Hide in Time (10 page)

“Good man? D’you know who
you’re talking to?”

His doubts confirmed, the parson
replied, “I can see you are no gentleman, despite your attempt
at a gentleman’s garb.”

Ooh, thought Xandra, this could turn
into an interesting journey.

“I am Alfred Smith. You’ll
know my name, of course.”

“I do not, and I have no wish to
hear more of it.”

Alfred Smith, no more than twenty-five
years of age, held high a bulging, chinking, pouch. “Alfred
Smith shall soon be one of the richest men in the county and you’ll
be saying you had the good fortune to meet the great man.”

Parson Raffles climbed in the carriage
and sat next to, and almost on top of, the aspiring great, but
currently drunk and scrawny, Alfred Smith.

The driver, clearly still annoyed at
the further delay Xandra had caused, ignored her as she too climbed
aboard. “Five o’clock to Canterbury,” he boomed.

“You’ll be telling us ’tis
still morning next,” called a jocular bystander. “’tis
nearer seven.”

“And it will be dark by the time
we near Canterbury,” murmured the parson.

No sooner had Martha and Xandra climbed
aboard than the coach set off.

“Mr Alfred Smith, Miss,”
said the new traveller eyeing Xandra from head to foot and attempting
a friendly smile which, due to the amount of alcohol he had obviously
consumed, morphed into a leer.

“She’s lost her bonnet,”
said Martha defensively.

Xandra did indeed wish for a wide
brimmed bonnet to hide behind. Just where was hers?

Parson Raffles turned to Alfred Smith
and said, “Neither this young lady nor any of those here wish
to converse with you and we shall be grateful if you will fall into
the arms of Morpheus.”

“And that’s not me!”
exclaimed Martha leaning as far away from the smirking man as
possible.

Undeterred, even by a bout of loud
hiccupping, Alfred Smith inclined towards Xandra as if to touch her
face. Immediately her arm flew up and sent his hand smacking back
into his nose. Angrily, he sneered, “You’ll be sorry.
Think you’re too good for me, you muddy-booted charlatan. See
here,” he said waving his money pouch in front of Xandra’s
eyes, “feel the weight of that, and that’s the third time
I’ve taken him for the fool he is.” He sniggered as he
said, “Aces, that’s what I’ve got – lots!”
His boasting impressed none of them, though he looked gratified in
granting himself some redress for being so energetically rebuffed. He
began muttering, settled back into the corner of the carriage and
soon fell asleep. No one spoke after that. Xandra took off her shawl
with the convenient hole in the middle, rolled it into a makeshift
pillow and gratefully closed her eyes.

The journey proceeded uneventfully
until the coach stopped abruptly. Alfred Smith continued to snore but
the other occupants stirred.

“No cause for alarm, Miss
Mulberry, they’ll just be lighting the lamps,” murmured
the parson.

Xandra was surprised to see what looked
like the guard’s shotgun being flung past the window and into
the bushes at the side of the road. She felt the guard dismount from
the back.

Clearly Martha was aware too for she
gripped Xandra’s hand. “Luvucks, girl, ’tis
robbers.”

The only sound was of scuffling
footsteps. Xandra put her head out of the open window; she could make
out the driver and guard shambling away from the back of the coach. A
tall man, attired in long, black leather boots, black knee breeches
and a dark jacket stood at a short distance, facing her. He held a
pistol in each hand. Keeping one pistol covering the receding men, he
approached slowly. He turned his head to roar at the guard and
driver, “Kneel.” And they did. He turned to face Xandra
again, paused, and then quietly but with no doubt that it was a
command, said, “Alight.” Only his eyes were visible
between the kerchief covering his nose and mouth and the black hat
pulled down to his eyebrows.

