James, Earl of Crofton

by Rebecca Cohen

  James was on his knees, desperate. “Oh sweet Lord, no,” he pleaded, unable to think what to do. He didn’t dare touch him.

  Adam reached out to him. “You need to get me away from here.”

  The fighting was slowing, the bandits subdued. Marchent staggered over to them and assessed the situation immediately. “Get him to his feet and put a gun in his hand.”

  Marchent shot away before James could answer. James snatched up Adam’s hat and grasped the reins of Adam’s mare. Then he helped Adam to stand and hold his pistol.

  “You’d be better giving yourself up,” bellowed Marchent, but he indicated for James to get on the horse. “Kidnapping the Earl of Crofton will see you hanged, no matter how much the court loves you.”

  James finally understood what Marchent wanted him to do. He got on the horse. “I’ll come peacefully, but do not shoot His Grace.”

  Adam swayed, but then, using what must have been the last of his energy, he climbed on the horse behind James, slumping heavily against him.

  Without looking back, James kicked his heels and forced the horse to move. He had to get Adam to safety. Hopefully, Marchent and Remembrance would be the ones to give chase, as they had planned originally, and Lindon would not send any other men.

  Chapter 29

  Torn between the need to act quickly and trying not to exacerbate Adam’s injury, James manoeuvred the horse through the denser woodland in the general direction of Crofton Hall. Adam’s horse was a beauty, and he could see her pedigree in the line of her back and legs, but she needed a firm hand, and he was sure part of it was because it was him, not Adam, in control. Every so often she would resist, which he thought was not unlike her owner’s initial responses to him, and he kicked his heels to have her walk on a little faster.

  The plan had been for Adam to feign being injured and then slip away, with James, Marchent and Remembrance taking up pursuit, only to find nothing of the Chivalrous Highwayman but his mask and hat, with a trail of chicken blood leading nowhere. But instead James would have to think of something else. First thing, he needed to ensure Marchent and Remembrance could follow them, and with nothing else to leave as a trail, he took out his purse and began flicking a coin onto the ground at regular intervals.

  Beyond that, his mind was too swamped with thoughts of Adam’s injury—thoughts made worse by the minute by the shallow breaths and winces from Adam as they rode.

  James couldn’t say exactly how long they had been travelling, dread making the time tick slower, but eventually they emerged into a small clearing. He wanted to look at Adam’s wound, to see if there was anything he could do with his own limited medical skills, but he also did not like being out in the semi-open.

  The crash of branches behind them alerted him to new arrivals and he was relieved to see Marchent and Remembrance, without any of Lindon’s men alongside. “Thank the Lord it is you.”

  “First time you have been so happy to see me,” said Marchent with a smirk.

  Remembrance looked ashen and confused, but he got off his horse and came to James’s side unprompted.

  “Help me get Adam down,” James said, dismounting. He took some of Adam’s weight and helped lower him gently to the mossy ground. Somewhere along the journey the knife had either worked its way out or Adam had pulled it free, but it was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the dark material of Adam’s trousers glistened with his sticky blood. James knew he had to get Adam to a doctor; he himself could do little. Marchent’s expression was grave, and Remembrance wore a look of confusion.

  “Mr Dowson is the Chivalrous Highwayman?”

  He had not expected Remembrance to see Adam dressed like this, hadn’t thought he would need to explain matters. “Listen, Remembrance. I need you to keep this to yourself, understand?”

  Marchent clapped the boy on the shoulder. “You will be doing your master a great service by keeping his secrets.”

  Adam winced. “You can’t ask him to do that.”

  Remembrance expression turned serious. “Yes, he can, Mr Dowson. It would be my honour to do so.”

  Before another word could be spoken, Remembrance was stripping off his coat and had ripped the arm from his shirt.

  “We should try to stop the bleeding.” He gestured for James to take one of the torn sleeves. “Put that over the wound under his breeches.”

