by Lily Silver
“Oh, we’ll have breakfast in the solar with the monks, I’m told. Imagine that, they unlocked that wrought iron gate that kept us on this side of the fortress, those pesky fellows. Do they think we’d corrupt them, ma’am?”
Chloe laughed at the girl’s blunt appraisal of the situation. “Yes, I suppose, being females, sprung from Eve who tempted poor Adam, we’re dangerous creatures in their view.”
Marta shook her head and made tsking noises. “Mercy, they’d best recall that without us women to bear them more monks and priests, the human race wouldn’t go on.”
“Have you been reading Miss Wollstonecraft, Marta?” The works of Mary Wollstonecraft were packed in Chloe’s trunks. She had told Marta to make use of her books if she wished during the journey, as the time sailing would bore any young girl with nothing to do.
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl’s eyes lightened. “I read her thoughts on rights for women on the voyage. It was difficult to make out some passages. She uses such funny words I never heard of before. I like her novels better. I’m reading about Maria now, in The Wrongs of Woman. That one I understand right well. If I was to have a daughter, I think I’d name her after that poor lady in the story, she suffered so at the hands of her husband.”
“She did. It is a vision of true life for many women, fictionalized by the author to illustrate our plight in society as the law stands now, depriving us of rights that every man enjoys fully. If more people read the story as it was intended, not as a novel but a social treatise, then they would understand the need to change the laws to include rights for women comparable to those for men.”
The maid shrugged. “If you say so, ma’am. I just like the story cuz its interesting.”
Chloe and Elizabeth had read the story together, many years ago. It was sad, yet the heroine did find happiness eventually, outside of marriage.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched her arms above her head. Chloe stifled a yawn with her hand and stood. She walked to the window and leaned out to observe the countryside below. She could see for miles, an endless road stretching through the green hills. It seemed to go on forever. How many days would it take to get to their destination? She was weary of the journey already and it appeared they had just begun.
“Come madame, we mustn’t tarry. The captain will be anxious to start the journey as soon as we emerge from our rooms. He’ll scarce allow us time to eat if we linger here long.”
As she submitted to her maid’s ministrations, Chloe realized that Marta was a reflection of herself ten years earlier. She came into Elizabeth Beaumont’s service as an unschooled woman of twenty-two, unable to even read as well as Marta could. Elizabeth Beaumont’s patronage made Chloe the woman she was today, hopefully a little more cultured and educated, a little more worthy to enter polite society as a reasonably intelligent and well rounded person. The Beaumonts, and Chloe’s husband, Gareth, described themselves as advocates of enlightened thought, free thinkers—to put it plainly. She spent many evenings over the years engaged in scintillating arguments over social contracts, reason versus. superstition, and the like.
And to think that when she had come to the countess as a green girl, much like Marta, she could not even say the word scintillating, much less use it. She could have remained Elizabeth’s maid all these years, instead of being raised in position and then marrying into the family. She could still be like Marta, naïve about the changes emerging in a new century calling for an end to the ancient regime that embraced centuries of tradition and superstition over logic.
Spain, unfortunately, was still a part of that ancient regime.
Perhaps in her rush to be free of one gilded cage she was hastily running blind straight into another one.
Chapter Twenty
They left the monastery within the hour to begin the third day of their journey.
A wicker basket was given to Chloe upon leaving. She opened the top flap and was pleased to find fresh fruits, two loaves of bread and a wheel of cheese. She thanked the monks and allowed Jinx to help her up into the carriage.
They made slow progress along the dirt road. She gazed out the window and was disappointed with the view. They were moving through a forest region with steep hills and deep ravines. As mid-day approached, they made a picnic lunch on the side of the road. Jack’s men had been given a similar basket from the monks, so they fared well.
The long ride gave Chloe plenty of time to think about her circumstances. She hoped they would find her uncle in a pleasant, receptive mood. The driving need to find him had made her act rashly, and she felt the seething pangs of dread at the prospect as they drew nearer. The carriage jostled along the rough road and Chloe wondered if her reunion with her uncle would be a happy one. He might not wish to be burdened with his brother’s offspring. Perhaps she should have taken Elizabeth’s advice and written to the man first.
