Len smiled and wondered what tale Julian would have to tell her later. Would it be a drunkard as Peter had suggested, or maybe a keen-eyed groom, suspicious of such a large group of riders by night? A lone traveller? There were endless possibilities. That it was not the militia she could at least be sure. Everywhere they travelled it was impossible to escape the rattling of their arms—muskets and sabres—with the movement of their mounts. Besides, the militia were cowards, soldiers too afraid to be part of the real war in Portugal and Spain, and they never travelled the roads alone. Len was sure their follower had been a single rider. She would just have to wait awhile to find out if she was right.
Chapter Three
The night air was cold on Lucia’s hands. She moved them in closer to Sally’s warm neck and wished she had remembered to don a bonnet to keep the chill from her head. She focused on the road ahead, looking for traces of the riders who had passed before her.
The minutes seemed to stretch endlessly as she let Sally trot briskly onward. She had ridden past the boundary of her father’s park, and there were now fields and hedgerows at the sides of the road. For an unexpectedly exhilarating moment, alone in the night, she felt as though she was the only being in existence and fancied herself completely safe, untouchable. Then with a jolt of apprehension her thoughts returned her to the present danger and the ludicrous nature of what she was attempting. Suddenly afraid, she almost turned Sally and retreated to the park and the warmth of her chamber.
She heard a sound out of place around the next turn of the road.
Peering in the darkness, her heart hammering incessantly, Lucia slowed Sally to a walk as she rounded the turn. She almost let out a cry when she found the way blocked by three men on horseback. The middle figure of the three had something in his hand. A pistol! Her heart turned to ice as she knew she had been mistaken. There were only three men in the group before her and only one wearing a bicorn. These men could be any group of villains, and she would have no claim on their attention at all. Panic began to seize her and her hands trembled.
“Miss Foxe?” the middle man said, in a surprised tone. Lucia was relieved to recognise his voice in an instant. It was the man who had taken her locket. He did not wear the scarf across his face tonight, and she could see he had a well-trimmed dark beard.
Directly confronted, words escaped her for a moment. Driven by a quest for her lost locket and to satisfy her curiosity, she had not thought to decide what she would say to the men when she caught up with them. In her naïvety she’d assumed, having not hurt her previously, they would treat her in a similar fashion now. She was no threat to them, a young and defenceless woman all alone. She gathered herself again, remembering her intention was merely to ask for her locket, to explain its significance if necessary. In her experience, men were usually kind to young, fair women.
But those rules by which she lived her life seemed suddenly irrelevant here on the moonlit highway.
“Yes, it’s Miss Foxe,” she called in a nervous voice. She was relieved to see the man lower the pistol. She saw him turn to the companion on his left and caught their soft laughter. It angered her as she recalled all of the resentment and humiliation she had felt on the night of the robbery. She drew courage from those feelings. “I believe you robbed me three nights ago, sir, and I have come to ask that you return to me one item, no more.”
“Couldn’t have been us, Miss Foxe, we’ve been out of the county,” he said, infuriatingly, as though Lucia was playing a game with him.
“Sir, you took from me a locket which was very precious to me. I want it back.”
“What will you give us in return?” called the stoutest man, astride an equally stocky horse. All three of them sniggered.
Lucia thought quickly. “I am willing to offer you money if you will return the locket to me. I promise I will not tell anyone of our transaction.” Her attempt to sound as though she was in control of the situation did not succeed out loud in the way it had done in her head.
“Shouldn’t young ladies be in bed at this hour?” the man with the pistol said, ignoring her offer completely.
“Young ladies should be in my bed at this hour,” the stocky man jested. His crude words jarred in Lucia’s mind. These were a kind of people she had no experience dealing with. The fear which had somewhat dissipated when the man lowered his pistol began to creep back.
“I was by my window, sir, and I saw you pass.” Lucia addressed the man in the middle, judging that he held authority here and was certainly the more decent to converse with. The man into whose eyes she had stared. Hard to conceive she’d been that close to a criminal. She shivered as her fear intensified.
“You recognised us from your window?” he asked, genuine surprise in his words.
“Yes, sir. I have had many occasions to miss the presence of my locket. Such thoughts have crystallised your image in my mind.”
As soon as those words left Lucia’s mouth, she knew they had been a mistake.
“You’d recognise us anywhere?” the man asked.
“Yes. But I assure you, sir,” she added hastily, “return my locket and I will never reveal to anyone what I can recall of your appearance.” She hoped her pledge would put them at their ease again.
“Are you threatening us, Miss Foxe?”
“No, sir, I am merely asking for my locket.” She drew in a deep breath and tried not to remember that she was sitting bareback on her horse on the road in the middle of the night, conversing with three highwaymen.
“Do you actually have Miss Foxe’s locket?” said the man on the left.
“No, I don’t, as a matter of fact,” said the man in the middle. Lucia’s heart began to pound more heavily. She was losing control of the situation. She knew she had never really had any control. Fear coursed through her veins as she realised the extent to which she had underestimated the danger she was in.
