by Sawyer North
She cocked her head and smirked. “And yet I disarmed you.”
“Only because you took me by surprise.”
“Or, sir, perhaps you require additional practice. What would your noble friends say if they knew a woman had bested you with a sword?”
His grin faded to a scowl. “They would say that we should sleep now, because first light comes far too soon.”
Lucy laughed, reveling in her minor victory. She spread blankets on the soil across the clearing from where he laid his. After they had bundled inside their respective coverings and fallen silent for a time, she could not resist one final taunt.
“I have my rapier at hand. If you wish another bout, simply shout ‘en garde!’ Then I shall know you are ready and cannot be taken by surprise.”
“Duly noted,” he replied sleepily. “However, I wonder if the surprises have only just begun.”
…
As Henry lay in his bedroll on the borderlands of sleep, a distant memory came to him unbidden, one he had not thought of in years. It was from a decade earlier, the week after his brother had banished him to live with his sister, Charlotte, in Oxfordshire. Despite the kind welcome he had received from Charlotte and her family, he had remained sullen and reserved. When a marquess had arrived unexpectedly with his young daughter, Lady Margaret Huntington, Henry had slipped into the hidden room behind the library for refuge. Before long, the girl had burst into his fortress like a surge of light to dispel his darkness and had insisted he call her Lucy. Henry shook his head at the memory of that Lucy from another time. She was markedly different than his present companion, so ladylike in her manner. Before drifting off to sleep, he thought with regret of her tragic death only days after their long-ago meeting.
Chapter Four
At mid-morning, Henry and his intriguing traveling mate met up with the Dover highway near the outskirts of London. Lucy remained unusually quiet, apparently deep in thought. Once on the safety of the well-traveled thoroughfare, Henry relaxed somewhat. He watched Lucy’s unkempt braid sway back and forth as she rode ahead of him. She slouched in her saddle, a picture of defeat.
“Do you despise me, then,” he said, “for throwing cold water on your well-laid plan?”
She glanced across her shoulder, dark eyes defiant. “No. I despised you well before that. Your information is simply a disastrous complication. However, I have a new plan but one that still involves you, much to my chagrin.”
He spurred his horse to draw alongside her. “You require my help, you say?”
“Yes. Do not gloat. It does not suit you.”
“I never gloat, but revel from time to time. Regardless, why would I willingly help an associate of thieves?”
Her withering glare raised his eyebrows and forced him to lean away.
“Again,” she said, “your ignorance of my circumstances astounds, yet you continue to speak as if an expert on the matter. I expected little of you, Lord Pink, and thus far you have not disappointed my low expectations.”
She faced forward and made clear her intention to withhold further conversation unless he initiated it. After some time, his curiosity overcame his annoyance. “If I am to consider assisting you, then at least share your brilliant plan.”
She made no indication of having heard him. He gritted his jaw. “Please.”
“As you wish.”
She reached to her neck and removed a locket that had until then remained hidden beneath the neckline of her shirt. “I must return this to the original and rightful owner. Perhaps she will offer a small reward for its recovery.”
Henry eyed the locket dangling from her hand, unable to discern the pattern from where he rode. “Did you steal it?”
She glared at him again. “No. It was given to me by my father.”
“Did he steal it?”
Henry feared he might have overstepped his bounds again when her chin trembled with anger. He dipped his forehead. “I retract that. How did your clearly virtuous father come by it?”
She breathed deeply, apparently quelling rage. “The original owner gave it to him as a show of affection.”
He stretched out a hand. “May I?”
She hesitated before handing the locket to him, making no eye contact when doing so. He studied the engraving on the face of the piece and determined it to be a coat of arms for some noble house. He pried the locket open with his thumbnail to reveal a pair of tiny hand-painted portraits of a middle-aged man and woman. The woman oddly resembled Lucy. Henry peered at the man, sensing vague familiarity. He frowned as he closed the locket. Such an item was priceless to those who had commissioned the artwork inside. How a common thief had come into possession of it through “affectionate” means baffled him. He returned it to her.
“Who, then, originally owned this locket?”
Lucy watched Henry as if attempting to gauge his reaction to her response. “The Dowager Duchess of Ramsbury.”
His expression likely did not disappoint. “You don’t say.”
“I do say.”
He nodded with surprise. “I do not know the duchess, despite having met her husband once when I was young. Does she yet live?”
“Yes, although the duke died some years ago. She is the last of her family.”
“How do you know this?”
“I pestered Steadman until he told me.”
Henry nodded. “And you trust the word of a notorious highwayman?”
“Explicitly. He has never lied to me.” She sighed heavily. “Until yesterday.”
“Right. But that raises a most intriguing question. How is my help required? This is none of my business.”
Lucy looked away, her face coloring slightly. “Because, sir, in my current state, the gatekeepers of the duchess’s house would not allow me across the servants’ threshold, let alone grant me an audience with their mistress. However, the second son of a respected earl might provide me immediate access.”
He glanced sidelong at her, his eyes narrowing. “How did you know that I was the second son, and not his third or fourth?”
“I pay attention.”
