The Highwayman's Footsteps (18 page)

But no such sound came. The men said something which we could not hear. Then we heard footsteps again, and the two soldiers came running down the stairs. “'E's not 'ere!” said one, confusion and anger on his face.

I struggled to maintain my composure, to show not one single sign of the joy I felt inside. How could he not be there? The cottage, they said, was surrounded. They would have ensured that before they came to the door. He could not have escaped from the window, not with the soldiers watching there.

With a cry of fury, the officer shouted at me. “Where have you hidden him?”

“I told you,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady – there was no point in annoying them further with some clever remark. “Our father fights for the King. We would not harbour a deserter. We have not seen him.”

He turned to Bess. I prayed she would not endanger us with her fury. He placed his face close to hers, so that she must smell his breath, see the veins under his swarthy skin. “And you?” he said. “Are you so sure? Have you not had him in your bed, warming him perhaps?”

“No, sir,” answered Bess, with exquisite softness. “I have not.” And she smiled, which she should not have done. But she was lucky. The soldiers wanted their deserter, and their reward, more than they wished to waste time on us. We were beneath them.

They left, as suddenly as they had come, leaving the door hanging wide and snow blowing in on a sharp wind.

F
or a few moments, we stood there, Bess and I, staring at each other but daring to speak not a word, as we listened to the sounds of them mounting their horses and galloping away. Then, still not speaking, we ran up the stairs.

They were right. Henry Parish was not there.

Through the open shutters, glimmers of dawn lightened the gloom and we looked around. Not a single sign showed that he had been there. The blanket which we had given him was, we found on inspection, folded neatly in a wooden chest. Some objects – tools and a frayed basket awaiting repair, an old lantern, a small pile of yellowed papers, and a silver-trimmed tricorne hat – all sat, dust-covered and untouched, as I think they had been before. The dust on the floor was disturbed by the soldiers' feet, and if Henry had been there, one could not have said for sure.

It was as though we had dreamt his visit. Henry Parish was nowhere to be seen.

I hurried to the casement. It was closed, but not latched. Henry could have left through here – indeed, he must have done. But he must have pushed it shut as he jumped. He could only have done that if he was making every effort not to leave a sign of his exit. I marvelled suddenly at such honourable behaviour, at how frightened he must have been and yet how mindful of our safety.

But what about footprints in the snow? We peered into the dingy light. Footprints there certainly were – of horses. If Henry had in truth jumped from the window, all traces of his fall and his escape would have disappeared by now. It had been snowing when the men arrived, though it was not now – perchance his marks had already been covered, or the soldiers had not looked, so confident were they of finding him in this room.

Henry must have left long before the soldiers came. He must have decided for himself that he wished to put us in no danger.

I felt a new respect for Henry Parish. He was brave, far braver than I had thought. And honourable. Now my hatred of the redcoats and their arrogance blazed red. Six strong men on horses against one poor thin boy who only desired to feed his family. It was not right!

“We have to help him, Bess,” I said, as we stared out of the window, searching for signs, for anything to give us hope.

She turned to me. “He cannot have gone far. With the horses, we should find him soon. I know those woods.”

We hurried downstairs. The room was cold and damp, wet wind rushing through the open door. I hurried to close it. We had no time to build a fire or make tea, but we knew we must eat. The contents of the cold cupboard were strewn on the floor, so we recovered what we could and quickly ate bread and some ham, washing it down with water. We did not pick up all that the soldiers had left on the floor – there was no time and our thoughts were on more important matters.

We had a plan, of sorts, but first we must find Henry. Dressing as warmly as was possible in a short time, we hurried outside, into the grim, grey morning. Bess wore man's clothing again, with her hair hastily wound in tight coils and stuffed inside her hat, and, although I still found this strange and discomforting, I knew it was the more prudent way and I did not question her. Bess was not as others are, I was coming to see, and she minded nothing what any might think. She did what must be done, what she thought was right and necessary, rather than what was right and proper.

