The Highwayman Came Riding Page 6

  “Eli—”

  “Wait, are you wearing a lace cravat?” Elias demanded, and let the highwayman go. The highwayman drew a rasping breath, but he did not release Elias’s wrists. Elias shook the highwayman’s hands from his wrists and grabbed a handful of the flowing fabric at his throat. “By God, you are. This outfit keeps getting better and better. Bess tells me only mollies wear lace cravats if they aren’t at a ball.”

  “Shut up,” the highwayman croaked. “Plenty of gentry wear them.”

  “Yes,” Elias agreed. “So you’re either gentry or a molly.”

  “Can’t I be both?” the highwayman asked, sitting up suddenly. Elias flew backward, throwing out his arms to break his fall. The highwayman grabbed him by the waist and kept him from sprawling on the road. Elias was now half-seated in the highwayman’s lap.

  “What’s a boy from money doing holding up blind post boys?” Elias demanded.

  “I don’t know. What’s a blind boy doing delivering the post?”

  “We’ve been through this already.”

  “Well, then.”

  The highwayman had not let go of Elias’s waist. Feeling warm, Elias squirmed out of his hold and staggered to his feet.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Elias asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Don’t you have somewhere to go?”

  “Not really.”

  “Won’t you just leave me the fuck alone?”

  “Why? I thought we were having a civilized conversation. It looks like you were enjoying yourself.”

  “Civilized? Enjoying myself? How the fuck did you get that idea?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…”

  “Ugh, fuck off.”

  It took Elias a moment to regain his bearings, and then he headed off in the direction of what he was confident was Kitwick. He had walked a short distance, Lord Nelson pressing into his bare calf, when he heard the highwayman jogging behind him.

  “Piss off already, you have my clothes.”

  “How did you know I hadn’t pissed off already?” came the rejoinder.

  “Lord above, haven’t we established I can as good as hear a spider spin its web in the middle of the forest? You can’t go anywhere without me knowing.”

  “Maybe here, but I don’t think you’d get by in Town,” the highwayman said. “Too busy.”

  “Well, we’re not in Town, are we?”

  “I’ve been to Town.”

  “I don’t give a damn where you’ve been, you cocksure gabster!”

  “Want to go to London Town with me? You seem to like my gabbing.”

  Elias ignored his question. “What gives you that impression?”

  “You could’ve left me a lot earlier than you did.”

  “You were pointing a pistol at me!”

  “I never said that. I never drew my pistol.”

  Elias sniffed. “Fine. I’m leaving, if you promise not to shoot me in the back.”

  “Come off it. You know I’d never hurt you. I just let you strangle me half-dead and I didn’t lift a single harmful finger against you.”

  “You’d never hurt me, but you would steal my clothes and force me to walk home naked.”

  “Yes.”

  “How honorable of you.”

  “Don’t you forget it, honey. I’m a gentleman. You forgot your boots, by the way. Don’t want to see your feet cut up again. Here.” He pressed stiff leather into Elias’s hands.

  Elias snorted, donned his stockings and boots, and continued ambling back down the road with Lord Nelson at his side. He heard the highwayman return to his horse, mount, and set it cantering in the opposite direction.

  * * * *

  Elias and Lord Nelson were picked up two miles later by Mr. Gargery, the dairyman.

  “Did he get you again, then?” Mr. Gargery asked. Everyone in Kitwick had heard of Elias’s struggles if they had not witnessed them firsthand.

  “Obviously.”

  “That’s no good, that is. Ent right. Thieving from a blind man.”

  “Yes, yes, how terribly uncharitable of him. I deserve only pity and beneficence, poor me,” Elias muttered.

  “At least he left you with your boots.”

  “Yes. He’s an angel.”

  Mr. Gargery loaned Elias his coat, which he clutched closed over his waist for the duration of the ride and returned to him when he dropped Elias off in front of the Peach and Pear. It was the middle of the afternoon, so the tavern was devoid of guests when Elias and Lord Nelson walked through the main entrance.

  “Oh, not again, that shit!” Bess was at his side in an instant. She must have been cleaning in preparation for the evening flood. “Are you going to make another report?”