He fought to suppress his astonishment at a growing epiphany. “I see, but you should know that I pay attention as well.”
…
Lucy held her tongue while Henry appeared to consider the proposal. She caught him repeatedly glancing at her with skeptical curiosity, but he said nothing for the space of two miles as they entered London’s outer boroughs. Finally, he faced her with a quizzical expression that rendered his grim demeanor much more pleasing.
“As I mentioned earlier, I met the Duke of Ramsbury when I was a boy. Imposing old gentleman with wild eyebrows. Very gruff, he was.”
“Sounds like the duke. Go on, then.”
“He came to visit my brother-in-law shortly after a similar visit from his son and granddaughter.”
Lucy swallowed a gasp. “Oh? Is that so?”
“Yes. The duke wished to know details of his son’s arguments against disinheritance. He also wished to determine where they had gone, but we did not know. He seemed a severe fellow, but I do recall apparent concern for his son, and even more for the granddaughter he had never met.”
She gripped the reins to hide the tremble of her hands. “Really? How interesting.” Her quivering voice betrayed her attempted show of calm.
“Yes. Quite interesting. However, the most compelling aspect of the story is my personal meeting with the granddaughter during her visit. An odd creature, to be certain.”
“Oh? How so?”
“The girl barged into my secret room and demanded that we read some frivolous fairy tale, and then she read it poorly at that. Very odd indeed.”
She failed to restrain her indignation before erupting. “She did not barge in! She was kind to you, not demanding! She read Robinson Crusoe as you most certain
ly know, and read it quite well, thank you!”
Lucy regretted the outburst even as the words tumbled forth, but she seemed powerless to stop them. Henry stared at her with wide eyes and a slack jaw.
“I considered that you were…but did not truly think the possibility was…” He stopped as if to gather his scattered logic. “You are supposed to be dead!”
She returned his stare, her mind in chaos, until his confusion forced her eyes away. “Clearly, I am not,” she whispered.
“But I remember the story well, as it involved someone near my age. The tragic accident. The daughter lost to the river…”
“And her body was never found, so everyone simply assumed her dead.”
Henry rubbed his forehead. “Why not, then, just tell the duchess you are her long-lost granddaughter?”
She shook her head adamantly and snorted disdain. “No, I cannot.”
“Why not?”
She stared ahead while grasping for an answer amid the complexity of her reasons. She settled for the one most primal. “I want nothing of the insidious cage of nobility. Steadman warned me repeatedly of its corrosive effects on basic human decency. Why would I trade bread for poison? And now that I have found liberty, why would I exchange it for shackles more confining than those I left behind?”
His eyes squinted further. “Shackles?”
“Do not judge me. You may possess all the privileges in the world but judging me is not one of them.”
He turned to watch the road. “It is not judgment I feel. I am merely perplexed by your odd reasoning.”
“There is that word again. Odd. You seem to enjoy describing me that way. Do you consider me odd?”
“Yes. Very.”
Her annoyance bubbled over. “At least I am true to my character. You, however, seem to lack any insight whatsoever into yours.”
His nostrils flared and his jaw flexed as he appeared to bite back a curse. “At least tell me what happened.”
“I owe you no explanation.”
“True. But might you enlighten my ignorance?”
Lucy balked. She had never told anyone exactly what had happened that day. Not even Steadman. Now, this arrogant man wanted the truth? Before she could deny his request, though, her heart flooded unexpectedly with the need to tell her story. For the first time. To anyone.
“I will tell you, but only for the sake of your benighted ignorance.”
“As you wish, Miss Locket.”
She inhaled a deep breath and poured forth the story of the dark day, eleven years earlier, when her idyllic world had crumbled.
Gripped by the terror of an incomprehensible event, Lucy stared fixedly at her father. He crouched before her as the carriage rocked to a stop. Every fiber of her senses strained toward his grimly urgent instructions.
“You must take courage, Lucy. Courage beyond anything you have required before.”
She held her father’s gaze while highwaymen on horseback shouted threats both vague and oddly specific, and noted an air of nobility surpassing anything she had recognized in him before. Unkempt hair framed an angular face, while the fine coat bearing the dukedom’s crest strained against his shoulders.
“Promise me?”
“I promise.”
He nodded with pride in his eyes before retrieving a familiar locket from his coat. He slipped the chain over her head and patted it against her chest.
“This bears the seal of House Huntington, Duke of Ramsbury. It marks you as protected by the Crown and beyond ill treatment. If the worst happens, the locket may preserve your life. Protect it as if sacred. Protect it for our family. Do you understand?”
She nodded numbly, her emotions awhirl, and tucked the locket inside her dress. Her father stepped from the coach to confront the highwaymen, speaking to them calmly. Not so calm, however, was the driver who discharged a pistol while tossing it to the ground. The horses bolted, throwing Lucy to the floor. When she regained her seat, her eyes met those of a man wearing a purple mask. His mount flew alongside the carriage as he strained to recapture the runaway vehicle. After an eternity of trying and failing, he reached one hand through the window.
