Rebeccah and the Highwayman

by Barbara Davies

  “Christian of him!” Kate stepped out of her knee breeches, picked up the pile of discarded clothes and carried them into the bedroom where she dumped some in the laundry basket and flung the rest on a chair. Alice followed and watched her cross to the washstand and pour water into the basin.

  “Go on,” said Kate, wincing as soap found its way into the gash on her forearm and the scratches on her cheeks.

  “When Josselin’s men told him they’d found no trace of you,” continued Alice, “he started looking for others to arrest. That’s when Stephenson made a run for it.”

  “Fool!” She reached for a towel. “Chances are Josselin didn’t know who he was.”

  “I know.” Alice sighed. “And for a moment, I thought Stephenson had made it to safety… But the thieftaker had more of his bullyboys stationed outside the exits. Last I saw, Josselin had him trussed like a turkey and bound for Newgate.”

  “Poor devil!” Kate loosed her hair and tried to get the knots out with her fingers.

  “Here, let me.” Alice grabbed a hairbrush and pointed to a chair. Kate nodded her thanks and sat down. “When you didn’t come home,” heavy-handed brushstrokes betrayed the strength of Alice’s feelings, “I thought you’d been taken too.”

  “Some dragoons chased me,” admitted Kate, “but I gave them the slip.”

  “Dragoons?” The brushstrokes grew more violent.

  Kate took Alice’s hand and gentled her strokes. “I’m not a horse.”

  “It’s getting too dangerous.”

  “That’s half the fun.”

  Alice threw the brush across the room, stalked towards the window, and stood, arms folded, staring out into the night.

  Kate rose and moved behind her, hesitating before wrapping her arms around the other woman, and burying her nose in fragrant red hair. “I’ve never hidden either my occupation or the fact that’s it’s dangerous, now have I?” she asked, her voice muffled.

  “No.”

  “Then why so upset now? Thieftakers have tried to take me before and failed.” Not Josselin, admittedly. “Nothing’s changed.”

  “Yes it has.” Alice’s voice was thick with emotion. “I didn’t … care for you then as much as I do now.”

  Ashamed she was unable to return the older woman’s sentiment, Kate pulled her closer. “If it makes you feel any better,” she murmured, “I’ll avoid the Rose and Crown from now on, lie low for a few days … until Josselin has lost interest.”

  Alice gave a strangled laugh. “You wouldn’t be welcome there anyway. Elborrow’s barred you.”

  “What?” She blinked. “The ungrateful wretch! After all I’ve -“

  “He had no choice, Kate.” Alice turned within the circle of her arms and regarded her. “Josselin threatened to report him for receiving stolen goods. Said if he got off on that charge he’d tell the brewery Elborrow was running a disorderly house. Either way he’d lose his licence.”

  “Ah.” Kate scratched her nose. “Fair enough. I’ll miss Mrs Elborrow’s oyster pies though.”

  Alice’s eyes flashed and she slapped Kate, hard. “Damn you!”

  Kate rubbed her cheek. “What was that for?”

  “For not taking anything seriously.” The other woman stamped her foot. “Faith! If you had been at the Rose and Crown as arranged, Kate, Josselin would have earned himself a Tyburn Ticket for your capture.”

  “True.” Kate brushed a lock of red hair behind Alice’s ear. “But I wasn’t.” She leaned in to kiss a flushed cheek, the corner of a soft mouth. “I’m here with you. And much nicer surroundings these are,” she indicated the bed, “than the condemned hold at Newgate.” An earlobe loomed so she nibbled it. “Why don’t we make the most of it, eh?” She caressed a corset-clad breast then glanced up and saw eyes glazed with desire. “Take off your clothes, my dear, and let’s enjoy ourselves.”

  For a moment longer, Alice resisted her blandishments, then with a soft curse and a sigh, she allowed herself to be led towards the bed.

  ***

  Rebeccah peered out at the darkening sky and bit her lip. Instead of crossing Putney Heath while it was still light, in convoy with other concertgoers, they were alone and night was drawing in.

  “It wasn’t Robert’s fault, Madam,” repeated her maid. “Some urchins meddled with the traces.”

  “That’s as may be, Mary, but they wouldn’t have been able to meddle with the traces if he had stayed with the carriage instead of going off with you and Will.”

