The Locket and the Flintlock

by Rebecca S. Buck

  “Soon,” Len replied.

  “But how I will know?”

  Len eased her hand into Lucia’s, gripping firmly, wanting very badly to reassure her. “You will know. I always have a way.” She would. Whatever it took.

  “What am I going to do?” Lucia said.

  “What do you mean?” Len’s heart stuttered with worry. Was it possible that Lucia would doubt her?

  “I do not feel at home in the house any longer. I love my father and Isabella, of course. But I feel separate from them somehow.”

  Len looked at Lucia earnestly, her heart aching for her with a pain she remembered so very well herself. Her stomach twisted with nerves. Lucia’s love she did not doubt. Lucia’s ability to let go of the life she was so used to she was not so certain of. “I was afraid for you,” she said, “when I first began to see that your heart yearned for more, in the same way as mine. You must remember I told you this could happen.”

  “Yes, I do.” Lucia hesitated, and Len watched her keenly. “And I don’t mind it really. Only I cannot see how I can live this way forever. Especially when Isabella is married next month.” At Lucia’s words, Len felt a stirring of relief.

  “You do not long to marry yourself?” she asked. She felt she had to ask the question of Lucia, but there was a hint of irony in her tone, for she really knew the reply she would receive.

  “No,” Lucia said. “Do I seem as though I am looking for a husband?” She smiled a smile that was nothing short of wicked.

  “No, you most certainly do not.” Len laughed gently, her heart easier.

  “But can this go on forever?”

  “Nothing can go on forever,” Len replied. She believed that maxim with all her heart. “But change cannot always be commanded. You never know what might happen. That is how I live.”

  “Is it enough?”

  “Not, perhaps, forever. But for today, yes.” They were silent in mutual contemplation. “I will see you again before long, I promise,” Len said, lifting Lucia’s hand to her mouth and kissing her fingers through the velvet gloves.

  “I will depend upon it.” Lucia squeezed Len’s fingers. Len turned reluctantly to mount Oberon.

  She took up the reins and turned the horse. She glanced at Lucia and put her hand to her hat, tilting it briefly. “Until later then, Miss Foxe,” she said. She made sure to fill her smile with reassurance. She would find a way to make their love possible. Because parting from Lucia felt like tearing out her own heart. Urging Oberon into his graceful canter, she thundered away across the park, to the place where it met the countryside beyond, a gap in the wall allowing access.

  Lucia watched until Len vanished. She led Sally to a place where she could stand on the wall of the folly to mount her, and climbed into the saddle. The sun was low and burning orange in the pale sky as she arrived back at the stables, windswept and flushed, her heart alive with the ecstasy of love.

  *

  Lucia did not see Len again before Isabella was married. She watched the ceremony with an odd, hollow feeling inside her, knowing she would never stand before the altar with her husband to be, glowing as Isabella now did. She understood all too well that her pleasures and passions would be forever of a more clandestine nature. The small church was filled with family, neighbours, and, as a result of the status of the groom, a fine collection of lords and ladies. Lucia would never celebrate her love in front of such a host of people, all wishing her well. Life held something so different for her. For a fleeting moment, she almost wished herself in Isabella’s place.

  However, at the feast which followed—during which Lucia had to endure many enquiries after her own lack of suitor and of her late absence from society—she knew she did not, in fact, crave the life Isabella did. That life did not have Len in it. And its rules were fast becoming suffocating.

  As Lucia kissed the new Lady Hyde goodbye and Isabella climbed into her splendidly liveried carriage—her husband smiling broadly at her side—Lucia saw the simple pleasure in her eyes and was almost angry with her. Why did she not expect more? Surely there was something she yearned for, something not fulfilled by this marriage? How could she go through with it so cheerfully? Lucia forced her fond farewells and stepped away from the carriage. Isabella was driven into her future by grooms and footmen and four matching bays. Lucia prayed it would be all her sister wanted it to be.

