Chapter 42
Lucy held the jar of preserves as the coach set off from the ball.
Sitting beside Margaret, she found herself facing Captain Dashwood at last, but unable to address any of the subjects she wished to speak of.
Margaret was nodding off to sleep, but Lucy would not risk being overheard.
Small talk would have to suffice, something she neither desired nor excelled at.
‘Did you find the evening enjoyable, Captain?’
‘It was perhaps a little too crowded for my tastes. I enjoyed meeting a few new faces. And St Martins Hall is well suited to such a congregation.’
‘I have encouraged George to host balls in the past for just such a reason, but he has been reluctant, more based on the wishes of his father than his own.’
‘Well, I am sure they found the event to be a success.’
‘Yes. All were well entertained, and the food and dances were excellent. I can scarcely imagine that anyone might find fault with the evening.’
‘And yet, if I may, your tone does seem to imply some disappointment.’
She shuffled slightly, feeling caught out that she had given away her mood so obviously. Or was it merely the case that the man had become adept at reading her mannerisms?
‘As you stated, it was a large affair. It can be trying for one disinclined to crowds. And in such a case there will always be missed opportunities. Those one could not speak to or dance with. Minor inconveniences.’
‘Indeed.’ He nodded, leaning forward, and speaking softer. ‘Is your sister well?’
‘She often rests on the coach ride home.’ Margaret was definitely asleep, but even in a smooth coach ride she could be jolted awake at any moment. Lucy avoided his gaze, fiddling with the waxy lid of the preserves, and when she glanced up again there was a soft smile on his face.
Surely he cannot be admiring the way I hold a jar of relish, she thought, though his expression suggested just that.
‘Lucy,’ he said, and his voice sounded suddenly serious. ‘I—’
He paused as the coach came to a swift stop. Three quick taps came from the front of the coach, faint and from a boot heel. Seconds later there was the sound of their driver, Jim, descending.
Lucy saw Dashwood set his jaw.
‘Remain calm. Wake your sister gently,’ he said with quiet authority.
Lucy faintly shook her sister, who opened her eyes to the sight of a finger pressed to the lips of Captain Dashwood.
‘What is the matter?’ Lucy whispered.
‘We are being hijacked,’ he replied plainly. ‘Make no trouble unless your lives are in immediate danger.’
‘And if they are?’
He smiled grimly. ‘Then raise hell.’ He took a breath and once again his countenance changed back to one of curious cheer. ‘Jim!’ he yelled, thumping the carriage. ‘Why the blazes have we stopped?’
He opened the coach door and lurched out with such unbundled energy that, had she not seen him moments earlier, Lucy should have been quite shocked to think him drunk.
Outside the coach he seemed to sway for a moment, getting his head around the situation. Unable to see the rest of the scene, the Elliot sisters had to rely on their ears.
‘Who are you?’ Dashwood demanded with a slur in his words. ‘Are we being robbed? Jim? Are we being robbed?’
‘It would seem so, sir,’ the young man replied quietly.
‘Look. We really don’t have much on us. I just—’
‘Shut up!’ called a sharp voice. There was no hesitation in his words. ‘Get over here!’
Dashwood nodded nervously, crossing to them, stumbling to his knees beyond view of the window.
‘Please don’t kill me!’ he blubbered. ‘My father is a wealthy man!’
‘I said shut up. Everyone else, out of the coach.’
Lucy and Margaret exchanged a glance and nodded to each other.
They exited the coach slowly, stepping away from it and standing as still as they might.
Lucy was surprised that she did not feel the least bit panicked.
If anything, she felt coolly detached. Then again, she also realised she was still holding the jar of preserves, so perhaps she wasn’t acting quite as rationally as she imagined.
She took in the situation before her. Jim stood by the horses, hands held high. Dashwood on his knees nearby, hands on his head, whimpering. Lucy was certain it was merely an act, but it was certainly a convincing one.
There were three assailants standing beside a fallen branch across the road.
It was light enough to move, but heavy enough to force a coach to stop – a well-tested highwayman tactic.
Dark coats and rough dress hinted at a sinister purpose.
Their expressions of mixed scowls and cruel grins backed this up.
The presence of the pistols they each held confirmed it.
‘Over there. On your knees,’ the tallest of the men ordered, waving his pistol.
The Elliot sisters complied, stepping back from the coach, kneeling somewhat awkwardly and giving little heed to the state of their dresses on the roadside earth – this was no time for frivolous concerns.
‘You too.’ The man pointed to Jim, who kneeled by Dashwood’s side.
At a tilt of the tall man’s head, one of the three moved towards the sisters. From a combination of moon- and coach-light, Lucy could see he had a patch over his left eye.
‘Jewellery,’ Eye Patch growled, singling out Lucy first.
Neither her necklace nor brooch were of great value, though the latter had been handed down through several generations. It was a point she did not feel inclined to mention, instead complying with the request.
The shorter man (Lucy decided to call him Crossbones) held a pistol on the kneeling men while the apparent leader (now called Blackbeard in keeping with the pirate theme) went to check the coach.
She realised this assessment of the scene was somewhat absurd, but if these were coach robbers it was fair to assume they might be connected to the other hijackings.
She did her best to remember their faces, clothing and heights. Then she linked it to what she knew.
A chill ran through her. If these were indeed the same robbers, then they left no witnesses.
But something was wrong about the whole thing. This seemed more a robbery of opportunity, not a well-planned heist. They had little of value, having come from a ball.
Blackbeard’s glance inside the cabin had been more cursory than a real search. He then turned back to approach the two kneeling men from behind with an intention his search had lacked.
Lucy glanced to her left where Margaret was handing over her jewellery to Eye Patch. The patch was on his left eye. Lucy’s side. That might give her a second to act.
Blackbeard raised his pistol and Lucy realised a second was all she had.
She saw Jim spring forward at Crossbones, even as the trigger was being pulled.
She saw Dashwood throw himself forward to duck under any shot that might be about to hit him in the back.
It was a canny move, especially from someone the others believed to be drunk.
It might have worked had Blackbeard been unprepared, but he had already been aiming and the drop forward was not enough alone to avoid the shot.
But the fate of Captain James Dashwood was not to be decided by a single action.
The instant before the fatal shot, his salvation arrived in the form of a flying jar of preserves straight to the side of his would-be murderer’s head.
The glass cracked and the lid flew off, thick liquid splashing and the shock of the impact throwing the bullet wild, well above Captain Dashwood.
Eye Patch turned his attention from Margaret to Lucy, swinging his pistol around.
Lucy saw the barrel in the moonlight, so close that her eyes almost needed to cross to make it out clearly.
There was no time to dodge, no chance of missing at this range.
No time, really, to overthink things. At least she hoped the others would be safe.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but still saw the flash of light, heard the deafening blast and felt the burning force against her face.