Lies and Misdemeanours (12 page)

“I know you are upset, Hetty,” Charlie replied quietly as he looked at her. “I understand. He makes me angry too.”

“I am sorry,” Hetty whispered. “Meldrew just makes me so furious. Why does he do it? Why? How can one man get away with something so heinous as to set two people up for murders they didn’t commit; act as judge at the trial, and then allow two innocent men to hang by the neck until they are dead for something they didn’t do? How does he sleep at night?”

“Men like Meldrew have no conscience, Hetty. You should know that. They will stop at nothing to get what they want, when they want, and will crush anyone who stands in their way. Unfortunately, someone like Meldrew is a little despot; a tyrant who has smarmed his way into a position of authority, which he uses to bully, abuse, and threaten anyone who challenges him.”

“What about the other magistrates though?” Hetty cried. “Why won’t they stand up to him?”

“From what I hear, the magistrate in Leicester is just as bad, and the one in Nottingham is Meldrew. He took over as acting magistrate for Nottingham when the previous incumbent there died,” Charlie replied in disgust.

“Killed by Meldrew, no doubt,” Hetty snapped in disgust.

Charlie froze and turned toward her. He thought about that for a moment and tucked it away to mention to Sir Hugo when he arrived. Did Meldrew plan to continue to spread his authority as wide as it would go until he was practically unstoppable?

He studied her for a moment. “Look, we have to get moving.”

Hetty allowed her horse to race after Charlie’s. As she rode she glanced around them, but could see little of the landscape because of the hills. Her hands began to shake, but it wasn’t from cold. Sheer guts and determination had kept her together over the past day or so but, now that the real danger was chasing them, panic had started to take hold and she seriously struggled to keep it at bay.

“Slow down a minute,” Charlie urged several miles later.

Hetty reluctantly complied.

“It will be alright, Hetty,” Charlie murmured. He leaned toward her and placed a comforting hand over hers. “I promise you, here and now, that everything will be alright. I shall not let him get hold of you.”

She nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks but, before she could say anything, found her lips captured by the warmth of his. His breath brushed tenderly across her cheek and drew a sigh of longing from her. She leaned forward and returned the tender caress with all of the emotion that swirled deep inside her. This was what she needed. Him: his closeness. Just having him next to her steadied her world, and made her feel stronger.

“We will get out of this,” he promised.

When she smiled bravely at him, he nodded toward the empty fields ahead of them. “Shall we?”

“Yes, lets,” she whispered.

This time, they settled the horses into a steady canter. The gentler pace, and the rocking motion of the horse, seemed to soothe her. Charlie studied her, and was relieved to see that the tears had gone from her lashes. She still looked as though she was about to crumble into a thousand tiny pieces at any moment, and it unnerved him to see the terror in her eyes, but she was, at least for now, managing to keep her fear under control.

They arrived at a small group of houses an hour later. It was a seemingly nondescript little place. About fifty or so houses, of varying ages and sizes, were gathered together on either side of a small stream that ran straight into the hills.

At any other time, Hetty would have quite enjoyed its quaintness. However, this morning she was unnerved, on edge, and desperately searching for jailers.

She glanced at Charlie. Outwardly, he was calm, but couldn’t hide the wariness in his gaze as it flicked around them in search of danger. Hetty felt that she knew him well enough now to be certain that he was primed and ready for a fight.

“We need to ask someone where we are,” Charlie growled as he studied the road for any sign of a village shop, or parish church.

“There is a mile stone over there, look.” Hetty pointed to the small white stone at the side of the village green.

‘Derby 10 miles’, was written in black letters above a small black arrow pointing to the right.

“To the left it is then,” Charlie declared firmly.

“Do you know where we are now?” Hetty asked. She hoped he knew where they were because she certainly didn’t.

Charlie shook his head. “Not yet, but the further we can get away from here the better. I think we are going in the right direction, I just cannot be sure right now.”

They turned to the left and began to trot through the village. Thankfully, not many people were out and about. The occasional carriage and curricle they did pass showed neither of them any attention whatsoever, in spite of the fact that Hetty was riding astride in a dress that revealed a scandalous display of shapely leg.

Charlie eyed the long limb that protruded from beneath her skirts, and sighed. It had plagued him for most of the morning. He desperately needed her to cover it up, for his sanity if nothing else.

“Do you ride side-saddle?” he asked, although had no idea what he would do if she said yes.

“I was raised at a mill with two brothers,” she held up two fingers to emphasise the fact. “I was driving carts around the fields by the time I was ten. Mine was not a proper upbringing,” she declared in a poor mimicry of an aristocrat. “So no, I have never learned to ride side-saddle.”

