Jack Frake (21 page)

Redmagne’s eyes became slits. “Excuse me, sir,” he replied, “but this country is England, where one is permitted to speak his mind, without penalty, even at the risk of offending insensitive bores.”

The sailcloth maker turned in his seat to face Redmagne. “Humph! You are a squire, sir, and presumably a gentleman, but I think that you have room for improvement! I think you ought to be made to take a turn in the army! The experience would sweat out any willowy royalist notions that course through your veins!”

“Have you had the experience, sir?” asked Redmagne with wicked congeniality.

“I have done some service for the Lord Lieutenant of Hampshire. I am a captain in this county’s militia.”

“Oh, but surely that is not the same thing as regular army, sir! Occasional service, such as you may endure to demonstrate some alleged virtue of civic duty — ” Redmagne paused and turned to address Miss Morley, “— much as I think Pamela endures the attentions of Squire Blank — ” he turned again to face Mr. Neaves “— is hardly to be compared to constant service, such as our soldiers endure.”

The passenger pursed his mouth and began to reply, but Redmagne continued. “I must correct you, sir, in the same manner in which you interrupted this lady and me. Englishman to Englishman, I have no royalist ether in my veins, not of any kind, neither Hanoverian nor Stuart. And as for having willowy notions sweated out of me, I daresay that I have been fighting
your
battles for nigh on fifteen years, without pension, contract, reward, or recognition, while you have wallowed in the trough of mediocrity.”

The insult was unmistakable, and Mr. Neaves knew it. Redmagne brought up his cane and held it poised beneath the roof of the compartment. “Do you wish me to have the coach stopped, sir, so that we might argue the point in more spacious circumstances?”

The man stared at Redmagne, his face frozen in anger, fear and indecision. Then a sharp blow on his shin caused him to glance at his wife, who shook her head once, emphatically. The look on her face told him that she did not think he could best the gentleman in any manner of fight, and that, anyway, she did not want her journey to London delayed for any reason. Mr. Neaves turned to Redmagne. “You have the advantage of me, sir. I cannot oblige you now, as I am taking my wife to London to attend to her ill father. But you do not have my apologies.”

“I have not asked for them, as I had not asked for your opinion.” Redmagne turned to the governess. “My apologies to you, Miss Morley. One meets such cabbages on public conveyances.”

The exchange between Redmagne and Mr. Neaves dampened conversation.

“Redmagne?” said Jack Frake after watching the rural scenery roll by during a long stretch of silence as the coach bumped over the rutted road.

“Yes…
Jeremy
,” said Redmagne, looking up from his book.

“Do you remember when you led us in a toast to that government report? I mean, the one in which the Customs Board claimed that the Crown lost three million pounds of revenue on eight hundred thousand pounds of tea consumed by us last year?”

Redmagne frowned. It was a dangerous topic, and he had introduced himself as John Trigg. “Yes,” he answered cautiously. “I seem to remember that. Why?”

“Well, how could they know that it was eight hundred thousand pounds? I mean, if they really had the power to collect duty on
all
the tea, maybe it would have been less than a hundred thousand pounds, because no one could have afforded to buy more of it. And all the other things, too, like the tobacco and molasses and the rest of it. They could prove the figure for the tea they collected duty on, but that’s all. So it really isn’t lost revenue, is it? I mean, the smugglers and free-traders really aren’t robbing the
Crown
of anything, are they? And how did they get the eight hundred thousand pound figure?”

Redmagne sighed, then blinked in astonishment. That line of reasoning had never occurred to him before. He glanced with new interest at Jack Frake, who sat waiting for an answer. “You’re right… Jeremy. It’s a good question, and the beginning of a good answer.” He grunted in astonishment again, then met the eyes of the governess, who was smiling at his astonishment. He leaned forward and said softly, “
I
taught him, you know.” The governess hid her amusement by turning again to her novel, but it showed in a twinkle in her eye. Etain McRae scrutinized Jack Frake, her thoughts serious but unfathomable.

The Neaveses sniffed in disgust.

T
HE COACH STOPPED BRIEFLY AT THE INN YARD IN
B
ASINGSTOKE FOR A
change of horses and to allow the passengers to refresh themselves and buy a basket of cold meats for the leg to Reading. The Neaveses enquired and were told that the next coach would be by in the morning. The passengers boarded the coach again in stiff silence. Redmagne had gently reprimanded Jack Frake for his
faux pas
, and no one ventured conversation.

