The Highwayman Read online

  The scents fought him for a moment, but Bart at last caught them up. Night blooming jasmine and cinnamon, a hint of red rose. At any other moment, it would have amused Bart vastly to realize the things that stuck with him over the years.

  Still, identifying the pleasing blend did not explain why the highwayman wore it. Hardly relevant at the moment, anyway, given the pistol all but shoved in his face.

  "I have nothing further to give you," Bart said stiffly. "Aside from a sound beating, but I do not think you will accept that."

  The highwayman laughed. "No, I have no use for beatings. Walk across the bridge, my lord."

  "What?"

  "Tsk, tsk, no questions. I prefer it when handsome men do as I tell them, my lord. You're far too pretty to be so disobedient."

  Bart flushed hot, suddenly grateful for the dark. The man didn't have to resort to such petty lows. He knew he was a big, unremarkable ox, nothing like the rest of his slender, pretty, fashionable family. Did people always have to rub it in? "I really don't care what you think of my pretty face or my disobedience."

  "Across the bridge, my lord," the highwayman repeated. "I would not want you to be stuck out here all night. Home you go to your safe bed. Across the bridge and do not look back or you'll encounter only unpleasantness."

  "Bastard," Bart hissed, but obediently headed toward the bridge, crossing it slowly. His boots echoed on the wood as he walked, the sound startlingly loud in the silence of the night. When he reached the other side, he finally gave in to temptation and turned—

  The highwayman was gone.

  Cursing softly, Bart went back across the bridge to fetch his horse.

  Two

  Bart did not even make it to breakfast before the visitors started arriving. He almost made it—he reached the breakfast room, saw the buffet, smelled the wonderful food that Letty prepared just for him—and then Rogers announced the arrival of a caller.

  "Who is it?"

  "Constable Crane, my lord."

  Oh, bother it all. Heaving a sigh, Bart nodded. Late as the hour was, he could not ask the constable to eat breakfast with him. Unless something had changed in the last four years, the constable had been up for at least seven hours already.

  Taking one last sniff of the eggs and sausage that he would now not get to enjoy for at least a half hour, Bart abandoned the breakfast room. "Where is he?"

  "I put him in the green parlor, my lord."

  "Thank you, Rogers," Bart said, and made his way there.

  The constable stood by the window, back to the door, but even that view was all Bart needed to see that nothing had changed. He was tall, handsome and dignified, the same as he'd always been; only the lines of his face and the gray in his hair had changed. His back was so stiff that he might have had iron rather than bone for a spine. As he turned, Bart saw that his gray eyes were as sharp as ever, set in a face that seldom suffered a smile. "Lord Bart, good to see you again. It's been quite a while since you've graced Greendale with your presence." His tone was unmistakably reproving.

  Bart sketched a polite bow to help placate the man. "Constable Crane, it is good to see you as hale and hearty as ever. Forgive me; I've been so preoccupied with other matters that I never was able to make my way home. I have missed it and wish the reason for my return was a happier one. How is William?"

  "He will live, although not if you listen to him," Crane replied, not bothering to hide the irritation he obviously felt for his only son. "How are you, Lord Bart?"

  "Well, thank you. I truly am sorry I return under such unfortunate circumstances."

  "Not at all," Crane replied. "You have been missed, my lord. My son oft speaks of you, one of the only intelligent things to leave his mouth. Father Thomas and Perry were happy to hear of your return—"

  Bart groaned. "I've not even been back a full day!"

  Crane chuckled, a rare sound for him; it did much to ease the uncompromising lines of his hard face. "A single hour is all it takes for any new bit of information to make the rounds. I expect that you have many a caller coming your way today, my lord. Which brings me to what else I need to tell you, although you already know it: Baron Weaver has taken in a new ward, one Alfred Burr. There have been noises about the baron planning to officially adopt him and make him heir."

  "My father mentioned something about it in passing a few months ago," Bart said thoughtfully. "I wish the good baron the best? Your lack of expression says there is more to it."