  Adam moaned in pain as James followed Remembrance’s instruction, sliding the cotton under the waistband and down his thigh. “This is hardly the place,” Adam said. A poor joke, given the circumstances.

  “Save your strength,” chided James. “I have no need for the sheriff to find a corpse to substantiate the demise of the Chivalrous Highwayman.”

  The sticky blood and metallic smell made his stomach roll, but James manoeuvred the makeshift dressing into place. Remembrance tied the other sleeve around Adam’s thigh. “How’s that feel?” he asked Adam.

  “Bloody painful. I doubt I can walk far.”

  Marchent crouched. “Do you think you can sit on a saddle if you get back on a horse?”

  “Sit, yes. Steer and control is doubtful.”

  Marchent stood back up and looked around. “Are we far from Crofton Hall?”

  “No,” answered James. “But it is not an obvious route back.”

  “I can give directions,” said Adam. “But Gypsy needs a firm hand at times.”

  James had seen that as he’d ridden Adam’s horse. He turned to Remembrance. “I know you aren’t used to riding, but can you get Mr Dowson back using Minerva?”

  Minerva was the steady mare James had instructed Remembrance to use. Her temperament calm, she was a good horse for a nervous rider.

  “I can try my very best.”

  “Good, lad!” said Marchent, smacking him on the back and almost sending him flying.

  Adam’s wig and hat were long gone, but the mask was still in place and James untied it. His face was pale and his skin clammy. “We need to get you a doctor.”

  “The wound needs cleaning,” said Adam. “One of the maids can do it under instruction once I’m back at the hall.”

  “We should send for Dr Newman.”

  “No,” insisted Adam. “He’s too honest. He will have too many questions about how I got the wound. Send for Bestow from the north side of Hertford. He’s helped me before. For a price.”

  “Money is not an issue.” James turned to Remembrance. “Take him back to the hall and then go fetch the doctor.”

  “There is no need to fuss,” said Adam as Marchent and James helped him get on the horse Remembrance had mounted, but his voice was getting fainter and James couldn’t help but worry.

  “My mother can sit with you, and she can clean a wound,” said James. “She won’t let you do anything stupid.”

  “I did wonder where you got your stubborn streak from.”

  James took and squeezed Adam’s hand. “I’ll be there as soon I can.”

  “What will you do?”

  “We’ll think of something.”

  Remembrance dug around in the satchel he still had across his body and handed James a leather skein. “The chicken blood, my lord. I didn’t realise what you needed it for before, but I guess you were going to make it look as if the Chivalrous Highwayman had slipped away, and you can still do that. Maybe His Grace can tie you to a tree and say he found you, and you sent me off to see what I could find once the trial went cold.”

  If James had ever felt the need to be exonerated for his choice of manservant, this was it. Remembrance was worth a hundred of his other servants. He’d known he was bright and loyal, but he’d never expected this. “Excellent idea. Now, get Mr Dowson to the hall.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Remembrance gently tapped Minerva’s sides with his heels and the horse began to walk on. James watched them go. Their pace was too slow for his liking, but they didn’t have another option, and as much as he wanted to be with Adam, he and Marchent had to make good on the rest of his plan.


  Marchent took the skein from him and grinned. “Any particular tree you’d like me to tie you to?”

  “You don’t actually have to do it, you big oaf.”

  “I’ve heard the story about how you were tied up by the Chivalrous Highwayman. I assume you enjoyed it.”

  James shoved Marchent. “Enough! We have a trail to set.”

  Marchent went off into a patch of denser woodland, sprinkling blood and bashing twigs and small branches as he went, to make it obvious someone had passed that way. He disappeared from sight, leaving James on his own to think.

  He wished he had been able to persuade Adam to stay away, and he hoped this part of the ruse would work well enough to convince Lindon the Chivalrous Highwayman was gone for good. It would be better this way. Adam would no longer be risking his life, but James did think he would need to come up with something to ensure Adam didn’t hark back to a time of adventure and excitement. Life could be dull, and for a man who had seen so much and then been forced into inactivity, it would be tedious.

