by Valerie King
When he had covered two miles and was puffing happily, he passed by the vicarage of Oakmont. His thoughts were brought sharply around to the needs of the orphanage, which he had discussed with Mr. Clark only the previous day. The contractor had made it clear that he must have the final payment for the building within the next fortnight or he would have to bring construction to a halt.
Treyford realized he had been hoping that something would occur that would allow him to leave off his highwayman garb forever, an unexpected donation perhaps, or the willingness of the contractor to waive the final fee. With the advent of Mr. Burwash into the neighborhood, he knew each night he ventured forth with his mask tied securely about his head, he was risking disaster.
He drew in a deep, resolving breath. He had no choice at this juncture. Pilton had already informed him that in two days, on Saturday night, Sir Christopher and his wife would be attending a musicale at Lady Adling’s, and that Lady Waldron meant to wear her new and very costly diamond necklace. He had little doubt the jewels would bring a tidy sum in Plymouth, enough to cover the final costs of the orphanage.
This last piece of banditry would end his days as the Spanish highwayman. He had already turned down Lavant’s request that he join them for dinner on Saturday evening, saying that he would be visiting his widowed sister, Lizzie, in Plymouth in hopes of persuading her at last to remove to Treyford Hall. His sister was infirmed, and for several years he had been trying to convince her that her health would improve at the Hall under the care of his staff. Lizzie, however, was quite independent and had heretofore resisted all his attempts to reason her into leaving her shabby rooms in Plymouth. Her husband had been killed at Waterloo and she had been left virtually penniless.
The remainder of his journey home, under an intense scattering of stars, was given to searching for another argument he might use as to why his sister should come home with him this time.
Nine
In the early hours of Sunday morning, Treyford finally heard the sounds he had been awaiting for the past several hours—a carriage was in the lane. He and Pilton were stationed not far from Sir Christopher’s gates, a location he had chosen because of Mr. Burwash’s arrival in the vale.
He had never before robbed anyone so near their home. Previously, he had selected places from which to waylay his intended victims as remote as possible from the town of Three Rivers Cross or any of the surrounding villages or manors. However, he had little doubt that Mr. Burwash would be up to every rig and row sufficiently to know by then what his habits had been over the past twelvemonth. He could not make use of his usual tactics for robbing anyone.
He felt the last place Mr. Burwash would choose to watch for the highwayman would be a situation so near to one of his regular victim’s homes as the front gates.
After mounting his horse, he adjusted his half-mask. Thinking about Lady Waldron brought a strangled sensation to his chest. He felt angry all over again as he thought of her. He had never comprehended Marianne’s sister. Never, particularly since over the past fifteen years he had managed to establish a polite relationship with both the Duke and Duchess of Chandos.
Five years after the duel, he had received a disturbing letter from Marianne saying that she felt she had been very wrong in encouraging his advances during their affair, since she had never had the smallest intention of divorcing the Duke of Chandos, which had been her avowal at the time.
The contents of the letter had shocked Treyford, for he had always believed Marianne had loved him as deeply as he had loved her, and that had Chandos not returned so unexpectedly, they would even then be husband and wife. The suspicion he had carried with him for the last fifteen years was that Chandos had forced his wife to write the hateful letter. Perhaps one day he would learn the truth, but until such time, he held to the belief that Marianne had loved him as he had loved her, with all her heart.
He had since seen her in London on occasion, and had even exchanged pleasantries with her. Over the years, he was surprised to watch her grow more and more content, ostensibly, in her marriage. Perhaps this was only natural, since she was a mother of seven hopeful children. However, his own passion for her seemed to have continued unabated. He had but to see her framed in the doorway of one of Mayfair’s elegant drawing rooms, and all his former love, his desire for her, returned in full measure.
