The Highwayman's Daughter

by Henriette Gyland

  Halfway down the alley he reined in the horse and allowed it to dance a little, its flailing hooves presenting as much danger as his rapier. ‘Leave the lady alone, or it’ll be the worse for you,’ he shouted. His words echoed off the walls of the narrow passage, making them sound louder than they actually were. The men jumped.

  ‘What the …?’ One of the men picked up a pistol lying on the ground, but Jack saw him and pulled out his own.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he growled. ‘I bet I’m a much better shot than you’ll ever be, even left-handed.’

  The man hesitated and Jack nudged his horse into motion. ‘Go on, get out of here!’ he bellowed. Two of the men did as they were told without further thought, fleeing past him in fright. The third, who was still clutching the pistol, stood his ground for a moment, bolder than the others.

  ‘This ’ere ain’t no lady, sir.’ He hawked a large gob of spit, which landed on the ground beside Cora.

  Jack felt his temper flare with unexpected force, but he managed to control himself. ‘When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,’ he said coldly and whipped the pistol out of the man’s hand with a few deft moves of his rapier. Then he pointed the weapon at the man’s throat and saw him swallow nervously. ‘Now get yourself out of here before I decide to see just how much pressure the skin on your filthy neck can withstand.’ To emphasise his words he swiped the tip of the blade sideways, and the man gasped, touching the wound instinctively and then staring in horror at the smear of blood on his fingers.

  ‘It’s a scratch,’ said Jack. ‘You’ll live. Now, get you gone!’

  The man bolted, staying close to the wall, and as he passed he shot Jack a look of pure hatred.

  When he was certain that the men were gone, Jack knelt beside Cora. She was as still and pale as death, and his insides twisted in agony.

  Don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.

  In just a few short days she’d become the single most important person in his life, and he hadn’t even noticed it happening. Lusting after her had turned into wanting her respect, her affection, and a need to protect her. If she’d have him, he would commit himself to her, and devil take convention.

  His lips moving in a silent prayer, he felt her neck for signs of life and relief washed over him when he detected a faint pulse. A dark contusion was forming on her temple, her hands were cut and bruised, her dress torn and she had lost one of her shoes, but she appeared otherwise unharmed.

  Recalling the murderous expression on the ruffian’s face, Jack had a nasty feeling that the three men would soon return with reinforcements. He needed to get Cora away from here, but although his quick examination had revealed only superficial wounds, he had no idea just how hard a blow she had taken to the head. Taking her home to Lampton was out of the question, at least until she had been seen by a physician.

  Gently he lifted her up in his arms, and a small moan escaped her.

  ‘Cora, my sweet,’ he whispered, ‘what have they done to you?’ And why?

  Her eyelids fluttered briefly; then she opened her eyes. ‘Jack?’

  He felt her body stiffen, her hands bracing against his chest. ‘Don’t fight me, Cora. Now is not the time for sparring.’

  He read the wariness in her eyes, and something else too, something deeper. He couldn’t quite decipher it, but it had his nerve endings tingling with awareness. ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said. ‘You can trust me, Cora. You do trust me, don’t you?’

  A pause, then her wariness subsided, and she relaxed against his chest. ‘Yes, Jack. Forgive me,’ she added in a whisper.

  ‘Forgive you?’ He pressed a kiss to her brow. ‘It is I who must beg your forgiveness.’

  As he lifted her onto his horse, picked up the pistol, and then climbed up behind her, he cursed himself. Cursed himself all the way to Hell and back again.

  The blame was his, and his alone. He had tried to persuade her that she could be a lady, as if her years of living in poverty had never happened. He had revelled in catching her and dressing her up but he had not thought about the possible consequences for her. In a wool dress and a plain bonnet she could blend in with the crowd, in her breeches and coat she could defend herself – as he’d learned to his cost – but wearing the silk dress of a countess she’d been fair game.

  And he hadn’t been there to offer his protection when the inevitable attack occurred.

  Shame stole over him as he realised what a fool he had been. What were you thinking, Halliford? You great big lumbering idiot.