Mesmerized, Xandra obeyed, clutching
her bag close. Martha followed and so did the parson with an
exaggerated sigh. With a pistol, the highwayman waved the three of
them to stand a few paces from the rear of the coach. Xandra,
feigning innocence, positioned her stance so that she could observe.
Advancing to the open door, the robber cracked the butt of his pistol
on the knee of the still dozing Alfred Smith who yelped, swore, and
tumbled out of the carriage. At a stroke, he had reduced Alfred Smith
to a stuttering beggar pleading for his life on his painful knees.
Placing the barrel of one of the pistols under his chin, the robber
raised Smith to his feet. “Alfred the Great,” he quipped
with scorn. Sweeping around behind him, he pulled the front of
Smith’s open jacket down over his arms so that, not only was he
unable to move his arms, but the inside of his jacket, with all its
pockets, was exposed. Patting Smith with his hands, the robber
deduced he had nothing to offer. He pushed the back of his knee and
Smith fell to the ground again. Whimpering, Smith attempted to free
his arms, partially succeeded, and crawled away towards the wood,
wincing with pain. Glancing inside the carriage, the robber’s
hand followed through and brought out the pouch of coins. He tucked
it inside his jacket.

Xandra’s eyes had not left him
and he motioned for her to approach. She did. She felt no fear. She
was nearly as tall as he and her predicament felt quite unreal. “You
honour me with your eyes, Ma’am,” he said dipping his
head slightly and motioning her to put the bag on the ground. She
could not: she was transfixed. The robber stepped closer. He was
staring at her throat! His eyes, dark as sable, penetrated her
feeling of invulnerability, her stomach lurched, and she let the bag
slide to the ground; it fell open. Every bone, every nerve in her
body prickled. Still he stared, ignoring the bag. Involuntarily, her
hand went to her bruised face then slid to her neck and she felt the
silver ring charm. The highwayman moved to one side, as if to see the
charm from a different angle, then held out his hand. Xandra, now
feeling that she might even visibly tremble, found the catch on the
chain, took it off, and placed it all in the still outstretched hand.
Something within her fought a sense of wanting to kick out at his
foot and unbalance him – she was more likely, she thought, to
fall over with this frock on. Besides, he kept a wary distance. In a
flash he took the charm from the silver chain, returned the chain to
her extended hand and pocketed the ring. After indicating she should
move aside, he crouched to peer at the open bag as if it were likely
to snap like an alligator’s jaw. How embarrassing if he rifled
through it. Unexpectedly, Xandra thought she detected stifled
curiosity or even alarm. With only the fading expression in his eyes
visible, it was hard to be sure. He stepped away from the bag and
motioned her to return to the coach. Feeling as if invisible strings
pulled her, she retrieved her handbag, turned, mounted the steps into
the carriage and sat down. She was so very cold. She put her woolly
shawl over her head again, slid the chain inside her brimful bag and
closed it firmly. She should have kicked him.

There was now no sign of the
highwayman; he’d disappeared into the woods. Xandra put her
head out of the open door and called out to the backs of her fellow
passengers and coachmen, “He’s gone.”

Bickering, the liveried guard and the
driver returned to the mail coach. “I’ve told you before,
don’t stop in the woods for the lamps to be lit.”

“An’ I told you,”
said the driver, “it’s ’cos we’re always late
that we’re in the woods when it turns dark.”

The guard began to argue the sense of
this, then seemed to think better of it.

“Their fares will pay the fine.
Just make sure we drop ’em off before anyone sees ’em.
Now get a move on with them lamps before some other cut-throat gets
us.”

“We’re lucky he didn’t
get my mail,” said the guard with obvious relief.

Alfred, the now not-so-Great, shot into
the carriage, cursing, blaspheming and swearing revenge.

“Hold your uncouth tongue!”
boomed the parson as he hauled himself inside the carriage. “Have
you no concern for the ladies?”

“To hell with the ladies,”
blurted the foaming-mad gambler. “They’ve not been
robbed. I’m the only one who’s lost anything. How come he
knew my name? Eh? He must have known. Someone’s…”

“Enough! I will hear not another
viperous word from you. You’ve no doubt been the cause of our
interrupted journey.”

Martha seemed to feel her employer
needed backing up. She leaned towards the silenced Mr Smith and
growled, “You flolopdoodle, you…”

“Fopdoodle, Martha. The word is
fopdoodle,” said the parson with a look that told of long
forbearance.

Xandra wasn’t sure she’d
heard of either word.

The usually voluble Martha leaned back
and sat silently in the corner opposite the enraged victim. She
turned to observing Xandra who was examining her own intense
emotions, imperceptibly, she hoped. What an adventure. A highwayman!
‘You honour me with your eyes.’ Wow! It was true. Her
eyes had not shown any fear but they had betrayed her strong
fascination with this captivating man. She should have done
something, not just stand there and let him get away. She looked down
at her dress and sighed.

