The Highwayman's Daughter (22 page)

Watching Lord Heston from afar as he oversaw the harvest, Cora waited patiently for an opportunity to catch the man on his own. He spent most of the day in the company of Master Kit, and she was just about to give up when she saw him sending the young man on his way and rode off towards the apple orchard.

Cautiously, she followed Heston, taking care to stay out of his line of sight. Seemingly unaware of her presence, he inspected the apple trees, which had already begun to drop unripened fruit. Finally, as the day was drawing to a close, Lord Heston turned his horse around and began to make his way back to his estate.

Satisfied that he was alone, that her mask was in place and her pistol in working order, Cora pushed out from the cover of a densely laden apple tree and blocked his path.

‘I say, what’s the meaning of this? Am I to be held up on my own land? It’s an outrage!’

His words were impassioned, but his voice was cold, almost biting, and Cora felt a shiver run down her spine. She thought of her natural mother, a gentle and fever-sick lady, scared out of her wits by this man, and her resolve hardened. Pushing up her mask and with her eyes boring into his, she said, ‘I wish to speak to you, Lord Heston.’

‘I know you,’ he said and pointed an accusing finger at her. ‘You’re one of my labourers. I hardly think the likes of you can have anything to say to me which will be of interest.’

‘Actually, you might find that I do,’ Cora replied tersely. ‘The magistrate is holding a man in his cellar. My father, Ned Mardell, and he’s innocent of the charges laid against him. I want you to use your influence with the magistrate to ensure his release.’

Lord Heston regarded her as if struck dumb; then his laughter, low and menacing, echoed in the dusk. Cora’s pistol hand shook a little, but she willed it steady. She’d heard a thing or two about Lord Heston over the years, none of them particularly flattering, but to secure Ned’s release from prison she was willing to do a deal with the Devil himself.

‘Pray, why on Earth would I do such a thing?’ he said. ‘If your father’s been apprehended by the magistrate, it must be because he’s not as innocent as you suppose.’

It was as if Lord Heston could see right through her. Had she not thought so herself only recently; that Ned was not entirely innocent of wrong-doing? ‘Who is completely innocent,’ she countered, ‘except perhaps a newborn babe?’

Lord Heston’s eyes narrowed to mere slits as he studied her face, as if he wondered where she was going with this conversation.

‘Ned Mardell raised me as his daughter,’ Cora continued. ‘He gave me these items to use as leverage, claiming that they belonged to your first wife. The ring was a gift from you, I assume: it’s inscribed with a C.’ She held up the miniature and the ring. For a moment Lord Heston remained deadly quiet, and if Cora hadn’t made a habit of observing people, she could easily have overlooked his well-concealed agitation.

‘May I see?’ he said at length.

Moving closer, Cora handed him the items and then dug her pistol into his ribs.

‘There’s really no need for that, young lady. I have no intention of destroying your trinkets with a pistol aimed at my heart, which, by the way, is the least sensitive part of me.’

Cora retreated a little, seeing that he spoke a certain amount of sense, and allowed him to examine the miniature and the ring. Finally he handed them back to her with a shrug.

‘The miniature did indeed belong to my late wife. It was originally her mother’s, but upon her death it came to Sophia. The ring I’ve never seen before; I wasn’t aware that she owned such a sentimental piece of jewellery, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t. My former wife had many secrets. What I would like to know is how they came to be in your possession.’

‘Through the woman who called herself my mother,’ said Cora. ‘Sarah Duval. Your wife’s maid.’

This time there was no doubt he was rattled. His nostrils flared, and he gripped his horse’s reins so hard his hands shook. ‘Sarah Duval,’ he sneered. ‘That thieving, conniving floozie …’

‘Not so. She was a loving wife and mother,’ Cora countered, taken aback by the vehemence of his reaction to her foster-mother, who could have been nothing but a simple maid to him.

‘Tell me,’ he said, his voice once again under control, ‘why I should help anyone associated with that hussy? She’s brought me nothing but grief.’

‘Because not only am I the adopted child of Sarah Duval, I’m also the natural daughter of your first wife, Lady Sophia. These trinkets, as you call them, are proof of my identity.’

Lord Heston’s face turned ashen. ‘Her daughter? How? That’s not possible! The child died with her.’

Cora shook her head. ‘My father was … well, he was there, and he switched the babies because she implored him to.’ She levelled her pistol at him. ‘She feared what you might do to me when you discovered that I couldn’t possibly be yours.’

