by Amy Wolof
FREE EBOOK FOR YOU! CLICK IMAGE BELOW:
Books by Amy Wolf
The Misses Brontës’ Establishment
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00YW5YLAO/
The Cavernis Trilogy
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XYPF751/
Book I: A School for Dragons
Book II: A War for Dragons
Book III: A Hero for Dragons
The Honest Thieves Trilogy
A Woman of the Road, Book 1
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07YXK7YPL/
Upcoming: Another Woman of the Road, Book 3 of the Honest Thieves Trilogy
The Twelve Labors of Nick
A WOMAN OF THE ROAD AND SEA
Copyright: Amy Wolf
Published: March 2020
E-book edition
The right of Amy Wolf to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format. All ancillary rights, including but not limited to film, broadcast, radio, video, DVD, CD, satellite, digital, merchandising, theatrical, and mediums to be exploited the future belong solely to the author.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This book may not be resold or given away to other people.
If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase a copy from Amazon.com. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious or parodic manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Illustration Licensed © 2019 Cherith Vaughan
Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at:
https://amy-wolf.com
https://twitter.com/@AmyWolf_Author
https://www.facebook.com/amywolfauthor/
A Woman of the Road and Sea
Book II of the Honest Thieves Trilogy
By Amy Wolf
Now you licencious Rebels, that doe make
Profession of this wicked course, and take
A pride therein, and would be term'd by me
Knights of the Rodes, or else at leastwise be
Stil'd High-way Lawyers; …
first plucke of your visards, hoods, disguise,
Masks, Muzles, Mufflers, patches from your eyes,
Those beards, those heads of haire, and that great wen
Which is not naturall, that I may ken
Your faces as they are . . .
John Clavel
A RECANTATION Of an ill led Life. OR A discouerie of the High-way Law
Special Acknowledgements
Rachel (R.E.) Carr – beta reader extraordinaire
Tim Whittome – Englishman
Theresa Mudrock – University of Washington Historical Librarian
Alan R. Michelson – University of Washington Historical Librarian
Richard Platt – English Customs expert
Lorraine Sencicle – Dover historian
Jorden Pritchard – Firearms expert
Calais Histoire et Tradition Society
This book is dedicated to the memory of Vonda N. McIntyre
Forever missed; never forgotten.
A Prepossessing Young Man
The Hue-and-Cry
The Captain’s Subterfuge
St. Valentine’s Day
A Sudden Malady
Megs’s Departure
A Future Highwayman Arrives
The Great and the Small
A Queen in Distress
A New Class of Outlaw
A Mother’s Lament
A Woman of the Sea
An Unfortunate Custom
The Good Customs Man
The Local Gaol
The New Newgate
Order in the Court
Interregnum
Blackheath and London
Four Highwaymen Go on An Outing
A Plot Revealed - 1683
The Rye House Plot
A London Coffeehouse
A Split Amongst Friends
The Great Rebellion
Farewell, Friend
The Bloody Assizes
A Reluctant Envoy
Abroad Again
Rumors
A Journey to Paris
The Princess Palatine
Plots Aplenty
The Four Musketeers
The Island
Fort Royal
An Expert Is Called
Rebuilding
A Prepossessing Young Man
“S
tand and deliver!” I cried, and this time, unlike the last, I did not speak the words in jest.
Wheeling my mount to a halt, I made sure to block a black coach which jolted down the Great Western. By my standards, it was not grand (not even a seal on the door), but I was so eager to ply my trade that to me it mattered little.
My three fellows in crime—Jeffries, Carnatus, and Aventis—all pulled back on their reins. I could not help but smile beneath my black crepe mask. After months of inaction, we were still Kings of the Heath!
I watched Carnatus work his rope as he snagged the “shooter” and coachman. Captain Jeffries leapt from his saddle, his boots raising a dust cloud as he leaned by the coach’s near door.
“Good morning,” he said to an unseen occupant. “We will not delay you for long.”
“Impudent dogs!” came a cry, and, with a slam of that door, a young man stepped onto the road. He wore a red army uniform, his coat sporting gold braid which shone in the sun. “With any luck, I shall see you all hanged!”
“But who is to say,” asked Jeffries, “that luck will favor you?”
The young man unclenched his gloves, though his red face near-matched his coat.
“No cause for alarm,” said Jeffries, and I saw his eyes soften. “We would not harm a man we know. Are you not James Scott?”
Despite his gentle words, Jeffries still aimed two pistols straight at Mr. Scott’s heart.
“I-I am,” the young man stammered, “though I much prefer Duke of Monmouth.”
He touched his long, dark hair, too tousled to be a wig, while I surveyed his features. There was something familiar in that aquiline nose; the mouth’s haughty sneer. . .
“You do not recall us?” asked Jeffries, bending forward to seize the duke’s sword from his belt.