They spent the night at the coach inn at Reading. While Jack Frake slept, Redmagne paced and smoked a pipe outside the window of the governess’s room. He did not sleep much that night.

It was mid-morning the next day. The coach sped toward Ealing, just outside of London. In the strained silence, the passengers had grown accustomed to the rhythm of the horses’ hooves, and became alert when, in the midst of a thick birch forest, the cadence slowed and they heard the coachman swear.

“Stand and deliver, or die!” shouted a voice.

The coach came to an abrupt halt, its wheels sliding to a stop over the dirt together with the hooves of the team. The vehicle stopped so suddenly that Jack Frake slid off his seat to the floor. They heard the coachman reply, “Don’t shoot, mister! We’re no trouble!”

The governess immediately clutched her charge to her, while the
Neaveses began taking money and jewelry from their persons and stashing it under their seats.

“All right, good people!” shouted a mask-muffled voice. “Out of the carriage! You won’t be harmed if you offer no resistance and do as you’re told!”

Redmagne glanced out his window. They were on a bend in the road that was flanked on both sides by the forest. He saw a man on a horse approach the coach with a leveled long gun. Another long gun, cocked and ready, lay slung across his saddle. The highwayman wore a long coat and a mask over his nose and mouth. Redmagne heard the coachman begin to climb down from his seat. A foot belonging to the farmer riding with the luggage appeared from above and planted itself on the sill of the window an inch from Redmagne’s nose. He glanced to his right and saw a second masked rider on that side of the coach. There would be one more to the gang, he thought, covering the rear. “Jack,” he said quietly, “take out your pistol and have it ready to hand to me.”

“Come out, travelers!” shouted the highwayman again. “We’ll shoot if you don’t, and these ain’t fowling pieces we carry!”

The farmer dropped to the ground, as did the coachman.

Jack Frake, still on the floor, reached into the deep pocket of his new coat and brought out the pocket pistol. Redmagne quickly opened his satchel that lay in the well beneath his seat and took out his pair of pistols. With a turn of each barrel, he readied the weapons and held them low out of sight of the highwayman. Jack Frake did the same with his pocket pistol. The boy saw the same intent look on Redmagne’s face as he had observed when his friend answered Mr. Neaves.

The governess made a sound of terror, and Mrs. Neaves screamed. But before either woman could implore him not to use the pistols, Redmagne kicked the coach door open, extended one arm, and fired without warning at the first highwayman. Even through the thick blue smoke of his discharge, he could see a red spot erupt on the man’s bare forehead. The man jerked back, dropped his long gun, and toppled from the saddle, one foot still caught in a stirrup. The coachman and the farmer threw themselves to the ground. Redmagne dropped the spent pistol on the seat behind him, and, clinging to the door frame, swung around to see the rear of the coach.

Jack Frake was awed by the swiftness of Redmagne’s actions. It was when he saw him swing on the door frame to check the rear of the coach that Jack Frake thought to glance out the window above him. The Neaveses
sat frozen in their seats, apparently more frightened by what Redmagne had done than of the highwaymen. He saw another masked rider with a brace of pistols peer from his saddle in and through the coach, then raise one of his pistols. With an urgency and an anger Jack could not stop to analyze, he rose from the floor, unlatched the door, and placed one foot on the footstep, blocking the outlaw’s sight of Redmagne. The man’s pistol was pointed directly at him now. Its barrel was at least five times the length of his own weapon, and gleamed ominously in the sun. The eyes between the mask and the hat glanced down at him with the same imperious arrogance he had seen in Lieutenant Farbrace a long time ago.

He had been saved once by Redmagne. But he did not think of this dilemma and decision in terms of returning the favor. Redmagne’s life meant far more to him than that. He knew that he would probably die in the effort, but he raised his tiny pistol at the same time he pulled back the hammer.

As for the highwayman, he began to laugh. The pistol in the boy’s grip had pathetically small power and range, and the boy stood more than five feet away, his eyes round with fear. “So be it, you little blighter!” he snorted as he pressed the trigger.

Jack Frake, pointing the pistol at the man’s face, fired first.

