by Ann Barker
‘Are you sure that no one will follow us?’ Benjamin Twizzle asked his bride-to-be as they trundled along in the hired coach, moving more slowly than either of them would have preferred.
‘No. No one,’ Isobel answered. ‘That is the beauty of it, you see. Nobody cares what happens to me.’ She tried to sound airy rather than despondent, but truth to tell, it was rather a depressing thought. Riseholm was far away in London, dancing attendance upon the insipid Miss Egan; Lavinia would be glad to see the back of one who had dragged her into all kinds of misunderstandings; Caroline Tasker would hate her for trying to steal her fiancé; and Lord Thurlby would only come after her in order to have her arrested for stealing his money.
‘That’s all right, then,’ answered Twizzle, supremely unconcerned as to what her feelings might be. The elopement, never part of his plan, had been thrust upon him at the last minute, but he was prepared to make the best of it. They had made good time, and as he looked at the enchantingly beautiful and exceedingly rich Miss Macclesfield, he decided that marriage to an heiress might not be so bad.
He was just engaged in a delightful day-dream, which involved driving up to the door of a fashionable tailor’s shop in London in a dashing curricle, entering the establishment, then emerging shortly afterwards in a new suit of clothes which caused every other gentleman to gasp with envy, when the carriage came to a halt, and a voice called out, ‘Stand and deliver!’
‘Highwaymen!’ Isobel exclaimed apprehensively.
Twizzle was just as apprehensive, but for different reasons. In the voice of the highwayman, he had recognized the tones of his adversary and former gambling partner, Cyrus Nightshade. There was always the chance that Nightshade supplemented his income with a little highway robbery, but somehow Twizzle doubted it. It was far more likely that he had come in pursuit of his debt. Although startled by his appearance, Twizzle was not initially very worried at the arrival of Nightshade. He had, after all, given an assurance that he was to marry an heiress, and here he was doing so. Where was the problem?
Judging that the less that Isobel knew about this the better, Twizzle said boldly ‘You may leave this to me, my dear,’ and stepped down from the coach, hoping to engage Nightshade in conversation out of earshot. ‘Well, fellow? What is this all about?’ he said in as high-handed a tone as he could muster.
‘I’ll tell you what it’s about, my young buck,’ said Nightshade, his rather sneering voice laced with a slight Midlands accent. ‘It’s about a certain debt as is owed to one Cyrus Nightshade by one Benjamin Twizzle.’
Looking round, Benjamin saw that his adversary was accompanied by three men, all of whom remained on horseback, whilst Nightshade had dismounted and entrusted his reins to one of his accomplices. He now stood very much at his ease. A blond, tall, heavily built man, he always made Benjamin feel like a mere stripling. ‘You’ll have your money,’ Benjamin insisted, glancing anxiously back at the coach, where Isobel’s head could be seen emerging from the window.
‘So you say,’ answered Nightshade, his thumbs hooked into the armholes of a rather lurid waistcoat, which could be seen beneath his serviceable drab riding coat. ‘But the mystery is, why when I’m patiently waiting for my money at our agreed meeting place, you go galloping off with your fancy piece in the opposite direction. I very much resent having to turn out in person, I can tell you.’
‘I’ve told your man,’ Benjamin protested. ‘I’m engaged to be married to an heiress. Her family has taken exception to me, so now we’re fleeing to the border. Once we’re married, I’ll let you have the money all right and tight.’
Suddenly conscious of a movement behind him, he turned his head to find Isobel walking towards them. She was dressed for travelling in a dark blue carriage dress. Certainly, she looked very attractive as always; but she had made an effort to be inconspicuous, and there was nothing about her that shouted ‘wealth’.
‘Heiress, eh?’ remarked Nightshade with a grin. ‘Couldn’t she afford to hire a decent carriage and horses?’
‘Who is this person?’ Isobel asked at her haughtiest.
Nightshade shoved his face very close to hers. ‘I tell you who I am, missy. I’m the man who your lover-boy here owes a debt to.’
‘And what has that to do with me?’ Isobel demanded.
‘Why, it seems, missy, that you’re the one with the money to pay me.’
