The Girl in the Mask (13 page)

Realizing I had no choice, I sighed and resigned myself. There was no doubt that Jenny was both fearless and competent enough for this venture. I ducked back behind the tree and shook out the bundle she’d handed me. It contained breeches, a jacket complete with holes, a large black neckerchief and a battered hat. I wriggled out of my old gown and pulled on the clothes and tied the scarf around my face. They all reeked of onions. Clearly my new, fashionable life was making me fastidious. Finally, I jammed the hat down onto my head and re-emerged. It was getting light. My father was probably on his way.

A shiver of fear and excitement passed through me as I realized my dark plan was about to become a reality. I rubbed suddenly damp palms against my greasy breeches and breathed deeply to steady my nerves. Grasping the reins of the second horse, I swung myself into the saddle. The wonderfully familiar feeling of being on horseback gave me courage.

‘Here you are,’ said Jenny, passing me the gun. It was heavy and awkward in my hand, very different to my cousin’s sleek pistols. ‘It’s loaded,’ she warned me. ‘Don’t fire it unless you have to, there’s people about at this time of day.’

We both looked back down the road, listening for the sound of wheels, but there was nothing yet. ‘Mist’s rising,’ said Jenny in a satisfied voice. I looked around and saw to my surprise that she was right. A mist was materializing at ground level, thick and opaque. ‘It’s them hot springs, I reckon,’ she said. ‘A mist often comes up as the sun rises. It’s in our favour. They won’t see the pothole.’

‘What pothole?’ I asked, taken by surprise.

Jenny pointed to the road. ‘If you can’t see it, neither will they. Right, let’s have some fun.’ Jenny’s eyes were alight with excitement. ‘Ride out just behind ’em right before they hit that ruddy great hole, then if any of ’em got a gun, which they will have, they’ll be trying to turn round and shoot behind themselves. And I’ll do the talking. Got it?’

‘Got it,’ I said. We separated, one of us on each side of the road.

The sky paled, but the mist prevented the visibility from improving, so we heard rather than saw the coach in the distance; a rumbling that drew slowly closer. I drew my horse further back into the trees, hoping this was my father. My heart was pounding with excitement and a thrilling spice of fear.

As the chaise lumbered into view, a ghostly apparition, I tightened the reins and gripped the gun tighter. When it was level with me, I urged my horse forward and rode out just behind the two men on the box of the chaise, startling them so they ducked and half turned to see what had appeared so suddenly beside them. At that moment, the fore wheel of the coach ran into the pothole with a lurch that made the horses snort and plunge in shock. As Jenny had predicted, the rocking of the coach threw the guard off balance. He was forced to drop the heavy blunderbuss and cling to the coach to prevent himself being thrown off into the mud. Unfortunately the weapon went off as it fell, a deafening explosion in the stillness of the early morning.

In the middle of the chaos of guns, panicking horses and shouts, I heard Jenny yell in a gruff voice: ‘Stand and deliver!’ I winced.

‘What the
devil’s
going on?’ I heard my father’s furious voice call out, as he half-opened the door of the chaise right ahead of me and started to lean out.

I couldn’t resist the temptation. I grasped the door and yanked at it. My father, who’d been leaning on it, was pulled with it, lost his balance, and came tumbling out of the carriage. As no one had let the steps down, he had a long way to fall, right down into the mud and the wet of the post road. He landed heavily, his smart velvet breeches and the fine cuffs of his coat, lace ruffles, and everything else splashed with mud. His wig fell right off his head, revealing his stubbly pate. I pointed the pistol straight down at him and said in as deep and rough a voice as I could manage: ‘Don’t move!’

He cowered there in the dirt, one shoe fallen off, his silk stockings soaked and filthy. Through the muffling scarf around my face, I could see the naked fear in his eyes. I understood, in a blinding realization, that he was neither brave nor strong, as I’d always thought him. He was a coward and a bully who took pleasure in browbeating those weaker than himself. He would never take on anyone who was his equal.

