Shadow on the Highway

by Deborah Swift

  Wentworth’s horse was not there. Another dribble of dark by the back gate and the slight snaking marks in the grass showed something had been dragged that way. I stood by the gate and there was just enough light for me to see that the trail went in the direction of the river. Almost without thinking I followed it, sweating under my bodice with apprehension.

  Captain Wentworth was face down in the water, caught in some low ash branches overhanging the flow. I knew he was dead because his back was split open like a rose and no more blood flowed from him. He was still but for the movement of his hair in the water.

  I shivered, as if I too was under that knife-cold water. Then I turned and ran, fast as I could back to Markyate Manor. On the way I passed Captain Wentworth’s horse wandering loose and aimless, reins and stirrups flapping.

  Fear for Lady Katherine powered my legs. Mistress Binch had gone. My mistress was all alone. If Grice could do this, what else might he do?

  When I reached the Manor I was breathless, but all seemed calm and orderly. I glanced in the library. Grice was his usual self, poring over maps of the countryside in the waning light of the window. His men lounged on Sir Simon’s chairs as if they owned them, puffing on their pipes of tobacco. Would you do that if you had shot a man? I began to wonder if I had imagined it. Grice looked over his shoulder and caught me staring. His eyes sent a chill through me.

  ‘Have you no work to do? Go and light the lights, make yourself useful in the kitchen.’

  The kitchen was empty, there was nothing there for me now Mistress Binch had gone. Instead I took a candle and crept up the stairs to Grice’s room. I needed to know everything. I was extra careful because I could not hear the noise I made. I hoped his door did not creak as I pushed it open. I needed to see the rest of his correspondence, anything to tell me I was right, that Grice had just killed Captain Wentworth. Even though Grice pretended to be a Parliament man himself now.

  The room smelt of that strange sour smell that Grice always had. His travelling trunks were open, as if he was packing to go away. A long-nosed pistol lay on the bed and I touched a forefinger to the muzzle. Was it my imagination, or was it warm? I pulled away. It made me shiver to look at it.

  A litter of papers lay on the small side table. I picked through the pile, trying not to drip wax onto them. Nothing. Just bills of sale signed in Sir Simon’s hand – or was it Grice’s hand, forging the Fanshawe name? Household bills, receipts. I pulled open a drawer. An unfinished letter rested there. It was addressed to Sir Simon Fanshawe. I bent over, pressed my skirts against my knees, held the light close to see it better. I began to read.

  By the time you read this your son’s fine house will be a garrison for Parliament troops and your farms un-tenanted, your land and furniture sold. I served you and your Royalist swine faithfully for twenty years and got no thanks, only scorn. I am half a man now, thanks to you. I curse the family of Fanshawe. But there will be no more Fanshawes. Lady Katherine is dead. The Parliamentary army will have seen to that. I told them to have their pleasure of her before discarding her. After all, it is only what you did to me

  There the letter stopped mid-flow. I swayed on my feet. At first I could not take it in. But then I realised – Parliament troops were coming. Hadn’t Wentworth told Grice the same? I must warn Lady Katherine. With no man to protect her, the Roundheads would regard her as spoils of war. There was no time to lose – we would have to leave. Now.

  I swiped up the letter and raced upstairs. Lady Katherine read it and understood immediately. ‘Lord have mercy,’ was all she said. She seemed stunned, unable to move.

  ‘Grice killed Wentworth,’ I said. ‘His body’s in the river.’

  She did not ask how I knew, but it spurred her to action. ‘Gather my things.’ She handed me a leather holdall. ‘My pistols are –’

  ‘– in the drawer downstairs. I know,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to get them on the way out.’

  ‘Where is Grice now?’

  ‘In the library. My guess is that in the end he didn’t want to share the gold with Wentworth. He did not trust him. He wants to take it all for himself and then get far away from here. His bags are packed. And Parliament troops will be here tonight, I heard Wentworth say so.’ I spoke quickly, even though I knew my speech was blurred if I rushed my words. All the time I was shoving things into the bag. ‘Quick, let’s go whilst Grice is busy. He scares me,’ I said.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The common. Anywhere. Just out of here.’ I put my fingers to my lips to gesture to be quiet. I picked up the bag and pulled on her hand. ‘Wait! What about your husband’s clothes?’

