A Highwayman Came Riding

by Joan Smith

  “But that’s horrid!”

  “ ‘Tis the way of the world, miss. The high and mighty look after themselves and let the devil take the hindmost.” He handed her a tray holding the plates of gammon and eggs and tea. “There’s a nice bit of supper for the old malkin and another for yourself. Sleep tight.”

  “Thank you, Ned.”

  She took the tray and returned to the duchess to relate what she had learned.

  “The captain was leaving, you say? Where was he going?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should have found out. He must live hereabouts.”

  “They would never tell us, Your Grace. Ned warned me about asking questions. The only name I heard was from Ned. It is a Lord Kerrigan who owns this forest.”

  “I know the man. He is a scoundrel. Did the captain have my diamonds on him?”

  “I don’t know—but he was carrying his mask.”

  “Ah, then he is out attacking another innocent traveler, as I thought. Excellent. My diamonds are safe here.”

  The duchess had a hundred questions and complaints as she ate her supper. She wanted to know how Beeton and Tom were faring, how her horses were doing, who was going to repair her carriage, where was the closest constable’s office, and why wasn’t the tea hot.

  When she had tired herself out, she handed Marianne one of the four pillows on her bed and told her to find herself a blanket and curl up by the grate.

  Marianne did as she was told. It was preferable to sharing a bed with the termagant. She did not bother to undress, nor did she fall asleep easily. The duchess’s stertorous snores shook the timbers. She lay awake for some hours, reliving the strange, horrible evening just past. She knew her mistress well enough to know she would not leave without her diamonds. And she had a sinking feeling that Captain Jack was not about to give them up. What would happen? What would become of her, of them all?

  At length, she dozed off. When she awoke, the fire in the grate had died to a few glowing embers. The room was cold, but that was not what had awakened her. She had heard something, some sound within the cottage. The duchess? No, her snoring had subsided to a gentle rumble. The noise came again. Not in the cottage, but from outside. A horse—and presumably a rider. Had the captain returned? Who else could it be at this hour?

  She sat up, every sense alive and alert, and went to open the bedroom door. In the darkness beyond, she heard the back door of the cottage open and stealthy footsteps enter. Someone went to meet the captain. She listened, but the sounds had ceased. The men were in the kitchen, talking. If she could get up and listen at the door, she might discover where the diamonds were hidden. She could steal them after the men went to sleep. She, the duchess, and the grooms could slip quietly away on foot and report these thieves to the closest constable. Beeton and Tom, she assumed, were sleeping in the stable.

  She might not get another chance. The five years she had spent with the duchess had beaten much of the self-confidence out of her, but she had not always been so diffident. As she considered their predicament, she felt the old energy come to life again. She would do it! As a precaution, she went to the bed and jostled the duchess’s arm. When the old lady grumbled awake, Marianne told her what had happened, and what she was going to do. She wanted someone to know and go to her rescue if she did not return. Or perhaps she wanted the duchess to forbid it.

  “Excellent!” she crowed. “Go now, quickly, before Jack leaves with my diamonds. I am surprised you have it in you, Marianne, for you are usually such a sniveling, missish sort of gel. There is hope for you yet.”

  On these encouraging words, Marianne crept out of the room, into the pitch blackness beyond.

  Chapter Four

  Across the room, slivers of yellow light shimmered in the darkness, showing her the location of the kitchen door. She crept toward it, feeling her way to prevent bumping into furniture in the unfamiliar parlor. The floor gave two light squawks. She froze, waiting for the kitchen door to fly open, shots to echo around her. There was no chair or sofa close enough to hide behind. After a moment, she realized they hadn’t heard the sound, and she continued toward the door.

  It was closed, but through it she could hear two masculine voices speaking in low tones. By pressing her ear to the panel, she could overhear their words. That arrogant buzz was Captain Jack, certainly. The other, however, did not sound like Ned. Was it Miguel? Yes, he had that touch of Irish brogue. Odd name for an Irishman, Miguel.