On the other hand, even Chandos, in recent years, had taken to acknowledging him publicly, particularly in the House of Lords. Therefore, in London, he was on polite, even friendly terms with Lord and Lady Chandos. However, when he returned to Three Rivers Cross, Henrietta Waldron still insisted he live excluded from local polite society, so much so that her husband had refused to support the orphanage. What he did not understand was why Marianne and her husband had both forgiven him but Lady Waldron simply would not.
The rattling of the approaching carriage grew louder still. A little farther, around the next bend in the lane, and the vehicle would be upon him. Treyford smiled with much satisfaction. Lady Waldron may not have forgiven him, and her husband may have become a cheeseparing miser, but the orphanage would be built and Hetty’s unreasonable conduct punished.
Instinctively, he moved back into the shadows. Pilton’s voice intruded, his whispers like a siren. “A carriage, m’lord.”
“I hear it,” he returned. His heart began to quicken, his pulse sounding in his ears as a dull, methodical thud. He listened intently for other sounds, perhaps an outrider’s horse. Burwash himself might be accompanying the carriage, or he might have hired a rider or two to attend the baronet and his wife.
However, only the dull plod of Waldron’s horses rippled the night air.
When the carriage drew close, he spurred his horse forward, slipping through a break in the hedge. He commanded the coachman to halt, an order the good man obeyed on the instant.
Deepening his voice, and rolling his r’s, he called to the inhabitants. “The Lady Waldron,” he said, emphasizing the ron of her name. “Come forward, without your husband, or tonight I shall not spare him. You have a necklace that I must possess.”
Lady Waldron emerged, appearing confident even in the pale light of the stars and a slivered moon. The weak lantern lamps of the coach cast vague shadows across the macadamized road.
His gaze dropped to her chest where the diamonds glittered.
She touched them and straightened her shoulders. “Have you come from Plymouth to be our scourge once more, Don Juan?” she asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
Treyford dismounted his horse and, throwing his cape over his shoulder, approached his enemy. “Should the gods smile upon me tonight,” he returned, taking her hand in his, “this shall be the last time I settle my eyes on your beautiful face. How sad I shall be when I can no longer look forward to taking your hand in mine and placing a kiss just here.” He lifted her hand to his lips and was a little surprised to find she had removed her gloves. Her skin was warm beneath his lips, and she trembled as he kissed her fingers.
When he rose and met her gaze, he saw that her eyes had grown very wide. Her lips were parted, as though having just framed a question, and she released an audible sigh.
“Will you be sad as well, I wonder?” he offered. He did not know why he posed such a question.
Hetty closed her mouth and lowered her gaze to the lane beneath her feet.
Treyford felt very strange suddenly, as though he had just glimpsed her soul. He felt certain that she would be sad, but why? Was her existence so poor that she must long for a highwayman’s touch to warm her heart?
He gestured with his pistol to the interior of the coach. “Come out, Sir Christopher. Come, protect your wife.”
“H-he is not within,” she stammered.
“Not within? How is this? Does he let you wander about the dangerous roads so late at night without protection? What manner of man is he?”
She glanced behind her rather nervously, then off to the side, into the hedges, as though searching for somethi
ng.
Lord Treyford saw the shift of her eyes and knew that he had walked into a trap. He reacted with simple instincts. He plucked the diamonds from her neck with a quick jerk, turned, and flung himself into the saddle. Calling to Pilton, he issued a sharp command, “Go at once.” A moment more, he jammed the jewels into the pocket of his coat and galloped away.
Pilton flew in the opposite prearranged direction.
A shot rang out behind Treyford. He felt the whirring of a pistol ball near his head. He hunched over the horn of his saddle and gave his horse a hard kick with his spurs. Daedalus needed no further encouragement and flew into the night.
Hoof beats behind gave every indication of a hard chase, and he was in little doubt that Burwash was in pursuit. Good God. How had Burwash been able to anticipate his strategy that he would actually station himself near the manor?
By prior agreement, Pilton vanished into a nearby gorge, taking a route home that would lead up by the moors, while Treyford continued on the visible track.
