The Highwayman's Daughter (21 page)

Martha gripped her arm tightly. ‘Aye, lass, I reckon it could be, but you’ve gotta think. Don’t rush in there and let ’is sacrifice be for nothing. Know anyone who can speak up for him? Someone high up perhaps?’

Cora’s thoughts turned to Jack, but she dismissed the idea. She didn’t think he wielded enough power to intervene with the magistrate.
There must be another way,
she thought.
All I’ve got to do is find it.

Martha was prattling on about something. ‘… and that other man, an intimidating sort o’ fella, he said something about having recognised Samson, and I thought to myself, ’e’s probably got designs on that beautiful beast hisself, so while they weren’t looking I shooed him away lest they confiscate him.’

‘The other man recognised Samson? Was that how he tracked us down to your cottage?’ Cora sent her a bewildered look. ‘But Samson’s been stabled under your wood shelter since we left. He hasn’t been anywhere. Except that night …’

The night Jack took her to his family gallery.

Had she inadvertently led the man to Martha’s cottage? Had he been watching her, biding his time, or did he know what Jack got up to and had followed him too?

The hows and the whys were bringing on another headache, and she pushed the mystery to one side. She had other things to worry about for the moment.

First she had to retrieve her horse. She knew exactly where he would be: at his favourite grazing spot in Lord Heston’s wheat fields. It seemed fitting somehow that Cora’s horse should eat himself fat on the grain of a man who had scared her natural mother to death.

An idea struck her – perhaps Lord Heston might intervene with the magistrate on Ned’s behalf if she were to confront him with the truth of her parentage. He was of a higher rank than Jack, and although he wasn’t universally liked, he was well-respected and might do so out of fear for his reputation.

Cora and Martha waited until they were sure the magistrate and his men had left, dragging Ned along with them; then they returned to the cottage. The place had been turned over, very thoroughly, as Cora had expected, but to her relief they hadn’t discovered the loose brick by the chimney breast where Cora had hidden Jack’s watch, as well as the miniature and the ring her father had given her. Nor had they thought to look among the dried twigs Martha used for kindling, which were stacked in an untidy pile in the lean-to beside the cottage. Here Cora had hidden her other pistol and her rapier.

Having armed herself, Cora hugged Martha, who implored her to be careful; then she set off on foot to look for Samson. She walked across the scraggy heathland with long, purposeful strides, her jaw set. She had lost George, and the pain was still fresh. She had let go of Jack because her past could be exposed if she stayed, and that would put her father in danger. She couldn’t lose Ned as well. His natural time might come soon, she realised with gut-wrenching clarity, but she refused to lose him a second earlier than she had to, and not for a crime he hadn’t committed.

She found Samson where she had expected to, munching his way through summer-ripe corn with a look of utter contentment. She whistled sharply, and the horse pricked up his ears, snorted appreciatively and trotted towards her.

‘Good boy,’ she whispered as she stroked his muzzle. ‘There’s no one quite like you, Samson, is there? George says hello.’

The horse headbutted her gently and nipped at the jacket she was wearing. ‘These clothes are not mine, I know, but you’ll have to bear with me. There’s something we need to do.’ She eased the bridle she’d been carrying over his head while she spoke to him in a soothing voice; then, when it was secured, she led him to a tree stump, swung herself up
and urged him forward with a nudge of her knees. Riding without a saddle wasn’t terribly comfortable, but Samson knew her so well that it was almost as if she could command him with her thoughts.

She set off across the field at a brisk trot, her mind focused on what she needed to do.

Rupert watched her from the cover of the woods. He couldn’t quite believe his luck in coming across the highwaywoman. Too late he had noticed that the old crone with Mardell had freed the highwaywoman’s horse, and he cursed the fact that he hadn’t been fast enough to stop it. It was a fine horse, and he wanted it for himself, so when the magistrate had carted the prisoner off to Hounslow, Rupert had decided to look for the animal.

Finding the highwaywoman here was doubly lucky. The question was, how to overpower her? He had no doubt she was armed. Keeping his distance, he decided to follow her and see if an opportunity to apprehend her should arise.

As she rode, Rupert had to admit that she was a very accomplished horsewoman, and he couldn’t help feeling a grudging admiration for the way she commanded her horse while riding without a saddle. Her bearing was proud and regal, yet completely in accord with the horse’s powerful strides. Her hair, tied back with string, was thick and lush like the horse’s mane, and the strength in her legs was mirrored in the rippling of the horse’s thighs.

He enjoyed a challenge, and he felt a rush of lust combined with respect, a need to possess and control her the same way a man might govern a strong-willed animal.

Rupert smiled to himself and began to steer his horse forward. Breaking her in and taming her promised to be most diverting.