“Did we sell it yet?” asked the stocky man.
“Not yet,” the man in the middle answered.
“I think this is one for the boss.”
“Yes, I quite agree,” the man in the centre said. He looked back to Lucia, who was unsure whether she should attempt to flee or simply hope to be allowed to leave unharmed. “Miss Foxe, we can see about returning your locket, but you will have to come with us now.”
Lucia felt quite ill with fear and certain they meant to kill her. “Is this because I recognised you?” she demanded, her voice tremulous. “You have it on my honour that I won’t inform anyone.”
“Nevertheless, Miss Foxe, you will have to come with us now.” Two of the men began to ride towards Lucia, leaving the other to watch.
“No, please. I will just go back to my chamber, without the locket,” she said, panic rising in her throat, as the pistol was raised to point at her chest.
“Miss Foxe, do as we say, and I assure you of your safety,” the man in the bicorn said. She still had the acuity to think it an odd statement from a man who threatened her with a pistol but did not choose to say as much out loud.
“You will return me to my home unharmed?” She tried to sound braver than she felt. How could she even begin to trust these men?
“I promise, as far as I can,” he said. His words sounded so polite and genteel. He smiled, and the notion of him as a gentleman made him even more terrifying. The smile seemed so earnest and trustworthy. “There is one thing, though, Miss Foxe…”
“Oh?” Lucia asked fearfully.
“Yes, we cannot allow you to know the route we will take,” he said. The stocky man had brought his horse very close to where Lucia sat on Sally. The pistol remained levelled at her as the man holding it leaned forward to take her reins from her. More alarming still, the man to her side passed a ragged piece of cloth around her eyes. Terror paralysed her, and she did not move nor could she form a word of protest in her mouth as she found herself blindfolded. Sally began to move under her and Lucia clung to her mane. Her heart urged her to scream or protest, even fling herse
lf from Sally’s back and run for her life. However, terrified by the pistol, almost entranced, she simply allowed them to lead her.
And a small, traitorous, foolhardy, barely acknowledged part of her was quivering with the thrill of it.
*
Len leaned back in her chair and stretched out her arms, trying to force herself to relax. Waiting was not something she had much patience with, and though she trusted Julian to handle any situation, she felt helpless not knowing by whom they had been followed.
Standing up, she sighed heavily and walked the length of the small room. This was her private space, the one part of this house she claimed for herself. A few chairs, an old desk, and very little else furnished the room. Items of particular interest to her found their way onto the desk, amidst a pile of papers and books. She acquired the newspapers as often as she could, for it was important to glean clues as to the movements of the militia, the chance of patrols, and the like. She wanted to know too how the war against Napoleon progressed, how well the harvest was expected to do, what other manner of criminals stalked her night-time territory. The newspapers were undoubtedly essential to her. The books were an indulgence but one she would never relinquish.
She perched on the edge of the desk and stared at the spot where her cloak and tricorn hung against the wall. Her gloves and kerchief were beside her on the desk. Those garments defined her to the world and protected her from it all at once. She often smiled at how surprised that world would be to know what lay underneath the kerchief. And yet her amusement was tempered by the necessity of hiding. Freedom was all very well, but she had to acknowledge it had its price. Some nights she longed to reveal herself, let someone other than her men see who the rider of the black stallion really was. But to give any clue was a risk she feared she could never take.
Her eye fell on the gold locket which lay next to her newly acquired book on the desk. It belonged to one of the Miss Foxes, though Julian claimed he’d not been able to tell which was the younger or older of the two fair-haired women. Though she’d kept the locket in her possession since the night Julian had taken it, she had still not opened it to see what secrets it contained. Stealing the gold for its value was one thing. But there was something so personal about this unremarkable piece of jewellery. Len feared opening it, as though doing so would rob her of more of her soul. And yet she knew it was a weakness. This willingness to empathise, to regret her actions and those of her men. This life demanded that she harden her heart. She reached for the locket, determined to look inside.
Just as her fingers made contact with the smooth gold, she heard the hooves of a solitary horse arriving at the front of the house. One horse? What could possibly have gone wrong that only one of her men returned? And who was it? Anxiety gripped her heart as she made her way from her sanctum near the back of the house to the front door. John was just dismounting his mare.
“What has happened, John?” Len asked. She did not bother to hide the urgency of her words.
“Nothing bad, Len,” John said. “It was a woman that followed us.”
Len frowned, wondering with interest just what kind of woman was on the road alone at night. “A woman?”
“Yeah. Reckoned we took a locket from her the other night and wants it back.”
Len felt surprise and consternation in equal measure. “Miss Foxe—one of them anyway—rode out onto the road alone in order to ask for her locket back?” She wondered what on earth could make the locket so important. But this was not the most pressing concern. “How did she know it was us?”
“Saw us from her chamber window. Recognised us at once.”
“She did what?” Len’s consternation quickly became alarm.
“I know. Silly girl told Julian just that. He’s bringing her here. I rode ahead to let you know.”
“Here?”