“I should say not,” huffed Monmouth. “What reason have I to recall a band of drivers?”
“‘Drivers’?” asked Carnatus, cocking his flintlock.
“Peace, my friend,” said Aventis. “It was not that many years past we met this young man as a boy.”
“Ah, yes,” said Carnatus, “coddled by his wet nurse.”
I saw the duke’s eyes narrow. Yet what could he possibly do surrounded by four armed “men”?
“I shall tell my father!” he cried. “He shall seek my revenge.”
“No doubt he is able,” I said, “but what of your good right arm? Did you break it this morning while dressing?”
Monmouth shook with rage as our whole company laughed. Carnatus’s deep guffaws caused the coach’s horses to stir.
<
br /> “How dare you address me?” asked Monmouth. “Surely, you are aware that I am a son of the king!”
“Ha!” said Carnatus. “If bastards are dukes, then I have one who should be made earl.”
Monmouth blanched as he reached for a hidden pistol. Even as I moved to take it, I had to admire his courage.
The duke now stood unarmed, his eyes sparking like powder on steel.
“Calm yourself, sir,” said Aventis, “or you might damage your spleen.”
“Outrageous,” muttered the duke. “To be so addressed by a commoner!”
“I beg your pardon—” I said, bristling for the sake of my friend. But Jeffries cut me short.
“You wear the uniform of the Horse,” he said to the duke. “Why, then, are you apart from your men?”
“I am headed for them,” said Monmouth, “if you would but let me proceed.”
“A moment,” said Jeffries.
The duke stood on the road, crossing his arms and pouting. Has he really grown up, I thought, since we stopped him as a boy? Then, we had let him proceed in peace.
Not today.
“Your purse, sir, if you please,” asked Jeffries, extending his glove.
“Lowly footpads and thieves!” cried Monmouth, stomping a booted foot. “Cannot one frequent the roads of England without being accosted?”
“Of course not,” I told him. “Good God, sir, how long have you been away?”
“Five years, on and off,” he said. “I fought in the two Dutch wars.”
“Commendable,” said Carnatus. “Never liked the Dutch. Their ships are too dam’d swift.”
“And their whiskers too bristly,” added Aventis.
“Hang the Dutch!” cried Monmouth. “Do your business and be quick!”
Jeffries touched his hat.
“I asked you for your purse, sir.”
Though Monmouth flung it at Jeffries’s head, the captain stayed calm, for its leather bulged with guineas.
“Your rings, if you please,” I asked, holding out my palm. After the duke tore off his gloves, I found that my own now bore a sparkling sapphire set in the finest of gold.
“Fit for a prince,” I said. “We salute your dear late mother. Pray inform Lady Castlemaine, another of Charles’s mistresses, that she has a place in our hearts.”
Jeffries, recalling my robbery of her, gave a hearty laugh.
“I do not see the humor,” said Monmouth. “If I were free to leave London, I would return with my troops and slay you to the last man.”
“Alas, you would fail,” I said, “as one would still remain.”
Now my other two friends joined Jeffries in his mirth. Carnatus bent from his saddle, freeing his two captives, while Aventis saluted the duke.
This caused Monmouth to stride to his coach like a red-coated Fury.
“We will meet again,” he growled, and slammed his way inside.
“Farewell, Mr. Scott,” I called as his team trotted off in a shower of rocks. “I fear you have improved not in politeness but arrogance.”
The Hue-and-Cry
Riding off the road, we divided the spoils: Jeffries gave me the sapphire and a handful of five-guinea coins. Not a bad bounty for a mere half-hour’s work.
We all removed our masks.
“Let us go back to the Whale,” I called, as we started out over Hounslow. “But first, I must pay a visit to my favorite birch.”
Spotting the tree amidst the scrub, I dismounted, and, at its foot, employed my sword as a spade. After a very few minutes, I emerged from behind the trunk, dressed not as “Megs,” fierce highwayman, but Mistress Margaret Tanner, proprietor of the Whale. While Jeffries and Carnatus smiled, I saw Aventis look grave. Perhaps he liked me better in breeches than a skirt!
“Why do we tarry?” asked Carnatus, as I remounted—side-saddle. “Even two tankards of ale cannot slack my great thirst!”
“You may have all you wish,” I said, as we loped toward my favorite inn. “Drinks, as always, are on the house.”
“Huzzah!” cheered Carnatus, and, once in the Whale’s forecourt, we turned over our mounts to the ostler. I could not help it: I still shuddered at the thought of Claude, the brute who had held this post and nearly became my “husband.” But I steeled myself with the knowledge that I was now in charge, and so entered the inn with a smile.
I noted with pleasure that despite the early hour, most of the tables were filled. At the pewter bar, my old friend John the tapster was pouring drinks with both hands.
