The Herb of Grace (6 page)

Emilia thrust everything back into their bag and heaved it onto her shoulder. Luka passed her his fiddle, noticing how the lawyer's eyes lingered on it, and took the bag from her, saying gruffly, ‘I'll carry it. It's heavy.'

‘A proper little gentleman,' the lawyer mocked.

‘Thank you, sir,' Luka said with every appearance of pleasure. ‘I do try. Please, could you show us the bullet holes? How many soldiers did they have to fight?'

The lawyer looked taken aback, but he walked with them into the church, giving them a dry lecture on the civil war that they really had no desire to listen to. Luka nodded and smiled, keeping Zizi firmly on his shoulder so she would not scandalise the old gentleman by swinging all over the church. As they passed through the big
arched door, Luka gave Emilia a quick jerk of the head and a meaningful glance. She frowned and lifted her shoulders. Luka mimed turning a key in a lock, and her face cleared. As Luka walked down the aisle with the lawyer, listening politely to his lecture, she slipped to the side door and quickly locked it, pocketing the key. She then wandered about the church, staring up at the ancient carvings and windows, while the lawyer showed Luka the spray of bullet holes in the west door. She found a little antechamber with another door, and locked that too, then said airily, ‘I'll go out and keep an eye on Rollo, else he'll start howling. Don't be long. The coach must be just about ready to leave.'

She went out the front door and then quickly inserted the key into the lock. It fitted perfectly, so she stood quietly, waiting. A moment later, Luka came hurtling out the door, Zizi clinging her thin arms about his neck, and Emilia slammed the door shut and promptly locked it.

As they ran, laughing, out of the churchyard, they heard a faint pounding and yelling behind them, as the lawyer realised he was locked in.

‘That should hold him a while,' Luka said in satisfaction. ‘It's hours until the evening service. I'd really had enough of all his questions.'

‘So we're going to stay on the coach?' Emilia asked in relief. She had been sure Luka would insist on them running and hiding again, and they were still a long way away from the New Forest.

Luka nodded. ‘Coldham may know we caught the coach, but this way he won't know where we got off. The only thing we have to fear now is him catching up with us on the road, but we're making good time so far, and it must have taken him a while to get the message, and to act on it. It's a risk, but, by criminy, I paid for our tickets and I'll be damned if I don't get value for our coin!'

I
t was very late when the stagecoach at last rattled into Southampton. Luka woke and yawned, stretching out his arms, then roused Emilia who had her head on his shoulder.

Luka did not want to pay out more of their good coin for a room at the inn, so he walked slowly into the dark street, the bag slung over his shoulder and Zizi snuggled up inside his coat. A cold breeze blew dead leaves and rubbish along the gutter. Emilia stumbled along beside him sleepily, one hand entwined in Rollo's thick ruff.

‘Where now?' she asked, yawning widely.

Luka did not answer. He thought he and Emilia were best off heading out of the town and finding a nice soft haystack to sleep in, but he had lost all sense of direction in the rattling, swaying coach. He looked up to the night sky, reorientating himself.

Rollo growled deep in his throat. Luka looked round. Walking towards them were two dark-clad men. Luka stepped further back into the shadows, one hand on Rollo's neck to keep him quiet. He expected the men would pass them by, but they slowed as they approached the two children and spread out a little.

Apprehension filled him. ‘Go on your way, sirs,' Luka cried. ‘We have nothing worth robbing, and if you try, I'll set my dog on you.'

‘If you do, I'll shoot him,' a familiar voice said gruffly.

Luka's blood turned to ice. Coldham!

Without thinking, he turned and bolted, Emilia running beside him. Every step, he expected to hear the bang of a pistol, but Coldham evidently did not want to fire in the middle of the high street. Instead, he heard the thud of running boots. Luka put on speed, but it was no use. He was seized, and given a blow over his ear that made his head ring. Rollo snarled, and sprang, and was knocked down with what sounded like a heavy cudgel. The big dog fell with a whimper, then lay still.

‘Rollo!' Emilia screamed. ‘Rollo!'

A hand was put over her mouth, and she was dragged, kicking and squirming, towards a large black coach that was drawn up in the shadows opposite the inn. Though both Luka and Emilia fought with all their strength, they could not get free. The coach door was dragged open, and they were thrown in. Coldham climbed in after them, slamming the door behind him. Light from the
lantern over the inn door fell on his face as the horses were whipped into motion. It was a face that had haunted their dreams the past few nights, heavy, black-jowled, with mean slits of eyes and a pugnacious nose. He wore a long leather coat and steel helmet, and carried a thick stick. One hand rested on the pistol he wore thrust through his belt.

