The Lady and the Highwayman

by Sarah M. Eden

  “I—”

  It crouched lower, shifting its weight again and again from one taloned paw to the other, clearly preparing to pounce.

  “—am—”

  It leaped for her, hooked claws aimed for her head.

  “—not afraid of you.”

  Light poured from her necklace, so bright it penetrated her coat, filling the cave with a red glow. The beast, in mid-flight, was tossed away from her by the force of the light.

  Lucinda, herself, was thrown backward. She landed on her side, skidding along the rocky surface, glowing and hurting and confused.

  Complete silence descended on the cave. No claws tearing at rock, no hot, heavy breaths. She pulled herself up on her elbows. The necklace no longer glowed. The lantern Sir Frederick had been holding was extinguished. She could hear nothing and see nothing.

  “Nanette?” Her voice quavered. She was concerned for the girl, yes, but not truly afraid. No longer. The fear she had felt upon first seeing the beast was, somehow, gone. “Sir Frederick?”

  “We’re here.” His deep, steady voice proved vastly reassuring.

  “I cannot see,” she said. “The beast may be—”

  “You’ve destroyed it.” Nanette spoke with surety.

  Something brushed against her. She flinched back, only to realize it was Sir Frederick. He pulled her into his embrace. Her hands found Nanette there with them. She clung to them both.

  “You’ve done it, Lucinda,” Sir Frederick whispered. “I knew you would. I knew it from the very first.”

  “The beast really has been destroyed?”

  “It has.”

  “And I’m no longer afraid,” Nanette said.

  Sir Frederick helped her to her feet. As Nanette had said, the aura of fear that had filled the place, that she had fought against while facing the monster, had dissipated.

  The lantern was lit a moment later. Sir Frederick held it aloft, illuminating the cave once more. She saw no sign of the beast she had faced.

  “It is gone,” she said in amazement.

  “When the light from your necklace reached it, the monster simply dissolved.” He held out his hand.

  She set her hand in his. “Then the necklace really is the amulet.” She wrapped her other hand around Nanette’s.

  “It is,” Sir Frederick said.

  She eyed him as they moved swiftly but carefully from the cave. “You do not seem surprised.”

  “I recognized it,” he said.

  “Then why did you not tell me? Or take the talisman yourself? You knew where the beast was and what it was and—”

  “I haven’t your bravery, my dear. I could not have done what you did.”

  She shook her head. “If you had worn the amulet, you could have.”

  “The necklace was important, but it was not the crucial element. Others have attempted what you just did and failed.”

  They stepped from the cave into the forest. She had all but forgotten it was daytime. It had been so dark and foreboding in the cavern. She looked back at the mouth of the cave. The beast was truly gone. She, somehow, had faced it and, without knowing, defeated it.

  “I have never been truly brave,” she said.

  Sir Frederick raised her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss there. “Your bravery was apparent from the very first. I knew then that you were the one we’d been waiting for.”

  Their first meeting had been tea amongst neighbors. She’d hardly been brave then; she hadn’t needed to be.

  They walked through the forest, hand-in-hand-in-hand.

  “The monster truly is gone?” Nanette asked as they approached Hilltop House. “It won’t come back?”

  “It won’t come back,” Sir Frederick said. “Our Miss Ledford made quite certain of that.” He looked to Lucinda. “You’ve saved us all.”

  He then did something Lucinda thought never to see: he smiled. A heart-melting, soul-warming, dimpled smile.

  King Street. The Dread Penny Society had its headquarters on King Street. How had she not realized

  it sooner? She’d crossed paths with Fletcher on that very street more than once. She’d come across Hollis Darby and Stone, both of whom she suspected belonged to that mysterious fraternity. She might have written about great mysteries being unwound by intrepid women, but she herself was falling short of that mark.

  As she turned swiftly from Garrick onto King Street, she eyed the familiar buildings. She’d passed them often with no idea the secrets one of them kept.