  “Why bother?” Elias snapped.

  “Well, if they ever catch him, they’ll know how much he owes.”

  “Three hats, coats, shirts, cravats, trousers, and hair ribbons and two boots and stockings. And my job. I don’t think even Mrs. Scorsby can fix this now.”

  “They’ll want that on paper.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “Mr. Sweeton is going back to Mitton soon. We must tell him.”

  “I thought you hated Mr. Sweeton.”

  “He’s the lesser of two evils at present!”

  After Bess had set Lord Nelson up with a saucer of cream for his troubles, Elias allowed Bess to drag him, naked, back out the front door and into the street. Elias decided he was definitely going to miss his pianoforte lessons. Mr. Scorsby, who had heard the commotion generated by Elias arriving topless in town in Mr. Gargery’s wagon and come running, sacked him on the spot.

  Chapter Eight

  “My brother’s clothes were stolen off his back,” Bess said, towing Elias behind her as she stomped over the creaking floors of Mrs. John Rowan’s shop. The way she was talking, Elias knew Mr. Sweeton must be alone in the front room. Mrs. John Rowan might be sleeping her sleep of the dead in her bedroom above, working in the back, or out shopping or gossiping with friends. “Again. That rapscallion from Mitton now has his hat and second-best breeches. The ones you picked for him.”

  Elias, humiliated, did his best not to betray his emotions. He did not bother trying to cover himself; something would always be visible to Mr. Sweeton, surely, so what was the use?

  “Pardon?”

  “Ahem! Over here! Yes, the girl, me!” Bess snapped her fingers. “Here! Good. My brother, the naked one—the one you’re still looking at out the corner of your eye, you lascivious old trollop—his clothes were stolen by the highwayman. Again. This is the third time in as many months! Are you going to do anything about it?”

  “Oh my goodness. Of course. Yes. Quite. Er, here, take my coat.”

  It took Elias a moment to understand Mr. Sweeton had held out his coat for him. Elias reached out and connected with cloth.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, pulling the coat over his shoulders. He was swimming in it.

  “I didn’t mean you had to clothe him. I meant we want justice!”

  “You want justice,” Elias corrected her. “I don’t care. Clothes are nice. Thank you, Mr. Sweeton.”

  “It looks better on you than it does on me.”

  Elias snorted, doubting it. He could feel the coat did not fit him well.

  “You must be very ugly, I suppose,” Elias replied.

  “No,” Mr. Sweeton said. “I’m really not.”

  “He’s really not,” Bess agreed, then caught herself. “That’s beside the point! It doesn’t matter how handsome you are if you’re useless.”

  “Useless?”

  “Are you going to find my brother’s assailant or not?”

  “What do we know about him? He’s from Mitton and smells like bread?”

  “See, I told you this was pointless,” Elias said. “Let’s go home, Bess.” He reached for her arm but grasped only air.

  “No!” she snapped. “I’m sick of seeing you treated this way!”

  “I really don�
�t give a fuck if everyone in Kitwick’s seen my arse.”

  “They’ve seen more than your arse, you insufferable show-off!”

  “Are you a show-off?” Mr. Sweeton asked, sounding interested.

  “I don’t think so,” Elias murmured. He was not sure what a show-off was.

  “This is maddening,” Bess moaned, stamping her foot. “Are you really just going to let some man strip him bare, make off and do God knows what with his clothes, and force him to parade through town while the likes of Kenneth Davies gawk at him?”

  “Kenneth’s been gawking?” Elias demanded.

  Bess seemed to have struck a chord with Mr. Sweeton. “You’re right,” he announced. “This deviant comportment is despicable and downright unlawful. I will supply as best a description as Elias can provide me to my colleagues in Mitton, and I’ll post notices around Kitwick and the countryside. It isn’t right what he’s done to Elias. He must be stopped.”

  “Rest assured it won’t happen again, now that I’ll have to reprise my role as full-time barkeep at the Peach and Pear,” Elias interjected bitterly. “I don’t think he’ll have me stand on the tables and take my clothes off in front of all the patrons, do you?”