‘Me?’ exclaimed Isobel incredulously.
‘Money, or jewels,’ explained Nightshade. ‘Never say I’m not broad-minded.’
‘I haven’t got a bean,’ retorted Isobel, ‘And my guardian keeps my jewels under lock and key.’
There was a short silence. ‘It seems to me,’ said Mr Nightshade looking from one to the other, ‘that one of you is telling lies. Now, which might it be?’
Normally, Benjamin Twizzle had plenty to say. He now found himself in the unusual position of being at something of a loss. His instinct for self-preservation prompted him to declare that his betrothed certainly did have money, although at present she did not carry it upon her person. On the other hand, his sense of chivalry, never very strong, but always buried deep inside, protested that to make her a target for Nightshade’s rapacity was hardly fair.
While he was still wondering what to say, Isobel spoke. ‘I can see no reason why I should feel obliged to explain my financial circumstances to you, you nasty little man,’ she told Nightshade. Then, turning to Benjamin Twizzle, she said, ‘Were you really proposing to pay your debts to this man out of my money?’
He grinned weakly. ‘Well, man and wife – one flesh, don’t you know?’ he murmured.
‘If you suppose that I have the slightest intention of marrying you after this débâcle, then you have another think coming,’ Isobel declared. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!’
‘Well, damn it all, that’s the outside of enough when I consider how desperate you were to get away,’ Twizzle retorted. ‘And, if I recall correctly, you were the one who wanted to elope.’
‘Only because I could not think of another way out of my difficulties. If there had been any other course of action, I would have taken it, believe you me.’
‘There’s no need to get so uppity with me. I first met you travelling upon the common stage, remember.’
‘Yes, I do remember, and I suppose that I should not be surprised at that for there has never ever been anyone I have met who was as common as you.’
‘Well, I like that!’ protested Twizzle.
Their conversation was interrupted at this point by the sound of a pistol being fired into the air by Mr Nightshade. Isobel then immediately demanded what he wanted, as it appeared to her that he was poking his nose into matters which were none of his business.
Mr Nightshade was now faced with a dilemma. Three possible courses of action lay before him: one was to escort this ill-assorted couple to the border, make sure that they married and then demand his money. This seemed to him to be fraught with difficulties, one being the length of the journey, during which all kinds of things could go wrong, including the danger of her relatives coming in pursuit. The other major problem was the temper of the young lady, which seemed to indicate that she would struggle vociferously every step of the way, and possibly make such a fuss over the anvil that the blacksmith would refuse to marry them at all.
Another possible course of action, of course, would be to dispense with Mr Twizzle altogether and simply kidnap the heiress for ransom. This, to Mr Nightshade’s mind, had one major drawback: he had had an acquaintance who had kidnapped an heiress. That acquaintance was presently hanging in chains on a gibbet, kidnapping being a capital offence. What was more, Nightshade had never heard of the Macclesfield fortune, and he only had Twizzle’s word for it that there was one. Their means of flight – a rather shabby hired coach and two horses – did not argue any extraordinary degree of affluence; nor was the reference to travelling on the stage very encouraging. In addition, the young lady had been heard to
say that she had no money available. Nightshade’s experience of fortunes was that more often than not, they were tied up so securely that it was impossible to get at them, especially if a young lady went against her family’s wishes.
There was the third course of action, the least risky to his way of thinking, and this was what he now resolved to take. ‘Well this has all been very pleasant, chatting away,’ he said. ‘But it’s time we was on our way. I’m not a vengeful man, so you can have your traps.’ He nodded to one of his men, who got into the coach and threw out Benjamin’s cloak bag, followed by the two band boxes which comprised all the luggage that Isobel had brought with her.
‘What are you doing?’ Isobel demanded, as one of the boxes rolled over, the top came off and some gloves fell out.
‘I’m having this coach in settlement of the debt,’ said Nightshade. He knew how to shift such a vehicle quickly, no one being the wiser.
‘But … but you can’t do that!’ exclaimed Twizzle. ‘Everyone’ll blame me.’
