Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (20 page)

“Did you no’ think it would make more sense to stay on the main road and ask directions, than to go skulking off down dark alleyways?”

“I was being followed,” she replied. “By a footpad. At least I think that’s what he was. There was no one around who looked as though they would help, so I decided to try to lose him in the alleyways. I didn’t know it was a dead end, and before I could get back to the road, I saw him enter at the top. So I hid in here.”

While she was talking she searched for any clues to his identity. She didn’t know any Scotsmen. The only parts of him that were clearly visible were his brawny forearm with its dusting of dark hair, and the hand that still rested on the hilt of the dirk. It was a large hand with long, strong fingers, its perfection marred by the scar which snaked from his wrist to his fingers, bisecting the knuckles of his index and middle finger. It had been inexpertly stitched; she could see the thick raised ridge of scar tissue. A battle wound, perhaps.

“Do you always carry a knife?” She was concentrating so hard on the shadowed man that she jumped at this question, which came from the man sitting further down the table. He was a Mancunian; she recognised the dialect immediately. She turned her attention to him. He was examining her knife, testing its edge with his thumb. He nodded approvingly, and slid it down the table to the hooded man. Next to the dirk he was caressing, her blade looked like a toy. She looked back at her questioner.

“Yes, when I go out,” she said. “I use it for all sorts of things, opening letters, sharpening quills, cutting flowers or rope, even prising stones out of my horse’s hoof...” she realised she was in danger of babbling, and of losing control, and stopped.

“And where did you learn that particular use of a knife?” He nodded towards the injured man, who had now sat down and was gingerly examining his wound. “It’s not a skill normally found in ‘respectable’ ladies.”

“My mother taught me,” she answered truthfully. “She told me that if I was determined to get into mischief at every turn, I might as well have the means of getting out of it as well.”

The room erupted in laughter, and by the time it had died down the tension had abated considerably.

The shadowy man lifted his dirk from the table and replaced it in its sheath by his waist. He pointed to one of the seats vacated by the two men who had left the room earlier, and not yet returned.

“Sit down, lassie,” he said.

She hesitated.

“Sit down,” he insisted. “The others will be back in a minute. If you’ve told the truth, then you’ve nothing to fear.”

She obeyed, and gratefully accepted the tankard of hot wine that one of the men poured for her. Her mouth was bone dry with fright, and she took a deep draught of the warming liquid. As she finished, the door opened and the two men returned.

“Well?” the Scot asked.

“There was a young gomerel sneakin’ around in the alley wi’ a knife, that’s all,” the taller of the two answered. He was slim but wiry, and his hair was long and fair, tied back with a leather thong.

“Will he live?” the hooded man asked matter-of-factly, in a tone that clearly said he didn’t much care whether the answer was positive or not.

“Aye, I daresay. But he’ll no’ be doing much for a good while yet.”

“Will that be your footpad, do ye think?” the shadowy man asked Beth.

“Yes, I think so. He was quite fat, with a blue coat, that’s all I saw of him.”

“It was too dark to see the colour of his coat, but he certainly enjoys his food,” the fair-haired man replied with a smile.

“Well, then, lassie, delightful as it is to have the company of a beautiful lady, I’m sure your family will be getting a wee bit anxious about you by now. Where do ye think they’ll be waiting for ye?”

“Er...if you could just show me the way back to the Market Place I’ll be able to find my way home from there,” she said.

“That’s no’ what I asked ye,” the man replied. “Do I take it that your family dinna know you’re in Manchester?”

She swallowed. Honesty had seen her this far, she might as well stick with it. After all, if they were going to kill her surely they’d have done it by now?

“No,” she said, taking another gulp of wine, more to give her courage than to relieve her thirst. “My cousins live a...” she tried to think of an inoffensive adjective, “...sheltered life,” she said finally. “They did not want to venture out in the rain. I wanted to buy some Christmas presents, so I... er...”

“So ye sneaked off without telling them,” he finished for her.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Where do your family live?” he asked.

“Ardwick Green,” she said. “But as I said, if you’ll just see me to the road...”

“I’ll do no such thing,” he replied. He waved his scarred hand in the direction of the fair-haired man, who had resumed his seat but now stood again. “My friend here will see you home.”