  There was a long silence.

  “Oh, hell!” cried Bess. “You’ve made him go all stupid and starry-eyed again.”

  “Not my fault,” Elias muttered. “Everyone says we take after mother.”

  “Yes, well, it wouldn’t be nearly so bad if you didn’t say half the things you do!”

  “Can’t help it. Born to flirt. You were too.”

  “But at this stage, you’re being downright cruel to the poor man.”

  Mr. Sweeton cleared his throat. “It’s fine. Don’t stop for my sake.”

  “See? He likes it.”

  “God, Elias, you’re more of a harlot than I am.”

  “I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “Apparently it is.”

  “He’s not a harlot!” Mr. Sweeton objected. “He’s the timidest and most virtuous man of his sort I’ve ever met!”

  “You mustn’t know many men,” Bess growled.

  “You mustn’t know your brother. You should’ve seen how he blushed when I kissed him.”

  “All right, now, that’s enough,” Elias said.

  “Like a sweet maiden,” Mr. Sweeton continued.

  “Shut up.”

  “And when we spoke of personal things, how he trembled!”

  “I did not tremble, Mr. Sweeton!”

  “Yes, you did. And you’re trembling again now at the mere remembrance.”

  “I’m trembling with rage, you idiot!”

  “Whatever it is, it suits you. You’re fairly glowing.”

  “Ugh,” Bess groaned. “Do you two need a room to yourselves?”

  “Does the Peach and Pear have any vacancies?” Mr. Sweeton asked. Elias could not tell if he spoke in jest.

  “You!” Bess bellowed. “Stop preying on my brother for a minute and help him!”

  In the end, Mr. Sweeton extracted as exact a description of the highwayman as Elias could give. Elias also provided a complete inventory of everything stolen from him, though his details on the post contents were limited. Mr. Sweeton scribbled all this down and promised to scour the streets of Mitton for any man who conformed to the profile, and to spread the word as far as he could. He was convinced the highwayman must have targeted other people, and the possibility of him being a murderer as well as a thief was possible since no one else had come forward. Elias was to take the utmost precaution now that he had provided information on the highwayman, as the highwayman might be motivated to take revenge.

  Elias was halfway out the door with Bess when Mr. Sweeton took him by the elbow, drew him back into the shop, and, telling Bess they needed to speak alone a moment, shut the door in her face. Elias heard her swear.

  “If I could, I would look after you myself,” Mr. Sweeton murmured, putting a hand on Elias’s lower back. Elias shivered and took a step forward.

  “I do question whether you’d be half as good with a blade as Bess, who can shave my face in under three minutes. And I trip as often as not when I walk with you. I think I’ll be fine without your supervision.”

  Mr. Sweeton touched Elias’s back again, his mouth very close to Elias’s ear. “I can look after you better than anyone else. I know just what you need. You probably don’t even know yourself, but I know.”

  “If I’m unaware of what I’m missing, then there’s no missing it, is there?”

  “Let me show you.”

  It took Elias several moments to realize he was shaking.

  “Thank you, Mr. Sweeton, but I don’t think that’s appropriate right now.”

  “Come back tonight.”

  “No.”

  “What? Don’t tell me you’re frightened of walking in the dark.”

  “Rude.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Mr. Sweeton took a deep breath. “May I kiss you?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Bess is on the other side of the door. She might take a hatchet to it if we’re in here alone any longer.”

  “The hatchet’s round back. It’ll take her awhile to find it.”

  “Not now that I know where it is!” Bess yelled through the door.

  “Excuse me, please, Mr. Sweeton,” Elias said.

  Mr. Sweeton did not move. “Mr. Burgess, I leave for Mitton tomorrow afternoon. I won’t have the chance to see you before I do, so this is our parting for some time. I wish to remember you well.”

  “So?”

  “So it would mean a great deal to me if you would let me kiss you, or if you would kiss me.”

  Elias preferred the idea of being able to control the kiss. “Fine. I’ll kiss you. Stay put.”