  *

  The weeks after Isabella’s departure were hard. The house was oddly silent without her, though Sir Spencer and Lucia kept up their usual routines. They read the dispatches in the newspapers for news of the war on the frontier of Spain, and Lucia imagined her brother George in that sun-baked, barren landscape. She had gained a new understanding of the threat he faced, of the powder and smoke, and death, of a soldier’s life. She almost smiled when she wondered what her brother would think if he knew his sister had learned to fire a pistol.

  In the dense letters covering the pages of the newspapers Lucia also found accounts of frame-breaking in the county and read of its spread farther north, into the woollen factories of Yorkshire. She thought of Bill Wilcock and the others. As her father expressed his disgust at the men turned against their masters in such a way, she thought of the strain she had seen in their eyes. It struck her she would never see them again, never know their fates. They had slipped back into the unknown, mysterious again. Only not so frightening. Lucia was beginning to see that sometimes what lies in the shadows is not a threat, it is only the unknown. She had seen into those marginal places, and she was no longer afraid of the dark.

  She read accounts too of criminals found guilty at the assizes and executed upon the steps of the Shire Hall in town. Frame-breakers, thieves, murderers, all were treated in the same manner. Lucia attempted to close her ears as her father read sections of the reports aloud. All too well did she understand that some of Len’s men and at least two of the frame-breakers—who knew which?—were among those to have met their deaths by the cruel rope. If Len were captured, no mercy would be shown. Lucia could not bear to think on it.

  Lucia spent her time pondering how different the world appeared now. Her notions of justice, of evil, of freedom, her very foundations of right and wrong had shifted fundamentally. She longed to discuss such things with her father, but there was no way she could even begin such a conversation.

  She was becoming quite desperate to see Len again, when Len obliged. Mary came to Lucia in the middle of the morning on a sunny day in late March to tell her a servant had called from a Miss Catherine Maltby in town, with a message for Lucia. Miss Maltby was visiting the nearby village and asked Lucia to call on her that afternoon. Mary saw nothing amiss. However, Lucia knew no one of that name and saw Len’s hand behind the plan immediately.

  Shortly after lunch, Lucia dressed smartly and walked briskly down the driveway, declaring to Mary her intention to walk to the village that she might breathe the spring air, asking her to inform her father of the same when he emerged from his study where he had been ensconced with Mr. Royston, his lawyer and good friend, all morning.

  Len waited for Lucia on the road between Foxe Hall and the village. She had left Oberon with Julian at their new hideout in the woods not so far from The Red Lion Inn and walked the few miles to Foxe Hall. It was a fine day, and she enjoyed the solitude. She smiled as she waited, thinking back to her conversation with Julian of earlier that morning. She had just finished washing her face in a bowl of cold water, and the edges of her hair were still dripping when he’d come to stand near her, at the back of the derelict barn they were using as a temporary shelter, and offered her a small Spanish cigar.

  “From the cigar box of a certain Mr. Giles, who travelled the Mansfield road but three days ago and met with an unfortunate event.”

  “My heart goes out to the man. All his pomposity did not save him from losing his purse. Or his cigars.” Len drew on the sweet smoke and enjoyed the sensation that crept through her body. “His excellent cigars, at that.”

  “You�
�ll miss all of this, you know,” Julian said then. He looked off into the distance nonchalantly.

  Len glanced at him sharply. “What do you mean by that?” she asked. She knew perfectly well what he meant.

  “You will miss all of this. Living in a barn, riding the roads by night, the spoils of our work.”

  “Why would I miss it, Julian? I’m going nowhere.” Len didn’t even believe her own words.

  “Oh, don’t pretend you’ve not thought about it, Len. I know you. Miss Foxe is more than just a pretty distraction. And you don’t expect her to live in a barn or a woodland hideout.”

  “No, Julian. You are right.” She coloured slightly. “On both counts.”

  “I wasn’t asking, Len. You’re in love. I’ve seen it before.”

  “You don’t mind it?”

  “If you mean on my sister’s behalf, not at all. If Hattie had lived, you would have been faithful to her always, I have no doubt. But she isn’t here now. And, queer though it is, Miss Foxe makes you happy. I see it in your face every day.”

