The Highwayman's Daughter (12 page)

Lord Heston was nobody’s fool either. Quite the contrary.

Unfortunately, skirting the edges of the estate wheat fields, he chanced upon Lord Heston and Kit. Jack swore inwardly.

‘Halliford? What brings you here?’ asked Lord Heston as he reigned in his horse and raised his hat in greeting. ‘Has the earl given proper thought to my proposal about the north field?’

Clearing his throat to reply, Jack nodded a greeting at Kit, but the boy kept his face lowered. Jack frowned, and then noticed the purplish bruise extending from Kit’s temple to his cheekbone, covering the eye, which looked fused shut from the swelling. He opened his mouth to make a joke about youthful fisticuffs, but then shut it again immediately. Kit was trying to hide his injury, and Jack suddenly understood. Lord Heston was known for his tyrannical nature, but Jack had always taken the rumours that the man was brutish towards his own family with a pinch of salt. Perhaps the rumours were true.

Overcome by sudden outrage, Jack wondered how he could help Kit without souring his family’s relationship with their closest neighbour. He couldn’t just stand aside while this young man was beaten by his own father. He’d have to think of something. He tightened his grip on the reins and replied carefully, ‘I believe my father is still considering the matter.’

‘Really?’ Lord Heston gave him an indolent smile. ‘I’m surprised he can afford to hold on to it.’

‘I’m sure my father knows what he’s doing.’

‘Very well,’ said Lord Heston. ‘I shall wait until he comes to a decision. Pray, Halliford, to what do I owe the honour of your visit, then?’

The question was delivered lazily, as though the answer was of minor importance, but there was no mistaking the command behind it. Irritation prickled between Jack’s shoulder blades at Lord Heston’s presumption. The man had a way of getting under his skin.

‘I sought you out, Lord Heston,’ he replied coolly, ‘on account of a private matter which I thought would be of some interest to you. Finding you away from home, I decided to call upon Mrs Bartlett, with whom, as you know, I have been acquainted for a number of years.’ The words sounded stilted even to his own ears, but Jack couldn’t help it. He always had trouble being polite when speaking to Lord Heston.

‘And did you find her as expected?’ enquired Lord Heston.

‘I found Mrs Bartlett in excellent health, thank you.’

‘My staff have no cause for complaint.’ Lord Heston gave a bloodless smile. ‘A private matter, you said?’

‘Yes.’ Jack found himself backed into a corner – there was no way of retreating now. If he did, Lord Heston would very likely question Mrs Bartlett and she would regale him with their entire conversation, word for word, no doubt.

‘Leave us, Kit,’ said Lord Heston.

Bidding Jack goodbye, Kit rode ahead with the look of a prisoner who had been granted an unexpected pardon. Jack glanced after him. He would have to find some way to help the young man – perhaps invite him to Lampton more often. It would also give Kit and Alethea a chance to get to know each other better, which would stand them in good stead if the betrothal went ahead in accordance with the earl’s and Lord Heston’s wishes.

He turned back to face Lord Heston, who was regarding him with an impenetrable expression.

‘Well?’

‘The matter I wished to speak to you about concerns a young maid by the name of Sarah Duval, who was in your employ at the time of your first wife’s, well …’

‘Our family tragedy. Yes, thank you, Halliford, I don’t need reminding, but if you have any news of that thieving wench, I’d be much obliged if you’d be good enough to share it with me.’

Jack cleared his throat. ‘I have it on good authority that the maid is dead.’

‘Whose authority?’

‘I saw her grave, in the woods south of the mill, with my own eyes,’ said Jack.

‘In the woods?’ Lord Heston arched his eyebrows, then he laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. ‘My, my. The search went far and wide for that strumpet, all that time she was right under our noses. So she’s truly dead?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, Halliford, I have important estate matters to attend to.’

Jack watched Lord Heston ride away, but stayed for a moment staring out over the fields in contemplation. His hunt for Cora had turned into a need to help her, as well as a curiosity about her history, and so far his findings were intriguing.

Cora ran until her lungs were bursting, and when she stopped at last she heard no sounds of pursuit. It would seem that Jack had decided not to follow her this time, thank goodness. He’d called himself Jack, which suited him somehow. She allowed herself a little smile, but then returned to reality. She should never have gone out there in the first place, but she missed her mother and baby brother and had wanted to say goodbye to them one last time. From now on she’d stay at Mrs Wilton’s cottage until it was time to leave the area. Fear and shame needled her stomach at the thought of holding up another carriage, but it was the only way for her to find the money she needed to get Ned to safety.