“But...” Beth was worried. She was almost certain that her disappearance would have been discovered by now. What would her cousins think if she arrived home in the company of a disreputable-looking Scot?

“Maybe we dinna look it,” the blond man put in, “but I assure ye, we are all gentlemen. And no gentleman would think of allowing a lady to make her way home alone by night. Come on.”

Beth stood, hardly able to believe that she was to be allowed to leave unmolested, and all the men rose politely. The fair-haired Scot offered her his arm as though they were about to dance, and she took it, the insane urge to laugh vanishing as he tucked it in his, trapping her elbow firmly against his side. She would not be able to relinquish his company until he chose to release her. With his other hand he took the pistol one of his companions offered him and thrust it through his belt. As they reached the door Beth turned back suddenly. Her knife was still lying on the table in front of the Scot, its mother-of-pearl handle giving it a decorative rather than a functional appearance.

“Could I have my knife back, please?” she asked politely.

The shadowed man looked at her from the depths of his hood. He picked up the knife from the table and seemed to be considering. In his large hands it seemed tiny, and Beth wondered why she had ever been crazy enough to think she could defend herself against any man with that. Although it had worked well enough against Richard. “It has sentimental value,” she added dryly.

“Well,” he answered finally. “I dinna see why not. Unless you want it for a souvenir?” He turned to the wounded man, who shook his head hurriedly.

“I’d just as soon forget that I was nearly killt by a wee lassie, thank ye all the same,” he replied wryly

The other man threw the knife suddenly, and Beth’s fair-haired captor caught it deftly.

“Gie it back to her when she gets home,” the hooded man said. The other man nodded, and opening the door led the way out of the room. The door closed quietly behind them.

The men maintained silence until they were sure Beth was out of earshot.

“Christ, Alex, was that wise?” the red-haired man spoke now, for the first time.

Alex threw his hood back, before glaring at the man across the table.

“What would ye have had me do, man? Cut her throat?”

“No! Yes. Hell, I don’t know. But was it wise to let her go? She knows what we all look like, and we have no idea how long she was listening at the door before Duncan was unfortunate enough to need a piss.” Everyone laughed as the unfortunate Duncan vacated the room hurriedly, suddenly reminded by his bladder that he had not actually accomplished the deed.

“She canna have understood a thing,” Alex said. “How many Sasannachs do ye ken who speak the Gaelic?” Everyone looked at the Mancunian. “Aye, well, you’re the exception, Jack. Even if she does tell about what she’s seen, we’ll all be long gone from here by the time the militia arrives. But I’ll wager she’ll no’ say a word.”

“How in hell’s name can you possibly know that?” Jack responded sharply. “She could have a husband in the militia for all we know. You know what women are like. If she arrives home in a fit of hysterics and announces that she’s been ravished by a band of rogues, they’ll turn the town upside down to find us. The rest of you might all be heading north tomorrow, but I live here. And so do you at the moment, Alex.”

“Aye, I daresay we all ken what women are like,” Alex replied, reaching back to untie the thong that held his dark hair back. It had come partially undone when he had removed the hood, and glossy tendrils were hanging in his face, the candlelight picking up its red highlights. He combed it back quickly with his fingers, then retied the leather lace. “I’ve had dealings wi’ a great many in my time. But few of them, when confronted by a group of desperate men with no way of escape, would act as calmly as she did. She was shaking like a leaf, but she took considerable trouble no’ to show it.”

There was a general murmur of agreement amongst his companions.

“She’s awfu’ bonny,” one of them commented wistfully.

“Aye, she is that," Alex replied. “And she’s no got a husband in the militia, either.”

All the men stared at him.

“Holy Mother of God, Alex, do ye ken the lassie?” Duncan said, having returned to the room in time to hear Alex’s last words. The wound had stopped bleeding now, and he put his shirt back on. There was a large dark stain down one side.

