In the scant illumination, he was little more than a shadow. He did not stand up when they entered the room, merely looked up from the desk, upon which she noticed several books, a bottle, and a tankard, as well as several folded newspapers. A civilised and educated outlaw then. Lucia had ceased predicting anything about this encounter. The thick sickly sweet odour of cigar smoke filled the air.
“May I introduce Miss Foxe of Foxe Hall, sir, she’s seeking a locket, and for some reason she feels we might be able to help her locate it.” Lucia saw the tricorn move slightly as the man behind the desk nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“We found her roaming the roads, bareback on her mare, sir. Miss Foxe recognised us from as far away as her chamber window.” Lucia was intelligent enough to understand that her ability to recognise them from afar was the most significant information he had to impart. Why had she not thought to conceal that fact? She could have been safe in her chamber even now. With a peculiar pang of excitement, she realised she did not quite regret the course events had taken.
The man behind the desk raised a gloved hand to his face, in a movement suggesting he was contemplating what to do next. His protracted silence was unnerving, and her fear began to creep back in. She wanted to address him herself, but the authority he emanated silenced her.
After a long pause, he signalled to the man at her side with a dismissive gesture of his hand that his presence was no longer necessary. The man left silently and quickly, and Lucia was surprised to find she missed the semifamiliarity of him standing close to her.
“I have told your men already, sir,” Lucia began tentatively. She wanted to explain and, hopefully, save herself from this horrible situation. “Although I did recognise you, my only purpose is to regain my locket, which is of sentimental value to me. I will tell no other what I recall of your appearance.”
She expected a reply, but her only answer was another long silence, during which she felt his gaze on her in the most unsettling fashion. Finally, he pushed his chair out and stood up. He was not as tall or as broad as she had expected him to be, but in his dark cloak, his figure had a naturally commanding air about it. Beneath the cloak, she saw he wore cream breeches, shining black riding boots, and a white shirt and waistcoat.
To Lucia’s surprise, he removed his tricorn and placed it on the desk. She saw he had very dark hair, worn long and tied at the nape of his neck. The hair was full and thick, suggestive of youth, not the maturity she had expected.
He walked slowly towards her. Her courage drained from her and she wanted to back away, but the door behind her was closed and she had no wish to demonstrate her own cowardice. When he was close to her, he bowed his head slightly and spoke.
“Miss Foxe? Allow me to introduce myself to you.” Something unexpected about his voice caught Lucia’s attention. In the next moment she saw why, as he pulled away the kerchief masking his face.
*
The woman Julian had brought to her was undoubtedly very beautiful. Her beauty was refined and aristocratic, delicate. Pale, almost luminous skin clearly kept sheltered from the elements, golden hair with a natural curl, shining warmly in the candlelight. Her eyes were anxious shadows, but Len imagined them to be blue and clear. Intelligent.
She knew at once that this was the elder Miss Foxe, Lucia. The younger, she knew, was no more than a girl. The vision in the middle of her private chamber was no child. Taller than was usual in a woman but of a very slender build, she held herself like a woman with no small measure of pride. And she was not as frightened as Len had supposed she would be. Intriguing.
As soon as Julian brought the unfortunate Miss Foxe into the room, she had known there was no other way forward than to discuss the matter with her herself. If she had been presented with the undoubtedly silly younger sister she might have reconsidered, allowed Julian and the men, and her own shadowy but speechless authority, to frighten the girl into keeping her silence. But this woman, Len knew instinctively, would not be so easily scared.
Len had taken note of Julian’s surprised expression when she had asked to be left alone with their hostage. She was sure he was dubious about her plan but thanked him silently for his loyalty and trust. His faith in her was one of her greatest sources of strength. One of the reasons she was sure to use her most considered judgement every day. She could not let Julian down and betray his trust.
