The Highwayman (16 page)

Alice sat up with a jerk. “What?”

“I believe this is known as
déjà
vu,”
murmured St. Clair.

Thinking that he sounded entirely too nonchalant, Jane sent him a swift, disapproving look before peering out the window.

She fully expected to see a form sprawled out on the road. But, of course, even if someone were lying there, it was far too dark to see anything beyond the very limited area illuminated by the carriage lamps.

Then a deep voice cut through the darkness. “I said stand and deliver! And throw down that pistol if you don’t wish to be hurt.”

There came a thud as John hastened to be accommodating, and then someone moved into the light. A rather large someone, cloaked in black, seated atop a huge black horse and pointing his own pistol towards John and the carriage.

This, most certainly, was the highwayman Jane had all but put from her mind once she discovered St. Clair’s true identity. They were about to be robbed by him, unless St. Clair— Oh dear, she hoped he would not attempt something foolish....

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Well, that had been another needless worry, Jane found herself thinking as St. Clair handed her down from the carriage a few moments later. One would have thought from his behaviour that being robbed at gunpoint by a highwayman was an everyday occurrence. She didn’t know why she felt so vexed when he was merely fulfilling her hope that he would not play the hero. Of course she was glad of that, but on the other hand, he needn’t have taken everything so casually, either.

When they were all on the ground, the highwayman said, “Now, sir, if you will be so good as to hand me the ladies’ reticules and jewels, and your own purse, too....”

St. Clair took one step forward, and Alice moved nearer to Jane, so that they were both standing close together behind him. He glanced back at them but made no move to take the reticules they held out to him. Instead, he turned back to the highwayman and said calmly, “I think not.”

Jane’s heart leapt into her throat and, on the instant, she bitterly regretted any wish she had entertained that he might not prove to be cowardly.

The highwayman seemed to have been taken aback, for he remained silent for several moments. But then he waved his pistol slightly and said, sounding rather desperate, “I don’t wish to harm anyone, but I shall if you don’t do as I say.”

“That would be quite unwise, my friend,” said St. Clair. “At this very moment, there is another pistol pointed at the back of your head.”

The highwayman gave a rather forced-sounding laugh. “A good trick, if I were fool enough to be taken in by it, but I’m not. Now, hand over your valuables and be done with it.”

St. Clair sighed and said, “Kearny?”

Several things happened in rapid succession. Another explosion filled the air; the highwayman dropped his pistol and clutched his right shoulder with his left hand; the black horse danced with fright; and, losing his balance, the highwayman fell to the ground. He landed with a loud thud and a moan, then fell silent and lay quite still.

For a moment, no one moved or said anything. Jane, feeling rather dazed, thought that, except for a few minor details, the whole thing seemed uncannily like a reenactment of her meeting with St. Clair. She almost expected to see him lying there, bleeding on the ground, and shuddered at the thought.

She was brought back to reality as St. Clair said casually, “My dear man, you might have merely fired a warning shot over his head.”

Kearny guided his horse into view, saying, “No sense takin’ chances. Not with ladies here an’ all.”

Scarcely hearing them, Jane said, “I believe the poor man has hit his head and knocked himself senseless.” With that, she brushed past St. Clair and hurried towards the man on the ground.

“Here now, ma’am!” Kearny exclaimed. “You shouldn’t ought to do that. Leastways, not till one of us takes a look-see. He could just be playin’ possum.”

Jane threw him a puzzled glance but did not stop.

Sounding highly amused, St Clair said, “You are wasting your breath, Kearny. I doubt you could stop her even with that pistol. The lady is irresistibly attracted to the wounded. But if it will make you feel better, I do not think our friend capable of harming her. He no longer has his weapon, and judging from the sound his head made when it hit the ground, he is likely to be unconscious for a good length of time.”

Kearny shook his head, and gazed at St. Clair with wonder. “In all this time, I ain’t never got used to the way you talk.”

Jane rolled her eyes at that, but by now she was on her knees beside the wounded man and all her attention became fixed on determining how badly he was injured. Without being told, John Coachman had brought one of the carriage lanterns to give her better light.

