The Highwayman's Lady (3 page)

As long as I remain locked in this tomblike prison, all is hopeless.

He said we were to leave this day for Leeds. That is a trip of at least two hours, maybe more at night. Sidney ranted about having arranged a wedding ceremony to take place before breakfast, so the time of our departure cannot be far away. He must come soon. He must.

I allow my forehead to drop onto my knees as I sit on the floor, leaning against a packing case in the middle of the cellar. I wrap my arms around my legs, close my eyes, and determine not to listen to the rustling sounds from the pools of absolute darkness just feet from where I crouch. I hate rats, mice too and I dread the scamper of their tiny paws as they venture closer in search of food.

I whimper, battling now to hold terror at bay. It will do me no good at all to surrender to the aching fear that threatens to consume me, but retaining my composure becomes more difficult with every passing moment. I grit my teeth and resolve to remain staunch.

At last the lock scrapes above me and the door is flung open. I blink, shielding my eyes from the brutal light that streams in. I peer up through cracks between my fingers to see Sidney silhouetted there. He has on his finest cloak and his cane is in his hand. He brandishes it at me.

“Get up here, bitch. I’ll not soil my clothes coming down for you.”

I contemplate defiance, but only for a moment. My need to be out of here is considerably more powerful than any desire I might harbour to obstruct Sidney’s plans, at least for the immediate future. Once away, I will re-assess. I get to my feet and make my way up the stairs with care, still unable to see properly.

By the time I reach the top and sidle past Sidney into the scullery, my eyesight is well on the way to being restored. I spot Matthews, and Mrs. Lawson, our cook. Two kitchen maids are lurking also, making themselves busy by the huge fire grate. I level a look of disgust in Matthews’ direction and he does at least have the grace to drop his gaze. So he well might, the craven bloody coward.

Sidney grabs me by the hair again and drags my head back, forcing me to face him. “Our nuptials await, dear stepsister. Let us be on our way. It would not do to keep the good vicar waiting, would it?”

“You are vile.” I could summon far more vitriol to heap upon him, but I prefer to retain my strength for escape. My chance will come. It has to.

“Aye, if you say so. And you, my dear, are a money-grabbing slut. We are well suited, a match made in heaven.”

“Forged in the stews of hell and your drunken imaginings, rather. May you rot for this!” So much for my sensible intentions. Another vicious backhander stops my mouth and I land in heap beside the kitchen table. Matthews steps forward, seemingly intending to assist me to my feet but scurries back at an outraged bellow from Sidney. I manage to drag myself up unaided, swaying on my feet as I face Sidney again.

“Would you drag me to the altar battered and bleeding, stepbrother? What would your bought-and-paid-for vicar make of that?”

“I doubt he would care any more than I do,” sneers Sidney. “Come, I have a coach waiting.”

He grabs my arm and bundles me out of the kitchen door into the yard at the rear of the house. Looking over the top of our wall, I can see the roof of a hired coach waiting in the narrow back lane beyond. The snort of horses and clatter of hooves signal their readiness to be off.

Sidney is cloaked against the evening chill, but I am not. That fact seems to be of no consequence to him as he marches me out of the back gate and into the lane, then drags me through the narrow space between the carriage and the wall. He reaches past me to open the door to the conveyance and shoves me unceremoniously inside. I land on my knees between the two seats, which face each other.

Sidney follows me into the coach and sits down on one of the upholstered seats. I shift away from his feet, which I consider to be perilously close to my ribs, and drag myself onto the opposite cushion. I glare at him across the space that divides us.

“You must be quite deranged if you believe a scheme such as this can possibly work.” I inject all the contempt I can muster into my words.

He makes a production of looking first to his left, then to his right. He even leans down and affects a search under my seat before leaning back, his arms folded across his podgy belly. He leers in my direction. “Pardon me, do you see anyone here who might gainsay me? For I do not.”

“You are wicked—quite, quite evil. Your father would spin in his grave if he could see the monster you have become.”

