Highwayman's Hazard

by Marina Oliver

  'Thank you for keeping the pony, and for the loan of the gig. My apologies to Lady Coombe, but I must not delay.'

  She shook the reins and the gig disappeared smartly. Sarah grinned with delight, and made haste to change into her cousin's outgrown and rather unfashionable clothes, selecting a dark green coat and matching breeches, with a lacy cravat and wide-brimmed feathered hat which might help to shade her face. She stuffed the toes of a pair of high boots, and selected a long, elaborately curled brown wig under which she thrust her much brighter curls.

  Sparing a moment to admire her reflection and nod with satisfaction at the elegant, if slightly youthful transformation she had achieved, she patted her pocket to make certain her purse, full of her unused allowance, was there, adjusted the sword slung low from her waist, and checked that the pistol she had earlier taken from Robert's collection of arms was properly primed. Sarah had few illusions regarding the hazards they might meet with, and she was determined to be prepared.

  Catching up a long cloak she slung it about herself and went cautiously from the room and down a seldom used side staircase and out through a small door into the drying yard. Taking a circuitous route which kept her out of possible view from the house she eventually reached the trees and within ten minutes was clambering up into the gig where Clarinda was beginning to fret at what appeared to her a long delay.

  *

  She gave a nervous start as Sarah appeared suddenly from behind a clump of bushes, and then peered at her in astonishment.

  'It is you, isn't it?' she asked, and Sarah laughed in delight.

  'Do I look so very different?'

  'I would not have known you had I met you in the street.'

  'Good, that is what we intend. Now we must make haste before your parents begin to search for you. Here, take the cloak and wear it. It is the best disguise I can think of, but no one will think twice seeing a man and a girl driving in a gig if you appear to be dressed differently from the description they will have been given. I'll drive.'

  They had several miles to travel before reaching Grantham, and Clarinda spent the first hour looking back anxiously over her shoulder. Sarah tried to distract her by asking questions about her grandmother.

  'Has she always lived in Harrogate?' she asked.

  'Yes, and when it began to be popular because of the springs discovered there she and my grandfather began a lodging house. It was with the money they made from it that my father was apprenticed in the City.'

  'You saw her when you were a child?'

  'Yes, she visited us in London, and once we went to stay with her. But she would not come again. She disapproved of my father, said he was aping the gentry and she'd have none of it. They quarrelled for a time, but although they write now I do not think he has forgiven her entirely. Besides, my mother is ashamed of having such a lowly connection and does not encourage visits,' Clarinda explained hesitantly.

  Sarah glanced at her averted face and bit back the scathing comment on the tip of her tongue. Clarinda could not help her parents, and perhaps if she had contrived to fight her way up the social ladder she would think in the same way as Mistress Middlewick.

  'Tell me about Harrogate,' she said instead. 'Aunt Nell has a friend who is always going to Tunbridge and Bath, but as far as I am aware she has not been to Harrogate.'

  'The first springs were found a hundred and fifty years ago,' Clarinda explained, 'and for a hundred years people have been drinking the water and bathing in it. I tasted some once and hated it!'

  Sarah laughed. 'Uncle Anthony used to say the cure was more likely if the water was unpleasant. Harrogate is near Knaresborough, is it not?'

  'Yes, and many visitors stay there, but grandmother knew they would soon wish to be closer to the main springs, and so she started her lodging house. I believe it is quite a superior one from the people who stay at it.'

  'Will she have room for us?'

  'Yes, I am sure she will, since the season does not begin properly until June and it is not yet May.'

  'It could be interesting to stay there for a while,' Sarah said thoughtfully. 'Will you ask her to write at once to your father, or to conceal your presence for a time?'

  'I haven't thought of that yet. What had I better do? Do you think Papa will come straight after us?' she asked fearfully, glancing back along the road.

  'They will search near home, especially when they hear you are alone in our gig. They will suspect an accident. I doubt if they will even consider the possibility you have run away until they realise I am missing, too. And that will not tell them in which direction we have gone.'

