The Silverton Scandal Read online

  ‘Here,’ she said to the matron, dropping the apple back into the basket, ‘you lost this.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, my dear,’ said the matron. ‘Though a lost apple’s the least of our worries.’ She glanced at the highwayman, who watched impassively as the final passenger, Mr Kendrick, climbed out of the coach.

  Once all the passengers were clear of the coach, he said tersely, ‘Over there.’

  Controlling his dancing horse with light hands he motioned them to join the other passengers and the coachmen, who were standing at the side of the road.

  ‘Now. Your valuables,’ he said. He dismounted in one lithe movement. ‘You there,’ he called to the stout matron. ‘Empty your basket.’

  The matron, flustered, started to do as he said, but she was so nervous that she dropped it.

  He took a step towards her, but Eleanor was too quick for him. Stepping protectively in front of the quivering matron she said, ‘Leave her alone.’

  She spoke boldly, but as soon as she had started to speak a part of her was already beginning to regret it. The highwayman was large and dark. Now that she was standing in front of him she could tell that he was over six feet tall. His black cloak accentuated his broad shoulders, and beneath it he was dressed all in black. A black coat was pulled across his chest and tight black breeches were stretched over his muscular thighs. He was strong and commanding. And dangerous.

  He stopped dead and fixed his eyes on her, and her heart began to pound. Nevertheless she held her ground.

  ‘Can’t you see she’s frightened?’ Eleanor demanded, knowing she must speak before her courage deserted her.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Whereas you, it would seem, are not.’

  She looked at him defiantly, whilst all the time knowing that he could not be more wrong. But she was determined not to show it.

  ‘I have never been afraid of bullies,’ she declared.

  His body tensed and she knew she had hit a nerve. His jaw set, and his hands - large, strong hands – tightened around the handles of his pistols.

  ‘Bullies?’ he said, and there was a perilous edge to his voice.

  ‘Yes. Bullies. Or perhaps you think that holding up a coach full of clergymen, women and young boys is a sign of bravery?’ she enquired.

  She could feel the tension in him growing, just as she could feel her fellow passengers’ amazement. All conversation, muted and rebellious though it had been, ceased. The night was suddenly silent.

  ‘Sometimes . . .’

  The highwayman’s voice was so soft and husky that she could barely hear him.

  ‘ . . . such actions are necessary.’

  She wondered whether she could have heard him properly. His remark was so unexpected that she was momentarily disconcerted. She had expected him to brag about his exploit, or perhaps laugh mockingly and push her aside, but instead his reply had been enigmatic. There was something unfathomable about his words. It was as though they contained a hidden meaning, but what could it be?

  A moment later she took control of herself. That was nonsense. She was letting his magnetism cloud her judgement. For there was no denying the fact that he was magnetic. Something about him, something beyond his tall lithe body and harsh blue eyes, compelled her attention.

  Was it his stance? she wondered. It was strong and powerful, like the man himself. Or was it the force she felt emanating from him? Or was it something more nebulous, and yet real for all that? A mixture of mystery and intrigue that enveloped him as surely as his cloak?

  Angrily she shook away her unsettling thoughts. Despite his magnetism, he was a common highwayman, and she had better not forget it.

  ‘I’m glad you’re not afraid,’ he said at last. His shoulders relaxed, and his voice lost some of its tension. ‘I need someone to help me, and you’ve just elected yourself. Empty the basket and follow me with it.’ Without waiting for an answer he turned his attention to the other travellers. ‘You will drop your valuables in the basket as I walk down the line, and then take three steps back. Do you understand?’

  There was a murmur of rebellion from the young men, but although several of them bunched their fists, and one even took half a step forwards, they wilted beneath his gaze. One by one they muttered a reluctant agreement.

  ‘Good.’ His tone relented slightly. ‘Do as I say and you will have nothing to fear.’