Sidney laughs out loud at that. “What care I for the ramblings of a demented old man? You should curse him, not me, for it was his ridiculous will that set this situation in motion. He should have left well enough alone and not interfered with what was mine. I won’t stand for it. I will not.”

He reaches up and raps his cane smartly on the roof of the carriage, the signal for the driver to move off. With a crack of a whip and the jingling of harnesses, the horses break into a trot and we are on our way.

I lurch for the door of the carriage, my head filled with some wild notion of flinging it open and hurling myself into the street before he can take me too far from the places I know. If I can just get out—

Another vicious punch, this time to my ribs, puts a stop to that particular campaign. “Keep still. I’d be happy enough to tie you to the seat if I have to. Or perhaps you prefer to make the journey unconscious?” He shoves his fist under my nose, the threat clear. I subside back into my seat, gnawing on my lower lip. I must bide my time.

The next half hour or so passes in silence. Once or twice I even suspect Sidney may have fallen asleep, but any slight movement on my part brings him back to wakefulness with a jolt. He may be a drunk and a greedy, bullying fool, but he is cunning and determined, driven by some innate sense of self-seeking avarice. He will not doze off and allow his fortune to scramble out of the window, however much I might wish for it.

Another half hour passes. York is far behind us and we are surrounded by open countryside. The light of an occasional farmstead pierces the otherwise inky blackness. Even if I were to escape out here, where would I go? With no cloak or warm clothing I might not survive the night. It is only November but already the weather is cold and snow threatens. Perhaps my best chance now is to wait until we reach Leeds and make a run for it there. I rack my brains for the name or direction of any of my stepfather’s associates in the city who might be prevailed upon to assist me. I can call none to mind.

“You think you’re so clever, do you not? Little Miss High and Mighty, the simpering princess. You are not laughing now though, are you?” He leans forward, thrusting his face into mine. His breath is as foul as his countenance

“I have no notion what you are talking about.” I tilt my chin away, determined not to give him the satisfaction of so much as looking at him, let alone breathing the same air.

“Conniving bitch! You and that witch of a stepmother, always sneering, always thinking you were too good for me.”

“Sidney, the rats in your cellar are too good for you.”

I should have guarded my tongue. The moment the words are out he gives a shriek of rage and pounces on me. I roll onto the floor, curling up into a ball in a vain attempt to evade his slaps, his kicks, his murderous punches. The blows rain down on my body as I bury my head under my arms, convinced he is finally going to kill me and wondering if perhaps that is preferable to the fate worse than death he has in mind.

Just as I am convinced matters could get no worse, they actually do.

“Stand and deliver.” The curt command rings out, plunging dark terror into my already despairing soul. I cringe, dreading the harsh report of a pistol, perhaps the scream of our coachman as he tumbles from his perch.

Instead, the carriage lumbers to a halt. Sidney, amazingly, seems oblivious to this terrifying turn of events. He continues to punch me, cursing my very existence as he lays in with boots and fists. I manage to scramble partly under the seat and thus gain some measure of protection. Sidney is intent on dragging me back out, presumably in order to continue his beating. He kneels on the floor and yet again wraps my hair around his fist and yanks hard. I let out a scream but am powerless to avoid being dragged back within his reach.

The click of a pistol being cocked penetrates Sidney’s red mist of pure rage. The sound is not loud but somehow reverberates around the enclosed space of the carriage. My stepbrother loosens his grip on my hair and I scramble the few inches I am able, then cower in the corner of the coach, expecting every breath I draw to be my last.

“You appear not to have heard me. I said, get out of the coach.” The soft highland brogue is an incongruous surprise, but it is a tone I know will brook no argument. I nod and reach for where I suspect the door handle might be.

“Not you, miss. You may remain where you are for now. You, sir, out. Now!”

If I am to die, at least I may not meet my maker in such close proximity to Sidney. I offer up thanks for that mercy as I gasp for air, willing the agony in my ribs to subside enough that I might at least regain my seat and some shred of dignity. Meanwhile our assailant has grabbed Sidney by the collar and hauled him from the coach. A loud thump and a muffled curse follow his exit as he bounces the couple of feet to the ground, the highwayman not having deemed it needful to first position the small set of steps usually employed to avoid such mishaps.