“How are you faring?” Jack pulled his horse close to the open window so he could converse with her. His handsome, tan visage was a welcome sight. Chloe was feeling anxious, and as if by magic, he suddenly appeared. His appearance made the forest about them seem a little less threatening. “Another few miles and we should encounter a village. I’d prefer to stop there instead of in this wilderness. Are you able to wait until then?”
“Yes, we can wait,” she assured him. He was referring gently to the need to relieve oneself. She had so many things she wished to ask him but his manner was distracted. An economy of words seemed to be the captain’s manner today. “We should be fine.
He tugged the reins and trotted off again. She didn’t miss the grim set to his lips or the grave look on his face. He was concerned about something. She glanced at Marta. The girl was sitting quietly across from her, reading Mary, A Fiction, by Miss Wollstonecraft, the book she mentioned earlier. Good, Marta was distracted; she would not notice the situation being tense as they traveled through the forest road.
Now that she was aware of Jack’s profound anxiety, Chloe couldn’t help staring at the trees. The men on horseback flanked the carriage, forming a tight guard. Morgan was on one side and Jinx on the other. Both men held guns across their laps, long military rifles.
The woods seemed quiet, save for the steady clip clopping of the horses. Chloe strained to hear birds. She did not discern any sounds of nature. Perhaps that was typical, as the passage of a full carriage and several horses might cause the natural inhabitants of the land to go silent.
A shot rang out.
The carriage was pulled to a stop, and someone groaned.
She heard a soft thud, and saw a man fall from the roof.
Before she could react the carriage door was jerked open and Mr. Jinx flung himself inside and closed it. He rounded on his knees quickly from the floor and turned to confront the door.
Marta’s book was dropped to the floor.
“Get down on the floor,” Jinx said, leaning his rifle on the seat, deadly end up, as he pulled two pistols from his belt. He cocked first one, then the other. He placed one on the seat for easy access, and aimed the other at the door.
Chloe didn’t need to be told a second time to get down. She sank to the floor, squatting like a slave in a cane field and grabbed at Marta’s skirts, urging the girl to do the same.
Jinx blocked the door. His back was to her. Chloe peeked behind them, at the window opposite. “Shall I close this window?” she whispered, leaning close to Jinx to keep her voice from carrying.
“No, stay down, both of you.” His terse reply brought fresh panic.
Chloe reminded herself that the armed men would keep them safe. Still, her belly was alive with jumping toads trying to escape through her skin as her breath caught in her throat.
What was happening outside? There were many voices, all in Spanish.
“Give us the gold and we will leave you be.”
“I have no gold,” Jack replied in perfect Spanish. “I have only a pair of girls traveling to Marbella to be reunited with their dear p
apa. Move on.”
Another crack of thunder echoed in Chloe’s heart. She bit her thumb to stifle a gasp. They were shooting at Jack. At the carriage.
“We give the orders here, senor, not you. We are twenty, you are six, unless you hide men in the carriage.”
“Six?” Marta shrieked in a high pitched, girlish voice.
Chloe put her gloved hand over Marta’s mouth to silence her. She shared the girl’s terror, but knew they must not bring attention to themselves. They had seven men, Jack, Jinx, Morgan, and the four hired to escort them. Jinx was in here with them. Jack was out front. She saw Morgan’s back as he held his rifle on someone just beyond the window. The other men were on top of the carriage. No, they had six men. One of them must have been wounded, or worse.
“I am sworn to protect my lord’s children with my life, sir. I suggest you move on,” Jack insisted. “I’ll not make that request again.”
Marta started crying. Chloe attempted to shush her, but Jinx turned his head and waved his hand, signaling for Marta to continue. His silent direction was quick, as he was still holding the pistols aimed at the door.
