Rebeccah and the Highwayman

by Barbara Davies

  “Will told me.”

  “Kate must regain her strength and quickly.”

  “Have no fear, Madam. This one’s as strong as an ox, else the fever would have carried her off.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Their conversation must have disturbed the woman in the bed, for she stirred and began to stretch, then winced and thought better of it. Dark eyelashes fluttered open and blue eyes stared up at the two women rather dazedly before comprehension returned.

  Kate’s mouth curved into a smile. “Am I the topic of your discussion?”

  Strong fingers tightened around Rebeccah’s hand, holding it fast as she tried to withdraw it. To struggle with Mary present was more than her dignity was worth, so Rebeccah didn’t.

  “You look better,” said Mary.

  “I am. And what’s more I’m hungry.” Kate sounded surprised.

  “A promising sign. More broth, or could you manage something solid? With your permission, of course, Madam.” She turned towards her mistress who was being distracted by the oddly pleasurable sensation of Kate’s thumb stroking her skin.

  “Granted,” managed Rebeccah.

  “Something solid,” said the highwaywoman.

  “I’ll see what I can find …” Mary curtseyed and hurried away.

  The instant the door closed, Rebeccah freed herself of Kate’s grip. “Have you no sense of propriety?”

  “Apparently not.” Blue eyes danced. “But it was you who held my hand rather than vice versa.”

  “Because it seemed to help you sleep better.”

  “Whatever the reason, I am glad of it.”

  Rebeccah didn’t know whether to return the impudent grin or slap Kate’s face. She contented herself with a grunt. “While you were sleeping,” she said, to change the topic, “We had an unwelcome visitor.”

  “Oh?”

  “Samuel Josselin.”

  “‘S Death!” Kate frowned. “What the devil was he doing here?”

  “My sister has hired him to take you.”

  Pale blue eyes regarded her with astonishment then became thoughtful. “That explains the Rose and Crown.”

  “Pardon?”

  “No matter. But I am sorry your sister desires to see me hanged.”

  “As am I.” Rebeccah sighed. “It did not help matters, Kate, that the necklace and bracelet you took from her were a gift from one of her suitors.” She ignored Kate’s snort. “But regarding Josselin, you need have no worry on that score. My mother sent him away until my sister’s return.”

  “Which is to be when?”

  “In two days.”

  “Then I will endeavour to be up and gone from here by then. Though it is a shame our time together must be so brief.” She threw back the corner of the bedclothes and started to swing her bare legs out.

  “Where are you going?” Rebeccah held up a hand to stop Kate from getting up.

  “I need to use the chamber pot.”

  “When Mary returns she will help you.”

  “I fear that will be too late.”

  Kate stood up, but as she did so, her face paled and she began to sway. Rebeccah grabbed her round the waist, and felt an arm go round her shoulders. She glanced up anxiously, relieved to see the colour already returning to Kate’s cheeks.

  “You stood up too quickly!” She released her hold on Kate’s waist but allowed the arm to remain round her shoulder. “I told you we should have waited for Mary.”

  “But then I would have had no excuse to put my arm around you.”

  “You are incorrigible!” Rebeccah helped the other woman towards her dressing room. It was difficult for both of them to get through the door at the same time, but by turning through 90 degrees they managed it.

  The highwaywoman lifted the lid of Rebeccah’s close-stool and regarded the padded seat with the hole in the centre with obvious amusement. “This is a superior chamber pot indeed!” She removed her arm from around Rebeccah’s shoulders, and began to lift her nightdress.

  Rebeccah squeaked and turned her back.

  “Forgive my rough manners,” said Kate with a laugh. “You are fortunate my left shoulder was wounded and not my right, or I would be asking for more intimate assistance.” A rustle of material preceded the sound of liquid splashing on porcelain and a sigh of heartfelt relief.

  Rebeccah waited, fidgeting, until Kate pronounced herself decent, then turned, relieved to find that it was true. She helped the taller woman across to the washstand and poured some water into the basin so Kate could wash her hands - awkwardly because of the sling - then helped her back to bed.

