The Captain's Mysterious Lady. Mary Nichols

free.’

      ‘Please,’ the girl said suddenly. ‘You are all speaking too loudly and I have the headache.’

      James, surprised that she had spoken in the refined accents of a lady, bowed towards her and spoke softly. ‘I beg your pardon, madam. When we stop to change the horses, I will obtain a tisane for you.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she murmured and turned to look out of the window, presenting her profile to him. She had good bone structure and there was a tilt to her jaw, which might have been an indication of courage or perhaps stubbornness. But even so, he noticed a silent tear spill over one eye and roll down her cheek. Before he could stop himself he had reached forward and scooped it up on his finger. She turned startled eyes on him and he smiled reassuringly without speaking. He took off his coat and rolled it up to make a pillow and propped it behind her head. ‘Why not lean back and close your eyes? It might help.’

      She did as he suggested, though her companion’s look was enough to fell an ox. James, sitting back in his shirt sleeves and waistcoat and ignoring the chill air, pretended to shut his eyes, but between half-closed lids he could see she was still tense, still far from relaxed. But she had effectively silenced all conversation. Something was wrong, he could feel it in his bones, and it was not simply a headache. He wondered whether he ought to do something about it, but then told himself it was not his business and perhaps he was allowing his imagination to run away with him.

      That was it; she was running away, possibly from her family or an unwanted suitor or perhaps from the fear of another earthquake. A second one exactly a month after the first had set the citizens of London deserting the capital in droves. But if that were so, she had chosen a singularly ill-bred escort, and why, if she was gently bred, did she not have a female companion with her? But supposing she was the one in the wrong, had run away and was being taken reluctantly back home?

      They had stopped now and again to change the horses, but they did not leave the coach until they reached the Feathers at Wadesmill, where they were told they had half an hour to visit the necessary and have something to eat. Once out of the carriage, the young lady returned his coat. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ he whispered as he took it from her and slung it over his shoulders.

      She turned to look up at him and for the first time he saw animation in her lovely eyes. It made her suddenly beautiful and vulnerable as well. There was hope in that glance, which quickly turned to despair when her companion seized her arm and led her away to a table in the corner where he pushed her roughly into a chair and ordered food.

      ‘They’re a rum pair, ain’t they?’ Sam said, as they seated themselves at another table.

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Those two over there.’ He nodded imperceptibly in their direction. James noticed she was pushing the food about on her plate, but not eating.

      ‘Yes, there’s something not right there.’ In spite of a reputation he had for being hard and unbending, he could still sympathise with anyone in trouble and he felt sure the young lady was in trouble.

      ‘You ain’t thinkin’ of doin’ somethin’ about it, are you, Cap’n?’

      ‘And let Randle and Smith get away again?’ As he had done so often before, he imagined his wife’s terror at being confronted with the gunmen and his anger surfaced again. Those two were going to pay for their crimes and pay heavily. That was his true errand, not rescuing women who might or might not need rescuing. And what would he do with her if he did separate her from her escort? He could hardly take her with him. ‘We still have a long way to go,’ he said, as a waiter put their food in front of them and he ordered a tisane to be taken to the young lady. ‘We will see what transpires.’

      What actually transpired was something not even he had expected, though why he should be surprised when the coach was later held up by highwaymen, he did not know; it was a common enough occurrence. It had been fully dark by the time they reached Cambridge where the parson left them, and he had wondered if the man and the girl would stop there, but they must have been in as great a haste as he was, for they had elected to go on. The journey north through Ely had been uneventful and they were proceeding as fast as the coachman dared go along an extremely bumpy road with the river on one side and a spindly stand of trees on the other, when two men brandishing pistols appeared from the copse on horseback and commanded the driver to stop. The coach pulled up so sharply they were all flung against each other. The girl gave a little cry to find herself in James’s arms, as a man with a black kerchief about his lower face opened the door and waved a pistol at them. ‘Out!’ he commanded. ‘We’ll have your valuables or your lives.’

      James helped the girl to alight and put his arm about her shoulders to support her. When the pistol was waved at him, he thought it expedient to hand over his watch and a purse containing a few guineas. The robber took them and stowed them away inside his voluminous cloak, then turned to the other occupants of the coach. Catching sight of the man who had boarded the coach with the girl, he promptly fell about laughing. ‘Here, Jerry,’ he chuckled. ‘Look who’s turned up.’

      His accomplice, who had been keeping his eye on the coachman, appeared beside him. He, too, had his face covered so that only his eyes were visible. ‘Gus Billings, as I live and breathe, and the lady, too. Now, there’s an interesting turn of events.’

      James felt the girl’s shoulders stiffen under his hand and heard her stifle a small cry. She was shaking and only his arm about her was stopping her from sinking to the ground. He gave her shoulder a little squeeze of reassurance.

      ‘I’m only doin’ your biddin’,’ the man called Billings told the other two. ‘If you want to lay yer hands on you know what, you’ll allow me to get on with it.’

      ‘And who is this?’ Jerry waved his pistol towards James, who did not flinch, though the girl did, quite violently.

      ‘Dunno, do I?’ Billings said.

      ‘I am the Honourable James Drymore, Captain of his Majesty’s navy,’ James told him in his haughtiest voice. ‘And I advise you to allow us to proceed or it will be the worse for you.’ It was an empty threat; there was nothing he could do to stop them. His pistol was in his coat pocket and he could not reach it without taking his arm from around the young lady and he was afraid if he did she would collapse in a heap at his feet. Sam had no weapon.

      The masked riders laughed and beckoned Billings to join them. He went reluctantly but, after a few whispered words, he came back and, taking the girl’s arm, wrested her from James and pushed her back into the coach. It was then James tried to reach into his pocket for his pistol, but a shot whistled past his ear. ‘Get back in the coach and be off with you,’ the first highwayman ordered. ‘And think yourselves fortunate I’m feelin’ generous today.’

      They resumed their seats, the horses were whipped up and they were on their way again.

      ‘Madam, are you all right?’ James asked the young lady.

      ‘Leave ‘er alone,’ Billings said. ‘Can’t you see she’s upset?’

      ‘Indeed I can, but I do not think it is I who upset her.’

      ‘Being held up by robbers is enough to overset anyone.’

      ‘True. But I notice you were more surprised than overset. The scoundrels were known to you.’

      ‘Please,’ the girl pleaded. ‘I thank you for your concern, sir, but I am perfectly well.’ Which was very far from the truth, but she evidently did not want him taking the man to task.

      He looked across at Billings, who was eyeing him warily. If the fellow were to drop his guard, he might be able to overpower him with Sam’s help. But if he did, what in God’s name would he do with the young lady? And how could he be sure those two highwaymen were not following them? The coachman must have had the same idea, because he was driving at breakneck speed, relying on the moon and a couple of carriage lamps to light his way. Further conversation was almost impossible as they all hung on to the straps and endeavoured to stay in their seats.

      When