The Highwayman's Daughter (9 page)

They needed to get as far away from the area as possible, and fast. Unfortunately, travelling required money, and although Cora still had a few guineas left she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Holding up another coach might bring some much needed funds, but dared she do it? If she did, she’d be taking an enormous risk with her own life, as well as Ned’s.

Fear settled like a hard lump in the pit of her stomach, coupled with wretchedness – because she couldn’t see any other way. Then she looked at Ned, saw his slumped shoulders and how his chest heaved from the exertions of packing, and made a difficult decision.

She thought of Lord Halliford. When he’d told her to go, she’d not hesitated for a moment, but her own reaction surprised her. Even though she was still shaken after her brush with the horse, she found herself examining her feelings for
him
more than the fact that she’d nearly died. The strength of his arm as he’d held back the horse, the heat from his lips when he kissed her hand, the humour in his eyes. Each fragmented scene repeated itself over and over in her mind.

She must have lost her mind. Lord Halliford had revealed that he knew her identity – knowledge that could mean the death of herself and her father. She knew that Ned would never survive seeing his only child hanged for robbery; if that happened, she’d have his demise on her conscience as well as all her other crimes.

It was an impossible situation.

And yet, when she’d looked into Lord Halliford’s eyes, she’d forgotten everything except the mad desire that swept through her. What was the matter with her? Was her brain addled? She could find no other reason for acting like such a fool. Well, no more.

A coughing fit from Ned brought her back to reality, and his frail, thin body was painful to behold. Cora helped him sit down, but – respectful of his dignity – she averted her eyes until he had the cough under control. It was some time before he was able to speak.

Ned turned a blind eye to her nightly excursions, pretending that he knew nothing of them, but the silent reproach in his eyes when she endangered herself said more than enough.

‘We’ll stay with Mrs Wilton,’ said Ned. ‘Her cottage is closer to the Bath Road, and we can travel as far as Longford tonight. I expect we’ll get passage from there to the West Country on the early coach.’

Cora nodded, although her mind wasn’t really on their travel plans. Fear still gripped her as she considered her scheme for another nightly excursion. It was too soon after her last hold-up, and the magistrate and his men were bound to be on high alert. Coach drivers would be armed, and passengers very likely too, but for Ned she would risk anything.

Rupert returned to the clearing in the woods with two loaded pistols and his rapier. The magistrate had proved to be immovable when Rupert had tried to persuade him, bellowing than he couldn’t arrest all and sundry based on a mere hunch and accusing Rupert of wasting his time. In the end Rupert had decided that a gentleman like himself, well-versed in the use of a pistol and a blade, would be enough of a match for a woman and a couple of ruffians.

However, the place was deserted.

Hell and damnation!
Frustrated, Rupert slammed the door to the cottage so hard one of the rusty hinges came loose from the door jamb. He should have cornered the woman while he had the chance. Now he didn’t even have a name and not a clue as to where she’d gone.

He could stake out the cottage again in case they returned, or he could take himself off to Newgate to see the condemned highwayman in the hope that he might provide a clue to where the woman and her accomplices might go. It would require a certain amount of finesse, but he already had an idea.

Jack couldn’t sleep. His mind stayed focused on what had happened earlier – the chase through town, the near-fatal accident with the coach, but most of all his own reaction to the highwaywoman. After tossing and turning for hours, trying unsuccessfully to relax, he finally gave up and pushed the covers aside. He put on a robe and retreated to the window seat, where he stared out into the night.

But he wasn’t taking in the beauty of the starry sky or the perfect full moon, which shone like a pale silver disc. Before his eyes was the face of Miss Mardell. He ran his hands through his hair, and then cursed loudly when they reached where his queue had been.
Confounded hoyden!
But he had to smile at her audacity: she was magnificent.