  Even if they could persuade his father to give her an allowance, it wouldn’t change the differences between them. She’d understood it of course, had tried to tell him she could never fit into his world. And he didn’t want her to change. If he tried to change her, she wouldn’t be the Cora he had come to respect and admire. The woman he had come to love.

  He had loved Cora from the moment she had pointed her rapier at his throat and stared at him with a ferocity which belied her beauty. He had tried to persuade himself that he had been driven by duty. And all the while he had been blind to the simple fact that his heart would beat faster in her presence, his breath shallow, his stomach tight.

  Love, he thought again and glanced down at Cora, who slumped against him with her eyes closed. He tightened his grip and pulled her closer. A lock of black hair fell across her face and fluttered as she exhaled.

  Slowly she opened her eyes and looked up at him with a faint smile on her lips. Jack could only guess at what she saw, but if his expression matched what was in his heart, she couldn’t fail to guess his feelings. Her strange, pale eyes widened and her lips parted. Desire shot through him. He wanted to bend his head and kiss her till he had no breath left in his body, to never let her go.

  But first he wanted her somewhere safe. The three ruffians might return and take another stab at him, and what they wanted from Cora didn’t bear thinking about. He tightened his arm around her and checked his pistol was within easy reach.

  ‘Jack, I … I …’ she began, but then trailed off, chewing her bottom lip.

  ‘Yes, my l— Cora?’ he said. Now was not the time for declarations.

  ‘I, er … I don’t feel well.’

  ‘What?’ Jack’s bubble burst abruptly. ‘Oh, dear God!’

  Just in time, he swung her sideways and held her over the horse’s flank as she emptied the contents of her stomach. Again and again she heaved until it seemed there could be nothing left inside her, drawing the unwelcome attention of a few passers-by who were returning from the hanging. Finally she sat up, pasty-faced yet determined, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  ‘Apologies, I would have passed you my handkerchief if I’d been fast enough,’ he said.

  Cora smiled sheepishly. ‘I think I could still do with it.’

  Laughing, Jack dug inside his breast pocket. ‘I’ll say this, Cora – life’s anything but dull around you.’

  She glared at him and wiped her hand and her mouth one more time; then held the handkerchief out to him. ‘Keep it,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘You might need it again.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ she protested.

  ‘Cora, you’ve taken a blow to the head. How serious, I don’t know, but judging from the violence of your sickness just now, it might have caused some damage in your brain. You need to be checked by a physician.’

  ‘I don’t have time for physicians,’ Cora said. ‘I need to get home.’

  ‘You’ll get home soon enough, but not until I’m reassured that you’re well.’ Jack steered the horse towards the outskirts of the village.

  Cora stiffened. ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘Somewhere you can be examined in some privacy.’

  He didn’t mention his worry that the men might be looking for them, and the sooner he got her to safety, the better. The inn would be crowded, and even if the men managed to track them down, they would be safe enough inside. When Cora had been examined, he wou
ld send word to Lampton Hall for his carriage to be brought.

  ‘Let me go,’ Cora said and tried to wriggle away from his grasp, but she was either too weak or her struggling was half-hearted. Reassured that she wasn’t going anywhere soon, Jack kept a firm grip on her and pressed a kiss to her hair.

  ‘Are you always this querulous, even when a person has your best interests at heart?’

  Cora didn’t answer. Instead her breathing became laboured as if she struggled not to vomit again. Jack sincerely hoped she wasn’t going to.

  He stopped at an inn on Tyburn Lane and cast a quick look over his shoulder to see if they were being followed. There was no evidence that they were and he dismounted quickly to help Cora down. Stumbling, she held on to him for support, and Jack tossed the reins to a barefoot boy who was sweeping the yard with a broom that was too big for him.

  ‘See to my horse, and you will be generously rewarded,’ he said using his most authoritative voice.

  ‘Yes, m’lord.’ The boy jumped at the chance of earning a few coins and led the horse away.

  ‘They’ll be full,’ Cora scoffed weakly. ‘It’s hanging day.’