‘Rollo!' Emilia panted. ‘You've killed Rollo.'

Coldham grunted. ‘Let's hope so.'

‘Why? Why?'

‘Savage brute. Bit me once. Won't do so again.'

‘How could you?' Emilia sobbed.

‘Easily,' Coldham said, sounding amused. ‘Do it again in an instant.'

Emilia wept as though her heart was breaking. Luka stroked back her tumbled black curls but kept a wary eye on Coldham, who lay back in his seat, watching them. The only light came from a lantern hanging by the driver's seat. It swayed
back and forth over the interior of the coach, so that Coldham's ugly snout sank in and out of darkness.

Luka was furious with himself. Why had he not guessed that Coldham would overtake the coach and ride on to Southampton, to capture them once they had alighted? He and Emilia should have got out somewhere on the road, and lost themselves in the woods.

Now Rollo was dead, and they were caught, and all hope of rescuing their families was gone.

‘Where are you taking us?' Luka could barely manage to frame the words.

‘Back to gaol.'

‘Why? Why chase us all over the country?'

Coldham cleared his throat and spat. ‘Filthy thieving gyps,' he said. ‘Hate the lot of you.'

‘But why?' Luka was genuinely bewildered.

‘Gypsies stole away my mam,' Coldham said,
after a moment. ‘Cast a spell on her and ran off with her.'

‘They wouldn't do that,' Luka said disbelievingly. ‘Why would they?'

A giant hand, gloved in steel, came whistling out of the darkness and cracked him hard across the face. Luka's head snapped back and thudded against the seat. Emilia caught her breath and scrambled up beside him, putting her arms around him. Silently they stared at the black hulk of a man brooding in the far corner.

‘I tell you, they did,' Coldham snarled. ‘Came along one day and sang in the village square, smiling and smirking and winking at the girls, and the next thing you know, my mam just off and went. Didn't even say goodbye.'

Luka and Emilia did not believe a word of it. The Rom liked to keep themselves to themselves. It was very rare indeed for a Rom to marry a
gorgio
, and when they did, they either had to leave their
family and become a
gorgio
themselves, or their
gorgio
wife had to adopt Rom ways, which very few were prepared to do. They had heard stories of children being stolen by gypsies, of course, but their grandmother had told them that it was all rubbish, and they had believed her. Privately both children thought it more likely that Coldham's mother had just left her husband, which was not surprising, if the father was anything like his son. They did not dare say so, though, but sat there in silence as Coldham poured a bitter, icy flood of spite and hatred over them.

‘Lazy, sly, filthy, lying, thieving devils, black as your Satan-loving hearts. You should all burn in hell! You think I do not know that it was your ancestor who forged the nails that crucified Jesus Christ Our Saviour? You're a cursed race, cursed to wander forever . . .'

On and on he ranted. All courage and strength and hope drained out of the children as if he had
punctured their very spirits. They could only stare at him, exhausted and terrified, and feel the shadow of the gibbet fall upon them.

Very slowly, as if her limbs had turned to petrified wood, Emilia moved her right hand to her left, and groped for the chain that hung about her wrist. Her fingers found the familiar shape of the misshapen coin, and closed upon it.

Please
 . . . she thought.
Please
.

There was a loud bang, right outside the window, and a bright flash.

The horses reared and plunged, the coach swerved and skidded to a halt, and a loud and cheerful voice cried, ‘Stand and deliver!'

At once Coldham slid off his seat and crouched by the door, his hand going to his pistol. There was a commotion outside, horses neighing, men shouting, and then the door was wrenched open. As Coldham lunged forward, his pistol jerking upwards, Luka threw himself off the seat and
landed a heartfelt kick in the big man's posterior. Coldham fell sprawling out of the coach. His pistol discharged harmlessly into the dirt, much to the startled relief of the highwayman, who had been almost knocked over by Coldham's unexpected exit.

‘Oddsblood!' he cried.

‘Please!' Luka cried. ‘Help us! We've been kidnapped . . .'

‘He's a bad, bad man,' Emilia said. ‘Please help us.'

They could see nothing of the highwayman but a pair of glinting eyes under a big feathered hat.