  ‘Forget them. They’re in the hedge by the packhorse bridge. I was afraid someone would find them in the house.’

  ‘Come then, let’s take horse.’ We hurried to descend the staircase.

  We were about half-way down when Grice’s dark figure appeared round the corner. He was dressed for outdoors, his cloak slung back over one shoulder to reveal sword belt and rapier glinting in the half-light.

  But it was his pistol that drew my eye.

  Lady Katherine stopped dead behind me.

  Grice looked at my bags. ‘Back upstairs,’ Grice said. His voice was like ice.

  He advanced on us with the black nose of the barrel pointing at my chest. I was frozen with fear, my legs would not move. Behind Grice the two servants moved in to flank him, hulks of men with blank business-like expressions. Pitman’s knife was already drawn, Rigg had a hand on his sword-hilt.

  We found our way up the stairs backwards, unwilling to take our eyes away from the gun until Lady Katherine took courage and spoke to Grice. I could not see what she said, but it seemed to provoke Grice more.

  ‘Devil take Simon Fanshawe,’ Grice replied. His face glowed an unearthly red in the light streaming through the windows from the setting sun. ‘All these years I was loyal to him, looking after his wife’s brat, living in the middle of nowhere with second-rate servants. He cheated me – told me you would be married to me one day, but at the last minute he snubbed me. Gave you and your fortune to that cowardly nephew.’

  I turned to see Lady Katherine grow wide-eyed at this.

  She tried to speak but he took a step nearer with the pistol, and we stumbled another hasty step up the stairs. Lady Katherine gripped my arm as if to give us both strength.

  ‘You never thanked me,’ Grice said to her. ‘Not once. Not for all my teaching.’

  She began to apologize, but he flapped his hand to silence her.

  ‘Too late with your sweet words now. You Fanshawes are all the same. I saved Sir Simon’s skin so often, yet never a word of thanks. You find out who your friends really are in battle. He could have cut down the man who severed my foot, he was right there alongside. But he was too lazy a dog to even lift his blade. He saw the roundhead swing his sword but… he just watched it, watched it happen.’ The words almost choked him. ‘Do you want to know why I hate the Fanshawes?’

  We stayed still. We were trapped, and we both knew it. From the corner of my eye I saw my mistress’s chest rising and falling.

  Grice’s mouth trembled as he spoke. ‘He left me there. Can you believe it? After all I’d done for him, he watched me topple from my horse and left me to rot in the mud. I was screaming, but did Sir Simon help me? No. Another soldier dragged me away, bound my leg tight, got me to a barber-surgeon before I bled to death.’

  Lady Katherine tried to soothe him with words I could not hear.

  Grice dragged himself up another step and pushed the nose of the gun up to her chest. The barrel glowed red in the light from the window. ‘All those years, a faithful servant. But what does he do? Fires me for being unfit, as if it was my fault, as if he had not been there at all. But I’ll never forget. Do you know what kept me alive? The thought that I’d get even with him one day. Well, he’ll pay now.’

  ‘Please,’ I said, ‘It’s not my mistress’s fault, she hates him as much as you do.’

  He turned h
is head slowly to face me. ‘So the maid is not as deaf or stupid as she looks.’

  ‘If you hurt her, Sir Simon will hunt you down, you know he will,’ I said. ‘And the King’s men will hang you for treason. Let her go, she’s done you no harm.’

  ‘The King’s Army is finished. I had a letter from my commander in Scotland, the Scots haven’t rallied to the King. His army is a small pack of useless dogs. The King will lose, be beheaded like his father, and Markyate Manor will be forfeit. So I’ve taken my share now. After all, it’s only what I’m owed. And by the time that coward Simon Fanshawe returns, if he survives at all, he will find nothing but dust and debts.’

  My mistress tried again to reason with him. ‘I’m sorry for any injustice you feel, but–’

  ‘Shut your mouth. Take her, men.’

  The servants rushed up the stairs. A black leather-clad arm snaked around my neck, choking me. A push slammed me into the wall in front. I whipped round. We were backed against the corridor wall, the panelling pressed into my back next to the mullioned windows. I still had hold of Lady Katherine’s bag in one hand, ready to run if we got the chance. But we could go nowhere. Pitman’s knife was pressed to my lady’s ribs.