When Miss Foxe spoke, it was everything Len could do not to smile. Her tone was so measured and even, though it was not hard to hear the anxiety in the words. And yet she was haughty too, this Miss Foxe. She expected to get her own way. No doubt she usually did, in her life of servants and admirers. Len remembered that life all too well, though she had never been so pampered herself. However, Miss Foxe was no silly, sheltered rich girl. Her words showed intellect and understanding. And a woman who would ride out on the highway in the middle of the night after the thieves who had stolen her locket was certainly worth her interest. Len did not have the pleasure of female company these days. She told herself she did not miss the complications, the unsettling emotions. And yet Miss Lucia Foxe intrigued her unbearably.
She moved towards the woman with deliberate slowness. She wanted to watch her reaction, wanted a moment or two to understand and prepare for what she was about to do. She saw the instant Miss Foxe’s courage failed her and made a conscious effort to suppress the kindness and empathy that burned in her heart. She needed this woman to be afraid of her. The safety of her men could depend on it, whatever her own feelings.
And yet, however frightened she was, pretty Miss Foxe did not back away from her. She stood her ground and looked Len in the eye. Breaking her silence was not so hard, even as she saw the question in Miss Foxe’s face. But she was surprised how nervous she felt as she reached for the kerchief and pulled the mask from her face.
Chapter Five
Lucia stared in confusion and tried to grasp hold of a sensible reaction. The face revealed to her was indeed young, without a line of age. The jaw was soft, with no hint of a beard. A striking woman’s face.
Briefly, she thought her eyes must be deceiving her in the gloom. But then the woman spoke again, making a slight bow as she did so, and though the voice was deep and smooth, it was also distinctly feminine. “Len Hawkins, pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Foxe. Miss Lucia Foxe, I presume?”
Social etiquette was not the first notion to enter Lucia’s mind, and she did not return the politeness. She simply stared, open-mouthed. Dumbly, she looked down at the woman’s legs and feet, to be sure this was the same breech-and-boot-wearing figure she had seen approaching from the desk. She looked back into her face and saw pink lips curve into the faintest of smiles. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, and she was regarding Lucia with what seemed to be a combination of amusement and contempt.
“You know my name?” Lucia said at last. It was really the least of the questions she had but the only one she could then form into words.
“Of course. Miss Lucia is the eldest daughter of Sir Spencer. Miss Isabella is the younger. Their brother is off terrorising the French with Wellington.” Her voice sounded well-bred and educated, but she spoke with a far from reassuring sneer in her tone. Lucia, though unnerved, was not wholly surprised this woman had such knowledge of her family. What it revealed was that she was familiar with the society of the local area, where the Foxe family were well known enough. “I assume I am more likely to find the eldest daughter abroad in the middle of the night in pursuit of a trinket, and I presume therefore that you are Miss Lucia.” The words were spoken with total confidence. Lucia bridled against the arrogance of the assumption but suspected it was grounded in an intellect used to being correct.
“Yes,” she confirmed, searching for further words. “I don’t understand,” she said eventually, unable to do anything but confess her confusion.
“I don’t imagine you do,” was the smooth reply in a tone Lucia did not appreciate at all, as though she knew nothing of the world.
“He called you s
ir,” she said, trying to express her bewilderment and refusing to acknowledge to herself just how coloured by intrigue her confusion was.
“So he did.” Len shrugged. “A term to show his respect. Besides, he did not know I would choose to reveal myself to you.”
Lucia understood at once. There was no way she would ever have expected the leader of the robbers to be one of her own sex. If this Len Hawkins had chosen to keep her face covered and had not spoken, Lucia would have left the room with the impression the leader was merely a slender man who rode a black horse. Calling her sir strengthened that disguise. Lucia was forced to wonder why indeed she had chosen to show herself now.
“You are the leader of these men?” she asked. She realised she felt almost more threatened by Len than she had her male companions, the fear infused with incomprehension. It took a great feat of will to summon her courage to ask any questions at all.
“Yes.”
“They follow you?” Lucia was incredulous not to be offered an explanation of something so extraordinary.
“Is there any reason why they should not?” Len’s tone revealed a resentment Lucia had not expected.
“You are a woman.”