The highwayman gasped, let go of his pistols, and clutched at his throat. He began to scream, but the scream disintegrated into a pathetic howl. The man tried to climb out of his saddle, but his legs got tangled and he tumbled to the ground.

Jack Frake saw a third horseman, who was waiting in the woods, wheel his mount around and gallop away through the brush. Jack Frake dropped from the coach step and walked cautiously over to the wounded highwayman. The man rolled back and forth on the ground, clutching his throat through the mask, blood seeping through his fingers. He made gagging sounds, like the cry of a goat that had had one of its legs broken. The sound more than the sight traumatized Jack Frake. The man tore off his soaked mask, and Jack saw that the bandit was only a boy a few years older than him. The bandit glanced up with maddened eyes and saw Jack Frake approach with the pocket pistol still clutched in his hand. He managed to get his legs under himself and stumble quickly into the woods, still gagging.

Jack Frake felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw Redmagne. The man was studying him with a curious look. “That’s what a ball can do to you, Jack.”

“He was going to shoot you.”

“Or
you
, Jack,” remarked Redmagne. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed it once in silent thanks.

Redmagne stepped away to pick up the dropped pistols. He walked back and held them out, grips first. Jack Frake put his pocket pistol away and tentatively took hold of the new ones. “These are yours, Jack. Fine pieces of Spanish work. Matching, too. Wonder who he took them from.” He turned and examined the mount. “This mare has seen better years, though. We’ll take her and sell her for what money she’ll bring. But the saddle’s new, as are the pistol cases. We’ll keep the cases and sell the saddle. It’ll fetch more than will the mare.”

Jack Frake stared at the mount blankly.

“Come on, Jack,” said Redmagne. “Climb into the saddle. We’ll escort the coach as far as Ealing. Lock and case your new pistols, and reload your little one. You will guard the rear. Keep a sharp eye out for that third man.”

Jack Frake obeyed. Redmagne adjusted the stirrups for him, then walked away.

The coachman and farmer were standing near the body of the first highwayman, which lay near the waiting horse. “He’s dead, all right, gov’nor,” the coachman barked in satisfaction. “You gave ’im a third eye!”

Redmagne stooped down and removed the mask. “Know him, coachman?”

“I think I seen ’im at the inn on the trip out.” The coachman laughed. “His road days is over!”

“Help me move him off of the road.”

The three men picked up the body and deposited it in the gutter at the side of the road. Redmagne searched the body and stood up with another pistol and a bag of coins. “He won’t be needing these,” he said, tucking the pistol in his belt and dropping the bag into one of his frock pockets. He nodded to the horse. “Take those long guns, coachman, and keep them handy.” He took out his brass box and penciled a note —
A highwayman who encountered a Skelly man
— and tucked it into one of the dead man’s sleeves. Then he went and led the horse to the coach, where he reclaimed his own pistols. “When I’ve reloaded, coachman, we can leave. My… nephew and I will escort you as far as Ealing.”

Spencer Neaves stepped down from the coach and glared at Redmagne. “Who are you, sir?” he demanded. “What is your
real
name?”

“My real name?”

“Yes,” said his wife, who quickly descended and turned to the coachman. “I distinctly heard the boy there address this… gentleman by a name other than the one with which he introduced himself! It was Redman, or Redmaize, or some such, instead of John.”

The coachman stared at Redmagne and stepped back. “Did you say ‘Redmagne,’ Mum?”

“Yes, Redmagne!” confirmed Miss Morley involuntarily.

The coachman studied Redmagne for a moment, then laughed and spoke to Mrs. Neaves. “Milady, you’re safer in this man’s company than if you was guarded by the King’s Palace Cavalry!” He grinned at Redmagne, then winked, and climbed back up on the coach to his seat.

Jack Frake smiled. The coachman’s familiarity with Redmagne’s name proved the wisdom of his advice to his friend in the matter of an alias.

“I refuse to travel in this beast’s company!” declared Winifred Neaves to the coachman. Mr. Neaves, shaken by Redmagne’s panache, by now had little to say, and did not second his wife’s motion.

“I’m afraid that’s an improper wish, Madam,” said Redmagne, “and, considering that my nephew and I have just now preserved your belongings and perhaps even your virtue and your life, your trepidation is keenly painful to me. Your only alternative is to walk to Ealing.” He grinned. “Have no fear, Madam. We mean to get you and your husband there safely.”