Something made him stop and mutter a curse under his breath. She was wearing breeches and a navy blue coat, but it wasn’t the fact she was wearing men’s clothing that jarred – she had been dressed thus the first time he saw her. What caught his attention was the subtle metallic thread embroidery on the pockets and the cuffs, just catching the sunlight; those weren’t just any man’s clothes. He recognised them only too well.

The breeches were nondescript, a plain, light-coloured wool, but the coat … It was the same cut, colour and size as the modest navy-blue Jack favoured.

It took a moment before the implications hit him. This could only mean one of two things; the highwaywoman had either robbed Jack of his clothes just as she had stolen Rupert’s waistcoat – and that still rankled – or Jack had willingly taken his clothes off and left them where she could take them. On which occasions did a man strip off both his breeches and coat? When he slept, bathed or …

Bedded a woman.

Had his cousin bedded her?

While he pondered this, the highwaywoman suddenly spurred her horse, galloped about fifty yards, then swung sideways and disappeared into the trees. Rupert cursed himself for lowering his guard and allowing her to give him the slip. He urged his horse towards the place where she had ridden in between the trees, but there was no sign of her; he uttered another oath.

Sensing movement behind him, he turned slowly, the hairs standing on the back of his neck, and found himself looking down the barrel of a pistol, cocked and ready to fire. Swallowing hard, he forced himself not to swear out loud.

‘Good morning, young sir,’ he said and lifted his hat. ‘How fare you on this fine day?’

‘Leave the small talk for the drawing room,’ came the curt reply. ‘How did you find my father, and what are they going to do to him?’

Rupert looked from her face to her pistol, then back again and was slightly taken aback by the look of utter contempt in her eyes. ‘I see you’re a man of few words,’ he said. ‘Except you are, in fact, a female if my eyes are not deceiving me, and you’re wearing my cousin’s clothes. Tell me, did he give them to you, or did you have to “work” for them?’ He raised his eyebrows to show her exactly what kind of work he was referring to.

He could tell from her sudden heightened colour and the way she choked back a gasp that his remark had hit home, but he was unsure whether to derive satisfaction from this or be enraged that his plans for having this filly before his saintly cousin had been thwarted.

Her pistol hand didn’t waver; instead her finger tightened on the trigger. For a moment Rupert worried whether he might have gone too far; he didn’t know this woman at all, but she was likely highly strung and unpredictable.

‘I suppose your questions are reasonable enough,’ he said and tried to keep his tone as level as possible lest she made good the implied threat and pressed the trigger. ‘The magistrate will keep him in his cellar until the accomplice comes forward. A young male friend, your father claimed, although you and I both know that no such individual exists. So does the magistrate. As for how I found you, madam, that’s very simple. I followed you home the day my cousin saved you from being trampled and recognised the horse in your lean-to from the night you robbed me. And after you’d disappeared from your cottage, my enquiries led me to the old widow’s place.’

The highwaywoman regarded him with narrowed eyes. ‘I see,’ she said, ‘and I suppose I ought to congratulate you on your cleverness.’

Rupert inclined his head. ‘Madam, should you choose to bestow such an honour upon me, it would be most graciously received.’

‘Tch! I don’t doubt it. Except I have a better idea.’

With lightning speed she surged forward and slapped his unsuspecting horse on the rump with her reins. Startled, the animal reared and bolted, and all Rupert could do was cling on to the reins until he could get it under control. When he’d finally managed to calm the beast, the woman was gone.

But not before he’d got a very good look at her.

There was a curious birthmark on her cheek, which he hadn’t seen on the night of the robbery, probably because he’d been more interested in committing the details of her horse to memory. However, now that he’d seen her up close, her striking eyes intrigued him far more than her birthmark. With a jolt he realised where he’d seen such eyes before, and when the implications of that hit home, it made him see the highwaywoman in quite a different light. He swallowed back the revulsion at his earlier thoughts of bedding her, and tried to understand how what he’d learned linked to Old Man Tyrrell’s story.

Was his cousin in possession of the same knowledge? he wondered. Maybe, maybe not, but why Jack hadn’t handed the thief over to the authorities and cashed in his wager with Rupert made no sense.

But that wasn’t important now. What mattered was how he could use this information to his advantage. If Jack had knowledge of the highwaywoman’s identity and hadn’t shared this with the magistrate that would make him an accomplice – it could land him in prison or lead to transportation. Which would pave the way for Rupert to inherit the earldom.

Tightening his grip on the horse’s reins, he felt one step closer to the inheritance to which he’d come to feel wholly entitled.

Jack’s parents were waiting for him in the drawing room when he returned in the carriage.

