Chapter 13 #2
“This is where they brought Jenny. This place is the last thing she saw.” Her voice quavered uncertainly and Milly slid an arm about her, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “Pops said she was nine and twenty. Nine and twenty!”
Her grandfather’s voice sounded in her mind then, softer than usual, the way it did when he was lost in a memory. But what a life she lived, Angel. Wild and free, she was. Free as a bird, untamed and untameable. I’m glad I knew her.
I’m glad you knew her too, Pops.
Overhead, skylarks appeared again, their cheerful song at odds with their surroundings, making Angel’s skin prickle. The pretty, frivolous sound seemed to mock the gravity of what happened here, making them appear careless of the fate of those who lost their lives in this dreadful place.
Though they all knew what was coming, Angel wasn’t ready for it.
The gallows stood in the centre of an immense expanse of ground. Nothing more than two thick upright beams with another set atop. The well-trampled ground showed that the last execution had been recent, perhaps only hours ago.
“Good Lord, how ever shall we find her?” Milly whispered, gazing around at the expanse of scrubby ground, of flattened coarse grass and well-worn paths.
“There’s graves. Over there,” Toby called, pointing across the heath. “Fresh dug,” he added, his light boyish voice making the observation feel increasingly macabre.
Angel swallowed down the panic rising in her chest. Taking a breath, she told herself to be methodical. Yes, there was a great deal of land. No, there were not many obvious grave markers, but there were some, and Pops would not have sent her on a wild goose chase. At least, she hoped not.
Toby jumped down and Leo followed.
“You take care of the horses, Toby,” he told the boy, striding over to the gig.
“Well, Angel? Are you ready?”
Angel turned to stare at him, the sudden urge to throw herself into his arms and tell him to hold on tight hard to resist, but she would not be such a nitwit. Pops would be ashamed of her for such a ridiculous display. She was neither delicate nor cowardly.
“Yes,” she said, summoning a smile that felt too brittle.
Leo held out his hand to her and she took it, drawing comfort from the warm clasp of his fingers upon hers. Even through their gloves she felt it, the undercurrent that thrummed beneath them, heat and desire. It gave her strength.
He gave her fingers a quick squeeze before turning to help Milly.
“Well, then, ladies,” he said, just as if they were at a garden party or a picnic. “Shall we take a little stroll?”
Though the desire to stay close was palpable, it was not practical. So they spread out, keeping one another in sight, but far enough apart to cover as much ground as possible.
The odd sense of melancholy that had stolen over Angel when they had first set eyes on the heath seemed to sink into her bones.
Now and then she would see a marker, sometimes a sturdy wooden cross with a name, sometimes only two twigs bound with string.
That she was walking over hundreds, perhaps thousands of graves, made her skin crawl, her imagination conjuring horrific images of hands pushing up through the ground and grabbing at her skirts, her ankles.
She shuddered and told herself not to be such a ninny. Still, she did not think she’d be reading any horrid Gothic novels anytime soon.
Time seemed to stand still, the next step blurring into the one after, and the one after that.
Gorse and brambles caught at her skirts and now and then she would have to stop and untangle herself.
Though she tried not to look, the gallows seemed inescapable, a dark, threatening presence that was always visible at the corner of her eye.
Even if she turned her back, she could still feel it looming.
Glancing up at the sky, she wondered how long they had been here, an hour? Two? It felt like days.
Though she fought to keep it at bay, doubt niggled at the back of her mind like a maggot on cheese. What if Pops was wrong? What if any marker he had left was long since gone, worn away by time and exposure?
No. Pops was no fool. He would not have sent her here if there was no way to find his treasure.
“Where are you, Jenny?” she murmured under her breath, twitching at her skirts as the hem snagged on a patch of gorse. She took another step and, suddenly, something burst from the scrub at her feet.
Angel screamed.
Air battered her face, flapping wings and a soft, desperate scraping at her cheeks. A dry, almost human sound rang in her ears, her heart stuttering with fear.
“Angel!”
She stumbled back, falling on her arse on the stony ground.
A moment later, Leo was before her. He gazed down at her, worry making fine lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes. Oh, Lord, but he was so handsome it made her heart ache just looking at him.
“Angel? Are you hurt?”
She stared up at him, her jaw set. “Only my pride,” she groused, feeling like a fool.
He grinned at her and reached down, catching her under her arms, lifting her with ease. Once she was upright again, he brushed at her skirts, adjusted the shawl about her shoulders, and gave her bonnet a little tweak to straighten it.
“There. Fine as fivepence,” he said softly.
Angel rolled her eyes. Though she would have died rather than admit it, her nerves were still jangling and the urge to reach out and clutch at his hand was nigh on irresistible. She folded her arms, tucking her icy fingers into her armpits to ensure she did no such thing.
“It was a nightjar,” he told her, his voice gentle, seeming to understand that she was still vibrating with the shock of it. But it was this place. She could not wait to leave it. “They nest on the ground. I’m afraid you scared it a deal more than it scared you.”
