The Girl in the Mask

by Marie-Louise Jensen

‘One collects some acquaintances, Sophia, over the years … My dear departed husband had many friends who … Well, never mind.’

  She rose, shaking out her petticoats. ‘Why don’t you go and take a walk in the gardens, dear? I’m going to play a hand or two of loo before we go home.’

  My heart sank. My aunt always said a hand or two and then lost all sense of time, while I waited, bored rigid, surrounded by the crowd of frivolous fashionables whom I didn’t want to know, and who didn’t want to know me.

  I walked with a lagging step to the door, and then happened to glance back at my aunt. On her way to the card tables, she had paused, and I could have sworn I saw her discreetly hand something to a swarthy gentleman with whiskers and an ill-fitting black coat. My curiosity was now awakened. But she joined a group of ladies and had a hand dealt to her. There would be no moving her for several hours now.

  Bored and resentful, I decided I would certainly not restrict myself to the gardens, but would go further afield whilst I was unwatched. Walking out of Harrison’s, I left the city by the South Gate and crossed the river by way of the road bridge. From there it wasn’t far to the wooded hillside of the Beechen Cliff. Kicking off my shoes and stockings and hitching up my petticoat in a satisfyingly unladylike manner, I threw myself into the steep climb.

  I met no one on the ascent. As I grew warmer and more out of breath, I could feel how much good the climb was doing me. I needed to move, to exert myself. I wasn’t made for a dawdling, sedentary life. I missed my horses and the outdoor activities I’d enjoyed in the country.

  I stood at last at the top of the hill, panting and exhilarated, enjoying the vista before me. The sound of the abbey bells rose faintly to me. The city, its ancient walls hugging it close, lay nestled in the bottom of the valley, the brown river partly encircling it in a lazy embrace. Only Trim Street spilled out over the city walls to the north. From here, it all looked small and insignificant, and I could believe that I could defeat both its intolerable life and my father’s plans for me. I was far above them both, almost high enough to touch the clouds.

  My pleasant reverie was interrupted by a cough nearby. I turned swiftly to see a quietly-dressed young man in a plain tie-wig a short distance from me. He looked familiar. I dropped my petticoats to conceal my grubby feet and hid my shoes and stockings hurriedly behind my back. The young man bowed respectfully and approached me. ‘Pardon me,’ he said. ‘But weren’t you the young lady who came to the post office this morning?’

  I remembered him, of course. ‘My father had the letters returned, did he not?’ I asked, embarrassed.

  The postmaster smiled. ‘No, Miss Williams. He did not. Ralph Allen at your service, by the way,’ he said, holding out his hand. I didn’t hesitate to shake it.

  ‘So what happened, Mr Allen?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘The letter to Windsor had already been sent with the mail coach before your servant arrived.’

  ‘And the other? The one to Devon?’

  Mr Allen bowed and grinned. ‘What other letter would that have been, Miss Williams?’ he asked.

  I laughed with relief to think that both my letters had gone safely after all, and my father had been unable to prevent it. ‘Of course! He guessed I’d written to my cousin,’ I said, ‘but had no notion of the second letter. Mr Allen, you’ve done a good deed, and I thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. It’s a grand view from up here, isn’t it? I walk here whenever I can.’

  We both turned to contemplate the view. I wondered how I could get my shoes and stockings back on without making a spectacle of myself.

  ‘One ought to build a house up here,’ Mr Allen remarked. ‘Something really spectacular that can be seen from the city. And from the house, one would have the view of the Bath. It would be remarkable.’

  ‘But think of bringing the stones and timber up here!’ I exclaimed. ‘The poor horses!’

  ‘Ah, Miss Williams. That is the beauty of it. In the hills behind us lie the finest reserves of stone, just waiting to be lifted out. There is enough to rebuild the city many times over; or something grander by far. It’s a golden fortune awaiting the man who has the vision to cut the stone and market it.’

  I looked at him curiously. ‘Is that what you’re doing up here? Planning to make your fortune?’

  Mr Allen sighed. ‘I’m merely daydreaming, Miss Williams. In order to make a fortune, one must first possess a fortune, and I have none.’

  ‘Nor I,’ I agreed. ‘I even had to save the carriage of my letters out of a few coins my aunt gave me for a jelly. That was why I’m so grateful they were sent after all.’