Frowning again, he channelled his thoughts back to the woman’s face, and her eyes in particular. The colour of her irises was unusual, a light grey-blue, like the moon above him. But it was something more than just her eye colour that was fascinating him: it was the combination of those eyes, her hair, and her build too. He was sure he’d seen that combination somewhere before, but where? Why did it tug at his memory so?

He jolted upright and nearly tumbled off the window seat when the answer came to him. After dressing quickly, he lit a candle and left the room.
The two springer spaniels, Lady and Duke, who slept outside his bedroom door, stretched, yawned and then followed him eagerly, tails wagging. Jack bent down and fondled the ears of one of them, a tan and white female with deep brown eyes and a chocolate-coloured nose.

Lady had been with him from when she was a puppy, and she was an excellent hunting dog. She had borne him two litters, of which he had kept only Duke. In contrast to his mother, Duke had a lot to learn; he moved hither and thither on the carpeted stairwell as if pretending to be on the scent of something – hell, anything! – to please his master.

Jack gave a sharp command. ‘Here, Duke, heel!’

The spaniel slunk back to his side with a sheepish expression, and with a friendly nudge Lady put her offspring in his place.

With purposeful strides Jack made his way to the family portrait gallery with the dogs trotting at his heels. When he got there, he ignored the paintings on the walls, depicting illustrious ancestors of both sexes, and traversed the length of the elegant room to a narrow door hidden in the panelling.
It had no handle, but as the son and heir of the Earl of Lampton, he knew the secret of the opening mechanism. All he had to do was insert one finger into what looked like a fault in the wood and the door opened.

As a mark of the housekeeper’s efficiency the well-oiled lock sprang open without a sound and, ordering the dogs to lie down in the gallery, Jack stepped inside the small storage room. It smelled faintly musty, and he resolved to do something about the dampness in the room at the first opportunity.

The room housed the china and silver service the Blythe family used only for special occasions, together with a couple of large vases, a dining chair in need of reupholstering, and extra candle-holders.

There was also a large painting facing the wall which had been placed here around the time Rupert and Alethea came to live with them. The only reason he knew about its existence was because he used to hide from his governess in the store cupboard when she wanted to test him on his Latin verbs. Jack turned it around and put it on the dining chair, then held up his candle to study it more closely. The gilded pinewood frame had been attacked by woodworm, the paint was peeling, and in places it looked as if mice had been feasting on the canvas, but the face of person in the portrait was discernible enough. Captain Cecil Francis Blythe: the earl’s first cousin, the black sheep of the family – and Rupert and Alethea’s father.

And there, at last, was the answer to Jack’s conundrum – the captain had luminous grey-blue eyes, so dazzling it was as if the painting had its own source of light. Just like Miss Mardell. In his mind’s eye he recalled their intensity when she had met his gaze, demurely at the apothecary’s, flashing with defiance in the yard of the coaching inn, and alight with longing matching his own after he’d rescued her from being trampled by the horses.

From their first encounter he had sensed a special bond between them, and here was the evidence that his mind hadn’t been playing tricks on him – as well as the answer to why the memory of her eyes had kept him awake. Not only did they hold a special beauty for him because they belonged to her, but it would also seem that she might be distantly related to him, albeit on the wrong side of the blanket. The colour was surely too unusual for it to be a coincidence, and thinking about it, Miss Mardell bore a certain resemblance to Alethea as well – the black curly hair; the tall, slender frame and the magnolia skin.

Jack frowned as wonder at his discovery turned to shock and anger on Miss Mardell’s behalf. Who was her mother, and how exactly did she know the captain?

I can guess,
he thought with a contemptuous snort. Miss Mardell was clearly poor: if they were related, then someone in his family must have done wrong by her. His father had taken Rupert and Alethea under his wing on the death of their parents so perhaps if there was a family connection he could be persuaded to show Miss Mardell some generosity too, that way she wouldn’t have to risk her life trying to provide for her family.