  The fact that his attention was momentarily on her fellow travellers did not escape Eleanor’s notice. With a further spurt of rashness she asked herself whether she would be able to disarm him. She had no intention of helping him to rob her fellow travellers if she could avoid it, but reluctantly she realized that disarming him was out of the question.

  Even if she managed to knock one of the pistols from his hand he would still have the other one, and he would be prepared to use it. But if she went along with him for the time being, then a better opportunity to foil him might present itself.

  She bent down and picked up the matron’s basket. Carefully setting the contents - a couple of jars of home-made jam, a shawl, a large bag of apples and a cushion - on to the ground she reluctantly followed the highwayman.

  The highwayman, meantime, had walked up to the first of the passengers, a young gentleman who had been sitting on the roof.

  ‘Hand over your valuables,’ he commanded.

  The young man snarled but he emptied his pockets nevertheless, dropping a collection of sovereigns into Eleanor’s basket with a chink.

  ‘And the rest,’ remarked the highwayman.

  The young man glowered, but he pulled off his gold signet ring and dropped it on top of the sovereigns, then followed it with his fob watch.

  One by one the passengers emptied their pockets and purses, dropping first money and then watches, bracelets and necklaces into the basket. The young men on the roof were followed by the clergyman and then the matron, leaving Mr Kendrick until last.

  Eleanor tensed as the highwayman drew level with him. Would Mr Kendrick open his case?

  She felt her pulse begin to quicken. If she was lucky, the unexpected hold-up might offer her a chance of rescuing Arabella’s letters without having to speak to Mr Kendrick at all. If the letters were in the case she might find an opportunity to seize them when Mr Kendrick’s attention was elsewhere, for she felt sure the highwayman would have no interest in them.

  As Mr Kendrick began to empty his pockets she held her breath. He handed over a considerable amount of money, together with his watch and a gold ring, dropping them into her by-now almost full basket, but he did not open the case.

  Would the highwayman care? He had what he wanted. Perhaps he would not trouble himself over it. Eleanor glanced towards him, to see that his gaze had dropped to the slim leather case.

  ‘What’s inside?’

  ‘Nothing of any interest.’ Mr Kendrick spoke smoothly, but there was something wary about him.

  ‘Open it.’

  The highwayman’s command was curt.

  Mr Kendrick made no move to do so, which surprised Eleanor. As a blackmailer, she had assumed he would be a coward, but there was a look of determination on his face that made her reconsider and she wondered how the encounter would progress.

  She looked from Mr Kendrick to the highwayman, who was just as determined.

  She looked back to Mr Kendrick and saw Mr Kendrick’s expression alter slightly.

  He is going to try and reason with him, she thought.

  ‘The case contains nothing of value,’ said Mr Kendrick evenly. ‘Just some business documents. They would be of no interest to you.’

  The temperature dropped by several degrees. An icy wind sprang up and whipped at the hem of the highwayman’s cloak, blowing it out around him and making him look even larger than before.

  ‘Open it,’ he said again.

  When Mr Kendrick did not comply, the highwayman slipped one pistol into the top of his breeches and with his free hand grasped the case, but still Mr Kendrick held it tight.

&
nbsp; There was a tense moment as the two men’s eyes met.

  ‘Nothing of value, eh?’ said the highwayman. He gave it a tug. ‘Then you won’t mind parting with it.’

  ‘The documents are of value to me,’ said Mr Kendrick desperately. ‘I don’t want to lose them. They would be very difficult to replace. But they would be worth nothing to anyone else.’

  The highwayman’s eyes hardened. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ He wrenched the case out of Mr Kendrick’s grip. Still holding the case, the highwayman glanced at the basket, which glittered and glimmered with gold and diamonds. ‘A worthy haul. And now, ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your co-operation, and I will be on my way.’

  He turned to Eleanor, and she held out the basket to him. He was holding the case in one hand, however, and a pistol in the other, so that instead of taking it he said, ‘You will carry it for me.’

  He inclined his head in the direction of his horse, a magnificent black stallion that stood snorting nearby.

