by Amy Wolf
A Woman of the Road
By Amy Wolf
Book I of the Honest Thieves Trilogy
Books by Amy Wolf
Don’t Let Me Die in a Motel 6: or One Woman’s Struggle Through the Great Recession
The Misses Brontës’ Establishment
The Cavernis Trilogy
Book I: A School for Dragons
Book II: A War for Dragons
Book III: A Hero for Dragons
Upcoming: A Woman of the Road and Sea, Book II of the Honest Thieves Trilogy
A WOMAN OF THE ROAD
Copyright: Amy Wolf
Published: 27 November 2018
E-book edition
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Illustration Copyright © 2018 by Cherith Vaughan
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Special Acknowledgements
Rachel (R.E.) Carr – beta reader extraordinaire
Jorden Pritchard – firearms expert
Dr. Mark R. Levy – medical advisor
Theresa Mudrock – University of Washington Historical Librarian
. . .it was a liberal profession. . . which required more accomplishments than either the Bar or the pulpit. . . The finest men of England. . .the very noblest specimens of man. . .were beyond a doubt the mounted robbers who cultivated their profession on the great leading roads. . .
Thomas de Quincey
Table of Contents
Initiation
The Whale
Learning the Trade
Journey to Epping
Another Merry Companion
Our Third Merry Companion
Throwing a Main
Meg’s Story
Four “Men” In a Bed
Aventis Meets His Match
A Latter-Day Robin Hood
A Double Crossing
A Glimpse of Hell
Companions Only
1663
A Good Catholic
1665
1666
Home
The Rebuilding
A Promise
A Bold Call
Plotters
Two Proposals
Amongst Vacancy
A False Robbery
The Abbey
Dover 1670
Unexpected Friends
A Theft but Not of Gold
Her Majesty
The Duke
Honored Guests
Initiation
I confess I froze as Jeffries pointed his pistol at me.
“Now,” he said, “heed me, and you will live. Present your weapon with menace but do not fire lest you are fired upon. We have enough grief as is without being hanged for murder.”
“But captain,” I said, shifting in my saddle, “in what way does it matter? Is not the penalty for our ‘trade’ death?”
Jeffries, astride his mount, winced beneath the black crepe that covered most of his face. His eyes narrowed, and I thought for a moment he would breech his own code by sending a lead ball through me.
“Let us not dwell on unhappy thoughts,” he said. “For the moment, let us be merry. Your first adventure must be thrilling—” he winked. “—and most important, yield guineas!”
Jeffries chuckled beneath his mask as I tried not to stare. In truth, he was dashingly handsome in his all-black breeches, silk stockings to match, and leather boots which reached to his thigh. Over his grey doublet, he wore a long dark cloak, and to add to a sense of menace brandished two pistols, with a sheathed sword at his hip. I also knew (for I had caught a glimpse ere he slipped it in his boot) that he carried a long sharp dagger. Indeed, this was a captain ready to ride to war.
Oddly enough, so was I! I wore much the same raiment (for my costume belonged to Jeffries), though I bore but one pistol, and my doublet was green. To distinguish us further, I felt the extreme discomfort of wearing another’s clothes. I was more than aware that the cuffs of my sleeves descended past my fingertips; while my hat, festooned with red feathers, fell nearly over my eyes. Since I was not yet half of Jeffries’s age (he must have been forty-and-five), nor nearly as tall and bulky, I must have looked like a comical child.
“It is time,” said Jeffries, spurring his horse forward while reaching to grab my reins. We rode single file across a road pitted with rocks and the wheel marks of endless coaches.
As we scampered up a low hill (nearly sending me out of my stirrups), Jeffries delivered a final homily: “Remember—your task is to show swagger even if you feel fear.”
“But I have no actual skill,” I said, sharp pains striking my thighs as they pressed into hard leather. At that instant, I would have gladly crawled back home and begged for forgiveness.
“Megs,” Jeffries said, “you were the one who sought me out. It is your wish to join me, and surely you understand this is not like serving beer. You must be bold. You must be daring. But most of all, be merry!”
He let loose a thunderous laugh that shook his powerful body. I had observed through the years that despite his love of good wine he had never put on an ounce. But I had no time for further thought as a dreaded clatter—iron wheels scattering pebbles—sounded around a bend.
“Your deflowering!” Jeffries crowed, letting loose my reins and handing the two ends up to me. “Do not disappoint, dear Megs, or tarnish my good name as a ‘parfit, gentil’ thief!”
With that, he slapped my horse full on the rear, causing it to plummet like a sparrow thrown from its nest.
