No Other Love. Candace Camp
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miss. He’s got a wife and five little ones, and he’s worked in the tin mines all his life. Well, he come up sick and couldn’t go to work for weeks. His lordship let him go, and he owns the house they live in, too, miss, and he was ready to turn them out ‘cause they couldn’t keep up the rent with Ernest not workin’. But one night they hear a thump at the door, and Jenny, she gets up and goes to the door, and there’s a sack lyin’ there, and when she looks inside, it’s got coins in it. Enough to pay their rent for six months and buy food and clothes, too.”
“And it was the highwayman who gave it to them? How do they know?”
“Who else? There’s none around here that has that much money to hand, except for the Earl or the Squire or Lord Buckminster, and none of them were riding about at night droppin’ off sacks of coin.”
“No, I am sure you are right.”
“It has happened to others, too. Some more, some less. Faith Burkitt, when her man died? His lordship would have turned her out, too. She got money at her door, too, but she got a look at the man when he left it, and she said he was dressed all in black, with a mask on his face.”
“He is a sort of Robin Hood?”
Lydia nodded vigorously. “That’s how people round here feel, miss. He helps them out, which is more than you can say for anyone else, and he hurts the Earl only, and there’s none as would cry over that.”
“No, I am sure not. I would not imagine that Exmoor is a good landlord or employer.” As the Earl of Exmoor, Richard had inherited not only tin mines but a good deal of the land in the area, both farms and much of the village, as well.
Lydia made a face. “The old Earl wasn’t a bad sort, and they say his father before him was the same. But when the new Earl came in…” She shook her head gloomily. “The wages at the mines are a sin, and that’s God’s own truth, miss. Not long after he got hold of them, he cut the wages. Says they weren’t makin’ enough profit. It was enough profit for the old Earl, now, wasn’t it? Then he raises the rent that the mine workers who live in his houses have to pay. It’s hard enough on the farmers, especially when they have a bad year, but what about the miners? He’s payin’ them less, and they’re havin’ to pay him more. It’s a sin, that’s what it is.”
“Yes, it is,” Nicola agreed. It was this sort of inequity that filled her with righteous indignation and had fueled her venture into charitable projects in the East End. It had also gotten her into enough arguments with others at parties that she was generally termed a radical and a bluestocking by her peers. “It is not surprising that the people have no qualms about his being robbed. Lady Exmoor told me it was mostly his wagons that were preyed upon by the brigands.”
Lydia nodded. “Aye. Oh, a carriage now and then that’s traveling through. But not local people much. Once he stopped the doctor when he was driving in his new gig to see a patient, and when he saw who it was, he just waved him on, didn’t take a cent from him.”
“He sounds like a saint.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s not that, miss. He’s a man, after all, and I’ve never met many of them that were saints. But he’s after the Earl only—there’s no mistakin’ that.”
“I wonder why.”
“Why? After what the Earl’s done? Who better?”
“I’m sure that is true, but thieves are not usually so selective. It sounds as if he has something against the Earl personally. Is he from around here?”
Lydia shook her head. “No. He moved in a few months ago. At first there was just him and the men that came with him, but after a while, some others joined him.”
“You mean local men?”
Lydia nodded, her gaze measuring.
“Oh, dear.” Nicola frowned. “I am afraid of what might happen to them. The Earl is dead set on catching him. Now with the Runner trying to find him…”
“I wouldn’t worry too much, miss. ‘The Gentleman’ is a slick one. There’s none that know where he lives. The local men meet him at a certain place, but that ain’t where he and the outsiders stay. There’s four of them, and they live someplace hidden. He’s never told a soul.”
“What—what is he like?” Nicola looked down at her cup as she spoke, turning it idly.
“Like? I’m not sure, miss. I’ve never seen him but the once.” She edged closer and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “One night Ste—that is to say, a man comes to the inn, and he won’t speak to anybody but me Jasper, so Jasper goes down there, and I gets up to see what’s what. So I creeps down to the landing, and I’m sittin’ there in the dark on the stairs, where no one can see me. Well, Ste—this man—says to Jasper that he needs a tot of whiskey for someone outside. It was rainin’ and blowin’ something fierce, not a fit night out for man nor beast. So me Jasper says why can’t the man come inside, it’s a sight dryer, and he says he just can’t, and finally Jasper goes and pours a glass of whiskey. Then I hears the sound of boots and spurs on the stones outside, and the next thing you know, this man steps into the doorway. I next to keeled over with terror, I’ll tell you!”
Mrs. Hinton pantomimed her shock, one hand going to her chest, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open. “He was a big man, like to fill the doorway, towering over me Jasper and this other man. And he’s dressed all in black, he is, from his head to his toes, and he’s even wearing a black mask over the top half of his face. Well, I knew who he was, of course, as soon as I saw him, and I was that scared for Jasper, because, well, no matter what everybody said about him, you just never know, do you? Then in this elegant voice, he says, ‘Thank you, sir, I won’t trouble you to bring this outside on such a stormy night as this.’ And he took the glass from him and knocked it back—and paid him with a gold coin! I nearly fell off the stairs when I saw that. Then he bids a very polite farewell to Jasper and turns to go, but as he turns, he says, not even looking over at me, ‘And good night to you, too, Mrs. Hinton.’ I couldn’t believe it! He’d spotted me in that little bit of time, but neither of the other two had caught sight of me the whole time they were standing there.”
“So you’ve never seen his face? Has anyone?”
“Not me, miss. Some of the girls in the village say that he’s handsome, but they’re just silly romantic chits. I dare swear they’ve never seen him even in a mask, let alone without it. He stays to himself, he does. I don’t know anyone who knows anything about him—not even where he comes from.”
Nicola was sure that if Mrs. Hinton didn’t know anything, then no one did. “I wonder if he is really a gentleman,” she mused. “He certainly sounded it.”
“His hands aren’t those of a gentleman,” Lydia said decisively, shaking her head. “I saw ’em when he pulled off his gloves to take his drink. They’re big and callused and scarred—the hands of a man who’s worked all his life. Not even a gentleman who rides without his gloves has hands like that.”
“Then how did he learn to speak like that?”
The other woman shrugged. “He’s a mystery, Miss Falcourt, and that’s a fact. Personally, I think he likes it that way. He don’t want people to know about him.”
“Mmm. I suppose that the less anyone knows about him, the less likely anyone would be able to turn him in.”
“Oh, won’t no one turn him in, miss, I’ll tell you that. He’s a hero here.”
“Even if Exmoor offers a reward?” Nicola asked. “There is always someone in a town willing to talk then. I’ll venture that it won’t be long before Richard turns to that. He is determined to capture him. He takes the man’s acts as a personal affront.”
“Well, be that as it may, he’ll have a hard time catchin’ that one. And anyone who does turn him in better watch his backside around here.”
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