As we saddled the horses, I calmed Sapphire, and she responded well to my voice, though I think some of my fear and anger must have been plain to her, for she skitted and side-stepped as I mounted her. But I soon brought her under control, and was glad of her strength and spirit. The last thing I wanted was a sluggish horse, and that indeed I did not have.

Bess led the way and soon we were entering the woods behind the house. We knew the soldiers had not gone there – we had heard them ride away along the road, and the snow would have told us if so many feet had passed this way of late. We peered at the ground, looking for any sign. But if Henry had passed this way, his marks were covered.

Into the grey silence of the trees, we called his name. Only the occasional fluttering patter of snow falling from sloping branches answered our call. Every now and then, the scuttle of some small animal came from the undergrowth, and then the snow slithered faster from the trees above.

The path took us deeper into the forest. We trotted, knowing that if we were to catch up with Henry we must make good speed. I shivered as a gust of wind threw wet air at my face and down my neck. How must he be feeling – cold and very alone? Bess and I had each other for company, and a fire to return to, but Henry Parish had nothing.

Now the trees were closer set and the snow on the path was thinner. The most recent light snow had had no chance to reach the ground here. If there were footprints, we should see them. We peered downwards as we trotted. It was Bess who found what we were looking for. I was expending more effort controlling Sapphire, who had skittered sideways again, frightened by some innocent noise behind her, when Bess called out, “Stop!” and pulled Merlin to a halt.

She was pointing to the ground, where I could just make out footprints, a single set. It must be Henry. We called his name again. But once more all that came back were the soft noises of a hushed forest.

Carefully, we followed the footprints. After a while, they led away from the path. We looked at each other, but continued. More slowly now, pushing branches away from us before they could scratch our faces and tear our hair, we moved deeper into the forest. The ground underfoot was uneven, pitted with treacherous dips and criss-crossed with fallen branches.

“Henry! Let us help you!” we called at intervals.

And, at last, came an answering call and Henry appeared before us, small, frightened and wet. His hair hung like the thin tails of rats, clinging to the sides of his face, plastered down onto his forehead. His eyes stared, large and wide and tired.

“I thought … I thought … I thought…” he stuttered.

“You did well,” said Bess, smiling at him to reassure him. She dismounted and walked towards him. “How did you escape in time? You must have fled before the soldiers came.”

“The man,” replied Henry. “'E called to me from outside. 'E told me soldiers were coming and I should follow 'im. But I lost 'im.” His teeth were chattering and his lips were grey with cold.

“What man?” I asked. Though, with a chill crawling over my skin, I knew.

“I
'ad a dream,” replied Henry. “'E 'eld a lantern, and sat on a black 'orse. And when I woke, I was that confused. I looked from t' window and I thought I saw 'im. I thought 'e was calling me. But then, 'e disappeared and I saw it was only a dream. I was that afeard, an' I thought … I thought…”

Bess and I looked at each other. “It was a dream,” said Bess, firmly, as much to me as to Henry, and perhaps to herself.

“I know,” said Henry. “But I was that afeard and I thought…”

“A dream,” said Bess again. “But you were fortunate, Henry, for the soldiers did come. But they have gone now and all is well.”

I knew she must be right but I shivered for all that. The men of the church tell us not to put our faith in ghouls and witchcraft, but on the moors this is easier said than done. The mists rise and wreathe the landscape and breathe into the night airs and anything is possible.

We wasted no further time in musings, but quickly outlined our plan as Henry listened. Several times, he shook his head. Once he said, “No, I cannot. It is too dangerous for ye.” But we bade him not think on that. He shook his head but continued listening. At another point he looked into my eyes, and opened his mouth to say more, but I would not let him speak. There was nothing we needed to hear.

Henry Parish and I removed our jackets in the cold air and exchanged them with each other. He seemed to take mine with as much reluctance as I took his, though for different reasons perhaps. He knew the danger I would face but he could also sense our determination. Henry's jacket was tight on my shoulders, and short of arm, but it would suffice.