So intent was I on this that I forgot the task in hand until Jenny nudged me. She’d come around to my side, nodding to me to search the coach. I knew the men needed to be kept covered, but remembered that Jenny had said she didn’t want to be in charge of the gun. We hadn’t planned thoroughly enough. Well, there was no help for it: I was the only one who knew where the secret compartment was. I shoved the pistol into her hand, jumped down from my horse and climbed into the chaise my father had so abruptly vacated.

It took me only a few moments to run my hand over the trimmings, find the catch, release it and pull the seat open. I hadn’t expected to find it so full: papers, boxes, bags and purses lay neatly stacked in the hiding place. I grabbed two heavy purses and a roll of bills and stuffed them inside my jacket. Then I slammed the compartment shut again and jumped out.

The scene outside wasn’t what I’d expected; our fortunes had very nearly been reversed. Jenny was half off her horse, wrestling with the coachman who’d slipped down from the box while she was guarding my father. My father was taking advantage of her inattention to crawl through the mud, trying to reach the blunderbuss the guard had dropped.

Instinctively, I leapt on the back of the man who was fighting Jenny and got one arm around his neck, choking him. He let go of Jenny and staggered. Jenny hit him on the head with the butt of the pistol she held. He went limp in my arms and I dropped him into the mud.

Two men appeared running out of the mist, clad in rough garments; farm labourers, at a guess. Jenny was already turning her horse, kicking him into a canter. I scrambled up on mine as fast as I could and he was in full flight after her before I’d even grasped the reins or got my feet into the stirrups. A shot whistled right over our heads, making both of us duck instinctively and the horses bounded forward in fright. We thundered along the road a short way, jumped the hedge and galloped across a meadow. I followed Jenny closely as she left the field through a copse, by way of a gate she opened for us, and then cantered on into the hills. The sounds of the chaos we’d left behind us faded and gave way to the calm of early morning. When we pulled our horses up, all I could hear was birdsong and the distant barking of a dog.

The two of us looked at each other and Jenny started to laugh. ‘What a ruddy mess!’ she said. ‘I told you not to give me the gun. We came as close as damn it to being took!’

I nodded, realizing I was shaking. But at the same time I felt a soaring exhilaration. ‘We did it though!’ I said, patting my bulging jacket. Then I remembered the muck all over my father’s clothes and his hat and wig lying in the mud and I started to laugh too.

‘You have a very hearty appetite this morning, Sophia,’ remarked my aunt, as I reached for my third breakfast roll.

‘Oh, I’m just comforting myself for my father’s absence,’ I replied, spreading a generous amount of butter onto the roll, and then picking up the dish of jam. I smiled a little to myself at her sceptical sniff.

It had been touch and go as to whether I was going to get back into the house before my absence was discovered. But I’d just made it. Dawes had been surprised, when she entered my room to lay out my clothes for the morning, to find me in bed in my shift instead of my nightgown, but it wasn’t her place to question me.

The morning passed slowly. I accompanied my aunt to the promenade and then ate a syllabub in a cook-shop while my aunt gossiped. Bouts of yawning kept threatening to overcome me. It had been a long night.

When we arrived home for luncheon, I was relieved to find my father hadn’t returned. He must have decided to continue his journey despite the robbery. It was with a lighter heart that I set out for another afternoon of boredom at Harrison’s. I would be free of my father for many days now.

In the assembly rooms, Aunt Amelia spoke to the same handful of men she conversed with every time we went out. She never wanted me to join these conversations and these men had kept their distance when my father was with us. I was mildly intrigued, but at a loss to account for it. Then I remembered the plays I’d read over the years and suddenly believed I understood. Congreve, Wycherly and the other male playwrights: they had never interested me much, for they wrote about little else than men and women intriguing with one another. Of course! It was likely that my aunt was passing love notes and arranging secret meetings with these men. Ugh. What a nasty thought. I shook my head to clear it. I would try never to notice it or think about it again.

On the way into Harrison’s I had been handed a leaflet, which I’d glanced at only cursorily at first. Then, realizing it was a play bill, I read it with excitement.

