The Locket and the Flintlock

by Rebecca S. Buck

  “Yes, thank you.” Len smiled. There was nothing else she could do. Lucia was looking at her now, and Len saw pain in her eyes. She ached to think of herself as the cause of that pain, and yet somehow, she hoped she was.

  “You’re welcome,” Lucia said. Her tone suggested she did not want to be left out of this conversation of so few words. At the sound of her voice, Len’s heart quickened and her stomach lurched. To think of living without Lucia was impossible. And yet today was the day upon which that future would be decided. This could be the last time she ever set eyes on Miss Lucia Foxe. Len felt sick and put the notion out of her head. She had faith in Lucia. She thought she knew her heart.

  The note was in her hand, the words on which everything depended, upon which her life seemed to balance. She passed very close to Lucia and pressed the small folded piece of paper into her gloved hand. She glanced very quickly at Lucia’s sister, who was apparently oblivious. A very quick moment of eye contact with Lucia, which she wanted so badly to sustain for longer, and she was walking away across the town square, her arm in Julian’s.

  This was a horrible masquerade. Here she was in her fine gown and velvet coat, on the arm of a handsome man, walking briskly through the town. At any moment in the recent years she would have felt out of place, uncomfortable. Today was worse. Today she had adopted this disguise not to hide in that world but to flirt with it. Today she had to infiltrate that world to get to Lucia. And what if Lucia preferred that world in the end? Len knew, without a doubt, she could not remain in Lucia’s world. It felt false, worse than a pretence. But it was not a lie to Lucia. It was her life. Did she have enough to offer to draw Lucia away from that? Lucia had, after all, had the entire winter to consider it. Tonight, Len would get her answer.

  *

  Sitting in the window seat of her chamber, as the sky burned with the oranges and yellows of the setting sun, Lucia held the still-folded piece of paper. She had hidden it in the sleeve of her coat for the rest of her time in town with Isabella. Even while Isabella had been busy with her milliner, Lucia had paced the floor and had not dared to look at the note Len had given her. Were the words ones of hope, or ones of farewell? If they were ones of hope, then what did the future hold? At the notion of a future with Len in it, she felt her heart beat just a little faster. Yet it still seemed so impossible. And how could she have a claim on a woman like Len? Lucia would not compromise the freedom of spirit that defined the woman she loved. And love her she still did. Maybe it was better that Len said her farewells now, leaving Lucia to love her from a distance.

  She ran her fingers over the smooth paper. For an instant the future was of less importance. What mattered was that Len was alive, and in case Lucia thought she had imagined it in her grief, she held the piece of paper as proof. Joy filled her heart with the knowledge that Len was not cold in the ground after all. Surely, if there was still life, there were still choices, still ways of living that life. Len had taught her that much.

  Lucia looked out across the parkland to the countryside beyond. Somewhere Len lurked among the trees, a shadow among shadows. Or maybe she mingled, disguised as she had earlier been, among unsuspecting company. Did she ride out on the roads tonight, her pistol at her side, to terrorise another family? Perversely, Lucia almost envied her prospective victims.

  Impulsively, Lucia went to her bed and removed her mother’s locket from beneath the pillow, then returned, clutching it, to the window seat. Would her mother have understood this love any better than Isabella or her father? Lucia doubted it. Yet she wanted her mother with her when she read Len’s words. The locket had taken on a far greater significance. It was her mother’s, holding her portrait and her hair, and somehow, at the same time, it held Lucia’s recollections of nights in the dark woods, the sting of the black powder on her skin, and of Len, warm beside her.

  Lucia let the locket rest in her lap and unfolded the paper slowly. Len’s hand was neat and sloping, the hand of an educated woman.

  Dearest Lucia,

  You will be surprised, no doubt, over the manner of delivery of this little note. Only be glad your visits to town have been regular enough for Julian to have observed you every Wednesday for the last three weeks. If you are reading this now, it means I have been successful, and today I was able to lay my eyes upon you once more.

  Poor Lucia, you must have suffered agonies when Julian sent you away. I am sorry, though you must know I would have done the same. That you are safe is my only wish.