Alice, peering over Jane’s shoulder, suddenly giggled and said, “So this is Papa’s ‘devilish rogue.’ He doesn’t look so devilish or roguish to me. In fact, he looks rather nice.”

Until then, Jane had been concentrating on the man’s wounded arm, but now she looked up. With his hat no longer hiding his hair or face, she saw that he was fairly young, blond, and fair of skin. And, indeed, he did not look in the least like a villain. St. Clair looked far more dangerous.

“Fortunately, he appears to have no more than a flesh wound,” she said. “Of course, it must still be cleansed and bandaged, but I am more worried about a possible head injury.” She paused, biting her lip. “I wish I had my basket of medicaments with me! But, as I have not, there is only one thing to be done. We must get him into the carriage and take him to Meadowbrook with us.”

“Oh, no! You shall not,” St. Clair informed her quite firmly.

Suddenly reminded that they were not dealing with a respectable man, Jane realized that St Clair would be planning to turn him over to the authorities.

Looking up at him in dismay, she exclaimed, “Oh, but, Jon, only look at him! Indeed, he does not look like a criminal. You cannot have him arrested without giving him a chance to explain.”

In her distress, she was unaware how she had addressed him. She only knew that his expression unaccountably softened.

With a slight smile he said, “No, I have not made up my mind as to that, but in the meantime, he shall stay at Ethridge Hall, not at Meadowbrook. I shall not have you wearing yourself to a thread and further damaging your reputation by caring for another wounded man in your home. And
this
one not even a cousin.”

“But—”she began.

“No, don’t argue,” he interrupted her. “I have servants at the Hall who will see that he receives care. And you may visit him as often as you wish, as his physician. I see no harm in that, since
his
wound is in a perfectly innocuous spot.”

“Jon!” she exclaimed in an undertone.

Glancing round, and finding that the others had moved sufficiently far away, he murmured, “Do you know, I have never cared for that name before, but I like hearing it upon your lips.”

Fortunately, the darkness helped to hide her fiery blush. At least she hoped it did. In an attempt to hide her discomposure, she stood, brushed her skirts and said briskly, “Well, we must not stand about like this all night. John, if you and Mr. Kearny will be so good as to lift our patient into the carriage, we may be on our way.”

She could not bring herself to look at St. Clair again but was certain that if she did, she would discover the familiar laughter there. He was truly incorrigible, she thought, and her own lips twitched slightly.

But then she frowned as she was struck by the thought that she was allowing herself to fall ever more deeply in love with him when she ought to know better. Flirtation, she knew, came as naturally to him as breathing. She must accept that and be grateful he was still her friend. To allow herself to begin hoping for more would be foolish beyond permission.

When they were all settled in the carriage, the exertions and stresses of the day began to make themselves felt, and no one seemed inclined to speak. But after a time, Jane roused herself enough to say, “I suppose it was very fortunate for us that Mr. Kearny turned up as he did.”

St. Clair laughed. “Good fortune had nothing to do with it. I knew he would be close by. I once made the mistake of doing the fellow a good turn and now I cannot rid myself of him. Not that he doesn’t have his uses. In fact, I have grown almost fond of him.”

Alice giggled. “A good turn! I’ll wager you saved his life.”

St. Clair shrugged. “It is a long story, and boring, to boot.”

As he seemed disinclined to enlarge upon the subject, neither of his companions questioned him further.

The remainder of their journey was accomplished in relative silence. And, despite her best intentions, both medical and otherwise, by the time they reached Meadowbrook, Jane was utterly exhausted—so exhausted, in fact, that she could scarcely think, let alone remember good intentions. She accepted without demur, therefore, St. Clair’s opinion that it was unnecessary for her to make the trip to Ethridge Hall that night. He assured her that he himself would cleanse the man’s wound, disinfect it according to her directions, and bandage it.

But, in spite of her weariness, when he handed her down from the carriage and did not immediately release her hand, she stood gazing at him idiotishly. She even felt herself swaying towards him until he finally freed her hand, and clearing his throat, said, “Well, I shall wish you a good night, my dear.”

