His Mask of Retribution

When the clock struck three, Knight was nowhere near Aldgate High Street. He was drinking champagne in the bow window of White’s Gentleman’s Club with Bullford, Devlin, Razeby and Fallingham, and making sure the ton of London knew that he was there. He knew the boy he had paid would wait for Misbourne to arrive before passing him the note.

‘What d’you make of the story of Misbourne’s carriage crash?’ Bullford was asking.

‘Maybe Pickering’s getting cold feet,’ said Devlin. ‘After all, she’s hardly good ton at the minute. It will take a while longer before Misbourne lives down the embarrassment over Arlesford. And it’s not as if Pickering needs the money.’

‘Lucky escape for little Lady Marianne, if you ask me.’ Fallingham swigged at his champagne. ‘Pickering’s so old that he’s in danger of dying on the job, if you know what I mean.’

All the men except Knight laughed.

‘What do you think, Knight?’ asked Bullford, draining his glass.

He should not give a damn about Marianne Winslow, but he did not wish to think about her lying beneath Pickering. ‘I think it’s time we opened another bottle of champagne,’ he said. ‘I’ve got better things to do with the rest of my day.’ Callerton should have the girl well in place by now.

‘Would that involve keeping a certain widow satisfied?’ Devlin asked.

Knight smiled, but said nothing.

‘Lucky bugger!’ said Razeby. The rest of the men chortled in appreciation.

‘Maybe you should be laying off the champers in preparation for tomorrow’s four-in-hand race. Do you think you’ll beat Hawick?’ asked Bullford.

‘Why? Are you thinking of wagering against me?’ drawled Knight. His eyes slid across the room to the grandfather clock in the corner.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, old man,’ said Bullford.

‘We like to make money, not lose it,’ agreed Fallingham.

The champagne arrived. ‘A monkey on it that no one can down the bottle in one,’ said Devlin.

‘Prepare to pay up,’ said Fallingham, lifting the bottle and placing it to his lips. He began to drink while his friends stamped their feet and chanted their support around him.

Knight waited until another two bottles of champagne had been opened before he slipped away.

‘If this is a direction to yet another street…’ warned Misbourne, grabbing the letter from beneath the apple cart in Cutler Street. ‘This is the fourth note. He’s had us on a wild goose chase all over London. The villain’s intent on making fools of us.’

‘He’s intent on making it as hard as possible for us to track him…and Marianne,’ corrected Linwood.

‘Give the document to the boy by the organ grinder. Lady Marianne will be delivered to your home.’ Misbourne read the words aloud. ‘Are the men still following us?’ he added beneath his breath to Linwood, who gave a subtle nod and lifted his wolf’s-head walking cane from where it rested on the ground.

‘Then let us hope the boy leads them straight to the villain’s lair.’

‘You should let me go,’ said Linwood.

‘Having you running through the streets will attract too much attention. No, it is better this way.’ Misbourne slipped a folded and sealed document from his pocket and walked over to the fair-haired boy by the organ grinder. The boy saw him coming and Misbourne understood from the expression on his face that the boy knew what to expect. He took the document without a word and disappeared into the crowded street. And the two men lounging in the mouth of the alleyway behind Misbourne slipped into the crowd after him.

Knight took the document from the boy. ‘You’re sure you lost them?’

‘Easy as pie. I passed it to Jim, who passed it to Dodger, who passed it to me. We led ‘em a merry dance all the way down to the dockland just as you said and left ‘em there.’

‘Good.’ Knight slipped the coins into the boy’s grubby hand.

‘Pleasure doing business with you, gov, as always.’ And the boy disappeared again.

Knight’s heart was thumping hard. The folded paper was fragile and yellowed with age. He could see the shadow of writing shining through its thinness. His mouth dried with anticipation. The question had haunted him every day of the last fifteen years—now he held the answer in his hands. He took a breath and carefully unfolded the document.

His eyes scanned the faded ink. The document was dated for June 1795 and was a letter from a senior government minister of the time to Misbourne. Several sensitive topics were discussed and it was clear, from both the tone and the detail revealed, that the two men were on friendly terms. It was a letter that many might have paid to read, the stuff of petty scandal, but Knight crushed it within his hand as a red mist descended before him.

Marianne heard the footsteps outside in the alleyway before the highwayman’s accomplice did. The highwayman strode into the room wearing the same long dark coat he had worn upon Hounslow Heath, but his hat was the smart beaver she had watched him don in the coach, and beneath the coat she caught a glimpse of the fine white shirt and dark waistcoat. The mask tied around his face had moulded to his features and his boots left a trail of footsteps through the dirt of the floor.

After all these hours of waiting, he had finally come to return her to her father. Her stomach tightened with anticipation. Then she met his eyes, and they were not golden and light but dark and dangerous and filled with such a cold hard rage that she knew, before he even spoke the words to his accomplice, that it had all gone wrong.

‘Misbourne played us false.’

‘He didn’t deliver the document?’ The accomplice sounded as shocked as Marianne felt.

‘Not the right one. Does he think me so much a fool that I would not notice?’

‘You said he was a blackguard but, even so, what manner of man risks his own daughter?’ the accomplice whispered, but she heard him just the same.

‘No!’ Marianne leapt to her feet so suddenly that the chair tipped back and clattered on to the floor. ‘You’re lying! My father must be confused. You cannot have made it clear what you wanted.’

The highwayman walked right up to her and his eyes were dark and deadly. ‘Your father knows exactly what I want, Lady Marianne.’

‘No,’ she whispered, shaking her head, knowing that what the highwayman was saying could not be true. ‘He would not leave me here with you. He would do everything in his power to save me.’ She knew it with all her heart.

Something of the rage diminished in the highwayman’s eyes and the way he was looking at her made his words ring true more than any angry assertions could have done. ‘I am sorry, Lady Marianne.’

‘There must be some mistake.’

The harshness of his whisper softened. ‘There is no mistake.’

‘You’re lying,’ she said again and her voice was very quiet and controlled, in such contrast to the terrible frenzied thud of her heart. Of course he was lying. He had to be lying.

He said nothing, just stood there and looked at her, and she could not bear to see the pity in his eyes.

‘You’re lying!’ she shouted it this time. ‘You just want more from him!’

‘Lady Marianne.’ Gently he tried to take her arm.

‘No!’ She flinched and pushed him away. ‘Do not touch me!’

‘We have to move,’ she heard his accomplice say in the background. ‘What do we do with the girl?’

The highwayman did not take his gaze from hers as he answered, ‘We take her home with us.’

The accomplice gestured the highwayman aside. They talked in hushed tones, but Marianne could hear some of what they were saying.

‘Maybe we should just let her go. If Misbourne isn’t going to give up the document…’ The accomplice was arguing to release her.