Jack understood Lady Marchwell. He found that he liked her and he believed her. Her blue eyes were shining as she looked at the two children—hopeful and pleading at the same time. He glanced at Polly. She was staring at Lady Marchwell. Were they being asked to betray Lord Henry?
“It is your choice,” Lady Marchwell urged. “I can have you taken straight to the magistrate and committed to Newgate Prison—or you can join me now in playing such a trick on Lord Henry Vane that he will never dare commit highway robbery again.”
Newgate Prison? Jack didn’t think it sounded appealing at all.
“What have you in mind, marm?” Polly spoke like an innocent child, but Jack knew her better.
“That we give Lord Henry Vane a dose of his own medicine. There are only two ways to this house: by the river or by the Lambeth Road. If I am not mistaken, he will come to find you by the road. And if you agree, we shall be waiting for him. And we shall show him exactly what it is like to be robbed. What do you say?”
Jack and Polly turned to each other. Polly was smiling. Jack saw she was won over. It was a better deal than going to the magistrate, certainly—but was it betrayal?
Polly spoke: “If it saves him, then …”
“It’s not betrayal. It would be for his own good,” said Jack slowly, and Polly nodded.
Lady Marchwell inclined her head. “What do you say, then?”
“Yes—I mean, yes, marm,” he said.
“Good.” She smiled and put out her hand. “It is a deal.”
Chapter Eighteen
A Lesson in Robbery
The highwaymen were trotting along Surrey Road. They didn’t want to draw attention to themselves, so they didn’t gallop. But still they had to be quick. Lord Henry had explained that they might need to break into the house to rescue the two children. They might have to hold up the servants and get them to show them to Jack and Polly. The others didn’t like the sound of that. They preferred robbery on the open road, where you could escape with a quick kick of your heels, out across the fields or into the dark woods. In a house there were all sorts of problems. Furniture to trip over. People hiding behind doors. Dogs.
However, this was special. It was Jack and Polly, members of the Vane Gang, so they had to do something, didn’t they?
The road followed the course of the river and the houses along it. Sometimes there were fences and fields, sometimes the long wall of a great house marking out its boundary. All the time the sky was slowly lightening. At one place the road narrowed by an old barn and sharply turned left between the walls of two of the big estates. Lady Marchwell’s house was just beyond, and the highwaymen slowed down.
No sooner were they walking between the walls than there was a cry.
“Stand and deliver! Put your hands above your heads or I fire!”
A horseman appeared suddenly in the road, two long-barreled pistols primed and pointing straight at them.
“I don’t believe it,” grumbled Lord Henry. He obediently put his hands above his head; the others followed. “Who are you?” he called out angrily.
“A robber,” replied the robber coldly. Blue eyes blinked behind a mask.
“Well, well,” said Tom Drum. “I’d never have guessed.”
“Quiet!” The robber pointed a pistol directly at Tom Drum.
“Do you know who I am?” asked Lord Henry.
“No.”
“I am Lord Henry Vane. Highwayman of glorious fame.”
“Wow!” came a youthful voice from behind them. “I’m impressed.”
Henry glanced around. There were two more masked robbers. Rude and cheeky robbers. This was tricky. They were blocking their escape route. How absolutely tiresome.
The first robber laughed gently. “Lord Henry Vane, the man who should be quite ashamed!”
One of the cheeky robbers joined in: “Lord Henry Vane, who caused us all a deal of pain! Ha, ha!”
“Just a minute!” objected Lord Henry. “This isn’t a poetry contest! I’ve got important things to do.”
“And so do we, Lord Vane,” said the first robber, suddenly quite fierce. “Everyone—throw down your pistols, dismount, and take off your pants, boots, and coats!”
“What?” gasped Henry.
“My new boots?” cried Tom Drum.
“You want my ’orrible smelly pants?” groaned Bernard.
“Yes! No! I don’t want them. They are to be given to the poor,” the robber replied smartly. “I want your jewels and your horses.”