  “But on your own behalf?”

  “You don’t need my blessing.” Julian’s voice was gruff.

  “I should like it, though.” Len reached out and touched his arm gently.

  “If you want her Len, grasp hold of your chance. God knows, life is too brief to refuse happiness when it presents itself, in whatever form.”

  “But?”

  “But I worry for your heart. A gentlewoman like that, who spent a week in the woods and became a different girl entirely? And what will she expect of you, Len? You are not easily tamed.”

  Len laughed. “You make me sound like a wild animal, Julian. I do not require taming. And Lucia did not change so much as emerge from her cage. I know that feeling. As for expectations, well, I am not foolish enough to believe love conquers all, but I do think it helps. I am prepared to make sacrifices. I believe Lucia is too. It doesn’t feel like a sacrifice.”

  “You will not move into Foxe Hall, though, Len. She will not live in a barn.”

  “I know. Do not ask me how it will be done, but I will find a way. I always do, don’t I?”

  Julian grinned and nodded. “Aye, Len Hawkins, that you do. And Miss Lucia is a very lucky woman.”

  “Thank you. I consider myself the fortunate one.”

  “That’s why she’s lucky.” Julian squeezed her shoulder. “Go and get her, Len. With my blessing.”

  Now, waiting for Lucia at the roadside, Len thought of that conversation with Julian. His blessing had finally released her from the recurring feeling she was somehow betraying Hattie’s memory by loving Lucia. Julian had known Hattie better than anyone. And his faith in the truth of her feelings, of the power of her love for Lucia, only strengthened those feelings in her heart.

  Her eyes found Lucia the moment she turned the corner of the road leading from Foxe Hall. In her matching mauve cloak and bonnet, she was the image of a proper gentlewoman. But Len knew the truth behind the picture. And she knew she had to find a way to allow their love to flourish. She had to.

  Len knew Lucia had caught sight of her, lurking in the shade of a large oak tree, when she quickened her pace. Len felt her own heartbeat respond. When Lucia was close enough that Len could search those blue eyes for traces of doubt, and convince herself once more there were none, Lucia reached out and squeezed Len’s fingers in her own. Len smiled and knew she would do whatever it took.

  It was not difficult to creep into the fields together, to sit with their backs to a stone wall hands clasped, and to talk, only a flock of sheep to witness it. Lucia’s kisses were as eager as they had been in the park, almost a month ago.

  “I wish I could see you more often,” Lucia said sadly.

  “As do I,” Len said. “Maybe I can take the air in your park again this week. If we decide upon a time now?”

  “Friday, in the afternoon.” Lucia’s tone was certain, as though she would make the time, even if she found her father had other plans.

  “Then it is confirmed.” Len smiled.

  “I worry for you,” Lucia said abruptly. “We read such accounts in the papers.”

  “Do they write of me?”

  “The frame-breakers appear to be more important than you.”

  “That is not good for my pride.” Len was pleased. The attention of the militia was turned elsewhere these days. She had sympathy with the frame-breakers but knew her safety—and Lucia’s—to be greater as a result.

  “Have you seen them again?” Lucia asked.

  “No, not after that night. It is better that way.” Len’s expression was clouded as recollection drew her gaze into the distance.

  “Do you think of it often?”

  “No.” Len was truthful in her reply. “My father is ordering new machines, of course. I have seen them being delivered. I knew it would be only a minor setback to him. Still, I would not have missed plunging my axe into the heart of his property. If only he knew he had shot his own daughter.” Len laughed slightly. The knowledge was too painful to dwell on, and she chose not to. She had not known she would tell Lucia until she was speaking the words.

  “It was your father?” Lucia sounded surprised.

  “Of course, who else would it have been? I never thought he’d try to kill me.” Her voice wavered slightly and she felt herself blush. Only with Lucia would she dare reveal any of her weakness and pain.

