The Girl in the Mask (5 page)

‘You have father trouble too?’ I asked, raising a sympathetic eyebrow.

‘Of a different kind,’ he said.

‘Have you not had letters from her?’ I asked curiously.

He shook his head. ‘I could read ’em, just about, but she can’t write,’ he explained.

‘I could look out for her, if you like?’ I offered. ‘I could write you a letter if I meet her, then you’d know she was safe.’

‘You’ll be consorting with the fine ladies and gents in the city, not working girls,’ he objected.

‘I shan’t care for that,’ I said swiftly. ‘I’ll ask for her if I get the chance, I promise you. It’s the least I can do. What’s her name? And your name too?’

‘I reckon you’ll not be allowed to,’ he replied. ‘But if you wish to know my name, it’s Bill Smith. And my sister’s Jenny.’

I put out my hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Bill Smith,’ I said. ‘I’m Sophia Williams.’ After a moment’s hesitation, Bill took my outstretched hand and shook it.

‘If it so happens that you should have a chance to look for Jenny,’ he said, ‘you’ll know her by her little finger on her left hand. Half of it’s missing.’

‘I’ll remember that. Now I have one more favour to ask of you,’ I confessed.

‘You need to get back into your room?’ he guessed. ‘Can you climb back up if I boost you up as far as the gutter?’

‘Definitely,’ I agreed. ‘I have some experience of climbing.’

‘I’ll bet you do,’ he said. ‘I reckon you’re a rare handful. If I hadn’t seen what your father’s capable of, I’d feel right sorry for him.’

I slept deeply and woke early the next morning feeling much more cheerful. The scramble back up the roof and in through the window had been accomplished easily, and my aunt never knew I’d left the room.

We breakfasted and then four horses were put to our chaise. As we rumbled over the cobbles out of the yard, Bill was at the gate, and waved a discreet farewell to me. I gave him a smile and a small wave, and then we were under way; another long day of lurching through ruts and potholes. The following day was no better. In the afternoon, it began to rain heavily, turning the roads swiftly into a quagmire.

‘As if they weren’t bad enough already!’ exclaimed my aunt, when the chaise got stuck for the third time, and we had to get out and walk while the coachmen freed it. I was glad to escape the confines of the carriage, and strode ahead happily, ignoring the rain and the mud.

A little further on, I came upon a commotion. A stagecoach had overturned and crashed into a stone wall on one side of the road, leaving the horses injured, and passengers scattered across a wide area, nursing cuts and bruises. I ran forward to see if I could help, but there was already a doctor in attendance, splinting a broken leg and bandaging the worst cuts.

Just at this point, the road ran between two walls, narrow, muddy and treacherous, and was now completely blocked. The accident was clearly recent, and no one had yet had a chance to think about shifting the coach. I looked at the way it was jammed between the walls and judged it would be hours before the road was clear again.

‘Here’s a fine mess,’ said my father riding up behind me. ‘Just as I’d hoped to reach the Bath tonight. What do we do now?’

We were told there was an alternative route to the Bath. With difficulty, we turned our chaise in the narrow road and by early evening we reached the steep hill that led down to the city from the north.

Dusk was falling, and the road ahead of us plunged down the steepest hill I’d ever seen. The chaise came to a slow, hesitant halt. The coachman pulled the door open and let down the steps. ‘You’re going to have to walk,’ said my father from where he sat astride his horse. ‘This hill’s too steep for the horses.’

I got out at once. My aunt sighed, complained that her shoes pinched and finally emerged clutching her vinaigrette. ‘What a fatiguing journey,’ she murmured, casting a look of horror at the road that dropped away into the evening gloom ahead of us. ‘
Such
a steep hill; I really don’t know how I … ’ She gathered her heavy black petticoats in her hands and took a few hesitant steps. Impatiently, my father turned away and spoke to his man. ‘Ride ahead now, will you, Brown,’ he ordered. ‘Announce our imminent arrival and make sure supper will be ready for us. We shan’t be long now.’

Brown hesitated and then nodded and rode on down the hill. Father rode ahead more slowly. Our groom was already at the offside leader’s head, holding his bridle, so I went to the nearside horse to help.

‘I don’t know if you can manage, Miss,’ the groom said, uncertainly. ‘It’ll be hard work. You’ll need to hold tight to stop ’im speeding up as we go down. The carriage is heavy with all this luggage, otherwise it wouldn’t be so bad.’

‘I understand,’ I nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

We set off slowly, one step at a time down the steep road, feeling the push of the heavy chaise in the harness, holding the horses back hard when they were tempted to move forward any faster. It was back-breaking work, especially whenever the chaise wheels lurched forward out of a rut in a rush, threatening to propel us off our feet. I found myself frequently leaning back against my horse, forcing him to slow with my own body weight.

We descended into a bend in the road, overshadowed on either side by tall trees. It was darker under their profuse spring foliage, and the evening air seemed damp and stale somehow. As my father rode back to see how we were doing, the stillness of the evening was abruptly shattered by a gunshot. We all jumped, Aunt Amelia screamed, and the horses plunged and reared in their traces, fighting to bolt forward down the hill.

‘Hold them!’ yelled the groom desperately. I tried, but my small weight was no longer enough, and I was dragged along the stony ground by the terrified beasts. My father flung himself off his own horse and grabbed my horse’s reins at the bit, forcing it to stand still with brute strength. As we all struggled, our attention completely engrossed in our dangerous task, two horsemen rode out of the trees, straight at us.