But if they were related, would this get in the way of his budding friendship with Miss Mardell? If her mother had been wronged by the captain, Miss Mardell would likely resent his family, and rightly so. For her sake he needed to get to the bottom of this and prise some information out of his father. A secret like this was bound to be known to the head of the family.

Unfortunately the earl was called away on business to London, and it wasn’t until late the following evening that Jack finally had a chance to speak to his father alone. The earl had retired to the library and looked up when Jack entered this sacred space. Bookcases of carved mahogany with glass doors lined the room, a large roll-top desk stood against the wall between two large windows, and a colourful Turkish rug lay in the centre of the floor. Jack breathed in the scent of leather from the many bound volumes on the shelves, and was immediately transported back to his childhood, when, on a rare occasion, he had been allowed to sit with his father in the study, reverently turning the pages of one of the precious books.

This evening, however, he noticed the piles of paper on the earl’s normally tidy desk, and for the first time it struck him perhaps his father might be finding it difficult to keep on top of the paperwork. The earl was getting old.

His father sat in a wing chair in front of the marble chimney piece. A decanter and two glasses stood on a side table of gilded pinewood between the chairs.

‘What’s on your mind, Jack?’ he asked. He dropped the book of poetry he was reading into his lap and regarded his son expectantly.

Having had the possible connection between his father’s cousin and the highwaywoman on his mind all day, Jack was momentarily at a loss how to begin. He poured himself a brandy from the decanter and dropped down in a chair opposite the earl. Swirling the brandy in his glass, he took a sip and looked at the fire. Flames were licking an oak log, and the only sound in the room was the faint hissing of the tree sap.

This was his father’s world; a genteel existence, a place to retire after having diligently performed his daily duties and safe-guarded the family inheritance. A fire in the summer months was the earl’s only real extravagance; he enjoyed his books and the quietude of the library, as well the congenial company of his family and the challenges of running a busy estate; he was not a dissolute
man.

Jack had a terrible feeling that bringing up the subject of a family by-blow, and what was morally owed to her, would upset the apple cart.

‘Tell me about your cousin, the captain, Rupert and Alethea’s father,’ he said at last.

The earl looked startled. ‘My cousin? What makes you ask that?’

‘I would like to know everything you’d care to tell me about him. I know he did something unforgivable, and you don’t like him mentioned, but as your heir I think I have a right to know what that was.’

The earl sighed. ‘Well, I suppose questions were bound to be raised one day, although I had expected it to be Rupert or Alethea asking them, not you.’

He paused and took a hearty swig from his glass; then he stared into the fire for a long time, as if painful memories made talking difficult. Finally, he said, ‘Since you’re the first to ask, I will answer you, but you must promise me that you won’t share what I say with your cousins. I think it’s only fair they hear the story from me.’

‘You have my word,’ said Jack.

‘Well, as you know, before you were born Cecil was first in line to inherit from me – he was my first cousin and the only other Blythe male alive. I must say, your birth came as a great relief; I’m afraid Cecil was the last person I would’ve wanted to hand the earldom to.’

Jack leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Why? What happened?’

‘I didn’t take you for a dimwit, son,’ said the earl. ‘There was a scandal.’

‘What sort of scandal? A woman?’ Jack’s face reddened a little from his father’s gentle rebuke.

The earl swirled the brandy in his glass and stared into the fire again. ‘Affairs of the heart,’ he mused, ‘can have disastrous consequences. And yes, a woman was partly to blame, the catalyst, perhaps. It’s a terrible thing, being in love with the wrong person.’

Jack shrugged to hide his embarrassment at the turn the conversation had taken. ‘I wouldn’t know, sir.’

‘Never been in love?’ The earl eyed his son quizzically, but Jack thought he detected an element of concern too.

‘In lust, perhaps. Not love.’ He was not yet decided about his feelings for Miss Mardell, but whether it was love or lust, his father would no doubt judge her to be the
wrong person
.