  Eleanor hesitated. It was not a peaceable-looking animal, and she was afraid to go too close.

  ‘Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you,’ came the highwayman’s soft voice. Then, sardonically, he said, ‘he is not as dangerous as I am.’

  The mocking tone in his voice stiffened Eleanor’s spine and gave her all the courage she needed. Squaring her shoulders, she went over to the horse.

  The highwayman followed her, walking backwards and keeping the pistol levelled at the other passengers to hold them at bay.

  ‘Now, take the contents of the basket and put them into my saddlebags,’ he said. ‘Split the contents evenly between the two and fasten them when you have done.’

  He spoke in an aside. His attention was still on the coachmen and travellers, who were beginning to look mutinous.

  Eleanor cast a covert glance towards the pistol that was tucked into the top of his breeches. If she made a grab for it then he, with a pistol in one hand and the case in the other, would not be able to stop her. He might, it was true, level his own pistol at her, but if her hand was on the other one . . . Tucked into his breeches as it was, she felt sure he would not take the chance of her pulling the trigger.

  She summoned her courage and, without giving herself time to think about it, she passed the basket into her left hand and reached for his pistol with her right.

  Quicker than thought he dropped the case and before she knew what was happening his fingers had closed tightly over her own. Her hand might be on the pistol . . . but his hand was on hers.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

  His voice was level but it held an edge of steel.

  Eleanor swallowed. She wished she could threaten to shoot, but he had been too quick for her, and although her hand rested on the handle, her finger was nowhere near the trigger. Loth though she was to admit it, she was beaten.

  ‘It was a good try,’ he said, his fingers still closed about her own. ‘But let me give you a word of warning. If you ever find yourself faced with a highwayman again, don’t attempt such a rash action. Another highwayman might not be as . . . forgiving . . . as I am.’

  Then his strong hand closed more firmly around her fingers and he prised them loose.

  Eleanor instinctively glanced down. His hand was large. The long fingers tapered towards the end. Her own hand, enclosed within it, looked tiny. The sight made her feel vulnerable. She tried to draw her hand back, but instead of letting it go he held onto it. He ought by rights to have relinquished it. Once he had prised her fingers loose of the pistol he should have let them go. But instead he held them in his own. Through her glove, and through his glove, she was aware of the touch of his fingers. It was firm and hard . . . and it burned.

  Her eyes widened, and without her volition they raised to his own. Their gazes met and she saw that, beneath their steeliness, his eyes were as blue as a summer sky. Dark brows arched over them, and a lock of black hair fell across his forehead.

  His fingers once again locked around her own, but this time there was a gentleness that had not been there before, and in a surprisingly courtly gesture he lifted her hand.

  She froze, held motionless by some strange force that robbed her of control of her body, and without realizing what she was doing she held her breath. It was only for a moment, but a moment was all he needed. Bending his head, he brushed his mouth over the back of her hand. She gasped as a sudden crackle of energy ran over her skin. It caused her eyes to widen as they were held by his. She saw his eyes smoulder, and knew by the sudden fire that he had felt the potent force as well.

  And then she began to regain her senses. The incident had been strange and disturbing. If she had experienced such a strong reaction when any other man had kissed her hand she would have found it exhilarating, but to have it happen with a highwayman . . . it was mortifying.

  In confusion, she tried to reclaim her hand. For a moment he held on to it, but then he allowed it to slide through his fingers. Even so, his eyes continued to gaze into hers. Then, with a last steely glance, he grasped the basket and emptied the contents into his saddlebag before casting it aside.

  Eleanor stepped back.

  ‘As for your purse,’ he said.

  She lifted her chin. Her purse contained fifty guineas, the remnants of a legacy, and it was all she and Arabella possessed. She must hold onto it if she was to have a chance of buying back Arabella’s letters.

  But instead of demanding it, his eyes danced. ‘You can keep it,’ he said.

  With one last burning glance he mounted his horse and rode away.

