The Locket and the Flintlock

by Rebecca S. Buck

  “Are they really looking for you?” Lucia could hardly believe the truth of it. She looked down from the raised ground to the winter countryside of brown trees and fallow fields and saw no trace of humanity, save the thin white smoke from the cottage nearby.

  “That is one thing I cannot know. Not knowing is always the greatest risk. It leads to complacency since the heart wants to believe there is always hope, always a light in the dark. I have to act as though there is no chance. If I believe they are hard on our tail, that all hope is lost, and act accordingly, I can assure myself of my safety.”

  “That is no way to live, always on the lookout for bad tidings and terrible happenings.” To Lucia, Len’s world sounded a desolate and frightening place. Her heart filled with compassion and concern for this woman. What had brought her into so dark a place? And would she survive it? The thought that she might not was unbearable.

  “Nevertheless, it is how I live, how I must.” Len concluded as if there was nothing more to say on the matter. She reached for the stallion’s reins and patted his nose then led him towards a low branch, where she could secure the reins. Lucia followed them.

  “He’s a wonderful horse,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Oberon.”

  Lucia was surprised. “The fairy king?”

  “Yes.” Len studied Lucia’s expression. “Are you astonished, Lucia, that I have named my horse after the king of the fairies, or that a common criminal such as I am might have read Shakespeare?”

  Lucia’s cheeks grew hot. She was angry at Len’s continual assumption she was making judgements based on values society had educated into her and indignant because Len was correct.

  “You have read Byron, why should I be surprised you have also read Shakespeare?”

  “But you are, nevertheless.” Len took a bag from the side of her saddle and began to stride towards the stone ruins. Her cloak flowed behind her as she trod her way through the long grass, and as Lucia followed her more tentatively in her gown, she was impressed once more by Len’s sheer presence. She seemed larger than the lean woman she was.

  When they reached the remains of the house, or fort, or whatever building had once stood there, Len sat astride a smooth piece of masonry. Lucia perched opposite her on the remnants of the wall. She shivered, the stone cold through her garments. Len opened the leather bag and took from it a small bottle, which she uncorked and sipped from. She closed her eyes as she swallowed the drink. Then she offered the bottle to Lucia. Lucia eyed it cautiously, reached out and took it. She raised it to her nose and smelled the strong alcohol. “Brandy?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes, French brandy too. It will take away the chill,” Len said with a challenge in her expression. Lucia put the bottle to her lips. It was still warm from Len’s mouth. She tipped it slowly. The brandy flowed into her mouth, scorching across her tongue. She lowered the bottle, swallowing too quickly. The liquid seared down her throat and she spluttered, handing the bottle back to Len hurriedly. Len laughed gently, and as the warmth spread through Lucia’s chest, she joined her mirth.

  “I have never taken brandy before,” Lucia said at last.

  “You do surprise me.”

  For a minute, or maybe longer, they sat in quiet contemplation. Len took another drink from the bottle and placed it back in her bag. Lucia watched her for a moment and then looked away across the countryside. She wondered what type of building had stood here and if the view from this spot was much changed in the time since it had fallen to ruin. She doubted it. She looked back at her odd companion, to find Len regarding her speculatively.

  “You are, what, two-and-twenty, Lucia?”

  “Yes.” Lucia was no longer shocked how well informed Len seemed to be but was surprised she had interest enough to ask. Still, they had to speak of something as they waited, and she did not resent the question.

  “And you are not yet married?”

  “Clearly.”

  “Are you promised to a man?”

  “No, I am not.”

  “Why not? Two-and-twenty is growing old not to be married. Or at least engaged.”

  “It may be, but I do not believe in marrying simply because another year has passed and I will soon be considered too old. If I do not marry, I do not believe I will regret it greatly.” Len looked surprised. In truth Lucia had astonished herself with her candour.

  “You have never encountered a man you wished to marry?” Len pressed.

  “No. I have met handsome men and kind men but not one I can imagine sharing my life with.”

  “You have had proposals? Surely a woman with such fair skin and golden locks is sought after.”

  Lucia flushed at the favourable description, secretly pleased Len saw her in such a light. She had not imagined Len would have any time for noticing her looks, so to hear the tone of admiration was surprising but welcome. “I have had but one proposal, when I was seventeen. I was in no humour to accept the man, who was then aged forty and who I do not truly believe can have been serious in his addresses to me. I do not look to attract gentlemen and have received no further advances.” Lucia remembered the encounter with a barely repressed shudder. If courtship and marriage meant that sort of sacrifice, she was prepared to remain a spinster. Now she was conscious of Len’s increased attention and sensed she had suddenly aroused her interest in a way she had not up until this point. She was pleased to think Len now comprehended she was not simply another gentlewoman intent on a good marriage. It mattered, somehow, what Len thought of her.

  “Your father must be disappointed.” Len’s casual question belied a new level of interest. Lucia ignored the twinge of anxiety at the mention of her father and answered with as much honesty as she could.

  “I have no doubt he would be happier if I were to marry. However, he loves me and wants me to be happy. Besides, two-and-twenty is hardly ancient. There is time yet.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is what he thinks.”