  "He is a bit of a rake, my lord," Crane replied. "I shall not color your impressions overmuch, but I advise you to take care. It seems more than passing strange to me that a man of that sort would so cheerfully settle down here. Young men have no patience for the quiet life."

  Bart grunted. "I thank you for the advice, constable. I was about to sit down to breakfast; would you like to enjoy a cup of tea?"

  "I would, but I must be off, there's lot to do," Crane replied. "The offer is appreciated. I think you had best hasten off to your breakfast before you are besieged by callers. Good luck!"

  Crane departed and Bart made his way back to the breakfast room—only to hear the knocker as he reached it. Stomach growling, he waited for the head footman to inform him who had arrived. Groaning when he heard it was the entire collection of village matrons—nosy old busybodies—Bart trudged his way to the rose room, his mother's salon, and the only one at which the damned women would not turn up their noses. One would think they had noble blood, to take offense over such a thing.

  Stifling a sigh as he thought longingly of his breakfast, Bart sat down and let them have at him—and have at him they did. By the time they left, he was ready to forsake breakfast in favor of going back to bed. Old women were exhausting.

  Bart collapsed on the dainty, entirely too small and hideously uncomfortable sofa as they finally left. Many a time growing up his mother had made him sit there while she lectured on and on about what he'd done wrong, what a bad example he was setting for his little brothers, and how he should think of them and look after them, and not get into scrapes with so-and-so or go gallivanting in the creek in his good clothes. They were words he'd taken very much to heart, and he'd never told her how many of those incidents had resulted because he was, in fact, taking care of his brothers.

  Groaning, Bart finally sat up. He gave serious consideration to standing up, to be followed by walking, but before he could form the necessary thoughts he heard the door yet again.

  "My lord," Rogers said, head slipping just inside the parlor. "Mr. Crane and a Master Burr have come to call. I've put them in the blue room."

  "Wonderful," Bart muttered. He made a note to himself that next time he returned home to do away with a highwayman, he would skulk in the woods and tell no one of his presence. The way his day was going, he would spend more time tending to social matters than investigating the bastard who had taken his coin and called him pretty last night. Him. Pretty. Honestly, he would punch the bastard when next they met solely for that bit of mockery.

  "Good morning, gentlemen." It was still morning, was it not? He hoped so, but he'd lost track of time forever ago.

  "My lord," greeted the man standing near the empty fireplace. "It is good to see you again."

  Bart thought William was looking remarkably fit for a man who had been shot only a few days ago. "How are you, William? I am glad I see you still alive."

  "He nearly got me, the bastard, but he was not so clever a shot as he liked to think."

  William had his father's gray eyes and build—but the eyes were not as sharp and the build had been permitted to go soft around the edges. He was a good enough fellow, if memory served, but one of those who would be far more dissolute if in possession of enough money.

  Bart finally turned his attention to the man standing near the wide window. So this was the baron's new ward? Quite a striking fellow—tall and slender, without quite reaching boney, black hair that did not quite reach his shoulders, features that were smooth and handsome. The eyes were
blue, clear and sharp. Bart had the sense his measure was being taken. And from the faint smirk that flitted ever so briefly across his pretty mouth, Bart was lacking.

  "Sir," Bart said stiffly. "I do not believe I've had the honor of making your acquaintance, although I have heard of you. It is good to have a face to put to the name."

  "Lord Ford," Burr said cordially, although Bart still thought he detected a hint of mockery. "The honor is all mine. I hope we are not disturbing you."

  Yes, but Bart knew better than to fuss about it. Someway, somehow, his mother would hear about it and that would be the end. "Not at all. Have you had a scrape with the highwayman or is William the only one to suffer any sort of harm?"

  "We all have lost significant coin to him," Burr replied, "but so far Will is the only one to take harm."

  Will, was it? Interesting. Crane's warning rose in his mind.