  He extended an arm and, finding Mr. Sweeton’s sleeve, trailed his hand up to his shoulder, then his neck. God, Mr. Sweeton was tall. Standing on his toes, Elias pressed on the back of Mr. Sweeton’s neck so he dipped his head forward and sideways. Elias brought his lips forward into the void, and, after a tense, tentative migration, made purchase with a smooth cheek. He heard his pulse pounding in his ears as he let his lips rest there a moment before he withdrew. Then, in an abrupt jostling, his back was pressed against the door and Mr. Sweeton was holding him there, his hands against the front of Elias’s chest.

  “The things I want to do to you, Mr. Burgess. You and your chaste little mouth.”

  Elias felt short of breath. “I should go.”

  “Yes…you should…now…or I’ll never let you leave. Keep my coat.”

  Elias knocked Mr. Sweeton’s hands away, felt behind him for the doorknob, spun around, and wrenched open the door. He crashed into Bess, who had apparently stood on the stoop with her ear to the door. Without a word, she seized him by the elbow and dragged him from Mrs. John Rowan’s. Elias said nothing further to the silent Mr. Sweeton. He never heard the door shut in all the time they walked through the garden and down the road.

  Bess said nothing until they were at the Peach and Pear. They took the back entrance and went to their room.

  “Mr. Sweeton has it bad for you. Do you realize that?” she asked.

  “‘It’?”

  “He… That’s not important. What do you feel?”

  Elias sat on his bed and clutched Mr. Sweeton’s oversize coat about him. It smelled like Mr. Sweeton, which made his stomach flutter. “I don’t know.” He felt calm and candid. Bess seemed to sense this, for their usual banter disintegrated as it rarely did.

  “You kissed him, though, didn’t you?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Elias replied at normal volume.

  “Why?”

  “He asked me to.”

  “Did you want to?”

  It had been strange, standing there so close to Mr. Sweeton, with him begging to be kissed. Elias supposed he had wanted to kiss him, but it was not something he would have
thought to do if Mr. Sweeton had not asked him.

  “Yes.”

  Bess came to sit next to him on the bed.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I wouldn’t have kissed him if I had been completely averse to the idea.”

  “Oh.” Bess was quiet and unlike herself.

  “What?” Elias asked sharply.

  “I don’t know. You look like a lamb next to a goddamn wolf when you stand next to him. I don’t know how I feel about this.”

  “Is he that large?”

  “Yes and no. He’s an imposing figure, but there’s more. Elias, you’ll always be my little brother. We’re twins, but I feel like the older sister and mother sometimes.” Elias scoffed, and she punched his arm. “Shut up, you sassy fucker.” She paused, and when she spoke again, there was no mirth in her voice. “Everyone sees you put together as I’ve done you up. They don’t see you unshaven, stumbling out of bed with your hair sticking up in all directions. They only ever see you handsome and rude and devil-may-care, not giving a shit when you walk through town naked and all the stupid girls are talking. But I see you at home, I see you get beaten by father, I see how some of the patrons look at you because I’m always, always looking at how people look at you. I don’t think I like Mr. Sweeton. Anyone who makes you look like a lamb makes me uncomfortable. Because you’re not a lamb, not in your heart. You’re a lion but he makes you look like a lamb and that isn’t fucking right.”

  Elias rubbed his temples. He had a sudden headache.

  “I need to sleep,” he said, because he did not know what to think about any of this. He hated when Bess got serious. He hated her comparing herself to their mother. And he could not stop thinking about how Mr. Sweeton’s warm cheek had felt under his lips, how his hands had felt pressed against his chest, how his wavering voice had made Elias’s hair stand on end.

  Bess tucked him into bed, Mr. Sweeton’s coat still wrapped around him. Elias closed his eyes and went to sleep breathing Mr. Sweeton’s scent.

  Chapter Nine

  Elias woke late the next morning when Bess chucked her pillow at his head. Lord Nelson, who had joined him sometime in the night, yowled, leaped from the bed, and fled the room.

  “Wha—”

  “Get up, you lazy slut,” Bess called from across the room. “We need to talk.”