  “You shouldn’t have gone alone,” he said. “I could have ridden, Cap’n. Sure ‘tis only a scratch on my arm.”

  “Never mind, Mickey. I got him. I got the bastard.” The captain’s voice was gloating, thick with triumph. “I got him” sounded as if he had killed someone. A trickle of ice formed in Marianne’s veins. What sort of monster was so delighted at having killed a fellow man? She took note of that “Mickey” as well. He was Irish, then. Miguel was his nom de guerre, as the other one’s was Captain.

  “How much?” Miguel asked.

  “I haven’t counted it.” She heard the clink of coins.

  “Gorblimey! It’s thousands. How the devil did you carry it?”

  “I can carry a heavy load, when it’s gold,” the captain said, and laughed a bold, triumphant laugh.

  “Wasn’t he riding with guards?”

  “Three of them. I used my lasso, as we did to steal a steer in the old days.”

  “You didn’t kill him?”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t touch a hair on his head.” Marianne listened, frowning. “Got him” was a strange way to refer to robbing someone. Perhaps the captain had said “I caught him.” The door blurred some of their words.

  “Nor his guards?”

  “Why would I hurt his hirelings? I daresay they dislike him as much as I do. In any case they didn’t try very hard to protect him.”

  “Well, you’ve done what you came to do. We can leave now. We’d best do it. He’ll report it to the law.”

  “We’ll lie low here for the nonce. The patrols will be out looking for us.”

  “Where will you hide it, in case they come looking?”

  Marianne stiffened to attention and applied her ear more firmly to the door.

  “In the usual place,” he replied unhelpfully.

  “Along with the diamonds?”

  “Why not?”

  “I’d put them in different places, then if they find one lot, they might not find t’other.”

  “Good thinking. I’ll take care of it. I’ve earned a bottle of the best, don’t you think?”

  “That you have, Cap’n. You’re a caution for sure. What your mama would say if she ever knew—”

  “That is why she must never find out, Mickey. Not likely she will, as she seldom leaves home.”

  “She reads the journals, I suppose?”

  The captain laughed. “It was Mama who taught me not to believe everything I read in the journals.”

  “I wager you believe in the results of the races at least. Have you read how my nag fared?”

  There was the sound of bottles and glasses tinkling. It sounded as if they were settling in for a drinking bout. When the conversation turned to horses, Marianne thought it wise to leave, before they became drunk. She crept back to the bedroom, put a chair under the doorknob, and went to report to the duchess. The old lady was sound asleep. Some help she would have been in an emergency!

  Marianne gave up any thought of sleep. She built up the fire and sat, scheming. The diamonds were here, somewhere in or near this little cottage. Where would the captain hide them? Not in the stable, with the grooms sleeping there. Not in the kitchen or parlor, where the ladies might be expected to venture. There were no other bedchambers. He had not ordered them to stay in their rooms, only inside the cottage. This suggested he had hidden the diamonds outside the cottage. Was there another building nearby?

  Having arrived in the dark, she had little idea what places of concealment the environs might offer, but tomorrow
she would find out. If he forbade her to go outside, she would spend time at every window until she discovered his hiding place, and slip out of bed the next night to recover the diamonds. Who else had he robbed tonight? He obviously knew the man would be passing by and carrying a supply of gold. How did he know that? Who was he? His mama appeared to be a respectable, educated woman, to judge by the conversation she had overheard.

  As she closed her eyes, she heard the first chirp of birds outside the window. Although it was not yet daylight, the darkness was beginning to lighten.

  When she awoke a few hours later, she had the strange sensation that she had slept for twenty hours. It was darker than when she had gone to sleep. She heard the patter of rain on the window, and when she looked out, she saw the sky was a dark, sullen gray that looked as if it would rain for forty days and nights, as in biblical times. Impossible weather for traveling, and difficult to make any excuse beyond the cottage to look for the diamonds. The bedroom window looked out on the spinney. If he had hidden the diamonds there, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  The duchess soon stirred. She peered toward the grate and said in a querulous voice, “So, you got back. Where are my diamonds?”