I take a perverse pleasure in his discomfort and likely demise. Highway robbery and murder could not befall a more deserving character.

“You! There is rope attached to my saddle. Bring it here and tie this one to the wheel. Do it quick, else I may change my mind and decide to lodge a lump of lead between your ribs after all.”

I am unable to see anything from within the coach and I do not dare venture out. I listen as the coachman scurries to do the highwayman’s bidding and Sidney unleashes a string of curses. The tirade comes to an abrupt end with the cocking of the pistol once more.

“You are beginning to grate sorely upon my nerves. I suggest you turn your attention to emptying your pockets, sir.”

“You robbing bastard. I will not. You shall hang for this, you mark my words.” Belligerent to the end, Sidney seems intent on self-destruction.

“I shall mark your more-than-ample jowls with a noose of my own if you do not do as I say. I’ll be having your valuables in this bag, if you please. It is of no concern to me whether that occurs whilst you are alive or dead.”

“I have no valuables with me, no money. Nothing of worth.”

I know that to be untrue. He had intended to bribe the vicar who would marry us, so he must have about him at least the wherewithal for that. I leave it to the robber to ascertain the facts of the matter.

“Then you will have no objection if our friend here goes through your pockets on my behalf, will you?”

“If you value your hide you shall not lay a hand on me, you blackguard.”

“Ah, now there we have a difference of opinion, fine sir. And since it is I who hold the pistol and you who snivel on the ground like the coward you appear to be, I have little doubt how this dispute of ours will end.”

“You can take her.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My wife, the slut in the carriage. Have her if you like. She should fetch a bob or two in a tavern, I should wager.”

“Ah, you mean the lady you were seeking to batter to death just moments ago? She is your wife then?”

“Aye, more or less. Allow me to leave here unmolested and she is yours to do with as you wish. That is a fair bargain, is it not?”

I huddle in the coach, horrified as I listen to this exchange. Sidney is seeking to barter my life just to save himself the loss of a few coins. I should not be surprised, yet still, I am.

“More or less?” The bandit appears to be considering the offer.

“We are to be wed tomorrow.”

“I see. My felicitations, sir, on your pending nuptials. Alas, though, despite appearances to the contrary, I entertain no real fondness for abducting defenceless women and therefore I find myself unable to take you up on your generous offer. I will just settle for your money, jewellery, and perhaps that fine cloak of yours.”

“Now see here—”

“Your valuables in the bag or I plant a bullet between your eyes. You have until I count to five.” The highwayman’s threat is delivered with deadly calm. He means it. And despite his words that hint at a chivalry I might not have expected, I harbour no real illusions that my fate will be any more merciful.

There is no crack of a pistol shot so I can only assume that Sidney has seen sense and parted with his belongings. Long moments pass with no discernible commotion from outside the carriage. I perch on the edge of the seat, awaiting my fate.

I do not have long to wait. The narrow door is filled with the tall, cloaked figure as he stands outside looking in at me. He features are obscured by a kerchief tied around his face covering all but his eyes. I cannot make out their colour in the darkness, nor am I able to tell what shade of hair he might have as it is concealed beneath his three-cornered hat. What is certain is that the man is both huge and he is entering the carriage.

I retreat into the farthest corner as he climbs in, then takes a seat opposite me in the space previously occupied by my stepbrother. He captures my gaze and holds it. His countenance, what I can see of it, appears to offer no imminent threat but I take no chances.

“I have no money, sir, or jewels. Truly, I do not.” My voice is small and bears more than a hint of desperation.

He inclines his head. “I see. That simplifies matters rather. You heard the offer your betrothed made to me, I assume?”

I manage to tip up my chin, though the effort costs me. My bruises will no doubt be glowing by now. “He is not my betrothed. I loathe him. He is seeking to marry me by force.”

“Ah, and you have sought to resist his efforts? That will go some way to explain the scene I witnessed in here just now.”

“He imprisoned me and now he has abducted me.” A sudden thought occurs to me, inspired by the silence from outside. “Have you killed him?”