‘It’s nothing compared to what I might do to you now,’ he muttered with a curl of his lip. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘All I ask is that you get the man who has been my father these many years out of gaol. I’ve no intention of laying further claims on you or your property if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then I shall let it be known that you drove your wife to her death and buried the wrong child in the family plot. You’ll be a laughing stock.’

He glowered at her; then he shrugged. ‘Who would believe you? The word of a simple country girl against that of a respected nobleman? Anything you may choose to use as proof, like these trinkets here, are stolen goods belonging to my family’s estate – you’d be transported, I imagine. Or worse.’

Cora shivered but held her head high. ‘But
you
believe me?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘as a matter of fact, I do. I always knew Sophia must have taken a lover, although I never guessed his identity. They were far too careful for that. I can see now that you are indeed her daughter. There are … certain features, although your eyes are not from her. You’ll have a hard time proving it though, and features can be – how shall I put it? – “improved” upon. You may wish to consider that,’ he added with an unpleasant smile.

It took all the self-control Cora possessed not to shoot him there and then. The man was evil; she could sense it with her entire being, and the world would probably be a better place without him, but she was no murderess.

‘And the ring?’ she asked.

‘I’ve already told you, I didn’t give it to her. Her lover must have done, and I’m grateful to you for having provided me with his identity.’

Cora scoffed. ‘I’ve done nothing of the sort. But since my mother – both my mothers – are in their graves you cannot harm them. I’ve learned that I resemble Captain Blythe, the black sheep of the Lampton family, and I have no reason to doubt my source. The captain’s given name was Cecil – the C must refer to him, not you.’

‘Your powers of observation are quite remarkable, wench, but in this case I fear you may be wrong. It could be a C, but the script is so detailed it’s hard to tell.’ A knowing grin spilled across his lips, and he shrugged. ‘This looks more like a G to me.’

‘G? But who—’

‘Someone close to the captain, someone else with a family resemblance – his cousin, Geoffrey Blythe, perhaps. Also known as Lord Lampton.’

‘What did you say?’

Cora’s pistol hand started to shake again, and her finger tightened on the trigger, almost instinctively, but she willed herself to steady it. Another small smile from Lord Heston told her that her reaction hadn’t passed him by.
Damn him to Hell,
she thought.

‘I’m quite sure you heard every word, but I shall repeat them if you wish. I never saw Captain Blythe show any particular regard for Sophia, but Lampton was always very attentive to her. Perhaps you’re the daughter of my first wife and my neighbour, and not his cousin as you supposed.’

Cora stared at the ring; then back at Lord Heston, wide-eyed, as the implications hit her. Last night she and Jack had lain together; if what Lord Heston claimed was true, then that would mean … No, it couldn’t be true. She refused to believe it.

‘You’re lying!’ Even as she denied it, she felt herself crumble inside.

Lord Heston arched his eyebrows in query. ‘Why, you’ve gone quite pale. How can this new information possibly affect you? You should rejoice in your connections, however illegitimate. Now you can confront the earl about his shady past, and in return for your silence maybe he’ll secure your father’s release. And pay you handsomely too, no doubt.’

Gritting her teeth to regain her composure, she shot him a haughty look and pushed the vile thought aside. ‘I have no interest in money.’

‘No interest in money? Then you are but a fool. Only the dead can denounce Mammon quite so readily.’

She lowered her pistol although she kept it cocked and at the ready. ‘You may go.’

‘You’re not going to shoot me?’

‘Not today.’

He chuckled again, sending further shivers down Cora’s spine, and inclined his head in a mocking, exaggerated manner. ‘I thank you, madam, for sparing my life. In return I shall not inform the magistrate of your trespassing and threat to my person, but rest assured that, should our paths cross again, I will not be so indulgent next time.’

Calmly he turned his horse and rode off in the dusk without looking back. Cora couldn’t help feeling a grudging admiration for his nerve; he had no way of knowing whether she would shoot him in the back or not.

She had held her nerve with him, but his words had hit home. Fearing that she might be sick from their impact, she gripped Samson’s reins to steady herself.

Jack and she had made love not once but twice. He had planted his seed in her, perhaps starting a new life, and this gift of a child, even one born out of wedlock, would have been her comfort now that he was no longer part of her life. What should have been treasured as a joyful memory was now tarnished forever. If what Lord Heston claimed was true, Jack was her half-brother, and they had committed a terrible, terrible sin.