‘What happened?’ his father asked without preamble when Jack bent down to kiss his mother on the cheek. ‘You didn’t retire to the town house, I gather.’

‘No, I stayed at an inn at Tyburn,’ Jack admitted. His father would find out anyway, would get all the juicy details from his servants, who in turn would have got the information from the innkeeper and his wife. It was likely he already knew that Jack had spent the night in company of a woman. Usually it vexed him that his father always knew what was going on, but right now he had a more pressing matter on his mind. ‘Father—’ he began.

‘Tyburn? You went to the hanging?’ His mother had trouble concealing her surprise.

‘Hah!’ said the earl. ‘I imagine you were anxious to see another highwayman hang for his dastardly deeds. As I recall your childhood experience had quite an impact on you.’

‘Yes, it did,’ Jack replied, ‘but I had a purpose in being there. It wasn’t for entertainment.’

The countess shuddered and turned away, and Jack cursed inwardly at the way his father could speak so bluntly about highwaymen, a subject which still caused his wife anguish whenever it was raised. It also annoyed him that his father could think he’d attended for entertainment; a hanging may be regarded as such by many, but Jack had never taken to it, a fact his father was well aware of. However, now was not the time to argue the point. ‘Father, I need to speak with you urgently. It’s about your cousin, Captain Blythe.’

‘My cousin? I thought we had already discussed the matter.’

‘There’s more. I’m convin—’

His explanation was interrupted by the butler, who entered the room after the briefest of knocks. Jack threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘Pardon my intrusion, m’lord, but there’s trouble in the south field. A bullock has knocked down a fence, and the horses are bolting from the paddock. The grooms and the stable lads are rounding them up but they need your opinion as to the fence. The damage is quite significant, I’m given to understand.’

The earl rose immediately. To Jack he said – with relief, he thought – ‘We’ll have to postpone our conversation.’

After his father had left the room, the countess rose as well, and slid her arm through Jack’s. ‘You must understand, it causes your father some distress to talk about his cousin. But I’m familiar with the captain’s story, so why don’t you accompany me on my morning walk and we can talk about it?’

‘Are you certain, Mother? I’m going to be very blunt on the matter.’

‘Fie, Jack!’ She slapped him on the arm with mock seriousness. ‘Do you think us women to be such delicate creatures that we must always be coddled?’

‘No, I suppose not,’ he conceded. There was certainly nothing feeble about Cora.

‘Good, because I didn’t rear you to be such a mealy-mouth. Now come, let’s walk. I’ve tied a posy for little Henry’s grave and I’m most anxious to hear why you sent for a spare set of clothes as well as the carriage.’ She winked mischievously and let him guide her through the tall glass doors and down the steps to the park.

They strode along until they reached the family mausoleum, where the countess placed a pretty posy of summer flowers in front of the plaque bearing the name of Jack’s younger brother, Henry, who had died from a childhood fever. Jack stepped back to give his mother some privacy, and she stood there for a few moments in front of the plaque. Then with a sigh and a sad smile she turned around and slid her arm back through Jack’s.

‘Let’s go to the garden. I do so enjoy sitting there.’

The formal garden was rich with summer blooms; the countess ducked under an arch covered in climbing roses, whose heady scent filled the air, and seated herself on a moss-covered stone bench. Jack followed and sat down beside her.

It was hard knowing where to start, so he decided to get straight to the heart of the matter. ‘I’ve fallen in love, and I wish to seek Father’s permission to marry.’

His mother sent him a puzzled look. ‘I was under the impression you wanted to talk about Captain Blythe.’

‘I’m coming to that. It’s a related matter.’

‘How so?’ his mother said, arching her eyebrows. ‘Who, may I ask, is the lucky lady, and where is she at present?’

‘She ran off. But don’t worry, I’ll find her. I always do.’

He grimaced. Cora was determined to give him the slip, but he was equally determined to find her. He guessed that she’d left because she was afraid her identity might be discovered, and she had good reason. Jack didn’t know how far Rupert had got in his investigations, but if he’d also succeeded in uncovering who the thief was, he’d have to pay him for his silence.

However, he’d deal with that problem later.

His mother sent him a startled look. ‘Ran off? You’re not intending to wed a lady against her will, I hope.’

‘It’s complicated, but she does need a little persuading. And she’s no lady,’ Jack added.

‘Is she a merchant’s daughter, perchance? Or the vicar’s eldest? I do recall you were rather taken with her beauty as some point.’

‘No, Mother. Cora Mardell is from a labouring family, or at least that’s how she was reared.’