“
Aye, I do. She’s a feisty wee thing. I didna ken she had such a skill wi’ a knife though. That’s rare among women. And it’s one thing knowing the techniques of killing, it’s quite another to be willing to put them into practice when it counts.” That was true. Every man at the table had killed, several times, and they all knew how difficult it was to look another human being in the eye and take his life. “She’s no’ married, and her parents are dead. She’s living wi’ her cousins at the minute,” Alex continued. “She’s got an idiot of a brother in the dragoons who’s looking to parcel her off to some man who can advance his career. He’s no’ going tae become an officer on merit, that’s for sure. And she’s no’ going to tell him what happened here tonight. They canna stand one another.”

“But if you know so much about her, she must know you, as well.” Jack pointed out logically.

Alex smiled enigmatically, his blue eyes creasing at the corners. “Aye, we’ve met,” he said. “But she doesna ken me at all.”

“Could she recognise you again, do you think?” Jack asked.

“Christ, man, my own mother wouldna recognise me when I’m working. And why do ye think I wore this stupit thing?” he shrugged the cloak off his shoulders. “No, I’m safe. And wi’ a bit of luck, yon lassie’ll think twice before she goes wandering round the town alone again.”

As they left Manchester behind and rode along the dark road towards Ardwick, bordered by fields and woods with no sign of life, yon lassie was already thinking twice about how safe she was in the company of the blond man. Was this apparently gallant gesture of taking her home just a ruse to get her alone on the road, where he could kill her? It made sense. If they had killed her in the room they would have had to dispose of the body, a risky business in the middle of a town. On the other hand, if the man sitting behind her on the grey horse, one powerful arm firmly wrapped around her waist, chose to strangle her now, he could just throw her body in the ditch by the side of the road. When it was eventually found everyone would assume a highwayman had done away with her, and serve her right for wandering about alone at night.

His silence did nothing to reassure her. He rode easily, but there was tension in his body that transmitted itself to her. It was unbearable. Perhaps if she attempted a little conversation she would gain his sympathy, make it harder for him to kill her in cold blood.

“I didn’t introduce myself earlier,” she said lightly, in her best drawing-room tone. “My name’s Elizabeth.”

“Pleased tae make your acquaintance, Elizabeth,” he replied softly, amused.

There was a pause, while Beth waited for him to return the courtesy.

“May I ask your name?” she said finally, her nervousness making her sound prim.

“Aye, ye may,” came the reply.

Silence. And no abating of the alertness quivering through the young man’s body.

“Do you...?” Beth began.

“If it’s all the same to you, lassie, I’d prefer it if ye’d hold your tongue,” he interrupted. He felt her sudden stiffening, and realised how abrupt he’d sounded. “Pleasant as it’d be to chat wi’ ye, I need to listen for noise. A lone horseman is a prime target for highwaymen, ye ken, and this isna the safest road in England.” He found it amusing that he should be concerned about hurting her feelings, and realised that in other circumstances he would probably find this young woman very likeable. She was certainly desirable. That she had taken his words seriously he knew by her silence, and the wary alertness that now replaced the fear that had trembled through her before.

They were both somewhat relieved when they reached Ardwick Green, Beth because she was now certain that whatever recriminations awaited her at Raven Hall murder was not one of them, providing she could keep away from Richard, and the Scot because instead of walking his horse as he had done up to now, he could gallop hell-for-leather back to Manchester, pistol drawn, with little chance of being attacked.

When they reached the entrance to the driveway, Beth’s heart sank. Across the gardens she could see that lights were burning in every room, and the front door was open, revealing the shapes of a number of men congregating on the steps. It was worse than she could have imagined. It seemed they were on the point of sending out a search party.

The young man rode past the gateway and stopped in the shadow of the wall. Before he could dismount to assist her down, she threw her leg over the neck of the horse in a most unladylike way and dropped noiselessly to the ground.

“I think it better if you don’t accompany me to the door,” she said unnecessarily. Her companion nodded.

“I’ll bid ye goodnight, then, lassie,” he said.

“I doubt I’ll have one, but thank you all the same,” she replied.

He laughed softly, and watched as she took a few steps along the path then turned and came back to the road. It was rutted from the passing carriages, and a large puddle of muddy water, several inches deep, had collected in the middle of the roadway. To the man’s astonishment she walked straight into it up to her calves and splashed around, ensuring that the bottom of her skirt and cloak were thoroughly soaked.