A Traitor's Touch. Helen Dickson
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Henrietta took a step towards him, her chin jutting belligerently. ‘I’m past the stage of being in need of a nursemaid. I can take care of myself. You’re going to Scotland anyway—I heard you say so. At least if you take me with you, you’ll know your secret is safe.’
His eyes narrowed on her expectant face. ‘That sounds like blackmail to me.’
Henrietta allowed herself a smile. ‘Not really, but I suppose it must look like that from your position.’ Her smile faded. ‘I do know that the content of your discussion can be classed as a treasonous act for which all of you could be hanged if caught. But I don’t care who you are and what you are about is your business. All I know is that I stand a better chance of reaching Scotland unmolested if I do not travel alone.’
Jack stepped forward, not at all happy about the lad’s suggestion. ‘Don’t be swayed, Simon. Think about it. Time is a luxury you can’t afford. The lad will hold you back.’
‘You’re right.’ He looked at the youth, his expression uncompromisingly hard. ‘As I said, it’s out of the question. I’ve important matters to take care of and I’ve no desire to saddle myself with a troublesome lad. Now away with you. Think yourself lucky we’re letting you go with your life.’
* * *
Henrietta went on her way across the heath, heading towards Highgate, feeling angry and mortified as well as bitterly disappointed. Everything that had happened to her seemed so improbable. She had, to be sure, a little money, but so very little it would not enable her to subsist for more than two weeks. She had her jewels, but they were not worth very much. Of sentimental value since the pearl necklace had been her mother’s and the rest given to her over time by Aunt Dorothy, she would be most reluctant to part with them.
* * *
It was way past dawn when she reached Hatfield, thankfully without mishap. Saddle-sore and starving hungry, there was a weariness in her eyes as she dismounted and pushed her woollen cloak back over one shoulder. Leading her horse, with her mind on finding something to eat, she walked along the street, glancing into alehouses as she went. Never having entered such establishments, she was reluctant to do so now.
Was it only yesterday that Jeremy had turned up at the house? It seemed an eternity since she had left. It had needed only a few hours to make her first an outraged young woman because of the injustice meted out to her by Jeremy and now a fugitive who would soon be hunted down by that same man when he discovered the truth about his uncle’s will. She prayed he wouldn’t think of looking for her north of the border. But when she thought of Jeremy, who had treated her so cruelly, no remorse troubled her mind.
With an effort of will, she drove out these gloomy thoughts. She was young and strong and determined with all the force that was within her to overcome the malign fate which dogged her and to do that, it was necessary to remain in possession of her wits for the long trek to Scotland. Tethering her horse to a post, she glanced about her warily, feeling terribly conspicuous in her masculine garb.
There was a bustle in the street as the town was coming to life. An assortment of rustic-looking folk went about their business. A loud curse made her jump swiftly aside and she waited as a couple of huge, plodding horses, their foam-flecked sides heaving, drew a large wagon piled high with casks. Intent on staying out of their path she heedlessly stepped backwards into a loitering group of youths. Their presence was first noted when a voice called loudly, ‘Young fool! Look where you’re going.’
Spinning round in alarm, she stared at the youths, the eldest of whom was about sixteen. He stepped in front of her, his feet spread, his thumbs hooked in his belt and a tattered hat askew on an untidy thatch of brown hair. He towered over her, looking her over suspiciously.
‘Can’t say I know you. What you doing here?’ he demanded boldly.
‘I—I’m just passing through,’ she nervously stammered, lowering her voice to fit in with her masculine attire. Uncertain and dismayed at this unexpected confrontation, she glanced uneasily towards the others who were circling around her. For the most part, they seemed only to be seeking some diversion from boredom. She could not be too careful and sought to make them more cautious.
‘I’m supposed to be meeting someone—my uncle,’ she lied in an attempt to make them back away. ‘He—he should be here...’ Her voice trailed off and she looked around expectantly.
One of the youths laughed loudly and gave Henrietta’s shoulder a shove. ‘Hope he’ll come to your rescue, do you?’
Hands seeming to come from every direction reached out to shove and push. The next instant her hat was snatched from her head, baring a mop of shaggily cropped hair. Henrietta threw her hands over her head, at the same time opening her mouth to vent her outrage. For some reason she thought better of it and clamped her jaw shut, angrily making a grab for her hat, only to see it passed from one to the other. Incensed, she stood there with her fists clenched, refusing to show her fear. ‘Give me back my hat and I’ll be on my way.’
Immediately one of the youths shoved her shoulder and she found herself stumbling backwards, but not before she’d made another grab for her hat as it went sailing through the air. Jamming it on to her head, she glowered at them, ready to do battle if they attempted to take it again. Her jaw slackened as she stared amazed by the sight of the three youths suddenly backing off and pressing themselves against the wall.
A tall figure in a swirling black cloak strode into their midst. Large and powerful, a cocked hat set jauntily sideways on his head, she recognised him as the man Simon she had met on the heath the previous night. Henrietta was more unsettled than she was prepared to show by his sudden appearance. Now, in broad daylight, he bore a striking resemblance to the pirates whose exploits she had relished when safely between the covers of a book. This man had no black patch over his eye or gold rings in his ears, but these details apart, he seemed the living image of a gentleman of fortune.
‘On your way, the lot of you,’ he barked, brushing them aside as best he could. ‘I’m sure there must be chores to occupy you other than abusing others.’
He watched the scrambling departure of the youths before turning to the individual who found herself meeting eyes of deep blue set in a hard and unsmiling face.
‘I thought it was you,’ Simon remarked sharply. ‘You appear to be in a spot of bother.’
Henrietta’s heart lurched in her breast. She was torn between resentment because he’d refused to let her go with him to Scotland and relief that he’d rescued her from possible harm at the hands of the three youths.
Observing the lad’s expression of concern, Simon said, ‘You need to watch lads like that. They clamour around and then they’ll suddenly disappear—along with your purse. I don’t doubt that half of them will end up dangling on the end of a hangman’s rope one day. I was about to get myself a bite to eat. Would you care to join me?’
Having recovered her composure, Henrietta raised cool, bright eyes holding more than a measure of distrust to his. She hadn’t forgiven him for abandoning her on the heath. Having witnessed her humiliation at the hands of those louts, he was infuriatingly sublime in his amusement. If her situation weren’t so dire, she’d cheerfully tell him to go to the devil.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ she replied sullenly. ‘My mother told me never to talk to strangers.’
‘Your mother was right, but you were happy to talk to me last night when you thought I could be of use.’
‘That was last night. Things look different in daylight. I don’t want any handouts.’
‘I wasn’t offering to pay for your breakfast. I merely thought you might like some company, but it seems I was mistaken. The least you could do is thank me for getting you out of a scrape.’
‘I didn’t ask you to,’ she retorted ungraciously. ‘I can take care of myself.’
‘Is that so?’ His eyes did a quick sweep of the small, slight form in ill-fitting garb