‘He killed our dog,' Emilia said, her voice wobbling.

‘Oddsblood, a bad man indeed.' The highwayman put out one big booted foot on Coldham's back as he tried to rise, and pushed him back down into the road, then raised high the coachman's lantern so it fell upon Emilia and Luka. ‘By the heavens above, it's a couple of children. I thought you sounded young. Now, what bramble have I landed myself in? I heard there was a government agent travelling this road, and thought to have a little fun, and maybe some gain as well, but the kidnapping of children? That's serious stuff.'

‘He is a government agent,' Luka cried.

‘He's like a spider in a web of intrigue,' Emilia put in dramatically.

‘He grabbed us . . .'

‘He nabbed us . . .'

‘He hit us . . .'

‘. . . slapped Luka right across the face!'

‘He wants to throw us in gaol.'

‘He's a bad, bad man,' Emilia said again.

The highwayman was frowning. ‘Where did you get that coat?' he demanded, so unexpectedly the children were thrown off balance.

Luka looked down at his neat brown shooting jacket, with the scorch marks at the shoulder. ‘A lady gave it to us.'

‘A very sad lady,' Emilia said. ‘Lady Anne.'

‘Lady Anne? Lady Anne who?'

They screwed up their faces, trying to remember. Coldham groaned and struggled to get up again, and the highwayman booted him
between the shoulderblades, knocking him back down. ‘Where?' he demanded. ‘Lady Anne of where?'

‘Tanglewood?' Emilia guessed.

‘Lady Anne Willard? Of Tanglewood Manor?'

‘You know her?' Emilia exclaimed in surprise.

‘I do indeed,' he said, frowning. ‘She's my sister.'

The children were staring at him, trying to absorb the implications of this, when Coldham again tried to get up, roaring with rage. The highwayman deftly knocked him out with the cudgel. He lifted Emilia out of the carriage and set her on the ground, and then helped out Luka, who was unexpectedly trembly in the legs.

‘I think you two had best come back with me,' the highwayman said. ‘It's late, and I cannot be leaving you on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. We'll go back to my hideaway, and you can tell me how you happen to know my
sister, and in the morning I'll decide what to do with you. Just give me a moment to see what other goodies this most unpleasant-looking man has for me.'

The children nodded, and sat down together on the stony bank by the side of the road. It was very dark, but Luka could see the road was surrounded on either side by rough heathland, with big sprays of brambles and gorse bushes that provided good cover for the highwayman to hide. The coachman lay limply on the road nearby.

‘Is he dead?' Emilia whispered.

‘Lord, no,' the highwayman said, turning Coldham over and bending to rifle through his pockets. ‘I'm no murderer. I just gave him a good crack on the head when he tried to draw his pistol.'

The highwayman pulled out a bunch of keys, a heavy bag of coins, and a few other odds and ends which he examined closely by the light of the lantern. He pocketed the bag of coins, and then
went to toss the keys and the other things down by Coldham's unconscious body.

Luka cried, ‘No! Please. Wait.'

The highwayman paused in surprise as Luka hurriedly rummaged through his bag until he found a candle. He pressed the candle against the lantern until the wax was warm and pliable, and then carefully took an impression of each of the keys. The highwayman watched quizzically for a while, then busied himself tying up the two men and dumping them in the coach.

He lifted high the lantern and shone it into every corner of the coach, then expertly opened up some kind of secret drawer under one of the seats, extracting a folder of papers and another two bulging bags of coins. He made a noise of intense satisfaction in his throat, and thrust the papers and the coins into the saddlebags of his own horse, a beautiful bay that had been waiting patiently by the side of the road. He hid the coach behind a large
bush, and unhitched the four horses, running his hands over their legs appreciatively.

‘Should get a pretty penny for these lot,' he said to Emilia. ‘I know a fellow in Salisbury who will paint them up and sell them for me, none the wiser.'

She nodded her head. ‘It's a shame they're black,' she said. ‘Much easier to disguise a grey.'

He raised an eyebrow. ‘What's a pretty young lass like you doing knowing such things?'

Emilia flushed. ‘Oh, I'm guessing.'

‘Good guess.'

She smiled and dropped her eyes.

‘A boy who knows how to take an imprint for a key to be copied, and a girl who knows how to disguise a stolen horse,' he said with a grin. ‘What kind of company have I fallen into?'