  A few minutes later, Mary appeared with a tray containing slices of beef, bread and butter, a lump of Cheshire cheese, some blanched almonds, a cup of beer, and a dish of tea.

  “Tea?” Kate grimaced.

  “For Mistress Rebeccah.” Mary handed the steaming dish to her mistress. “The beer’s for you.” The dark-haired woman grumbled when she discovered it was only small beer. “Nothing stronger until you are better,” chided the maid.

  Rebeccah sipped her tea and watched Kate eat. If the speed at which she crammed food into her mouth was any indication, she was indeed hungry. At last, with a contented sigh, Kate leaned back against her pillow.

  Mary collected up the crockery and departed, leaving the two women in companionable silence. Rebeccah opened her mouth then closed it again.

  “Ask your questions,” said Kate.

  “They will not tire you?” When there was no reply, Rebeccah paused for a moment longer then plunged in. “How old are you?”

  Kate blinked at the personal question but said amenably enough, “Nine-and-twenty. And you?”

  Rebeccah blushed. “Three-and-twenty. … Why did you become a highwayman?”

  “A flaw in my nature? For it suits me well.”

  “Did no one teach you your Bible?”

  “I only steal from those who can afford it.”

  Kate flicked her expressive gaze around the bedchamber with its wainscoted walls and expensive furnishings, and raised one eyebrow. Now was probably not a good time to mention that her mother was second cousin to the Duchess of Marlborough, thought Rebeccah.

  “You are saying that because others have more than you, it is acceptable to steal from them?”

  “I must earn my living somehow,” said Kate. “People depend on me.”

  Rebeccah’s heart skipped a beat. “You have a husband and children?” Somehow she had not considered that a possibility. Kate smiled and shook her head but didn’t elaborate further. Rebeccah’s heart resumed its normal rhythm. “But the risk,” she pressed.

  “At first that was a consideration, but now it doesn’t deter me. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, as the saying goes. Besides, risk is what gives life its spice.”

  “There must be other occupations you could do.”

  “Indeed.” Kate grinned. “My mother paid the premium for me to be apprenticed to a mantua-maker.”

  The image of the highwaywoman as a seamstress was incongruous. “Mantua-maker?”

  “That shocks you. But my stitches were neat and my work of good quality … or so Mistress Coggs told me.”

  “What happened?”

  Kate’s face darkened. “Mistress Coggs’ husband. Though I was just turned thirteen and he five-and-sixty, the drunken sot took a fancy to me. One afternoon, when his wife was out, he tried to rape me.” She shrugged then winced and clasped her injured shoulder. “I was able to defend my honour - my brothers had taught me how. I kneed him in the stones and fled.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “The streets, of course. But I had no intention of selling my body, so I became a cutpurse.”

  “But surely … Your parents…”

  Kate shook her head. “My father died when I was five. And I could not bring the constables down on my mother. She had been through enough already. … That was the year my sister died.” she explained. “Jane was only nine. Smallp
ox.”

  “I’m sorry. … ” Rebeccah puzzled about that for a moment. “But I don’t understand. Why would the constables be after you?”

  “I had broken my contract of apprenticeship,” said Kate, as though stating the obvious. “And assaulted my Mistress’s husband.” She shifted against her pillow. “Hard labour in a house of correction is not unusual for such a crime.”

  “But you were only thirteen and he tried to rape you!”

  Kate’s laugh was unamused. “Who would take my word against that of George Coggs?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t,” agreed Kate.

  That silenced Rebeccah for a while. Then she continued, hesitantly, “You talked of Newgate often in your delirium. You seemed to know it well. Did you visit it often?”

  Kate smiled. “You give me more credit than I deserve. It is true I visited my brother Ned there, but later my acquaintance with Newgate became more … personal.”

  Rebeccah tried to make sense of that. “But you sport no brand.” She indicated her cheek. “Were you pardoned, or did some benefactor pay to set you free?”

  “Neither. You are the only benefactress I know.”

  Rebeccah blushed but would not be put off. “Then how did you get out of Newgate unscathed?”

