The Highwayman's Mistress

by Francine Howarth

  Once the valuables were handed over, the rider barely glanced at the snuffbox or fob watch and secreted them within his gauntlet. He glanced at her then, and leaned forward and indicated for Richard to move to the far side of the coche. Richard did as bid, and the highwayman’s interest fell solely upon her. His scrutiny disturbed her, his dark eyes as though boring into her very soul.

  “Remove your gloves and show me your hands, young miss,” he said, in perfect English with refined French lilt.”

  He obviously suspected rings on her fingers. Well, he was soon to be disappointed. She removed her gloves in haste, and displayed ring-less fingers and not a jewelled bracelet did she have upon her person. She sensed no disappointment, and the highwayman chuckled as though it was all a game.

  “Give me your hand,” he said, holding his right hand forth, his pistol held in left hand, and reins loose about his horse’ withers.

  Why request her hand when she had no jewelled rings to wrench from her fingers? Though once her hand was cupped in his gauntlet-clad hand he leaned forward and placed a kiss upon her fingers, his eyes so close and intense in scrutiny her heart stopped. How could that happen? How could a man such as he cause frisson of indefinable connection, as though two parts of a whole had come together? She snatched her hand away, unsettled and unsure as to what had occurred between them: shamed by thoughts that sped to mind. Yet it was as though she knew him, for something about his voice and eyes were quite familiar.

  “Do not proceed to Versailles,” he said, his attention once again directed to Richard. “If you value your life and that of your lady, you will order this coche turned around and make your way back to England with due haste. Much trouble lies ahead.”

  “You rob us, then attempt to express concern for our welfare,” said Richard. “What reason pray, is there to suggest trouble ahead?”

  “Ignore my warning at your peril. Revolutionary militia are patrolling Versailles, and the king and queen have been taken to Paris.”

  “What nonsense is this?”

  “Believe me, few courtiers have escaped arrest save two women hiding at the royal hunting lodge.” He reined his horse back a little. “I speak only the truth. The hunting lodge lies to your left, down a forest track. Perchance you are gallant enough to rescue the ladies. Au revoir,” his parting words, as man and horse faded into the shadows of the trees and vanished.

  “Thank God,” exclaimed Richard. “Phew, we got off light, if I say so myself.”

  “But you lost your fob watch and snuffbox.”

  “Fair exchange for our lives and we again able to continue on our journey.”

  She dare not tell Richard, but if her instincts were correct the highwayman was none other than the Count of Saint Mont Marche. Yes, he had robbed Richard, but perhaps with good reason. But if it was Angelica at the hunting lodge, why had Francois abandoned her? She had to know.

  “He said two women are hiding at a hunting lodge. Does it not make sense to go there, and find out for ourselves if his story about the king and queen is true?”

  “It is almost dark, Diamonta, and to go wandering along forest tracks is madness indeed.”

  “We cannot in all heart proceed to Versailles. We must heed the vagabond’s warning, or we might, as he proclaimed, find ourselves in grave danger.”

  Richard sighed. “You are right.” He pushed the door and stepped down from the coche, and sudden glow of light upon his face suggested the coachman had just set about lighting the lamps. She listened to his instructions directed to the coachman, and the other man’s reply. He too seemed in agreement it was best to go to the hunting lodge. She thought it brave of him to suggest if ladies needed help he was quite willing to aid in their rescue. He informed Richard he despised the queen’s extravagances but did not wish either king or queen sent to the guillotine in like manner to aristocrats already arrested and heads severed. Her heart dived.

  Aristocrats guillotined? Was it Angelica at the hunting lodge?

  Richard returned to his seat whilst the coachman urged the horses to take the turn onto the forest track, his voice then tinged with vexation and concern. “Damn weather. I’m soaked and frozen to the bone.”

  “Have the revolutionaries taken leave of their senses? The guillotine? They wish royal heads to the basket?” She drew breath, heart palpitating in fear and disgust. The coche wheels were less noisy and the sway more gentle. “My God, we must return to England directly.”