  You will also forgive, I hope, Julian’s rescue of Oberon from your stable. Once I recovered from my injuries, I needed my horse. Perhaps you thought he would have some message for you and were disappointed to discover nothing of the sort. That was my instruction. I did not want to risk anything of what occurred between us being discovered, for your sake as much as my own.

  However, I had to see you once more, Lucia. I do not know what your life has been since your return home. I cannot know if you wish to forget me. If so, I apologise. You may burn this letter and think of me no more. However, if your feelings are not so hostile, I would see you again.

  I cannot come to your house. Perhaps, having seen my disguise of today, you will think I could call on you quite respectably. However, I will take no such risks. Besides, I have once before felt the consequences of such relations being carried on in the half gaze of a family. I will not put you through that, nor your family either.

  If we are to meet, it must be in secret. Perhaps this is too much to ask of you. If you wish such a thing, tonight, the night you took this note from my hand, be by your chamber window at nine o’clock. Take a candle and place it in the window. As the clock strikes, cover the flame, so from outside it is obscured. Then let it shine again. Repeat this action three times. If you do so, I will see your signal and I will know we can meet again. Tomorrow afternoon, after one o’clock, ride out into your park. Ask to be allowed to go alone. I will wait for you.

  You know I live my life in secrets and shadows, beloved Lucia. Now I ask you to do the same. If you cannot, I will understand.

  Yours, in hope,

  Len

  As Lucia read the letter, hot tears streamed over her cheeks. The sheer pleasure of reading words from Len’s hand, the evidence she lived, was enough to transport her into realms of delight she had not known since she had shared the darkness with their author.

  Lucia ached as Len wrote of her own doubts. How could Len think Lucia would not want to meet her? Lucia forgave her everything she asked and, touching the place on the paper where she had signed her name, longed to be close to her again. The time until nine o’clock, when she could give Len her reply, seemed to stretch endlessly.

  *

  Len crouched, motionless, in the undergrowth near the perimeter wall of Foxe Hall. She did not want to risk drawing the attention of the armed guard by attempting to enter the grounds of the house itself. Besides which, she did not need to. She simply needed to see Lucia’s window.

  Would Lucia disappoint her now? Would Len finally know her own judgement to be faulty, know there was no chance of love for her, after all? Because she thought she saw love in Lucia’s eyes. She felt she understood Lucia’s heart, her very soul. What if she was wrong? How would she bear the disappointment when she hoped for so much? She’d put her faith in the silly little rich girl. It was ludicrous. And yet here she was.

  Julian had offered to accompany her tonight. She had put him off, telling him that she would be safer alone, arouse less suspicion. In truth, she did not want him here to witness her possible humiliation. To see how much she wanted this, and how devastated she would be if her trust in Lucia proved to be misguided.

  She wondered what the time was. She carried a silver pocket watch these days, taken from a particularly unpleasant army colonel travelling back to his Yorkshire estate early in January. It was partly because of Lucia that she carried the watch. When she questioned her own morals, questioned the goodness Lucia saw in her, she remembered that colonel
, who’d she heard had sent many men to bloody deaths in the wars, and beat a cowardly retreat to his luxurious country estate with his young wife when questions had been asked of his suitability for command. That colonel was still accepted in society, a respected man. He could have proposed marriage to Lucia or her sister. How Len made her living was no worse.

  Now she longed to look at the watch, see how close to the hour the time was. But it would be pointless to try to peer at it in the darkness. All she could do was keep her eyes on the house in front of her, and on Lucia’s window in particular. She watched, and she waited, barely daring to breathe.

  After what seemed like more than the few minutes it must have been, the window was illuminated by the light of a single candle. Len’s heart beat quickly, and she felt dizzy. Now was the moment. She tried to peer beyond the light. To imagine Lucia in her room, looking out into the night. What was she feeling?