  “I escaped.”

  “Impossible!”

  Kate raised an eyebrow. “I assure you it is not. I am living proof.”

  “But how - “

  “Fortune smiled on me, in the shape of a nail.”

  “A nail?”

  “You’d be surprised at the uses to which a nail can be put. In the right hands it can unlock fetters, chip mortar…” Kate’s mouth quirked. “Your mother would be horrified to learn her daughter has smuggled such a desperate character into her home.”

  She would indeed!

  Yet it was odd, mused Rebeccah, how safe she felt with this self-confessed thief and escaped prisoner. Maybe that was an indication of just how dangerous Kate really was. She charmed her way inside your defences and before you knew it she had stolen your money … and your heart.

  But how is that possible? She is a woman!

  “You are very quiet.” Kate settled back against her pillows with a yawn. “No more questions? As I feared, the account of my fall from grace has stunned you with its tedium.”

  “It has done no such thing. … Very well, then. To continue. Can you not still become a mantua maker as you planned?”

  “You are set on saving my soul as well as my body. That is kind. But I fear you are too late. For the Law is relentless and will not let me escape its grasp without paying for my misdeeds.”

  The answer depressed Rebeccah and she played with her father’s signet ring before glancing up, in time to catch Kate hiding another yawn.

  “I have tired you after all!” She rose and removed the pillows supporting Kate’s back so she could rest more comfortably. “Sleep now.”

  “That is all I seem to do, eat and sleep,” grumbled Kate. “I would much rather stay awake and talk to you. Or I could simply gaze at you while you read or sew, or otherwise occupy yourself.”

  “Hush. You are babbling.”

  “And what about those smudges beneath your own eyes, Rebeccah. Should you not rest too?” Kate patted the bed beside her. “Come, let us be cosy. It will be more comfortable than that chair, and you will be quite safe, I swear.” She yawned again, so widely her jaw cracked, then her eyelids fluttered closed. Moments later a soft snore emerged.

  Rebeccah shook her head, though whether it was at the sleeping woman’s suggestion or at herself for being tempted by it, she was unsure. For a long moment she stood watching her, then she went downstairs to join her mother for supper.

  ***

  The cries of the streethawkers in the square outside woke Kate. She regarded the lofty ceiling for a moment, then propped herself up on one elbow and glanced at the reclining easy chair. The alert green eyes of its current occupant looked back at her.

  “Good morrow.”

  “Good morrow, Kate.” Rebeccah sat up, rather stiffly. “How is your shoulder?”

  The fiery throbbing had eased to a dull ache. “Better, I think.”

  “Good.” The young woman threw off her bedclothes, slipped a robe over her shoulders, then crossed to the bell pull and gave it a tug.

  Rebeccah wandered over to a window and stared out. It was another fine day, and sunshine glinted off her fair hair. Kate took the opportunity to admire the young woman’s profile - her pert nose was delightful - and to speculate about the figure beneath the nightdress.

  A knock at the door drew Rebeccah’s attention, and she hurried towards it. Mary entered, carrying a ewer.

  “Good morrow, Madam.” The maid curtseyed. “Am I to help you dress?” She nodded a greeting at Kate who nodded back,

  “Thank you, Mary. If you please.” Rebeccah led the way to the little dressing room that adjoined her bedchamber.

  Kate leaned back against her pillows and studied her surroundings. Were the furnishings Rebeccah’s doing or her mother’s? The chintz curtains were the latest thing and matched the bed hangings and quilt. The sheets everyone had been so careless of during her illness were of the finest Holland. As for the feather mattress, it was deeper even than Alice’s.

  With a pang of guilt she realised that she hadn’t given a thought to the red-haired landlady, who probably thought Kate was dead or lying injured in a ditch somewhere.

  As soon as I regained my wits, I should have sent word to her. Why am I so thoughtless? But it was no good crying over spilt milk.

  Kate pushed thoughts of Alice aside, and wondered how long Rebeccah and Mary would be. It must be strange indeed to have a maid to help you dress … not to mention to empty your chamber pot. But Rebeccah probably took such things for granted.