  Clarinda alternated between fear and optimism all the way to Grantham, but when they reached the town and discovered there was no stage until the following morning her spirits collapsed completely.

  'What shall we do?' she implored Sarah, her eyes filling with tears.

  'It is not dark yet. We'll drive further. Barney had a good rest while we dined. I understand there are more coaches through Newark, so if we find somewhere to stay for the night and then drive to Newark tomorrow we should be on our way.'

  She took Clarinda's arm and guided her out of earshot of a pair of interested ostlers.

  'Don't draw attention to us,' she said quietly. 'We'll not be discovered so easily away from the town, and if necessary we can sleep in the gig. But we are sure to be able to find a small inn away from the main road.'

  This did not prove to be as easy as she had hoped, however. It was almost dark and they had tried two inns unsuccessfully before the landlord of the latter, taking compassion on Clarinda's weary face, directed them to another inn a mile away.

  'Take the lane just beyond the elms with the rookery,' he told them. 'There is a small alehouse. The owner's a friend of mine and he'll find you a room if you say Tobias Stone sent you.'

  They thanked him and climbed back into the gig. The horse was tired now and refused to go at any greater speed than a walk. In the dusk they almost missed the entrance to the narrow lane, and some time later, when it was clear they had taken the wrong turning for no alehouse or village appeared, they retraced their steps in weary despair.

  'What shall we do?' Clarinda asked, striving to fight down her tears.

  'The moon will soon be up and we'll try the next lane. This really is only a track, but we'll soon be back on the right road,' Sarah said cheerfully.

  It seemed a much longer journey back, but before they reached the main road an almost full moon was illuminating their way. Even Clarinda felt more hopeful when, having regained the main road and travelled along it a few more hundred yards, they rounded a corner to see a well-used road going off to the right.

  'That is surely the right one,' Sarah exclaimed in relief. 'We shall soon find the alehouse, and then – '

  She stopped speaking abruptly as a dark figure rode out of the lane straight in front of them, causing their tired horse to swerve in alarm. All she could see silhouetted against the moonlight was a tall, slim rider on a huge powerful mount, the collar of his coat turned up and the brim of his hat curling over his face. He wheeled his horse towards them, and as she saw the gleam of the sword ready in his hand Clarinda screamed and clutched at Sarah's arm.

  'There's no need to be afraid, my pretty,' the stranger said softly, riding closer and turning slightly so that they could distinguish the dark mask which covered his face. 'I have no designs on you, but I would have speech with you sir, if you please.'

  He turned to Sarah, waving his sword menacingly close to her face, but before he could come closer she had dragged out the pistol, silently blessing her caution, and fired. The highwayman's horse, startled by the noise so close to his head, reared and twisted as the rider dropped his sword and fell heavily to the ground, striking his head against the wheel of the gig as he fell.

  *

  Chapter 2

  Clarinda screamed again and fell against the side of the gig as the startled Barney took a few paces, then came to a weary halt. The highwayma
n's mount, still prancing nervously, had moved a few yards away and stood looking anxiously back at them. The attacker lay on his back, dark curls masking his face which gleamed pale in the moonlight. Sarah stared aghast at him.

  Suddenly she thrust the reins into Clarinda's nerveless hands.

  'Tie the horse, quickly. I may have killed him!'

  Without waiting for an answer she leapt down from the gig and bent over the still form of the highwayman. His mask had slipped down onto his neck and Sarah saw a thin, well formed face, with deep set eyes under firm straight brows, a slightly hooked nose and square chin. She bent to loosen the mask, fearful it might choke him, and gasped as her hand encountered a warm, wet stickiness. Fearfully she investigated and discovered blood was seeping from the man's upper arm.

  'Clarinda, quickly, for pity's sake!' she called, and struggled to remove the man's cravat.

  Before Clarinda reached her she had folded the cravat into a pad and had eased the highwayman's coat away from his shoulder so that she could press the pad against the wound. Clarinda had mastered her fears and was able to follow Sarah's terse commands, pulling off the sleeve of the coat while Sarah lifted the man slightly. Then Sarah tore out the sleeve of his shirt and used it to bind the pad tightly. By the time she had finished the bleeding, to her intense relief, had stopped.