  Mary flushed and looked away, her manner stiff. “Beg pardon, Madam, I’m sure.”

  Rebeccah sighed. It wasn’t the maid’s fault, after all. “No, I beg yours, Mary. The truth is I would far rather have joined you three for a walk in the sunshine than been cooped up indoors, listening to that caterwauling. But please don’t tell Mama I said so.”

  Mary’s lips twitched. “I thought Mr Abel was meant to be much admired.”

  “In moderation his voice may well be bearable. And I’m sure my mother, had she not been in bed with a sick headache, would have enjoyed him immensely - she is always eager to hear the latest songs from the Continent. But my preferred idea of entertainment,” continued Rebeccah, glad that Mary was no longer upset with her, “would have been a trip to the New Theatre. Congreve’s plays are always amusing, especially when Mrs Barry and Mrs Bracegirdle are on top form.”

  The concert at Richmond Wells had been Mrs Dutton’s idea. Anne was still visiting her friend in the country, so it had fallen to Rebeccah to keep her mother company. Five shillings each, the tickets had cost them, and at the last moment, a megrim had confined Mrs Dutton to her bed. Worse still, she had insisted her indisposition should not prevent her daughter from attending the concert (in spite of Rebeccah’s increasingly broad hints that she would not mind in the least).

  So after the tedious drive, made longer by the carriage having to go via London Bridge, Rebeccah had found herself amongst an audience of inveterate fidgets, coughers, and sneezers, perched on a chair that grew harder by the minute, wishing herself outside listening to birdsong instead of to Mr Abel, who seemed overly pleased with himself and his high-voiced performance.

  When the concert ended at last, releasing her from purgatory, an eager Rebeccah sought the peace and quiet of her carriage, only to find that the horses had broken free of the traces and her redfaced maid, footman, and coachman were darting around trying to retrieve them, while the amused locals looked on.

  In the end, a couple of onlookers took pity on them and came to the servants’ rescue. Soon the four horses were recaptured and yoked to the traces. The delay had cost Rebeccah’s party dear, though, and the other concertgoers’ conveyances had departed an hour ago.

  As the carriage swayed and rocked its way along the highway across Putney Heath, Rebeccah chewed her lip and wondered why the urchins had targeted her carriage. True, Robert had left it unattended, but Mary insisted that other coachmen had done the same. Was it just chance that had made the urchins release her horses, or had someone instructed them to do so? And had it been done out of a sense of mischief or to delay her?

  A thought struck her then, making her heart race and her cheeks heat so that she was glad the dimness of the interior hid them from Mary’s gaze. Suppose Blue-Eyed Nick was trying to contrive another meeting. It had been a week since the kiss. Would he demand another one? And this time, would he insist it be on the lips?

  Distant shouts roused Rebeccah from her pleasant daydream. With a start she became aware that the coach’s pace had increased to the point of recklessness. Then came a pistol shot, and the boom of a blunderbuss. The coach slowed, almost catapulting the maid into Rebeccah’s lap.

  They disentangled themselves. “It could be Blue-Eyed Nick,” said Rebeccah, unsure whether she was trying to reassure Mary or herself.

  But a moan from the footman’s position at the rear of the coach turned her anticipation to dread, and she couldn’t bring herself to peer out of the window for fear of what would
meet her gaze.

  The carriage door opened. “Well, well, what have we here?”

  The man’s bulk took up the width of the doorway. A mask hid the top part of his face, but the bottom half was bare. A badly healed scar at the corner of his mouth had left him with a permanent sneer.

  He turned his head and called to someone out of sight, “Couple of birds ripe for the plucking, boys.” Removing his tricorne to reveal a wig badly in need of refurbishment, he made a mock bow. “At your service, ladies.” His laughter was cruel, and so was the glint in his steel-grey eyes, as he put on the hat and grabbed hold of the carriage door to help himself up.

  The vehicle tilted under his weight as he stepped inside, lowering his head to avoid braining himself on the roof, bringing the stench of unwashed clothes, horseflesh, and fried onions with him. Both women shrank away until their backs were pressed against the far side of the carriage.

