My Lord Highwayman

by Valerie King

  Worse. How had he ever convinced himself to take up his highwayman’s garb in the first place? He must have been undergoing a fit of insanity when he had determined to rob his miserly neighbors. However, he had but to recall the day that good Mr. Clark had presented his plans for an orphanage to the genteel society of Three Rivers Cross to be reminded of his reasons for becoming a highwayman.

  Mr. Clark had taken great pains to assemble the local gentry and aristocracy, as much on his behalf as on Treyford’s. Treyford had already pledged a fourth of the cost for the orphanage. Mrs. Marisfield hosted the event and together, she and Mr. Clark laid out the plans for the orphanage, including its projected administration. The building would be a noble structure, landscaped in such a way as to blend with the Devonshire scenery in the manner made popular by Capability Brown.

  In his heart, he had hoped that making this gesture to his neighbors might in some manner begin healing his long-strained relationship with the more exalted families in the area.

  After Mr. Clark’s excellent presentation, a silence had fallen on the assemblage. Treyford had glanced from one face to another and saw such stony expressions as had immediately made known to him that he was not, and probably never would be, forgiven.

  Sir Christopher had addressed Mrs. Marisfield in the coldest of terms, stating the will of most everyone assembled. “It is my belief that Three Rivers Cross does not need an orphanage. Such a facility would be better employed near Plymouth, where so many children run ragged about the wharfs day and night. Here we are fortunate to have enough concerned citizens to care for our orphans.”

  Mrs. Marisfield and the vicar had argued his point for nearly an hour, since orphaned children were a problem in every community. Unexpected epidemics of scarlet fever, the putrid sore throat, and other infectious complaints annually took their toll. Sir Christopher had remained resolute, however, though never once so much as glancing in Treyford’s direction. Yet, it had been plain to Treyford from the first that the vicar’s proposal was to be rejected solely because Hetty Waldron had somehow convinced her husband it was essential in keeping ‘the Treyford menace’ from harming the neighborhood.

  “Come off your high ropes, Sir Christopher,” Treyford had said at last. “Address me. At least be man enough to do that much.”

  Sir Christopher had turned nearly apoplectic with rage. Treyford remembered seeing the same expression on the face of the Duke of Chandos the night he had returned so unexpectedly from London. A very odd thought had struck him in that tense moment, a question really. Why was Sir Christopher so angry with him, when he had never been in the smallest way concerned with the duel twenty years ago? Where did all this anger come from?

  Sir Christopher had somehow managed to contain his rage. “You, sir,” he had responded coldly, “are not worthy of the presence of any of these fine people. And for their sakes I will overlook your provoking words. Come, Hetty. We are finished here.”

  For some reason, Hetty did not rise immediately. She sat staring at the floor, and it seemed to Treyford that she had been weeping. But then a hardness settled over her features, a familiar expression of the leader of the vale, and she rose sedately, never once looking in his direction. She made a brief speech in agreement with her husband after which she laid her hand on her husband’s arm and quit the room in a fashion more befitting a monarch than the wife of a mere baronet.

  As Treyford watched the entire assemblage follow Hetty from Mrs. Marisfield’s house, a burning anger so deep had taken hold of him that he had begun plotting then and there just how he would make them all pay for their miserliness as well as for the their smallness of heart.

  That night, the Spanish highwayman had been born.

  Within a sennight, he was robbing their coaches and forcing each of them to pay, Sir Christopher and Lady Waldron more than the rest combined.

  Now, as Treyford rode in a hackney on the way back to his sister’s rooms, he fingered the paste necklace and felt all the difficulty of his situation. He knew he would be unwise to venture forth in his bandit’s garb again. Burwash was a clever opponent and would probably be able to guess his next move. So, just how was he to gather the remaining sum for the orphanage’s contractor? He did not have the faintest notion.

  He had a little under ten days left, however, to solve this troublesome dilemma. In the meantime, he would concentrate on seeing his sister and niece settled comfortably at Treyford Hall. Regardless of his worries, he could at least be at ease now in his mind where his sister was concerned.

