Secondhand Charm (5 page)

Chapter 10

Aidan slid down onto the floor, and for a moment I thought him a coward. But with an explosive, double-legged kick, he smashed the door open, clipping the bandit in the face. The bandit staggered back, and Aidan was outside in two ticks, striking him with both fists.

Then he stopped, stepped back, and held his arms up.

Dread came over me. So much for our hope. The man held a pistol to Aidan’s belly.

“Stop!” I cried. I pushed Prissy off me and squirmed out the door, which barely opened for Aidan’s blocking it. Prissy called after me as I stepped out into the blinding light.

A thin line of blood trickled from the bandit’s eyebrow. He dabbed it and stared at the spot as if such a thing had never been dared before. His finger flexed on his trigger.

I pushed myself in front of Aidan and felt the hot metal of the barrel against my chest.

“Leave my friend alone,” I told him. “Put your gun away this minute, and let us go.”

Aidan tried to move me aside but I resisted. The bandit chuckled. He was thick as an oak, yet he stood with a flamboyant grace, one fist on his hip, the other brandishing a pistol like a rapier. He wore a ruffle of lace at his neck and a black band belting his waist. Robbing poor travelers must be a thriving trade. A wide-brimmed hat obscured much of his face, but his eyes, brown and gold, were as calm as those of a priest saying mass.

Rolling in the dust of the road, moaning, was the coachman. His blood formed a growing black puddle. I made a move toward him, and the highwayman jabbed his pistol at me.

A hissing fury reared inside me. How dare he threaten me and my friends? How
dare
he?

“For shame!” I spat the words. “Does the brave bandit fear a peasant girl? What do you care if I help the poor man? You’ve picked a coach full of penniless country folk to murder.”

He laughed in my face. “Not quite penniless, my fiery little maid,” he said, seizing the ornaments around my neck. The rawhide strap holding my money broke, but the gypsy charms, on braided cords of gossamer silk, didn’t yield. He decided they weren’t worth the bother. Instead, he stroked my cheek with his fingertip.

Aidan growled and lunged toward him. The bandit raised his gun.

“Tie him up,” the bandit said, handing me a length of rope. “Bind your sweetheart, missy, and perhaps I won’t kill him. Though perhaps I will. Make it tight, now.”

I took the rope and cinched Aidan’s wrists like a traitor.
My sweetheart.

He reached into the coach and dragged out Prissy and then Miss Jessop. Miss Jessop kicked him, and I liked her better for it. Prissy’s love charm broke off with her money pouch.

“Now,” he said. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you all.” The fiend was enjoying this!

“Because God will punish you in hell for it,” Priscilla said, and the highwayman laughed.

“Two courageous maidens! But spare me the preaching.” He looked again at me. “Well?”

“Because you were born to be more than a ruthless spiller of blood,” I said.

He made an extravagant bow. “The lady has spoken. Lie down in the road, all of you, behind the carriage.” We had no choice but to obey. Miss Jessop whimpered pitiably.

“Farewell, my tigress,” he called, kissing his fingers and winking his cursed hawk’s eyes at me. Then, leaping into the coachman’s seat, the highwayman threw back the braking lever and cracked the driver’s whip. The team of six horses flew forward, eager to flee this frightful spot.

And then he was gone.

I scrambled to my feet, tripping on the hem of my dress, and flew to the driver. He wasn’t moving as much now, but lay feebly, bleeding in several places. What could I do? I had no water, no bandages, no medicines, not even any whiskey to relieve his pain.

I placed my hands on his face. “I’m here,” I said. “Where does it hurt?”

His eyelids flickered open. “Thorndike,” he said. “Jeremy Thorndike.”

I was busy unbuttoning his shirt to see where the musket shot had pierced his side. “Who is Jeremy Thorndike?” His wounds made me cringe, but I kept my face calm for his sake.

“Me,” he whispered. His face was ashy from loss of blood. The wound on his thigh wasn’t bleeding now. He had little left to spare. My delay in reaching him had cost him dearly.

“My wife, son. In Hibbardville.”

I began to sob. There was nothing I could do. Except one thing. I moved to his head and lifted it into my lap, stroking his face.

“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t see his face anymore. “I’m so sorry.”

He let out a ragged breath. “S’all right, lass,” he said. “God reward you. My wife, my son. You’ll tell them.”

His head turned to one side, like a child nestling closer to his mother, and then lay still.

“I’ll tell them,” I said, closing his eyes. “I’ll tell them you said good-bye.”

