The Highwayman (Rakes and Rogues of the Restoration Book 3) (8 page)

Swift Nick had frequented them all, but Jack hunted only on the North Road. There were not many men of his height and bearing, and it wouldn’t do for the two of them to be recognized in the same place and as the same person. The good-natured king who had pardoned him once, was unlikely to be amused.

Leave the lass to London then, and her spinster’s ways, a pity though it be.
He settled back in the saddle and the mare slowed to an easy canter they could both sustain for miles. Bess was built for endurance and speed and he’d not rushed her on the journey south, yet even she had her limits, and he promised her a rest and himself too, once this last task was done. Maybe after, he would go and see Peg, a pretty tavern wench from up the road who’d given him the eye more than once. He’d been keeping to himself too much of late. Perhaps she’d be of a mind to accompany him to the next public dance. His inexplicable attraction to a frumpish old maid, who longed to serve on grand juries and fight crime as a parish constable, only proved he’d been without female companionship far too long.

Yawning, he slowed Bess to a walk and allowed himself a short nap, trusting to the mare’s surefootedness and good sense. As he nodded off, he dreamt of being arrested by a green-eyed
feme sole,
and held captive by honeyed kisses and a soft embrace.

~

Jack passed through Nottingham along the broad market road with its pillared walkway about an hour before dawn. The industrious would be waking soon, and the drunks had gone to bed. The usually bustling town was still, almost as if it were holding its breath, waiting for the day to begin, and the steady clopping of Bess’s hooves echoed eerily down the empty street. He loved these dreamlike moments peculiar to the night, when the world around him seemed to slow and stop and reveal itself as something new.

Leaving Notts behind, he forded the Trent and pressed on––his destination just an hour down the road. A heavy band of low-level cloud was fast approaching, and by the time he reached the farmhouse the wind was howling and he was cold and drenched. He settled Bess in a stall piled high with fresh straw, rubbing her down, checking her hooves, and leaving her oats and water. Inside the house, two guards were passed-out drunk over a heavy trestle table littered with cards and spilled drinks. Another with a bloody nose lay unconscious on the floor.

A carroty-pated, bacon-fed fellow slumped in the room’s only comfortable piece of furniture, an oversized, overstuffed armchair set before the hearth. A well placed kick started the fire back to life, and two fresh logs soon had it roaring. Jack tapped the oblivious occupant’s boot with his own, and then hauled him up by the front of his shirt and dragged him to a pile of sacking in the corner. He threw back a shot of reasonably good brandy, tore off a hunk of cheese and bread, and settled in front of the fire with his long legs stretched out to enjoy the heat. A moment later, he was asleep.

He awoke to the feel of Rat-faced Perry’s pistol pressed tight against his right temple.

“Morning, Jack,” the little man said in a menacing tone. “What brings you here to burn my wood, eat my food and drink my liquor? I don’t recall issuing an invitation.”

Jack yawned, turning into the gun barrel as he shifted to look at his host. “Yours is only half-cocked,” he said with a slight smile. “Feel mine. It’s bigger than yours, and fully cocked and loaded.” The pistol, which had been hidden within the folds of his cloak wedged tight against Perry’s scrotum. “I wonder which of us would miss our respective body parts the most, should an unintended accident occur?” His voice was cool and amused.

Perry prodded Jack’s head once with the barrel. “Some say you make no use of this at all.” He lowered his weapon and dropped it in his pocket.

“Aye I’ve heard as much myself. And some say the same of you.” Jack pulled the hammer back to half-cocked and raised his own pistol so it pointed to the ceiling. “You’re a jumpy fellow, Perry. Though I’ll not blame you for that given what sorry men you have. I might have been the devil himself and nary a one of them would have noticed. ’Tis no excuse for being so mean with your hospitality, though. Some morning ale would not go amiss.”

“Aye? Been about some thirsty work, have you?”

“No more so than usual.”

“You’re getting careless, I’d say, Jack. You slept through the messenger that just woke me. Someone stole the girl.”

“Is that so? It seems your friend has a hard time keeping track of his women.”

“Why don’t you join me in my office? It’s private there.”