  That was something he could ponder once he was back at the hall. Adam’s injuries were a worry, but at least he was conscious. James’s own head was throbbing, and the impact from the butt of the gun would leave him with a nasty bruise and minor discomfort for a few days, but nothing long-term.

  Marchent reappeared. “Well, it’s done. And we should go and find Lindon before he comes looking for us.”

  Adam’s horse seemed to look at James with disinterest as he approached her. Without an injured passenger he was able to traverse the woodland much quicker, and he headed back towards where the bandits had been captured. He hadn’t been gone so long, and, sure enough, the sheriff was still in the clearing, the captured men tied up and the bodies of those who hadn’t survived loaded onto a cart.

  “Your Grace! Your lordship!” cried Lindon as he spotted them. “I was about to send a tracker to find you.”

  Marchent spoke as he and James dismounted. “I told you Crofton had nothing to fear from the Chivalrous Highwayman. I found him tied to a tree in a clearing.”

  “I must admit he did not harm me.” James made sure his expression was neutral before he continued. “But I believe whatever injury he sustained did for him, given the state of him. After he left me, he limped away into the forest. When Marchent and my servant Remembrance arrived they tried to track where he went, but they lost the trail. He may have been a thief and bandit, but he was not like the bastard who attacked the coach today.”

  “The law would not agree,” said Lindon.

  “It does not have to. A dead man only has to make his peace with his maker. I had Remembrance try and track him further, but I suggest you take some men and ride a few miles east from here, to see if you can find a body to claim, before he becomes even more of a legend than he already is.” James turned to examine the scene in front of him. “Enough talk of a dead highwayman. How goes it here?”

  The coach was still in situ and he could hear Tilly chattering away with some of the sheriff’s men, clearly delighted with the turn of events.

  “All is secure, my lord. Her ladyship will be free to travel.”

  “I think it better she returns to Crofton Hall this evening. She has had far too much excitement for one day. Then she can travel back with His Grace on the morrow, if that suits.”

  Marchent sniffed. “I have no issue, but your cousin may not wish to keep me company. She was none too happy on the journey here.”

  “I sense she will not mind so much. Although Lady Matilda likes to speak as if she has the heart of a lion, today will have rattled even her sensibilities.”

  Tilly would have been horrified to hear him say so, but she had a softer heart than she would admit to, and even though she had been part of the drama, a few extra men for protection on her travels back to London would, if not on the surface, be welcome.

  Marchent squeezed his shoulder. “Let us accompany her ladyship back to Crofton Hall on horseback. I am sure the good sheriff will seek you out if he needs more from you.”

  Lindon readily agreed, and James couldn’t wait to get back to the hall and speak to Adam.

  Chapter 30

  By the time James arrived at Crofton Hall most of the day was behind him and the light was failing. Marchent had understood his need to see Adam, and Tilly, who was already annoyed she had not been able to return to London to preen at court, had waved him away and headed to her room, claiming to be too exhausted by the day’s events to be fit for company.

  Remembrance came racing towards him as he headed up the stairs. He looked stricken, ash-white and red-eyed. “My lord, it’s Mr Dowson.”

  “What about him?” his heart stuttered as he waited for Remembrance to speak.

  “He’s not well—burning with a fever. The doctor has been and his potions fetched from the apothecary, but—”

  James burst into a sprint, Remembrance at his heels as he raced down the hallway to Adam’s room, not caring if anyone saw him. He had to get to Adam, nothing else mattered.

  James stopped dead in his tracks when he flew into the room and saw Adam propped up on a mound of pillows. The scene before him was so similar to when his father was dying that he could barely breathe. Adam was pale, almost grey, his eyes were closed and his mouth hung slightly open. His skin was clammy and his nightshirt damp from sweat. He hadn’t stirred when James entered. If it weren’t for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, James might have thought Adam dead.