There was silence. The highwaymen didn’t move. Pants? Horses? There were limits. Their hands were still held above their heads. The first robber now moved forward and, taking Henry by surprise, suddenly pointed the long-barreled pistol directly at his heart. Henry felt the barrel of the gun against his rib. There was a click. A small squeeze of the trigger and Henry would be dead.
Henry Vane knew those pistols. They were unstable. Often they fired accidently.
Henry Vane was not a coward, but he looked into the eyes of the masked robber in front of him and he felt fear. On his forehead beads of cold sweat gathered, and in the cold dawn light his face was gray. Still he held his hands aloft. They shook gently. The barrel nudged against his heart.
“This is how they feel, Henry,” said the robber softly.
“Who?”
“The people you rob.”
“I never hurt them,” said Henry weakly.
“Yes, you do. You hurt them by frightening them.” The robber’s blue eyes burned into Henry’s. Henry blinked to break the accusing stare and looked down at the gun.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I do frighten them.”
The highwaymen were silent. The robbers were silent too.
Very slowly, the first robber removed her mask. Her stern expression seemed gentler and softer without the mask. Henry Vane opened his mouth and closed it. No sound came out. She withdrew the pistol. Henry’s hands, quivering above his head, drifted down. He nodded, understanding at last. The other two robbers—the children—also removed their masks, and then all the highwaymen’s hands dropped down and they sat in the gathering light, their horses shifting uneasily under them.
“Very funny,” said Dirty Dick.
“Oh, I see!” said Tom Drum. “It’s—ha, ha!—Jack and Polly,” he laughed, “and Lady—er—hum.”
“Well,” said Henry. “Well. Well. Well.”
“Well, what?” asked Lady Marchwell.
Lord Henry pursed his lips. His mouth twitched but he couldn’t quite smile. He was a fool. An utter, utter fool.
“What a trick! What a funny trick to play. Ha. Really fooled me. Yes—how very … frivolous. Funny joke, Jack! Funny joke, Polly!” He winked at the two children.
Jack smiled sheepishly. He watched Lord Henry struggle with his feelings. He was angry and hurt. He had been coming to rescue them, Jack thought. Which was honorable. But then this had happened. Now he was shaken.
“It’s not a joke, Henry. It’s a lesson. Will you change?” asked Lady Marchwell.
Henry looked past her. The sun would rise soon. Another day would begin.
“Yes,” he said at last. “I will. My days as a highwayman are over.”
“If you do …,” she began.
“You will marry me?” Lord Henry ventured, attempting his old confidence.
Lady Marchwell sighed. “No,” she said. “But I will help you gain a pardon.”
They accompanied Lady Marchwell back to the house. The highwaymen were soon in good spirits. Jack sensed that they were relieved. Everything was put back to where it had been; all was right again. Only Lord Henry was changed. His spirit had shrunk. The men talked about their feelings of surprise that there had been robbers on the road at that time in the morning; how peculiar they had thought it that the robbers had high voices and that the two little ones wore cloaks almost to the ground. Rascals! But the sight of the long-barreled pistol pointing straight at the heart of Lord Henry had truly alarmed them.
&nbs
p; “When I sees you with the gun,” said Dirty Dick, his eyes all wide and dramatic, “then I was thinking that this were going to end in some bloody way and I got ready to spur my horse and jump the wall.”
“Those pistols fire with the littlest touch of the trigger, they do,” said Pete the Pudding.
“It wasn’t loaded,” Lady Marchwell told them. “I would never have shot Henry. He is a little too precious.” She glanced at him fondly.
Lord Henry managed a wan smile. Jack could see he was feeling low. But if he could escape the hangman’s noose, surely that would make him happy? Henry Vane, usually so much larger than life, sat on Red Ruby with his head bowed and his shoulders slumped forward. Jack worried. Was Lord Henry Vane going to deflate like an old balloon or square up to the battle of life?
Chapter Nineteen
The Flight for Life
Jack had to go home. The sun would soon be up, and they were still two hours’ ride from Wittlesham. As they reached the gates to Lady Marchwell’s house, all the horses stopped abruptly. Stuck at the back, Jack stood in his stirrups to see why they had stopped.