Jack glared at the cocksure vagabond standing in the road threatening him. The man holding an old, unpolished sword was obviously a highwayman, not a soldier. His shirt, once white, was now a grimy yellow with wine stains down the front. It was hanging loose about his hips. His hair was matted. He had a thick, unkempt beard. Beneath his nose lay two fat red caterpillars that could only be lips. His brown trousers were torn and dirty and his boots dull as unpolished black stone.
Sobbing came from the coach, as if on cue. He saw his chance when the leader glanced at his men with uncertainty. Attacking a carriage bearing children, little girls, as Jack had mentioned, did not seem worth their sport. Jack took aim with his pistol. He shot the leader’s sword out of his hand. It dropped to the ground in a heavy clang.
A yelp emerged from the man as he hugged his wounded hand to his chest. As blood covered his shirt, the black bearded face exploded into fury. “Shoot them!”
Frightened shrieks from the carriage made the other bandits freeze and peer at each other.
“Yes, shoot us and then you can have the care of two girls. I’m sure that will make you feel like heroes, killing the guards and frightening little Spanish children in the woods.”
“Give us a horse,” one of the men suggested from nearby. He stepped forward, holding his weapon up instead of leveling it at Jack. He had brown hair tied back in a neat queue and a clean shaven appearance. His manner and attire was almost that of a gentleman, a rumpled gentleman. “A horse, amigo. Fair trade for safe traveling through these woods.”
Jack waited without a breath. He waited for one of the reckless fellows to obey their leader and fire his weapon. He knew from experience if one man fired, the others would follow.
No one moved a finger. Everyone waited, looking for someone else in their party to make the first shot. Jack would likely be their main target, as the leader. He could feel the sweat running down his back beneath his clothes. The men seemed to be waiting for his response.
The portly leader was too absorbed with staunching the flow of blood from his hand, now minus a finger, to care that the men were not obeying his order. Another fellow had come to his side, ripped his shirt and was wrapping the wounded hand tightly for his commander.
“We will not harm your little girls or frighten them further.” The honorable young thief moved toward Jack with his gun pointing to the blue sky above them. He was grinning broadly. Jack noted his teeth were even and white. “Give us your horse, senor. You can ride on the roof or inside the carriage with your precious cargo.”
Jack wanted to kick the man in his perfect white teeth as he approached the mount. He wanted to order his men to open fire on them during this tense lapse. But Jack was not with his faithful crew who knew how to handle themselves in a fight and grasp any opportunity to gain the upper hand. He had the uncertain hire of four strangers—scratch, that, now three with the one dead on the ground. Jinx was good enough with a gun but better with a sword. Morgan was an expert shot, but he’d given both men orders to protect the women in the carriage.
They were outnumbered and if they caused trouble, they would all be dead and the women would become the evening sport of these rough fellows.
He nodded, stuffed his pistol in his belt, grabbed his rifle and jumped down.
“A wise man,” the young fellow said in a cultured Spanish accent. He took up the reins of Jack’s horse and patted the gelding’s neck with affection. “We leave you unharmed in exchange for this horse and twenty pesos as payment for safe passage through our woods.”
“Rodrigo, you impotent rat! I kept you alive, and this is my reward? Who put you in charge of this brigade?” The leader started to march across the road as if to box the brash Rodrigo’s ears with his good hand.
A shot whizzed past Jack from a nearby tree and hit the belligerent leader in the head, felling him instantly. He plopped down on the road with a thud and lay still as death.
“I did, you disgusting pig,” someone shouted with rancor from behind a tree.
A few of the thieves cheered at the sight of their fallen leader. Rodrigo praised the man called Marco for his actions. Apparently the dead man ruled by brutality not by favor.
“Robin hood?” Jack mused, an unwilling admiration rising for the fellow who was trying to extract them all from a violent end. “Or Rodrigo the bold?”
Warm brown eyes met his as the new leader smiled. Jack had just made an ally.
