06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection) (8 page)

They had reached the Salon by now and she saw him glance at the Priest’s Hole as if he wanted to reassure himself that the money was still there.

“She is the most beautiful creature,” he went on almost as if he spoke to himself. “I cannot believe there has ever been anyone as lovely. So how can I expect her to live in this squalor?”

“She has money of her own,” Fenella suggested.

“I do not intend to live on my wife,” Lord Corbury said harshly, “and, what is more, Hetty spends every penny that her father allows her. I could hardly expect her to pay for the food she eats or the servants who wait on her in my house.”

He sounded so irritable that Fenella could only murmur apologetically,

 “No, of course not.”

“I must have some money,” Lord Corbury said, “and, Fenella, last night I had an idea.”

“An idea?” Fenella enquired.

“I was looking around the house,” Lord Corbury said, “trying to find anything - even a piece of china which had been forgotten and might prove valuable - then in the attics I found these.”

He went to the drawer of the desk as he spoke and brought out two black masks.

“What are they?” Fenella asked curiously.

“Masks,” he said, “that were worn at a Charade my mother arranged one Christmas. It was years ago, I was only ten at the time, so I imagine you were too young to be present.”

“I certainly was at the age of four,” Fenella smiled.

“I remember it well,” Lord Corbury said. “I was only allowed to watch, but my father was the hero and he was a Highwayman.”

“Highwayman!” Fenella exclaimed.

“The play was called `Your Money Or Your Life’,” Lord Corbury explained.

His eyes met Fenella’s as he spoke and for a moment they looked at each other.

“It would not be safe,” Fenella said. “You know that most people have a footman on their coaches carrying a blunderbuss.”

“Not all of them,” Lord Corbury corrected, “and not in a part of the country they know well or when they are only travelling a short distance.”

“Periquine . . .” Fenella began.

“We would not go on the main highway,” Lord Corbury continued, “but keep to the side roads. I am sure the coaches there are not armed any more than I should carry a firearm if I was visiting your father or going to The Hall.”

“No of course not,” Fenella agreed.

“We could ride about five to six miles away where we would not be known. I believe that the Gentlemen of the Road, as they are called, make a fortune.”

“I doubt if they can collect as much as we did the other night,” Fenella said.

“It is certainly more sporting,” Lord Corbury continued. “I have an aversion, Fenella, to creeping into a man’s house when it is dark, stealing his gold when he has not a chance of defending himself or seeing who the intruder might be.”

“We do not want to be identified,” Fenella protested.

“No of course not,” Lord Corbury agreed. “But at the same time it is a question of man to man, and the strongest wins, even if he does hold a pistol in one hand.”

“I see what you mean,” Fenella said. “All right, Periquine, when do we start?”

He held out the mask towards her. “Why not now?”

“Now!”

Fenella took the mask from him and realised that its design, with only narrow slits for the eyes, made it a good disguise for the face, not like the frivolous wide-eyed masks that were used at Cotillions or fancy-dress parties.

“I was thinking about it in the night,” Lord Corbury went on. “I reckon the best time to be on the road would be when people are going out to dinner. To begin with the women would have their jewels on and a man would doubtless be carrying a heavy purse.”

“I am sure you are right,” Fenella agreed but a little apprehensively.

“We will keep in the shadows of the trees,” he continued, “and assess the coach very carefully before we make a move. Then, if we think it safe, I will hold them up and you will keep your pistol trained on the coachmen while I take the goods from the occupants of the carriage.”

“It sounds easy,” Fenella said.

“And ought to prove quite lucrative!” Lord Corbury enthused. “That is what is important. If it is not going to prove profitable, then there is no point our risking our necks.”

“They hang Highwaymen up on the gibbet at the crossroad,” Fenella said.

“And they hang robbers at Tyburn,” Lord Corbury retorted. “I have a suspicion that the place is not particularly important when it is your neck that is being stretched.”

Fenella laughed.

“I have a feeling, Periquine, that you were not born to be hanged.”

