff and hoarse, kept the pistol muzzle out at arm’s length.
The man took off the bag that had been slung over his shoulder. Now I could see him more closely, I felt sorry for him; he was only a young man, perhaps an apprentice. His doublet was serviceable, but not expensive. His eyes darted right and left, his hand shook so that the coins rattled as he took the purse from his bag. I dismounted, strode over, and held out my hand.
An explosion of sound.
So loud it made me reel away.
Eve
rything seemed to happen like a slowly turning wheel. The boy keeled sideways, eyes staring wide, his mouth open in a shout I could not hear. His hands came up to his ears. But the side of his head had opened like a burst sack. The hands could not seem to find the wound, but the pouch of coins flew up, arced into the air, landing before me an instant before the boy hit the ground.
I was aware I had taken a step back, that Cutch was clinging to the reins of the boy’s horse as it dragged him backwards, spooked by the noise.
A black shape leapt into the space between us, like a swooping crow, swept up the pouch of coins and made for the shelter of the woods.
‘Stop him!’ I shouted, but Cutch did not hear me, his hands were full.
The man was just a blur of black cloak, but there was a scent about him I recognised. The highwayman I had met before. I fired my pistol after him, but was in time to see him leap astride a horse. I got the impression of the other man waiting there too, a big black horse behind the pale trunks of the trees. A moment later another shot whistled past my ear.
Cutch, hearing the second shot, grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the cover of the trees. On the opposite side of the road, horses trampled through the undergrowth, but the hoof beats soon faded.
‘Shit. What was that?’ Cutch said.
‘Seems we’re not the only thieves on the road,’ I said. But I was staring at the body. A fine mist, like a smoke, seemed to be rising from it. It formed momentarily into the shape of a young man, his face sad and puzzled. I blinked, and the picture was gone.
Cutch loped over to where the lad lay motionless in the road. He rolled him over, put his ear to his nose listening for breath. He sat back on his haunches, shook his head. ‘Dead. Poor fellow. He was going to hand the money over anyway.’
Lady of the Highway Page 9