Sovay (19 page)

CHAPTER
2
0

S
he went to the livery stables to find Brady
.
He was standing, patient in his stall. He whinnied when he saw her and tossed his head in greeting, as if to say, I knew you would come for me sooner or later. She put her arms round his pale neck, nearly as glad to see him as she had been to see Hugh. He nudged her, whickering into her shoulder. He had been well looked after and his coat gleamed with grooming. She gave the boy a couple of coins for his care and rode out of the stables. She made her way down Oxford Street and Crown Street, glad to be on horseback and above the dirt and press of the streets.

She was going towards the river and the Golden Cross Inn at Charing Cross. She was praying that she would find the Captain there, remembering what Toby had said about it being his usual place at this time of night. When she reached the inn, she dismounted and sent a servant in to find him, saying a friend would like an urgent word out in the yard.

There was a few minutes’ delay before he came out, but it seemed to Sovay like a very long time. He smiled as he came towards her.

‘Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr Middleton?’ He put his hand on Brady’s neck. ‘Or is it Captain Blaze? I think by the cloak and spurs that it might be the latter.’ He stroked Brady’s neck gently, running his fingers through the silky mane. This time the horse did not bridle, instead he nuzzled into the man’s chest. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I need your help,’ Sovay answered, her voice muffled by her scarf. ‘I have to stop the Dover coach.’

‘Do you now?’ Greenwood grinned down at her. ‘And may I ask why?’

‘There’s something on it I want.’

‘Is there? And what would that be? Person, letter or package?’

‘Letter.’

‘I see.’ Greenwood looked round. ‘I’m afraid you’ve missed it.’ He consulted his watch. ‘It went this hour since. Eight o’clock sharp.’

‘I know. I thought we might be able to stop it. Somewhere on the road.’

‘Did you now?’ He pulled Brady to him, so the horse’s head and neck hid them from view. He drew near her, his voice a dramatic whisper. ‘Are you suggesting highway robbery? But that would be against the law!’

Sovay stepped away from him, his proximity made her most uncomfortable. ‘I wish you would stop teasing! Will you help me or no?’

‘Mount up,’ he said, throwing the reins to her. ‘They’ve a start on us, but we should be able to catch them at Shooter’s Hill.’

Shooter’s Hill on the Dover Road was a notorious haunt of highwaymen. The hill was a wild, lonely spot, rising up from the desolate waste of Blackheath and flanked on both sides by dense woods. It was so steep and frequently muddy that the passengers had to get out and walk, and mailbags and luggage had to be carried.

Drivers often stopped at one of the coaching inns along the way to fortify themselves before taking the hill. This is what Greenwood was hoping. It was the only way that they could get to the hill before the coach did.

The coach was in the yard of the Catherine Wheel Inn. They rode past and went on towards the hill. The day had been wet and overcast. The rain had stopped, but the night was cool and damp with mist creeping out of the hollows on the heath. Gorse grew on either side of the road and Sovay bent to pick a sprig. Greenwood grinned as she fixed it to the brim of her hat.

‘Captain Blaze! It is good to be riding with you again!’ He stopped at the bottom of the hill. The mist was thick here; the road churned by cartwheels and muddy. ‘They will likely make the passengers get out. The ground is soft and if the wheels slip, they could lose the whole rig.’

He set off at a quiet and careful trot, looking about him all the while.

‘We seem to be the only ones out,’ he said as they approached the top of the hill. ‘Which is good. Shooter’s Hill is popular with those on the pad and this is a perfect night for it. We don’t want to have to give way, or fight off another crew before we can be about our business. We will wait here for the coach’s approach and we will take care. As I said, this is a popular spot so they will be well armed and on the look out. I will take care of the driver and the guard. You keep an eye on the passengers.’

Sovay nodded that she understood and they withdrew under the trees. The mist was thinner here, drifting in wisps across the road and hanging between the branches like gauze. Water dripped from twig and branch, covering them in glistening drops. It was very quiet, except for the occasional stamp and snort from their horses. Greenwood was listening intently for the clamour of the horn, the beat of hooves, the rhythmic turn of wheels on the road. Sovay strained her ears but could hear nothing except a curious creaking.

‘What’s that strange noise?’ she asked Greenwood. ‘Listen. There it is again.’

Greenwood cocked his head. ‘It’s a gibbet,’ he said. ‘There’s a spot very near called Gallow’s Field. It likely comes from there, although I can’t tell from this distance if it is occupied, or the state of decay of the unfortunate suspended there. Like as not, he’ll be one of our kind. So, it’s best not to get caught. Robbing His Majesty of his mail is a hanging offence. Best to remember that, Miss Sovay.’ Just then, the shrill call of a distant horn sounded through the soft, cool air. The Captain exhaled with a puff of breath. ‘That’s them, if I’m not mistaken. Now remember –’ He repeated his instructions. ‘Do not move until my signal. Not one muscle.’

They withdrew further under the trees. Sovay’s nervousness had been growing through the waiting time, just as it had done before, but as soon as the labouring horses came into view and she heard the driver’s shouts and the crack of his whip, as soon as she felt Greenwood’s touch on her arm, all her fear left her. She adjusted her scarf, drew her pistol, and spurred Brady out in one convulsive movement, making him rear and plunge in order to terrify the passengers who were trudging beside the coach. She succeeded. They cowered back against the coach’s painted sides, fearing for their lives as well as their property. She kept her pistol trained upon them, watching for any small move, while Greenwood demanded the mailbags be thrown down to him. She had insisted that nothing else was taken, so within minutes the robbery had been completed and they were galloping down the hill, disappearing into the mist. A couple of shots followed but fell hopelessly wide of their targets.

