‘Are we there yet?’ said Robert,
gazing out the little window.
‘Well, Robert, what do you think?’
said Henry. If you didn’t know they were brothers, you could guess from the
tone of voice – that, and the teeth.
Murray smiled politely at the
couple opposite before turning to stare out the window on his side again. A
stagecoach, even a relatively modern one like this, only sat four on the
inside. He knew it was only because the man opposite had managed to negotiate a
reduction in the fare that Murray and the two boys were being tolerated. They
were not there yet.
If it were not for the steady,
soaking rain, he and the boys would be on the roof. If it were not for the
boys, he would be on the roof in the steady, soaking rain. The roof was empty
and the air was fresh. His current income would qualify him for the roof, but
as tutor to Robert and Henry he was obliged to stay indoors with them: his rank
as gentleman qualified him for indoors, though his father had not spoken to him
for three years and he had visited neither the family estate nor the big house
in Edinburgh in that time. Regardless of social status, the motion of the coach
made him too nauseous to read, so he was trying to keep himself amused by a
series of songs and poems in his head. The couple opposite, a father and
daughter, had not proved great company: the daughter’s admiring glance had
taken in his dark hair and healthy height, while the father’s had dismissed him
as an upper servant. There was little privacy in a coach compartment, and their
conversation had been carried out in mutters, bad tempered on his part, and
conciliatory on hers.
‘It’s going to cost a lot to marry
off you two girls,’ he grumbled. ‘You think I’m made of money – how that could
be after supporting the two of you all these years? Ribbons and gowns and
bonnets and all that rubbish.’
‘Then how much better it will be
for you if we marry?’ asked the girl. It seemed to be an old argument.
‘How can that be? For if you marry
a poor man you’ll keep begging from me, and if you marry a rich one he’ll
expect a fine dowry. Though at least that would be the end of it,’ he added
more mildly. ‘Cathie’s the bonny one – she’ll have to find a fine husband. You
can keep me in my old age. You’ll be cheaper than a housekeeper.’
The daughter had turned a little
pink, and avoided Murray’s eye. She leaned towards Henry who was bent over a
narrow book of route maps as well as a brown-backed book on, apparently,
wildfowl.
‘So how far are we?’ the daughter
asked with a thin smile. She had a broad-browed, bony face like her father’s,
and crinkly red hair that probably did as it pleased. Henry looked up at her
from his map book, and pointed silently to a wiggling black line. Robert
glanced over his shoulder and hissed with exasperation. He hated being cooped
in: Henry did not mind, but was sulking because his new ferret was in a box on
the roof, banned from travelling on his lap. If he was not being paid quite
generously to be their tutor, Murray would have abandoned them some time ago.
‘Oh, I don’t fancy this bit!’ said
the daughter. ‘I’ve heard there are highwaymen here!’
Robert immediately brightened: the
father scowled.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Emma. In
broad daylight?’
Even as he spoke, the coach lurched
to a halt.
‘Stand and deliver!’ came a clear,
sharp voice from outside.
‘Boys, stay here.’ Murray slipped
the catch and jumped out of the coach. The road was narrow, but in a curve of
rock there stood, indeed, a man on horseback, wearing a tight black mask and
pointing a pair of pistols. The coachman was staring at him as if in a dwam.
‘Are you a real highwayman?’ asked
Robert. He was already standing beside Murray.
‘I thought I told you to stay in
the coach?’ He pushed Robert behind him.
‘Oh, sir, you really couldn’t
expect him to obey an order like that,’ said Henry, also emerging. It was a
fair point.
‘And don’t reach for your guns,’
the highwayman snapped at the coachman, who instantly raised his hands
obediently. ‘I want all your valuables.’
‘Emma, do not leave this coach!’
The daughter was now pushing her
way out of the compartment, fighting with her skirts. She took one look at the
highwayman and fainted, neatly avoiding a puddle. Her father, peering out like
Mr. Punch from the booth, began shouting and swearing both at the highwayman
and, apparently, at his daughter, who did not move.