  “Indeed we must,” he said, voice lowered. “Had I known of this before we departed, I would never have sanctioned your coming here. My source of intelligence to affairs of the French state was sorely misinformed.”

  “Source of intelligence? You sound just like a spy.” Silence hung heavy for a moment or two. “Richard?”

  “Sssh, be careful what you say,” came at her in a whisper.

  Silence befell them, and the coche rumbled onward very slow and she wondered how it was possible for the coachman and horses to see where they were headed, for darkness had descended in earnest. Both she and Richard glanced from side to side not a light to be seen and when the coche slowed to a crawl and finally rolled to standstill, it did seem as though a shadowed structure stood to their right. Mere seconds passed and a faint glimmer of light implied it was inhabited.

  Richard spied it, too. “You’re to stay here,’ he said, in commanding tone.

  He alighted with caution and soon vanished into the darkness. The wait for news proved stressful in extreme. Rather worried for Richard’s safety and her own, finally the sight of shrouded lanterns edging toward the coche caused momentary fear until, a female voice and quite distinctive French lilt was heard in conversation with Richard.

  To her delight, Angelica appeared before the open door of the coche. “Diamonta, it is I, Angelica”

  Her heart soared, for she now knew the highwayman’s identity, for here was his sister in hooded cape. “I am so pleased to see you. To know you are safe. But what has happened?

  “Terrible, terrible things have happened, and although I am most grateful you have come tonight I cannot ask that you take us with you. It would be too dangerous for you to be seen with us. You are as good as English, Diamonta, and your friend is English. You may well be able to leave France in safety, but you will need papers to grant you safe passage. To get papers you must return the way you came and if you are stopped, and it is a surety you will be upon entering the town you must ask to speak with the mayor who is also a magistrate. He is a fair man and will do his best to see you both safe on your way.”

  “But we cannot go and leave you here.”

  “No, we cannot,” said Richard, most stern. “You must come with us now, and no delay.”

  “You have to go, have to go without us. Believe it. Anna Marie and I are resigned to our fate, and we will be discovered, we know that. It did seem fortunate when we escaped from Versailles with Francois’ help, but there is no coche here and we have no horses save Francois’ faithful beast. If you help us now and we are all caught you will no doubt suffer the guillotine as we shall suffer it. The King has been taken for trial, and it is feared the Queen will be called upon next to defend herself against terrible accusations.”

  “Less of this nonsense, there are ways and means of getting you out of here alive and in one piece,” said Richard. “Strip off your fine clothes, get rid of your wigs, and dress as modest as you can. One of you will have to ride atop with our coachman, and both disguised as servants.”

  Angelica looked aghast. “Modest in dress? Servants?” She thrust her head up in haughty manner. “I will go to the guillotine in my best gown.”

  “I’ll be damned if I’ll let you go to the guillotine,” said Richard, in bombastic tone. “Now do as I say, and damn sharp about it.”

  “Please Angelica, do as he says. The sooner the better.”

  Angelica glanced toward the coachman, now standing by the front of the team. “Is he French or English?”

  “Belgian French,
and a good and honest fellow,” replied Richard, rain trickling down his face. “He has no desire for royal heads to basket nor will he harm a hair on your lovely head. Now can we, young lady, get you and your friend sorted and on our way as soon as possible?”

  Diamonta leaned forward determined Angelica would abide by Richard’s request, and made to ease herself from the coche. “I will come with you, for many hands make light work.”

  Angelica knew herself outnumbered, her shoulders sagged and she relented. “Oh very well. But I fear for all our . . .” She laughed then, perchance realisation that freedom was hers after all. “My head, our heads, we might keep them yet if we work fast.”

  As Angelica led off and Diamonta in her wake, Richard moved to have words with the coachman. She heard the other man say he would need a bucket, for the horses required water. Angelica heard him too, and said, “You will find hay in the stable loft at the back of the lodge and buckets by the well.” She paused mid-step, turned to the coachman. “It would be best to leave as dawn breaks, do you not agree?”