  The men backed us into Lady Katherine’s chamber. I remembered the wound on Wentworth’s back, and hoped for mercy.

  ‘Put her in there,’ Grice said to his servants. They took hold of Lady Katherine roughly by the arms and pushed her towards the windowless dressing chamber.

  ‘No!’ she cried, clawing like a wildcat with her nails to escape. She knew what they intended. That she’d not survive when the Parliament troops arrived.

  Pitman and Rigg held her back whilst Grice found the key.

  ‘Let me go in with her,’ I said to him, but he shoved me roughly away.

  ‘Please,’ she begged me, ‘find Ralph, fetch –’ But then her face was gone as Grice turned the key in the lock and I was alone in her chamber with Grice and his men.

  Grice turned the pistol on me in one swift movement and pulled the trigger.

  But his movement gave me warning and I leapt to the side just as a cloud of smoke issued from the gun. Shock waves from the shot as it hit the wall reverberated in my bones, along with a dread certainty. He would kill me.

  From the corner of my eye I saw men’s fingers reach to grab my arm but I twisted away. Another smatter of wood exploded on the floorboards by the door. I was caught like a rat in a trap. Grice was re-loading and the men backed me towards the fireplace. When I dived I went down like a ferret, down into the priest’s hole, the leather bag bumping down with me.

  There was no time to think, I scraped down the narrow stairs by feel, and shoved my way out into the library.

  I ran over to the desk drawer. I cursed as it stuck. I yanked it, until it suddenly slid out and clattered to the ground. I reached for the pistol case and powder and thrust them into the bag. I scrabbled frantically until I found the leather pouch full of lead shot.

  I must get help, get to Ralph.

  I bolted from the room just in time. There was a flash of movement and Rigg’s burly frame rounded the corner. I grabbed the door handle and almost fell down the servant’s stairs.

  I ran out of the kitchen and into the stables, my breath coming too fast.

  There were only three horses there now, Grice’s evil looking beast, Blaze and little Pepper in his stall. The servants’ horses must be at the front. I wavered – I needed a horse I could trust. But Pepper would be too slow if they came after me.

  I threw on Blaze’s bridle, hitched up my skirts, and clambered up some bales of straw to vault astride. I clapped my heels to Blaze’s sides and he bolted off. Only by clinging to his mane did I stick there.

  Grice and his men ran out and hailed me as I passed the front door, but I could not have stopped even if I’d wanted to. A musketball’s breath hissed past my cheek but I clung to Blaze’s mane. The ground sped by under me with terrifying speed.

  The sun had gone and the dusky path ahead of me into the woods was dark. Blaze did not stop. Branches whipped in my face, but I closed my eyes and relied on the grip of my knees. I couldn’t go back, and Grice might have sent one of his men after me, so I let the horse carry me through the woods until he suddenly swerved to the left and, unseated, I was suddenly in mid-air.

  I hit the ground with a thud and sat up coughing, the wind knocked from my lungs. I stumbled to my feet, disorientated but already reaching out for the reins. Blaze was only a few steps away, standing looking forlornly at a fallen tree in our path.

  Almost weeping with frustration I stood on the tree to clamber back on, and used my legs to encourage Blaze to jump it, but he refused each time. He was spooked, wild, tossing his head, as if he’d suddenly realised there was an unfamiliar person on his back.

  I cursed, hissed, ‘Go on!’ at him. All to no avail. Stupid horse. He’d do it for Lady Katherine. Why not for me?

  Either side was a thicket of scrub and brambles. We’d just have to go through there. I kicked him on, but he would not go that way either.

  I weighed up the options – turn back and go the long way round, or continue on foot. If I went back I might meet Grice’s men. But I didn’t want to leave Blaze here in the wood, nor did I want to be without a horse if trouble came my way.

  I was wasting time. I wheeled Blaze around and galloped full pelt at the tree. Blaze must have caught my intention for he took off miles away from it and sailed over. I grasped handfuls of his mane to keep myself from falling. The landing jarred my teeth, but we were over.