‘He’s killed the ugly woman!’ cried
Robert. ‘Hit him, Mr. Murray!’
‘You will not take my money, you
filthy fiend!’ cried the old man. ‘Get up, Emma, he must not take my money!’
‘Robert, be quiet, unless you want
to be shot,’ said Murray, and grabbed him before the boy lunged at the
highwayman himself.
‘We don’t really have any
valuables,’ said Henry politely, ‘except for some books, and I assume you are
not particularly interested in those. I have a shilling, though.’ He fished it
from his waistcoat pocket, and stepped forward to present it to the highwayman
like a gratuity. Murray wondered if Henry was brave or simply lacked
imagination. The highwayman seemed puzzled, too, but he dropped one pistol into
a pocket, took the shilling and slipped it into a saddlebag. Then he swung
himself off the horse, and strode over to the coach, stepping carefully around
the prone Emma. He reached inside, grabbed the old man by the collar and pulled
him out, ignoring his hoarse protests, then felt inside again and found the two
small leather boxes Emma had brought into the coach with her: typical ladies’
travelling jewel boxes, he was able to pin them under one arm while still
holding the pistol in his other hand. He kept the pistol directed roughly at
the travellers while he pushed the boxes into his saddlebags. Murray tried to
memorise something of his appearance: the man was quite tall and well-built,
and surely that was a little dark hair at his neck, between mask and neck
cloth? The horse, a fine one but more used, Murray gauged, to the shafts than
the saddle, stood a little bored, pawing one hoof gently on the ground. The
horse was black except for that foot: it was white, in a little frill around the
hoof like a lace cuff.
The old man was keeping up a
remarkable flow of complaint and profanity, competing with the glamorous
highwayman for Robert’s admiration. The highwayman, with gritted teeth,
finished packing his saddlebags, then crossed to the old man and slapped him
hard with his empty hand. The old man’s eyes nearly popped out of his head:
clearly he had never been so affronted in his life. Then the highwayman leaned
over Emma and grabbed her, not so roughly, by the chin, turning her face
upwards.
‘Fainted, that’s all,’ he remarked
generally. He returned to his horse, which stirred itself into some interest in
the proceedings, slipped up easily into the saddle, waved his pistol at them as
a final warning, and galloped off ahead of them down the road, quickly
disappearing round a bend between the rocky walls.
The silence was broken by a groan
from the daughter, who stirred a little. Murray at last let go of Robert and
went to help her up.
‘I hope you are all right?’ he
asked, and noticed, as she straightened her cloak, that she was wearing a
rather fine ruby necklace around her sturdy neck.
‘We have been robbed!’ she cried,
catching up quickly.
‘I am afraid he took both your
jewel boxes.’
‘Careless of you, Emma,’ said her
father, recovering from the shock of his insult. ‘Why you had to bring them
both with you I do not know. They will not be replaced, not by me. Fortunately
he took fright before he found my money.’
‘Why did you not punch him, Mr.
Murray? Why did you not try to stop him?’ demanded Robert.
‘A fist is of limited use against a
pistol, Robert, and I had no wish to provoke him into shooting anyone. Who
knows, he might have shot you. Besides ...’ He had not been robbed by a
highwayman before, but he had a niggling feeling that there had been something
not quite right about this one. He stared away down the road to where the
highwayman had disappeared.
They arrived at the next village
somewhat subdued.
‘Nearly home, then, Father!’ said
the daughter with brittle cheeriness.
‘You live here?’ Murray asked.
‘Nearby. Our man should be here to meet
us.’
‘You’ll want to report the theft to
the sheriff, though,’ Murray suggested.
‘Oh, aye,’ said the man, with
emphasis. ‘Rascal has my jewels. Slapped my face, as if I was some cheeky miss.
I’ll see him hanged.’
‘He was going to shoot me, Mr.
Murray said so!’ Robert felt privileged.
‘He was not going to shoot you,
Robert,’ said Murray.
‘Though I might,’ added Henry.
The village was small, with the inn
the largest building in it. The coachman, whose opinions on the theft had not
been canvassed, ran expertly under the archway and into the yard, and the
travellers stretched and disembarked. The man looked about impatiently.
