by Mary Nichols
Molly could do nothing but echo her plea as she helped Martha clear away their supper and wash the pots, then she was given a blanket and a pillow to make herself comfortable on the sofa and Martha bade her goodnight and climbed the ladder to the upper room.
It seemed a long night to Molly, although she was tolerably comfortable and very tired. Never before had she been kept awake by worry and fear. Her childhood, though hardly privileged, had been serene, with nothing but the prospect of a scolding to trouble her. Now she was beset by thoughts of what might be taking place in Cromer.
If anything happened to the Captain, what would she do? Already her life had become so entangled with his she could not imagine living without him, bad temper, mocking smile, gambling and all. Was that love? She was not such a ninny as to believe that, but it was a feeling she had never experienced before, this concern for another human being, and she supposed it meant she was growing up.
She fell asleep at last and dreamed of the Captain brandishing his sword at windmills which turned into constables. The horse he was riding became a green dragon breathing fire. And the fire, orange and yellow and pink, licked about his feet and set his clothing alight. She saw him smiling as the flames consumed him and in her dreams she screamed.
She sat up suddenly, her mouth open, her eyes clouded by the memory of a dream so vivid she thought it must be real. The flimsy curtains to the room flapped in the breeze, revealing a huge red and pink sunrise. The shadows on the curtains made it look like tongues of flame. She breathed a sigh of relief.
She looked up to see Martha hurrying down from above. ‘What is wrong? Why did you call out?’
‘I had a bad dream. I thought the Captain was on fire.’ She laughed shakily. ‘I expect it was the sun through the curtains. I’m sorry if I woke you.’
‘You didn’t wake me; I could not sleep.’
‘You are worried?’
‘Naturally I am worried. And so should you be.’
‘I am, but the Captain is a resourceful man and he will do his best for your husband.’
‘But I cannot help feeling it might be too late. What will they do to Frank? Will he be sent to prison? Or hanged? Highway robbery is a hanging offence, is it not?’
‘I do not know. But Captain Stacey will avow his innocence, an’ if he is not believed I will repeat what I told the constable in Aylsham. The Captain was with me all night and Mr Upjohn slept in the next room.’
‘Is that true?’
‘It is not so very far from the truth, for we did not arrive at the inn until nearly dawn and though the Captain procured a bed for me I slept no more than an hour or two.’
‘Not long enough for them to hold up a stagecoach?’ Martha wanted desperately to be reassured.
‘No, of course not. Put it from your mind. They will be back by the time we have breakfasted and you will have been worrying for nothing.’
But the men did not return. Martha and Molly sat about alternately talking and watching the road from the gate all day long and at dusk they had a silent meal before making ready for a second night of wakefulness.
Neither would voice the fear that was growing in their breasts that something bad had befallen them, that both men had been taken and would never return, though privately Molly vowed that if they had not arrived by noon the following day she would set off on Jenny to find out what had happened. Her longed-for journey to London was entirely forgotten.
Duncan pulled his galloping horse up in the shelter of some trees to wait for Frank to catch up with him. Caesar was a strong stallion and had carried him well all day but he was tiring and they must soon stop to allow both horses to rest, especially as the mare Frank was riding was more used to pulling a curricle than having a man on her back.
The night before Duncan had come upon the prisoner and his escort just short of Cromer. It had been late at night and, concluding that there would be no one awake to receive them, the constables had decided to light a camp fire and cook a meal before going into the town at first light. There was a skinned rabbit on a stick being turned over the flames by one of their number and the appetising smell had reminded Duncan he had not eaten since the midday meal he had shared with Molly at The Bell.
They had been very lax in setting guards, for all three were grouped around the fire, while Frank was tied to a tree nearby. The horses were tethered on a line a little way off and were quietly cropping the grass. He had left his horse and crept forward to assess the strength of the opposition and, if possible, to alert Frank to his presence without being seen.
‘We’d have got into town before dark if he had been more of a horseman,’ one said, jerking his head in Frank’s direction. ‘How anyone could keep slipping off a gentle creature like that is beyond me.’
‘Well, I suppose he had the right of it when he said it was a draught horse and not used to a rider,’ another said, staring into the flames. ‘And he had no saddle.’
‘We should have let him fall. Being dragged along the ground at a gallop might have taught him to keep his seat.’
Duncan, crouching in the darkness not a dozen yards away, smiled to himself. Frank had evidently been employing delaying tactics, hoping for rescue, because he was almost as good a horseman as Duncan himself.
‘I wonder he has never been caught before if his seat is so bad,’ the second man commented.
‘It cannot be that bad,’ the third man said. ‘He was working in Sir John’s stables for three weeks afore he piked off. I recognised him when he held up the coach, for all he was masked, and I saw him ride off.’
‘I told you,’ Frank put in from behind them. ‘You’ve got the wrong man. I couldn’t ha’ done it for I can’t ride, never could. When I was young we were too poor to own a horse and we lived in the city; how could I learn?’
‘In the army. You were a soldier, weren’t you?’
‘In the infantry. The infantry march, they don’t ride.’