“Your breeches, too,” said Bess. I looked at her. “Yours are too dark,” she explained. “Henry's may be dirty but they still look as though they once were white. You must change them.”

She was right but we would not do it in front of her gaze. Henry and I looked pointedly at her. With a click of irritation, she turned away, folding her arms as she avoided looking on us. But I was taller than Henry, and broader of thigh, and I could not pull his breeches on. Even Bess agreed, when I allowed her to look. We must hope that the red jacket would be sufficient to fool them, from a distance. Besides, I hoped not to be too close to them. I pulled my breeches back on, and felt glad of them, I confess. They were more in keeping with what I was accustomed to, even if they were not my own.

Taking the soft, unshapely hat from my pocket, I thought briefly of the servant at my father's house from whom I had taken it, and handed it to Henry. In my turn, I took his soldier's hat and pulled it firmly onto my head. It felt odd to be so dressed, to wear the uniform I had never wished to wear. I tried not to think on it too much.

Bess gave Henry some money, which he took reluctantly. Then, with the knife from my belt, between us we cut Henry's hair short, Bess holding the hair straight while I hacked it off. We stepped back and looked at him, and he stood there, limply, his arms hanging by his sides, enveloped in Bess's father's clothes, still shivering, his lips now blue.

He held out his hand to shake mine and I took his, unwillingly at first. I did not want his gratitude. I wished him well, from my heart, and tried not to think too hard about what I was going to do.

But he gripped my hand. “I … thank thee,” said Henry Parish then. “Thou'rt braver 'n I could ever be. And if…” He stopped. Tears were in his eyes. “If I do not…'

“Think not on it,” I said quickly.

“No,” he said, fighting to control his voice. “If I do not reach 'em, tell my mother and my sister how I tried. Tell 'em I did not desert for cowardice. Tell 'em that.”

I could only nod. I was holding back emotion myself. With one final look at Henry Parish, and then at Bess, I mounted Sapphire's back, settling comfortably in the saddle, thinking again of Bess's father who had sat in it before. Could I be as brave as he?

“Be safe and take good care,” I said to Bess. She nodded, and smiled at me so that I knew she thought well of me, as she too mounted her horse. Henry swung himself up behind her, using her stirrup before settling with his legs dangling free. We cantered away – Bess taking Henry through the forest and to the road going north-west, and I proceeding along the valley and towards the south-east. Towards the nearest village, where I hoped the redcoats would see me.

The plan was that they should chase me, seeing my red coat and thinking that I was Henry Parish. The plan was that by the time the soldiers might perceive that I was not Henry, he would have escaped. Meanwhile, I had a spare jacket in a bag attached to my saddle, and could dispose of the red coat when the time came, once I judged that we were both safe.

It was a dangerous plan, but it was the only one we had.

B
ess had told me where the soldiers were billeted. The town was near the road to Scarborough, and at once I rode towards it, knowing the direction well enough by now, the landmark shapes of hills and woods.

I admit to fear, to feeling cold, to smelling the sweat from my body. But I vowed to do what I could, to fight for what seemed right.

Back through the trees we cantered, Sapphire and I, back the way we had come, down the hillside. We passed Bess's cottage and found the lane, following it as I remembered from my journey with her only the day before, out of the valley and towards the next hillside. I did not canter now – it was better to save my horse's strength. I rose and fell to her elegant trot, settling into her gait, coming to know her better.

Though the snow had stopped, and indeed was thawing underfoot, a biting March wind buffeted my face and neck. Yet a thin sun brightened the greyness to the east, silvering the air, lightening the heartbeat. Spring would be here soon. Would I live to see it?

We came to the top of a hill and found ourselves looking down into the next valley. Here the snow lay only in patches, more thinly. There was the road twisting downwards to the left. As we proceeded towards it along a narrow path, I kept my eyes scanning the horizon on all sides. Where were the redcoats? Were any of them still searching, or had they returned to their billets near the town? They must see me, but not at too close quarters. I must stay out of musket range and be able to outrun them. I must keep my eyes open – I must not be surprised.