“Take my hand, girl! Before…”
As if in anticipation of his unspoken warning, the horses broke free and the carriage careened from the road and down an embankment toward the gushing Thames, all the while tilting slowly to one side. Lucy tumbled against the opposite door as the carriage tipped past the perilous point of no return. A bone-jarring shudder marked the moment of impact with the river, followed by a shocking inrush of chill waters. The flow closed quickly around her and muffled the chaos. Disoriented, she thrashed wildly in search of bearings as the coach door drifted open in the darkness of the swollen river. With her last breath leaking from an open mouth, Lucy beat desperately toward the light for what seemed an eternity before surfacing. She immediately inhaled part breath and water, producing a violent cough that increased her panic and threatened to return her to the murk below. Fortunately, her aquatic skills, honed over the course of many Mediterranean summers, served to keep her afloat. With waterlogged eyes, she scanned for a glimpse of the shoreline. There! Although carried rapidly by the current, she dipped her head and paddled toward a wall of trees. Two dozen desperate strokes brought her within grasping range of the tall grass that carpeted the bank. After a few failed attempts, she found purchase sufficient to haul her body into the shallows.
Lucy lay unmoving, half submerged in the tugging current before crawling wearily onto the tree-lined bank. She collapsed into the grass and dropped her head between gathered knees, sobbing. How long she remained that way she could not tell, but a hand upon her shoulder roused her. She spun, expecting to find her father safe and sound. Instead, she met the studying gaze of a familiar stranger. The purple mask now lay limp against his neck. She leaped up and nearly stumbled into the river before he pulled her to safety.
“Take care, young lady.” The cultured accent matched the young man’s dapper appearance and handsome face. “You only just completed your last swim. I rather believe you lack the strength for another.”
She wrenched her arm from his grasp. He held both palms before her in a show of calm.
“I wish you no injury, miss.” As his gaze swept the river behind Lucy, his eyes dimmed. He whispered, “That should never have happened. Horrible bad luck.”
He watched the current roll by before reengaging Lucy’s eyes and appeared to force a smile. “I wish only to talk, girl.”
Through tear-stained eyes, she glared suspiciously but nodded. He accepted the gesture as affirmation.
“The first order of conversation is the locket around your neck. Let us speak of that.”
Her hand darted to her neck and found with relief that the locket had survived the tumultuous plunge, though now on full display. He watched as she fingered the necklace, his eyes mutely testifying that he understood its meaning. He nodded as if satisfied.
“And just what shall I call you?”
Panic rose anew in Lucy. Her eyes darted wildly in search of escape, but the thick trees pinned her within the man’s reach no matter her direction of flight. She carefully considered her father’s words concerning the locket and his admonition of courage. Though crushed by fear, she straightened her spine and stood primly before the tall man.
“My name is Lucy.”
His eyebrows arched with skepticism. “Lucy, you say? Not Lady Margaret Huntington?”
“My father calls me Lucy.”
He watched her in grim silence. “Very well…Miss Lucy Locket.”
“Just Lucy,” she corrected.
His devilish smile returned as quickly as it had departed. “Oh, no. I believe Lucy Locket is a superior alias. Just as in the vulgar rhyme of the common folk.”
She gazed at him blinking. His smile broadened. “The rhyme? Yo
u do not know it?”
She shook her head.
“Well, then allow me to instruct you. The rhyme proceeds thus.”
He stood straight with one hand behind his waist and the other gripping his lapel. When he spoke, he did so in the manner of a stage actor. “Lucy Locket lost her pocket, Kitty Fisher found it. Not a penny was there in it, only ribbon round it.”
He studied her unchanging face before continuing. “There, you see? Lucy Locket. A wonderful alias suitable to your current circumstances, for you have most definitely lost your pocket.”
Reality hammered Lucy again. Fear cascaded upon her and she began to sob anew. The strange man surprised her by gripping her shoulders lightly.
“There, there, Miss Lucy.” His voice was filled with compassion. “I meant no harm. Sometimes my black humor runs away with my mouth, and I have the devil of a time retrieving it. And I’ll have you know that we never harm anyone. Your father is quite safe, I assure you.”
The unexpected hope helped stifle her sobs. “He is?”
“You have my word.” Then the stranger slapped his forehead. “But where are my manners?”
He removed his hat and bowed formally with a flourish of his right hand. “Sir Steadman, at your service.”
He glanced up at her while still in full bow, seeking recognition. She glared at him mutely. He grimaced.
“Sir Steadman? The Beau Monde Highwayman? The Knight of the Road? Have you not heard the name?”
Lucy shook her head with a tear-moistened frown. He stood and replaced his hat. “Just as well. Most of the stories about me are sorely lacking in veracity. I am nothing near seven feet tall, am I?”
She began to shake her head, but the sound of approaching voices drew Steadman’s attention to the forest behind him. He abruptly pivoted to Lucy with features deadly serious and leaned low.
“If you wish to live, then let me hold your locket for you.”
Her grip tightened on the necklace even as her instincts whispered of the truth behind the man’s warning. He held an open hand to her urgently. On impulse, she breathed an apology to her father, slipped the chain over her head, and held it to the man. He took the locket, slipped it into his jacket, and spun to meet four rough and grimy men emerging from the woods.