‘I saw him,’ the valet persisted. ‘And so I shall vouchsafe in court.’
‘If he ever gets to court,’ another mumbled, confirming Duncan’s fears.
They turned back to their fire as one of their number drew the rabbit from it and began to cut it up and hand the pieces to the others on the end of the knife. ‘What about him?’ one asked.
‘Oh, let him go hungry. It might help him to remember where he was when Sir John had his gold snaffled.’
They were obviously relaxed and confident and Duncan, keeping a close eye on what they were doing, risked crawling up to the tree where Frank was tied.
‘Don’t speak,’ he hissed. ‘It’s me.’
‘Yes, I saw you.’ The answer was a whisper spoken through closed teeth. ‘Get a move on, will you?’ Then, remembering his place, he added, ‘Sir.’
Duncan busied himself with the knots. ‘Are they armed?’
‘One has a pistol and another a musket.’ He nodded towards the horses where there was a musket propped against one of the saddles. ‘The third one is Sir John’s valet. He recognised me.’
Duncan undid the last of the knots. ‘Go for the horse and get going,’ Duncan whispered, pulling his cravat over his mouth and nose. ‘I’ll hold them off.’
Frank was stiff from his cramped position, but he managed to hobble to the mare, untie her and set the others loose before throwing himself on her back. Although he moved swiftly and silently, it was enough to alert his captors. They did not see Duncan and assumed their prisoner had managed to free himself. One tried to catch the horses, while another ran for his musket, only to be beaten to it by Duncan who blocked his path, threatening him with his own weapon.
‘Lie on the floor!’ he commanded.
The man did not hesitate; he sprawled face down. The third man tried to come at Duncan from behind but he whirled round and hit him with the butt of the musket, sending him reeling. The valet did not see heroics as any part of his duty and simply sat staring at the scene with his mouth open and a piece of meat on the end of
a knife halfway to it.
Duncan whistled up Caesar who came obediently and the next minute he was galloping after Frank, with the shouts and curses of the men ringing in the darkness behind him as they tried to recapture their mounts.
Frank was waiting half a mile up the road. ‘You took your time,’ he said. ‘I was beginning to think we’d be in Cromer before you. It would have been devilish awkward to defend myself if I couldn’t tell the truth about that traitor.’
‘I was delayed. Now, let’s be off before they come after us.’
‘Where to?’
Duncan had been asking himself that question and there was only one safe place that came to mind. ‘Stacey Manor.’
They took a roundabout route in order to put followers off the scent, but were there in less than half an hour.
It was half an hour in which Duncan began thinking about what he would tell his grandmother. She would want to know where Molly was and why he had returned without her and he had no idea what he could say. He had promised to protect Molly and take her to her mother; instead he was riding about the countryside at dead of night pursued by constables.
And supposing everyone had retired and there was no one to admit them? They could hide in the stables, but he did not think that would serve. The area might be searched. What they needed was a cast-iron alibi provided by someone no one would dare to disbelieve and that was his grandmother. And would she give them that, considering her poor opinion of him?
Not wishing to alert the servants, they rode up to the house as quietly as possible and dismounted outside the stables. Silently they led the horses into the stall and unsaddled them, then found hay and water for them. That done, they went back to the house.
There was a side door which was sometimes left unlocked to allow Brunning, her ladyship’s butler, to return after a night out in the village. Duncan had discovered the man’s secret quite by accident when he was no more than an adventurous stripling and had promised to keep it from his grandmother, demanding in return the right to use the door himself whenever he liked. The arrangement had always worked very well, but he wondered if Brunning still went out at night or if the practice had been discontinued.
He beckoned Frank to follow and found, to his delight, that the door gave when he tried the handle. They crept inside and along a corridor. Duncan, who knew the way, found no difficulty in the dark, though Frank stumbled now and again. In the large reception hall, they found that two lamps had been left burning and, picking up one of these, Duncan led the way upstairs to the room he always occupied when he was staying there.
‘Now, we’ll settle down for the night,’ he told his friend. ‘Tomorrow, we will convince everyone we arrived this afternoon.’
‘I would rather we had ridden straight home,’ Frank said, looking round at the huge well-furnished room. ‘Martha will be beside herself with worry.’
‘She knows we cannot return tonight. She has Molly with her. They will be company for each other.’
‘I wondered what you had done with her. But I hope the chit will say nothing to Martha.’
‘Molly knows nothing.’
‘Give me leave to doubt that. She’s a downy bird and not easy to gull. And I’ll wager Lady Connaught ain’t either.’
‘You are probably right,’ Duncan said morosely, stripping off his coat, waistcoat and cravat and sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his hessians. ‘But we shall see tomorrow. There’s a truckle in my dressing room next door. Make yourself comfortable. I am for my bed.’
‘I don’t know how you can sleep,’ Frank grumbled as he went to obey. ‘We are in the devil of a coil.’
They were both awakened before dawn by a loud banging on the outside door. Frank was all for escaping down the ivy outside the window, but Duncan refused to allow it. It was as well he did, because a peep from the window revealed constables covering any escape from the rear of the house.
‘What’ll we do?’ Frank asked. ‘Will they insist on searching the house?’