  From the crossing of Garrick and King. The fifth door toward Covent Gardens. Knock three times. She’d repeated Fletcher’s instructions again and again as she’d raced toward King Street. She knew them now word for word.

  “One. Two.” She silently counted each door she passed. “ . . . Four. Five.” She stopped, out of breath but determined. She knew this door. It was the very step on which she’d stood with Fletcher and Stone only that morning. They’d been at their headquarters, and she hadn’t even realized it.

  She knocked at the door three times as instructed.

  When the butler answers, give him the penny and tell him you require an audience with a Dreadful. He’ll make you wait on the step, but someone will come speak with you.

  The scraggliest butler she’d ever seen opened the door, looking for all the world as if he were barely awake. She knew better than to trust appearances. The building looked to be of little import, but was actually significant. The members of this society gave the impression of hiding nothing, but they all were doing quite the opposite.

  She produced Fletcher’s penny and held it out to him. “I require an audience with a Dreadful.” She spoke with more surety than she felt.

  The butler took her coin and promptly shut the door.

  He’ll make you wait on the step.

  She hoped that was indeed what he was doing rather than simply taking her penny and promptly forgetting her existence. She hadn’t another penny. Without one, she wouldn’t have Fletcher’s backing to grant her the ear of this organization. And she needed their help. Mr. Hogg and his children needed their help.

  So she waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Oh, Fletcher. You had best be correct about this. I don’t know what else to do.

  The door opened once more. Far from relieved, her nervousness increased tenfold. She knew for a fact she wasn’t meant to be on this doorstep in possession of the information she had. The Dreadfuls might not be willing to listen. Or they might lend her an audience only to later exact some kind of punishment on Fletcher for whispering their secret. What if she was about to create mountains of trouble?

  On the other side of the door stood Brogan Donnelly. She ought to have realized they would choose someone she already knew had an association with the Dread Penny Society. They’d be giving away no new information that way.

  “Come in.” He motioned her through the door with a sharp jerk of his hand.

  She moved quickly. The door was shut directly behind her. The scraggly butler sat in a chair nearby, slumped against the back, head bent backward and mouth agape, quite as one would be if asleep in a chair. But how could he be so quickly?

  “This is one of Fletcher’s pennies.” Brogan held up the coin she had delivered.

  “Two of Mrs. George’s men attacked my school and attempted to set it afire. They’ve indicated that others are heading for Hogg’s school to do the same.” She spoke quickly, not wishing to waste even a moment. “Fletcher sent me here so the society could send help to Mr. Hogg. He himself went to Bow Street.”

  Brogan turned to the man in the chair. “Sound the alert. All hands to Hogg’s.”

  The butler jumped agilely to his feet and rushed to the back of the corridor. An instant later, Elizabeth heard bells ringing throughout the building.
/>   “What do you need me to do?” she asked.

  “Secure your school. The Dreadfuls there will stay with you until all’s well.”

  “Will someone send word once Hogg’s school is safe? I will not be able to rest until I know.”

  His smile was quick but kind. “I’d wager Fletch’ll call on you soon enough.”

  Her heart simultaneously rose and dropped. “Will he be in trouble for telling me where to find all of you?”

  The Irishman’s expression turned serious. “He’s violated a rule. There’re consequences for that.”

  “But what choice did he have?” she argued.

  “There’s always a choice, lass. He wouldn’t have made this one lightly.”

  That was not overly reassuring. “Will he lose his membership?”

  “Possibly.”

  Oh, mercy. “The work of this group is so important to him, Mr. Donnelly. Not being part of it would . . . It would tear him apart.”

  “It’s out of his hands now.” He motioned her to the door. “The fewer people you see here, the better chance he has, since he’ll not have revealed everything. I’d suggest you go.”

  “New people must be told of this location sometimes, else you’d never have new members,” she said as she moved to the door.