  "That makes good hearing, save that Crane took harm," Bart replied, shifting his gaze back to William. Honestly, the man looked healthy enough. "Where precisely did he strike you, Crane?"

  "My arm," William replied, lifting a hand to wrap around his right upper arm, grimacing as though in great pain, although only a moment ago he'd seemed perfectly fine. "It was a very near thing."

  Bart didn't roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. It was pretty clear William had been grazed on the arm and was probably doing perfectly well. Clearly the message sent to the city had been a trifle overblown. Had his father sensed that? Surely not. But…well, it made no difference. They would accuse him of overreacting same as they did no matter what his actions. And the highwayman wasn't less of a problem just because the wound was trivial.

  "I'm relieved to know you're all right," Bart reiterated. "Are you hungry? I believe the lunch hour draws close; perhaps you would care to join me?"

  "If you are certain," William replied.

  "Most certain," Bart said, being certain of no such thing, but he could not bring himself to be rude. It just was not in him. Although he really wished that Burr would stop smirking.

  Stifling what must be his hundredth sigh of the day, Bart turned and led them to the sunroom, where the servants had indeed arranged a fine lunch. He smiled at Rogers in thanks, and then took his seat just before the windows, leaving the other two to face him. He helped himself to the food with relish, hoping the growling of his stomach was not audible. If it was, his guests seemed polite enough to ignore it. Only when his plate seemed about to break from the sheer weight of the food upon it did he finally begin to eat. Oh, wonderful food.

  When the worst of the rumbling was quieted, Bart joined the conversation. "So, friends old and new, what news has passed me by all this time?"

  "I'm sure the old biddies I saw departing gave you all the best gossip," William said dryly.

  Bart chuckled, for it was true. "Indeed. But I wonder if they missed anything they felt might not be proper to tell the local young lord."

  William laughed over the rim of his teacup. The laugh wasn't a particularly nice sound; more like he was having a laugh at someone's unhappy expense. "Now that you mention it, something rather interesting did come to pass, oh…two years ago now? Do you remember Perry, my lord?"

  "Yes, of course," Bart replied, wondering what the devil was going on. Perry Thomas was the adopted son of the local pastor. Bart could remember many a day when they had played together as children, the times they'd gone fishing later in life, before Bart went off to one school and Perry to another. "He has not taken over for Father Thomas, yet? I cannot say I'm surprised, really." Father Thomas was at least as stubborn as his own father when it came to passing along duties.

  Another unpleasant laugh, although William likely would not see he was doing anything wrong. William had always been good at ignoring his own faults.

  "He was abroad playing companion to some moldering old scholar fellow and apparently was caught in some manner of scandalous display. Sent home in disgrace and the good Father has not been the same since. They are completely estranged over the affair, though Father Thomas still is gracious enough to put a roof over his head."

  Bart frowned. Estranged? Perry and Father Thomas had always been so close. "I cannot believe it."

  "You shall have to go see for yourself. Perhaps you can get the full of the tale from our good Father. He will not speak of it, nor will Perry."

  "Mm," Bart hummed, having no intention of doing any such thing. The entire idea was ridiculous. No doubt William was blowing it well out of proportion. "I am surprised your father did not mention it when he was here earlier this morning."

  William flapped an impatient hand. "Father would say it is not his affair to report it."

  Bart shifted subjects, turning to Burr. "So you have settled well into Greendale? Do you like our village?"

  "It has its amusements," Burr replied. "A nice, quiet place like this is a good change from the more colorful life I led before. Of course I am deeply indebted to the baron; he granted me a great kindness when I deserved nothing."

  Oddly humble words for such a pretty, smirking mouth. Bart wished he could get a better measure of the man, but he was proving a particularly irksome mystery. "From where do you hail, if I might ask?"

  Burr shrugged. "Nowhere and everywhere, to be perfectly frank. I never remained long enough in one place to claim it as my origins. I am ever hopeful that Greendale will become just that."