She made her way back to the cottage, deep in thought. Lord Halliford’s claim that she was the illegitimate child of a noble captain was extraordinary. She didn’t take Jack for a stupid man; he’d managed to find her and Ned’s home in the forest, and not many people knew precisely where it was. That was why she couldn’t dismiss his words outright. Her mother had been a maid once, and a nobleman taking advantage of a woman belonging to the lower orders was, however despicable, quite commonplace.

The more she thought of it, the more her mother’s last words began to make sense.

Remember, you’re a lady.

Strictly speaking, being the illegitimate child of a nobleman made her nothing of the sort, but to her mother, at the point of death it probably made a sort of sense.

But why would Jack tell her this at all? What did he stand to gain by introducing an illegitimate relative to the family, unless it was for the purposes of vexing his father. If, and it was undoubtedly a big ‘if’, Cora had any claim at all on an inheritance from the late captain, helping her would only deplete the funds of the estate, and, from rumours abounding in town, the earl could ill afford it.

She didn’t trust him; didn’t believe he wouldn’t give her to the authorities when he had finished whatever game he was playing. And he clearly had designs on her – his eyes had told her that as surely as if he’d said the words. Tempting as she found it to spend more time with him and get to know him better, who was to say he wouldn’t just use her and then hand her over to the magistrate?

And she had to consider the safety of her heart. Much to her dismay, she’d already discovered that she couldn’t trust herself around him, and what if the worst happened, and she succumbed to her desires only to find it was then too late for herself and Ned to get away? She shuddered at the thought. She had come very close already and felt the danger as if it burned her.

When she arrived at Mrs Wilton’s cottage, her head was swimming with the possibility that she might not be who she thought she was. She plucked up the courage to ask her father something she’d never for a moment thought was in doubt. She had to know.

‘Where have you been, girl?’ Ned’s hand clamped down hard on her wrist as soon as she entered the cottage, his strength unmistakable despite his illness. ‘I’ve been worried sick about you, wandering about like that.’

As if to punctuate his words, his body was suddenly beset by a hacking cough.

‘Sorry, Father. Here, let me get you something to drink.’

‘Just … answer the … question.’

Her father waved her away, but she ignored him and poured him a tankard of ale, which he accepted with a querulous expression. He watched Cora in silence as she sat down on a stool beside him.

‘First of all, I need to tell you something,’ she said. ‘The man who rumbled me was Lord Halliford.’

Ned frowned. ‘I know who he is, but I don’t see what difference it makes. He spends most of his time up in London carousing, but he’s nobody’s fool. If he’s uncovered your identity, the sooner we can be out of the county the better. I wouldn’t trust the likes of him further than I can spit.’

‘Actually, he let me go,’ said Cora. She decided not to mention her second run-in with him just now in the woods.

‘He let you go? Why?’

‘He made an extraordinary claim about my parentage.’

‘Did he, now? And, pray, what’s it to him?’

Cora looked at her father. From the wary expression in his eyes she wondered if he knew what she was going to ask him. The realisation cut through her. ‘It’s true, then?’ she said, more to herself than to him.

‘What’s true, my heart?’

‘Lord Halliford claims I’m the illegitimate daughter of his father’s cousin, Captain Blythe. Apparently the resemblance is striking; we have the same eyes.’

‘Pah! Resemblances mean nothing. We’re all created in His image after all.’ Ned dismissed Cora with a wave of his hand, but failed to meet her eyes. Cora’s stomach tightened.

‘Please, tell me the truth. He says my eyes are unusual, and perhaps he’s right. I didn’t get them by accident, did I? Are you my …’ She hesitated, unable to finish the question. ‘Did the captain get my mother into trouble?’

Ned set the tankard on the table and put his hands on her shoulders, reassuring her with his infinitely gentle eyes and an expression which spoke only of a father’s true love for his daughter.

‘Whatever your blood line, Cora, you’ll always be my child.’

‘So it
is
true,’ she whispered.

‘Aye, it is. But there’s more.’

Ned let go of her and Cora waited to hear what else he had to say, this man whom she had always thought to be her father. Her mind was in turmoil.

‘The good captain,’ Ned began, ‘did not beget you by your mother, Sarah. If the resemblance is as striking as Halliford claims, the captain probably fathered you, but by a different woman altogether.’