  She watched him go. Despite her horror at what he had done, she could not tear her eyes away from him.

  Once he had disappeared from view, she became aware that a hubbub had broken out amongst the passengers. One of the young men from the roof was demanding that the coachman should follow the highwayman.

  ‘With what?’ snorted the coachman, hands on hips.

  The other passengers were beginning to take sides, some unreasonably demanding that the coachman follow the highwayman, whilst others were demanding to be taken on their way.

  ‘Unharness a horse!’ said the young man, already running towards one.

  ‘It is too late for that, my son,’ said the clergyman, putting a hand on his arm. ‘Never fear, the good lord will make sure he doesn’t escape his punishment.’

  ‘Pah!’ The young man shook off the clergyman.

  ‘You’ll never catch him on one of those, Mark,’ said another young gentlemen. ‘Didn’t you see what he was riding? The devil certainly knows his horse flesh. He’ll be miles away before you can get one of the carriage horses out of the traces.’

  The young man cursed, letting go of the harness in frustration. ‘The one time I win at cards, and that . . . ’

  The clergyman coughed meaningfully.

  ‘That rascal,’ said the young man, glancing towards the ladies and swallowing down the more forthright word he had been about to use, ‘has to take every sovereign.’

  Eleanor was by now standing next to Mr Kendrick.

  ‘I hope you didn’t lose anything too important,’ she said, hoping against hope that he might be unsettled enough to tell her what had been in the case, for if he let slip that the letters had been there then Arabella was safe.

  But she was not to be so fortunate. Mr Kendrick did not look perturbed. ‘No,’ he replied.

  ‘It must be worse to lose papers than money,’ she ventured, determined to make the most of the opportunity that had presented itself. ‘I know how hard letters are to replace.’

  Unfortunately, Mr Kendrick did not rise to her bait. Eleanor gave an inward sigh. She had hoped to startle him into some kind of admission but she was no further forward than she had been an hour ago. There was only one thing for it. She would have to broach the subject directly. Seizing the moment she opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Mr Kendrick excused himself and went over to the coachman, lending him a hand in calming the horses,
which had become skittish during the incident.

  Eleanor resigned herself to the fact that she would have to wait until the coach stopped at the next coaching inn before she could speak to Mr Kendrick in private.

  As soon as the horses were calmed, the coachman became business-like once again.

  ‘All aboard,’ he called, climbing onto the box. ‘We’ve lost enough time as it is.’

  The passengers responded quickly, boarding the coach with a minimum of fuss and settling themselves once more in their seats. Eleanor had just taken her place when the coach gave a lurch and then it pulled away.

  ‘I want to thank you, my dear,’ said the stout matron as they set off again. ‘If you hadn’t come to my rescue I don’t know what I would have done.’

  ‘These are lawless times we live in,’ said the clergyman, shaking his head. ‘It’s all the fault of Napoleon. He’s taken our best men away from us. They’re all fighting on the continent.’

  The matron nodded. ‘Sam, my youngest - and never a better boy drew breath - has gone for a soldier. Fighting for king and country, he is.’

  ‘And my nephew,’ remarked the clergyman.

  The hold-up provided a fruitful source of gossip, with much exclaiming on the state of the country, the iniquities of the criminal classes, and the bravery of the fine young men who had joined the army in order to stop the Corsican monster in his tracks.

  The coach continued on its way across the countryside, finally pulling into the yard of the respectable coaching inn. It was a long, low half-timbered building and the passengers climbed out. Mr Kendrick looked as though he was about to go into the inn when suddenly he changed his mind and headed towards the road.

  Eleanor followed.

  Twilight had fallen, but lanterns had been lit to counteract the gathering gloom, and she saw him weave his way in and out of the post boys, past a carriage whose horses were being changed, and on to where a private carriage was just waiting to turn out into the road. He glanced quickly to left and right, then climbed into the carriage and it pulled away.

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Eleanor in frustration.