“My tutor at Eton had quite a different idea,” Lord Con- bury replied. “But if we get some really good hauls, Fenella, we should be getting on towards our goal.”

“Yes of course,” Fenella agreed.

She wondered what Hetty would think if she knew the risks Periquine was taking in his efforts to win her.

Would she be touched and flattered that a man gambled his life so that he could lay the spoils of his ill-gotten gains at her feet?

Or would she merely be shocked and think it reprehensible that he should not behave like a gentleman, even if he were a poverty-stricken one?

She could not answer the question. She only knew that whatever Periquine wished her to do with him she would do.

There was a light of adventure in his eyes and he was smiling. She knew that anything was better than seeing him depressed, miserable and without hope.

“One good thing,” she said, “is that I discovered upstairs, also in the attic as it happens, the riding-breeches you wore when you were fifteen. Your mother was a hoarder, Periquine, and there are all sorts of things up there put away carefully, which now quite surprisingly are coming into use.”

“Riding-breeches! “ Lord Corbury exclaimed. “Well, you certainly cannot come dressed as a woman.”

“I will go and put them on,” Fenella said, “and if I tuck my hair under one of your riding-caps, I promise you I shall look a most ferocious Highwayman.”

She turned the mask over in her hands.

“This only covers the upper part of our faces,” she said. “I believe that Highwaymen always wear a black scarf which they can pull up over their chins. That means only their mouths can be seen and it is very difficult to recognise a person by their mouth only.”

“You are right,” Lord Corbury cried. “I have a scarf somewhere which will be just what we need. And anyway I will wear my oldest clothes.”

Fenella was just going to say that she thought however old his clothes he would look extremely elegant in them, because with his good figure, it was difficult for him to look anything else. Then she decided it was best for him to take a lot of trouble to disguise himself.

She could not help feeling that if she saw Periquine however well he was masked she would recognise him.

There was something about his broad shoulders and narrow hips, the manner in which he walked and sat a horse, the carriage of his head and his whole lithe athletic body which made him different from other men.

Very different indeed from Sir Nicolas. Different too, she was sure, from the majority of his contemporaries.

Yet there was no use in splitting straws. Periquine was intent on this escapade and although she was a little doubtful of its being successful, she knew that any arguments she might present were not likely to prove effective.

Every time he saw Hetty it made him more anxious to marry her and more infuriated with his impecunious position.

The five thousand pounds they had left from their robbery were not going to last for ever. In fact Fenella had the feeling that Periquine would soon spend it, not on riotous living, but on the sheer necessities of everyday existence at the Priory.

‘We have to have some money somehow,’ she thought to herself as she went upstairs thinking of what lay ahead.

It was true quite a lot of Highwaymen were hanged, but at the same time there were undoubtedly a large number of them still at large. She could only hope they would be lucky.

She gave a little sigh.

“And if we fail — we fail together,” she whispered to herself. “I do not mind hanging if I am hanged beside Periquine.”

Chapter Four

It was a misty evening with a promise of rain and the small wood seemed dark and drear.

Lord Corbury however was in high spirits and Fenella could not help thinking he looked a romantic figure with his black mask and a black silk handkerchief lying on his chest ready to be pulled up over his chin.

“What do you wager we will take in our first haul?” he asked.

“If they are carrying many valuables, they will undoubtedly do their best to protect them,” Fenella replied.

 “Still afraid that I shall have a piece of lead blown through me?” he asked mockingly.

“I am sure that having survived the war your luck will remain proverbial,” she replied. But she wished she felt a little more optimistic in herself.

It seemed to her a really foolhardy adventure with nothing planned, with no knowledge of what they were up against, and however much she might try to ignore it the shadow of the gibbet lay over the whole escapade.

Lord Corbury was riding a stallion which was such a fine piece of horseflesh that Fenella felt nervously it was an animal that no-one would be likely to forget.

And she herself in riding-breeches was astride a roan on which her father had expended quite a considerable sum.

He never economised where horseflesh was concerned, or indeed when it came to anything that appertained to his own comfort.