Charlie shook his head. He didn’t really care what kind of childhood she had experienced. She was more than enough of a lady for him. He eyed the long length of leg again, and sighed deeply when his body immediately began to respond.

“Why?”

Charlie looked at her absently. “Why, what?”

“Why do you want to know if I can ride side-saddle?”

“I think that we need to get you out of that dress, and into some breeches.”

She burst out laughing. Just the thought of wearing manly breeches was hysterical.

Unfortunately, Charlie didn’t crack smile. She stared at him. Her mirth died in an instant when the realisation that he wasn’t joking sank in.

“What?” She gulped and stared at him with wide, slightly stunned eyes.

“You need to change clothes. We both do.” He glanced down at the clothes he wore, and wondered whether they were Simon’s because they weren’t his. “Just how much money do you have on you?”

“I don’t know,” she replied warily.

Sometimes, she just wished she could get inside his head to see what was going on but, from the rather too thoughtful look on his face, she doubted that she would like what she found there.

“We are not going to steal clothes, and we certainly won’t be able to afford to purchase any.”

“We need to eat first,” Charlie replied with a nod. “Then we will decide what to do about clothing.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t argue with him. Just the thought of food made her stomach rumble loudly. She realised then that she hadn’t eaten at all since yesterday. She was starving, and desperately needed to eat something or she was fairly certain that she was going to start to chew on the saddle.

“Fair enough. Food first, then clothing. But –,” she declared with a sniff, “- I am not wearing breeches. I know that I am not one of those prim and proper ladies you are undoubtedly used to, but I absolutely refuse to dress like a man.”

Charlie eyed the gentle swell of her rather ample bosoms beneath her dress and grinned.

“Don’t worry. I seriously don’t think that we could get away with trying to pass you off as a man. I just think that it would be safer, for the sanity of the men in the villages we pass through, that you cover those delicious legs of yours.”

He clicked his horse into a trot and grinned at her when she gasped and looked down at her offending limbs. Her cheeks suddenly flamed with embarrassment.

He was still teasing her, and trying to talk her into it when they left the village behind several minutes later.

An hour later, they were still arguing.

“I am still not wearing them,” she declared firmly as she finished the last bite of her apple and handed the core to her horse. She couldn’t stand those slightly accusing, soft brown eyes on her a moment longer and had felt guilty for each mouthful she had taken of the succulent fruit, but needs must and she was starving.

Charlie grinned at her. It was good to see this rather defiant, impish side to her. He couldn’t resist the way that humour lit her eyes, and teased her some more. After the tension of the last several days, it was nice to be able to lighten the atmosphere, even for a little while.

To her surprise, while she had been fetching the food, he had ‘purloined’ several items of clothing from somewhere. She eyed the garments warily and shook her head in disgust.

“Look, I have got a cloak too,” he cajoled, and nudged the pile of clothes with his knee.

“How?” she demanded. “Just tell me that? You have stolen them, haven’t you?” She knew that she sounded like a fishwife, but simply refused to wear the clothing he had brought back with him until she knew a bit more about where it had come from.

“I left enough behind to recompense the owner,” he defended. “We still have enough left to ensure that we can eat throughout the rest of the journey. As long as we don’t go into any taverns and eat like kings, we should be able to survive. We will still have enough money left for another day’s worth of food, just in case anything goes wrong and we are delayed in getting to the safe house.”

“I can’t ride through the country wearing men’s breeches. I am going to attract attention, and that is the last thing we need right now,” she argued.

She fought the urge to bang her head against the ground in frustration at her inability to get him to understand that she was not going to wear the clothes he had brought for her to change into. Their discord had been temporarily halted while their appetites appeased but, now that the remainder of the food had been carefully tucked away in their cloak pockets, they were back to discussing her clothing.

“I am a fairly liberal minded person. I grew up with two brothers. Now, I am not averse to trying most things, but I absolutely, simply, completely, refuse to wear gentlemen’s breeches,” she declared firmly, and crossed her arms in a defiant pose for emphasis.

Charlie lifted the pile of clothing and held them out to her. “I have brought you a cloak too. Not only will you not draw attention to yourself by scandalously riding through villages flashing those gorgeous legs of yours, but you will be warmer with the cloak, and considerably more comfortable riding without the skirts,” he reasoned - not for the first time. “The jailers are looking for a man and a woman. If you change, and I wear a cloak, there are effectively two men riding together. People won’t notice us. They will remember a woman who was flashing her legs and riding astride though.”