  Marianne gave a brief recital of her nocturnal spying adventure.

  “Hmm. Outside, you think. I daresay you are right. Build up the fire, Marianne, and help me with my toilette. And order breakfast. Two soft-boiled eggs, not fried in that disgusting bacon fat as they were last night.”

  As the room was chilly, Marianne tended to the fire first, then tidied herself and went for water and to order breakfast. She found Ned alone in the kitchen. The fire was lit, water boiled on the hob, the aroma of coffee and bacon hung in the air. She asked for boiled eggs for the duchess, and he began to prepare them.

  “How did you sleep, miss?” he asked.

  “Fine. And you?”

  “Like a baby. A terrible day,” he said, glancing at the window.

  “Yes, the roads will be a shambles.”

  “Mud to the axles. You’re as well off here for the nonce.”

  “How soon do you think he’ll let us go, Ned?”

  “As soon as the roads are passable. It’s no pleasure to him, having unwanted company, miss. He’ll not stop you, once the weather clears.”

  She went to the window and stared out, looking all around at the stables, a kitchen garden well past its prime but with still some late vegetables growing, and, beyond, a small apple orchard. Unless the captain had buried his ill-got gains or hidden them in a tree, she did not think they were in that area.

  When the tray was ready, she took it to the duchess and they ate their breakfast together, discussing their plight. Her Grace’s chief interest was recovering her diamonds. Marianne was concerned with making sure the grooms were alive and well. Quite apart from her feelings for them—and she liked the servants—if anything happened to them, she and the duchess would be at the captain’s mercy. When they were finished, Marianne returned the tray to the kitchen.

  “The duchess is concerned about her servants, Ned,” she said. “Especially as Tom was wounded. Could I see them, just have a word with them to make sure they are all right?”

  “I’ll ask the captain when he wakes up, miss.”

  “Where is he sleeping?”

  “In the stable. I slept on two chairs and a bolster by the hearth.”

  “I’m sorry. I expect we are in your bedchamber.”

  “ ‘Tis no problem, miss.”

  “The captain sleeps late,” she said, glancing at the clock on the mantle. It was nine o’clock.

  As she spoke, the back door opened and the captain entered.

  Chapter Five

  Captain Jack wore the signs of his night’s dissipation. His eyes, red from drink, and the whiskers shadowing his lower face, lent him an even more menacing air than before. His shirt was wrinkled and his jacket was dusty.

  He clamped his lips in an angry line at seeing her in the kitchen, catching him in this unusual disarray. The captain was a little vain of his appearance.

  “Is the duchess hungry again?” he asked ironically.

  Impatience was beginning to wear Marianne’s nerves thin. It was bad enough to have to take ridiculous orders from the duchess, but to have to grovel to a drunken criminal was the last straw.

  “Yes, she has adopted the unaccountable habit of eating three times a day,” she replied, and was astonished at her own bravery. She expected a sharp retort and a command to return to her room. To her astonishment, the captain looked a little sheepish.

  “I daresay Ned can manage something?” he said, looking to Ned.

  “The ladies have already ate, Captain. Missie was kind enough to bring back the tray.”

  “We do not expect you to perform such duties, Miss Harkness,” the captain said. “Next time, just put the tray outside the door. It will be picked up.”

  She sensed a softening in his attitude and determined to make gain of it. “Why, to tell the truth, I am bored to flinders sitting by the grate all day. I would be happy to help Ned about the place. I shall clean up the kitchen for you, Ned.”

  “Certainly not!” the captain said at once, in his old, overbearing way.

  “The young lady is worried about the servants, Captain,” Ned said. “She’d like a word with them. I told her I’d ask you.”

  “They’re fine,” Jack said at once. “Beeton is busy repairing that broken axle. Best not to disturb him if you hope to get away today, Miss Harkness.”

  “I doubt anyone will be traveling today,” Ned said, glancing out the window.