  'What shall we do?' Clarinda asked, staring down at his still figure. 'Will he die?'

  Sarah was still kneeling beside him, trying to discover whether he had other injuries. She bent her head to his chest.

  'His heart still beats firmly,' she said after a moment, 'but this wound on his arm could not have caused him to swoon. Yet he does not appear to be bleeding elsewhere.'

  'He hit his head when he fell,' Clarinda reminded her.

  'Yes, and must have been stunned. Help me lift him into the gig, we must take him to Grantham and hand him over to the justices.'

  'M – must we?' Clarinda asked doubtfully. 'If he is not badly hurt might we not just leave him?'

  'Clarinda, how can you be so heartless?' Sarah demanded. 'He might be badly hurt for all we know, but even if he is not you cannot suggest permitting him to resume his trade of robbing innocent travellers?'

  'No – o,' Clarinda began, but Sarah interrupted her impatiently.

  'Come, I cannot lift him by myself, you must help me.'

  Clarinda remained silent while the two girls struggled to move the inert form into the gig. Although he was slender, they found the man was tall and heavier than they had expected, and both were breathing hard by the time he had been deposited on the seat. Sarah made sure her handiwork with the bandage had not been ruined, and then used the mask to secure the man's hands behind him.

  'We will have to give our names to the justices,' Clarinda said slowly as Sarah stood up.

  'Oh, I hadn't thought of that. But we must give false ones, of course. Now, what about his horse? It seems to have been well trained. It is still standing waiting. We'd best tie it behind us and hand it over too.'

  She jumped down and went to the highwayman's horse which, after a few nervous evasions, permitted her to take the reins and lead it back towards the gig. She tied it to the back and sprang in, then urged their own tired beast forward.

  'They'll discover who we are and send us back to Forleys,' Clarinda said dolefully. 'I'll be forced to marry that beastly old man. I can't bear it!'

  'Clarinda, love, don't cry. I won't let that happen. You'll soon be safe, but we must hand him over.'

  Clarinda glanced fearfully at their captive and gave a start.

  'He moved! I saw him open his eyes.'

  Sarah glanced at the man, who was propped up against the side of the gig, his head lolling to one side, and at that moment the gig jerked to a standstill. The man's head jolted, but otherwise he did not stir.

  'I think it must have been a shadow across his face,' she decided. 'Now what's the matter?'

  *

  The highwayman's horse, either unaccustomed to being hitched onto the back of a gig or resenting the indignity of it, was attempting to free itself of the restraint. Digging in his heels, tossing his head, twisting about so that the reins became entangled, it was clear that the girls would not be able to proceed unhindered.

  'I'll have to ride the wretched animal,' Sarah said at last.

  'Oh, but – but can you?' Clarinda asked, startled.

  'Of course. I used to ride Robert's horses and they were much less manageable than this one, who merely dislikes being tied up.

  She released the horse, who immediately became calm, and swiftly mounted, then led the way past the gig and once more they began to move forward. Sarah, in front, had come abreast of the narrow track where they had lost their way when she heard a gasp, cut off short, from behind. Swinging round she found herself staring into the gleaming, mocking eyes of the highwayman, who was standing behind Clarinda, one hand covering her mouth and the other brandishing a short but wicked looking dagger.

  'Take this lane. No tricks, my young buck, or your doxy will not remain as pretty as she is now.'

  He drew the point of the dagger lovingly across Clarinda's cheek, and she struggled to evade it, casting a wild glance up at him as he grinned down at her. Sarah cursed her stupidity in not searching him for more weapons, but obeyed his instructions. In a short while they came upon an even narrower track which they had not seen before, and turned into it. It led to a small cottage with a stable to one side, surrounded by trees and thick undergrowth.

  Still retaining his hold on Clarinda the highwayman climbed out of the gig and ordered Sarah to dismount.