  “Aw, don’t be like that.” The highwayman’s grin revealed tobacco-stained teeth. “Just ‘cause I ain’t one of your fancy gents drenched in lavender water.” He reached for Rebeccah’s pearl necklace, and tugged, too hard. The string broke, scattering pearls everywhere. “Devil take it!” His grin became a scowl.

  Another man, as small and skinny as his companion was bearlike, appeared in the doorway. Though masked, his sharp features reminded Rebeccah of a rat. “Only two?” said the newcomer with a frown. “How are we going to split ‘em between three of us?”

  “Jemmy’ll have to make do with our leavings.”

  Rebeccah’s signet ring glinted and the man with the scar reached out a meaty hand. “I’ll take that pretty gewgaw.” He winked. “And then I’ll take you.”

  The threat galvanised Rebeccah out of the paralysis that had overtaken her. She kicked him between the legs, reached for the door handle, and tumbled out of the carriage to the hard ground.

  “Ow!” She rubbed her stinging elbow and staggered to her feet.

  A lanky highwayman (Jemmy, presumably) was using a willow switch to drive the unhitched team across to where three horses were cropping grass. He threw her a startled glance.

  Rebeccah lifted her skirts, and ran, but had gone barely five steps when she heard, “Stop or I’ll blow your friend’s brains out.” The bellow halted her in her tracks, and she turned, heart hammering.

  The scarred man’s sneer was more pronounced than ever. He had dragged Mary from the coach and now had the muzzle of a cocked pistol pressed to her temple. Every instinct was screaming at Rebeccah to keep running, but she couldn’t leave her maid in such peril. Lifting her chin, she turned and walked back towards the carriage.

  “Lookit that,” laughed Ratface. “She’s taken a shine to yer, Jack.”

  Rebeccah ignored the lewd exchange that followed, and walked as slowly as she dared, her eyes darting from side to side.

  A liveried figure lay motionless beside the highway. The coachman. Is Robert shamming? On the ground beside him lay his blunderbuss, but smoke curling from its muzzle revealing that she would have to look elsewhere for a weapon.

  Remembering the moaning, she sought out Will. The footman was sitting on the road by the rear of the carriage, both hands clutching a bloodied thigh.

  No help there.

  She came to a halt a yard from Jack. The maid’s gaze was full of terror and Rebeccah shot her an encouraging glance, which was difficult considering her knees were knocking and her mouth so dry she had to clear her throat to get the words out.

  “Let her go, Sir, I beg you.”

  The big highwayman cocked his head to one side. “Not so hoity-toity, now, eh?” He shoved Mary aside with such force she fell over, and reached for Rebeccah, spinning her round and squashing her so tightly against his barrel chest she could barely draw breath.

  “You’re going to regret kicking me in the stones.” His breath was hot in her ear and the scratch of bristles made her want to vomit.

  Ratface, meanwhile, had decided to grab Mary and received a slap from the struggling woman, provoking guffaws from his colleagues.

  “I’ll make you pay for that, baggage!” He forced the maid’s hands down by her sides, and looked at Jack. “Can I take her now?”

  Will tried to rise. “No! Take the horses and valuables, but let the women go.”

  Jemmy crossed to the footman and knocked him back down with a blow and a curt, “Shut up!”

  “Please listen to him,” urged Rebeccah. “If you release us unharmed, I’ll give the constables a false description of you and say there were seven in your gang not three.” But the arm around her tightened and she bit her lip against the pain.

  “You shouldn’t have kicked me,” growled her captor, beginning to drag her backwards.

  Oh God! His grip was unbreakable. She dug in her heels, but succeeded only in leaving drag masks. Then the scarfaced man let out an odd little huf and the arm imprisoning her went limp. Rebeccah gaped at it in incomprehension, then jerked herself free and turned round.

  The eyes behind Jack’s mask were sightless, and he had acquired a hole in the centre of his forehead. He dropped heavily to one knee, then to both, then toppled forward, teeth crunching on the surface of the highway.

  Only then did Rebeccah register the drumming of hooves, which had been at the edge of her hearing for several minutes. She turned and blinked at the masked rider on a black horse thundering across the heath towards her, a smoking pistol in one gloved hand.

  “Blue-Eyed Nick!” cried Mary, looking as startled as Rebeccah felt. He was 100-yards away and closing fast. She found it hard to breathe.

