The Spider's Touch (51 page)

He slowly leaned back against the side of the chaise. “And I had thought you an intelligent woman.” His tone was hard. “Well, my dear, perhaps you shall have your way.”

Hester had turned her back to him again, when a shot rang out. The postillion gave a frightened cry, as the horses started to weave and plunge.

Hastily lowering his window, Lord Lovett called out, “What is it?”

“Highwaymen, my lord!”

A pulse that was beating in Hester’s stomach leapt into her heart. She had never heard a more beautiful phrase.

“Impossible!” Turning to peer out, Lord Lovett drew a pistol from inside his coat. “What highwayman would be this far from London?”

The sight of his gun banished the joy from Hester’s breast. She could not bear to see St. Mars shot. She would ten times rather struggle with Lord Lovett alone.

“Stand and deliver!”

Regardless, the sound of the familiar voice sent a thrill down her spine.

“Stay here!” Lord Lovett commanded. “I shall not keep you waiting above a few minutes.”

Hester did not like his confident note. She saw him tuck the pistol in his waist and cover it with his coat.

With her heart in her throat, she watched him open the door and step down. He turned towards the horses, then started to reach in his coat as if to draw out his purse.

Before he could do more, she threw herself through the door and tumbled out. She glimpsed St. Mars, dressed in his black mask and blue satin cloak, as the highwayman Blue Satan, sitting astride a horse, and aiming a pistol at Lord Lovett’s heart.

She cried out, “Beware! He has a pistol hidden!”

Then, several things happened at once.

St. Mars spurred his horse forward. Tom, who had been out of sight, came crashing through the undergrowth towards his master. Surprised by her cry, Lord Lovett recovered quickly and, grasping her by the waist, pulled her in front of him again. Hester felt the cold steel of his pistol pressed into her cheek.

St. Mars reined his horse, stopping on the head of a pin. He called out, “Stop!”

Tom pulled hard on his reins, too, spinning his mount in a circle before bringing it to a halt.

For a moment, no one spoke. Over the pulse in her ears, Hester could hear Lord Lovett’s laboured breathing.

St. Mars sat frozen upon his horse. In the pale dark of morning, she could see how tensely he held himself. His gaze was mostly fixed on Lord Lovett, but occasionally he darted a glance her way, as if he could not prevent himself from checking to see that she was all right.

He wore no hat. His long fair hair was tied in a queue down his back. The top of his shirt was damp and open, revealing the lean muscles of his neck. He looked nothing like the fop who had burst into Lord Lovett’s withdrawing room yesterday afternoon.

Lord Lovett was the first to speak, and he did it with a vicious hug of her waist. “Now, this is more like, my love! And still you’ve surprised me. I should never have guessed that you would take a common highwayman for a lover.”

Frightened by the jealousy in his voice, Hester said, “You are mistaken. I do not know these men.” She was afraid that he would shoot St. Mars.

“Truly?” he asked. “Then, how strange that they appear to know you! If they did not, then I doubt that they would have lowered their weapons.” He gestured briefly at the ground with his pistol. “Throw them down. Then dismount.”

 “You wouldn’t dare shoot,” St. Mars said. “If you did, then we should be on you in an instant.”

Lord Lovett pressed the barrel against Hester’s throat so hard that she gave an involuntary cry. “That may be correct. But I doubt that you will test me.”

Hester could see St. Mars clench his jaw, but he made a sign to Tom, and they both obeyed, keeping a wary watch on her captor.

“Now, drop your reins, and move away. I am weary of traveling in this manner, and besides, the boy seems to have fled. Either of these horses should suit us. Wouldn’t you agree, my dear? And I doubt that your friends will follow us into Rye, not after we inform the constable that the infamous Blue Satan is working this road.”

St. Mars had tightened his hands into fists. He looked pale, and Hester thought she could see confirmation in his eyes. He could not risk riding into town without a disguise, for Lord Lovett would be sure to describe him well.

But she mistook his thoughts, for he said, “I believe the authorities will be much more interested in you, Lord Lovett, when they hear not only that you have murdered two gentlemen, but that you are a spy.”

Hester felt a convulsive jerk from the arm round her waist.