The thought left her numb, paralysed, her heart cold.

Cora rode without any clear idea of where she was going, but somehow she ended up in the forest, and at the earliest opportunity she slid off Samson’s back and collapsed against an old oak tree.

Her chest felt as if it was surrounded by bands of steel, squeezing hard, and the mere act of breathing was almost too much of an effort. She felt adrift on a sea of emotion with nothing to hold on to and longed desperately for Ned, who had always been a fixed point in her life.

But Ned wasn’t here to banish her turmoil. Nor could she lie to herself; she wanted Jack like she wanted no other, and if she had ever, deep inside her, felt a tiny glimmer of hope before of them being together, however unrealistic, it was now completely eradicated.

Nor could there be any joy at the thought of a child.

Hugging herself against the ache in her heart, her fingers brushed against the handle of one of the pistols tucked into her belt. She pulled it out and stared at it, weighing it in her hand.

Some people chose to end their lives when they suffered heartbreak.

For a long moment Cora sat there toying with the pistol, cocking and uncocking it absent-mindedly, and contemplating what would happen if she
did
turn it on herself. Jack would marry someone of his own station and forget about her. Lord Heston would live out his days with the bitter knowledge that his wife had cuckolded him by his nearest neighbour. It would serve him right. Her father would be freed, and Martha would look after him, she had no doubt of it. Not many would bemoan the loss of a pauper turned highwaywoman; instead scores would rejoice that the road was a safer place.

The thought that she could be carrying a child stayed her hand against this momentary madness. A child, regardless of the circumstances of its conception, was a precious gift. Even if she couldn’t look after it herself, she had a duty to bring it to term and then place it with a loving foster-family, just as she herself had been. A small sob escaped her at the thought of having to give up the only thing from Jack which could truly belong to her, but she had to find a way to cope somehow.

Shaking with emotion, she fumbled to return the pistol to her belt. Just then she felt a hard nudge on her shoulder, and thus unbalanced, she accidentally pressed the trigger. The shot went into the tree behind her in a shower of dry bark and lichen, echoing in the evening air and startling a handful of nesting crows.

Shocked, she dropped the pistol. On her right Samson snorted and scraped the leaf litter; then he brought his hoof down on her shin.

‘Oww!’ Cora scrambled to her feet. ‘Why, you miserable creature!’

Samson snorted again, a low throaty sound almost like a purr, and headbutted her gently.

‘I ought to make mincemeat out of you,’ Cora muttered, rubbing the place where Samson had clipped her. ‘You … you crazy animal. I could’ve shot you. Or myself.’ She shuddered at the thought.

And why am I talking to a horse?

Taking Samson by the bridle, she rested her head against his mane, and for a fleeting moment it was as if Uncle George was with her.
Thank you,
she thought.
Thank you for making me see sense
. Life was far too precious to throw away; the way George’s life had been cut short was testament to that.

Resolutely she got back on her horse and rode back to Martha’s cottage.

‘Cora, my dear, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Martha opened the door cautiously to Cora’s gentle knocking. The cottage lay in darkness and no fire was lit. ‘And where’ve you been all day?’

Cora slid in through the narrow gap and dumped a sack on the table. ‘I’ve been checking Ned’s traps,’ she said, not meeting Martha’s eyes, ‘and I found Samson. Right where I thought he’d be, munching the lord’s corn.’

‘Aye, that one’s a clever beast and no mistake,’ Martha muttered. ‘Helped hisself to half of me turnips without as much as a by your leave. Where’ve ye put him? Away from me vegetables I hope.’

‘Tied to a tree about fifty yards from here,’ Cora replied and sank down in Martha’s only chair. ‘And he certainly is clever.’

Martha bustled about the room lighting a couple of tallow candles without speaking, and Cora was thankful for that. Sighing, she covered her eyes with her hands.

‘There, there, my dear, ye mustn’t despair.’ Martha put her arm around Cora and squeezed her shoulder. ‘There’s ’ope yet. It so ’appens that a young lad they’ve got tending to your father is friendly with one of me grandchildren. Wesley’s his name, and ’e’ll be here any minute.’