‘Aunt Amelia!’ I exclaimed. ‘There’s a performance tonight of a play by Aphra Behn! At the Trim Street Theatre. Can we not go and see it?’

‘To be sure, I should not object myself,’ she said, ‘but your father left strict instructions on the subject … excuse me, dear, I think I see … ’ and my aunt disappeared as usual into the card room.

That left me to walk up and down the gardens alone and then yawn over my tea. It was extremely dull. I preferred the mornings spent in the bookstore, where every kind of publication was available. My aunt had insisted on obeying my father’s rules and banning poetry or plays, but she had no objection to the newspapers. Occasionally I slipped a collection of poetry or a play inside the newspaper and indulged my taste for literature surreptitiously. At others, I read the papers cover to cover. That was how I knew there had been another riot in London. A mob had swept through parts of the city, smashing windows and starting fires on the anniversary of the date King Charles had been restored to the throne, many years earlier.

My mind wandered as I waited, lost in daydreams of home, and it was a complete shock to me when I heard my name spoken. ‘Mr Charleton!’ I exclaimed, spilling tea into my saucer. ‘I hadn’t seen that you were here today.’

He raised his brows and smiled slightly. ‘You looked for me then?’ he asked.

I frowned, realizing my mistake. ‘Only because it’s pleasanter here without you,’ I said.

He smiled, somehow making me feel very young and awkward. ‘What’s that you have there?’ he asked, indicating the leaflet in my hand. ‘Ah, yes!
The Rover
. An entertaining piece. Shall you go to see it?’

‘My father doesn’t like me to see plays,’ I replied bitterly.

‘I see. And will that stop you, I wonder?’ he asked, his eyes twinkling. It was quite clearly a challenge. But before I could reply he continued: ‘Your aunt is playing?’

‘As you may see, sir,’ I replied with a glance towards the card room where I could just glimpse my aunt dealing a hand to a group of one other lady and two gentlemen. Mr Charleton looked at the group dispassionately for a moment.

‘She chooses unusual company,’ he commented. I’d just been having similar thoughts, but I was hardly about to discuss something so sordid and embarrassing with a stranger. Mr Charleton smiled. ‘You’ve made an unusual friend too,’ he remarked.

I froze, feeling a surge of panic. How could he know about Jenny? Surely he knew nothing of the robbery?

‘Allen is an estimable man,’ Mr Charleton added. ‘How did you meet him?’

I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Oh,’ I said with a shaky laugh. ‘Mr Allen. To be sure. I met him at the post office, of course.’

‘Ah, I see. He’s a man of great talents and industry.’

‘I think so too,’ I agreed. ‘I happened to meet him again when I was out walking, and he told me something of his ambitions.’

‘And do you often walk … ’ Mr Charleton broke off as a smart young man tugged at his elbow, distracting him. With a quick bow of apology, Mr Charleton moved aside and a low-voiced conversation followed. I looked out of the window, careful not to look as though I was trying to overhear. After a moment, Mr Charleton turned back to me and bowed more formally. ‘Miss Williams, I’m desolated to have to leave you, but urgent business calls me away. We can continue this conversation another time, I hope.’

I looked at him in surprise, wondering what important business a gentleman of leisure could possibly have. But it mattered little to me after all. I nodded to him and said nothing, watching as his elegant figure disappeared through the throng of fashionables. To my surprise he returned a moment later accompanied by a very small man, modestly rather than expensively dressed; he walked with difficulty, leaning on a stick. He was so bent that at first I thought he was an old man, but he wasn’t. He was quite young, but crippled.

‘Miss Williams, before I go,’ said Mr Charleton. ‘This is Mr Alexander Pope. I know you’ve been eager to meet him.’ He bowed, and withdrew, leaving us together.

Mr Pope offered his hand and I placed mine in it. He bowed. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Williams,’ he said with a friendly smile, lowering himself into the seat beside me with difficulty, his breath rasping. ‘My friend Charleton tells me you are a great reader.’