Perry’s office was tasteful and understated, with golden oak paneling and such refinements as a globe, books, and a pendulum clock. They seemed rather odd pretensions for a criminal overlord and whoremaster, but for some odd reason, Jack found it rather endearing. Someone had furnished ale, meat, and bread, and he reached for a loaf. He often forgot to eat and sleep when wrapped up in an adventure.

He didn’t flinch when the rat-faced man drove a dagger between the splayed fingers of his left hand, but nodded and took it, using it to stab a tender piece of capon. “Thank you, Perry.”

“Was it you took that girl, Jack?”

“Why would I do such a thing?”

“You’re known to get odd notions from time to time.”

Jack shrugged. “I was paid to deliver her, and deliver her I did. But I’d have a care, were I in your shoes, Perry.”

“Eh? Is that a threat?”

“Just a friendly warning. What do you know about this fellow, really?”

“I know he’s a Sir, Jack. A fellow might expect a man such as yourself to recognize such things.”

“Pah! He’s no better than you or me, man. Like recognizes like. We’re as much gentleman as he is. A minor knight perhaps, a baronet at best—but a commoner for all that, and she a lady. There was something wrong about it, I tell you.” Jack tapped his nose and gave the other man a knowing look.

“He owns a manor house, Jack. He gave me three thousand pounds.”

“You own a manor house, Perry. But it doesn’t make you a fine lord now, does it? We both know you’re as crooked as sin. Your cove might be flush in the pocket at the moment, but some men drop that at the gaming tables in an evening, easy. Why I’ve done so a time or two myself. And when they can find naught but their fingers in their pockets, what do they do? They rob, or they cheat, or if they can pass as a gentleman, steal themselves an heiress or an inheritance, don’t they? Think about it.
Cousin
, she called him.”

“What’s all that to me?” Perry huffed.

Jack leaned his elbows on the table, beckoning him closer. “What if there
were
an inheritance, and the girl turns up dead?” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “A countess in her own right she was. Rich and titled. Did you know that? Not the sort that disappears without someone asking questions. You held her here a few days, didn’t you? He arranged for you to abduct her. Doubtless, he arranged for witnesses too. Who better to blame if some ill befalls her, than you?” Jack reached across the table and patted Perry’s cheek. “Or
me
....I would take it very personal if it were me.” The menace in his voice was unmistakable.

Perry blanched. “Jack, I swear I—”

Jack held a finger to his lips in a gesture for silence. “So now we best undo any damage that might have been done, eh? Sadly, given our respective professions, a judge might be inclined to take his word over yours or mine. Unless....” He paused, drumming the table with his fingers.

“Unless what?”

“Unless others knew him for the nasty sort he really was. I can arrange for that, my dear, in exchange for a nice wheel of your excellent cheese, the three thousand pounds he paid you, and—”

Perry, whiskers quivering, too outraged to speak, banged the table and squeaked repeatedly as he turned an alarming shade of red.

Jack held up a warning hand. When he spoke, there was a hard edge to his voice. “I have never killed an innocent, Perry. You endangered my good name. Through avarice or stupidity, I neither know nor care. No man profits from hazarding me…but me. There are other ways we might settle the matter of course, but I suggest you think of it as recompense, apology, or a gesture of goodwill. We understand each other, don’t we?”

Perry muttered something under his breath about hell-born babes as Jack poured them both brimming tankards of ale.

“Excellent! I am delighted we could come to an accord. I shall see to it that
Sir Robert
… is recognized for the villain he is, and when you hear the news, you will put it about, with the appropriate amount of shock and horror, that he has come to you many times in the past seeking to pawn his plate and jewels. Naturally, you took him as an honest country squire caught at low ebb, as happens to many a gentleman in these evil times.”

“And just what is it
you’re
going to do?” Perry asked sourly.

Jack rose and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry about that. You tend to your knitting, Perry. And I’ll tend to mine.”

Observation, instinct, and quick and calm assessment were the keys to survival in a dangerous world, things Jack had learned from his earliest years. Though he tended to keep his true thoughts to himself and greeted all men with civility, he could usually tell with a quick glance and a firm handshake what weapon they used, their temperament and skill, and whether they carried anything worth stealing.