Martha took hold of Xandra’s hand
and patted it. “No need to worry, girl, Parson Raffles is with
us.”

Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham

Parson Emmanuel Raffles twirled his
black hat on his finger tip at the same time as patting his ample
stomach and chuckled, “Dexterous, don’t you think, Miss
Mulberry?” Leaving the doorway of the Canterbury inn and
heading towards the coach, Xandra was surprised to see the parson
looking so cheerful. “Fortified by a hearty breakfast, I can at
least start the day with good cheer,” he chirped, “though
I doubt I’ll finish the same way.”

Amused, Xandra said, “I’m
very grateful to you for arranging my lodging overnight, Mr Raffles.”
She hoped she’d hidden her surprise at his lack of decorum.

“It was a pleasure to be of
assistance to a young lady beset by fiery dragons and other such
beasts,” he said looking pleased with himself as he crafted a
comical figure fending off fiends with an imaginary sword.

Xandra found herself smiling broadly.
Her travelling companion, who’d excused himself so hastily the
night before, making only brief arrangements for her refreshment,
seemed a different man this morning. She looked down at herself. She
was clearly no different at all. Unnerved by the strange contents of
her bag, and far too tired to decide how to go about it, she had
declined to unpack. Taking off her dress, she had wondered why she
was wearing knee-length breeches with gold buttons. This morning she
was too embarrassed to leave them behind and there was certainly no
room in her bag, so she had put them back on again. Her fine, long,
fair hair was sliding from her cap and the ribbon served only to make
her look like a serving girl unsuccessfully attempting to ape her
betters. Her bruises, now tinged with green, validated her misgiving.
Most unladylike. Worse, something holding a key to her identity, of
this she was sure, had been stolen from around her neck. Yet she felt
inexplicably happy; free – as if she had escaped from some
terrible, worrying, life-threatening circumstances, and if this had
no reference to the highwayman, and she was sure it had not, then
from what had she been liberated?

“I’m afraid my appearance
has let your exertions down, Mr Raffles. I don’t feel worth
rescuing.”

Resuming his more dignified look, he
wandered across to her and enquired quietly, “Memories not
returned?”

Xandra shook her head. “I cannot
even remember my given name.” Her lightness of spirit
dissipated further as the thought occurred to her that her situation
might not have changed for the better.

“We shall be setting off for
Torwell Bridge shortly and I shall take you to the parsonage upon our
arrival. My housekeeper will be able to assist with the correct
apparel for the young lady you clearly are – before you meet Mr
Adam Leigh-Fox.”

“Can you tell me something about
him?”

“Indeed I can, but I suggest we
leave that until we arrive at the parsonage. This journey will be
marginally better, but I fear I shall not. We have over forty miles
to travel.” Parson Raffles considered for a moment before
saying, “If you have no objection, you may stay overnight at my
home. A good night’s sleep, my housekeeper’s attentions
to your bruised face and,” he gestured with a flourish at her
dress, “a little wash and…” he paused, “let
us say that the first day of October will be a time to remember for
the Leigh-Fox family.”

Xandra picked up two statements, the
date and the phrase ‘a time to remember’, she turned the
latter over in her mind. She liked the sound of it. She took a deep
breath before announcing, “I shall leave you in peace during
the journey. Martha is delightful, though…” Xandra
hesitated; she didn’t want to sound unkind, and wished she had
not started to comment.

“She has not worked as a maid
before and has yet to be trained. Her character is, however,
faultless; her charm – in abundance; her loyalty –
unquestionable. But don’t tell her I said that.”

Rescued by the unlikely figure of
Parson Raffles again, thought Xandra.

“Her husband had been a
fisherman, then was a sailor in the fleet before his ship was
attacked. She is all but destitute and, though you may not have
noticed, she is fearful of her new life ahead.”

“How did you come to bury her
husband, being so far away?”

“My youth was spent on the north
Kent coast and my first living encompassed the village where she
dwelt. I was offered Torwell Bridge a while ago – a substantial
advancement, you understand. Their Parson has been taken irremediably
sick and so I have stepped in. Martha is without an income and I can
afford more help at Torwell Bridge. There – all you’ll
need to know about us.”