Burwash, he soon realized, was a formidable horseman. Several times, Treyford could see him when he glanced over his shoulder. However, Treyford had one singular advantage—he knew the terrain. Very soon the countryside would become a maze of streams and thickets, of lanes and byways, of villages and cottages, of clumps of trees and dry-stone walls. He knew how and where he could simply disappear from sight. Coming upon an ancient bridge, past which were three macadamized roads, he crossed it, swept to the right down a lane, then to the left, drawing his horse to a quick halt, where he listened intently.
Through the leaves of a thick hedge, he saw Burwash ride up hard to the bridge, then pull up. He remained there, judging the three routes open to him. No dust rose in the air from a dry dirt lane to reveal his route. After fifteen seconds’ deliberation, the Runner took off on a hard gallop straight ahead.
Treyford drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He waited at least five minutes to make certain Burwash did not double back. When the night had fallen to a quiet stillness, he turned around slowly and eased his horse down the nearby stream’s embankment. The bridge would have been far too dangerous to cross. Burwash was obviously a man of some cunning, and he would not be surprised if he was waiting for him in a place where he had a view of the bridge to do just that.
He began a slow progress back across Sir Christopher’s lands toward Treyford Hall. He encountered no one until he entered the stables an hour and a half later. There, seated on a bale of hay and waiting for him with his head in his hands, was his valet.
“Are you injured?” Treyford called out, suddenly frightened.
“No,” Pilton said, lifting his head abruptly. “But I feared you were. I felt one of the pistol balls whip by my head, and the entire time we have been apart, I thought for certain you had been hit.”
“No, not a bit of it,” he responded brightly. “I promise you.”
Pilton stared wearily at him. “How did Burwash know where we would be?”
“I have not the faintest notion. I can say only that I am now convinced he is a man of some intelligence and strong instincts. I daresay he sensed we would not be at any of our usual places and tried to predict just where we might go.”
“Why did he not attempt to arrest us sooner?”
“There would have been no proof. I had to take either money or jewels for there to be a proper trial.”
“Good God,” Pilton murmured, his face turning ashen.
Treyford watched him carefully. “I should not have permitted you to come with me this evening. I knew the danger was great. You are to be married very soon, and I won’t allow you to ride with me again, although, I am happy to say, I believe I no longer have the need of robbing anyone at present.”
Here he drew the necklace from the pocket of his coat and held up the heavy, glittering string of diamonds for his valet to view.
Pilton gave a low whistle. “That should fetch a pretty penny,” he remarked.
“This night’s work, and danger, will finish the orphanage.” With that, he divested himself of his cape, mask, and hat, and together the men returned to the house.
* * * * * * * * *
Treyford journeyed to Plymouth at first light and reached his sister’s rooms a little before ten in the morning. He found the ladies bent over some very fine needlework, which Elizabeth had been using to instruct her fifteen-year-old daughter, Sophia.
“Uncle Trey.” Sophia leaped from her seat. She ran across the room and threw her arms about his neck. He in turn embraced her warmly, swinging her in a circle.
Setting her down, she immediately launched into her speech. “How glad I am that you have come at this hour, for you must know because of it I have won a wager. Mama said you would not be here before nuncheon, and I said you would be here long before. And see. Here you are.”
She hugged him again. He held her close, meeting his sister’s gaze over the top of Sophy’s spritely brown curls. He smiled at her, all the while scrutinizing Lizzie’s face, particularly her expression. He could not fail to notice that she did not rise to greet him, as was her custom, and there were lines of strain beside her eyes.
“You will never guess what has happened,” Sophia said, releasing him at last. She bounced back to her mother’s side and took up her hand gently.
Treyford smiled warmly upon her, affection for his niece rising in waves in his chest. “I cannot imagine,” he said, though he had a clue, and within his heart began to rejoice even before his niece continued.
Sophia glanced down at her mother. “Shall I tell him now, or shall we make him wait until after nuncheon?”
