Page 68 of The Pirate and the Pagan
“Forgive me, my lady, I swear the horses were spooked by what looked like a headless horseman. I swear it must have been a ghost rider, my lady.”
“What piss and piffle!” shouted Barbara. “If you can’t stay sober when you drive me, I’ll replace you. Do you have your pistol ready in case your ghost turns out to be a highway robber?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the driver, cocking his pistol.
“Then proceed and don’t spare the horses! I knew I should have ridden with the King.”
Ebony stood motionless in the shadows as Summer stroked his neck and whispered so that his ears pricked at the familiar voice. It would have been such a tactical mistake to hold up Barbara, for like Summer she had a reckless nature and might on the spur of the moment challenge a highwayman. Either that or proposition him, chuckled Summer, then where would she be? Also Barbara was so shrewd, Summer didn’t feel confident enough to play the man in front of her. She was vastly relieved to see the back of Barbara Castlemaine this night.
In a very short time, perhaps only five minutes, another coach came ambling along. She knew it was the right coach this time, as she remembered the yellow carriage lamps. Boldly, without hesitation, she rode into the middle of the road, leveled her pistol, and commanded, “Stand and deliver!”
The reins fell from the nerveless fingers of the driver and the coach horses stopped of their own volition.
“Facedown on the ground!” she ordered the hapless man, and without a murmur of protest he obeyed the menacing black figure.
Bess Maitland stuck her head out of the window and shouted, “What are ye aboot, mon?” Then she saw the highwayman and quickly withdrew her bright red head inside the carriage.
“Outside!” ordered Summer. “Your maid too!” she called, beginning to enjoy herself.
“Maid?” screeched the duchess, climbing out after Bess Maitland. “Sir, I am the Duchess of Buckingham. I demand that you let us go unharmed. I’ll have your head for this, sirrah!”
“Do you seriously think I’d believe the handsome duke would marry the pig-faced lady?” asked Summer in a deep voice. “You there!” She indicated Bess Maitland. “Is that pig-faced woman really the Duchess of Buckingham?”
“Aye, she is.” Bess nodded, making the duchess purple with fury.
“Well, madame, I’m the Black Cat and I’m noted for my reputation with the ladies, but in your case I beg to be excused.” Summer gave an elaborate bow and Bess Maitland burst out laughing.
“Ladies, you are free to go on your way when I have your gold.”
Bess Maitland wasted no time turning over her money, but when she tried to separate Lady Buckingham from her heavy purse, she cried, “I’ll see you hanged first!”
Summer aimed the pistol at her head. “Madame, deliver or die!”
Lady Buckingham swooned. Bess Maitland took her heavy purse, threw it into the road, then ignominiously stuffed the duchess into the carriage like she was a sack of potatoes. “Christ, how much do you weigh?” Bess puffed as she climbed in after her hapless companion.
The moths flitted about the yellow carriage lamps as Summer urged the prone coachman to arise and depart, then she jumped down to retrieve the heavy purses from the roadway and deposit them in her saddlebags.
Summer decided to cut back through the fields. In case the women decided to report the highwayman in Falmouth and set that damned swine Sergeant Oswald on her trail, she rode closer to Roseland and Helford Hall. She kept her eyes open for Harry Killigrew’s little valet-coachman, but though two hours had elapsed and every guest who’d visited had departed in their carriages, still there was no sign of Wild Harry. She wavered between sticking it out and giving it up. She wasn’t really tired; the exhilaration of her daring escapade made her blood surge in her veins and, too, she was highly elated with the success of her attempts at being a hostess. She knew she’d done a superb job and that she would be talked of in London for weeks to come.
The King himself was smitten enough that if she was so inclined, she knew she could become his mistress. All in all it had been the most disastrous and the most successful few days of her life. She sighed deeply and was about to turn in the gates of Helford Hall when she heard the approaching carriage.
She turned Ebony about, galloped a couple of hundred yards off, and turned to face the coach. “Stand and deliver!” she barked.
The carriage came to a hurtling stop and Lord Killigrew, who had been in a drunken doze, yanked open the carriage door and promptly fell through it onto the road. His little coach driver had his pistol out, aimed at Summer’s head, and discharged it without hesitation. Fortunately for her, Harry had lunged at his valet, shouting, “’Sdeath, man, don’t shoot! Can’t ye shee it’s my frien’ Berkeley?”
“Berkeley’s got sandy hair, sir. This is a holdup!” cried his driver.
“No, no, itsh a joke, Sam—just a sham. Can’t ye shee he’s wearing a periwig!” Killigrew waved at Summer. “Games up, Charlie, I’d know ye anywhere.”
Summer shouted, “You’re too foxy for me, Harry! Trouble is, old man, if I turn up without your strongbox, I’ll be a bloody laughingstock.”
“No trouble, Charlie, take the box.”
When his valet vigorously protested, Wild Harry explained patiently, “It’s just a sam, Sham! ‘Sdeath, can’t go about shootin’ me frien’s—don’t have that many!”
Harry fumbled in the carriage for the strongbox while Summer leveled the pistol at the little coachman.
“Leave it on the road!” ordered Summer.
