The Cornish Heiress (8 page)

Thus it was also impossible to fix his eyes on his target,
rush to the bed, and strike Philip with the butt of the unloaded pistol he
carried in his hand. He had to go right up to the bed, pause, lean closer. At
that point the plan went a little awry. Jean bumped the bed lightly as he
strained to see. Philip jerked. His, sleep had been deep, but he had been
sleeping for some hours and he was no longer exhausted. Although he had decided
there was no foundation to his hopes that any adventure would overtake him
before he left England there was just enough suspicion left in him to bring him
half awake before Jean brought his gun down.

Jean felt the gun hit something solid. Philip jerked again
and then went limp. With a sigh of relief, Jean fumbled on the bedside table
for the flint and tinder and lit the candle that stood ready. They did not dare
light the branches of candles for fear the glow would be seen under the ill-fitting
door or between the curtains. Besides, they knew there was not much to search.
They had a good look at Philip when they passed him and saw he had virtually no
baggage.

The roll of greatcoat and extra clothing was unstrapped
first. It took longer than Jean had thought, and Henri was trembling with
anxiety. Every garment had to be shaken and felt to be sure that the papers
were not inside a sleeve or a leg. The saddlebags hanging over the back of a
chair were next. Too nervous to feel through them, Henri dumped them on the floor.
Jean growled at him and then growled again when he saw there was nothing in
them of the least interest. He pawed through the evening slippers and the
rolled stockings, fine silk, too thin to conceal anything.

“He has sent the papers ahead,” Henri muttered, “There were
knee breeches. He is going to visit someone.”

“No,” Jean snarled. “There was more in the saddlebags than
this. Also he is such a fool that he is probably still carrying the papers
openly in his wallet. That must be under the pillows.”

The voices were low, but they were enough to cover the soft
groan Philip had just uttered. The concentration on what they were doing and
the light of the candle also concealed from them that Philip had raised a hand
to his head. Jean’s blow, although meant to stun for a considerable time, had
been softened by a fold of the loose down pillows. Philip had been only briefly
unconscious. By the time the saddlebags were dumped, he was aware but still too
dazed to be certain what had happened. Now, just as the two turned toward the
bed, Philip realized that his head hurt. He had been struck! He sat up,
reaching under the pillow for his pistol and calling out.

Without waiting for anything, Henri dashed the candle to the
floor and ran for the door. Jean might have stood his ground, but he was
blinded by the sudden extinguishing of the light and startled by Henri’s
movement. He, too, ran for the door, just as Philip found his gun. Philip did
not fire, partly because he knew he could not aim owing to his dizziness and
the dark, but more because he realized his assailants had left the room. For a
few minutes Philip struggled dizzily to rid himself of the bedclothes, which
were well tangled around his legs, so that he could give chase. When be had
finally pushed them away, however, he did not bother to get out of bed.

Philip had no idea that other guests had arrived. Tired as
he was, he had discouraged the early attempts at conversation the landlord had
made. He assumed that the attackers had found a way in or had bribed the landlord
or a servant. So, unless the men were total idiots, they would have prepared a
quick escape route. He should have shouted or fired his pistol at once, but he
had been confused. Now it was too late. There was no sense in rousing the whole
place. Whether the landlord was truly unaware or paid to be unaware made little
difference; in either case he would be no help. Gingerly rubbing his head,
Philip got up and dragged a table across the door. It would not keep anyone
out, but it would make enough noise, scraping across the floor, to wake him.

In the morning when he saw the mess, Philip was furious.
However, he knew the thieves had not got what they wanted His boots had been in
the possession of the servant whose duty it was to clean them, his purse had
been under his pillow with the wallet and the muff gun, and the Lorenzoni pistols
were under the bed behind the chamber pot. Philip had thought when he regained
his senses that there had been no time for his assailants to search. Now he
realized he had been wrong, but as he repacked his possessions he saw that
nothing at all had been taken; even the packets of paper cartridges for the
Parker pistols in his saddle holsters were there. Everything had been torn open
and strewn around, but his watch and his snuffbox had not even been moved on
the bedside table.

Initially, when he saw clothing and other articles strewn around,
Philip thought of calling a servant to clean up. He reconsidered that notion in
time. There would have been questions about what be had lost, on why he had not
called for help. Possibly to keep a clean name the landlord would have demanded
that he report to the authorities in the neighborhood. That would mean endless
delays. Besides—Philip rubbed his head, which was still tender and ached a
little—he would prefer to deal with his assailants himself. The first round was
a draw; the next he would win. These had not been ordinary thieves—those would
have taken his watch and snuffbox.

When he came down to breakfast, the inn was quiet. No one
said anything to him about a window or door found open. That might merely be
caution, but it might also imply that the landlord was party to the deed. It was
best, Philip thought, to take no chances. He ate well but quickly, ordering that
his horse be saddled and ready as soon as he was finished. Since Jean and Henri
were long gone—they had left as soon as it was light enough to see, well before
the sun rose—Philip never discovered that there had been other guests at the
inn.