“Cleverly observed, Miss Foxe. So are you.” The contempt was undisguised now, and it quickened Lucia’s own temper.
“I would never expect to lead a group of men,” she replied. Of course she would never expect to rob carriages on the highway either, but that seemed beside the point in the moment.
“You are not me, though, Miss Foxe. I would not expect a group of men to follow you.” Len’s eyes fixed to Lucia’s, full of hostility. Lucia decided she must bring this encounter back to its purpose.
“Miss…Miss Hawkins?” she began, unsure of the required form of address.
“You may call me sir.”
“I have come for my locket.”
“So I understand. Of what import is it to you?”
“I don’t believe that is of your concern.” Lucia felt her resentment rising.
“I may be inclined to find this locket of yours if you can give me to understand its import. Otherwise, I may be inclined to tell you I have never seen such a locket.” Her tone was sardonic and threatening, more unnerving because these were shades Lucia had never heard in a woman’s voice before.
“It was my mother’s. It contains a portrait of her and a lock of her hair.”
“Your mother is dead?” Len asked, with little audible sympathy.
“Yes.”
Len did not offer her condolences. “As is my own,” she said, and Lucia was surprised by a moment of understanding between them. Len’s face, however, remained hard.
“Then you might understand the significance of the locket to me.” Lucia matched this strange woman’s lack of compassion as well as she could. Perhaps Len was not so strange. Lucia well understood the effect of losing one’s mother. Len’s hard face struck her as an adopted mask to hide her true emotions. There had to be more than such cold reserve in this woman’s heart. Lucia could not help but wonder what secrets Len kept.
“Yes, I might,” Len said. Her expression still gave nothing away, and she seemed in a hurry not to dwell on their common understanding. Why? Lucia found questions in her mind she did not dare to ask. “But there is still the matter of your being able to recognise us so adeptly.”
“On my honour, if you return my locket to me, I swear I will never breathe a word to a living soul.” Lucia did not like to make the promise, but ensuring her own safety and regaining her locket were her first priorities. She fully expected Len to take her at her word.
“Your honour?” Len scoffed. “Yes, you have honour aplenty I imagine, Miss Foxe.”
“More than I can say for you and your men.” Len’s derision wounded Lucia, emphasised that Len was not a woman like herself, that it was ludicrous to be drawn to her at all. Her words were spoken before she had time to consider them and their possible consequences. She realised how reckless they were at once but remained quiet and held her head high. This woman would not get the better of her, whatever the threat.
Very slowly, Len reached for the pistol at her waist. Lucia watched her hand, frozen and barely able to breathe. A frightened apology crept into her throat, but pride would not let it pass her lips, even as the barrel was raised to her chest.
“If I had no honour, Lucia, you would be dead by now,” she said in a very quiet voice. Lucia looked at the barrel of the pistol held steady inches from her body and, breathing hard, raised her eyes to meet Len’s dark gaze, defiantly. Lucia concentrated on hiding her fear, on not being intimidated. Would this woman really consider shooting her? Why was she actually more afraid now than she had been of the man with the pistol that night on the roadside? Were the feelings making her tremble inside coming from her fear? If not fear, then what?
Len’s face relaxed perceptibly, and she gave a soft chuckle, lowering her pistol before she finally returned it to its holster at her waist. “You’re brave, Miss Foxe, I’ll allow you that.”
She turned her back to Lucia and strode to the desk. Lucia watched her, relief and inquisitiveness swirling together. To be called brave by such a woman stirred a sort of exhilaration she could not deny. Len picked something up from the desk. Lucia recognised her locket at once and took a step forward, as Len held it up by its broken chain and inspected it as it dangled from her fingers.
“Average craftsmanship really, wouldn’t you say?” They both stared at the locket as it twisted slightly, reflecting the yellow candlelight.
“It is not the craftsman’s skills I value.” Lucia took another step towards Len and reached for her possession. Len allowed Lucia to take it, the chain sliding through her fingers.