  Mr Allen smiled. ‘We must both of us work to improve our situations then. Do you return to the city now? I am heading back and could accompany you if that would be agreeable.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. I need to get back. But … ’ I hesitated. ‘I’m … er … not wearing my shoes at the moment.’

  ‘I couldn’t help observing that, Miss Williams, when I first saw you,’ said Mr Allen gravely. ‘Do you wish me to turn my back whilst you remedy the situation?’

  ‘To be honest, if it doesn’t shock you very much, I’d prefer to wait until I’m at the bottom of the hill to put them back on. They’re city shoes and … ’

  ‘Quite unsuited to walking. I understand completely. I shall pretend not to notice and be thankful that I’m a plain working man who doesn’t need to observe the fashions.’

  I thoroughly enjoyed the walk back to the city with Mr Allen. He refrained from asking a single question about the fact that I was roaming the hills outside the city alone, but instead told me about the faults of the postal system and how he would like to remedy them if only he had the authority. He seemed an earnest and energetic young man, and I liked him very much indeed. When we reached Harrison’s Assembly Rooms, we shook hands cordially. He interested me more than most of the wealthy and noble gentlemen inside the rooms put together.

  One of those nobles was emerging just at that moment. ‘Your servant, Miss Williams,’ said Mr Charleton with a polite but distant bow that reminded me I had walked off from our last conversation. Then he turned to my companion. ‘Good afternoon, Allen,’ he said cordially. ‘A word?’

  With a quick bow and word of farewell to me, Mr Allen departed with Mr Charleton. I watched them stride away, already deep in conversation. I was surprised the two men were acquainted. The one was a fashionable fribble, the other a serious working man. It was curious.

  I didn’t wonder about it for long; I was in a hurry to return to my aunt. For once, I was lucky. She was still playing cards. I stood at a distance and watched her sweeping her winnings from the table. She was doing well. Behind me at a different table, Beau Nash was swearing softly but fluently under his breath and I gathered he was not so fortunate. My father, also engrossed in play, was looking strained, the sweat standing out on his forehead in the hot, stuffy room. He threw down his cards and pushed a pile of golden coins towards the winner. I ground my teeth in anger. That money, so desperately needed on the estate, was being thrown away at the gaming tables. What was this unreasoning obsession with cards and dice?

  My aunt rose from her table in a very good mood. ‘You’re a good girl, waiting so long, Sophia,’ she said. ‘Your father is still busy, I see. Let’s leave him to it and stop for an ice on the way home, shall we?’

  She was treating me like a small child, but the day was hot and I was hungry and thirsty after my long walk, so I didn’t object. The lemon ice was delicious. I had been quite unable to eat a thing at Harrison’s earlier, the memory of the mustard still hideously fresh in my mind. But now that had faded, I relished the tangy-sweet flavour. My aunt was smiling at the whole world, delighted with her success, clutching her winnings tightly in her reticule.

  It was a great pity I had no skill at cards. I too urgently needed money. As I put the last spoonful of lemon ice into my mouth, the idea of robbing my father came back to me. I began to turn the possibilities over in my mind
.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  With robbery uppermost in my mind that night, I climbed down from my bedroom and explored the city in hope of finding Jenny. She was nowhere to be seen. Even if I found her, I wasn’t sure how I was going to get her to listen to me.

  I hunted for her every night for a week before I came across her. Dressed in a ragged gown, she was picking the pocket of a well-dressed but drunken gentleman leaving an inn. I waited around a corner and after a few seconds, she came tearing around it to the shout of ‘Stop thief!’

  I caught her by the neck of her gown and hung on, delighted at how fate had played into my hands. ‘Say you’ll help me, and I won’t hand you over to the constable!’ I hissed in her ear. She squirmed and fought, but I held her fast as the pursuit drew nearer.

  ‘I’ll help you!’ she promised at last. We both turned and fled, heavy footsteps close on our heels. I followed Jenny as she wove her way down several alleys at a run, and then scrambled up a drainpipe and over a wall, dropping into a private garden; an oasis of greenery and fragrance in the centre of the stinking city. We stared at one another in the darkness, panting with exertion, listening as our pursuers gave up the chase far behind us.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ asked Jenny, her eyes sparkling in the darkness.