As Philip directed Spite onto the road again, a stirring of excitement
filled him. They would try again, but not, he thought, at an inn. They would expect
him to be on his guard there.
They
, Philip wondered, why did he think
they
?
He had not seen more than one shadow in the room, and yet he was sure… Yes,
there had been at least two. He remembered now that the door had opened before
the shadow reached it. Philip’s brow wrinkled. Spite’s gait was not soothing
his aching head. It did not seem possible to him that a gang could be involved.
That would be impractical. Two or three men. What would they try next?

Philip looked around him, but this was a highly unlikely
place for an attack. The grazed-over downs rolled away on either side, ahead
and behind. There was no hiding place for anything larger than a partridge or a
pheasant. It was simply not possible for anyone to prepare a surprise attack on
this section of the road. Once again Philip searched the horizon on every side,
trying to be sure there was no fold of land or patch of wood in which men and horses
could be hidden. If there was, it was too far away to make surprise possible anyway.
Philip dismissed the possibility from mind—almost disappointed—and tried to
think ahead.

When Philip left the inn, the Lorenzoni pistols, loaded and
half-cocked, had been moved from their box in his saddlebags to the tops of his
boots. Simply by dropping either hand down to his side, he could draw a gun and
fire. Moreover, the Lorenzonis could be reloaded in about two seconds by the
simple procedure of raising the muzzle and swinging a lever forward, then
dropping the muzzle and swinging it back. There was no need to fumble for a
cartridge paper, tear it open, pour powder and ball down. the muzzle, and ram
it home before being ready to fire.

Added to Spite’s surprising turn for speed and ability to jump,
Philip felt quite sure he could wound or kill the men before they could hurt him.
He had one advantage over them, which he had deduced from what they had done in
the inn. Plainly they had some reason for wanting to keep him alive. Nothing would
have been easier than to put a pillow over his face while, he was stunned and
smother him. There were two of them, and they could have overpowered him even if
he should have regained consciousness before he strangled. Philip himself felt
no such compunction. If he could kill them, he would do so gladly. They were
French agents, enemies of his country and enemies of the most insidious kind.
Either they could pass as Englishmen or actually were English, and therefore far
more despicable, being traitors.

Had Jean or Henri guessed the pattern of Philip’s thoughts, they
would have gotten rid of him when they had the chance. Instead they imagined be
would be only frightened and wary. A long discussion resolved into the decision
to abandon all attempts to waylay him until they were west of Exeter. There was
no way Philip could avoid passing through that city, the Exe being too wide for
a bridge below the town. Thus, all roads led into Exeter, and Jean was sure they
could pick Philip up again when he entered or left. This plan had the further
advantage that Philip might relax his guard if several days passed without any added
alarm.

Their long hours in the carriage had produced one more
idea—that it was stupid to expose themselves in any attempt to take Philip. Thus
Jean had found a person in the slews of Exeter who, for a few guineas and whatever
Philip was carrying that was of value, would take on the task of holding him
up. They told a tale of blackmail—Philip had obtained papers that could be used
to ruin their business. They did not want him hurt if it could be avoided. All
they wanted was the papers. The highwayman could have Philip’s purse, his
watch, his snuffbox—all his valuables. However, as the papers were almost certainly
concealed on his person, he would have to be overpowered and stunned or bound
and blindfolded so he could be thoroughly searched.

The highwayman made nothing of that. Sometimes men who
traveled with valuables carried an extra purse to be flung to a thief. Often they
went so far as to carry cheap watches or snuffboxes too. It was becoming a
common practice of the more daring rank riders to search their victims. However,
for that a really lonely stretch of road or a guarantee that none would come along
and interrupt was a necessity. If Jean wanted the job done near Exeter, or the victim
took the well-traveled coast road toward Plymouth, it would be necessary to
block the road in both directions for at least a few minutes, until he could stun
Philip and drag him off the road.

Jean and his hired man had argued over the price of such
help and come to terms. Jean and Henri would block the road from Exeter by drawing
their carriage across it. One of them could pretend to have fallen and been
stunned. Anyone who came along could be stopped and asked for help. The
highwayman would provide another of his ilk to stop anyone coming from Plymouth.
The signal would be one pistol shot, which would serve the double purpose of
frightening Philip into obedience. If Philip took the less-traveled road toward
Launceston, the second man would not be required. It would be enough for Jean and
Henri to block the Exeter side.

After all this planning, it was a sheer accident that Henri saw
Philip enter Exeter. He was lounging in the breakfast room of the inn at which they
were staying after a very late rising idly watching the traffic that passed on
the road. In fact, he did not know Philip by sight and would not have
recognized him. It was the rawboned bay that drew his attention. Philip stopped
to ask the ostler of the inn a question, and Spite laid back his ears and showed
his teeth as if he were about to savage the man who had raised a hand to stroke
him. When Henri had gone into the stable to order their horses put to after the
abortive attack on Philip, Spite had turned his head and frightened Henri half
to death with that gesture.