‘Where is our carriage?’ he
demanded. A thin little man, leaning to one side with what looked like
perpetual humility, scurried across.
‘Mr. Rennie, sir, the carriage is
not here.’
‘Petie?’ The man squinted
short-sightedly at him. ‘Why not?’
‘One of the horses was stolen last
night, sir. Taken from the field before we could bring it into the stable.’
Mr. Rennie’s bony face went red,
his little eyes narrow.
‘Stolen? Stolen? What is the state
of this country? Jewels one minute, horses the next, slapped on the face like a
common girl, guns waved, nearly lost my money ...’ To Robert’s delight, off he
went again in a barrage of profanity. Murray took Robert gently by the ear, and
propelled both boys into the inn.
With a room secured for the night,
Murray and the boys had settled down to dinner when Mr. Rennie and his daughter
appeared.
‘Since I have no carriage,’ began Mr.
Rennie, acidly, ‘I have asked the Sheriff to meet us here. Keep your meal
simple,’ he added to Emma. ‘I’m not made of money.’
The sheriff did indeed join them,
and between them they described the incident.
‘I can tell you exactly what he
looked like!’ said Emma excitedly. ‘He was quite short, with reddish hair –’
‘How do you know? You fainted!’
Robert interrupted.
‘Robert! No pudding,’ said Murray.
Robert looked as if he would try to plead the justice of his remark, but
subsided. A well-built young man with dark hair placed another dish of bread on
the table and retreated, smelling of horses.
‘And the fellow rode off this way?’
asked the Sheriff, neat and efficient. ‘We have had no other reports of such robbery
in the district. Your men told me that one of your horses was stolen last night,
Rennie: could the two be connected, do you think?’
‘How should I know?’ demanded Rennie
crabbily. ‘Jewels stolen, slapped on the face, guns waved – the kevel was on a
horse, that’s all I ken. Damn’ poor light in that road.’
Or you’re too mean to buy
spectacles, Murray thought impolitely.
‘Well, what like was the horse that
was stolen?’ asked the Sheriff patiently.
‘Black,’ said Rennie shortly.
Black, indeed, thought Murray.
It was dark by the end of dinner, and
time for the boys to be in bed. They said polite goodbyes to the Rennies, who
were resigned to walking home, and Murray escorted the boys upstairs and saw them
settled. He was preparing his cloak for his own night on a chair (he rarely
found a inn bed built for a frame as long as his) when Henry suddenly said,
‘Oh, Mr. Murray, can I have my
ferret?’
‘It’s fine in the stable.’
‘But it’ll be cold.’
‘I doubt it. It’s probably cosier than
we are.’ The room was damp, and not as well-heated as it might be.
‘Please, Mr. Murray ...’
‘Oh,’ Murray pulled his cloak back
around his shoulders before he changed his mind, ‘all right. Stay here and
behave – and I mean that.’
The stable was warm, and now the
rain had stopped and the clouds cleared, the moon lit it well. It took only a
moment to find the ferret box. He turned to go, and noticed the horse beside
the coachhorses – it was black.
‘Hello,’ said Murray quietly,
touching its soft nose. ‘Have we met before?’ He peered down to see the lace
cuff around the horse’s hoof. ‘I thought so. Now, where is your luggage?’ The
corn bing seemed an obvious place, but so much about this episode had been
obvious it was worth looking. Yes, there were the saddlebags. Murray reached
in, and pulled out one box. It contained jewels, quite good quality, as far as
he could see. He reached for the other box. Jewels again, but this time there
was something else – a large, ordinary looking key. He thought for a second,
then slid the boxes back into the saddlebags and the bags into the bing. He
found an empty stall, curled up in the corner with the ferret box, and waited.