  “But he did not manage it,” Lucia said. She sounded relieved, and Len’s anguish was washed away by gratitude, to hear once more that Lucia cared for her, loved her. It recalled her to her own strength, caused a surge of pride in her heart.

  “No, he did not. I am, most certainly, alive. He has tried to marry me off, to break me with beatings, to force me to humble myself before him or starve, has even shot me, and yet here I sit, alive and unbroken.” Len was resilient again. It was the quality that allowed her to live the life she did. Could she be so now, without Lucia? Or was it Lucia who threatened that resilience? Len did not care. Lucia was fundamental to her now.

  “Let it stay that way. I need you to be alive,” Lucia said quietly.

  “I am careful, Lucia, you know.” Len wanted nothing more than to reassure Lucia, though she knew nothing was for certain.

  “I know.” Lucia replied. She too, was unconvinced. This could not go on. Len knew Lucia needed more certainty. She leant in to kiss her, her mind searching for answers, knowing she would make any sacrifice Lucia needed her to.

  *

  And thus the gloriously unbearable pattern of the next six months was established. Len would find some mysterious way to make herself known to Lucia, and Lucia would go to her, her own heart brimming with exultation. Lucia lived partly in terror she would read of Len’s arrest in the newspapers and partly under the strain of anticipation, longing for their next encounter. Yet there were moments of joy so pure, she would not have changed those months.

  Partly as a result of her preoccupation with Len, Lucia did not notice how ill her father had become. True enough, he had grown quieter and had taken to his study alone more than he was used to but Lucia did not think anything amiss.

  Isabella visited with her husband, about four months after her marriage. Her belly was visibly swollen with child, and her excitement at the prospect of motherhood was tangible. Their father shone with pride while Lucia regarded the change in Isabella with some dismay. Her smile was serene and her eyes sparkled still, yet she did not giggle as she used to. Her husband reached for her hand several times as they sat beside each other on the sofa, and Lucia hoped it was a touch of affection, of love, and that Isabella was happy. She had to remind herself that it was possible to find contentment within the conventions of their polite world, that not every woman craved the freedom she did. It made her miss Len, the understanding they shared, all the more.

  In late August, on a swelteringly hot day, Lucia’s father fell truly ill. He rose from the breakfast table, having eaten little, and immediately slumped to the floo
r. Lucia summoned Mary and the two women managed to support him, in his half swoon, to the sofa in the sitting room. The doctor attended upon him in the afternoon and recommended bleeding. Sir Spencer was moved to his bed, and Lucia left him alone with the doctor.

  The bleeding had no effect. He lingered into the next day, and Lucia soothed his hot forehead with a cool, damp cloth. His eyes wandered gratefully over her face, but he did not utter a word. Whether he had lost his power of speech, Lucia did not know. Later that afternoon, just as the doctor was due to call again, his hand tightened on Lucia’s as he drew his last breath. She watched the life pass from him, half fascinated, half horrified by the change in his countenance as his heart beat no more. He did not appear to be sleeping, as she had heard so often said of the deceased. He appeared to be dead. The change was so slight yet so profound, she almost forgot to weep for him. Only as she wished him quick passage into God’s keeping, praying he would be finally reunited with her mother, did the grief come.

  The next morning, Lucia felt the full consequence of her father’s death. She was alone, mistress of Foxe Hall. The building towered around her, so large she could barely contemplate it. She did not want to be its mistress. The feeling so overpowered her she was compelled to run down the stairs—still in her nightdress—across the hallway, and out of the front door, where she gulped at the fresh air. The task in front of her seemed insurmountable.

  As it was, however, once Mr. Royston—the lawyer—arrived at Foxe Hall, just before luncheon, Lucia understood she really had very little responsibility in the matter. George would, of course, inherit the house and park from their father. It was a given she would reside there until such a time as she married. George inherited the majority of the financial worth of her father’s estate, but Isabella and Lucia were granted an allowance once they were married. Isabella’s would go to her and her husband immediately. Lucia wondered if she would ever receive hers. It seemed doubtful.