Sweating beneath my own mask, I tried to recall Jeffries’s words: Do not shoot unless you are shot at. Always search the coach—for weapons and hidden treasure. Be courteous to ladies, and a gentleman to gentlemen.
My limbs shaking, I fought more than anything merely to keep my seat.
“Halt!” I cried, swooping upon a coach bearing a crest on its door. It was manned by a crusty old driver seated beside a guard. The four harnessed horses obeyed (or at least the coachman did) and I boldly rode into their path on the Road to Bath.
My next words might be familiar, but for me that first time they thrilled:
“Stand and deliver!” I cried. “Your money or your life!”
Thank the blessèd Lord, that poor guard was armed with a sword, while I had a flintlock pistol. I watched as his steel blade clanked to the roa
d and lay silent.
“Whom do you carry?” I asked, gesturing with my pistol that both men were to descend.
“It is Lady Castlemaine you trouble,” the driver growled.
I snickered beneath my mask.
“Old Rowley’s favorite mistress?” I asked.
I was answered by a dark-eyed lady who stepped gracefully out of her coach. God’s blood, she was hardly older than me!
“If you mean the king, then yes,” she said, as unruffled at being in the road as she would have been at Whitehall. I marveled at her calm, not to mention her gown; so much gold fabric encased her that she looked less dressed than minted!
What drew my eye next was of course her ornaments: she wore three strands of pearls along with a gold brooch worth more than most earned in a lifetime. With caution, I leant from my mount.
“Your keepsakes, madam,” I said, pointing to them with my black glove.
“Very well,” she sighed, “but know them as gifts from the king.”
“Lady,” I told her, nodding at the road, “out here, I am king.”
She rewarded me with a laugh and even a small curtsy.
“I am glad that gallantry still exists in our high tobys,” she said. “So many are lowborn now.”
“You may rest assured, Lady Castlemaine, that though I do not dance a minuet like the famed Du Vall, still, I strive to be courteous.”
I inclined my hat, red feathers and all, to her, then rapidly pulled up the brim which had fallen over my eyes.
“Well, I must admit I don’t mind the occasional robbery,” she said. “Such a tale it will make in court!”
I knew that Jeffries would rage if I did not search the coach interior, but my victim was so good-humored that I did not have the heart.
“Good day to you,” I said, with another tug of my hat. “Pray give my regards to the king.”
“And who shall I say they are from?” she asked, as the waiting coachman and guard looked on with open mouths.
“I am called Megs,” I said.
“What a curious name!”
“And what a curious creature!” said I. “The king, though married to a staunch Catholic, has more mistresses than you have pearls!” I dangled her strands from my glove.
“Ha! I love a good wit. I will pass your good wishes to Charles. He will be greatly amused.”
“As one would expect from our merry monarch,” I said.
With a final half bow, I spurred my mount a few paces until he thankfully took charge and deposited me by Jeffries.
“Well done, young Megs!” said the captain, giving me such a clap on the back that I nearly hit the rough heath. “I’ve no doubt my friends in London can get us sixty pounds for the pearls and at least two-hundred for the brooch. It is well that our dear Charles gifts his harem so nicely.”
“Queen Catherine will not share your joy, but I can affirm that I do.”
“With this bounty,” said Jeffries, lifting up the gold so that it caught the afternoon sun, “there’s no sleeping rough tonight! After I complete my business, let us make for my favorite inn, to enjoy a good dinner.”
As my horse trotted beside him, jolting my insides until I felt they would leave my body, I tried my best to be merry. Yet despite my expression, I felt a sense of dread. It was one thing to escape one’s prison—quite another to return.
The Whale
As the sun arced west, bringing this fine spring day to a close, we two road north toward London. Jeffries stopped at a Tudor shop on the outskirts while I considered dismounting to save my aching rear. I looked around this neighborhood, known for its disrepute: nothing but shoddy pawn shops, ale houses, and barely cobbled roads. Happily, Jeffries soon emerged, looking for all the world like a satisfied bridegroom. He held up the lumpy object of his affection: a leather pouch so distended it threatened to burst its cord.
“Is it not lovely?” he cried. “The reason we ply our trade.”
He loosened the cord and plunged a hand within, emerging with a mound of gold which he placed in my waiting glove. I looked down. Now this was a sight more compelling than even Lady Castlemaine! At once, any misgivings I might have harbored vanished, for they were lost in a sea of guineas.
Pocketing my share, I let my horse follow Jeffries as he headed southwest for Middlesex. This, I knew, was where his favorite inn lay. Before we arrived, I could almost see the old white stones, along with clumped candles casting their light through the windows. When we finally reached the place, we saw its distinctive sign which pictured a carved leviathan caught in the crest of two words: “The Whale.”