‘My heart bleeds for you,’ said Nightshade sarcastically, as he remounted his horse. One of his men had climbed onto the box, having tied his own horse behind the carriage. ‘There’s a village only a few miles on. I should get walking if I was you. Not a nice place to linger in. Couple like you could easily get set upon by highwaymen.’
Isobel and Twizzle were then obliged to watch helplessly whilst Nightshade and his men galloped laughing into the distance with their booty.
The sound of the retreating coach had only just faded away when a nearby groan alerted them to the presence of the driver. He had been knocked out by one of Nightshade’s men and was only just coming round. During careful questioning, he revealed the fact that going on to the next village would be almost twice the walk as to return to the previous one.
Showing remarkable solicitude for the driver, Isobel insisted that he could not possibly carry anything; and since she was obliged to keep an eye upon him, neither could she. That left Mr Twizzle with the task of carrying his own cloak bag and both the bandboxes, which he flatly refused to do.
‘Haven’t enough arms,’ he said frankly. ‘Stands to reason.’
‘Then you’ll just have to leave yours behind,’ Isobel told him. ‘It’s all your fault after all.’
‘I wasn’t the one who suggested eloping,’ he pointed out.
‘No, but if you had not become acquainted with that low, criminal person, we would not be stranded now at the side of the road.’
‘You can be quite sure that if I had not been in debt to Nightshade, then there is nothing in this wide world that would have persuaded me to elope with you.’
‘Well at least we are in agreement about something,’ said Isobel firmly. ‘You can carry one of my bandboxes as well as your cloak bag.’
‘I’ll carry the other, miss,’ said the driver, looking a little better, although still rather pale. ‘It’ll give me something else to think about other than the master’s horses.’
At this point, it was Benjamin Twizzle’s turn to go pale.
Lord Riseholm and his party set off from Thurlby Hall at about four o’clock, Caroline and Lavinia facing the front, whilst Lord Riseholm and Mr Ames sat opposite them, their backs to the horses. They paused briefly at the Horseshoe to see what could be discovered about the fleeing couple. Mr Ames, being acquainted with both Miss Macclesfield and Mr Twizzle, took this task upon himself.
‘They left just over an hour ago,’ he said, as he got back in and took his place in Lord Riseholm’s luxurious well-sprung chaise. ‘They were heading towards Lincoln. I’ve told the coachman, my lord.’
‘With a pair or a team?’ Riseholm asked.
‘Just a pair of horses, the landlord said, but quite strengthy beasts.’
Riseholm smiled. ‘I doubt they’ve the stamina of my cattle,’ he said. ‘We’ll catch them, never fear.’
No doubt many would have thought them an oddly assorted party, but in the event, the time passed more quickly than anyone would have supposed. Lord Riseholm had a fine social sense and, hiding whatever anxiety he might have been feeling, made it his business to keep the conversation going. Timothy Ames had a ready wit, and Caroline was an intelligent young woman, and so between the three of them, they managed to cover a number of topics.
Lavinia was silent for a number of reasons. Most of her thoughts were turned towards Lord Thurlby. Could things ever be put right between them? During the journey, they had passed through Folkingham, and she remembered the moment on the top of the tower when she had tripped and he had almost kissed her. Why had everything had to go so badly wrong since then?
In addition, she was still somewhat annoyed with Lord Riseholm, who undoubtedly bore a good deal of responsibility for the whole situation, having first turned Isobel’s head in London, and then compounded his misbehaviour by corresponding with her.
At that moment, had it been possible, she would willingly have thrown Lord Riseholm and Isobel out of the nearest window. Of course, Lord Thurlby himself probably deserved the same fate. For what seemed like the hundredth time, she asked herself why he could not have listened to her and trusted her. She drew a deep breath, and all at once began to feel a little giddy. She visibly swayed in her seat.
Suddenly conscious of having been addressed, she turned to Caroline Tasker. ‘Lavinia, when did you last eat?’ the schoolmistress asked her. ‘I do not count the biscuit that you had with us at noon.’
Too taken by surprise to dissemble, Lavinia answered, ‘At breakfast time, I think.’