  ‘I need to rob a coach,’ I told her. ‘First thing in the morning. I need to borrow a horse, some boys’ clothes and a gun. And if possible, I need a second person to help me. If the robbery succeeds, I’ll pay handsomely.’

  ‘A partickler coach, or jest anyone you see?’ she asked, a sarcastic edge to her voice. ‘Cos they ain’t all got enough on ’em to pay for all that trouble. Or if they have, it’s well hid.’

  ‘Ah, but what if one knew the place where it was hidden?’ I asked.

  Jenny’s eyes gleamed. She was interested now. ‘How would you know such a thing?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s my father’s coach,’ I told her, my conscience pricking me uncomfortably as I spoke the words aloud.

  Jenny’s eyes widened. ‘We’re robbing your old man?’ She whistled as I nodded to confirm it. ‘All right then,’ she said, a mischievous grin lighting her face. ‘What if I say I’ll go with you?’

  ‘Not you,’ I said quickly.

  ‘You doubt me, do yer? Think I ain’t brave enough?’

  ‘No, I know very well that you are. But your brother wouldn’t like it.’

  Jenny was silent a minute, thinking. ‘I knows a lad what’ll go with yer,’ she said at last. ‘But he ain’t so good with a gun.’

  ‘I can handle the gun,’ I said confidently. Jenny looked sceptical. ‘I’m a crack shot,’ I assured her.

  ‘Ever shot at a person before?’ she asked. ‘Cos it makes a difference.’

  ‘No, but I won’t be shooting at anyone. Only over their heads.’

  We negotiated the details and then left the city over the wall and split up. I crossed the river and climbed the hill to wait on the Wells Road and Jenny went off to collect the things we needed. ‘It’s madness robbing in daylight, mind,’ were her parting words. ‘We’ll be lucky not to get taken up.’

  I made my way on foot to the ambush she’d described. As I walked, I pondered the word ‘we’ in her final sentence and realized I should have made it absolutely clear once more that she wasn’t to be involved.

  It was a long, cold, hungry night. I huddled under a tree, and hoped my father wouldn’t check on me before he left. I’d said my goodbyes to him the evening before, and hoped he wouldn’t think it necessary to rouse me at dawn to repeat them.

  There were no travellers on the road during the night. All was still except for the call of a few owls, and once, in the distance, the scream of a rabbit, probably caught by a fox. In the grey light of dawn, hoof beats at last approached me. I got up, stiff with cold, and waited to see who it was. Two horses emerged from the darkness, one ridden astride by a slim figure in breeches, the other saddled but led.

  ‘All’s fair!’ called a low voice, speaking the password we’d agreed. Relieved to hear that Jenny had apparently found someone to assist me, I stepped out of the shadow of the tree, revealing myself. The rider slid to the ground, lifted down a pistol and a bundle and beckoned to me to approach. I did so, my heart thumping with excitement. The rider was already masked.

  ‘Here’s what we’ll do,’ said the slight figure without preamble. The voice was deep and hoarse. ‘I’ll lie hid yonder in those trees on the far side of the road. You hide here. Then when the coach comes, we’ll … ’

  ‘Wait,’ I interrupted. ‘You haven’t found someone to help me at all, have you? You couldn’t keep up that fake voice for more than a sentence.’

  The figure that was Jenny cursed and pulled off her mask. ‘There wasn’t no one else,’ she said. ‘Me pa was dead drunk, and anyways, if there’s money to be made, I wants to earn it. And this bloke, your father that is, put the laughs on us last time with his bag of pennies, so now it’s my turn. Our turn, I mean.’

  ‘Jenny,’ I said fiercely, ‘I promised your brother I’d look out for you, not lead you into trouble.’

  ‘I don’t need no leading from a soft ’un like you,’ she said indignantly. ‘I was robbin’ coaches when you was stuck in some fancy nursery learning your letters. Now are we goin’ to do this or are we goin’ to stand about arguing while the coach goes by?’