  “But you’re not a new member, are you? And you never could be. That’s a crucial difference.”

  She set her hand on the doorknob. “Please argue for him. Please.”

  He only gave a quick nod and indicated again she should go.

  In the length of a breath, she was out on the step in the diminishing light of evening. Alone. And worried.

  Parkington had faith enough in Fletcher to rouse several of his colleagues to join the rush to the York Place ragged school. Many in the Dread Penny Society would be there already—Fletcher hadn’t a doubt Elizabeth had delivered her message—either doing their utmost to counter the threat or waiting for it to arrive. Parkington didn’t know they belonged to the DPS. They’d always explained themselves to him as merely a group of concerned citizens who did what they could where they could. Bringing the man in didn’t violate any rules. Sending Elizabeth had.

  He’d not worry about that yet, though. They’d far more immediate troubles.

  Hogg’s was a day school. The students wouldn’t likely still be there. But Hogg very well might be. His partners at the school, Kinnaird and Pelham, might be as well. The school’s staff also. While fewer lives were in immediate danger, the situation felt no less urgent. They’d people to warn and a school to save.

  Parkington barked out orders as soon as they reached the school, sending some of his men around the building in one direction, some in the other.

  “I’ve a few mates who’re likely here,” Fletcher told him. “They’ve come to protect the school as well.”

  “Might be tough to tell who’s with us and who’s against us.” Parkington glanced at him briefly.

  “We save the school first and sort out the rest later.”

  A whistle pierced the air.

  “One of my men,” Parkington said, rushing in the direction of the sound, Fletcher hard on his heels.

  The sounds of a struggle reached them before the sight of it did. Brogan and Stone were fist-to-face with two brawny men, neither of whom Fletcher recognized. Three of Parkington’s men were rushing on other unknowns, all of whom held the very type of torches they’d been finding around the school the last weeks and that George’s bullyboy had tried to use to set fire to Thurloe.

  Parkington rushed into the fray. Fletcher spotted Kumar, another of the Dreadfuls, swatting at smoldering flames among a few of the bushes that were dangerously close to the school.

  “The staff?” Fletcher asked.

  “We got them out,” he said. “Hogg and Kinnaird were here. They’ve taken the servants to a safe place. This lot”—he indicated the men fighting and shouting and attempting to get their torches to the walls—“were on us almost the instant the staff were out. It was a close-run thing, my friend.”

  “And we ain’t clear yet.” Fletcher swatted at the bushes. It was the second fire he’d fought that day.

  One of the policemen blew on his whistle again. Everyone who’d come would soon be there to join the fight. With any luck, they’d vastly outnumber the ne’er-do-wells.

  Fletcher and Kumar managed to extinguish the glow in the shrubbery in time to spot the telltale amber of new flames not far distant.

  “These blokes’ll burn the place down yet,” Fletcher growled.

  “Not if we’ve a say in the matter.” Kumar was on the move before finishing the declaration.

  Fletcher’s attention was caught by a stout man tossing a torch and running from the fray. Oh, he’d not be getting away so easily as that. Fletcher rushed after him, catching up easily. With a leap, his arms outstretched, he tackled the would-be arsonist, slamming him hard against the ground. The man struggled, surprisingly strong. Fletcher held fast, managing to turn his quarry enough for the dim remaining light to reveal his identity.

  “Allen,” Fletcher spat.

  “You. You were one of ’em who stole the boy.” Anger. Pure, unsheathed anger.

  “I’ll steal a hundred children from the likes of you,” Fletcher said.

  Even pinned to the ground, Allen’s arrogance didn’t abate. “And Four-Finger’ll steal ’em back. You’ll never save ’em all.”

  “Watch me.” He shoved the man hard against the ground again.

  “Rough me up all you like. I already have what I came for.”

  Fear seized Fletcher’s chest. Daniel. Had Allen abducted him again? Fletcher refused to believe he’d failed the child again. But the Dreadfuls might not’ve thought to evacuate the mews.