  The coachman disagreed, and said all haste was absolute needed in getting as far away from Versailles as could be managed before daybreak. Angelica graciously conceded to the coachman’s greater knowledge of equines travelling in darkness, and as if by miracle the rain ceased and faint glimmer of moonlight peeped through thinning clouds.

  “Thank Heaven,” exclaimed Richard. “Pray God we make the coast in two days, or should that be nights?”

  Chapter three.

  ~

  Once inside the hall of the hunting lodge and Richard assisting the coachman, she had to ask. “Why is Francois a highwayman?”

  Angelica threw back the hood of her cape. Jewelled pins in her powdered wig glistened in candlelight, a reminder of her position at court and how difficult it would be for her to simply discard everything and leave it behind.

  “He is not a highwayman. He only posed as one to stop your coche, to stop you driving into Versailles where you would have been arrested.”

  “But he robbed Richard of a silver snuffbox and gold fob watch.”

  Angelica looked aghast. “He robbed him?” She tutted, most annoyed. “I told him to tell you to turn the coche around and go back to England, but he told you to come here, and that was wrong of him.”

  “He did not tell us to come, Angelica. He just said there were two women here, and both Richard and I agreed we could not turn back without attempting to rescue whomever. Though I did guess the rider to be Francois, and hoped it might be you hiding here.”

  “Francois promised me faithfully he would see you safely turned back, and then he was going to try and find some horses.” She shook her head, air of guilt about her. “Steal them if need be.”

  “So he has not abandoned you?”

  “No, he swore we live or die together, and promised to return by midnight with or without horses.”

  “Then we must hurry, for you cannot travel as you look now.”

  Angelica sighed, air of despondency about her as she eased her cape from shoulders, and called out for Anna Marie. A door opened and there stood another fashionable young lady of the French Court, to whom Angelica addressed in French and explained Richard’s plan of action. A slight argument developed and Diamonta scolded them both in French for wasting precious time, and insisted they make every effort to disguise themselves and as quickly as possible. Anna Marie pouted and Angelica screwed her eyes tight, neither really willing to abandon their finery.

  “As servants you will not have to speak, and therefore it will be much easier to get you past any soldiers or militiamen we may encounter en route.”

  “You are right, Diamonta“ said a familiar male voice from the doorway directly behind Anna Marie. “I have one extra horse, that is all I could get, so who will ride with me and who will ride in the coche?”

  Anna Marie turned, threw herself at Francois, arms about his neck. “I will come with you, my love, my Francois.”

  Angelica laughed. “Ride a horse? Oh come now, Anna Marie, you’ve never sat a horse.”

  “Is this true, Anna Marie?” quizzed Francois, as he levered her arms from about his neck in rough and hasty manner. “You have never ridden a horse?”

  “Of course it is true,” rallied his sister, wig wrenched from head. “I haven’t since a small child,” she added, snatching the jewelled pins from wig, “but at least I know how to ride.”

  Anna Marie’s pout returned, and Francois expression turned thunderous. “Then my sister rides with me, and you Anna Marie, go with Diamonta.”

  “I can understand Anna Marie’s desire to be with Francois,” slipped Diamonta’s lips in her mother’s tongue, and she regretted the words before the last uttered, because Francois shot her a look of amusement, as though having read her very thoughts, that as his mistress she would have chosen to ride with him. “But please, can we stop this bickering, pouting, and unwillingness to see the urgency of our getting underway directly.”

  Anna Marie turned, a look quite venomous. “Your French is very accomplished.”

  Diamonta sensed the other woman’s coolness was wholly attributed to the presence of a meddling young Englishwoman, as Anna Marie flicked her fingers in gesture of contempt and dismissal.

  Anna Marie’s tone was sharpened for effect, “I may achieve some sense of servant dress, but just remember I will not be your servant.”

  “Diamonta does not expect to you to be her servant,” said Angelica, discarding heeled silk slippers with careless abandon, the jewelled pins already threaded through lace of neck frill. “We must hurry, and make ourselves unrecognisable as ladies of the court.” Skirt raised with one hand, she rushed toward Anna Marie and grabbed her hand in passing. “Come, we must hurry.”

