The Birth of Blue Satan (31 page)

The rain had mercifully stopped near noon, but it had delayed them by an hour or more. Isabella, on whom the motion of the carriage had begun to wear, had begged her new husband to let them put up for the night in a village nearer than Cranbrook. She had cajoled him with the promise of their conjugal bed, seeming to look forward to a resumption of the previous night’s activities even more than Harrowby did.

But on this he had shown a degree of firmness Hester had never witnessed in him before, since he was absolutely convinced that there was no inn between Tunbridge and the George in Cranbrook that could provide the level of comfort he required.

The length of the journey began to wear on them all. Even Isabella and Harrowby could not keep up a lewd banter forever, not when they had enjoyed so little sleep.

Quiet eventually fell. Isabella and her mother settled their heads to rest, and Harrowby dropped his jaw in a doze. Hester used this first peaceful silence to peer through the marvelous glass on Lord Hawkhurst’s coach to gaze on the rolling hills and thickening woods of the Kentish countryside.

The woods had grown denser with every mile, and she understood herself now to be in the Weald, or the Wild of Kent. Having come from a county in which a tree was scarcely to be seen, she had been astonished by the number of ancient oaks, elms, and beeches and the wooded acres that seemed to cover leagues. The trees stood so tightly compressed in places that her eyes could not penetrate beyond the first few feet. Their branches, most still leafless from the winter, often met overhead. Whenever this occurred, daylight nearly vanished, due to the number and thickness of the limbs. Although by now Hester had accustomed herself to these eerie changes, she realized that the present dearth of light was due more to the lateness of the hour. Night was fast coming on. If Cranbrook lay more than a few miles farther on, they would not reach the inn before dark.

The carriage plunged into a particularly deep rut, throwing them all off balance. It was all the four could do to keep from falling on one another. Then, before they could recapture their seats, a loud shout, followed closely by a pistol shot, startled them from outside.

As they gripped their benches, hoping for the reassuring sound of their coachman’s voice, they heard a blast from the blunderbuss. It rocked the carriage before two more pistol pops assaulted their ears. Isabella shrieked and grabbed for Harrowby’s hand. A deep voice ordered, “Hands up!” And something clattered as it hit the ground.

“Good lord!” Turning pale, Harrowby looked about the carriage as if searching for a place to hide. “
Banditti
, by gad!”

The coach had rolled to a stop. The silence from their servants seemed ominous. Then the door flew open, they all gasped, and a polite voice said, “Ladies, may I beg you to step down?”

Something in the voice caused a tingle in Hester’s spine—more than just surprise at being addressed in such a polite manner by a highway robber.

But she could not see him because the door was hinged on her side. Isabella could, and something about him made her shrink back against the cushions, calling on Harrowby to protect her.

Hester had never been stopped by a highwayman before, though their numbers were alarming in the heaths and the woods about London. Each time a merchant or person of consequence was held up, there was a flurry of debate. Demands for a real police force, a hue and cry, and indignant reports from the people who had been robbed died down only to be repeated at the next offence.

Hester felt a shove in the small of her back. “You go first!” Mrs. Mayfield hissed from beside her.

As the one nearest the door, Hester had no hesitation in going. Her curiosity was nearly as great as her fear. So she gathered her skirts and bent to pass through the door.

She felt a shock when a man gently took her arm to help her down. She glanced up and saw a masked face, the point of a dark cocked hat, and a pair of startling blue eyes. She could not be certain in the evening light, but they appeared to be friendly.

Her heart gave an unreasoning skip. She felt she had seen those eyes before.

As the man released her to help her aunt step down, she turned to examine him from the rear. He wore the most elegant cloak she had ever seen, with three huge shoulder capes, in a remarkable blue tint.

“Madame . . .” He handed her aunt away from the door, then reached in for Isabella.

“Better step back!” a gruff voice shouted at Hester and her aunt from the right.

Startled, they turned to see a second man mounted on a horse in front of their coach. The coachman, guard, and postilions had all climbed down to stand with their hands in the air. This man had them covered with one pistol. The other was trained their way.