  “Parkington!” He had to shout twice to catch the policeman’s notice. “I’ve a lowlife for you here. Caught him tryin’ to run off.”

  “You’ll be too late.” Allen sounded gratingly sure of himself.

  Fletcher tried to hold back his own doubts and worries. He’d not lose Daniel again.

  One of Parkington’s colleagues soon took Fletcher’s place. Ignoring Allen’s heckling, Fletcher rushed toward the stables a fair distance away. Joe would be guarding the boy, but he needed to know the danger was higher than it had been.

  The stable door was open. Fletcher didn’t pause, but ran directly inside and nearly collided with Joe. He ducked before the man could land him a hard facer.

  “It’s Walker,” he said, slipping out of the way of a second punch.

  Joe lowered his arms and took a tight breath. “Thought you was Four-Finger Mike.”

  “You know, then?”

  Joe glanced over his shoulder into the dim interior of the stable. “Miss Black told us there was like to be trouble tonight.”

  “She was here?”

  “Is here.” Joe motioned with his head in the same direction he’d looked only a moment ago.

  Was she daft? “Elizabeth?”

  “I was afraid for Daniel,” her beloved voice answered. “I knew Joe would stand guard if only he knew.”

  “Keep an eye out,” Fletcher told the stablehand, then crossed to where Elizabeth was. His eyes adjusted as he moved farther inside. By the time he reached the backmost stall, he could see her sitting there, holding Daniel to her. “You took a mighty risk.”

  “I’ve taken quite a few today, in fact,” she said. “I’ll keep taking this one until I know the boy is safe.”

  Fletcher crouched down on the ground in front of them. “Your school’s secure. My mate at the Metropolitan Police sent some men over to keep watch. We might do best to take Daniel there until we know he’d be safe here.”

  Elizabeth thought on it a moment. “I don’t think he’d like being away from Joe. But it wouldn’t be permanent. I imagine he would be back here
tomorrow.”

  “Likely.” Fletcher’s senses were on edge. He had the strongest suspicion the danger was growing, though he couldn’t say why he felt that so keenly. “Joe,” he called over his shoulder. “Would you object if we took the boy to Miss Black’s school? He’d be safer there.”

  “Whatever’ll keep him safest.”

  Fletcher tucked Daniel up against him. Elizabeth kept close at their side. Together, they moved swiftly from the stables, pausing long enough for Joe to tell the boy to be brave and that he’d come for him the moment it was safe to do so.

  Out into the night they stepped. It was nearly completely dark. Perhaps they’d best call for a hansom cab. They’d only just crossed in front of Hogg’s school when pounding footsteps approached.

  “Guard the boy,” Elizabeth called out the instant before a looming figure pounded into Fletcher, sending him to the ground, Daniel with him.

  The assailant reached for Daniel. Enough light remained to reveal his four-fingered right hand. This was the man they’d feared would come.

  Fletcher rolled away, hopping to his feet and setting himself between Daniel and Four-Finger Mike. Elizabeth slipped behind him, guarding the child. “Leave the boy be.”

  “Cain’t do that. He knows too much.”

  “I know a few things, m’self.” Fletcher was stalling, hoping Joe or one of the Dreadfuls would pass and tip the scales in his favor. “I know you’re being watched by the police.”

  “That ain’t news, friend.”

  “I know you have dealings with Mr. Alistair Headley.”

  Four-Finger snorted in derision. “That gentry cove? Small beans, that one.”

  Headley was involved in something shady, then, but not this. “He’s not one for arson or kidnapping, then?”

  “Ain’t kidnapping if I’m taking back what’s already mine.”

  “The boy’s not yours—or anyone else’s.” Fletcher stood firm.

  “I say he is.” Four-Finger brandished a dagger.

  Blimey. Without a blade, he was doomed in a knife fight. This situation could get bad quickly.