“You had best tell him, Sophia, otherwise I fear you might burst.”
Sophia trilled her laughter. “You will be happy to know, Uncle, that I have finally persuaded Mama to remove to Treyford Hall—permanently.”
“Lizzie.” Treyford crossed the room quickly and bent down to kiss her cheek. “Do tell me you are not teasing me. Please, else you shall break my heart. You know how long I have been hoping for this day.”
“You relieve my mind,” Elizabeth said. “I have been in the sincerest trepidation that you would withdraw your offer since I have been particularly stubborn on the subject.”
“Yes, quite stubborn. I would tease you, but I am far too happy to do so just now.”
She met his gaze warmly, but he did not miss the tears brimming on her lashes. He felt uneasy suddenly, for Lizzie never shed tears, at least not in his presence, not even when her beloved Captain Stawell had died at Waterloo.
He shook off the dire sensation that ripped through him and turned instead to his niece. “Is this your latest work, my pet?” He picked up the smaller of two embroidery hoops.
“Yes, indeed, but do sit down and I shall show you all that we have been doing in the past month.”
He drew a chair forward and turned his attention to Sophia. Elizabeth had raised her well. She was an accomplished young lady, in manners as well as education, and he had no doubt that once presented in London in three or four years, she would make an excellent match. If he regretted that she would be excluded from the wonderful society around Three Rivers Cross, he thought absently of Abigail. Perhaps she could undertake Sophia’s education once Sarah had enjoyed her come-out ball. How odd that he would ponder, just then, the prospect of begging Abigail to assume a post at Treyford Hall.
He reeled at the thought of having such a beauty under his roof, one that he had kissed, not once, but twice, and in whom he had found such a warm response. Were she to reside at Treyford Hall, in his employ, how would he keep from kissing her again? No, better not to have such a temptation so close at hand. Why, he had all but kissed her on the terrace steps at Oak Hill not three days ago. Yet, she would be wonderful with Sophia. He had no doubts on that score because she was wonderful with Sarah, and Sarah was as difficult to manage as trying to shoe a horse with a sore foot.
He set to admiring all of Sophia’s needlework and later listene
d enrapt as she plied her most expert fingers over the pianoforte. She surpassed many highly accomplished London ladies he knew, and he could see her in his mind’s eye entertaining in his drawing room.
Yet, who would come to Treyford Hall to hear her play?
An intense regret assailed him that his niece would not be afforded the opportunity of enjoying Three Rivers Cross’s society. The vale did not lack for a bounty of children of all ages. For the first time ever, he truly regretted that he had not made peace years ago with Lady Waldron. With only himself to consider, he had not given a fig for his isolation.
However, a young girl of fifteen ought to have numerous acquaintance. In this he had been entirely opposed to the manner in which Lavant had unintentionally denied Sarah so many opportunities for social engagement. He thought of Abigail and how she had told him of her own sequestered upbringing and how her strongest desire was to be connected to a community. Looking at Sophia, he began to comprehend Abigail’s insistence that her marriage provide at least this for her. He certainly had much to ponder over the next few days as he helped his sister and niece to remove to the Hall.
He enjoyed the majority of the day with Lizzie and Sophia but excused himself at four o’clock to pay a call to a room above a rather cheap tavern near the docks. What he learned there, however, completely dashed his spirits. The necklace was paste. There was not a real diamond in the whole of it.
So, the trap had been complete, even down to the use of false jewels to tempt him into betraying himself.
Good God. What was he supposed to do now? The contractor for the work at the orphanage had made it clear he would not complete the job until he received the final payment. He would have discharged the bill himself, but he had already spent every tuppence he could above and beyond the care of his estate and what was allowable under the terms of his inheritance. By then he believed he had paid for fully half the orphanage himself. He felt sick at heart. How was he going to raise the funds he desperately needed to complete the orphanage without risking another robbery?