“Doubtful,” she retorted, still sullen. She reached for the ribbons of her bonnet, which were hanging loose after constant worrying by the wind, which never ceased tugging at them, flapping them about her face and neck.
With quick, angry movements, she tied them back up, swallowing down a sudden knot of emotion.
“We’ll find her.”
She looked up at the sound of his voice, so deep and solemn.
Tears prickled at her eyes as she met his gaze.
He understood. Though he didn’t say another word, just stood there, all big and manly and solid, she knew she could trust him.
Leo Cleaver was as reliable, as unmovable, as English oak. He would not let her down.
“Oh, Leo,” she said, the words quavering.
He reached for her, pulling her close and hugging her to him.
“We’ll find her, love. I promise. Even if it’s not today. I’ll come back every day until we discover her. My word of honour.”
“Oh!” she said, uncertain whether to laugh or cry. She hit him with her clenched fist, striking where his heart lay beneath layers of linen and wool. “Oh, you wretched man. Why must you be so very… good?”
“Good?” he exclaimed, rearing back in alarm. “Me?”
He looked so shocked and appalled at the suggestion that she did laugh then. The sound seemed to echo around them, incongruous, blasphemous almost as it rippled over the graves of those lying still beneath the earth.
“Yes, you,” she told him, pressing her palm against the place she had struck him. “I’m sorry I told you to go.”
“I’m not sorry I kissed you,” he replied, lips quirking.
She huffed out a laugh, giving his chest a little push. “Come on. This won’t find Jenny, and I want to leave this wretched place as quickly as we can.”
He nodded, but instead of moving back to where he’d come from, he stayed close. She didn’t complain. She wanted him there, beside her, even if it wasn’t the best idea.
So they carried on searching, walking and walking, stopping now and then to inspect a marker, to brush dirt from a crude headstone. By the time the sun began its descent back to earth, Angel was beside herself with frustration.
And then she saw it.
Her breath caught, and she clutched Leo’s sleeve, stopping dead in her tracks.
“What?” he demanded, looking about them.
Her fingers tightened upon his arm, laughter bubbling in her throat.
Oh, Pops, you wicked old man, you were romantic.
Ahead of them, its tangle of thorny stems climbing through the branches of a stunted hawthorn bush, was a wild rose.
The hips, which might have been a vivid orange weeks ago, were a darker red now, shrivelled and dry, but Angel knew it.
She turned in a circle, scanning the heath for any other signs of roses growing here, but found none.
It’s not like I haven’t given you clues enough. You’ll find my lovely Jenny and my treasure too. Be sure to take her flowers. She always liked roses.
“Will you please tell me what it is—” Leo began, but his words were cut short as Milly’s shrill scream lanced through the wind.
They came out of the gorse behind the gig—too late to shout, too late to run.
“Toby!” Angel exclaimed, realising they were not as alone and isolated as she had believed.
Milly made a choked sound of shock, her hand going to her mouth as she turned to stare at Angel.
Leo was moving before Angel had even registered the shapes of one large man and a woman. The crack of a pistol exploded across the heath. Angel shrieked in alarm, but the shot hit the ground a little to Leo’s right. A warning.
“Stay where you are!” The woman’s voice, harsh and guttural, instructed them coldly. “No ‘arm will come to the little fella, so long as you do what I tells you.”
Angel’s heart pumped hard behind her ribs as she saw the man holding Toby with a thick, muscular arm about his skinny chest, a knife pressed to the boy’s throat.
No! Oh, no. Don’t hurt him. She had left her pistol and the knife in the back of the gig, buried in her carpetbag.
Fool! Yet they had felt like the only people in the world, out here on the heath.
“Who are you?” Angel called, wishing her voice sounded steadier, surer as the wind whipped the sound away.
“Never you mind that. But I know what’s buried here, and who with. Old Black Jack was a sly old dog, I’ll give him that. I’d never have guessed if you’d not led me by the nose. Grateful for that, I am.”
Angel muttered a curse under her breath, castigating herself for her carelessness.
Pops would never forgive her for that. But all was not lost yet.
She was Black Jack Baxter’s granddaughter, after all.
He’d been in worse situations than this one, and he always found his way out of them, using his wits and a ruthless streak a mile wide.
“Seeing as I’m so grateful, like, I’m going to make you an offer.”
In the distance, appearing as a speck behind the woman who seemed in charge of the situation, a cart became visible. She gestured to it.
“I’m going to take this young shaver and tuck him up nice and careful like, somewhere you won’t find him.
In exchange, I’m going to leave you a shovel each.
You’re going to dig up Black Jack’s loot, and then you’ll come and meet Bill and Stan here, at the Bull and we’ll exchange, nice and tidy. The lad for the loot.”
Leo shifted, his fists clenched. Angel could sense his rage. He was practically vibrating with frustration, with the desire to do violence, but they were powerless all the time that knife pressed against Toby’s throat.
There was nothing to do but watch and wait, wait for the cart to arrive, for them to throw down the shovels, and then for them to haul Toby into the cart and drive away.