  “Devil take ‘im!” Ratface drew his pistol and cocked it. “This is our snaffle. Look lively, Jemmy.” He took careful aim.

  “Mary!”

  Rebeccah’s warning came too late for the maid to do anything. The crack of the pistol was deafening. Fearful, Rebeccah peered through the acrid blue smoke that surrounded them and saw the rider still coming, his progress unchecked.

  Thank the Lord!

  Jemmy was rummaging in one of the horses’ saddlebags. He emerged with a blunderbuss and took aim.

  “No!” Rebeccah hurtled towards him, grabbing his arm just as the weapon went off.

  “Damn you!”

  The lanky highwayman tried to club her with his blunderbuss. Her ears were still ringing and bright afterimages flecked her vision, but she managed to dodge the blow. He raised the blunderbuss again then came the crack of a pistol shot and he grunted. For a moment he remained frozen, arm raised, then his eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed.

  Rebeccah straightened cautiously. When the toe of her shoe in Jemmy’s ribs didn’t get a reaction, she stooped and rolled him over on his back. A dark stain was spreading from the hole drilled through his waistcoat.

  The hoofbeats were louder now, and she looked up just as Blue-Eyed Nick reined his lathered horse to a halt five yards away. The pale eyes behind the mask were as icy as she had ever seen them. He discarded the smoking pistol and drew his sword.

  “Let her go.” The order was aimed at Ratface who now had a knife to Mary’s throat.

  “Damned if I will! We worked hard to set up this lay, and no jumped-up wool-snaffler is going to snatch the proceeds.”

  Blue-Eyed Nick dug in his heels and urged his mare forward. His rapier glinted in the moonlight, and Ratface’s eyes widened as he backed a few steps, dragging his squirming captive with him.

  “No need to take it nasty. We can come to some arrangement, can’t we?” Sweat beaded the little man’s upper lip as the horse continued to advance. “Now don’t be unreasonable. She’s my bargaining chip.” Mary’s mew of terror made Rebeccah’s stomach lurch. “How about a third. That’s fair, ain’t it?” He licked his lips. “Come now, a third is a sizeable snack.”

  As the rider continued his silent advance, Ratface stepped back … and caught his heel in a tuft of grass. Blue-Eyed Nick struck, leaning so far out of his saddle Rebeccah was amazed he kept his seat. The rapier whisked the kn
ife from the maid’s throat, and she gasped, dropped to the ground, and curled herself up like a hedgehog. Ratface was still gaping down at Mary when the rapier skewered him through the eye.

  It was like some macabre tableaux, thought Rebeccah, unable to tear her gaze from the horrific sight. With a dull sucking sound, the blade withdrew, sprinkling her with something warm and wet, and Ratface crumpled to the ground. Jolted out of her fugue, and clamping down on her revulsion, she hurried over to join her sobbing maid.

  “There, there.” She wrapped her arms around the other woman. “It’s all right, Mary. We are safe.” She caught sight of her bloodspattered skirts and grimaced. “Though our dresses are somewhat spoiled.”

  She glanced up and saw Blue-Eyed Nick was wiping his blade on a kerchief. He caught her gaze, his eyes warming perceptibly.

  “We are safe, aren’t we?”

  “Indeed.”

  She turned back to the woman in her arms, whose trembling seemed to be subsiding. “Did you hear that, Mary?”

  “Thank the Lord!” murmured the maid, uncurling.

  Rebeccah looked up at their saviour once more and paused. Was it her imagination or was the highwayman swaying in his saddle? “Good heavens!” She released Mary, stood up, and took a pace towards him. “Are you hurt?”

  He sheathed his sword, drew off a glove and touched long fingers to his left shoulder. They came away coated with something dark and glistening. “I’ll be hanged if that first shot didn’t … ” He turned to regard her. “A mere pinprick, Madam. Please, do not concern yourself.” But the swaying was becoming more pronounced and his eyes widened. “Pox take it, I think I -” With boneless grace he toppled from his saddle.

  The black mare’s ears flicked forward, and she nosed the man lying at her feet, then tugged the cuff of one sleeve with her teeth. When he didn’t stir, she nickered soft and low and tugged the cuff again.