Henri leapt to his feet and ran upstairs where he burst in
on Jean, shouting that their man was riding right through town. Jean wasted no
time. He told Henri to follow Philip and, if he did not stop on his own, to
accost him and hold him in talk. He would meet Henri with the carriage just
inside the old town gate as soon as he could.

At the far end of the town Henri saw Philip turn into an
innyard and dismount As Philip handed his reins to an ostler he gestured to a postilion,
to whom he talked for a while and then handed a coin. Discreetly Henri idled
about. It had occurred to him that the only thing Philip would want to talk to
a postilion about was the condition of the roads. If he asked the same question
of the postilion he would get the same answers, and perhaps even find out which
road Philip planned to take.

In fact, matters worked out just that way. Philip had
mentioned that he intended to take the upper, less traveled road to Bodmin.
Since the ostler had led Philip’s horse into the stable, Henri assumed that he had
stopped for a meal rather than a cup of coffee or mug of ale. He would have
time to pass the information to Jean and his hireling rank rider.

The highwayman was waiting a little distance from Jean’s
carriage and was not ill-pleased at the news. It meant that he would not need to
share with any associate. He grunted acceptance and rode off making for a
convenient spot he knew well from previous robberies. Henri climbed into the carriage
with a deep sigh of relief. When Philip rode past them without a glance some time
later, he sighed again. He just knew that they would be able to follow him
without difficulty and that no one would come along the road, behind them to
interfere with their plans. From the lucky chance of spotting Philip,
everything had gone just right. He felt much better now; sure that good luck would
follow good luck.

Philip was of an exactly opposite opinion. He believed that
when anything has been running very smoothly, there are bound to be little unseen
bumps to throw it off the track. His wariness was increased rather than decreased
by the untroubled ride and quiet nights he had had. He knew that all roads south
of Bath led to Exeter. Thus, before he mounted to leave the town, he made sure
his Lorenzoni pistols had fresh powder in their priming pans and were at half
cock.

At first he rode slowly, giving Spite a chance to digest
what he had eaten. It was a very lonely road. If ever there was an appropriate
place for his pursuers to fall on him, this was it, Philip thought. Even the weather
threatened; it was a dull, gray day. After a moment’s thought Philip unrolled
his greatcoat and put it on. It would fall low enough to hide the pistol butts sticking
out of his boots. Preparations made, Philip touched Spite with his spur and cantered
on for about a quarter of a mile. There was a sharp curve in the road ahead. Instinctively
he tightened his rein and Spite slowed.

It was fortunate he had done so. Just around the turn a
masked rider waited with his horse athwart the road. As Philip appeared he
brandished a pistol in each hand and shouted for Philip to “stand and deliver”.
If Spite had been going faster, Philip might have had his hands too full with
his horse to plan his moves. As it was, he uttered a startled gasp as he pulled
Spite to a halt. The highwayman laughed. “Get you down,” he ordered, and fired the
pistol in his left hand. “A warning,” he said. “The next one will hit.”

The highwayman’s horse, accustomed to shots, stood like a
rock, but Spite danced and bucked to Philip’s intense delight. Since the stupid
clot had already fired one gun, he had only one shot left and probably would
not dare fire again. Even if he did, there was little chance of his hitting
Philip while Spite was cavorting all over the road. The man shouted threats,
but Philip allowed Spite to whirl right around while he shoved his left arm
through his reins so that both hands were essentially free. As his right side was
hidden by the movement, he dropped his hand and pulled one of the Lorenzonis
from his boot. A single pull brought the gun to full cock and, as Spite came
around the full turn, Philip raised his arm and fired.

Simultaneously he dug his spurs into Spite’s ribs and bent
low. The horse sprang forward frantically. Surprised out of his wits, by the
shot and by Spite charging down at him, the highwayman forgot all about his instructions
not to harm Philip and fired his second pistol. However, his horse, which was
proof against pistol shots, was not indifferent to collisions. Seeing Spite thundering
toward her, the mare began to move aside, and the variety of motions made the
highwayman’s shot as wide as Philip’s. As he bent, Philip reloaded his gun.

Spite had just passed the highwayman’s mare, but Philip now grabbed
the reins in his left hand and wheeled the horse around. He had no intention of
galloping off down the road. For one thing, that was an open invitation for a
bullet in the back; for another, Philip had no idea the man was only hired
help. He thought he was facing one of the French agents and was quite
determined that the world would be better off without him. He could not
understand why the “agent’s” companion had not burst out of hiding or fired at
him from concealment. Perhaps there had been only one man.

Even so, had the highwayman fled, Philip could not have
brought himself to shoot him in the back. Instead, shouting curses, the man was
fumbling in his pocket, either for a cartridge with which to reload his gun or possibly
for a third pistol. Philip did not wait to find out. From nearly point-blank
range, he shot him in the head.

The body went over sideways, limp hands dropping the reins.
This, together with being twice charged by Spite, was too much for the mare.
With a whinny of fear the animal took off down the road. Philip started to
follow, thinking it would be best to examine what the man was carrying.
However, when the bumping tipped the corpse over so that one foot tangled in the
stirrup and it was dragged, Philip drew Spite in sharply. His gorge rose and
tears filled his eyes.