“It appears that you are more informed than I thought. What a pity! Still, I suppose it was foolish of me to think that my sins would go undetected. That means that France will be our home from now on, my dear.”

It would have made Hester furious that he kept referring to her as a willing partner, if she had not been aware of his own anger underneath. Apparently he had convinced himself that he was going to be able to return to England someday with no one the wiser. Now, that portion of his plan had been ruined, and he was eager to punish the person who had done it. Better her than St. Mars or Tom.

He would not shoot them, for he would never be able to reload before the other attacked. This knowledge gave her courage, even though the thought of remaining his prisoner repulsed her. If only there were some way to strike the pistol from his hand!

But she couldn’t. Not with it pressed against her throat.

He gave her a shove with his chest, and walked behind her to St. Mars’s horse. Then, pointing the pistol at her back, he told her to mount.

Hester was not an experienced horsewoman. Her family had been too poor to keep a horse, and neither Mrs. Mayfield nor Isabella had seen fit to provide her with a mount. Her fumbling with the reins and stirrup was genuine, but Lord Lovett suspected her of trying to trick him. So, he put her aside, and keeping his aim straight at her breast, put his foot in the stirrup and hauled himself up.

He was reaching down to pull her up behind him, when the pistol slipped in his hand.

St. Mars took two running steps and lunged.

Catching her by the waist on his way down, he rolled her clear of the horse. As they tumbled, Hester saw Tom take a step towards his gun, but Lord Lovett stopped him by pointing his weapon his way, and calling out, “Stop right there or I’ll fire!”

St. Mars had landed on top of her. For a long moment, Hester felt the full burden of his weight. Then, he seemed to rouse himself, and, lifting his head, as if in pain, he started to his feet.

Lord Lovett shifted his pistol to aim it at St. Mars.

This time, he cocked it.

“No! Don’t shoot!”

As St. Mars struggled to rise, he wavered, seemed to lose consciousness, and collapsed, just as Hester threw herself in front of him.

She had expected to hear the explosion of gunpowder in the fraction of a moment before a bullet tore into her flesh, but Lord Lovett’s gun remained silent. She opened her eyes and saw him staring her with an expression that was somewhere between pain and relief.

It was a moment before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was trembling. “You should know that my being up on a horse changes the rules of the game. I can shoot your friend and no one is likely to catch me. If you do not wish for that to happen, I suggest you give me your hand.”

He reached towards her, as if to help her mount.

In the road behind her, St. Mars stirred.

“If you shoot him, you will have to shoot me first,” Hester said.

Lord Lovett kept looking down at her. For a moment, the mocking look was gone. Then it returned, and his lips gave a bitter twist.

“It would appear that your highwayman has spoiled more than one of my plans. When he wakes, pray make him my compliments. Goodbye, my dear.” And with that, he turned on St. Mars’s horse and galloped away.

Neither Hester nor Tom wasted a moment before hurrying to St. Mars’s side.

“It’s his head, ma’am,” Tom said. “He took a nasty blow.”

“I know.” The memory of the sound made Hester shiver again. “I saw him hit with the poker. How did he ever make it this far?”

Tom hesitated. “I don’t know, but he was powerful determined. We’ll have to get him out of here before that blackguard raises a hue and cry.”

Before Hester could ask how they would manage with only one horse, St. Mars’s opened his eyes. Seeing Hester, he started quickly up then gripped the back of his head. “Lord Lovett?” he asked, looking about him with squinting eyes.

“He left. And he took Looby with him. Do you want me to chase after him, my lord?” Tom asked anxiously, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“No, let him go. We’ve got what we wanted. And I’ll know where to find him later.” He turned to Hester and subjected her to a close scrutiny.

“Did he hurt you, Mrs. Kean? If he did, rest assured that I shall not sleep until he pays.” Then he winced, as if from a shooting pain, and his mouth twisted in a self-disparaging sneer. “That is, once I can be sure of staying awake. I can hardly recommend my services at the moment.”

“I am not at all hurt, my lord, just very glad to see you both. But we must get you to a place where you can rest.”