  “You are not married.” Lucia attempted to divert the conversation back towards the questions she wanted answered.

  “No.” Len’s eyes hardened, as though Lucia was about to challenge her.

  “And you are older than me, are you not?”

  “Yes. I am in my thirty-first year.”

  “Is it not of concern to you?”

  “Does it seem to be of concern to me?”

  “No.” Lucia hesitated, seeing a new tension in Len’s posture. “What about your family?”

  “I have no family.” Len looked away.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Lucia said, more softly. Had she asked one question too many?

  “Don’t give me your pity, Lucia. The men are my family.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. They still live, except my mother. They are merely not my family any longer.”

  Lucia was silent. No reply presented itself. Still she burned with curiosity but was impotent as to how to form the right questions. Despite an almost fierce expression, Len’s eyes had grown misty, and the demonstration of her emotion was unnerving. Lucia’s hand twitched with the urge to reach out and comfort her, but she was not sure how Len would react to such a comfort and tightened her hand into a ball instead.

  A chill breeze sent another shiver through Lucia. She wrapped the shawl more closely around her shoulders. A stray tendril of Len’s hair which hung down near her ear moved gently in the breeze. Lucia watched, fascinated, wondering briefly how that silken hair would feel in her fingers if she were to reach out and touch it. Her fingertips tingled, and quickly she turned her attention to the grass near her shoes. Eventually, she felt brave enough to look up at Len again. Len appeared to be thinking of something Lucia was not to be privy to. Many minutes passed before her jaw tensed, a certain resolve coming into her countenance, as she turned her eyes to Lucia’s.

  “I am the daughter of a hosiery manufacturer,” Len said hurriedly, as though she mi
ght lose the urge to explain at any moment. “I was born into comfortable circumstances and educated so I might make a good wife and find an advantageous marriage, to better our social position. It was very important to my mother.” She looked down at the ground and plucked a blade of grass, which she rolled distractedly between her thumb and index finger. Lucia waited expectantly, hoping she would go on but fearing she would not. She sensed Len was trusting her with a story that she did not often tell, one she seemed reluctant to share even now. To be given the honour of hearing Len’s story touched her heart and frightened her at the same time. She wanted to know Len but was rather concerned that, in knowing Len, she would learn just how different she was from herself.

  Len glanced quickly at Lucia, as though for reassurance, and then looked down once more as she went on. “My father was not a loving man, though he was not unkind exactly, not when I was very young. He merely had very little to do with our upbringing. I have one elder brother, one younger, and two younger sisters. Only my elder brother commanded my father’s full attention. The rest of us were merely expected to do as we were bid and give him no trouble. His business was everything to him.” She looked into the distance, as though she was remembering. She let the blade of grass drop and pressed her hands together.

  “When I was sixteen, I was introduced to a man with a round belly and his hair already greying. He owned the land adjacent to our own and was willing to give my father a good price, so my father could expand his workshop, in return for my hand in marriage. My father was selling me in return for a piece of land.”

  Lucia saw the anger still fresh in her expression, the remembered pride and hurt, and felt it burning in her own heart too.

  “I could not bear the man, although he might have made a good husband. I have no reason to think otherwise of him. It was simply the notion of being handed over to a stranger like a piece of property I could not abide. To have to promise to honour and obey a man I had nothing but hostility towards. It was impossible!”

  Lucia remained silent, confused by her empathy. Len’s circumstances were not as unusual as her reaction to them. She knew many women who had gone quietly and outwardly content into marriages designed to suit their families. She had always been grateful her father had never had cause to have such expectations of her or Isabella and felt sorry that Len could not have experienced such parental compassion. Yet she shared the anger, had a part in it, felt that her feelings and Len’s were not so very different, whatever their circumstances. But Len was still talking and Lucia did not want to miss a word.

  “Of course, I refused him. At first my father reassured him I was merely being coy. But when I refused him again, at the fourth time of asking, I was by no means polite, and he finally withdrew his offer. That night my father took his riding whip and he beat me.”

  Len paused and pressed her lips together. Lucia’s stomach churned with the horror of it. She could not imagine such a thing, and she ached that Len had been subject to it. Her mind reached for words of comfort, but she found none. She tried to compose her face, moulding the expression of shock into one of understanding and concern. But could she really understand? Could she really offer anything in the way of comfort to someone like Len, who had been through such things?

  Len glanced at Lucia and watched for a reaction. She was concerned her revelation had frightened Lucia, and she was suddenly acutely aware that she did not want fear to drive Lucia away from her. Closing the distance between them was all in her hands, and she had done it quickly, throwing caution to the wind. For what? In hope of some comfort? Out of a longing for Lucia to know her, see her as she really was, not merely as an accomplished thief? Why could she not stop talking? She had vowed never to talk of these things again. Only Julian knew her story, and if it had not been that he was Hattie’s brother, she would probably never have told him. She still bore the faint scars of that long ago beating. The outrage and humiliation made her chest tight even now.