  ‘I’m a viscount. It might not be fair that my title gets me special treatment, but when your well-being’s at stake, I’m prepared to pull rank.’ He sent her a look of concern. ‘Can you walk unaided?’

  ‘You’re an ass, Jack. Did anyone ever tell you that?’

  ‘Frequently.’

  ‘Of course I can walk. I wish you’d stop fussing. They didn’t strike me that hard. I … Oh!’

  Jack caught her just in time, as, with a stifled moan, she went limp in his arms. His heart thudding violently against his ribcage, he lifted her and pushed open the door to the inn with his foot.

  ‘A bed for the lady,’ he demanded loudly.

  The rotund innkeeper greeted them, wiping his hands nervously on a cloth which hung from his belt. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but we’re quite booked up. It’s hanging day today and …’

  Jack sent him a furious look. ‘Are you blind? The lady is ill. She needs a physician, a bed, with fresh linen, hot water and towels. And I need someone to send word to Lord Lampton at Lampton Hall. And be quick about it, man!’

  ‘Yes, m’lord. Right away, m’lord.’ The innkeeper turned away and yelled for someone in the back room. ‘Lizzie! See to their needs! I’ll go fetch Mrs Garrett.’

  ‘A female physician?’ Jack raised his eyebrows, but then reconsidered; since he’d met Cora he’d started to realise that women could do anything a man could do.

  The innkeeper shook his head. ‘We have no physician in the village. There’s the apothecary, but he’ll be at the hanging or in his cups, or both. Mrs Garrett has much experience of illness and will be of more use.’

  ‘That’ll have to do,’ Jack said and followed the innkeeper’s wife up to a small, airless room. Gently he lay Cora down on the bed, which looked clean, thankfully, and smoothed back her hair. Her face was deathly pale, and her chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly with short, erratic breaths. Jack’s insides clenched. What worried him most was that Cora had seemed fine before she suddenly lost consciousness. He only hoped that Mrs Garrett lived up to her reputation.

  Cora still appeared to have difficulties breathing so he threw open the windows of the room and went to loosen her gown and stays.

  Ridiculous garments, he thought savagely. Why had he made her wear it? But he knew the answer to that: because he’d been trying to make her fit into his life, instead of accepting her as she was. He vowed that would change.

  Cora moaned, but she seemed more comfortable now, and, holding her hand, Jack waited anxiously for the wise woman to arrive.

  The innkeeper’s wife, a buxom woman with beefy arms, returned with water and towels. Jack thanked her, then dipped a corner of a towel in the hot water and began to bathe Cora’s wounds. As he’d suspected, they were only skin-deep, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Oh, the poor lady,’ said the innkeeper’s wife. ‘Whatever caused her to be in such a state?’

  ‘She was attacked,’ Jack replied, ‘by three men, no less.’

  ‘Dear me, such times we live in. And did they … did they violate her?’

  Jack caught her eye, and saw a barely suppressed excitement at the prospect of being in possession of some juicy gossip, but he saw sympathy too. ‘No, I arrived just in time,’ he said, ‘although I strongly suspect we haven’t heard the last of them. Is there a chance we could post a guard outside the room, please?’

  ‘Oh, don’t you fret, my lord. Between Will and myself and the taproom boy we’ll make sure no one comes up them stairs that ’aven’t booked for the night. Your lady friend will be quite safe here.’

  ‘I’ll be staying here myself,’ said Jack.

  ‘Right you are, my lord.’ If the innkeeper’s wife thought it unseemly that a gentleman chose to stay in a lady’s bedroom, she was too wise to comment. ‘Just give us a holler if you need anything, but I must warn you it’ll get mighty busy today.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The woman left the room, closing the door firmly behind her, and Jack returned to his vigil, watching Cora sleep.

  His mind strayed to the two courtesans who had failed to impress him during his last visit to the gaming den – was it really only a few days ago? It felt like an age.