  Len watched the light. She didn’t dare blink, in case she missed the signal. The light flickered. And then disappeared. Len stopped breathing. The light shone once more. Len bit her lip and watched. Her chest was tight. The light disappeared again. Still, she would not believe it, even as she saw the light again. One more time, my love. She repeated it in her head. One more time. The light was obscured. A moment later it shone into the night again. Len heard her own cry of relief and was glad Julian was not present to see the tears that filled her eyes.

  Lucia wanted her and there was still a chance for love. Len wanted to dance with the joy of it. She gazed at the house, kissed her fingers and blew the kiss in the direction of Lucia’s window. She swept her tricorn from her head and made Lucia an exaggerated bow. “Until tomorrow, my sweet love,” she said to the night.

  Moments later she had melted into the shadows once more.

  Chapter Nineteen

  If Lucia had thought the hours of the previous day drifted by slowly, it was nothing compared to the excruciating time it took every minute of the following morning to pass. Her father had ridden to town, and Isabella was visiting Anne Drew in the next village. Lucia was fortunate she did not, therefore, have to notify anyone of her intention to ride out in the park. She ate luncheon alone and asked Mary to tell Jenkins in the stable to ready Sally for her. Mary was pleased she wished for exercise and fresh air and Lucia assumed her father would feel similarly, should he return to the house before she did.

  When she went out to the stables at five minutes after one o’clock, dressed warmly in her riding cloak and gloves, bonnet secure upon her head, she found Sally waiting by the mounting block. Jenkins was making a final adjustment to her girth and nodded his greeting to her as she approached.

  “She’s ready for it, Miss Foxe. Give her a good gallop,” he said. He stroked the mare’s neck affectionately.

  “Of course.” Lucia climbed onto the block. As she balanced upon the saddle, she recalled Len’s habit of riding astride the horse, as a man would, and thought how cumbersome and difficult a lady’s saddle really was. She recollected the first time she had been mounted upon Oberon, Len close behind her, and felt the thrill of anticipation alive in her heart once more.

  “Thank you,” she said to Jenkins. He nodded and patted Sally’s rump, urging her into motion. Lucia walked her across the yard, for it was a while since she had ridden and she needed a moment to reacquaint herself with the sensations, the balance. As she rounded the corner of the house, where the path led directly into the parkland behind the house, she nudged the horse into a trot, which soon became a swift canter, up the slight bank which rose from the house to the rolling grass of the wilder park beyond. Foxe Hall was surrounded by fields and coppices, and gave the impression of being much larger than it was.

  Once Lucia was out of view of all but the highest attic windows of the house, she slowed Sally to a walk and looked around. How would Len know where she was? She was filled with anxiety once more, frightened the plan would be unsuccessful and she would be forced to turn for home without seeing Len. That would be unbearable.

  She turned Sally in a small circle, glancing keenly at her surroundings, and set off again at a brisk trot, determined to cover the entire park, to be sure of seeing Len if she could.

  She had ridden close to the edge of the park when she heard hoof falls almost exactly in time with Sally’s, only heavier, approaching from behind. She drew a deep breath, not daring to look back.

  The rhythm of the dull thuds behind her changed into a canter and began to gain on her. She continued the trot, her lips pressed together, gripping the reins until her fingers hurt.

  One moment Lucia was alone in anticipation, listening hard, the next Len was there beside her. Lucia saw the shine of Oberon’s glossy black flank, the flash of Len’s white breeches, the dark blue of Len’s cloak, all a blur to her side, as Len cantered up to her. Turning her head, upon which she wore her usual tricorn, towards Lucia, Len smiled, a playful smile Lucia had not seen before. She pushed Oberon further, into a gallop. Lucia dug gently at Sally’s side and, as though the mare was herself infused by her rider’s excitement, Sally sprang into a gallop nearly as swift as the stallion’s.

  Len galloped across the open meadow at the upper end of the park. Her cloak billowed behind her, and the tail of long hair at her back flew as she rode. Sally kept pace just behind her, and Lucia felt her own cloak swept backwards. The wind toyed with her bonnet, was cold and pure on her face. The horses’ hooves made an exuberant thunder on the earth and she felt she would overflow with the sheer joy of it.