“Hear me, amigos. Marco and I will now take our leave of you. I thank you for your hospitality in these wild regions. And as for this gentleman, you will allow him to leave as well with his caravan.” Rodrigo lifted his weapon and fired into the sky. “We have freed you, you are no longer in service to this barbarian cur.” He walked to their fallen leader and kicked the corpse.
While Rodrigo’s attention was elsewhere Jack slipped his knife beneath the saddle pack and cut the band, freeing his travel bag. He slid the leather bag upon his shoulder and started to back away toward the carriage. Weighted down by the leather bag and his rifle, Jack knew he could not fire easily if the vagabonds decided to provoke him further.
It all rested on Rodrigo, their new leader, who had just commandeered Jack’s horse.
“Tell you what,” Jack said casually, after handing the bag up to the driver, who stashed the pouch under the seat. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll give you two horses if you can direct us to shelter for our little girls. I do not know this land. I am as stranger here. Night will come soon. Is there a place on the road we might find safe lodgings?”
“The horse first. That one.” Rodrigo pointed to the one Jinx had been riding, a fine Andalusia gelding with a rich dark coat that gleamed like fresh boiled molasses.
“Take him,” Jack responded, holding up a hand in surrender. “With our compliments.”
Weeping could be heard from the open window of the carriage. Fierce weeping. Jack knew it was not Chloe crying so frantically, but that silly maid.
“There is a village five miles ahead,” Rodrigo informed him. Mirroring Jack, his eyes moved to the carriage at the onset of fresh weeping. “Marco, this mount is yours, let us go.”
Marco, a thin blond fellow who hardly looked old enough to shave, emerged from the trees and took the reins. He, too, made Jack think of a stranded gentleman as he swung up into the saddle. As a courtesy, he untied Jinx’s saddle-bag and tossed it to Jack’s feet.
“Our money, sir.” Rodrigo stalked over to Jack. The pistol was no longer pointed at the air. It was pointed at Jack. “Twenty pesos. One for each man as payment for our protection.”
Cursing, Jack reached into his trouser pocket and extracted a bag of coins. He tossed it at Rodrigo. The man’s wily grin was Jack’s reward as the man hefted it, satisfied by the offering. “I would know the name of our benefactor?”
Jack grimaced and spat on the ground. “
Don’t spend it on whores or liquor. Compliments of Captain Jack Rawlings.”
“A military man?” The jovial fellow tossed the bag to someone in the trees. A quick hand caught it and then disappeared. “English, by the look of you.”
“No. Sea captain, merchant seaman, in the hire of a wealthy West Indian planter. I’ve no allegiance to the English, the Spanish, or the French.”
“Ah,” Rodrigo acknowledged with a smile. “A most dangerous man, a rogue officer with no loyalties to king and country. A mercenary hired to escort two little girls to their dear papa?”
“The village, sir? Is there a safe shelter there?” The last thing they needed was to take up lodgings in a village comprised of thieves and robbers, like this rag-tag crew.
“There is a convent. The nuns offer rooms for the night for weary travelers for a modest fee.” Rodrigo swung up in the saddle of Jack’s horse, saluted Jack, and kneed his mount. He gave a shout, and then he and his companion galloped quickly down the road ahead, leaving their fellows behind to deal with their victims.
Jack scrutinized the woods as the two on horseback made their hasty departure.
The men surrounding them had disappeared like ghosts fading into the forest.
He glanced about quickly, taking careful measure of their situation. He would not turn his back on the woods to peer into the carriage. With his back to the vehicle and his rifle raised, he sidestepped along the carriage, around the back and over to where Morgan was mounted on the opposite side. Morgan had his rifle level and pointed at the now empty woods beyond.
Jack glided to the front of the carriage, stepped over the body of Benito, a fellow who eagerly joined their caravan in the hope of being reunited with his family near the seaside town of Marbella. Benito knew the area. Damn, now they were without a guide.
The carriage door opened. Jinx emerged. He said something to the inhabitants of the carriage and closed the door. Must have told them to stay put, Jack surmised.