Chapter 11

Aidan carried Mr. Thorndike to the shade of a tall maple, its leaves scarlet like the infamy that was wrought upon the poor man. He lay the body down, then moved about restlessly, his face contorted. Finally he picked up a rock the size of a small melon and, with an animal yell, heaved it far down the road where it landed in the dust. At any other time, I would have been impressed.

“Feeling better?”

He sank into the grass and wouldn’t look at me.

I removed Mr. Thorndike’s jacket and covered his face with it, then sat down and tried to think. Now what?

Priscilla and her aunt sat some ways off, wrung out from shock and fear. Miss Jessop’s skin looked pale. Priscilla tended to her the best she could.

“What were you thinking, sailing out of the carriage and ticking off the ruffian, Evie?” Aidan said, with surprising anger in his voice. “You might have been killed!”

I bristled. “Oh? And what about you? Kicking the door in his face? It’s a wonder he didn’t shoot you for spite.”

“What would you have me do, sit and wait for him to murder us all?” Aidan snapped.

I couldn’t believe this. “Tit for tat. What gives you license for bravery, and me none?”

“I told your grandfather I would protect you.” I’d never seen Aidan’s face so red.

“I appreciate that,” I said, “but how did you plan to do so, lying dead in the highway?”

He sat up quickly. “I’m not dead, am I?”

“No, and there’s at least some small thanks to me that you’re not.”

“Oh, stop,” Priscilla cried. “What’s gotten into you two? Aren’t things bad enough without making them worse?”

Aidan twisted the seed kernels off a long stalk of grass and said nothing.

“My aunt is unwell,” Priscilla said. “She’ll need to rest, if we ever reach town. Did anyone manage to keep any money?”

Aidan showed his empty pockets. I shook my head.

“Aunt had a little, tucked away”—she swallowed—“somewhere. What about the driver?”

“You want us to rob a dead man, Prissy?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, Evie, it isn’t robbing. We can pay his widow back, I daresay. But if he’s got any money at all, we need it now far worse than he does.”

I did find a few coins in Mr. Thorndike’s pocket. I handed them to Prissy. We waited for other vehicles to pass by, but at least an hour passed with no sign of a traveler. Then we heard the clop of hooves from the wrong direction. We shaded the sun from our eyes and peered west. Along came a high-backed wagon, painted all in green and blue, pulled by a single exhausted horse. As it came nearer I could make out large gold letters proclaiming “
C
OMMEDIA DELL’
A
RTE,
T
RAGEDIC AND
W
HIMISCAL
T
HEATRICALS UPON
C
OMMAND.
W
ILL
P
LAY FOR
D
INNER
.”

“Do you think they might take us to Fallardston?” Priscilla whispered.

“It’s not the way they’re going,” Aidan said.

“Let me go speak with them,” I said. “Perhaps I can persuade them to help.”

I ventured out into the road and waved at the wagon.
Gypsy luck, don’t fail me now
.

The driver sat up taller in his seat and pulled on the reins.

“
Mamma mia!
” He stopped the wagon, jumped down, swept off his hat, and bowed.

“Is it so?” he said in a thick accent. “Or do my eyes fail me in the sunlight?” He gazed eagerly into my face. “Is it that you are a maiden in distress?”

“Well, you might say—”

“But no!” he cried, seizing my hand. “To call you a maiden is to call the ocean a puddle!”

“Sir,” I said firmly, “I
am
a maiden.”

I took a step back and surveyed him. He was tall, with glossy black curls and dark blue eyes. He wore an impossible suit of dark red trousers and a fitted coat, with black trim and gold buttons. His clothes, in fact, seemed quite at odds with the shabby wagon and horse.

I scarcely knew what to think. “Who are you?” I said.

“Those that know me call me Rudolpho,” he said, still holding my hand. “Those that know me better call me
Amoroso
.”

“Do they.” I backed away yet again until we were almost playing tug-o-war with my hand. “That’s interesting. As you mentioned, I am in some distress, and—”

“Why do you stop the wagon, Rudy?” came a groggy voice from within.

“Go back to sleep! I speak with an ugly old woman!” Rudolpho cried. “My brother,” he whispered to me. “I keep him around for pity’s sake. He’s half idiot, maybe more than half. But a scandal around young ladies. My little fib, it was to protect you.”

A head poked out of the wagon that was identical to Rudolpho’s, though rumpled with sleep.

“More than half idiot, am I?” the head said. “Says you, three-quarters ignoramus and two-thirds dunce?”

“Their arithmetic needs work,” Priscilla observed from behind me.

Rudolpho’s brother stumbled out of the carriage. He wore a suit just like his brother’s, except his was black with red trim. He wrenched my hand free from Rudolpho’s and stroked it.