Just then there was a cautious knock on the door. Cora stiffened but Martha opened it, unconcerned. A boy of about fifteen slipped in through the gap and gave Martha a quick hug; he stepped back self-consciously when he noticed Cora and yanked off his hat. Cora saw fair skin, dark hair and blue eyes, although it was difficult to tell in the smoke from the candles.

Wesley gave a brief account of how he had found her father last. He described Ned as being ‘comfortable’, but he kept staring at his boots while he spoke, and Cora was overcome by misgivings.

As much as she loathed the idea, she had thought of following Lord Heston’s advice and confronting the earl with her new-found knowledge in order to secure Ned’s release, but there was no telling how
he
would react, and she might find herself in the same dungeon as Ned come morning.

If only there was some way she could get to see him tonight.

As if Martha had read her thoughts, she said, ‘Wesley ’ere can get you in to see your father if you like.’

‘Go to see him? Now?’ Cora asked. ‘Won’t they wonder at the lateness of the hour?’

‘They might, miss,’ said Wesley, ‘but earlier I left the slop bucket in the room where your father is being kept, sort of by design, if you get my meaning, and seeing as this is Sir Blencowe’s wine cellar, he wouldn’t want anything noxious down there for too long. Mighty proud of his collection o’ bottles, is Sir Blencowe. You and I look a fair bit alike: in the dark the constable won’t be able to tell one from the other.’

Wesley’s face split into a grin, and Cora couldn’t help smiling back, despite her inner turmoil. It might just work. Then she had another idea.

‘If it’s possible to get in to see my father, is it possible to get him out, do you think?’

The boy thought for a moment. ‘Aye, it’s possible. The magistrate’s house was an inn once, and there’s still a trap door there where they used to deliver casks of ale and the like, but I’m not sure it’s such a good idea,’ he added and exchanged a look with Mrs Wilton.

‘Nonsense.’ With new energy flowing through her veins, Cora stood up abruptly. ‘If it’s at all possible, I intend to get my father out now. By the time they discover that he’s fled, we’ll be long gone. And trust me: I’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble for this.’

Wesley shrugged. ‘Oh, don’t worry about me, miss. I know how to look dumb.’

Later Martha drew her tattered shawl closer around her and watched Cora prepare to leave with her grandson’s friend.

‘In the light from the moon, ye young’uns look like nothing so much as a pair of rascally lads off on a midnight adventure,’ the old woman said. ‘If only your errand was as innocent as that.’ She shook her head.

They said their goodbyes, Cora for good this time. Time was of the essence, and sentimentality would serve no other purpose than to delay. Cora had packed her few belongings and some simple provisions, and saddled her horse. She’d changed into her own clothes and given Martha the too-large jacket she had been wearing.

‘Good quality wool,’ Martha muttered. ‘Should fetch a tidy sum at the market.’

Reluctantly Cora let go of it. The jacket had been soft and warm, and the weight of it on her shoulders reminded her of Jack’s arm around her, of the way he had held her close after she’d been attacked. No one other than Ned had ever held her like that before, both gently and protectively, and now she could lose them both.

If Martha noticed her reluctance to part with it, she was wise enough not to enquire further.

‘The good Lord go with ye both and keep ye safe,’ she said instead.

‘Halt! Who goes there?’

The constable outside the magistrate’s house lifted his lantern and squinted into the darkness. Wearing Wesley’s hat, Cora stepped forward and into the light.

‘It’s Wesley, sir. I’m here to empty the prisoner’s slop bucket.’

‘Weren’t you here earlier, lad?’

‘Yes, sir, and I plain forgot,’ Cora replied.

‘Well, I’m sure it can wait till the morning.’

‘But, sir, the magistrate will get ever so cross with me. It’s his wine cellar down there, and I’m charged with looking after it for him and keeping it clean. Can’t have no noxious odours mixin’ with his precious bottles, that’s what ’e’d say. I don’t want ter lose me job, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to tell him that you wouldn’t let me go down there, sir.’

Frowning, the constable considered this for a moment. ‘Oh, all right then,’ he grumbled and lowered the lantern, ‘but be quick about it. This ain’t no inn, and the prisoner ain’t no gentleman with servants dancing attendance. He’s a criminal, and it’s high time he felt the consequences of being on the wrong side of the law.’

He motioned for Cora to follow him around to the trap door by the side of the house, just as Cora had hoped. He slid back the bolt and opened the heavy doors upwards, then handed her the lantern.