He stared pointedly at her legs hidden beneath the folds of her skirts.

She took the clothes off him, and disappeared into the trees.

It felt strange to draw the breeches over her legs. She had seen her brothers in long trousers on many occasions and, of course, many men wearing breeches, but had never really thought anything of it before. Now that she too was wearing them, she wished she could put her dress back on.

The course material against the smooth, tender flesh of her inner thighs felt harsh and unfamiliar. This was by far the most uncomfortable thing she could do. She looked down at the sight of her long legs so clearly displayed for the world to see, and sighed in dismay.

How on earth Charlie thought she might convince anyone she was man was anyone’s guess.

Still, he is right about being noticed,
she thought as she tugged on the surprisingly snug boots, and drew the coarse cotton shirt over her head.

There was nothing she could do about her breasts; they had to remain within the tight confines of her corset. She was awkwardly aware of the snug fit of her shirt as it pressed against the lush mounds God had graced her with. It was almost a relief when she drew the cloak around her to hide her blushes. She could only hope and pray that they didn’t need to stop off at a tavern, and she would be required to take the wretched thing off.

As far as she was concerned, nobody; neither man, woman or child, was going to see her thus, without a cloak.

With that thought firmly rooted in her mind, she nodded to nobody in particular and stomped out of the clearing with the folds of the cloak held closed with determined fingers. Her dress was tucked under her elbow but, as she walked toward him, Charlie was already shaking his head.

“I am afraid that has to stay,” he nodded to her dress.

“I am not leaving my shawl,” she argued. “It is my warmest one.”

“I will buy you three new shawls once this is over. It cannot come with us because we cannot be caught with anything incriminating on us. If they hold up the shawl to their ‘witnesses’, it could be recognised. As it is, with this hat tugged over here like this -,” he drew a large brimmed hat over her head. “This cloak over here covering, well, practically all of you, nobody is going to suspect a thing.”

He tugged his own hat on, and stood back to admire his handiwork. He groaned in disbelief. She was dressed up like a highwayman, but without a tricorn, and had numerous folds of clothing covering her from the top of her gorgeous head to the tips of her heavy boots, yet she still managed to look teasingly seductive.

He coughed uncomfortably and turned toward his horse before he did something that would shock them both.

As he led her horse toward her, he tried to block out all thoughts of just how soft the field looked, and how wonderful it would be to spend the afternoon rolling around in it with her. When his body began to respond to the images that flashed through his mind, he handed her the reins, and lingered long enough to help her into her saddle, before he mounted his own horse in one swift motion and wheeled it in the direction of the safe house.

“Let’s go,” he growled.

“Is everything alright?” she asked when she saw the dark frown on his face.

Had she said something to annoy him? The swiftness of the change within him was a little alarming given that, as far as she could see, they were the only people for miles around, and everything had been fine moments earlier.

“I am fine,” he assured her without meeting her gaze.

A rather stilted silence settled between them as they rode side by side through the fields. He daren’t look at her for fear of teasing his already tortured flesh; and she daren’t speak to him in case she angered him even more.

When he couldn’t stand the tension a moment longer, he looked at her. She appeared to be enjoying the sunshine and warmth of the day, and was completely at ease with her new persona. It was a little unnerving to note just how quickly, and how well, she had adapted to the new disguise, and how hot and bothered it made him. He rather suspected that he was creating problems for himself because he wanted to peel away the layers to get to the woman beneath. Now, as a result of his own ingenuity, he faced a new struggle keep his mind on anything other than the tantalising way the cloak folds had eased apart, and flashed him a teasing glance of the full length of one extremely curvy, and very long leg.

“We really do need to talk when we get to Afferley,” Charlie declared, calmly but firmly.

“Oh?” Hetty lifted a brow, and waited.

“We have issues now,” he declared obliquely.

“Issues? What issues?” Hetty knew that he was referring to their marriage.

That morning, when they had stood side-by-side in the Head Jailer’s office and dedicated their lives to each other, was something that would always stand out in her memories. It had been as bittersweet, and heart-breaking, as it had been joyous. In spite of the starkness of their location, the special moment when he had slipped the ring on her finger and the Vicar had declared them to be man and wife was something she knew she would never forget.

“Jesus,” Charlie snapped. “Keep going, and keep your face blank.”

“What?” she frowned as his words snapped her out of her revere. It was only when she turned to look at him that she realised something was amiss.

Her gaze instinctively followed his and, when she saw what he was looking at, her stomach dropped to her toes.

There, heading directly toward them, in the direction of Derby, were four large black horses pulling an empty jailer’s cart.