  Lizzie was an exceptional female. A debilitating infirmity had been her affliction since her daughter, now fifteen, was a child of five. Since his arrival, he had come to understand that she had lost much of her mobility and was confined more often than not to a Bath chair. She was in constant pain yet never complained of her chronic discomfort. He would be happy to have her with him at Treyford Hall, where he might have the supervision of her care. He had been wanting her to remove to the Hall ever since Captain Stawell perished in battle. At the same time, he knew quite well that her decision to abandon her independent life in Plymouth had been soul wrenching, a certain acknowledgment that her life would not proceed as she had so dearly hoped.

  The next morning, Treyford hired a wagon and saw his sister’s meager possessions placed carefully within. When at last he carried her to his own traveling coach, he held her tightly as several sobs escaped her thin frame.

  “Lizzie,” he said, trying for a light note. “I know we used to quarrel when we were children, but I hope you do not think living in my home will be as bad as when we were young? I trust I have grown up a little in the past score of years.”

  She chuckled and drew in a deep breath. “I shall miss Plymouth,” she said, leaning back from him in order that she might see his face. “I was happy here.”

  He wiped the tears from her cheeks and added, “You shall be happier at the Hall, for I mean to spoil the pair of you day and night until you are sick at the sight of me.”

  When she laughed once more, he gently settled her onto the squabs. Sophy immediately began surrounding her mother with soft pillows, supporting her arms and her legs. “Here is a footstool, Mama.”

  “Yes, that will do nicely. Thank you, Sophy.”

  “Do you wish for a little laudanum? The doctor said you ought to take some while traveling to ease the pain.”

  “Thank you, but no. I will manage.”

  Treyford spoke to his coachman at length about the care with which he should travel on the return trip to Three Rivers Cross. The driver was somber as he received his orders and for the next several hours drove his team as though he were carrying within the coach a basket of delicate pheasant’s eggs.

  * * * * * * * * *

  On Wednesday afternoon, Abigail listened intently to Sarah’s recounting of a conversation she had recently had with her friend, Katherine Lilstock. Miss Lilstock, it would seem, had called on Sarah after having enjoyed an interesting hour at Lady Waldron’s with her mother. The subject had turned very quickly to the loss of Lady Waldron’s necklace at the hands of the highwayman on Saturday night. Lady Waldron had stunned her gathering of friends by confessing that the necklace was paste and that her presence in the coach that night had been part of Mr. Burwash’s scheme to capture the highwayman.

  This much Abigail had suspected from the first, but she remained silent as Sarah continued. “So, the next trap has been laid for the night of the soiree. What do you think of that?”

  Abigail felt very sick suddenly as thoughts of the highwayman filled her mind, of conversing with him so pleasantly on the moors, of kissing him. Mr. Burwash was clearly a man of some ability. Should Juan Miguel be lured to Lady Waldron’s home the night of her soiree, Abigail felt certain this time he would be captured—captured and imprisoned.

  “Miss Chailey,” Sarah said. “You are grown very pale. Are you feeling well?”

  Abigail glanced at her pupil. How could she possibly explain the depth o
f her fears for the highwayman? She could respond only, “I believe that his heart is good, particularly since he has been funding the orphanage this past twelvemonth. The thought that he might be prosecuted for his crimes terrifies me.”

  “I had not considered what might happen,” she said, her expression falling as well. “Of course he would be sent to prison.”

  “And possibly hung for his crimes.”

  Sarah placed two fingers against her lips. “How dreadful. Such a good man does not deserve to die.”

  “No, he does not, but the law is the law.”

  Abigail quickly changed the subject and directed her pupil back to her studies. For herself, she spent the remainder of the afternoon debating just what she should do. Since Lady Waldron’s soiree would be held Friday evening, just two days away, she was not certain she would be able to relay a message to the highwayman in sufficient time to warn him of the trap. Regardless, she intended to pay a call on the vicar before the day ended.