‘There you go, lad. Now do what you came for and begone with ye. I ain’t got all night.’

Cora slipped down the narrow staircase to the cellar and heard the bolt being driven home.

‘Bang on the hatch when you’ve finished,’ the constable shouted through the heavy wooden doors.

‘Will do, sir.’ Cora listened as his footsteps disappeared; then with a grin she clutched the bunch of keys she had managed to unhook from the belt of the unsuspecting man. Wesley had explained the layout of the magistrate’s residence to her and told her which keys would get her from the wine cellar to the rest of the house.

That boy will go far,
she thought.

Holding up the lantern, she spied a lumpy shape on the floor against the cellar’s back wall.

On the floor. Against a damp wall. Had they no heart?

She rushed to her father’s side, unprepared for what she saw. It was Ned, all right, but he was barely recognisable. Someone, the constable’s men no doubt, had beaten his gentle face to a pulp; his eyes were swollen, his nose broken and encrusted with dried blood, and his clothing torn.

Instinctively, she cried out in anguish and rage. This was
her
fault and hers alone. This had happened because
she
had been foolish and not listened to those who knew better. Damn it all, why hadn’t she heeded Ned’s words?

Ned stirred. ‘Is that you, Wesley, my boy?’

His words were slurred, as if he had been drinking, but although he was kept in a wine cellar, Cora saw no evidence to support that.

‘No, it’s me, Father,’ Cora replied, taking his hand in hers with a strange sense of
déjà vu
. Another prison, another broken man. She shook herself. Ned’s life wasn’t over yet, but she had to hurry. No time for bemoaning fate. They had to leave, and quickly.

‘Cora?’ Ned fought in vain to sit up, and she put her arm under him for support.

‘I’ve come to get you out.’

‘No!’ Ned tried to pull away. ‘You mustn’t be here. It’s too dangerous. They’re still out there looking for you.’

‘And I’m in here pretending to be Wesley.’ Cora smiled and rattled the keys. ‘With the constable’s keys.’

Despite being in obvious pain Ned chuckled. ‘Always the resourceful one, eh? But I have to disappoint you. I’m not sure I can walk.’

‘You don’t have to walk very far, Father. Wesley’s waiting with Samson a couple of houses away from here. I’ve packed and I’m ready to go. I suggest we take the road east towards London; they’ll be expecting us to go west. We can hide with a contact of Mr Isaacs until we can get passage on a ship. We could go to Spain; we still have a few coins left,’ she added, ignoring his penetrating gaze. ‘So you see, I’ve got it all worked out. We’ll be so happy in Spain, I’m sure of it.’

Ned smiled indulgently; then he sighed. ‘I’m not well, Cora. Surely you know that?’

‘What’s a few cuts and bruises? You’ll soon get better, and the sun will do you good.’

‘Inside, Cora. I’m not well inside. It’s my lungs, and my heart. And I couldn’t leave your mother. Don’t ask me to.’

But Mother is dead,
she wanted to say. Fear snaked up her spine at the thought that Ned’s mind might be ailing as well.

Still with her arm supporting him, she said, ‘Can you stand?’

‘Aye, I think so.’

Helping him up, Cora expected to be weighed down by his body, but it shocked her that she was able to support his frame without problems. It was as if half of her father had melted into nothing.

No time to think about that now. She helped him to a set of stone stairs, which led up to the kitchen. Here she let him rest on the bottom step while she unlocked the door at the top, and then returned to help him up the stairs, locking the cellar door behind them. With her arm around his scrawny waist, she led him through the scullery, where pots and pans had been left upside down on the draining board to dry.

Ned stumbled and knocked against one of the pots. Supporting her father with one arm and holding the keys in the other, Cora watched in horror as the pot wobbled precariously before settling back on the draining board with a muffled thump.

Unaware that she had been holding her breath, Cora let out a sigh of relief. ‘Just as well the cook and the scullery maid sleep upstairs. Wesley told me.’

‘Observant lad,’ Ned remarked with a tired grin.

‘He certainly is.’

She unlocked the back door, and they found themselves in Sir Blencowe’s overgrown garden, which offered plenty of shelter against the moonlight. Cora’s heart sang with joy.

Ned was free.

They found Wesley at the agreed rendezvous. Together they helped Ned into the saddle, and Cora took Samson by the reins. She handed Wesley his hat back, and, reluctantly, the keys. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if you came with us?’ she asked the boy.