‘I doubt it. Grandmama can be very formidable, but I must put in an appearance.’ He pulled on a pair of breeches and reached for a dressing robe, tying it about his middle before striding to the door. ‘You are my valet,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Make yourself useful laying out my clothes in case they insist on coming up here.’
‘Which clothes?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I believe there are plenty in the wardrobe.’ And he was gone.
Brunning, still half asleep, had answered the door to find the leader of the band of constables standing on the step. The constable was regaling him with horror stories of desperate criminals who were on the loose in the neighbourhood and would murder them all in their beds given half a chance.
He stopped suddenly when he saw Duncan descending the stairs. Brunning turned to see who was behind him. It was as well the constable could not see the butler’s face because his expression of surprise was comical.
‘I’ll deal with this, Brunning,’ Duncan said.
The servant recovered his wits with admirable swiftness. ‘Very well, my lord,’ he said. ‘Shall I acquaint her ladyship?’
‘No, there is no need to alarm her.’ He turned to the constable. ‘I have seen no strangers but if I do I will send for you at once. Tell me, what do they look like?’
The constable was at a stand. It was his opinion that the man who faced him bore a remarkable resemblance to the man who had turned his own musket upon him, but as it had been dark and the man had covered the lower part of his face he could not swear to it. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
Duncan glanced at Brunning who was hovering nearby. He had addressed him as ‘my lord’, a title Brunning knew he had relinquished, but just for today he would resume it. ‘I am the Earl of Connaught, which, if you had your wits about you, you would know. Now, tell me about these desperadoes.’
The man stayed only long enough to give a colourful account of the robbers’ looks and the dreadful deeds they had perpetrated and took his leave, calling his men from around the house and riding off somewhat chagrined.
Duncan turned away, smiling. Desperado, was he, vicious, a man who would shoot you as soon as look at you? And as for his companion, he was so ugly no one could fail to be terrified by him. They would never be apprehended on that description.
‘Duncan!’ The voice was imperious and came from the gallery above. ‘Come to my boudoir in twenty minutes.’ Lady Connaught, disturbed by the commotion, had come out to peer over the banisters. ‘I shall need an explanation. And, Brunning, tell Rose to bring my hot chocolate and washing water.’ And with that she disappeared into her room again.
Brunning gave Duncan a rueful smile and shrugged his shoulders before going to obey. Duncan went back to his own room to dress and make himself presentable.
The selection of clothes Frank had put out for him was extraordinary. There was a pair of cossacks, a cream shirt, a blue velvet waistcoat and a red satin coat with a huge cutaway collar and tight sleeves. ‘Would you have me look like a play actor?’ he laughed, picking up the coat and holding it up in distaste. ‘I do believe this once belonged to my grandfather.’
He threw it into a corner and fetched out a brown riding coat of Bath cloth and a pair of nankeen breeches, cream stockings, a white shirt and a striped neckcloth, which he had left behind on his last visit for just such an eventuality. He needed no help to dress and Frank sat on the end of the bed in shirt and cord breeches, and watched him. ‘They’ve gone, then?’
‘Yes, but there is a greater peril. My grandmother wishes to see me in her boudoir. It will be like bearding the lion in his den.’
‘She would not betray you?’
‘Oh, no, but she will no doubt think of a worse fate for me. There is the question of Molly Madcap…’
Frank laughed. ‘Who gave her that name?’
‘Grandmama, but that does not mean she will not ring a peal over me about the chit.’
‘What are you going to tell
her?’
Duncan shrugged. ‘I’ll think of something.’
But when he had presented himself to an irate dowager and been commanded to sit down facing her he was apparently not required to speak.
‘I knew you were a scapegrace,’ she said, without waiting for an explanation. ‘But I never imagined I should have a troop of constables banging on my door wanting to arrest you. I warned you. I told you you were heading for the gallows and now I am proved right. A Stacey hanged for highway robbery! We shall become notorious.’
‘Grandmama, I must protest. I did no more than rescue my servant who had been unjustly detained. The constables were exceeding their duty.’
‘Could you not let the magistrates decide that?’
‘No, for that would have meant revealing my true purpose and I could not do that.’
‘And why not?’
‘Sir John Partridge is one of the magistrates.’
‘What has Sir John to do with it?’
‘Everything, ma’am.’
‘Then you had better explain.’
He did so and she listened in silence, at the end of which she gave a bark of laughter which told him she appreciated his predicament. ‘Does Molly know about this?’
‘No, of course not. I left her with Sergeant Upjohn’s wife.’
‘While you fly about the countryside pretending to be a highwayman.’
Duncan smiled crookedly. ‘Yes, but I have done nothing more reprehensible than taking from those who have betrayed their country and become rich by it and giving the proceeds to those who deserve to be looked after and who have been shamefully neglected.’
‘So you say, but it is still unlawful. Will the War Department stand by you if you are apprehended?’
He shrugged. ‘It was left to me to choose how I went about my assignment.’
‘Then find some other way. I want to hear no more of this Dark Knight.’
‘He is already superfluous. I have the information I need.’