  Realizing I had no choice, I sighed and resigned myself. There was no doubt that Jenny was both fearless and competent enough for this venture. I ducked back behind the tree and shook out the bundle she’d handed me. It contained breeches, a jacket complete with holes, a large black neckerchief and a battered hat. I wriggled out of my old gown and pulled on the clothes and tied the scarf around my face. They all reeked of onions. Clearly my new, fashionable life was making me fastidious. Finally, I jammed the hat down onto my head and re-emerged. It was getting light. My father was probably on his way.

  A shiver of fear and excitement passed through me as I realized my dark plan was about to become a reality. I rubbed suddenly damp palms against my greasy breeches and breathed deeply to steady my nerves. Grasping the reins of the second horse, I swung myself into the saddle. The wonderfully familiar feeling of being on horseback gave me courage.

  ‘Here you are,’ said Jenny, passing me the gun. It was heavy and awkward in my hand, very different to my cousin’s sleek pistols. ‘It’s loaded,’ she warned me. ‘Don’t fire it unless you have to, there’s people about at this time of day.’

  We both looked back down the road, listening for the sound of wheels, but there was nothing yet. ‘Mist’s rising,’ said Jenny in a satisfied voice. I looked around and saw to my surprise that she was right. A mist was materializing at ground level, thick and opaque. ‘It’s them hot springs, I reckon,’ she said. ‘A mist often comes up as the sun rises. It’s in our favour. They won’t see the pothole.’

  ‘What pothole?’ I asked, taken by surprise.

  Jenny pointed to the road. ‘If you can’t see it, neither will they. Right, let’s have some fun.’ Jenny’s eyes were alight with excitement. ‘Ride out just behind ’em right before they hit that ruddy great hole, then if any of ’em got a gun, which they will have, they’ll be trying to turn round and shoot behind themselves. And I’ll do the talking. Got it?’

  ‘Got it,’ I said. We separated, one of us on each side of the road.

  The sky paled, but the mist prevented the visibility from improving, so we heard rather than saw the coach in the distance; a rumbling that drew slowly closer. I drew my horse further back into the trees, hoping this was my father. My heart was pounding with excitement and a thrilling spice of fear.

  As the chaise lumbered into view, a ghostly apparition, I tightened the reins and gripped the gun tighter. When it was level with me, I urged my horse forward and rode out just behind the two men on the box of the chaise, startling them so they ducked and half turned to see what had appeared so suddenly beside them. At that moment, the fore
wheel of the coach ran into the pothole with a lurch that made the horses snort and plunge in shock. As Jenny had predicted, the rocking of the coach threw the guard off balance. He was forced to drop the heavy blunderbuss and cling to the coach to prevent himself being thrown off into the mud. Unfortunately the weapon went off as it fell, a deafening explosion in the stillness of the early morning.

  In the middle of the chaos of guns, panicking horses and shouts, I heard Jenny yell in a gruff voice: ‘Stand and deliver!’ I winced.

  ‘What the devil’s going on?’ I heard my father’s furious voice call out, as he half-opened the door of the chaise right ahead of me and started to lean out.

  I couldn’t resist the temptation. I grasped the door and yanked at it. My father, who’d been leaning on it, was pulled with it, lost his balance, and came tumbling out of the carriage. As no one had let the steps down, he had a long way to fall, right down into the mud and the wet of the post road. He landed heavily, his smart velvet breeches and the fine cuffs of his coat, lace ruffles, and everything else splashed with mud. His wig fell right off his head, revealing his stubbly pate. I pointed the pistol straight down at him and said in as deep and rough a voice as I could manage: ‘Don’t move!’

  He cowered there in the dirt, one shoe fallen off, his silk stockings soaked and filthy. Through the muffling scarf around my face, I could see the naked fear in his eyes. I understood, in a blinding realization, that he was neither brave nor strong, as I’d always thought him. He was a coward and a bully who took pleasure in browbeating those weaker than himself. He would never take on anyone who was his equal.

  So intent was I on this that I forgot the task in hand until Jenny nudged me. She’d come around to my side, nodding to me to search the coach. I knew the men needed to be kept covered, but remembered that Jenny had said she didn’t want to be in charge of the gun. We hadn’t planned thoroughly enough. Well, there was no help for it: I was the only one who knew where the secret compartment was. I shoved the pistol into her hand, jumped down from my horse and climbed into the chaise my father had so abruptly vacated.