“Time to unmask,” Jeffries whispered, removing the black crepe from his face. Reluctantly, I did the same.
I felt my stomach rise as I handed my reins to the hostler, but, for Jeffries’s sake, silently fought this sickness. When I alighted from my saddle, I likewise strove to ignore the stabbing pains in my legs and back. I had never ridden so much in my life: in fact, before today, I had never ridden.
Be bold, I told myself, as I moved away from the hostler. Show swagger despite your fear.
It was thus with a firm step that I entered the Whale with Jeffries. We were both playing a part—perhaps as skillfully as those who retreaded the boards—and as for me: I was determined to see the act through.
That is why I did not flinch when Richard “Dick” Tanner, the Whale’s owner, skipped over to Jeffries with a grin and an open palm. He was rewarded with several guineas: not just for his service, of course, but his willingness to keep silent.
“It is the cpt’n his’self!” Tanner cried.
I stared at this all-too-familiar form with its tufts of gray hair protruding from under a cap. I knew without looking that his mouth bore precious few teeth, and his stomach was covered with a white grease-stained apron. I determined to keep a close eye, for I knew that he stole from his guests as surely as I had on the road.
“Wine, cpt’n?” Tanner grinned.
“Yes, and for my young friend,” said Jeffries. “We two have ridden hard and are practically starving, so bring your best bread and cheese; a brace of pigeons; and a dozen scotch collops. We shall consider a fruit pie later.”
Tanner nodded, nearly running back to the kitchen. I let out my breath. It was clear he had not recognized me in my new attire. That was good for him, for had he uttered a cry, I would have skewered him like an eel.
Jeffries, perhaps sensing my mood, remarked, “Ah! The comfort of a warm fire.”
Indeed, it crackled merrily behind its façade of bricks. This room could be comforting if you were a paying patron: what with its scuffed wood floor, the planks carefully laid; and the pewter bar, polished to a high gleam just like Jeffries’s sword.
I nodded to the captain, hesitant to speak. However, I needn’t have troubled myself. Consumed with visions of guineas, Tanner devoted himself to us, scraping back two sturdy chairs at the captain’s usual table—the one in the farthest corner.
“Sir, ‘ho’s the young ‘un?” Tanner asked.
“Ah, this is Megs, a new recruit. He has so far proved invaluable.”
“Glad to ‘ear it, cpt’n. Never seen you with no one else.”
“There is no one else like Megs,” said Jeffries.
Thankfully, our food arrived, and Jeffries and I set about stabbing it with the knives we had with us. I sought to purge from my mind the thought of the cook in the kitchen: unclean, dripping with sweat, and not above serving meats that had long ago lived their time. Still, this fare was excellent, as befit a man likes Jeffries.
As we finished every crumb and wiped our knives clean, Jeffries ordered a gooseberry pie. He was none the worse for having got through two jugs of wine while I took small sips from my glass. In this hostile environ, I knew I must keep a clear head.
As we put away our pie, some of the other diners began a game of cards at a long center table.
“Say there, gent, care to join us?” A boisterous drover cried. “Only a ha’ penny a hand
!”
“No, thank you,” said Jeffries from his corner perch. “My friend and I are tired from a long, but fruitful day.”
“Suit yerself, sir,” said the drover with a shrug. He turned to the other card players. “Not pertic’u’lar’y friendly, ain’t ‘e?”
Jeffries gave a rueful smile. This gave way to a near groan as, an hour later, the drover grabbed a lute, and sang (rather terribly, I must confess) “Two Maids Went Milking”:
Two maidens went milking one day
Two maidens went milking one day
And the wind it did blow high
And the wind it did blow low
And it toss-ed their pails to and fro, la, la, la
And it toss-ed their pails to and fro.
They met with a man they did know
They met with a man they did know
And they said, "Have you the will?"
And they said, "Have you the skill
For to catch us a small bird or two, la, la, la
For to catch us a small bird or two".
"Yes, I have an ex-cellent good skill
Yes, I have an ex-cellent good skill
If you'll come along with me
Un-der yonder flowering tree
I might catch you a small bird or two, la, la, la
I might catch you a small bird or two".
So they went and they sat 'neath a tree
So they went and they sat 'neath a tree
And the birds flew round about
Pret-ty birds flew in and out
And he caught them by one and by two, la, la, la
And he caught them by one and by two
Now my boys, let us drink down the sun
Now my boys let us drink down the moon
Take your lady to the wood
If you really think you should
You might catch her a small bird or two, la, la, la
You might catch her a small bird or two
As the drover finished to wild applause, undoubtedly “milked” by drink, Jeffries tapped me on the shoulder and rose