He did not have to wait long. In a
few minutes, a man appeared in the doorway, tallish and well-built, as the
highwayman had been. The man padded silently into the stable, and felt inside
the corn bing, drawing out what could only be the key. He slid it into a
pocket, then hauled out the saddlebags and began to harness the black horse,
leaning finally to fiddle with something around the horse’s feet. Murray listened:
when the man led the horse out into the yard, he heard how the hooves had been
muffled with sacking. He waited a moment, and followed. Behind him, though he
did not notice, two small shadows skittered away from the wall after him.
They left the village quickly for
the countryside on a road unknown to Murray, off the stage route. After about
half an hour, they reached a hamlet of houses, the nearest one a substantial building
with a high wall around it. It was in darkness. The house faced the road, but
the man found a side lane and took the horse there. Murray followed, keeping
close to the hedge.
The man came to a tree by a little
side gate. He looped the horse’s reins on a branch, took out the key and opened
the gate. He glanced around, then entered silently.
Murray hurried over, slid a hand
over the horse’s nose in greeting, and shinned up the tree. He was in time to
see the man making his way up a garden path towards the back of the house. The
man was looking up at the house, and shortly a window was eased open. A figure
squeezed out, clung for a second, then dropped into the man’s arms. It was a
woman.
The pair hurried back to the gate.
Murray waited for them to reach it, then turned to jump out of the tree. Just
as the pair came through the gate, Murray hit – not the ground, but two relatively
soft bodies, and dropped the ferret box. It split, and the ferret not unreasonably
fled.
‘My ferret!’ cried the first body,
and Henry shot after it. He hit the woman emerging from the gate, and knocked her
over. The man, shocked, lashed out at the mysterious figures, and Murray tried
to catch his arm. Instead he succeeded in thumping him on the jaw, and the man
folded down. The woman, already on the ground, screamed as he fell on her.
Robert gave a yell of delight and set off after Henry, and in the garden somewhere
a dog started to bark. Windows opened, a candle appeared, and the
newly-familiar grumbling voice of Mr. Rennie began his characteristic rant.
‘What is going on? What is that
damned dog on about?’
Then came Emma’s voice, quick and
soothing.
‘It’s fine, Father. He’s just after
a fox – I saw it myself. I’ll go and calm him – you know you don’t like going
out after dark.’
The window slammed again. In a couple
of moments a lantern outlined the gateway. Emma appeared, the dog held by the
collar. The light fell on Murray’s face, and her jaw dropped.
‘You? What are you doing here? And
who – oh, Cathie, what are you doing on the ground? Get up, quickly.’ She poked
her sister with one slippered toe. Cathie wriggled.
‘My poor love’s injured! This man
hit him!’ The man groaned, but sat up.
‘Oh, for pity’s sake, do I have to
do everything for you? Get him up and get going before Father comes out. Mr.
Murray,’ continued Emma in the same whisper, turning to him with what for her
was a winning smile, ‘come walk with me a moment, for this poor dog needs calming
down. Come away from the house if talking must be done.’
She led him a little down the lane,
away from the pair on the ground.
‘I gather I have walked in upon an
elopement, Miss Rennie, perhaps between your sister and an amateur highwayman –
and your father’s carriage horse?’
‘Well, that’s what it will be if they get
themselves organised.’ She flung a glare at her sister and the man, who still sat
on the ground. ‘He worked for us, they fell in love, he has no money, my father
is rich but mean – you know the story. Now they have all her jewellery – not
mine – and she is free, and off they will go, if you do not stop them. Oh!’
For the dog, who had suddenly
scented the ferret, had twisted from her hand and was off down the lane. Henry
heard it coming, gave a yelp and made a final grab for his ferret. With
unexpected fraternal co-operation, Robert leapt for another tree and seized his
brother’s hand, pulling him up. Robert had never been keen on dogs. The dog ran
round the foot of the tree, yelping at both boys and ferret, until Murray and
Emma ran up and once again seized his collar, breathless.
And in that moment, they heard the
beating of hooves, and when they turned the lane was empty and the horse, the
man and the woman had all gone, vanished into the night.
‘Was that the highwayman?’ called
Robert from his tree.
‘It was, Robert, however briefly,’
said Murray. ‘But I think this is his last raid. He has what he came for.’
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