‘The lower classes?’ The countess stared at him. ‘I understand that young people may wish to marry for love, but would a lady of good breeding not be more appropriate? Then your wife would belong to the same sphere as you. There’s also a bride’s dowry to consider; an estate is expensive to run, and an injection of cash is always welcome. One day, when your father is … gone you will have to carry the burden of that responsibility. Do not dismiss it lightly. However lovely this young woman is.’

‘She has no dowry, that’s true, but there’s more to it than that.’

‘More!’ she exclaimed. ‘Dear Jack, you’re the next in line to an earldom, and you wish to marry a low-born girl. What could be more inappropriate?’

‘I’m convinced she’s not low-born at all.’

‘You’re
convinced?
Pray, is there some doubt about the lady’s parentage?’

‘I believe she is the daughter of Captain Blythe, father’s cousin. The resemblance between them is too striking to ignore.’

‘So, in addition to belonging to the lower classes she’s also illegitimate.’

The countess’s voice rose a notch, but Jack chose to ignore it. ‘Not only do I believe her to be his child, I have cause to believe that she’s also the daughter of Lady Heston.’

‘Lady Heston? But she has only sons.’

‘I’m referring to the first Lady Heston,’ Jack explained. ‘The one who ran away after the birth of her child.’

‘But the baby died!’

Jack shook his head. ‘Cora’s father, the man who brought her up as his own, switched the babies that night.’ Jack pushed his fingers through his hair, piqued that the discussion wasn’t going quite as he had hoped. He’d never thought his mother a snob, but perhaps he’d been mistaken. ‘So although Cora’s not a lady by birth, she’s a lady by blood.’

His mother rose abruptly, her face drained of colour. ‘You cannot marry this girl.’

‘I understand that you and Father might be worried about the scandal, but no one need know her true parentage. She’s the daughter of a man named Ned Mardell and I would marry her under that name, so …’

‘You cannot marry her,’ the countess repeated. ‘It is impossible!’

‘Impossible? Because she’s low-born? It may be unusual, but surely it’s not unheard of.’

‘It has nothing to do with her social class. It—’ The countess brought her hand to her mouth. ‘Your father and I … we … Oh, this is too much to bear!’

Puzzled and with a growing sense of unease, Jack rose too and took her hands in his. ‘What is too much to bear? It cannot be that bad.’

The countess wrenched away. ‘Your father and I weren’t always happy.’

‘I have often sensed a strained relationship between you, but how is this relevant? Are you not happy together now?’ His observations had pained him, and he truly hoped their relationship had improved.

His mother looked back at him with a sad smile, the same smile he had seen at the mausoleum. ‘Yes, for the most part. Ours was an arranged marriage, as I’m sure you must know, and although the choice of husband wasn’t mine, I believed it imperative, as my parents did, that a woman should marry well. I put all thoughts of my preferred beau from my mind, but I believe your father was still in love with another when we married. It saddened me, but I did all I could to be a dutiful and loving wife in the hope that he would come around in time. Then, to our great joy we had you, and later little Henry.’

Jack swallowed hard. Although he had been but five years old at the time of Henry’s death, the reminder of his family’s loss always brought a lump to his throat.

‘There was a time after little Henry died that I … Well, the thought of losing another child caused me so much anguish that I rejected my husband. I know he sought comfort in the arms of another – he had a man’s needs after all – and I’ve always suspected he took up again with the lady whom he’d loved before our marriage.’

‘Who was this lady?’

‘Oh, dear Jack,’ she said and reached out to caress his cheek. ‘Will you not sit?’

‘If it pleases you, Mother, but only if you sit with me.’

Having made sure his mother was comfortable, he sat down beside her. ‘Please continue,’ he said, trying to keep his voice level; his mother had alarmed him with her reaction. ‘Who was my father’s lover?’

‘He never said, and I never pressed him. Only that she was the wife of someone in our close acquaintance. When Lady Heston took flight in the middle of the night with her newborn babe, and Geoffrey seemed so affected by her death, I … well, I drew my own conclusions.’

A sliver of ice ran down Jack’s spine as her words sank in. Cora bore a striking likeness to the captain, but there were similarities to his own father too. He had thought this merely due to the fact his father and the captain were cousins, but what his mother had just said gave it a whole new significance. His father had been unfaithful to his mother with the wife of a close acquaintance. What if …

The blood left his face as realisation ripped into him. There could be no happy ending for him and Cora, only the shame and pain of incest, inadvertently committed, but committed all the same. Unable to speak or think, or to perceive anything but ugliness and despair, he turned on his heel and left the rose garden to wander aimlessly through the park until the shadows grew long. By the time he finally turned in for the night his limbs were heavy and leaden, as if he’d aged ten years in a single day, but still only the one thought occupied his mind.

He had made love to his own sister.