In the driveway stood a magnificent green and gold carriage bedecked in white flowers, with six matching gray horses. It was the carriage that was to take Lady Marchwell to the church.
“Look at that!” gasped Polly.
“My! That is grand,” said Bernard, rolling his eyes.
But Lady Marchwell was vexed. “They are early. Far too early. You had better stay out of sight. I have more than enough explanations to give for the events of tonight.”
“Why, that is a beauty!” said Lord Henry softly. He was at his most generous—no trace of envy in his voice. “You will be the most radiant bride in all England.”
Lady Marchwell smiled at Lord Henry’s kindness, but her eyes returned to the carriage with a troubled look.
She bit her lip. “It is too much,” she muttered. “I did not ask for this. I am forever pushed into things I do not want.” She changed the subject. “Will you be returning to Wittlesham?”
They said they would, and right away. Lord Henry said that they must be careful because the soldiers were still searching for them. It would not be easy. Once they reached Wittlesham they would be safe, for they had a wonderful hideout there.
“Jack and I could go on our own,” Polly suggested. “It is dangerous for you all to come. Specially as it’s daylight.”
“No,” cried Tom Drum, “I would like to come!”
“Me too,” said Dirty Dick. “We must come.”
“We have to—to protect you from robbers …”
“And other bad people …”
“The trouble is,” Jack said, “that you all look like highwaymen with your black cloaks and hats. You stick out a mile. It’d be much easier if you looked like something else. Like farmers or merchants or beggars … or …” But he couldn’t think of anything else.
“Or a wedding party,” said Lady Marchwell, gazing at the coach.
In the silence that followed, Henry Vane sat up straighter and straighter in the saddle. He seemed to grow in front of them. He jutted his chin out in a determined fashion and pursed his lips. He looked neither right nor left but stared straight at the wedding carriage and six gray horses. There was hope. A glimmer of hope. Life is returning, thought Jack with pleasure.
“But, Lady Marchwell—,” he said a little formally, “how will you get to church?”
“At this moment,” she hesitated and took a decisive breath, “I think a ride in the countryside would be preferable to church. It is a terrible thing to do, I know, to miss church … and yet …” She looked at Henry, and he understood.
“Fresh air is what you need!” said Tom Drum lustily.
“Yes,” she agreed. “But I do feel bad. I feel disloyal and rebellious.”
“There’s nothing so delicious as a little rebellion,” said Lord Henry, and he smiled a truly beautiful smile.
Lady Marchwell blushed. “Oh, no, what am I thinking? Truly I can’t,” she said, wavering.
“But you can,” urged Henry passionately. “You would be doing nothing wrong, Emily, for missing church can be the right thing sometimes. Forgive me for saying so, but Hogg, this man—this Hogg—he is not right for you, Emily. He is old and dull and pompous and not even very good looking. I mean, do take time to consider, if you are unsure.”
Now Jack worried that Henry had gone too far. Lady Marchwell would not be pushed. She had to make up her own mind.
“Let’s do it!” she cried suddenly. She spurred her horse forward and set off at a canter toward the carriage. Lord Henry did the same.
“What’s she doing?” cried Dirty Dick.
“She’s stealing the carriage,” said Jack excitedly.
“What? Why?” asked Bernard.
“Because she’s not getting married today,” Jack explained. “She has had second thoughts. She is coming with us to Wittlesham.”
“She is going to take us in that carriage!” squealed Polly. “Disguised as a wedding party!”
They watched as Lord Henry charged up to the carriage, wheeled around it, then, like a circus acrobat, sprung from Red Ruby straight into the driver’s seat. He unhooked the reins and helped Lady Marchwell on board. The footmen and coach drivers were inside the house, unaware of the theft of their vehicle.
Henry released the brake and shook the reins, and the six horses and the carriage trundled forward. The flowers quivered at first and then, as they gathered speed, shook vigorously. It was a magnificent sight, the six horses stamping and snorting and shaking their manes, the shiny carriage moving down the avenue of trees. Here was the eighteenth-century equivalent, thought Jack, of a stretch limo. As they came closer, he saw Lady Marchwell laughing and Henry grinning like a boy.