She looked to Tom for an idea, but he seemed as much at a loss as she. “We’ve got the post-chaise,” he said. “They’ll be searching for it before long, but we could get him nearer to Pigden in that. We’ll have to abandon it before they come after it, though.”

Then St. Mars took the decision out of their hands. He told Tom to unharness one of the post-horses and ride it, saying that he and Mrs. Kean would ride Beau.

“But where to, my lord?”

“Why, we escort Mrs. Kean to the Abbey, of course.”

He rallied long enough to stand to make it easier for Tom to boost him up behind Mrs. Kean.

Then he told her, “You will have to take the reins, I’m afraid. I am likely to faint again. And you must pardon me, if I lean on your back when I do.”

With his arms bound about her, Hester guided Beau after Tom, who rode the post-horse using the postillion’s saddle. She would not have wanted to manage such a big horse alone, but after coming such a long way, the big gelding behaved like a gentleman.

* * * *

It was dawn by the time they caught a glimpse of Hawkhurst House through the trees near the road. St. Mars had managed to stay awake through most of their ride, but the caution they had been forced to take had made the journey slow. Daylight was upon them.

“We’ll have to hide out here in the abbey ruins,” Tom said, when they stopped to let Hester down on the road to the gate. “If we don’t, I’m sure we’ll be spotted.”

She took one good look at the pallor in St. Mars’s cheek and made up her mind. “Your master will never make it unless he can rest, and I doubt that sleeping on the stone of those ruins will help him overmuch.”

She could see the frustrated protest forming on Tom’s lips, so she quickly added, “I shall have to go in and wait for the fuss over my sudden appearance to die down. While I tell my story and see that a messenger is sent up to London, please take my lord through the secret passageway to the house. He told me that you know the way, but perhaps you do not know that it opens into my chamber. I shall see that he rests and gets a meal. Then, you can take him home after dark.”

It was a moment before Tom saw the sense in her plan, but in the end, he agreed. The only change he made in it was to suggest that she take the post-horse with her. He would keep Beau, and sometime before midnight, he would bring his master another horse to ride.

They parted. Hester clucked to the weary horse and Tom gave it a slap on the rump to make it walk. Then, he led Beau, who carried a barely conscious St. Mars, to a place in the hedge where he knew of a passage and, under the cover of a wooded hill, brought him to the ruins which had given Rotherham Abbey its name.

* * * *

St. Mars came to his senses again, as Tom was helping him out of the saddle. He looked about him and knew where he was. “Mrs. Kean?” he said.

“Mrs. Kean has gone into the Abbey, my lord.” Tom told him about the plan they had devised, half-hoping that his master would refuse the young lady’s offer. Tom could not bear the thought of walking through that tight, dark tunnel, not even for St. Mars. He had always hated small places, and he could think of no greater nightmare than an underground passageway.

It had been built by one of St. Mars’s ancestors in the last century, as an escape route for his family when the Roundheads were terrorizing the countryside. St. Mar’s father, the last Lord Hawkhurst, had entrusted him with its secret. And now, Tom and Mrs. Kean were privy to it, too.

But St. Mars made no complaint. Tom lent him his arm down into the undercroft where the entrance was hidden behind a pile of stones. He was not even aware that he had started to breathe in constricted gasps until St. Mars pulled away to examine his face in the pale morning light.

“I don’t think that I’ll need you in there, Tom.” St. Mars casually made this remark, as if he had not noticed Tom’s perspiring face.

But Tom was not fooled, and he flushed. The first time he had begged not to be taken into the passageway, it had been dark, and St. Mars had thought he was afraid of ghosts. Now it was day, and the unnamed source of his fears still had the strength to make him shake.

“I can’t let you go in there alone. What if you fall into a fainting fit?”

“I won’t. The cool air will revive me.  And the prospect of a bed at the end should be enough incentive to keep me awake.”

Tom would have argued longer, if St. Mars had not admonished him to take care of Beau. The horse would need water, and must be hidden, though it would need to graze.

Tom glanced to make sure that Beau had not wandered within sight of the house, and when he turned back, St. Mars was gone.

Chapter Twenty-three

Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul;

Reason’s comparing balance rules the whole.

Man, but for that, no action could attend,