He had not been gulling Perry. What he had told the man was true. It had not been difficult to read Robert Hammond. The man was avaricious, cold, and capable of murder if the girl had proven too stubborn, and he had no doubt the intrepid Arabella could be very stubborn indeed. He wondered if she had realized there had been more than her freedom and virtue at stake, or that now she had escaped the man, he would be more dangerous––not less.

He trusted Nate had understood the import of his request and would see to it that she was well guarded with reliable men, but he didn’t like leaving loose ends. Given his own role in her misadventure and the fact he’d taken on the responsibility to see her safe—a little something extra was both owed and required.

It had long stopped raining but was blustery still, when he sauntered into the Talbot later that afternoon. A swirl of dried gold and umber leaves entered with him, presaging an early fall. He clapped Allen on the back, and then put an arm around his shoulders and whispered something that sent the youth off on the run. Mrs. Winslow greeted him with a warm hug and a glass of mulled sack, Mr. Winslow, with a nod and a slight smile. Jack settled in a comfortable armchair by the fire in a well-appointed private sitting room on the second floor, and exhausted, fell asleep.

~

“Well, well, well!

Jack raised his head, looking up from beneath the brim of his hat at the tall, broad-shouldered, ruddy-faced fellow who was kicking his booted foot.

“A private sitting room! If you’re going to give yourself airs you might also try dressing up a bit. You’re the knight of the highway in these parts. You’ve a reputation to live up to yet you insist on looking like some tattered heathen philosopher, as dark and somber as a crow.”

Jack grinned as he looked his stylish companion up and down, noting his brushed pea-green embroidered coat, snow-white ruffled shirt, and silver powdered wig topped by hat trimmed with silver strings. It was said the man always carried three different colored wigs, claiming they were for purposes of trickery and disguise, but Jack knew it was to better match his coat and boots.

“Alas! As I could never hope to match you in resplendence, Richard, I have resolved never to try.” He rose and shook the man’s hand, taking his shoulder in a firm grip. Captain Richard Dudley, born to a very good family fallen on hard times after the civil war, had been serving unhappily in Tangier at the same time Jack, riding as Samuel Nicks, had volunteered there in lieu of transportation. Over long nights of drinking and cards they discovered they had both served in the same regiment in the Netherlands, and soon became good friends.

On their return to England, the captain’s penchant for extravagance and high living soon saw him taking to the highway himself. As he once confided to Jack, ‘I don't think I commit any sin in robbing a person of quality, because I keep pretty close to the text. Feed the hungry and send the rich away poor.’ Dudley was one of the few men Jack was comfortable working with. The other two were entering the room now, accompanied by the perpetually wide-eyed Allen and the ever-bustling Mrs. Winslow.

“You boys are just two hours late,” Jack said to Ned and Billy by way of greeting.

Ned, in a new scarlet coat, nearly rivaled the captain in sartorial splendor, but it was the feast that Mrs. Winslow was laying out on a sturdy oak table that drew everyone’s attention.

“Here you are, lads. A little snack to tide you over,” she said modestly as the serving maids set out plates of good beefsteak with potatoes, plum pudding, and ripe Cheshire cheese.

“Thank you, Maggie,” Jack said. “And bring us some of your knock down, if you please. Not the infant’s brew you’re serving downstairs.”

They tore into the meal, washing it down with pitchers of strong ale. Once they were chirping merry over the last few crumbs, Jack waved a reluctant Allen from the room, and they settled down to business.

“I won’t go after a pay wagon, lads. Every one of us has served. That’d be like stealing from our own.”

“But you’ve stolen from the king before,” Ned protested.

“His liquor. Not the money to pay his sailors, poor bastards. One can hardly move through London for them begging at one’s heels.”

“That’s the point, Jack,” Dudley said reasonably. “It will be a rich haul.”

“And well guarded,” Billy added morosely.

“You see? A challenge, Jack. You like those.” Dudley reached for more ale. “Besides, we all know the navy boys will never see it anyway. Charlie will use it to buy pretty baubles for his pretty dumplings, darling Nelly and the Duchess of Portsmouth. Besides…If you want our help with
your
mad scheme, you should offer something in return. There’s no money in it for us now, is there?”