“Yes. With precautionary measures.” John smiled as though he had found something amusing in the chain of events. Len did not smile back. Her mind was already working on how on earth she would handle this situation.
“When they get here, bring her to me at once. Alone.” She gave the order and retreated into the house. She did not know what to think. Begrudgingly she admired this Miss Foxe’s bravery, while at the same time scorning such foolish risk taking. Clearly the girl was far from sensible. But she was also a threat. Len sighed as she reached her private domain and reached for the kerchief to cover her face.
Chapter Four
Lucia did not dare move her hands from where they clutched Sally’s mane, for fear of losing her balance. The movement of the horse beneath her was disconcerting without her sight. Nor did she want to brave lifting a hand to adjust the blindfold, since she had no way of knowing if any of the three men was watching. She wasn’t even sure there were still three men, since she was almost certain she had heard one of the horses gallop ahead of them. They seemed to travel a very long time, but Lucia could not tell if they remained on the main road or if they had made a turn.
She tried not to dwell on what these men were leading her to. She concentrated instead on understanding they had left her little option. It was surely better to be blindfolded and led to an unknown destination than to already be dead at the roadside.
Eventually she heard the sounds of the hoof falls change, as though the horses were now walking on flagstones. A moment later, they stopped. Lucia waited, rigid and unmoving, wondering what on earth was to happen. She heard the men dismount, one after another. There were only two of them. Where had the other gone? Sally shifted uneasily on her feet, and Lucia had to grip her mane again to retain her balance.
She felt the presence of someone near her. Hands on her arms, pulling her, lifting her down from Sally’s back. “Apologies, miss, it’s easier this way. Your horse will be watered. You’ll be able to remove the blindfold when we are inside.” Lucia recognised the voice of the man with the bicorn and pistol as he set her on her feet on the ground. She wavered dizzily and he caught her arm. “Come on, Miss Foxe, with me.”
He pulled her after him. She had little choice but to trust his guidance since she could see nothing. She smelled woodsmoke and cooking meat, and heard her guide lean forward to open a door, through which he ushered her. The door closed behind them, and she felt his hands at the back of her head, removing the blindfold. She blinked and looked around the room.
A large table stood in the centre, upon which rested a partially carved ham, a half-eaten loaf of white bread, an earthenware ale flask, and two red apples. A large fire blazed in the hearth on the other side of the room. There was a clutter of boxes, bags, and pouches about the room, on the end of the table, and on the floor. Lucia wondered if they contained further profits of the men’s thievery. Despite the fear constricting her throat so it was hard to swallow, the warmth in the room and the glow of the candles were surprisingly reassuring. Lucia had never given much thought to the notion that outlaws must exist when they were not committing their terrible crimes. They must eat and sleep and seek the warmth of the hearth. She found herself in an unremarkable place, cosy and almost welcoming. This was no lair. The realisation was disorientating.
A lean man with greying hair was bent by the fire, apparently cooking something in a pan he held into the flames. A younger man was squatting on the floor, prying at the lock on a small wooden trunk. Both men looked up as Lucia stood bewildered in the doorway.
“Now that’s a pretty profit you’ve made tonight,” the older man called, his eyes sweeping Lucia up and down.
“Eyes off,” said the man behind her, and she suddenly felt grateful for his protection, despite his having kidnapped her under the threat of his pistol. No feeling was straightforward, and her mind was a morass of contradictory impulses. “Allow me to introduce Miss Lucia Foxe. She’s come to claim an item of property she suspects we may have in our possession.”
“And how would that be? Did she lose it somewhere?” The older man sniggered.
“Should be more careful, miss,” the man squ
atting on the floor said. Their humour only made Lucia angry. She would have shared her furious disgust with them but calculated she was—distressingly—largely in their power, and it would not be wise.
“You taking her to Len?” the older man asked.
“Yes,” the man behind her said. He seemed to have some authority over these men, although he clearly was not their leader. “So don’t be getting any ideas.”
“Hadn’t crossed my mind,” the old man muttered, turning back to his pan. Lucia wondered, with a cold shudder, just what notion might have crossed his mind.
“If you’ll follow me, Miss Foxe,” her kidnapper said, stepping around her. Having little option, she obeyed, passing after him through a door to the right hand side of the hearth into a small and gloomy central hallway. She tried to imagine where they might be, just what deserted house these criminals had taken possession of. The blindfold had done its trick however, and she found herself entirely confused as to how far they had travelled and in which direction.
They stopped outside a closed door. The man rapped firmly on it and entered without waiting for a reply. Filled with trepidation as to the character of the man she would find inside, Lucia followed him through the door.
This chamber was smaller than the first room and not so well lit. A small fire burned in the hearth, sending an orange glow through the darkness, and two lanterns flickered at the farthest end from where Lucia stood. At that end of the room there was a wooden desk. Seated behind this desk was a man Lucia knew at once as the slender figure she had seen on the tall black horse. He still wore his tricorn hat and the kerchief covering the lower part of his face, which struck her as odd until she considered he probably had warning she was approaching and did not want to reveal his identity.
The Locket and the Flintlock Page 3