  'Inside,' he gestured towards the cottage, and propelled Clarinda towards the door. 'There's a candle on a ledge just inside and a tinder box,' he told Sarah. 'Light it.'

  She contemplated attempting to set the cottage alight and hoping to escape in the confusion, but he followed her so closely she had no opportunity. They were in a large square kitchen, stone flagged, with a small door at the back of the room, another to the side leading into the other room, and a ladder reaching into a loft. The highwayman pushed Clarinda across to the ladder.

  'Up,' he ordered laconically, and, as she hastily obeyed he turned to Sarah.

  'Why have you brought us here?' Sarah demanded angrily. 'What do you intend to do with us?'

  He took the candle from her and looked down into her eyes. His own, deep set, were as blue as hers, and there was a twinkle of amusement in them, which Sarah found herself resenting even more than the fact of their capture.

  'We can discuss that later,' he said abruptly, and went round the room lighting several candles. 'First I want to see what damage you have done.'

  Sarah's glance went to his arm, and she saw that the bandage was bloodstained. She bit her lip and took an irresolute step towards him. Unconcernedly he was stirring the embers of the fire and adding wood from the basket standing in the hearth, blowing it into a blaze.

  'Fill the kettle, if you please,' he said over his shoulder, and Sarah went to obey, scooping water from a bucket which stood ready and then hanging the kettle on the hook above the flames.

  While she did this he went into the room at the side and swiftly reappeared with a pile of cravats and a clean shirt. He took a bowl from a shelf and poured some of the already hot water into it.

  'I trust that the bullet is not lodged, or you will have to dig it out for me,' he said casually, and Sarah paled.

  'Ought we not to send for a surgeon?' she asked hesitantly.

  He laughed, a deep musical laugh, and Sarah realised, shocked, that he was an educated man, not a common ruffian such as she had previously supposed all highwaymen to be. And the linen he had produced was exceptionally fine and scrupulously laundered.

  'Who would go? Could I trust you not to betray me and bring the justices back with you?' he demanded scathingly. 'It feels like a mere flesh wound. Fortunately for me your aim was poor!'

  Sarah flushed at this tone, but then she paled as he stripped off t
he bandage she had contrived. Biting her lip she forced herself to move towards him, and began to fold one of the cravats into another pad while he examined the wound.

  'No bullet lodged, so you won't be given another opportunity of butchering me,' he said cheerfully, and Sarah, helping to wash away the dried blood from the edges of the wound, saw it was little more than a shallow furrow across the outer side of his arm. He sat back in his chair watching her as she secured the pad and bound it tightly. Then he took off what remained of his ruined shirt, looking at it ruefully.

  'Past repair, unfortunately,' he commented, and Sarah, glancing at him from where she was tidying away the swabs she had used, averted her eyes from the sight of his broad-shouldered, slim, but muscular torso.

  *

  'What do you intend to do with us? If you wanted our money there was no need to abduct us,' she said hurriedly.

  He eyed her enigmatically as he pulled on the clean shirt.

  'What are your names?’ he demanded.

  Sarah blinked. 'I beg your pardon?'

  'Your names,' he repeated impatiently, 'and where are you from?'

  'Robert and Mary Smith,' she said, as unconcernedly as she could contrive, 'but what it has to do with you I cannot think.'

  'Your home?'

  'Harrogate. We were returning there after – after visiting relatives,' Sarah invented rapidly. 'If we are not on tomorrow's stage, and the gig is not found where it should be for our relatives to collect, there will be a thorough search. You will be in even greater trouble than if you had merely robbed us.'

  He ignored this defiant speech. 'Where do your relatives live?'

  'Leicester,' Sarah improvised.

  He laughed scornfully. 'And they send you, alone, in a gig which needs collecting, all this way to catch a stage? What do you take me for? Are you eloping?' Sarah remained silent. 'Well, in that case you will not object to sharing the bed in the loft with the lady. We'll talk tomorrow, and I'll explain then what use I have for you. Don't think to escape. There's no window up there and the ladder will be removed. And I'm a light sleeper,' he added as Sarah crossed towards the ladder and began to climb up it.