  Eventually, nearing the Gothic archways of the old folly which stood at this part of the park, more ruined and overgrown now than it was ever supposed to be when it was built in the previous century, Len slowed Oberon and eventually drew him to a halt. Lucia pulled Sally up beside them.

  Len dismounted quickly and turned to Lucia as she sat in her saddle, smiling. She offered Lucia her hand. “Miss Foxe,” she said, full of mock formality, as she helped her dismount.

  “Sir?” Lucia said, teasing, and was rewarded with Len’s laughter. Once Lucia was steady on her feet, they faced each other. Lucia tore off her glove and held trembling fingers to Len’s face, stroked her warm cheek. “You are really alive,” she breathed.

  “Yes.” Len’s gaze burned into Lucia’s.

  “You are not a ghost and I’m not dreaming?” Lucia was still scarce able to believe Len stood in front of her, with such warmth in her expression.

  “No,” she said. “Did you dream of me, Lucia?”

  “Yes.” Lucia felt shy for a moment.

  “I was afraid you would not come.”

  “I thought I would never see you again.”

  “And yet here we are.” Len smiled that wonderful hint of a smile.

  “Yes.” The next moment their lips were pressed together, and Lucia felt Len’s arms strong around her once more. The velvet kiss soothed away all the pain of the months since she had last set eyes upon her. Love flourished in Lucia’s heart and grew stronger to have its subject so close.

  Len kissed Lucia deeper, harder, wanted her to know just how desperately she wanted her. She did not need to ask if Lucia forgave her, or had missed her, or wanted her. She could read it in Lucia’s clear blue eyes, feel it in her embrace, in her kiss. All the moments when her life had hung in the balance, all the close calls with death, all the moments of joy, and fear, and exhilaration, were nothing compared to how it felt to have Lucia in her arms again.

  The grass behind the wall of the folly was damp, though it did not penetrate the double thickness of their cloaks laid on top of one another. The late-February air was chill on their exposed skin, but Len covered Lucia with her body and they were warm once more. As Len made love to Lucia, she glimpsed a clump of snowdrops close to Lucia’s golden curls. She kissed Lucia tenderly and reached over to pluck one of the tender white flowers. Lucia, who had closed her eyes, opened them again to see what Len was doing. Len ran the delicate flower over Lucia’s cheek, over her pink parted lips, and over her
throat. Lucia breathed deeply and smiled.

  Len smiled down into Lucia’s face. “How long do you think snowdrops have bloomed here?” she asked, softly.

  “I couldn’t say.” Lucia looked at Len with curiosity in her eyes.

  Len held the flower to her own lips, felt it tickle slightly and kissed the little bloom. “I can imagine they’ve been here for centuries,” she said. “Nature’s way of reassuring us that spring will come again.” It was inexorable, the return of colour and warmth and life, even after the harshest of winters. Len felt it so strongly. Her heart had been barren and cold. But Lucia had brought it back, reminded her that spring could come. Now, on this cold day, they drew heat from each other.

  “That’s a beautiful thought,” Lucia said, a dreamy look in her eyes.

  Len placed the snowdrop on Lucia’s smooth chest, in the shallow valley between her breasts, and bent to kiss the swell next to it. “Not as beautiful as you, Lucia. My love.”

  “How I have wanted you, Helena Hawkins. How I have loved you…” Lucia’s words were a sigh. Len moved her lips over Lucia’s skin and drew more sighs of pleasure from her.

  “You saved my life, Lucia. In my darkest moments, when I thought I was slipping out of the world, I came back for you.”

  There were tears in Lucia’s eyes. “Thank you. I didn’t know how to go on without you…”

  Len moved her kisses back to Lucia’s soft lips, as her hands rediscovered every beloved inch of Lucia’s body. In the remnants of a false ruin, in the farthest reaches of the park, they knew again what love was, and the cold of late winter was banished.

  *

  “When will I see you again?” Lucia demanded of Len as they lingered over the necessary parting, dressed in their cloaks and gloves once more. Dusk was approaching, and Lucia’s father would worry if it grew dark before her return.