She nodded and followed Alice into the house, knowing that she had come near to making a cake of herself once more, but too tired to care. It did seem to her that he had been equally disinclined to part, but very likely that was merely wishful thinking. Exhaustion could do peculiar things to one’s mind.

* * * *

Jane became even more convinced that she had imagined his reluctance to leave her when she arrived at Ethridge Hall the following morning. St. Clair greeted her in quite his usual manner, friendly but casual, before taking her upstairs to see her patient.

The young man, whose name, she learned, was George Davies, was awake. Though he was a trifle pale and admitted to a slight headache, be seemed not to be suffering from concussion. Jane soon discovered, however, that he was exceedingly shy.

While it was refreshing to meet someone who blushed more easily than she had been doing of late, his diffidence made conversation uphill work. After a few unsuccessful attempts at drawing him out, Jane gave up and took refuge in her role as physician.

There, too, she was quickly brought to a standstill. St. Clair had done an excellent job of caring for the wound, so that all that was left for her to do was to apply a fresh bandage to it and advise Mr. Davies to rest. After which, she made a hasty retreat.

The whole had taken barely a quarter of an hour. Jane was more than a little disappointed, for without a patient needing her care, she would have no further excuse for visiting Ethridge Hall. However, today at least, she had reason to linger. There were still one or two matters she needed to discuss with St. Clair.

She was halfway down the staircase and wondering where he might be, when he stepped out of a room on the far side of the entry hall below.

With his eyes laughing up at her, he said, “I thought it would not be long. How did you find your patient?”

“Well,” she answered cautiously, “he
seems
quite fit, but one can never be sure about these things.”

“Oh, I agree,” he said solemnly. “With injuries such as his, one can never be too careful.”

She looked at him sharply, strongly suspecting that he was teasing her, but she merely nodded and continued down the stairs.

When she reached the bottom, he said, “Come into the library. I wish to talk with you about the business of Meadowbrook. I feel I owe you a more detailed explanation regarding my discharging of Phillips.”

“As do I,” she told him, sweeping through the double doors.

She noticed that he carefully left the doors ajar when he followed her in, but by then, it had come to her for the first time that she was actually inside Ethridge Hall.

Standing in the middle of the huge, rectangular room, she slowly turned round, taking in all the details. It did not disappoint her. It was everything she had imagined, and more.

Opposite the doors was an enormous fireplace over which hung a large oil painting of a country scene. Both fireplace and doors were flanked by more paintings and shelves of books. Books lined a third wall as well, and in the fourth, floor-to-ceiling windows let in abundant daylight. Two exquisite chandeliers and several candelabra ensured that the room would always be well lit. A beautiful Aubusson carpet covered nearly the whole expanse of the floor. Scattered about the delightful room were groupings of sofas, chairs and small tables.

With a sigh, Jane at last turned to St. Clair and said, “Oh, it is perfect! If you knew how often I have fantasized about this house...” She stopped, feeling the heat of a blush rising in her cheeks again.

But St. Clair seemed pleased. “I am very glad that you approve. It is my favourite room, and in fact, the first I had done, after the bedchambers and kitchens. I shan’t give you a tour, however, until the entire place is finished, for I shouldn’t wish you to be disappointed.”

“I doubt I should be,” she replied with a smile. “Nevertheless, I shall wait.”

He then gestured towards one of the seating areas. She sat down at one end of a sofa, while St. Clair chose a chair set at right angles to it.

“Before we get into the matter of Meadowbrook,” Jane said quickly, “I should like to thank you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “For what?”

“For not turning the highwayman over to the authorities immediately.”

He grinned. “How could I show less compassion than you? After all, you did not cry rope on me when you thought me to be the culprit.”

“Yes, well...” she muttered, and, of course, she blushed.

“To be perfectly truthful,” he said more seriously, “I had another reason for not turning him in.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, rampant curiosity,” he admitted with another grin. “Not only did the fellow look to be the least likely in the world to be a criminal, but his speech indicated a certain amount of breeding and education.”