“
Signorina bella
,” he said, “pardon me for having such a brother as this irksome louse. Alas, I, Alfonso, cannot help it. My lot in life is to follow him around, rescuing him from his own stupidity, for such was our poor dying mother’s last wish. But in your face, ah! What an angel! Heaven has rewarded my pains.”

“I found her first!” Rudolpho displayed his fists. “Go back to sleep, you great sluggard!”

“Will you both stop at once!” I cried. “If either of you had any sense at all, you’d see that my friends and I are in great need of help.”

Then they saw Priscilla, Miss Jessop, Aidan, and Mr. Thorndike. They grimaced.

“The big one, him we cannot carry,” Rudolpho said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Our poor horse, she is half-dead already.”

“The fat one, she is too sour,” Alfonso said. “She will spoil the upholstery.”

“The dead one,” Rudolpho crossed himself, “may as well stay where he is.”

“And the other one,” Alfonso said, indicating Priscilla, “she is … ” Here Rudolpho elbowed him. “Is she your sister, signorina?”

I was so angry at these two arrogant popinjays I didn’t answer.

“Only a friend?” Alfonso said. “Friends come and go, but you,
bella donna
, will go no more, but only come with me in my wagon.”

Aidan appeared beside me.

“Is everything all right?” His voice was low and even, but the brothers shrank back a bit.

“I was just explaining to these two gentlemen,” I said, “about our unfortunate treatment at the hands of the bandit”—their eyebrows rose—“and about the tragic death of the driver, and how we greatly need a ride to Fallardston, to find lodging for our friends and see to the driver’s body.”

“Ah, then,” Rudolpho said, “our only wish is to be of assistance. However … ”

“What my brother is meaning to say,” Alfonso interrupted, “is that we most regrettably are obliged elsewhere. If it were not for our art, the demands she places upon us, leaping to your aid would be our first and only desire … ”

“Especially seeing as it is you, signorina,” Rudolpho cut in. “But as it happens we are scheduled to perform tonight in the opposite direction from this Fallardston.” He wrinkled his nose, as if Fallardston smelled poorly.

“Really? Perform where?” I asked.

“Mundy,” Rudolpho said.

“Mandolay,” Alfonso said.

“Do you mean Maundley?” I asked.

“The very same!” said Alfonso.

“A thriving city,” Alfonso went on, “where anxious crowds await us.”

“For the carnival,” his brother said, “of Saint Bridget.”

“The festival,” the first corrected him, “of Saint Bonaventure.”

“Do you mean the Feast of Saint Bronwyn?”

“Extraordinary, your grasp, signorina,” Alfonso said. “Without you, we would be lost.”

“And no wonder,” I cut in, “for you’ve missed Saint Bronwyn’s Feast by a week.”

Alfonso and Rudolpho glared at each other. Matthew Dunwoody
had
mentioned actors … 

“I told you the butcher man said it was last Tuesday!”

“No, you didn’t. You said it was today.”

“No, I said … ”

“Since the Feast of Saint Bronwyn’s has passed,” I said, raising my voice, “surely you won’t wish to continue your travels to such a remote area as Maundley, a village of no more than a hundred people. You’ll wish to return to where the audiences are larger, yes?”

“A hundred people?” Rudolpho burst out. “That butcher, he said … ”

“Never mind the butcher,” I said. “I’ve saved you two days of travel. Return the favor?”

Rudolpho took my hand once more. “Favors for you,
mi bella
,
certamente
.” The scoundrel actually kissed my arm! Not to be outdone, Alfonso began kissing my other one.

“
Mi bella
,” Rudolpho said, “have you considered the noble art of the stage? Join us, become an actress, dance and sing for queens and kings! With a face like yours, La Commedia dell’Arte would prosper! The eyes that flash like fire, the hair like spun gold, the lips … ”

Aidan began to cough, and if ever a cough sounded like a threat of violence, this one did.

“I accept your kind offer to drive the two ladies back to Fallardston,” I said, “while my friend Aidan and I walk alongside the wagon.”

“But it is unthinkable that you should walk!” Alfonso declared. “You shall ride with me here.”

“Ah, but think.” I yanked my arms free. “If your horse had a second wind, the young man would fall behind.” Second wind, pah. I was certain that’s what they’d try.

“You shall not ride with my half-wit brother,” Rudolpho said. “You’ll ride with me.”

“I’ll walk,” I said. “And when we reach Fallardston, I will repay your kindness.”

I confess that here I winked at the two brothers, and without a further word they leaped to assist Priscilla, her aunt, and Mr. Thorndike into the wagon.