  As the day progressed, however, she found the afternoon slipping away from her. Sarah’s demands on her time had increased in proportion to her growing interest in her studies. Abigail found herself quickly engaged by Sarah in a lively discussion of a variety of classical works, in particular, which of the poets of the last one hundred years spoke her own thoughts most clearly. Afterward, Sarah requested that they take their easels to the pond and spend what soon became two hours in an effort to capture the beauty of the setting. Following this lesson in watercolors, Sarah begged Abigail to teach her the finer points of the Haydn sonata she was presently studying.

  All of these activities, so gratifying on the one hand because they reflected her pupil’s change of heart, frustrated Abigail endlessly, since she was unable to steal the time necessary to travel to the rectory.

  By the time the lesson at the pianoforte came to an end, the hour had arrived for the ladies to dress for dinner. The day was spent, and the opportunity long vanished by which she might have made her escape to the rectory.

  After dinner, she resigned herself to the fact that she would be unable to pay a call on Mr. Clark. She would need to send a missive instead, by way of one of the footmen, to the vicarage. Only, how was she to communicate such delicate information through a clumsy use of words, and would Mr. Clark be sufficiently awake upon all suits to comprehend the hidden message in her note?

  Once she made her excuses and retired to her bedchamber, the effort in concocting her missive required an entire hour. After several aborted attempts, she finally achieved a rendition that seemed suitable.

  The note read:

  Dear Mr. Clark,

  I am looking forward to seeing you again at Lady Waldron s soiree, where, I am told, there is to be an unusually large gathering. I only trust the lane to her ladyship’s house will not be overly crowded, though I have been told it will be—Lady Waldron was most specific on this point. I daresay any who might not be able to attend will certainly be at ease and not afflicted in the least by what in London terms will undoubtedly be a “sad crush.” You have been very kind to me since my arrival. Again, you will be one of the first faces I search out when the ladies of Oak Hill arrive at the soiree.

  She signed it and sealed it, the latter with more wax than was necessary. However, the thought that anyone should see the contents of her letter, and perhaps divine the secret hidden within, left her heart pounding erratically.

  The following morning, she tried to appear as disinterested as possible when she begged of Mr. Lavant to have a footman ride over to the rectory with her missive for Mr. Clark.

  He frowned slightly upon hearing her request.

  Oh, dear. She certainly hoped he did not intend to press her. She did not believe she could withstand his badgering, and she was greatly fearful of revealing her true intention in sending a letter to the vicar.

  With her knees quaking a trifle, she felt obligated to offer an explanation, even if it was a mere Banbury tale. “Mr. Clark was so very kind to me upon my arrival here that I did not want to be backward in any attention.”

  He narrowed his eyes and appeared rather pensive for a moment. “You are not in love with the fellow, are you?” he barked.

  She was surprised. “No, of course not.”

  “Well, you relieve my mind, then. Yes, of course. Let Stockleigh send someone.”

  With her message dispatched and Mr. Lavant’s suspicions eased, she found she could at last relax. She had done all she could for the highwayman, at least for the present.

  Ten

  Later that afternoon, Abigail tied her bonnet more firmly beneath her chin, for a strong wind was buffeting the High Street of Three Rivers Cross. She had taken Sarah shopping, since she was in sad want of new gloves, and was just leaving the town in Mr. Lavant’s elegantly appointed landau with the top down, when Sarah called for the coachman to hold the horses.

  “Uncle Trey,” she called out brightly. “Sophia. Aunt Lizzie.” ­

  Abigail turned in the direction Sarah was presently waving her arm and saw that Lord Treyford was indeed just emerging from the candle maker’s shop. He was pushing a lady in a Bath chair, a lovely young girl, younger than Sarah, walking beside him.

  Since they were so very close and traffic was passing on the opposite side of the carriage, Sophia moved to the edge of the vehicle and threw her arms around Sarah’s neck. “It has been an age,” the young girl squealed. “I was hoping we would see you very soon.”

  “How long have you been at the Hall?”

  “Only a couple of days, three actually,” she whispered. “The traveling was very difficult for Mama.”

  “Of course.”