Cora blanched. This she had not anticipated. She had expected to hear the age-old tale of a maid seduced by the master of the house. She had even been prepared for the possibility that she was the result of a rape, but the notion that Sarah might not have been her mother at all had never entered her mind.

Tears stung her eyes. Her beautiful mother, so gentle and frail, whose only ambition in life was to have a family, had carried one child to term in her womb, and that child wasn’t Cora. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. Not wanting to give vent to her hurt and anger, she clenched her fists in her lap.

Ned waited in silence while she battled with her rage and frustration, then he said, ‘Your natural mother was Lady Heston.’

‘Lady Heston?’ Cora looked up. ‘The woman who ran away and was found dead in a coach?’ The story was well-known.

‘The very same.’

Ned dug inside his shirt and pulled out a small bundle. ‘Here. This is the only proof I have of your identity. It has preyed on my conscience for many years, and I have often debated whether I should give it to you, but I was afraid that I might lose you if I did. Whenever I tried to tell you, it never seemed to be quite the right moment. Forgive me.’

Cora stared at the bundle in her hand, and then back at her father. Well, he was her father, wasn’t he? He had fed her, clothed her, taught her to walk, talk, picked her up when she fell over, scolded her, comforted her and gone without when there was little to eat. Only a real father did those things.

‘Oh, Father,’ she said and sent him an affectionate look, ‘of course I forgive you. It must have been a dreadful burden for you. I never knew how troubled you were.’

Ned smiled. ‘Open it,’ he said.

She pulled back the corners of the cloth to reveal a pendant and a ring. The pendant was a miniature painting depicting an elegant lady in watercolour on ivory, and the ring was a plain band of gold with an inscription inside it. Cora held it up in the sunlight to read: ‘To My Lady Heart. C’.

‘
C
?’ she said, raising her eyebrows.

Ned shrugged. ‘I can’t be certain, but I think it must have been a gift from her husband. Lord Heston’s Christian name is Charles.’

‘I see,’ Cora said. This was hardly proof, though; one could argue that Ned might have come by these items at any time. ‘And how did these items end up in your possession?’ she asked.

‘Sarah, your … mother, gave them to me after Lady Heston died.’

‘Did she steal them?’

‘No.’ Ned had a fierce look in his eyes. ‘She took them to give to Lady Heston’s child one day.’

Cora shook her head. ‘I still don’t understand. Lady Heston died with her child in her arms. How can these things be proof of
my
identity?’

Ned rose and paced the room, but then stopped and looked at her as if there was something important on his mind. He shook his head and turned away.

‘Father?’

Cora got up and stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder, beseeching him to look at her. Finally he turned and sent her a wry smile.

‘I once made my living as a highwayman,’ Ned said. ‘Just as you support us now, much to my horror. Although it has to be said, George taught you well. Anyhow, I was the one who held up the lady’s coach.’

Cora stared at him, unable to comprehend what he’d just told her. Her law-abiding father, a highwayman?

‘Not only that,’ he said, ‘but I switched the babies.’

‘You switched … in God’s name, why?’

‘Because Lady Heston implored me to. She feared for your life, feared what her husband would do to you when he discovered that you couldn’t possibly be his daughter.’ Smiling wistfully, Ned gave her arm a squeeze. ‘I always suspected that she must have been unfaithful to her husband. Why else would she have launched herself so desperately into the night? I just never knew who her lover was. Now I do. And so do you.’

‘Tell me everything from the beginning, please. I need to understand,’ Cora begged.

Cora listened in amazement as Ned told her exactly what had happened that night. Desperate for a few shillings so he could feed himself, he had held up a coach amid a dreadful storm. But a pitiful sight had greeted him when he opened the door, a woman close to death, her newborn baby tucked into a basket beside her. He hadn’t been able to deny the woman’s dying wishes to save her baby from her husband.

Cora smiled when he described her mother, Sarah, sitting in his horse’s saddle with as much dignity as a queen, making Ned almost dizzy from her presence.

‘And so it was I found myself with an infant in my arms and a hoity-toity lady’s maid straddling my horse. I had a curious feeling that I’d been hood-winked,’ he told her.

They’d travelled through the woods to the Ewers’ place, where just that morning Ben Ewer’s wife had given birth to stillborn girl. After switching the babies, Ned and Sarah had taken Cora home.

‘Of all the possessions I have acquired robbing from the rich,’ Ned said, ‘I have never held anything quite so precious in my arms.’