  He was a different man now. Overcome by shame he remembered how unprincipled he had allowed himself to become in order to keep his spendthrift cousin in check. He had obviously failed at this task in spectacular fashion, to such an extent that he had thought nothing of entering into a wager for a woman’s life. Cora’s life. Rupert was no doubt still trying to track her down, and when he did, he would have no reason not to hand her over to the authorities. But this was no game for Cora; it was a matter of life and death, as the hanging had illustrated.

  She belonged to the underbelly of society, to a world populated by the sort of men who had died on the scaffold today, and, like the courtesans in the gaming den, she was on the outside of respectability, with neither name nor money to protect herself and her loved ones.

  Jack clenched her hand, receiving a twitch in response, and swore to himself for the umpteenth time that despite her obvious ability to take care of herself he would help her, if she would let him, and see her right somehow.

  A knock on the door and a scuffling noise made him turn just as an old woman entered followed by the anxious innkeeper. The man was wringing his hands, no doubt worried what it would do to the reputation of his inn should a well-bred lady die while under his roof. In contrast the old woman was as calm as Jack’s own mother might have been in similar circumstances.

  ‘That’ll be the patient, then,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Let’s ’ave a look at you.’

  There was something about her weather-beaten face, small bird-like eyes and long, tanned fingers which made Jack relax, and he moved aside to give the woman room to examine Cora. She lifted one of Cora’s eyelids and peered at the eye; then inspected the contusion and gently moved Cora’s head from side to side. Her efficient hands moved down the bodice of the gown prodding Cora’s ribs one by one; then squeezed her arms through the dress. Cora moaned faintly but didn’t wake.

  Moving back, the woman said, ‘There’s certainly been some shaking of the brain, and a few cuts and bruises. This other injury seems a little older.’ She pushed down one of Cora’s sleeves to reveal a large, purple half-moon shaped bruise the length of a hand.

  He remembered her fall in front of the stage coach. ‘I suppose it must be. Perhaps she was kicked by a horse.’

  Mrs Garrett nodded. ‘Could well be. She’ll need complete bed rest for a week. Is there anywhere more suitable? Not that I doubt the efficiency of your establishment, Will,’ she said to the innkeeper, ‘but it ain’t suitable as a sick room.’

  ‘I’m sending for my carriage to have her brought to my father’s estate,’ said Jack.

  ‘Aye, that’s go
od, my lord, but you can’t move her today. You’ll need to wait to see how she is in the morning before travelling anywhere.’

  ‘I’m not sure she’s safe here.’

  ‘My lord,’ the old woman admonished him sternly, ‘commotions of the brain shouldn’t be taken lightly. Putting ’er in a carriage now will just shake the brain further and cause more damage. You must wait till the mornin’.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Jack, ‘but I’ll need a guard outside the door at all times.’

  ‘I’ll see to it, my lord,’ the innkeeper said. ‘The taproom boy is stationed outside the door, and there’s me brother-in-law down the smithy’s. He’ll help out too.’

  ‘Thank you, I appreciate it,’ said Jack. ‘You’ll be well paid for your trouble.’

  The innkeeper bowed and left the room. Jack returned to Cora’s bedside, taking her cold hand in his and cradling it against his cheek. She looked so broken as she lay there, and he feared she might die.

  Mrs Garrett put her hand on his shoulder. ‘She’s strong, this one, my lord. I reckon she’ll be fit as a fiddle soon enough.’

  ‘I hope so. She’s … I’m very, eh …’

  ‘Fond of her?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jack said simply. No point in denying it.

  ‘Then you must stop her gallivanting around gettin’ herself hurt.’

  Meeting the old woman’s eyes, Jack grimaced. ‘Trust me, that’s easier said than done.’

  ‘I bet this one leads you a merry dance, m’lord,’ Mrs Garrett cackled. ‘I only hope it’s worth the kind of heartache which is store for you.’ She made as if to leave, and Jack paid her for her services. When her fingers had closed around the half crown, she said, ‘That’s most generous, sir. Good luck to you. Cos you’re going to need it.’

  Chuckling to herself, she left the room, and Jack returned to Cora’s bedside, where he took off his jacket and loosened his neck cloth, settling down to a long vigil.