  "So to what places have you traveled? I have always wanted to take flight, but various obligations and responsibilities have kept me firmly rooted."

  A genuine smile flashed across Burr's face and Bart could not reconcile the bright face before him now with the smirking bastard of only a moment before. "All over, my lord. The great forests and the Lake of Sorrows, to see the Grey Tombs and much more besides. I am only arrived here. I met the baron on the return boat and he took me home." He smiled faintly."Much like a stray dog, but like any stray I am immensely grateful.."

  "I see," Bart said, trying and ultimately failing to squash a sympathetic urge to help a man who, despite his odd air of smirking amusement, seemed downcast. Or perhaps Bart simply could not read him. Burr seemed to run hot and cold. "Well, you seem to be right at home to me. Perhaps you might like to go riding with me someday? If you've not seen all that Greendale has to offer, I would be more than happy to show you around."

  Burr smiled, suddenly hot rather than cold in the time it took Bart to snap his fingers. He could see that Burr would be the source of many headaches. "I would like that, my lord."

  William cleared his throat. "Yes, indeed. But come off it, my lord: you are not returned simply to chat and ride horses. Did you come to finally rid us of that damned highwayman?"

  "Yes, I did," Bart replied, fighting an urge to cuff William much like he had his brothers when they were younger and failed to show proper deference to their betters. He did not stand much upon ceremony, but William was pushing it. "Tell me what you know and let us see if cannot begin to sort out the best way to rout the bastard." He ate as they talked, barely keeping from rolling his eyes at various points. Burr gave a much more honest accounting. Bart was almost sorry the highwayman, as infuriating and unpleasant as he was, had missed.

  Rogers slipped discretely into the room, barely there before he vanished again, leaving an envelope at Bart's elbow. It was dark cream, the vellum inside the very same, and a strong, elegant hand had composed the short note inside. Bart did not even need to read it, recognizing the handwriting and knowing from long association what the note would say. Rogers appeared again a minute later and Bart nodded. "Tell Father Thomas that I gladly accept his invitation to dinner. The suggested hour suits me fine. Thank you, Rogers."

  "My lord," Rogers said, then sketched a quick bow and vanished.

  Bart finished eating, and then began to work in earnest at finally being rid of William.

  Three

  The sun was still up as Bart made his way to the small cottage about a twenty minute ride away. It was right behind t
he village church, a quaint little thing that perfectly suited the men who lived inside, according to memory.

  He'd not seen Perry in years, though he always thought of him from time to time. After they had gone off to their respective schools, they had seldom seen one another. A day here, a day there, but they'd both always had other things that needed doing. The last that Bart had seen him was been eight years ago. On his subsequent visits, Perry had always been abroad. Since school, it seemed his old friend had been bitten hard by wanderlust. It had not made Father Thomas terribly happy, but he loved Perry too much to complain.

  Now they were estranged? Impossible.

  Bart rode along at an easy pace, there being no need to hurry. Anticipating interruptions on his ride, he had left with plenty of time to spare. He skirted the village proper and took the old roads favored by farmers that ran along the coast. If he concluded this highwayman affair in good time, he would have to make a day trip to the village up north to visit the family of another friend and see how they were getting on.

  To his left was the coastline, rough and ragged. The jagged rocks that ran the length of it had killed more than one sailor over the years—and smugglers. Even now, twenty years later, that story was well-known and often told. They'd lost their way in the dark, when the water had turned suddenly rough and choppy. Villagers had found them in the morning, boat and goods and men all dashed to pieces across the rocks. According to those who had been there, it had been a gruesome sight. After that, the smugglers had taken their business to safer beaches.

  Still, the ocean beyond was beautiful. Being summer, the sun would be up for a couple of hours yet and beneath it, the ocean was bright and inviting. Bart lingered to enjoy the view for a bit.

  The sound of another horse finally brought his attention 'round.

  "Greetings, Lord Bartholomew. I heard that you were around again, but scarcely believed it."