  She tried her hardest never to dwell on her past life. And now she was compelled to reveal it to a silly young gentlewoman, a perfect stranger who was only in her presence as a hostage. It was ludicrous and risky. Yet she could not resist the urge to go on. It was as though, having taken a lantern into a dark cellar, she wanted to explore every dark nook and corner, despite her trepidation and to hell with the danger. Lucia listened attentively and with a hunger to know, to understand, that Len recognised. There was a powerful lure in being paid such attention. And she had not missed the compassion in Lucia’s expression either. Her life presented very few opportunities to see that emotion in another’s eyes. Len drew a deep breath, ignored the warnings her logic gave her, and continued.

  “I had seen coldness in him before, disinterest, but never such anger. And then he told me the only way I would leave his house again, unless it was in his company, would be as the bride of a husband he chose for me. I was confined to the house and gardens, mostly to my chamber. I was allowed visitors, and sometimes I accompanied him on visits when he wanted to show me off as a piece of his property to be bartered for.

  “Of course there were the servants for company. It was in talking to them I realised how poorly off many of the people of this county were, how indeed my father’s own business was making them poorer still!” Len made no attempt to hide the outrage in her voice, still as fresh today as it was when her eyes had first been opened. If Lucia was so curious, she would hear the whole story, however uncomfortable. She remembered her own shame at the knowledge her comfortable life was built on the misfortune of others. She would not shield Lucia from the brutality of the world. She looked into the distance for a moment, gathering her thoughts to at least make the story coherent.

  “I grew to resent my father to the extent I could no longer exchange a civil word with him. More and more, I fell back onto the companionship of the servants. Even my own siblings refused to sympathise with me, for fear my fate would befall them too. My younger sisters were sent away to school. I think my father blamed my lenient governess for my behaviour and was determined to see they turned out more favourably. My mother had little choice but to take my father’s side. She was a weak woman, and though she still showed me moments of kindness, for which I will always be grateful, she supported him.

  “And so I befriended the servants. I had many hours alone in the house, when my parents were away—on visits to London or the north, where he had business interests. I saw no reason to keep my distance from the servants, and gradually they lost their deference and came to see me as a friend. They taught me skills usually considered inappropriate for a woman in my position when I asked them to. They were not inclined to be favourable towards my father and I believe demonstrated their dissent towards him by showing kindness to me.” Len smiled, remembering the warmth and companionship she had discovered in the bustling servants’ quarters of her home. In the end she’d resented that she was excluded from that world when her family were at home. She rubbed her hands together for warmth as she went on, barely even noting Lucia’s reaction but intent on concluding her tale now.

  “That was how I first met Julian. He was the brother of the dressmaker who visited us often, for of course, the women of the house required clothes in the latest fashions. She was one of the few acquaintances I could send for regularly, on the pretence of needing a hem altered or a bodice stitched.

  “She was called Hattie. A small woman, with hair a little lighter than Julian’s. Eventually she became my very close friend. I shared everything with her.” Len felt her face colour as her heart ached. Hattie was beautiful, like no woman she had seen before or since. But there were some details she would not share with Lucia. Those were hers and hers alone, locked safe in her heart forever. She fought the lump in her throat and moved on quickly from talking of Hattie. “She wanted me to know Julian, since she loved him very greatly. He was the eldest son of the family and had been reasonably educated by doting parents. He was expected to join the militia as a low-ranking officer. H
owever, he’d chosen against that, not being of a truly martial temperament, and came to our house looking for work, as clerk or the like, with my father. Hattie made sure to introduce him to me. Immediately, I recognised something indefinable in him that was reflected in me, and we became friends quickly. I would meet him secretly in the fields—creeping out was not hard with the servants to help me avoid my father’s scrutiny. I believe the housemaids and footmen thought themselves to be aiding a secret courtship, which they were not, of course.”

  “Of course.” Lucia responded to Len’s closing words but did not truly understand the tale she was hearing. Hattie and Julian seemed to have a key part of play in this story, but Lucia could not fathom just what that role was.

  “Do you doubt my sincerity?” Len looked as though she was struggling not to feel angry, a notion that alarmed Lucia greatly. She no longer feared that Len’s reactions might lead her to draw her pistol, to turn on her hostage. Now she worried she would offend Len or stop her concluding her story. She was no longer merely curious. She needed to know how Len had fought her way through such things to where she was today.

  She needed to know Len.

  “No. I think you are in earnest.” Lucia tried to sound reassuring. But how to articulate her feelings? “It is just—”

  “Irregular? Indecent maybe? I do not doubt you are shocked at the sort of woman I am, Lucia.” Len’s tone had a challenge in it. Lucia was aware Len not only expected her to be shocked but partly wanted it too. As though, more than mocking, she was trying to educate Lucia about her world, to demonstrate its dangers. But Lucia’s stubborn streak would not allow it. Besides, she could not believe Len truly wanted to be seen as an indecent woman. Her demeanour and words so far suggested anything but.

  “No, no—I am not shocked.” Lucia’s protest was genuine. She wanted Len to understand that she already saw more than the unusual woman who robbed travellers. “I am merely interested how this tale brought you to where you sit today.”