The earl took out his watch. ‘We will stop to eat at the next presentable inn,’ he said.
‘No, no!’ Lavinia objected. ‘We must push on. We cannot risk losing them.’
‘We will not lose them,’ his lordship answered placidly.
‘I do not know how you can speak so calmly,’ declared Lavinia exasperatedly. ‘It is all your—’ She broke off, suddenly conscious of the impropriety of upbraiding a nobleman in his own carriage.
‘All my fault?’ he suggested. ‘Now that I don’t admit. Half my fault, perhaps. But then, we are none of us particularly wise when it comes to matters of the heart, are we?’ Lavinia blushed and looked away.
It was not very long before they came to a village with an inn of reasonable size, and Lord Riseholm signalled to his coachman to stop. ‘We’ll dine here,’ said the earl. ‘It will give the horses a chance to rest, which will mean that we’ll be able to take them on for another stage.’ He turned to Ames. ‘See if you can find out whether they’ve come through here. I’ll bespeak a meal and a private room.’
The arrival of Lord Riseholm’s impressive equipage caused something of a stir in such a quiet country place, and in no time, the landlord was at the ready, offering whatever these august visitors might deem necessary to their comfort. ‘I’ve some fine bedchambers, my lord,’ said the man eagerly, ‘with clean linen, well-aired.’
‘You are very obliging,’ Riseholm answered. ‘We shall, however, be continuing our journey shortly. A good meal served quickly and in privacy is all that I and my companions require.’
‘At once, my lord,’ the landlord replied, the depth of his bow showing a professional ability to sum up the quality of his guests.
Timothy Ames joined them as they were going into the parlour which the landlord had placed at their disposal. ‘They came through here about half an hour ago,’ he said. ‘We’ve gained on them. Ought we to lose that advantage?’
The earl waved one hand in dismissal. ‘We’ll soon regain it,’ he replied. ‘Remember that they, too, will need to stop for food at some point. We will do ourselves no good if by the time we catch up with them, we are fainting from inanition.’
Lavinia interrupted. ‘But what if by the time we catch up with them it is … is …’ she paused, blushing.
‘Too late?’ Riseholm suggested conversationally. ‘Then I’ll kill him. Come now, Miss Muir, have a glass of this wine that the landlord has brought us. I am persuade
d that it will lift your spirits.’
Lord Riseholm believed in encouraging good service by offering a douceur beforehand, and in less time than seemed possible, they were sitting down to a sustaining meal of chicken pie with a fricassee of cabbage and some potato cakes.
The landlord was just offering to fetch more or, alternatively, to bring some cakes or a suet pudding, when a waiter came in and, with a murmured apology, spoke briefly to the landlord in an undertone. ‘Forgive me, my lord,’ said their host, ‘but some undesirables have come to the door. James will attend you while I send them about their business.’
‘Undesirables?’ echoed Riseholm. ‘How many? Do you need help to eject them?’
‘Three, my lord,’ answered the waiter. ‘They claim they’ve been set upon by highwaymen.’
‘Then you must give them assistance rather than eject them,’ Caroline exclaimed. ‘To suggest otherwise is … is infamous!’
‘Don’t you worry yourself, miss,’ said the landlord, not appearing to take offence at her interjection. ‘They’re most probably spinning a yarn. I’ve known some tell that self same story of a highwayman as innocent as you please, then in the morning they’ve gone with no shot paid and most likely something stolen into the bargain. If you’ll excuse me, my lord, ladies and gentlemen.’
‘Leave the door open,’ Riseholm suggested, as the man left the room. ‘We’ll hear if you need help.’
‘Pardon me, sir,’ they heard one of the newcomers say, ‘but my wife and I have had our carriage stolen by rogues, and our coachman has been set upon. I was wondering whether—’
‘Is that a fact?’ the landlord interrupted, his tone far from the deferential one that he had used in speaking to Lord Riseholm. ‘As it happens, I’m afraid that my inn is full tonight, so I must ask you to move on.’
‘My lord—’ the waiter began, only to fall silent as Riseholm raised his hand in a warning gesture. The rest of the party looked at him. They were all thinking the same thing.