  “The physician gave him something to help him sleep.” Remembrance stood next to him. “There’s another load of bottles for when he’s awake, and we’re to change his dressing regularly.”

  James couldn’t speak. He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Adam’s short hair. All he could do was wait and pray for Adam’s recovery. He didn’t dare allow himself to think of an alternative, couldn’t bear the thought of the man he loved being taken from him. If Adam were to die it would be even worse than when he’d lost David; the man he was today would not survive the pain of losing Adam. It had taken nearly half a decade to love again after David had died, if Adam were to leave him, he would never have room for another in his heart.

  “I will sit with him.”

  Remembrance dragged a chair to the side of the bed. “At least do so comfortably, my lord. Mr Dowson will sleep for some time, and you know he would not want you inconvenienced.”

  Without replying, James sat in the chair, more not to disturb Adam than for his own benefit. He barely noticed Remembrance leave, or return with something for him to eat and drink. The tray remained untouched. He had no appetite, not when Adam looked like death.

  James jerked awake, confused at where he was. His eyesight was blurry and he had no sense of the time.

  “Shush, my darling.”

  “Mother?”

  Anna stroked his hair and James sat back in the chair. “You’ve been in here for three days, James. You need to sleep in your own bed.”

  The light in the room meant it must have been mid-morning. He’d not left Adam’s side since he’d arrived. Marchent and Tilly had returned to London. Both had offered to stay, but he would not hear of inconveniencing them further. Lindon had also sent word he needed to talk to him, but James had replied he was recovering from his injuries and would be in touch as soon as he could.

  If he was not mistaken, Adam seemed a little better this morning. He had not woken, and James had called the physician back, only to be told sleep was the best medicine for Adam and that he could do no more than help keep him comfortable. James had been desperate for better news, but there was none to be had.

  “James,” Anna prompted gently.

  “I am needed here.” He had not spoken to her of what Adam meant to him, but he knew she was too intelligent a woman to think his actions those of a friend.

  “Mr Dowson would not want you to get ill. You need to eat and sleep.”

  His eyes felt gritty, his tongue parched, but it was nothing but a mild discomfort. �
��I understand that you are worried, but I want to be here when he wakes.”

  She smiled and took his hand. “You have always followed your own path, James. I have worried about you and your… exploits at court. But I sensed you were at peace at last. I know what it is like to lose the man you love.”

  He stared up at her, unsure what to say, but there was no malice or disgust in her expression. “If he survives, there will not be another. I will not take a wife, heir or no heir.”

  “You will need to be careful.”

  He was surprised she hadn’t mentioned his rank and position at court. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “I am old, not deaf. James, you are the Earl of Crofton. I can no more tell you what to do than I could your father. Marriage and children are what is expected of you, but since when have you cared for such notions? Life is short and can be cruel. Love is a rare gift and must be grasped and treated with care.” She smiled. “And you do have a younger brother.”

  “Francis has already set his sights on Marchent’s sister—and His Grace is not averse to the match.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Then for now, please reduce my concerns and go and sleep. I can sit with Mr Dowson, and if there is any change I will send for you immediately.”

  He had insisted on the same when his father had been at death’s door. “You are not to hesitate to fetch me.”

  “I will send your funny manservant running if there is the slightest flicker.”

  Although still reluctant, he knew she was right. He would be no use to Adam once he awoke if he was a mere shadow of himself. A few hours of sleep and something to eat and the world would be a better place.

  The world had failed to improve its outlook, and another three restless nights passed. James had fallen asleep, resting his arms on the bed next to Adam. A touch, pleasant and sensitive, coaxed him out of his slumber. A featherlike fingertip-trace persevered, dancing over his right ear in an almost ghost-like fashion. He blinked back sleep, his focus still not perfect.