  Lord Treyford wheeled his sister close to the landau. Abigail moved to the small forward-facing seat so that both she and Sarah might look over the edge of the carriage at the infirmed woman.

  Abigail met her warm gaze. Treyford quickly made the introductions.

  “How do you do?” Abigail offered politely, inclining her head to Elizabeth Stawell.

  “Very well, thank you. Save for this vile wind, the weather has been perfection and not nearly so humid as the coast. Treyford has been telling me that Mr. Lavant finally found a most exceptional governess for his daughter. I commend you.”

  “Your brother has spoken very kindly of me, but I hope he has not given you too grand an impression of my abilities.”

  At that, Sarah could not keep from saying, “You must not pay the least heed to any of Miss Chailey’s protests. For if you must know, I am actually practicing my scales, arpeggios, a Mozart piece, and an exceedingly tedious Haydn sonata, besides reading poetry and novels, edifying essays, studying the globe and geography, and yesterday we spent nearly two hours beside the lake with our watercolors. So you can see, Miss Chailey is quite superior.”

  Mrs. Stawell’s eyes grew quite wide at this recital of Sarah’s activities. Lifting a brow to Abigail, the widow remarked, “You are not just superior, Miss Chailey, you are a worker of miracles.”

  Abigail chuckled but added hastily, “I spoke but a few sensible words to her, nothing more, I assure you.” She turned to her pupil and smiled. “Sarah has done the rest. She has a rare intelligence as of course your brother must already know.”

  “Indeed, I do,” Treyford said cheerfully.

  Sarah interjected, “Never mind such things. Papa said we might have a picnic. Will you join us on Saturday?”

  Abigail did not miss the swift glance exchanged between brother and sister. The former of concern, the latter of apprehension.

  Abigail’s heart sank as she cast her gaze over Mrs. Stawell’s pale countenance. She decided it would be provident to allow the lady the opportunity to refuse gracefully. “Sarah, Mrs. Stawell has only just arrived and perhaps will want a great deal more time with her brother before beginning to pay what will inevitably become a round of quite exhausting social calls. Perhaps in another sennight or so.”

  Treyford cast her an expression so full of gratitude that she found
her attention suddenly turned toward him. He was appearing decidedly handsome today in a coat of gray superfine, a finely embroidered white waistcoat, black pantaloons, and glossy Hessians. For just a moment, as her gaze became fixed to his, a swell of interest surrounded her heart. She remembered suddenly that the last time she had seen him, she had been sitting on the terrace steps and he had been about to kiss her.

  How many times had the recollection of that moment stolen into her mind over the past several days, making his absence seem but a matter of hours? She had told him she thought perhaps she was doomed to tumble in love with gentlemen who could not give her what her heart desired most. At the time, she had been thinking of the highwayman, but just then, she was thinking of him. After all, if she was not falling in love with him, then why was her stomach so deliciously a-jumble with at least a dozen butterflies flitting about?

  Mrs. Stawell drew her attention quite suddenly away from Treyford. “Actually, Miss Chailey, you cannot know what a relief Sarah’s invitation is. I have been at the Hall, as Sophia said, for nearly three days, and already I have grown weary of my brother’s tiresome society.” She smiled teasingly upon Treyford, then reverted her gaze to Abigail. “We should be happy to accept Sarah’s invitation. The weather has been so very fine of late, save for this ridiculous wind today, that to refuse would be an absurdity.”

  Sarah settled the time, then grimaced. “I could only wish that you would be attending Lady Waldron’s soiree tomorrow night, but I daresay she would not send an invitation to Treyford Hall, would she, Uncle Trey?”

  “No, unfortunately not. So you are to go, then?”

  “Papa said I might, even though I am not formally ‘out,’ because her ladyship invited Miss Chailey. Even Papa means to attend.”

  “I have little doubt you will all enjoy the soiree prodigiously,” he responded kindly.

  When a sudden gust of wind nearly unseated Sophia’s red bonnet, Treyford called out, “That settles it. I am taking you both back to the Mermaid. I refuse to remain here a moment longer, for I do not intend to spend the rest of my afternoon chasing bonnets.”