‘Lust, yes.’ His father grinned, but then his smile faded. ‘That’s very different to love. Love can make even the sanest person
non compos mentis
. Anyway, the lady married her betrothed and Cecil went abroad, in the hope that he would forget her. Sadly, it had the opposite effect. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” I’m sure you’ve heard that expression.’

Jack nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘At first I thought all would be well. Cecil later married Elizabeth, and … er, Rupert was born. Cecil’s wife was a little beauty and I foolishly thought he’d chosen her because she made him forget his former love. I was mistaken.’

‘How so?’

‘Rupert’s mother may have been lovely, but she was a biddable little thing who never questioned anything he did; she was the perfect wife for him. And while she sat at home with the newborn Rupert, Cecil was planning to elope with the married woman whom he desired above all.’ The earl sighed and stared into the fire. ‘It was a damnable business.’

‘What happened next? Did he father an illegitimate child by this woman?’

Lord Lampton frowned. ‘What makes you ask that?’

‘Oh, just a guess.’

‘Well, I think he might have. The woman he loved was locked in her room until the birth of the baby, at which point she seems to have escaped, but she died from complications of the birth, and the child with her. A tragic outcome.’

Jack was listening intently, but the story wasn’t developing quite the way he’d envisaged. If the captain’s child had died, he was still no nearer to finding out how Cora fitted in the picture. ‘Could he have fathered more than one?’

‘If so, I have no knowledge of it.’

‘And what then?’

‘Cecil had been embezzling funds to finance their elopement; when this was discovered, he was arrested. He made Elizabeth, pregnant with Alethea, bring him a pistol, and shot himself in gaol before he could be punished. Best thing for him, really, but it created quite a scandal, as you can imagine. For Rupert and Thea’s sake, we never speak of it.’

Jack sat back in his chair. From the little information he’d had, he’d only known his father’s cousin had died suddenly. Hearing that it was suicide, and in prison too, shook him more than he’d thought possible, and it took a moment before he could speak again. ‘And who was the woman your cousin loved? The one who died?’

‘It’s better you don’t know. It’s all in the past and forgotten now.’

‘Maybe not.’ Jack clenched his fists in his lap as he recalled Miss Mardell’s eyes.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The highw— a young woman, a local woman, who I, eh, have become acquainted with recently, has the same eyes as your cousin Cecil – very light grey-blue, almost translucent. Surely that can’t be a coincidence?’

‘The devil you say!’ The earl turned to his son, visibly startled.

Taken aback by this sudden change in his father’s countenance, Jack asked, ‘Do you know her, sir?’

‘No, not at all. How could I?’ The earl swirled the brandy in his glass and then took a hefty swig. ‘But it is undeniably curious. Perhaps Cecil sowed a few other wild oats in his time.’

‘Yes, perhaps.’ Jack decided to let the subject drop. He’d learned all he could for now and he sensed there was no point pressing his father for more answers. Perhaps he’d try again another day. He was still curious as to who Cecil’s lover might have been, and his father’s reaction when he’d mentioned Miss Mardell’s eyes had also intrigued him. When he tracked her down again, he had a few questions for her too.

Rupert had never been to the notorious Newgate Prison, although he had driven past it a few times. The smell was legendary. It was said that shopkeepers never stood in the doorways nor displayed wares outside due to the unsavoury atmosphere in the vicinity of the prison, and Rupert certainly saw no evidence to challenge this account.

The prison was situated on the corner of Newgate Street and Old Bailey, just inside the City of London, so the traffic was heavy when they arrived. Rupert left his man-servant, Hodges,
to find them a suitable inn and asked him to return and wait for him when he had done so.

He pulled a scented handkerchief out of his pocket and held it up to cover his nose, although it did little to hold the incredible stench of human filth at bay. He walked through the old city gate, with its fabled portcullis rising four storeys high between two crenellated towers, and continued on to the keeper’s house, where, for a few coins, his wish to see the condemned prisoner known as Gentleman George was granted.