  Left in the room together, Francois smiled, that oh so familiar smile that had caused her heart to flutter before when their eyes had met in passing, and no less now. “I owe you and your gentleman friend an apology.”

  “Friend . . . Richard is merely a friend,” spilled forth too readily, almost to point of rudeness.”

  Francois came toward her, a glint in his eyes tending mischief. “That is what I thought, mere friend, for what man in his right mind sits opposite to a beautiful woman when a far better arrangement could be entertained?”

  She sensed a flush to her cheeks. This was Francois the teasing Francois who’d haunted her dreams ever since her first sighting of him. Oh Lord. On that first dramatic occasion his flamboyant manner had overwhelmed and charmed her, for she had known little about him. But, in the weeks that followed she had learned a lot from his sister. Angelica in all honesty had claimed him a man of some reputation, and ladies of the court keen to be seen on his arm. And, in response to such disappointing revelations she had set out to harden her heart and avoid his attentions, though with great difficulty for he had seemed intent on attracting hers, their eyes meeting too often despite a woman always on his arm.

  “Is he blind to your beauty?”

  Francois had bridged the gap between them, the smell of horse and leather strong upon his person yet overridden with powerful essence of honey sweet sandalwood and citrus. She could almost taste the zest of bitter lemon on her tongue.

  He caught up her gloved right hand, and drew it to his lips. “J’aimerais te connaître mieux.”

  His words were those of a skilled romancer, and no matter he wanted to get to know her better she could not entertain such thoughts. Not after her mother’s harsh response at mere mention of his name. To her relief Richard came striding in to the lodge, and need for reply excused by Francois speedy action of holding aloft a gold fob watch and silver snuffbox.

  “I apologise most humble for theft of your belongings.”

  Richard looked aghast, then realisation of events of their past and present predicament of waiting for Angelica and Anna Marie brought a tentative smile to his face. “Well I’ll be damned. Why didn’t you just plead our help instead of resorting to dramatic highwayman a
ct?”

  “I did not know if your cocheman was friend or foe, and my success in securing your help lay with Diamonta. I hoped and prayed she would recognise my voice and my overt attentions, and I thank God she did.”

  “Are the young ladies near ready to leave?” quizzed Richard. “I fear there are soldiers or militiamen coming this way. From the stable courtyard we spied lights in the distance, and they did appear to be coming through the forest not on the highway.”

  Francois turned and hurried from the hall. She could hear him shouting for Angelica and Anna Marie to hurry up, and Richard’s expression took on a rather haunted appearance in the dim candlelight. He was clearly agitated, nervous perhaps, and sense of fear gripped her.

  “How close were the lights?”

  “Close enough for Pierre to make haste in turning the coche and he’s doused the lights. He’s edgy to say the least, and I fear if the ladies are not ready I will insist you come away without them. The danger is real Diamonta, and I cannot and will not have you take any more risk than we already have. We must away, for those lights are no more than a quarter mile distant. Who ever those men are, they have hounds and it would seem the beasts have a scent. They were baying, and too damn close for comfort.”

  “You think they’ve picked up the scent of . . . Oh my God. But of course, Francois was a joint master of the king’s hounds. They will know him, and follow him wherever he may go.”

  She rushed to the door, which adjoined hall to large inner room. There, a carved staircase ascended to second floor, fire ablaze in the hearth lighting her way. At the foot of the staircase she called for Francois, but he came in such a rush it was obvious he’d heard the hounds in the distance.

  “They are ready,” he said, donning gauntlets. “Take both of them with you for now, and I will rendezvous with you somewhere along the way, presupposing I survive a contretemps with the handlers of the hounds. I fear soldiers are intent on arrest of I, a known fugitive along with Angelica and Anna Marie. If I leave this instant I can lead the hounds away and afford you more time to get clear of the forest and safe en route to the coast. He kissed her on the cheek, and further said, “Do not stop in villages, and be wary in Vernon.” He then turned and took leave by way of a dark passage with candelabra in hand.