“Scoundrels!” Mrs. Mayfield yelled like a fishwife. “You shall both be hanged for this!”

The more courteous of the two begged her not to be afraid. He spoke tensely, as if he waited for something important. “You will not be harmed, but you must do as we wish.”

Harrowby had begun to descend, and as his head emerged from the coach, he made a shaky attempt at joviality. “Never travel with money, y’know. I’ve heard stories about you chaps. You may take what little there is and be off. It won’t do to frighten the ladies, y’ know.”

This diverted their highwayman. “In that case, you will not object if I check your pockets myself.”

The man on the horse loudly cleared his throat. Hester was surprised to see a disapproving frown on his lips. She quickly returned her gaze in time to see the man in blue roughly turning out Harrowby’s pockets.

“Hey, there! Impudent fellow! You will be called to account for this!”

“Undoubtedly, but the temptation is much too great. What have we here? A gold watch and a signet ring? These will do very nicely, along with your purse. And you must have forgotten these guineas in your waistcoat pocket, for I’m certain you wouldn’t have lied to me, when if I were angered, I just might shoot you.”

“No! That is—yes, yes! Take the guineas and begone! But you should leave me the signet ring—it was just bequeathed to me.”

Their robber went still. In a moment he spoke, in a voice that chilled her. “But I have conceived quite a fancy for this ring. I am sure you would not wish to refuse it to me. Would you?”

“No—take the blasted thing! And I hope they hang you for it! I had heard that you chaps comported yourselves in a gentleman-like manner, but I can see that it was all a hum! Just let me go!”

“Not so fast.” With a bow full of irony, the highwayman took a few steps back from him. Then he purposefully turned towards Isabella, and his mocking smile softened until Hester could see both yearning and passion on his lips. She felt a powerful jolt as she recognized St. Mars.

She couldn’t tell if Isabella knew him or not, but as he moved towards her, the girl let out a terrified shriek. “Harrowby, help!”

Her terror startled St. Mars. He halted, then started towards her again, his arms outstretched. Hester heard him whisper, “Isabella, do not be afraid.”

Hester doubted she heard him before shrieking louder and backing away. He halted again, stunned. Then, as his mouth turned fierce, he grabbed her by the shoulders, as if he would shake her to death.

Isabella fainted in his arms, and her mother screamed.

Hester started forward to help, but a shout from the other man stopped her. Bleeding inwardly at the grief on St. Mars’s lips, she called gently to him, “Please, sir. It will be of no use. She has given—she has nothing left to give you.”

Then she added, in a voice she hoped that only he could hear, “They are already married.”

She hoped he realized that she knew him, but that he must no longer hope for Isabella’s love. Isabella had made her choice, no matter how foolish it was. He would not be able to shake her into loving him.

Still holding onto her cousin, he gazed quickly up at Hester. The moon had risen, breaking over the trees to cast a soft glow of light. He must have seen the plea on her face, for he gave a sudden hard nod—a gesture that hovered half way between fury and heartache—before scooping Isabella up and in two quick strides, replacing her in the carriage.

Mrs. Mayfield, who had been too startled for speech, uttered a hysterical cry.

Harrowby had started an ineffectual protest the moment the robber had touched his wife, and now he said on a gasp of relief, “Oh, I say!”

Abruptly turning his back on those two, St. Mars strode by Hester without even a glance her way. She felt the punishment of having been the one to tell him. The weight of his disappointment pressed a dull pain inside her breast.

They watched him quickly climb into the saddle of a waiting horse and signal to his friend. The other man turned in their direction, his pistols lowered. Hester ached, fearing she would never see St. Mars again.

Then, before anyone could budge, St. Mars spurred his horse in her direction, swooped down, and grabbed her by the waist. She felt the air being knocked from her lungs, her feet leaving the ground, a turn in mid-air, and the connection with his pommel as she was swept up into his arms. In a wink she had flown to the back of a horse and was galloping away through the trees.

Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains,

And mighty hearts are held in slender chains.

Say why are Beauties praised and honoured most,

The wise man’s passion, and the vain man’s toast?

Why decked with all that land and sea afford,

Why Angels called, and Angel-like adored?

Why round our coaches crowd the white-gloved Beaux,

Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows;

How vain are all these glories, all our pains,

Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains:

That men may say, when we the front-box grace,

‘Behold the first in virtue as in face!’

CHAPTER 15

     It had all happened so fast that Hester had barely had time to register the shock on her companions’ faces.

     With the breath knocked out of her, she gasped for air and felt St. Mars’s strength holding her on, as the trees flew past them and the wind whipped her hair into her face.

They had not gone far before he slowed to a more rocking gait, and she could begin to feel the thrill of resting within his arms.

He had one crossed in front of her breast. His other moved against her back as he directed the reins. To keep from falling, she had to lean into his chest. Not daring to peer up, she remembered the look he had given as he had ridden towards her.

For one instant—and one instant only—she feared what that determined look might mean.

Before too long—in fact, in much too short a time to suit Hester—they emerged into a clearing where St. Mars paused. He spun his horse around once, as if to check the area before bringing it to a halt. Then he jumped to the ground and reached up to swing her down.

“Sir?”

Hester had forgotten the other rider until she heard his horse crackling through the brush behind her.

“Take Penny and walk her. I would like to speak to Mrs. Kean.”

He
had
understood. Her shoulders, which had grown taut, relaxed.

“Is this a good idea, sir?” The servant lingered.

“Whether it is or not doesn’t concern me right now. Please leave us alone.”

“Yessir.”

The man, who was clearly a servant, took St. Mars’s reins and led both horses away. As their hoofbeats faded behind some trees, St. Mars ripped off his mask and hat, tossed them down, and started to pace. She could just make out his features, lit by a three-quarter moon.

The shadowy clearing was small. He could only take a few steps before being forced to retrace them. He paced them again and again, never looking up or uttering a word. Even the open air seemed too confined for him. Like Mrs. Mayfield’s parlour, it was too constricted to contain his energy. But at least the walls of this room were trees, its ceiling the sky, and its plaster branches of leaves. He belonged out of doors in a way he had never seemed to inside.

Through the dark, Hester made out the black ribbon that confined his hair at the nape of his neck. Having never seen him without a brown wig, she was struck by how handsome he was with his own fair hair worn in such a casual fashion. He seemed unaware of his magnificent cloak as it swirled about his limbs at every turn.

“She did not know me,” he said in a strangled voice. “She should at least have known me.”

He did not speak again for what seemed a long while, then suddenly, he glanced up and around as if searching for something he had forgotten.

“I’m very sorry,” he said. He averted his gaze, as if only now regretting his impulsive behaviour. “I have no chair to offer you but that fallen tree over there.”

Hester looked in the direction he indicated and spied a large trunk on the ground. She thanked him and walked the few steps to settle herself on it. In truth, the last quarter-hour had been so exciting, she was relieved not to have to stand.

Her calm reaction to his invitation seemed to soothe him. But she had no sooner sat than St. Mars resumed his pacing.

After a few more minutes of silence, Hester offered, “You have my sympathy, my lord. I can only imagine the disappointments and shock you have suffered in the past several days.”

He gave a mirthless laugh as he glanced up in the dark. “Disappointments and shock—you put that quite accurately, Mrs. Kean. Tell me—how long has
your
cousin preferred
mine
for a husband? Did her love for him begin the instant he gained my fortune, or am I to believe that his manners were always more engaging than mine?”

Hester had prepared herself for the question, but his bitterness still had the power to make her wince. “As strange as it may seem, my lord, Isabella has always evidenced a certain preference for Sir Harrowby.”

He halted as if she had slapped him. Then, after a moment’s pause, he spoke in a humbler tone. “I hope you will pardon me, Mrs. Kean. I seem to have expressed myself in an abominably conceited way. I did not mean to suggest that anyone should prefer me to my cousin.”