  I slowed to a trot and felt the path soft and squelchy under Blaze’s hooves. I looked over my shoulder. All was motionless behind me. No sign of Grice and his men. I hoped my mistress was still alive, that they hadn’t already –

  But I mustn’t think that way. I must get Ralph. He’d know what to do. Help me get my mistress out somehow. But the constable had been adamant he would not release Ralph without bail. It was about a half-mile to the bridge from here I guessed. The bridlepath went between two walls, then into more woodland.

  Just a little further. A slight sway in the landscape beyond the wall made me pull away into the trees. There were soldiers moving in the far distance across the field. I could not tell whose soldiers, just dark shadows of men moving. But they had to be soldiers, there were too many men for them to be anything else. I did not know if there had been any shots, but the men were moving stealthily so I guessed not. Cromwell’s men probably. Men with arquebusiers and muskets, I could see their jagged silhouettes. I shuddered. Lady Katherine would not know they were there, closing in.

  I kept low over Blaze’s neck and wound into the densest part of the wood where there was no path. With a shock I realised I was not afraid, not for myself anyway, my intent was stronger than my fear.

  There was a glint of water alongside me – the river, winding its way to the ford. I looked up, a big straw-coloured moon was just rising over the horizon. Thank you, thank you, I thought. Blaze picked his way alongside the water. I guided him where the earth was soft, would make less noise. Finally I saw the packhorse bridge ahead of me, and the ford by it for carriages, the water trickling less than knee-deep.

  I paused in the shadow of the trees, watching, like a deer sniffing out danger. A half-formed plan scratched at the back of my mind. I pulled Blaze over into a thicket of trees and hitched him to a branch. I scrambled into the hedge, felt for the bundle Lady Katherine said she had left there. After a few frantic moments I found it, stripped out of my skirts and pulled on the breeches. The belt had holsters for the pistols and I cinched it in to my waist, notched the buckle tightly. It helped me feel more solid. The boots were far too big but they’d make me look more manly. I thrust my skirts into the hedge out of sight. If Lady Katherine could do this, then so could I. Her life depended on it.

  I only had to hope that I looked convincing enough to persuade Lady Prescott to hand over the gold.

  My fingers shook as I primed the p
istols with powder and rammed down the ball by feel. I’d seen my father do it and knew what to do. I had never fired a pistol before in my life. My teeth chattered from cold, or from fright, I could not tell which. I rummaged in the leather bag and brought out the scarf to tie across my face. It smelt faintly of cinnamon and roses and the scent brought tears to my eyes and almost made me lose my courage.

  I wondered briefly if I was mad. I could just gallop on. But where would I go? My mother was at the smith’s. Ralph was in gaol. And Lady Katherine was at this very minute awaiting a fate worse than I could imagine.

  I jammed the hat down over my forehead. The moon lit up the path, but there was no sign of any carriage. I lifted one of the pistols from my belt, felt its solid weight in my right hand. The reins were damp and greasy in my other, and I felt the slight shake of Blaze’s head.

  There was a moment where I realised what I had become, what I had to do. It seemed unreal, that I was here. I suddenly felt alone, insubstantial, like a shadow carved out of the air. I turned my head, scanning the trees and the road for movement. Nothing. It was as if the world held its breath.

  21. Pistol and Shot

  The coach and pair appeared from nowhere – a blur of hooves and wheels. It slowed to ford the water and I saw the gold of the monogram on the side as it rocked and trembled down the bank. But as it entered the water the wheels slewed to a stop, throwing up water and stones.

  I kicked Blaze on, onto the bridge and round to stand in their path.

  They must see me, they must.

  For a moment the elderly coachman gathered his reins and I thought he might drive his pair over me, but I raised the pistol and yelled in the deepest voice I could, ‘Stop! Stand down!’

  He slid from his perch and scuttled into the water. I saw him take cover behind the coach.

  I pulled Blaze round and cantered down the bank to approach the side window. The occupants of the coach were already half-out. Lady Prescott almost fell out into the water in her haste to get away. But a thick-set man in leather armour was giving her cover. He let loose a shot with his snub-nosed musket and I saw the flare of his tinder, the jerk as he recoiled. Smoke blasted out of the muzzle. Blaze shied as the shot hit a tree, but I clung on, held Blaze under control.