‘Halt!’ they shouted, as though we were not already putting every ounce of our strength into doing just that. The horses were finally brought to a stop. Weak with relief, I turned to see who these travellers were, to be confronted with two masked riders and the muzzle of a pistol. ‘Stand and deliver!’ shouted the bigger of the two men in a rough voice.

It went through my head even at that very moment, facing the gun and the possibility of death, how pathetically melodramatic and worn-out that line was. It was every child’s playtime cry, and I wondered they could think of nothing more original to say.

I had no money on me; not so much as a farthing and not a single trinket. Indeed, I owned nothing at all of any value. So I merely stood there, waiting for the scene to unfold. My father let go of the horse and raised his hands, backing slowly away. I guessed he had a pistol strapped to his saddle and was trying to reach it.

‘Stand still!’ ordered the masked rider, clearly suspecting the same.

Father froze, looking furious, hands raised. My aunt was shaking like a leaf and whimpering. I looked quickly away, hiding a smile, delighted to see
them
humiliated instead of me for a change.

While the large highwayman kept us covered with his pistol, the small one slipped off his horse to pocket our valuables, taking care not to step between us and the gun. He took a purse from my father, some coins from the servants, and a necklace and two rings from my terrified aunt. He patted their pockets, their hats and their sleeves for hidden valuables. When he came to me, I saw that below the mask the freckled face was scarcely more than that of a child.

‘You’re welcome to search me, but I have nothing,’ I said. As he reached forward to check anyway, I thought there was something incongruous about him. I looked closely at his slim figure and what I could see of his face as he patted my clothing expertly and saw smooth skin with no hint of down on it. This was not a youth at all, I realized; this was a girl, her gender hidden behind a mask and a black coat. I confess: I was impressed. The thought that a young girl had the courage to rob travellers on the king’s highroad gave me a thrill. The fact that it was my own father she was robbing added spice.

The girl reached up to check the neckline of my gown for a necklace, and that’s when I saw her left hand. Or, more precisely, I noticed the little finger, the end mutilated, and I caught my breath with shock.

‘Jenny?’ I murmured. I could hardly believe the coincidence. The girl blinked, but showed no other sign that I’d spoken. ‘Your brother Bill’s worried about you,’ I said softly. The girl didn’t reply. She turned away from me without another glance and climbed inside our chaise, presumably searching it for more booty. But if she found anything, I didn’t see it when she emerged. The two riders made off, disappearing into the gathering darkness under the trees as swiftly as they’d appeared.

I wondered whether it was possible there were two girls in Bath with part of their little finger missing, and concluded it was more than likely. For all I knew, it could be a common injury. Probably I’d been mistaken, and the girl wasn’t Bill’s sister. It was just as well; I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have considered highway robbery remotely respectable.

I expected rage from my father at being so outwitted. Imagining our whole trip might be ruined if he’d been robbed of all his money, I waited gleefully to hear what he would say. But, to my disappointment, he merely disappeared briefly inside the chaise and then emerged with a satisfied look upon his face.

‘Pull yourself together, Amelia,’ he said sharply to my aunt who was sitting by the road, rocking backwards and forwards, close to hysteria. ‘They’re gone now, no one’s hurt and there’s no harm done. Drive on,’ he nodded to the coachman. Just like that, the excitement was all over, leaving us to resume our tortuous descent to the city. I puzzled over my father’s calm. The robbery hadn’t upset him, and for the life of me I couldn’t work out why.

The lanterns at the city gates were in sight before the coachman considered the road level enough for us to climb back into the chaise. My aunt leant back against the cushions, sighing with exhaustion, her eyes closed. I was not in the least tired and waited with eager anticipation to see the city.

Brown was waiting for us at the archway, leading his horse. As we came into sight, he mounted and led us to the right. ‘Trim Street is outside the city walls, sir,’ he told my father. ‘Follow me.’

We rumbled on, skirting the walls. In only a few minutes we pulled up in a narrow street between two rows of pale buildings. Torches flickered outside them, giving me a glimpse of tall, gracious town houses, all joined together in a long row. The façades were plain and yet elegant.

When we halted, I didn’t wait for the steps of the chaise to be let down, instead jumping down into the cobbled street and looking around me, consumed with curiosity. In the distance I could hear the deep chime of heavy church bells ringing.

‘Impetuosity is a grave fault in a girl, Sophia,’ said my father coldly. ‘Strive to curb it.’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said automatically.

The door of number seven, the finest house in the street, opened, light spilling out of it. We’d arrived at our new home.

At breakfast the next day, which we ate in the ground-floor dining parlour, I noticed my father pull out his pocket watch and consult it. I stared at it, puzzled.

‘How did the highwaymen miss that yesterday?’ I asked.

My father regarded me ironically, and his eyes flickered towards the new butler who was clearing dishes from the table. I became sure there was some secret. I left my father reading a London newspaper, and followed my aunt upstairs to the main room, a handsome apartment on the first floor, with huge south-facing windows letting in the bright spring daylight. As my aunt sank onto the settle with a sigh and declared herself delighted with the house, I took note of her pearl necklace and matching bracelet.

‘How fortunate that the robbers didn’t find your pearls either, ma’am,’ I said, knowing my aunt was far more likely to be forthcoming than my father.

‘Isn’t it indeed?’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought your father was mad wanting to conceal our valuables in the chaise! I’ve always kept them on me before, feeling certain that was safest, but just think! They would all have been stolen to feather some scoundrel’s nest by now! Instead, he advised me to wear only paste and worthless trinkets, and to keep a purse filled with coins of small value as a decoy. So clever! Those men got little enough from robbing us.’