They brought the carriage thundering past the highwaymen and out onto the road. No one at the house appeared to have noticed. Henry stood up in the driver’s seat and drove the horses forward, suddenly quite carried away, cracking the whip in the air and whooping with joy. His spirits were soaring! After a mile, he stopped and the others caught up.
Finding footmen’s uniforms in the back of the carriage, the highwaymen transformed themselves into servants. They had green and gold jackets and strange little hats and pantaloons. Dressed up, they looked a bit like frogs. Jack, Polly, Henry, and Lady Marchwell sat inside the plush carriage. Tom Drum drove with Pete the Pudding next to him. Bernard stood at the back, bursting out of his green pants and short jacket and graciously bowing to everyone they passed. Dirty Dick rode behind, holding the reins of their horses until they could find a place to leave them.
“Oh, my, this is comfortable!” gushed Polly, stroking the velvet seats.
“We are like jewels in a box,” said Lord Henry sweetly.
Jack thought it was the most uncomfortable carriage in the world. Riding his bike down a staircase would be more comfortable. And his bed at Granny’s was quieter.
“Keep a steady pace, Tom,” cried Lord Henry as they came to the city and crossed London Bridge. People were beginning to stir; they were setting up their stalls, calling out their wares, bells ringing, carts full of produce arriving for the day’s work. As they came up to Highgate, there were sheep and cattle jostling in the middle of the road—but everyone made way for them, gawking at the magnificent carriage, wondering who the special people inside were.
Pete the Pudding bowed to them. Bernard waved and grinned from the back. Tom Drum told him to behave properly.
“Coachmen are very snooty,” he shouted to Bernard. “Put yer nose in the air and pretend they smell.”
“They do smell,” said Bernard.
“An’ do up yer trousers—they’re rude,” shouted Dirty Dick at the back.
“If I do them up, they’ll split like a pea pod,” Bernard retorted.
They crossed Finchley Common and continued up Great North Road. Inside the carriage, shaken, rattled, and bumped, Jack drifted in and out of sleep. He felt so tired
. Sleep is the best way to get through journeys, he thought. Close your eyes and … arrive. Journey over.
He woke up suddenly. They were approaching a group of soldiers. Tom Drum’s face suddenly appeared in a little door above his seat: “There’s soldiers ahead!” he said fearfully.
“Keep going,” said Lady Marchwell firmly. “Don’t stop unless they tell you to. Salute them and continue, with absolute confidence!”
“Yes, marm,” said Tom Drum.
Everyone made themselves as presentable as possible.
The grand carriage approached. The soldiers hesitated. They peered at the carriage, at the liveried coachmen, at the very important persons staring straight ahead … and decided that they did not want to stop them. Must be some fancy wedding.
“Yes!” cried Lord Henry when they were clear. “It works!”
They continued on toward Wittlesham, and Jack listened as Henry and Lady Marchwell discussed how they would secure a pardon for Lord Henry and his gang. But Jack couldn’t hear very well over the rattle of the carriage and fell asleep, before waking again to hear Lady Marchwell speaking sternly about the future.
“You have to pay back the people you robbed, with the money you earn,” she was telling Henry forcefully. “All your life, Henry, you have either been given money, or you have taken money. That has to change. You have to earn it.”
She was really being quite hard on him. Her face was set. Lord Henry squirmed.
“But how?” he bleated.
“Hard work!” Lady Marchwell stressed the words. “You earn money by offering a service: being a lawyer or a doctor or a soldier or a farmer or buying and selling goods or making something that other people want. There are so many things you can do, if you put your mind to it.”
“Absolutely,” said Henry. “One good idea and you’re off.” His eyes fell on Jack across from him in the carriage. Jack wondered what idea Henry might have. A showman perhaps. Or a businessman. But then Henry winked, and Jack guessed that he already had an idea. Probably one that didn’t involve too much work.
Jack Bolt and the Highwaymen's Hideout Page 9
