Page 64 of The Pirate and the Pagan
When she returned to the house, she instructed a servant to take a couple of hogsheads of ale out to the coachmen waiting in the coach house, then she rejoined the guests, who were well into their cups and gambling heavily.
She made her way over to the King, sketched him a slight curtsy, and murmured, “Your Majesty, I am afraid I must beg your leave to retire. I am unwell. I’m afraid I indulged in too many spicy dishes this afternoon.”
“Let me get Helford,” he offered with concern.
“Ah please, Sire, the host cannot leave as well as the hostess. I beg your indulgence, Sire. I promise you I will be well if I can lie down for a while.”
He kissed her hand, and as she withdrew the rumors began to circulate that perhaps the lady was already enceinte. On wooden legs she climbed the stairs to her chamber and, once there, threw home the bolt. There was something about the events of the evening which seemed predestined.
She washed her face and tried to stop her mind from remembering her dream from the previous night. However, as she mentally rejected the memory, she walked over to her wardrobe and opened the trunk she’d brought back from London. One by one she lifted out the articles of clothing she’d bought for Spencer. Her fingers ran along the plume of the wide-brimmed, black hat, then caressed the black velvet of the doublet and breeches. Finally she lifted out the high black calf-skin boots and closed the trunk.
She undressed slowly and with remarkably steady hands donned the black attire. Finally she admitted to herself that she was going to go through with it. She wasn’t simply playing a game of dress-up to see what she would look like. There was absolutely no other way to get the mortgage money and recover her rubies; she’d been over every possibility until every other plan had been exhausted. According to gossip, highwaymen were thick as flies on a dog turd and the nobility actually bragged about their coaches being held up.
She put on the hat and stepped to the mirror. Her black hair fell to her shoulders exactly like a young cavalier’s. She was tall and slim in the male attire. In the dark she knew she could easily pass for a young man, and yet she needed something which would definitely mark her as a man in the eyes of the people she was about to rob. She sat at her dressing table and, picking up the scissors, snipped a small amount from her hair. With steady fingers she fashioned a black mustache and fixed it in place with the glue she used to affix her face patches. She picked up a black velvet eye-mask and tied it in place, then found her pistol. She carefully went over the details of her plan; she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. Now that she was ready, she hesitated, looking into the mirror. Her mouth went dry and her knees suddenly began to tremble. If she didn’t go immediately, she knew she wouldn’t be able to go through with it. She looked into the mirror and said to herself, “Toughen up!”
Her black riding gloves protected her hands as she climbed down the vine from her balcony in the south wing. She dropped to the ground, listened intently, then, when she encountered only silence, she melted into the darkness of the gardens. Ebony recognized her approach and whickered softly. She rubbed his velvet nose and murmured affectionately to him. “Carry me safely, my darling … I need your great strength,” she whispered. She mounted and led him very, very slowly to the far end of the deserted yew walk, which was three or four acres from Helford Hall, and there she began what she knew would be a long vigil.
It would be a tricky business to single out the Shrewsburys’ coach until it was quite close, but then she should recognize it easily, for they had brought one of their own with its coat of arms upon the door.
In the quiet of the yew glade she heard the rustle of small, nocturnal creatures as they prowled the night for food. Some were hunters, other poor devils the hunted; and she knew which one she would rather be. She tried to keep calm, for she knew she could easily transfer nervousness to her horse and spook him. A pair of bats swooped toward her then arced away at the last minute. Her mouth was dry, her palms inside her black riding gloves were wet.
She remained absolutely stock still and silent, but her heartbeat thundered in her ears and she imagined her teeth to be chattering. She clenched her jaw so tightly it began to ache dully as the minutes crawled past. She schooled herself to patience, for she most likely had hours to wait yet. Of one thing she could be certain, there was no likelihood she would doze off. Her body was pumping blood and energy until she thought she would scream with the forced inaction. Then suddenly she heard a low rumble. It was a carriage which careened through the blackness. She felt panic rise in her throat. Nobody should be leaving yet. She told herself that all she need do was stand in the shadows until it passed, then ride back to the house and go to bed. Then she heard herself whisper, “Fortune favors the bold.”
She peered intently into the blackness and recognized it was the very coach for which she had been waiting. Don’t question it, she told herself sternly, just take advantage of it!
She rode out into the middle of the road, leveled her pistol at the intoxicated driver, and roared, “Halt!”
The startled driver saw no one, but he pulled on the reins and the horses slowed.
“Stand and deliver!” she bawled roughly.
“What the hell?” cried the coachman as he yanked the two carriage horses to a full stop.
She touched Ebony’s side with her heel and he walked forward three paces. She waved the pistol at the befuddled driver and ordered, “Tell them to stand down and deliver.” He did nothing but stare. The carriage door was thrown open and a red-faced man stepped down in an apparent rage. He was not, however, even aware of the highwayman. “I’m glad you stopped,” he shouted in a high rage. “I’m not going to Pen-bloody-dennis Castle tonight, madame,” he shouted at the woman inside the coach, “to be cuckolded again, thank you very much! Driver, back to London!”
The coachman, unable to make any sort of decision, did nothing.
The woman inside the coach said, “We cannot go back to London tonight, and besides we are expected in Portsmouth for the royal visit.”
“The court, madame, is a cesspool. We return to London tonight! If the Duke of Buckingham tries to sniff round you again, I will call him out and shoot him for the vile coward that he is!”
The woman spoke again, very low.
“I’ll cause a scandal?” he cried at the top of his lungs. “You have already done that, according to the gossip that came to my ears tonight. I won’t allow you to drag my name through the mud, madame. The title of Shrewsbury has always stood for something noble!”
Summer pointed her pistol into the air and pulled the trigger. Its discharge jolted all the way up to her shoulder, but she got Shrewsbury’s attention at last.
“Who the devil are you?” he demanded.
Summer sketched him a slight bow. “The Black Cat, at your service, sir.”
“What the devil do you want?” he snapped angrily. “Your lady’s jewel case and I’m on my way … my oath on it, sir!”
Shrewsbury turned back to the coach door, saw the case on the seat beside Anna Maria, and opened it. There lay a diamond necklace and a ruby necklace and bracelets which he had not given to his wife.
“What’s these?” he roared. “Gifts from Buckingham?”
“The case, milord,” Summer demanded in a deadly voice, “or I’ll lighten your own pockets as well.”