His only economies, Fenella thought a little bitterly, lay in feminine fancies and her own in particular.

Lord Corbury’s horse was a little restive despite the fact that they had ridden for over an hour to reach their present destination.

He had chosen the place because although it was not on a highway, it was on a fairly frequented road lying between several large estates whose owners were of local importance and most likely to be entertaining.

“Someone will be giving a dinner-party,” he said confidently, “and the ladies should be wearing tiaras, necklaces and rings worth a fortune.”

“Have you thought how you will dispose of them?” Fenella asked.

“Doubtless someone will be able to give us the required information,” he answered. “If not, we can always ask our friend Isaac Goldstein.”

Fenella knew that he was teasing her, but at the same time she could not help exclaiming,

 “Really, Periquine, you have no sense of propriety!”

 “That is a fault I usually find in you!” he retorted.

Then when she was trying to think of an answer, he said,

 “There is a coach coming!”

They could see for nearly a mile down the road. It was bordered only by low hedges, green with spring buds.

Fenella perceived a coach moving towards them at what she judged was a quite respectable pace.

 There were no outriders, but there were two men on the box, a coachman who as he grew nearer she saw was an old man, and a footman who appeared young and slim but certainly not athletic.

They were both dressed in a dark blue livery with polished buttons and three-cornered hats.

As the coach drew nearer, they could see it was slightly old-fashioned, but obviously it had been expensive and its owner’s crest was emblazoned on the panels of the door.

Lord Corbury had watched its approach in silence. Now he glanced at Fenella and said with a note of excitement in his voice,

 “Here goes! Keep close behind me.”

They spurred their horses down to the road-side, and as the coach drew level with them Lord Corbury pulled the black handkerchief over his chin and levelled his pistol.

“Stand and deliver!” he cried in what Fenella knew was intended to be a ferocious voice.

It certainly had an effect. The old coachman with an audible gasp pulled his horses to a standstill, while the young footman with a shrill scream put both hands high above his head.

“Lawks a mercy, don’t shoot! Don’t shoot Oi, Sir,” he cried.

“Nobody is going to shoot you if you stay quiet as you are,” Lord Corbury replied.

He glanced at Fenella who had come up beside him and was keeping her pistol trained on the two men on the box. He then dismounted from his horse and handed her the bridle before he pulled open the door of the carriage, still with his pistol in his hand.

This, Fenella knew, was the dangerous moment. The delay had given the gentleman, if there was one inside, time to draw and if necessary load a pistol.

Lord Corbury looked inside the carriage. In the far corner there was a very old man. His hair was dead white, his eyes were closed, and it was obvious he was asleep.

Sitting beside him was a Lady. Extremely pretty, she could not have been much more than thirty years of age. Her hair was dark and elegantly arranged high on her head. In it sparkled a large tiara of emeralds and diamonds.

Round her neck there was an emerald necklace, and bracelets to match were clasped round her thin wrists.

 Lord Corbury stared at her for a moment. Then still in his assumed voice he said gruffly,

 “Hand over your valuables and quickly.”

The Lady turned towards the sleeping man and touched him on the arm.

“Your purse, George!” she said softly. “Give me your purse, dear.”

The old Gentleman woke up with a start.

“Purse? purse? You want me to pay? Where are we? At the toll gate?”

“No dear, this — er — Gentleman requires your money.”

“Of course, of course, it is here somewhere.”

He fumbled uncertainly in the inside of his evening-coat and finally drew a long purse from the pocket of his satin knee-breeches.

The Lady took it from him and handed it to Lord Corbury. As she did so the old Gentleman closed his eyes and composed himself once again for slumber.

“My husband does not see very well,” she said as if she felt an explanation was needed.

“And now your jewels,” Lord Corbury demanded.

Her dark eyes looked at him as she hesitated. Then she said in a low voice,

 “Please — please do not take them! They are all I have. They mean so much to me. I will give you anything — anything you like — rather than part with my emeralds.”