As they rode back towards London, the mist thickened to a fog.

‘You can hardly see your hand,’ Greenwood indicated to turn in at an inn. ‘We will spend the night here.’

Sovay had not anticipated this, and had thought to get back to the city as soon as possible, but Greenwood shook his head.

‘The horses are tired. They need resting. I know this place. The innkeeper is a friend.’ He grinned. ‘We will go on first thing in the morning. I will get you back before the milk seller comes calling. Have no fear.’

Greenwood ordered food to be sent to them. ‘We will have to share a room, I’m afraid. The inn is full because of the fog.’

He took the heavy mailbags up the stairs. He suggested that they threw them in the Thames when they had finished, but Sovay only wanted Dysart’s letters and did not think it right to destroy the rest of His Majesty’s mail.

Sovay went through the letters and packets while Greenwood ate. It was easier than she thought it would be to find Dysart’s correspondence. She read the letters carefully, then screwed them into a ball and threw them on to the fire.

Among other matters, he had betrayed both her father and her brother to the Committee of Public Safety and had helpfully included instructions as to where he thought they might be found. She returned the rest of the mail to the bags.

‘We can leave them here with the landlord. He can give them to the next mail coach.’

‘How very thoughtful. Not to say responsible.’ Greenwood shook his head. ‘You have a taste for the life, it is true, quite a talent for it, there’s a lot I could teach you, but I fear your scruples would always get the better of you. I fear we will never make a true highwayman of you, Sovay. Tell me, what have you done with the money you stole from Dysart? There was money, I take it?’ Sovay nodded. ‘I knew it! You don’t plan to give it back to him, surely?’

‘No, of course not.’ Sovay told him about the various uses she had made of it, the provisions for Toby and Skidmore and Gabriel.

Greenwood listened without comment. ‘Again, very commendable,’ he grunted. ‘Now, let’s get some sleep. I’ll take the chair. You take the bed.’

She woke with no idea where she was and a man’s shape loomed over her. She cried out in alarm as Greenwood shook her by the shoulder.

‘Shh, shh, it’s only me.’ Greenwood sat on the side of the bed. ‘You were shouting in your sleep. You must have had a dream.’

Sovay nodded. She had dreamt that it had all been for nothing. That all she could do was watch, helpless, as her brother and father, in white shirts with their hands bound behind them, rode in a lurching cart towards the looming shadow of the guillotine. They did not even look at her, or see her standing there. Their eyes were already on the fate that was about to befall them and she was left, bereft, in the middle of a howling mob, filled with the bleak feeling that it had all been her fault.

‘I’m cold,’ she said. Her teeth were chattering. The covers were thin. She pulled them to her. It was as though the chill from the fog outside had penetrated right in here.

Greenwood took off his coat and arranged it about her shoulders. ‘Is that better?’

The coat was still warm. She held the collar closed round her throat and turned her face into his shoulder, the despair and horror of the dream still upon her.

He held her until she stopped shivering. ‘I’m going back to my chair now,’ he said gently, stroking her hair away from her face. ‘You should sleep.’ He moved to disentangle himself from her. ‘We will have to be away in a few hours’ time.’

‘Do you not like me?’ she said very quietly. ‘Do – do you not want me?’

After the desolate horror of her dream, she longed for some human warmth, some show of affection. The darkness in the room gave her the courage to ask him for it.

‘Now, what would make you think that?’ He turned back with a laugh, as though he was teasing her, but his jesting was laced with bitterness. ‘You are young, you are rich, you are beautiful, but these are the least, the very least, of my reasons. I’ve wanted you ever since the first moment I saw you asleep in that chair by the fire.’

‘So . . .’

‘Oh, no!’ He shook his head as if ridding himself of a siren’s song. ‘Do not look at me like that! Your eyes are like storm clouds just before lightning strikes,’ he smiled. ‘I like lightning. I like to ride when a storm is threatening. I would love to spark the fire that lies within you, but I
am
a gentleman, Miss Sovay, whatever you may think. I would not take advantage.’ He sighed. ‘That pleasure will not be for me. Save your love for him, whoever he may be. You will meet him by and by.’ He gave a low, throaty laugh. ‘I’ll be devilish jealous, so make sure he’s good enough for you.’ He turned her face to his and stroked her cheek. ‘At one time, perhaps, it might have been me. I could have gone to your father and asked for your hand. I was not always the reprobate you see now. But it is far too late for that. What would I say to him? I earn my living by highway robbery, my prospects are the gallows?’ He turned away. ‘Do not grow fond of me. I am warning you. I do not know how much time there is left to me. There is no romance in the life, Sovay. Leave that to the songs and plays.’

‘You could give it up! You could –’

‘Do what? It is all I know now. Do not mistake me. I live like this because I choose to do so. I would not have it other. A short life and a merry one, is that not what the pirates used to say?’

‘But if they catch you, they will hang you! You said it yourself!’

‘That is so. It is only a matter of time. Life on the road is short and I’ve lived out my span many times over. They will catch me and hang me, as you say. When they do, I hope you will shed a tear for me.’

‘I don’t want to. I want to –’

‘Save me? Like Toby? And t’other one, Skidmore? And Gabriel and his friends in Clerkenwell? And how many more? You cannot save them all, Sovay. Not with all your money. Not with all the money in the world.’