“John,” I called, “if you do the work of two men, you must be paid as such.”
He gave me a grin.
“I’ll not object, mistress.”
As I looked about the room cheered by its glowing hearth. I thought with pride: I built this. I could even imagine father, now in his grave, mumbling words of praise. But such happy fancies faded as I saw my serving maid Sally swing in from the kitchen.
“Hullo,” I said. “How goes it?”
She set down two breakfast trays.
“Well, miss,” she replied, glaring. “May I ask where ye was last night?”
Her brazen address inflamed me. To her, I should always be mistress, for “miss” denoted a whore!
“As long as you work for me,” I hissed, “you will show me some respect.”
“Yes, mistress,” she said.
“That’s better.”
Still, she scowled once she spotted my friends. I knew well what she was thinking:
How could a respectable woman consort with a troop of thieves? Well, the Whale was mine, and I could have in it who I liked. If Sally did not approve, the door was to her left!
“Our honored guest Captain Jeffries,” I said, “requires his favorite wine. Please bring out three glasses and two tankards of ale.”
Sally—as old as me, a woman of seven-and-twenty!—wrinkled her face so she appeared almost cronelike. This set off my usual rage.
“Shall I seize a stick from the fire,” I asked, “and hurl it under your feet?”
“No, Mistress.”
With a forced curtsy, she scuttled off to the taproom.
“Trouble at the inn?” asked Aventis.
I sighed.
“Yes. After last night’s upset, you can be sure she is grieving Ned and my refusal to marry him.”
Aventis’s black eyes met mine.
“As for yourself?” he asked.
“I am as sad to see him go as I was Richard Cromwell.”
Aventis laughed, taking a seat at a table. Of course, it was in the far corner, a natural place for us.
“Aventis,” I whispered, taking a seat beside him, “last night you said that you loved me—neither Margaret nor Megs, but me.”
“As you know,” he said, “I always speak the truth.”
When he gave me a wink, I felt the Whale vanish: there was only him and me, at that table and in the whole world.
“Adv—” I started to say.
Of course, it was Jeffries who interrupted.
“Ahem,” he said, taking a seat. “Must I remind you that in my troop, there are no doxies or lovers?”
“But, captain,” I protested, “how can it matter now that Carnatus knows I’m a—"
“What if,” he asked sternly, “you and Aventis quarrel? No longer speak? Our company will break. Again.”
I could not vouch for Aventis but I know that I winced. How could either of us forget that sad day at Islington, when a single kiss did more damage to us than the whole Great Fire?
“Very well,” said Aventis after a pause. “We will adhere to our old promise.”
“Speak for yourself!” I snapped.
“I will see that Margaret behaves,” Aventis told Jeffries.
As if I were a child!
“Do not disappoint me,” said Jeffries, rising to join Carnatus, who, true to form, was now leading a game of Hazard.
For a moment, I sat speechless, tears of anger pricking my pupils.
“Y
ou are not aware,” I said, “after all our years on the road, that Megs answers to no man?”
“Jeffries is in charge,” said Aventis. “This is his company and we are bound to follow his rules.”
I gave him the look I normally used just before cocking my pistol.
“As much as it wounds us,” he said, “we must honor our word.”
I noted his maddening calm, no doubt perfected when he’d studied to be a priest.
“It seems to wound you not at all.”
I gathered my skirts beneath me, then left him to join the others.
Attempting to smile, I found that I could not, even when I watched Carnatus win throw after throw.
“I cannot lose!” he cried, and, due to the vagary of luck, it seemed he spoke the truth.
Still, I knew such things could not last.
“Carnatus,” I said, standing on tiptoe to get close to his ear, “If I were you, I would fold.”
“But you are not me,” he said, blowing on his two dice and tossing them down with a clatter.
“Damn!” he said, smacking his hat against his thigh. “Couldn't nick. Should have listened to Megs.”
“That’s Margaret, if you please.”
Looking back at his guineas with sorrow, Carnatus sat down with Aventis. I did not care to join them and busied myself with receipts.
Men! I thought. Outwardly brave, but with hearts of trembling mice. Why, I asked myself, had I ever wanted to be one?
“Dam’d if I’m not starved!” cried Carnatus. “Mistress Margaret, would you order up a trifle, butter eggs and cream, a shoulder of mutton with oysters, and a large hashed hare?”
“Also, some bread and cheese,” said Aventis.
“Sally, you heard the man,” I called.
“Yes, Mistress,” she answered with venom. Though I wanted to grab and throttle her, I was more upset with Adventis. Still, I joined my friends, which now included Jeffries.
When our dinner arrived, I felt a distance across that table which encompassed more than mere space. Carnatus, distracted by food, could not be expected to notice, but Jeffries was more than aware, for he reached out to touch my hand. Aventis ignored his fare, instead gulping down wine.