  She felt twitchy and restless, and the sunshine seemed to beckon. On a day like today, she would normally go riding. (I wonder if they are feeding Clover well.) Undoubtedly her health and energy were returning; she wouldn’t be able to answer for her temper if she was forced to stay cooped up in bed.

  Throwing back the blankets, Kate stood, pleased to find there was no dizziness today. She crossed to the window, and stared down at the bustle below her. The sling supporting her left arm was a nuisance. She regarded it with pursed lips and unpinned it. Her shoulder twinged as she flexed her arm, then settled to a dull ache.

  It will serve.

  Returning to the bed, she perched on the edge of it and waited. Five minutes passed, then ten - still no sign of Rebecca or her maid. The pressure on Kate’s bladder increased, and she crossed her legs and reached for the deck of playing cards Mary had provided. She was setting out the cards for a game of Solitaire when a rustle of movement made her look up.

  Rebeccah was emerging from her dressing room, immaculate in a gown of pale blue silk, her hair brushed and neatly pinned into place. Kate blinked at this vision of loveliness and was about to pay her a compliment when Mary fixed her with a glare.

  “What are you doing out of bed? And who told you you could take off that sling?”

  “But I feel much better,” protested Kate, rising and heading past the amused Rebeccah towards the dressing room.

  “Wait!” called Mary. “Where are you -“

  “I need to use the chamber pot.” Kate hitched up her nightdress, sat on the close stool, and began to make water. Ah!

  “Leave her, Mary,” came Rebeccah’s muffled voice from the other room. “She must be feeling better to walk without assistance.” Then, in a louder voice, “Kate, I must go down to breakfast. Mary will bring you something on a tray. I will join you later.”

  “Thank you.”

  When Kate had finished her business, she crossed to the washstand, emptied the dirty water from the basin into the close stool and poured herself some fresh. She peeled off her nightdress, washed and dried herself, and frowned as she realised she had no idea where her clothes were, or even if
they had survived her adventure on Putney Heath.

  Racks of Rebeccah’s gowns filled one wall of the small room. She selected one at random, held it against herself, and chuckled. It reached barely to her knees. She replaced the gown and pulled on her nightdress once more.

  The little clock on the dresser was showing 9 am. On closer inspection, it proved to be a precision piece by Daniel Quare. Kate hefted the candlesticks standing either side of the looking glass. They were solid silver, as were the brush and comb. She was glad to see that no patch box sat among the bowls of cosmetics arranged on a muslin cloth - she thought it an ugly fashion.

  The writing desk revealed some letters, stained either with seawater or tears, and signed ‘Your loving brother, William’. She perused them quickly. He must be dead, for she hasn’t mentioned him. And that jovial-looking man in the pen and ink portrait, presumably sketched by Rebeccah herself. It bored a strong resemblance to Rebeccah, though her nose and jawline were much prettier. Her father?

  Kate moved on to the little cabinet, with its display of blue-and-white Oriental porcelain, and began to examine the contents of the drawers - a jewelled buckle, several diamond-headed pins, a painted and perfumed fan, a beautiful amber necklace…. She was studying a diamond pendant, whose stones were of superior quality, when Mary entered the dressing room.

  “Breakfast is - What are you doing with that?” The maid’s tone was sharp.

  “Just looking.” Kate put back the pendant and closed the drawer, then eased past the maid into the bedchamber.

  A tray lay on the chair beside the bed, containing slices of cold ham, bread and butter, and a steaming dish of chocolate. Kate sat down and pulled the tray onto her lap.

  “I hope that is the truth, Kate.” Mary had followed her and was standing, arms folded, gaze hard. “For if I find you have taken advantage of my mistress’s kindness, I will turn you in to Josselin myself.”

  The accusation stung. But a dog could not complain if he was suspected of barking, so Kate pushed aside her hurt. “Your loyalty does you credit, Mary.” She took a slice of bread and butter and added some ham. “But you may rest easy. I would not treat your Mistress so shabbily.” She began to eat.