“I suggest you guard it closely then, Miss Foxe,” she said. “Do not be so careless with something so valuable.”
“I did not expect to be robbed.” Lucia was irritated by the tone of Len’s voice, though buoyed at holding her locket in her fingers once more.
“A hazard the wealthy face daily,” Len replied, as though it was no concern of hers.
“We are not so wealthy.”
“Wealthy enough to own a carriage, horses, and a gold locket, Miss Foxe.”
“That is not so very much.”
“Depends what you relate it to, does it not?”
Lucia felt her anger growing, made worse because she also felt somehow ashamed of the small world in which she moved. She had no reply for Len, and mutual resentment infused the air between them with greater tension. Len broke the silence. “There is only the matter now, Miss Foxe, of your being able to recognise us. You understand, I hope, the reason my men brought you to me was nothing to do with returning your locket. It was rather so I might decide the risk you pose to us for myself. In the back of their minds, I believe they thought I might rather see you dead than risk you exposing us. We have never, you understand, been so easily recognised before now. You are uncommonly observant.”
“I understand,” Lucia replied. She shuddered involuntarily at the mention of how easily she could have been killed, and yet she knew, from some strange instinct, she would not be harmed.
“Good,” Len said. “So if I have my men return you to your house, this will be the last time I have cause to concern myself with you? I know you value your life.”
The threat was all too real, the menace sharp, even in Len’s feminine tones. Lucia stared at her and wondered if she had underestimated her. Why had Len revealed herself? Lucia had been more terrified of her as a silent and mysterious man. Perhaps that was the point. Terror did not breed trust. By revealing her true self, the woman hoped to engender some degree of trust in her. How did she know Lucia would not betray that trust? And yet Lucia felt the effectiveness of Len’s strategy, for now she found herself inclined—indeed obliged—to give her word of honour in return.
“You need not be concerned. I have my locket. It is all I wanted. On my honour.”
“Then it is time for us to say
goodnight, Miss Foxe.” Even as she said it, Lucia felt a peculiar reluctance beat through her heart. So many questions swirled suddenly into her mind, but she knew she could not stay to ask them. How had this well-educated woman fallen into a life of crime? And how was it she appeared to relish her illicit power? Lucia longed for time to unravel her own feelings. Why was she so compelled by this woman of whom she knew she should wholeheartedly disapprove? What was it that made her heart beat faster and her breath come harder, that felt keen like fear and yet was not? There was so much she wanted to know, but all she could do was leave, return to the dull safety of her home.
“Goodnight then,” she said. Len bowed her head slightly, walked past Lucia to the door, and called to the kitchen. She did not look at Lucia again.
Lucia was taken home in the same fashion as she had arrived, blindfolded atop Sally’s broad back, her reins in the hands of the man in the bicorn. He spoke little.
Later in her chamber, unable to sleep, Lucia sat by the casement and watched the early daylight creep across the park, her fingers stroking the smooth gold of her locket.
*
Len was restless for the rest of the night. Try as she might, she could not stop thinking about her encounter with Lucia Foxe. Eventually she lit one of her remaining supply of cigars—taken from a lone gentleman on the road two weeks previously—and wandered through the kitchen, where John, Julian, and Isaac were still awake and engaged in a game of cards. She acknowledged them with a nod and passed through the door to the courtyard of the house.
The air was bitingly cold. Despite the moonlight, it was dark here, deep among the trees. The darkness held no terrors for her. She was a creature of the night-time now; in many ways she was more comfortable after the sun fell below the horizon. Being so at ease in the hours between dusk and dawn gave her an advantage over her prey. Besides, the shadows allowed her to be more or less whoever she wanted to be.
Why had she abandoned her disguise with so little caution tonight? Just how had Lucia Foxe bewitched her into letting down her guard? Why on earth did she trust such a naïve and sheltered woman? Oh, Lucia had been brave, Len could not deny it. She felt a begrudging admiration for Lucia’s courage, even with a pistol to her breast.
The Locket and the Flintlock Page 4