  Jack frowned at the rain, which came coursing down the windowpanes in sheets. Occasional rumbles of thunder echoed beyond the window.

  “I could go out to the stable,” Marianne suggested. “That would not interfere with Beeton’s work.”

  “It’s pouring rain. You’d be drenched,” Jack objected. “Ned has no umbrella.”

  Ned reached to a hook behind the door and tossed a blanket to her. “Here, put this over your head, miss. That’s what I do. And mind the puddles.”

  “Thank you, Ned.” Marianne snatched it up and darted out the door before the captain could order her to stay put. The path to the stable was cobblestoned and did not do much harm to her slippers. She found Beeton working on the axle, as the captain had said.

  “How is Tom, Beeton?” she asked.

  When Beeton looked up from his work, she saw his left eye was dark and swollen. “Beeton! What happened? You didn’t have that bruise the last time I saw you. Did he beat you?”

  “He’s a fair fighter,” Beeton allowed grudgingly. “We had a few rounds last night. When he came back from wherever he went, he caught me peeking in the windows of the cottage. I wanted to make sure you and Her Grace were safe. That’s all, but the captain took the notion I was spying on him.”

  “He robbed another carriage. I overheard him and Miguel discussing it last night. They got away with thousands of pounds of gold. They had it right in the kitchen. Did you see where he put the gold?”

  “Nay, but he left early this morning carrying a heavy bag. He rode off down the lane. No knowing which way he went. Two robberies in one night! He’s ambitious then, isn’t he? Before he left last night he told me and Tom not to leave the stable. He had a dog guarding the door, but I always had a way with dogs. He took the hound this morning. I’m thinking he thought I was looking for the diamonds. If we find that hound, we might find the sparklers, eh?”

  “Yes, that’s an idea. He was going to hide the diamonds and the gold separately.”

  “I’ve tried to get out, but Ned keeps a sharp eye from the kitchen. They have our guns. We’re as good as prisoners here, miss. Are you and the old lady all right?”

  “They haven’t harmed us, but we must get away, Beeton. Where is Tom? How is his arm?”

  “It’s recovering. The captain dressed his wound and fixed him up with a bandage. Tom is giving Miguel a hand with th
e horses.”

  “The duchess insists she won’t leave without her diamonds.”

  “Better to leave without them than not to leave at all. Tell her that. We could come back with a couple of Bow Street Runners to search the place.”

  “Do you think we could overpower them? Is Tom able to wield a stick?”

  “He’s not much of a scrapper at the best of times. If we could get hold of a pistol. . .”

  “Yes, you’re right. We need a gun. I’ll try to get one. You said Ned has one in the kitchen. I daresay that is why the captain forbade me to help out there.”

  “Very likely.”

  “I shall insist. And if he won’t let me, then I’ll be there ten times a day, demanding hot water and food and tea and anything I can think of. Ned is bound to be off his guard sooner or later.”

  “The captain—” Beeton came to a sudden stop.

  “Devil take the captain! Bad enough to be under the duchess’s paw from dawn till dark, but to be ordered about by an upstart thief—”

  As she spoke, she noticed Beeton was making strange faces, drawing his eyebrows, and frowning. She thought it was disapproval of her plans and wondered why he didn’t speak. Then it occurred to her that someone was listening. She turned around and saw Captain Jack not a yard behind her, staring at her with those dark eyes and a disparaging grin on his face. He had not bothered with a blanket. Raindrops speckled his head and shoulders as he stood, arms akimbo, as if he owned the world and everything in it. Such arrogance from a highwayman made her blood boil.

  “You may catch Ned off guard. But you will find the upstart thief eternally on the qui vive, Miss Harkness,” he said. “You have seen your coachman is well. You may return to the house now.”

  She turned on him in a fury that was half embarrassment. “Beeton is not well! You have beaten him. As an experienced highwayman, I trust you know the law is harsh on those felons who abuse their victims, Captain.”

  “Only if the felon is caught, miss,” he said. “I have no intention of being caught, by you or anyone else. Carry on, Beeton.”